The Devil's Luck (The Skull & Crossbone Romances Book 1)

by Eris Adderly

  No. No, no, no, and no.

  Edmund Blackburn was a man who made deliberate, measured plans and saw them carried out, and his plans had not included a beautiful widow and her laughter, nor sighs and whispers, nor anything else of the sort.

  He would find Prometheus, carry the man back to his father, and claim what the old man had promised. It was as simple as that. And this is what he must repeat to himself until this whole nasty business was seen to its end.

  * * * *

  Hannah had an ear pressed tight to the interior wall of the darkened galley, straining to hear the conversation going on in the space on the other side. The men’s voices had lowered into a lull now and she could only make out useless mumbling.

  She’d lain awake in Till’s bed, not intending to sleep the night through in the cramped berth with him anyway, but not wanting to disturb him either as he drifted off ahead of her. His arm had been draped over her where she was fitted against the wall of his chest, and she’d had to ever so gently slide out from under it so she could creep out of the room without waking him once her fussing finally had the better of her.

  Shutting the cabin door on the sound of Benjamin’s soft, regular snoring, she’d made for the head, her only original intention before her usual retirement to Edmund’s larger bed. A person could only take so many elbows in the back, and that was what came of a night in the quartermaster’s cabin. The thought amused her.

  But as she’d padded through the ship on silent, bare feet, she’d heard a bit of conversation float up from below decks. The intervening layers of wood muffled most of the words, but there was one that struck her and set her curiosity whirring again where it probably should not.

  Boston.

  Mr Grey had mentioned her original destination that evening over Easter dinner and had been promptly silenced. Hannah’s thoughts had nagged at her. The other sailors at the table hadn’t meant her to notice the way Grey jumped as though he’d been kicked under the table.

  Were they bound for Boston? And the captain still had her uncle’s letters. She hadn’t asked for them again, not wanting to broach a subject that seemed to make him so uncomfortable in the first place. Not when the situation between the two of them had settled into such a pleasant state of affairs, if only for the time being. She’d still wondered, though, if there were more than mere coincidence behind the two suspicious instances.

  And so, after overhearing the name of the city a second time, her restless mind had brought her here, sneaking and spying like this in the wee hours of the night. She couldn’t put down the thoughts that refused to be still, that pulled and worried at her despite the soothing balm of earthly satisfaction she’d tried to lay over them.

  Once Hannah had determined where in the ship the male voices were coming from, she’d been able to figure out that the galley was on the other side of the wall from them. Her soundless, tiptoeing steps took her down the ladder to where she thought she might have a better listen.

  Brigit and the cook, it seemed, had retired long ago, and the galley was deserted. Dim light fell into the space through the opening where the stairs led up to the next deck. Hannah tried to be patient. The voices were growing louder again and she flattened her ear as hard as she could against the wall, hoping to hear something. Anything.

  It seemed as though one of the men had moved much closer to the wall on the other side, because now she could make out at least one side of the conversation. Hezekiah’s words vibrated through to her ear.

  “Of course he hasn’t bothered about Boston before.”

  There was a muffled reply she couldn’t understand, but the timbre of the voice told her it might be Adams. The bosun spoke again.

  “Yes, but last time the Captain wasn’t so near to putting his hands on that Symes fellow.”

  Symes. Uncle, what is going on here? Why do they know your name?

  More mumbling.

  “You know, that Prometheus he used to go on about.”

  Hannah wished she could make out the other man’s questions. Her alarm was growing by the moment, all of her senses clanging in alarm. Something was horribly, horribly wrong.

  “Aye, that rebellion. Where do you think I came from, Adams? Perhaps you should put that bottle away.”

  Hezekiah confirmed her guess as to the identity of the other man in the room, but these isolated snippets of information were maddening. Edmund wanted to get his hands on her uncle? It made no sense. The bosun’s next words, though, brought the spinning of her thoughts to a crashing halt.

  “Wrong again, my friend. The captain will hand Symes directly over to his father in Kingston. I don’t know what he plans to do with the widow.”

  Hannah’s hand flew to her open mouth and her heart nearly stopped beating in her chest. The shock of what she’d just heard, what it meant, made her deaf to anything further the gossiping pirates might have to say.

  … hand Symes directly over to his father …

  … don’t know what he plans to do with the widow.

  She sagged against the wall, her knees weakening in disbelief. This love affair—for that was what it was, she’d finally admitted—between her and the two men would have to end sometime, this she’d known. Thoughts of how she would pick up her life when her time upon The Devil’s Luck came to an end were the sort she’d been attempting to avoid, but of all the ways she’d imagined they might part were, there wasn’t a one of them as sordid as this.

  You’ve been had, Hannah, and in more ways than one.

  Her nails dug into her palms as she held herself back from pounding at the wall with angry fists. She would not cry. Not yet.

  Bloody, cursed pirates!

  How could she have been so foolish? Opening her heart up like a naïve girl. Letting them do all those … those things to her! Making her feel—

  Her rapidly widening spiral of anger was interrupted by a new sound of lowered male voices and laughter coming from above, and by the way they grew clearer by the moment she realised they were approaching the galley entrance.

  Hannah’s body jolted with an icy splash of panic. The stairs were the only way in and out of the room; where could she go? She’d have no good excuse to be skulking around at this time of night in near darkness.

  Think, woman!

  The pantry.

  She made a desperate slide for the tiny storage closet, managing to pull the narrow door shut just as two pairs of boots came scuffling down the stairs. Whoever was joining her in the galley moved as though they didn’t want to be found there, either.

  The lack of a tell-tale wooden thud told her neither of the sets of footsteps belonged to the cook, nor did either of the two new voices have Bone’s distinct deep rumble. And there would be no need for the man to sneak into his own kitchen, in any event.

  The door to the pantry, the only thing separating her from discovery, was not very well fitted, and as her eyes became accustomed to the darkness Hannah saw there was a gap at the edge where she might spy out who was in the room with her. It stood to reason they wouldn’t see her in the dim light coming into the galley from above, even with her eye to the gap. As long as no one decided to rummage in the pantry, she could remain silent and wait out her unexpected company.

  At first there wasn’t enough light coming from any proper angles for Hannah to figure out who the two sailors were. Their voices sounded as though they were just this side of having had too much drink. When they came to the bottom of the stairs, though, and rounded the side of the wooden steps, the taller one’s face turned just so in the light and she knew him for the carpenter, Ellis George.

  She feared for a chest-tightening moment that these were two men in search of a very late morsel of food, and that surely the pantry door would be wrenched open at any second. But then she saw George grab the other man by the front of his shirt and kiss him full on the mouth. The same way the captain would kiss her.

  What the …?

  Oh.

  Oh.

  The carp
enter was the same man who’d watched her bathe that day with a complete lack of interest. In the back of her mind, she’d assigned some vague meaning to the incident and what it said about George, but the supposition had been put on a high shelf full of other unnecessary information and left there. She’d not thought about it since.

  George’s hands were on the other man’s shoulders, pushing him to his knees beside the stairs. Before she realised what she was seeing, the carpenter had produced a sizable erection from his breeches and fed it straight away to a surprisingly eager companion.

  The Devil take me! Why did I have to be here to see this?

  And why can’t I look away?

  To Hannah’s horror, she couldn’t drag her eye away from the gap at the door; couldn’t end her silent witness to the depravity taking place in the darkened galley.

  Perhaps it was a sort of punishment she’d wrought upon herself. Had she not performed the very act she now saw in front of her? Did her cheeks hollow that way, and did her head bob in such an obscene manner over the captain those times she’d done it? This new perspective served her right, and worked as a reminder of just how seamy the whole affair truly was. The captain had used her just as surely as George was using the sailor in front of him now.

  Both of her hands stayed clamped over her mouth, lest she make any incriminating squeak of shock or disgust. Still she stared, in horrified curiosity, burning with shame in the darkness at her refusal to look away.

  “Come on,” George’s hoarse whisper bade the other man as he pulled out of the receiving throat and stood back, cock in hand. “I’d gladly have you on your knees the whole night, but you know we haven’t got time.”

  The kneeling man rose and the carpenter pushed him toward the cutting block that stood in the centre of the galley. Winters’s hands came down on the top of the block. He was facing the pantry and, though he didn’t know it, Hannah. George was behind him, tugging at the man’s breeches.

  Could they …? No! They can’t!

  But they could, and did.

  Her eyes must have been as round as they could possibly be as she looked on from her hiding place at the thing that was happening in front of her.

  George leaned in to Winters while the younger man braced himself against the block, the carpenter’s face bending to speak close to his lover’s ear.

  Hannah was unnerved at the similarity she saw between the way George handled Winters and the way Edmund had handled her.

  Don’t you think of that fiend, or the taste of his lying tongue!

  “Go on then, lad,” the carpenter was saying, his voice husky, “ease up for me now. Just like we did back in Bristol; show me again. That’s right …”

  The man bent over the block bit his lower lip to hold his noises in check and closed his eyes, and Hannah knew just what was happening to him at that moment. She watched Winters’s face change as a series of alternately pained and ecstatic expressions flowed over it, and against all reason, she felt for the man. She knew what he was feeling exactly, as much as it now tore at her heart.

  George was making shallow movements behind the other man now, and one of his hands had snaked around to reach into Winters’s breeches. Was this how it had been, for her late husband and Mr Pearce? He was supposed to have desired her like this, not leave her inexperienced and vulnerable, as prey for scoundrels. The bile rose in her throat at the thought. Why had any of these things happened to her?

  Foolish, foolish girl.

  From start to finish, the whole affair didn’t last long, and for that, she was grateful. The sight of two men together was fascinating, in its own disturbing way. Their efforts appeared to come together with an aggressive urgency and at the same time a practised control. Ellis George worked Winters as efficiently as one of the tools of his trade to get the result he wanted. The carpenter bit back a grunt of release and tensed behind the other man, and then it was over.

  Relief washed over her when the two men pulled their dishevelled clothing back into place and made for the stairs, George landing a final swat on Winters’s behind as they moved up and out of the galley.

  She had to get out of this pantry.

  And do what? What are you going to do now?

  There were no ready answers for that question yet, but continuing to hide here would not be among them, in any event. Hannah waited until she was confident George and Winters wouldn’t be returning before she left the little storage closet, trying to put the images of the two men out of her head. She had enough problems for the moment.

  Her silent feet carried her back up the stairs and onto the upper deck. The thought of returning to the captain’s stateroom, or Till’s for that matter, disgusted her at this point, but she needed to decide on a course of action. Her mind raced with thoughts of what plan might be best, but as she slipped ‘round the main mast in the darkness her body ran headlong into a startled Edmund Blackburn.

  “Hannah? What are you doing out here?”

  * * * *

  The surprise on Hannah’s face at their collision melted away as her eyes narrowed at him and her body condensed in newfound anger. Edmund saw from the subtle downward tilt of her chin and the accusation in her gaze that the moment he’d been dreading was finally upon him. He didn’t know how she’d found out, and there was no need to ask. She knew, and it was over.

  “So,” she began, the poison already lacing her tone, “did you plan to tell me once we reached Boston?”

  “Hannah, I—”

  “Simply a feather in your cap, am I?” Her voice rose. “It wasn’t enough to make use of me to lay hands on my uncle for whatever foul purpose—you had to play me for a fool as well?”

  “We are not having this discussion out here,” he said, reaching to grip her by the upper arm. He needed to move her below decks, and now, lest her heated words draw too much attention.

  “Why ever not, Captain Blackburn?” she said in a vicious mockery of innocence as he hauled her along the deck. “It seems the whole crew already knows just what your plans are.”

  Edmund didn’t answer her jabs but moved to hustle her below, away from prying eyes and ears.

  “Having a bit of trouble with her, are you Captain?”

  It seemed he hadn’t moved quickly enough. He caught sight of Graves smirking at him from the gunwale, the wiry surgeon leaning against the rail in the shadows, arms folded across his narrow chest. The snake of a man had the nerve to speak again, much to Edmund’s irritation.

  “Give her over to me, Captain. I’ll have her stepping lively for you by morning. Won’t I, Dove?” the bony man leered in their direction.

  The widow made a startled noise of disgust, but Edmund kept walking, issuing sharp words over his shoulder to the skulking surgeon. “ ‘Useless and scarce’, Graves, remember what I said? Now shove off and mind your own affairs.”

  He had no time for malicious taunts from the crew, least of all from Rowland Graves. Just how many problems could a man be expected to deal with at once aboard his own ship?

  He pushed through the council room and into his cabin, thrusting her ahead of him and bolting the doors behind. He turned to face her and she glared at him from across the room, arms crossed over her chest in smouldering anger.

  So. They’d arrived.

  The blissful companionship they’d come to share had been too ideal to last, and was now lying shattered on the deck as he knew at some point it would be. He’d only imagined that he might have a little longer, some greater measure of time in which he might delude himself that Fortune had deigned at last to grant his most secret wishes.

  “Did you enjoy yourself, then?” she said. “In these weeks of toying with me, bringing me to believe you were something other than a villain? Sharing me with your quartermaster? Those times I called your name, did you laugh at me to yourself?”

  He’d been steeling himself for this moment and knew what he must do. The rotting flesh must be severed away lest the decay spread to the rest of the healthy body
. He must cut off, without mercy, any remaining softness towards her, and he put his own angry doubts into words to do so.

  “You enjoyed your own self plenty, woman, with your legs spread for a man—men!—who weren’t your husband. A rich man’s spoiled daughter who thought she’d try out the whore’s trade while she was tucked away where no one would find out? We both know you’ll act as though nothing’s happened as soon as I put you ashore.”

  Her face went from red to white at this and he wondered if there was a word beyond ‘livid’ to describe a person.

  “How dare you!” Apoplectic. That was the word. “I asked for none of this! I didn’t beg that surgeon of yours to bring me aboard your ship! I didn’t plead for you to cut me out of my dress that first day, or tie me to a mast, or … or hold me down so your friend could … could rape me! The two of you should have just continued that way—why do otherwise and make me start to imagine you cared?”

  He counted himself lucky she hadn’t moved to pick up something to throw at him.

  Edmund sighed in defeat, but said nothing. Instead, where his own fiery reaction should be, he calmly moved to the wall of small cabinets that lined the one side of his stateroom and began to rummage about. Hannah fumed from where she stood, watching his every move and all but burning a hole in the deck with her ire. He’d just as soon approach a busy wasp nest.

  There was no point in ranting or raging at her further. He’d been digging his own grave with this woman from the very beginning and he knew it. Allowing himself to begin to care for her … Well, that was one among many follies. And now this was the bed he’d have to lie in until Boston.

  He found what he was looking for in the cabinet and came out with it. He would do what he must. Her fury was such that she didn’t even shrink back when she saw what he held, but only stood there, eviscerating him with the ice in her blue eyes.