"I like a woman that gives me a good fight." Harry laughed and moved in closer, using his weight to pin her hands beneath his sizable belly while his own beefy hands grabbed her face.
Horrifying fear gripped Catherine. The smell of rotting fish, the stench of body odor, and the strong scent of ale assaulted her nostrils. Fate closed in on her. She had played the whore well and it would cost her. Her charade would matter no longer, for it would no longer be a charade.
Tears pooled in her eyes and an odd notion captured her thoughts. If she had to lose her virginity, why couldn't it have been to Lucian?
Her chest felt heavy, her fear grew and panic engulfed her. She screamed for the one person who strangely enough had once threatened, but since protected her.
"Lucian!"
Handsome Harry laughed in her face and lowered his mouth to hers.
Chapter Fourteen
A bone-chilling yell split the air and froze every person in the tavern, except Handsome Harry.
He was plucked off Catherine like a feather from a chicken. He bounced against the nearby wall, sank to the floor and shook his head to clear his senses, then stood and received a fist to his big belly and then another fist to his chin. The blows sent him slamming back against the wall, where he sank to the floor unconscious.
Lucian stood glaring over Catherine, his red knuckles still firmly molded into fists. "Bloody hell, woman, you've gone too far this time."
"I—"
Catherine had no time to explain her actions. In a flash she was yanked off the table and flung over Lucian's broad shoulder. He turned and headed for the stairs off in the corner that led to the second floor.
He stopped abruptly, swung back around, causing Catherine's head to spin and in a tone that made one want to beg for mercy, for he surely sounded as though he wanted to kill, he said, "Bones. Jolly. You both have explaining to do."
With that threat issued he mounted the stairs two at a time. He walked down the short hall to the end, kicked the door open, sending it crashing against the wall, walked in, kicked the door shut, and then walked over to the generous-sized bed and dropped Catherine down on it.
The bed ropes groaned beneath the mattress and Catherine lost her breath from fright or relief, she had yet to determine.
"Good God, madam, do you possess any brains?" he asked, his voice raised enough to demonstrate his ire, but not enough to share their argument with the patrons below.
Catherine took several deep breaths to fill her lungs and to give her sufficient time to form a reasonable explanation.
"Answer me now!"
Catherine had no doubt the whole tavern had heard his demand.
"I did nothing wrong," she said calmly, which irritated him all the more.
"Nothing? Nothing?" he repeated with an unbelieving shake of his head. "You expect me to believe that Handsome Harry strolled over to you, dragged you back to his table, and decided to ravish you in front of the entire tavern?"
"That isn't how it happened."
"Then pray tell, madam, how did it happen?"
Sprawled on her back, Catherine lacked the confidence to speak with conviction. She hastily slipped off the bed and stood. "I needed to stretch my legs, so I simply walked around a few tables."
Lucian stood a few feet away from her attempting to control his anger. His fury was on the edge of erupting into gale proportions, its strength growing every time he recalled Handsome Harry stretched over her. "Simply?" he asked.
She hated that chilling serenity in his voice. It frightened her. "Bonnie suggested —"
She paused for a plausible excuse.
Lucian wouldn't allow her to finish. "Don't blame Bonnie for your own stupidity."
His cruel remark stunned her, especially since it brought back memories. Memories she had thought long buried and forgotten. "I am not stupid," she said, her chin raised, but not nearly as high as usual.
Lucian continued his attack, angry with himself for leaving her and angry with her for being a harlot. "When you brazenly offer your wares in a tavern, you are most definitely stupid."
Catherine detested her intelligence being humiliated and retaliated with the only weapon she possessed, her questionable virtue. "Captain, do you honestly think I would offer myself to the likes of a stinking pirate?"
Fury widened Lucian's eyes and flared his nostrils. He stormed to the door, yanked it open and yelled loud enough for the whole island to hear. "Bones! Jolly! Get your useless asses up here."
Catherine remained composed while her mind frantically searched for answers to the inevitable questions that would follow.
Bones and Jolly nearly tripped over each other hurrying into the room.
"Yes, sir, Captain," Bones said, appearing to speak for both of them as they stood shivering nervously before Captain Lucifer.
Lucian was blunt. "Did she entice Handsome Harry?"
Both men stared wide-eyed at her.
She sent them a weak smile, feeling guilty that they should suffer because of her lack of common sense.
Bones answered. "No, sir."
Relief rushed through Catherine, turning her legs weak.
Lucian walked over to the two men and planted himself right in front of them. His size alone could intimidate, but his look sent the devil's own chill through them both. "What did she do?"
Both men peeked around him casting sympathetic glances at her.
"Stop looking at her and answer me," Lucian shouted, irritated that both men appeared more concerned with Catherine's feelings than with his command.
"She was coming over to our table, Captain, when Handsome Harry grabbed her," Jolly said quickly.
Catherine had rarely heard Jolly say two words, so his defense stunned her.
Lucian looked to her and then back to the two men. He obviously didn't believe anyone from the black expression crossing his face.
"Get out!" he shouted at them, and once again Bones and Jolly nearly tripped over each other while rushing out the door.
He slammed the door shut and bolted the iron lock. Then he turned on Catherine, his anger still raging. "What took you to their table?"
Catherine hesitated a moment before anxiously answering. "I was wondering when you would return and thought perhaps they would know.
"Your wit is quick, madam."
Catherine almost laughed nervously. In one breath he insulted her and in the next, unwittingly, he praised her.
Tense silence followed and then in the next instant he descended on her, grasping her slim arms in his powerful hands. "I'll have the truth, Catherine."
His voice warned, his manner promised, that she would answer or else.
Her father had taught her that when in a contest of wills and an impasse seemed likely; turn the opponent's own questions back on him. She braced herself for a confrontation when she asked, "What do you think is the truth, Captain?"
His fingers dug into her soft flesh. Catherine refused to respond to the pain he caused her. Instead she sent him a glaring challenge.
Lucian shoved her away from him in disgust. "I think, madam, that you offer lame excuses and that you sought to satisfy your lusty hunger."
"If that is what you choose to believe then so be it."
Lucian exploded. "What I choose to believe? You flaunt yourself at me, begging me to appease your passion, telling me it has been too long since you have had pleasure, and you expect me to believe you didn't seek to find what I refused to give you? Don't insult my intelligence with such stupidity."
Her own temper flared hot. "Don't impugn my intelligence."
"You have none to impugn. If you had, you would have followed my instructions and behaved."
"Like a good little girl," she said sarcastically, recalling the times her tutor would instruct her to be a good little girl and play with her dolls.
"I doubt you were ever a good little girl."
Catherine stiffened against his insult. She had always been an extra-good girl, trying to please,
trying to learn, trying, trying, and trying until she had cried with frustration and fear. Then Randolph Abelard had entered her life and changed it completely.
A smile lit her lips. "I was daddy's little girl."
Her sweet smile and sincere words ignited a second fuse in Lucian and once again he blew up. "I should have remembered you're Abelard's daughter and, like your father, a liar and cheat."
"I refuse to debate my father's character. He is a good man no matter your opinion." She turned her back on him, her intent obvious, she would argue with him no more.
Lucian still ached for a fight. "Don't turn your back on me."
"I have nothing more to say to you," Catherine said without turning to look at him.
Lucian advanced on her with each word he spoke. "I have plenty to say to you, madam."
Catherine listened to his steady approach and prepared herself for further combat.
Bloody hell, but he was outraged. He wanted to shake her senseless and then kiss her breathless. She was playing havoc with his emotions, and what was worse, he was succumbing to her talents. He struck out at her with his words. "If you need a man, Catherine, I'll find one for you."
Catherine swerved around, her eyes rounded, her lips partially open and dewy with moisture.
Lucian felt his loins tighten and cursed his inability to control his reactions to her.
Fearing her words might be true, her response was a bare whisper. "I want no man but you, Lucian."
Her sensual confession fired his own hot passion. He fought against his emotions, fought like a man fighting for his next breath.
"Lucian," Catherine whispered again, softly innocently, achingly.
Lucian groaned and reached out for her, his hand circling her neck and drawing her to him. His mouth reached down and covered hers.
She pressed against him, opened to him, returned his passion with wild sensuality. His hand roamed her arching back, urging her closer against him. Her full breasts thrust against his chest, her small hand dipped into his open shirt, splaying her hand on his warm, muscular chest.
He anchored his leg between hers and she moaned moving against him. He felt the swell of her heat. It matched his own and he wondered why they both didn't burst into flames so torrid was their passion.
He wrapped his hand in her silky blond hair and pulled her head back slowly.
She whimpered her disappointment, he sought to appease her.
He bent his head to her breast and took her nipple into his mouth wetting the material with his tongue. She hardened against him and he teased the peaked nipple through the material, nipping, sucking, and circling until he could tolerate no more.
His teeth deftly tugged and pulled at her low neckline until it slipped down off her breast and her rosy pink nipple popped into view. His mouth gratefully captured it and feasted.
She moaned again, low and erotic. He was reminded of a purring cat that needed petting. And he certainly wanted to pet her.
His mouth remained at her breast toying and teasing. His hand moved down her back to her backside. He cupped her firm cheeks and pushed her into him as he slid his leg from between hers and planted her firmly against his hardness.
"Feel the need I have for you, angel?" he asked almost contemptuously, rubbing rhythmically against her.
She nodded her breath lost, her senses soaring.
"Do you need me, angel?' His breath was a hoarse whisper, rough and sensual.
"I — I —" She paused, searching for words. "I need —"
"Me, angel, you need me," he finished, stealing a kiss from her.
Her lips ached, her body begged, and she surrendered to the new and strange emotions that controlled her completely.
He hoisted her up to fit her against him. She slipped her legs around him. "You're ready for me, aren't you, angel?" He bit teasingly at her bottom lip.
"Yes," her answer slipped out in a ragged breath.
His fingers found their way beneath her skirt, her skin soft and warm and welcoming to his touch. He probed intimately along the inside of her thigh, feeling her heat, knowing he rested mere inches from her womanhood. His fingers moved with skill, brushing over her sensitive bud, gently separating her moist lips, breaching her slowly, pleasurable, deeply. Sinking into her tight nest and slipping into complete and utter sensual madness.
She cried out his name and dropped her head on his shoulder.
"Have you ever felt such pleasure?" he asked softly against her ear. His finger inched out and when he invaded her intimately again it was two fingers that sent her breath to catch in her throat. "Tell me, angel, tell me now," he urged with words and movement, needing to hear, needing to know that no one brought her to this pitch of passion.
Speech escaped Catherine. Reason escaped Catherine. Consequences escaped Catherine. She was irrevocably lost to his touch.
"Tell me," he urged, his voice sharp.
She shook her head, her face buried in the collar of his shirt.
"No? Let me hear you say there is no one but me who could make you ache with want, make you hot, make you wet with pleasure."
No one Catherine thought. There was no one. She was a virgin. The thought stunned her. What in the name of holy heaven was she doing? Had she completely —
She moaned involuntarily when his fingers buried so snugly inside her began an infuriatingly slow and tender rhythm.
Lost. If she didn't put an end to this madness immediately she'd be lost and lose more than her virginity. She would lose her father's life.
Why? Why did life play such dirty tricks? Why couldn't Lucian have remained in England and become the Earl of Brynwood? Why couldn't she have met him at a party? Why couldn't he have fallen in love with her? Why couldn't he have seduced her, and then married her? Why was this situation completely impossible?
Brushing her confused thoughts and wishes aside she resumed the role that would win her what was necessary, her father's freedom and her escape.
She turned her lips to his ear and whispered. "Captain, don't torture me so. It has been so long since a man has filled me."
Lucian stilled all movement. Then abruptly and with haste he released her, casting her aside, turning away from her. He walked to the door and without facing her said, "Stay put, madam, or this time you will be sorry you disobeyed me."
The cold contempt in his voice warned. Catherine didn't need to see the icy sharpness in his eyes to confirm his fury.
He slammed the door behind him and Catherine collapsed on the bed, her legs too weak to sustain her.
Lord, Catherine, whatever is the matter with you? She had no answer for the silent voice that questioned her. She didn't understand her own actions. Had the confines of their journey produced a dependency on him? Did she feel him necessary to her survival? Did she feel unsafe with him not near? Did she need him? Did she want him? Did she love him?
Her hand flew to cover her mouth as though afraid her silent thoughts would be voiced. She couldn't love him. He was a pirate, cruel and uncaring.
Not so. She closed her eyes against her private war. He possessed a soul, she was certain of it. Without a soul he could not feel such pain, such hurt, such suffering from memories from the past. He cared for his men, his ship, his revenge, and in a strange way, for her. If not, she would have long since been killed or cast off. Buried beneath his pirate veneer still lurked the Earl of Brynwood, Lucian Darcmoor. And Lucian was capable of love, strong, deep, and vibrant.
As vibrant as her need — she paused in her thought wondering if it was love instead of need for him. Her body still ached for his hands to touch her, for his lips to taste her, for his voice that urged and promised unspeakable pleasures.
If only. If only circumstances and fate had not been so cruel.
Catherine sat on the ledge by the open window, hugging her knees and staring at the night sky. A strong breeze fanned her face and rattled the outside shutters that braced the sides of the window.
She sniffed deeply of th
e rich air and mumbled, "Rain."
"What was that you said, madam?"
Catherine turned her head sharply, not having heard Lucian enter the room. He filled the doorway with his size. His eyes no longer raged with anger. And his handsome face appeared free of concern. She relaxed. "Rain. It seems like rain."
"Some tonight," he agreed and pulled his shirt from his breeches and over his head, tossing it to land on a threadbare tapestry-covered chair. "Sunshine will see us off in the morning."
"We're leaving Tortuga?" she asked anxiously, and wondered with further anxiety of their next destination.
"My business is complete," he said, and added sternly, "No more questions. Go to bed. We rise early tomorrow."
Sleep was the furthest thing from Catherine's mind. "I'm not tired."
Lucian sat on his shirt on the chair, yanking off his boots. "Did I ask you if you were tired?"
She didn't favor another altercation so she answered simply, "No."
"Then get into bed," he ordered, and stood to strip off his breeches.
Catherine had seen him naked often enough, but tonight his nakedness disturbed her. His broad shoulders promised protection, his full chest thick with muscles offered comfort for her weary head, and his large manhood —
She cast her glance out the window away from what his body could offer her.
"Catherine," he called out to her softly.
She turned reluctantly and he stood closer, though not too close. She kept her eyes focused on his face.
"You need your sleep. It has been a long and tiring day."
"I'm not tired," she insisted, fearing to share a bed with him while feeling so emotionally uncertain.
“Catherine," he tried again.
A strong shake of her head stopped him as he advanced on her and her urgent plea struck his heart. "Please, Lucian."
He understood her reluctance for he experienced the same misgivings. If he crawled in bed with her this night, his plans would be ruined, his revenge unattainable.
"As you wish, madam," he relented, and walked over to the bed and climbed beneath the covers. He turned on his side away from her and forced himself to sleep.
The Buccaneer Page 15