“You’ve had a lover?” he asked in a tightly controlled tone.
“Oh, several.”
“Several?” His response was a rough choke of disbelief.
“Yes, did you wish an exact count? It would take me a few moments for I’m not certain if you just wish my lovers, or the few stable boys I dallied with from time to time.”
“Stable boys?”
“Yes, well, the need strikes at the oddest times.”
“Your father —” he asked, unable to complete his question, so confused was he by her actions.
“My father? Good heavens, no! My tastes don’t run to the perverse.”
“Damn it, woman, I didn’t mean that,” he yelled. “Your father, he knows of these liaisons?”
Catherine retained the false smile with difficulty and hoped the answer she chose would suit the situation. “Yes, indeed he does. You see there were one or two times that necessitated my father compensating a gentleman in return for his silence.”
Lucian was shocked into silence.
Bravely Catherine pushed on. “Have you changed your mind, Captain? I’m sure you’ll find me entertaining enough. My lovers have often commented on my extraordinary skill.”
Lucian lunged forward, grabbing her by the arms and roughly lifting her up to him.
She was inches from his face. Her heart beat wildly. She had gambled and lost. Now he would take her and discover her lies and then what?
You can’t give up, Catherine. You can’t.
He brought his face closer to hers. She could feel his warm breath. Smell the dampness of his blood-red hair, see the anger in the depths of his cold gray eyes, and taste, oh, God, she could almost taste his lips full and wet with anticipation.
Her eyes grew hot and languid, her mouth opened invitingly and she prayed. Oh, how she prayed she would say the right thing.
“Taste me, Captain. Please taste me.”
Lucian felt as though he’d been skewered by a cutlass, so sharp was the pain. He released her hastily as though in disgust, pushing her back upon the bed.
Catherine couldn’t speak. Her emotions were strung taut and about to burst. She wouldn’t even direct her gaze his way.
He stood staring at her, seeing his weapon of revenge dissolve before his eyes. The anger that had shimmered beneath his controlled surface erupted and spewed forth. “I should have known that the Marquis of Devonshire’s daughter would be a whore.”
He walked from the room, slamming the door behind him.
“I’m not a whore,” Catherine whispered, and with relief buried her head in the pillow and cried.
Chapter Four
Lucian stormed into Santos’s cabin, slammed the door behind him, and walked to the table secured to the far wall. A single chair rested beside it. His powerful body took the seat like a dead weight, the wooden legs creaking in protest. His eyes instantly captured Santos’s dark ones.
Santos stood a safe distance from him, but still he took a hasty step back, his legs bumping against his berth. He had been privy to that strange look many times. Lucian had worn it often during sea attacks or when he had questioned captives even remotely associated with Abelard.
His eyes narrowed, the scant specks of blue flared like icy sapphires and his voice?
Santos shivered recalling the calm control with which Lucian spoke before issuing orders. His frigid tone rang with the indifference of a man who possessed no soul. Santos made a hasty sign of the cross.
“She’s a whore.”
“No! Impossible,” Santos said, defending the young beauty while a chill raced up his spine.
Lucian’s voice was as calm as the sea before an angry gale. “She looks like an angel. Innocent and pure of heart.”
Lucian leaned his head back against the wall and laughed, a low timbre that rumbled deep in his chest like the roar of a mighty predator out for a hunt. “She’s far from pure. She’s even sampled her father’s stable boys.”
Santos shook his head more to satisfy his own disbelief than to convince Lucian. “She plays a game with you.”
“No!” Lucian yelled, and slammed his fist down on the table. The aged wood trembled from his mighty blow.
His head remained flat against the wall and his eyes slowly closed shut when he spoke. “Her body was made to give and receive pleasure. Her breasts are plum and ripe.” His eyes drifted open and stared at his hand on the table. He cupped his fingers. “She would spill over in my hand so plentiful is she. Her skin is a creamy white like that of rich thick cream you want to lick until full to bursting with its sweet taste. She was fashioned to drive a man to madness—and she knows precisely how to produce insanity.”
Santos dropped down on the edge of his unkempt bunk, pushing the crumpled blanket out from beneath him. “She’s demonstrated her skills?”
“She was most certainly willing. Actually it was more like a craving she needed quenched.” Lucian sat forward, shaking in head in disbelief. “She enticed me further by wearing a long strand of pearls that fell below her belly as though pointing the way to her treasure.”
Santos’s eyes widened and were joined by a huge grin. “Remember that whore in Madagascar and what she did with the pearls she wore?”
“All too well, my friend,” Lucian said and shifted uncomfortably in his seat.
“Damn, I’m hard just thinking about that talented lady. Do you think this one possesses the same skill?”
Lucian’s nostrils flared in fury as he jumped up. “I have no intentions of finding out.”
“Why not?” Santos asked, still wearing his grin. “How else will you satisfy that bulge in your pants?”
Lucian reached for the pitcher of warm ale on the table as he returned to his seat and poured himself a tankard. “That bulge won’t be satisfied between Catherine Abelard’s legs.”
Santos joined Lucian at the table, filling his own tankard with ale. “I don’t understand. Why deny yourself the pleasure?”
“She’ll benefit from my pleasure.”
“Benefit?”
Lucian explained. “Once she returns to England and her exploits are discreetly discussed, there isn’t an aristocrat who wouldn’t jump at the chance to bed her. Imagine the tales they could exchange having sampled the infamous Lucifer’s fare.”
Santos wiped away the ale from his mouth but his grin remained. “Then what do you intend to do with her?”
Lucian downed the last bit of his ale. “One thing is certain. I don’t intend to touch her.”
Santos laughed heartily. “I wouldn’t wager money on that if I were you.”
Lucian broke a brief smile. “You have such confidence in me, Santos.”
“That I do, my friend. Tell me that remembering the delights of those pearls won’t torment you. Will you be able to view them without thinking of the lady from Madagascar and recalling the exquisite pleasure you shared with her? And tell me—tell me honestly—that you won’t be tempted to use those pearls on Catherine Abelard.
“I won’t teach her new tricks to entertain her lovers. She stays with me until I can find a solution to this unforeseen problem. I won’t touch her. I don’t wish to be added to her list of conquests.”
Santos found his grin fading. “I still find it difficult to believe that she has a list of lovers.
“A long one,” Lucian assured him.
“But hasn’t your source in England provided you with a detailed report on her?”
“Ladies, though the term is misused, have a way of being discreet concerning certain affairs.”
Santos’s grin returned in full. “You mean affairs of the heart?”
Lucian smiled broadly this time. “The heart isn’t the part of the anatomy the ladies seek to satisfy.”
Santos filled both their tankards again. He raised his in a salute. “You should know, you’ve satisfied enough women.”
“But how many have satisfied me?” Lucian said with a regretful shake of his head.
A frown lined S
antos’s mouth. “You found no satisfaction with these women?”
Lucian found it easy talking with his friend. They had shared so much together, pain, sorrow, and degradation, that there wasn’t anything he felt he couldn’t confide in Santos. “I found release from my lust, but satisfaction?” He shook his head once again.
“Of what satisfaction do you speak about?”
His answer came quick to his lips. “The satisfaction you find when you crawl into Zeena’s bed.”
Santos’s smile was filled with pure delight. “Then, my friend, you must fall in love to find such contentment.”
Lucian spoke with a hint of sadness. “I lost the ability to love many years ago.”
“You didn’t lose it,” Santos insisted. “You closed your heart against such strong emotions. One day—”
Lucian interrupted abruptly, not wanting to hear once again of Santos’s prediction of how he’d find love one day. “Never.”
“When you least expect it,” Santos continued as though uninterrupted. “Someone will slip inside you and release your imprisoned heart. And you will love like you have never loved before.”
“You allow Zeena to fill your idle brain with foolish romantic notions.”
“No one allows Zeena anything. She does as she pleases,” Santos reminded him with a laugh.
Lucian smiled recalling Zeena, who had been his housekeeper since soon after he had landed on his island three years ago. Her silky black hair hung to her waist and her bearing was proud and regal. She demanded respect and gave the same to man or woman. And she had fallen deeply in love with Santos.
Love. A fool’s notion, Lucian thought, and he was no fool. “You and Zeena share something rare and special.”
“Your tongue won’t fall from your mouth if you say the word.”
Lucian shot Santos an intimidating glare.
Santos ignored it. “Love. It’s called love, and some day —”
“Enough!” Lucian shouted. His powerful voice reverberated off the walls, sending the scarred wood to creaking. “I’ll not hear another word about it.”
“About love?” Santos asked in feigned innocence.
“So help me, Santos,” Lucian warned.
“Exactly,” Santos declared, banging his tankard down on the table. “That’s exactly what I’m trying to do. Help you. You should lay the past to rest. Look to the future. “You’ve made yourself a fortune. Find a woman and settle down on your island and raise little ones.”
“When my revenge is complete, perhaps then I will consider your suggestion.”
“With Catherine Abelard’s beauty, she would certainly bear beautiful babies.”
An angry response rushed to Lucian’s mouth, but it was quelled by the deadly smile that captured his words. “The only problem would be that her husband would not know if the babe was truly his.”
Santos shook his head slowly. “I still can’t believe her a whore. She looks too much like an angel.”
“An angel who has spread her wings once too often.”
Santos laughed. “I bet the angel waits Lucifer’s return.”
Lucian stood. “She waits for naught. I’ll not satisfy her blasted lust.”
“She could tempt.”
“She’d be wasting her time.” Lucian walked to the door.
“If she is as skilled as you believe she is, she could succeed in seducing you,” Santos warned.
Lucian looked back around at his friend.
“An angel has been known to save many a lost soul; perhaps this angel will help you find yours.”
o0o
Catherine dried her eyes with the back of her hands. Tears would not help her now. Sound reasoning would. With her emotions so distraught she would need to calm herself and attempt to be rational about her situation.
Her first thought was to dress. She slipped cautiously to the edge of the bed, fearing at any minute the captain would burst into the room. The long strand of pearls rolled along her bare flesh and sent a tickling sensation running over her warm skin.
You mustn’t dress yet! The warning thought halted her. She cast an uncertain glance at her clothes neatly folded on the chest and considered the consequences of her intended actions.
Would a woman, an experienced worldly woman, hurry to dress or would she remain abed relaxing in her nakedness?
She gently shut her eyes against the drumming pain that began in her temples and against the worrisome decision.
She was far from a worldly woman and far from a whore. She was a virtuous young lady who wanted desperately to save her father from a heinous and wrongful death. And for that she was willing to pay dearly.
Catherine shivered to the tips of her toes thinking of the consequences of becoming Captain Lucifer’s wife. Her eyes widened with her thoughts. He was so large, so overbearing, so powerful and so terribly frightening.
She had thought for certain she would have fainted when he had grabbed her and held her so close. The angry look in his eyes, the smell of the sea on his hard chest, the blood red color of his long wet hair and his starkly handsome features all served to frighten her beyond reason. She had not been sure if he meant to kiss her or strangle her.
Catherine slipped beneath the linen sheet, her body chilled though the morning sun had toasted the cabin to a pleasant temperature.
The idea that as his wife his control over her was limitless made her tremble even more. She should be grateful that she would not suffer such a horrid fate. As long as she kept her wits about her and continued to act as an experienced woman, he would leave her alone. He would not kiss her, touch her, or—
Catherine turned several shades of red. She could not fathom herself lying naked beneath Captain Lucifer, her legs spread wide while he had his way with her. He would certainly cause her pain, perhaps even crush her with his mighty strength or force her to do unspeakable things.
A sudden thought rushed a short startled cry to her lips. Certainly, as a woman who had lain with so many men, she would be expected to know of such unspeakable acts. She knew only bits and pieces of the intimate act shared by a man and a woman. And that information she had learned in a most unladylike fashion. She had eavesdropped on the housemaids’ conversations. She would need to make a mental note of the things she had heard and hopefully she would make reference to them correctly.
She turned to her side, the pearls rolling off her flesh to rest comfortably beside her. She caressed the shining beads, relaxing in the solace they brought her. They were her armor, her protection, her symbol of faith in herself. Wearing the pearls she would never feel naked no matter the circumstances. She had to hold on to that belief, her survival depended on it.
She returned her thoughts to her present and foremost problem. Captain Lucifer had to be constantly reminded of her intimate dalliances so he’d refrain from touching her. She in turn would need to search for the documents that would prove her father’s innocence.
The pain in her temple was like a thousand drums beating an horrendous cadence. She applied pressure to the pulsating veins, her fingers attempting to force the pain away. Her rhythmic suffering continued and with difficulty she focused on her ultimate goal, finding the documents that would prove her father’s innocence. She prayed that the papers were somewhere on this ship, preferably in this very cabin and not in the captain’s island home.
She feared that if she set foot on his island, she would never leave it.
The dreadful pain in her head lulled her into a fitful slumber. Her dreams vividly reminded her of the bargain Captain Lucifer and she had struck. She tossed and turned and whimpered as she found herself becoming the devil’s own bride.
o0o
Lucian entered the cabin reluctantly. He would have much preferred to remain topside with the heat of the afternoon sun beating down upon him and the sea breeze refreshing his heated skin.
He wondered whether, if he viewed Catherine Abelard spread out so invitingly for him, he would either strangle her or rav
ish her, he just wasn’t certain which.
God’s blood, but he wouldn’t mind having a taste of her. She was truly a tempting morsel. Who had been sampled by many. He could not—would not—give her the satisfaction of adding him to her list of conquests.
Besides he intended to learn more about Randolph Abelard from his daughter’s own lips and in so doing discover an alternate way of bringing about the man’s destruction.
A strange whimper caught his attention and he walked further into the room after shutting the door behind him. He approached the bed with hesitation, hearing her soft sensuous whimper. He didn’t care to admit just how much her passionate moans affected him, though his breeches strained with the proof of his response.
He stopped near the side of the bed and cast a curious and reluctant glance down at Catherine.
Passion, hot and ardent, filled her dreams. Her hands fondled her bare breasts frantically, her breathing was heavy, her body thrashed about the bed and her legs locked tightly together as though capturing her dream lover solidly within her.
“Please, oh, please,” she begged softly and with just the right amount of proper reluctance for enjoying herself while innocently enticing her lover.
Lucian found the heat rushing to his loins and his hand racing out, without thought of consequence, to touch her. With a sudden and anxious roughness, he cupped her breast. Her intake of breath was sharp, the moan that followed seductive.
“Please,” she whispered again with barely a quiver, almost as though she feared instead of desired her lover.
His fingers complied playing with her rosy nipple, exciting it to hardness while his hand squeezed the fullness of her. His lips ached to take the pebble-hard orb into his mouth and suckle its sweet taste.
She doesn’t dream of you, his thoughts reminded him. An angry smile curved his lips. “Which lover do you dream of?”
A whisperingly sensuous plea tumbled almost incoherently from her lips, but her pleasing words were enough to send Lucian near to bursting. He released her with the suddenness of one who had just been burned by a red-hot flame.
Abruptly, he turned away from her and stormed out of the room, shutting the door violently and hastily throwing the latch that locked Catherine Abelard in and locked him out.
The Buccaneer Page 5