Fortune's Flames

by Janelle Taylor

  “What if they attack and steal the gold?” she asked worriedly.

  “They can’t know about it, so don’t let them bully you into revealing anything. The crew doesn’t want to be impressed, so they won’t breathe a word. Canton and I can talk us out of trouble if you keep your head.”

  Eric left her alone with Horben Wolfe who was preparing to place the “correct” papers on the captain’s desk and to conceal the others. Maren hurried to the mullioned porthole and gazed at the ship which was rapidly increasing in size. As it bore down on the Martha J, it looked as if it were going to sail right into them! Envisioning prison, Maren swallowed hard and her heart drummed in panic.

  “Don’t be afraid, Miss Maren,” Horben said. “We’ll protect you. Just keep a clear head on your shoulders and we’ll be fine. Eric claims you’re smart, so here’s your chance to prove he’s right.”

  “Why didn’t we run or fight?” she asked. “If Eric’s ruse fails, we could be captured or sunk. We can’t lose that gold to them.”

  Horben shook his flaming head. “No way to leave that ship behind. She looks like a privateer; they’re about the fastest and deadliest ships on the sea. Don’t worry; Eric can outsmart anyone.”

  Maren glanced at the brawny man and wished his eyes were not so disconcerting. They made her flesh crawl, and she felt an urge to race out of the cabin into the warm sunlight. From Horben’s expression, he realized the effect he was having on her and it troubled him.

  Eric returned briefly and informed them, “She’s flying a French flag, Ben, and so are we. French, Maren,” he stressed.

  She nodded. When the two men left, she closed the door, but did not bolt it. Realizing that she was fingering the costly necklace, Maren unfastened it and glanced about for a hiding place. Time was short and the cabin might be searched, so she stuffed the jewels into her bosom. She wondered why Eric had been too nervous to remember the costly item and to hide it. Obviously, she decided, his thoughts were on the hidden gold. She waited apprehensively, wishing she were topside to view this confrontation and to observe her cousin’s strategy.

  Maren gasped and whirled as the door was roughly thrown open and a powerfully built man entered the cabin. Her golden brown eyes enlarged as they took in his light brown hair streaked by the sun and his eyes, nearly the same color as hers but tawnier. His skin was darkly tanned from years beneath the golden sun and he was handsome. His six-foot frame was clad in snug black breeches and a white linen shirt, and his vivid masculinity took her breath away. She stared at him as an astonished look came to his tawny eyes. Then his gaze roved over her from head to red-slippered feet, leisurely and appreciatively. She warmed.

  “Who might you be, fair lady?” he asked in a rich, mellow tone which teased over her sensitive nerves.

  As he approached, Maren leaned against the ship’s hull to steady her weakened knees. Her dry lips made it difficult to answer him, and her own gaze drifted down to the expanse of hairy chest revealed by his open shirt. This bronzed man stunned her, and she could not reply.

  The privateer halted before her, his gaze slowly raking over her once more. “Relax, fair maiden. Since you aren’t British, there’s no need to be afraid,” he murmured. “Who are you and where are you heading?”

  Maren cautioned herself to avoid the slight British accent she had picked up after being in London for so long. “Maren Slade. We’re sailing to… Martinique to pick up spices and such.” She knew she had hesitated while recalling the proper story. It was hard not to do so with him staring into her upturned face. He was so distracting, so intoxicatingly close. She tried to cover her near slip by saying, “You startled me when you burst in. The door wasn’t locked.”

  “Why not?” he asked unexpectedly. “You’re a treasure to guard.”

  Maren flushed slightly and she almost smiled at him, since he was grinning most compellingly at her. “You would only break it down for no reason. We have nothing to hide or fear. Even if you are an enemy ship, most men of the sea do not harm innocent women. Isn’t that right?” she inquired apprehensively.

  He half turned and ordered, “Check the logbook and papers, Kip, while I search the cabin.”

  Maren glanced at the other man whom she had not noticed until now. He looked to be in his late twenties, like the man before her. His hair was night black and his eyes were a playful blue. He grinned, then lifted the logbook and read it silently.

  Maren observed the intrusive captain as he searched the cabin. When he knelt by her trunks to go through them, she made sure she did not glance in the direction of the hidden panel. She then approached him and began to straighten her possessions and repack each trunk he had rummaged through. “You’re ruining my clothing. Why don’t you just tell me what you want—or let me help you search?”

  His gaze met hers. “Sorry, ma’am, but there are spies and traitors everywhere. I wouldn’t put it past those determined Brits to beguile us with a ravishing spy, so I must examine every inch of this cabin for evidence.”

  “But you’re a privateer, no more than a pirate. Why would you be interested in spies and traitors?” she inquired as she refolded and replaced her belongings. She cautioned herself to be alert, but it was hard work with this particular man. Something about his manner and voice told her to be wary of him, but his chuckles and smiles flowed over her like entrancing water, disarming her.

  “It was only a jest. I’m looking for jewels and money. You have very little for a woman with such a lovely wardrobe,” he remarked as he dangled a bag of money and a pouch of jewels in her face.

  Maren instinctively tried to snatch them from his grasp, but as he jerked them out of her reach, she fell against his hard body, sending them both to the deck, where he seized her. “Release me, you pirate,” she demanded, aware of how her body trembled in his grasp.

  Without moving or looking away, the handsome captain asked his first mate, “Anything of interest there, Kip?”

  “Just what the captain told us,” Kerry Osgood replied. “The proper French registry, cargo manifests, and bills of landing.”

  Maren’s captor mulled over that information before ordering, “Help the men search the entire ship. I’ll join you on deck.”

  “Aye, Captain Hawk,” Kerry responded. Then he left, closing the door.

  Maren stared past her captor’s strong arm, at the door, and her respiration became noticeably erratic. He had not released her, and his manly smell filled her nostrils, teasing her susceptible senses. Slowly her gaze lifted to meet “Captain Hawk’s.” He was looking at her oddly, but Maren was certain he did not remember her. After all, it had been five years since she had seen Jared Morgan and had fallen madly in love with him. Nonetheless, that meeting remained vivid in her memory, and he still affected her in that same overwhelming way.

  She had first seen him on her fifteenth birthday at the wharf in New Orleans. To accompany her father on his export business, she had dressed as a boy, stuffing her long hair into a skullcap. When her father was busy, she had snooped around. As ill fortune would have it, she had been sighted by some rough sailors who wanted to have fun with an overly inquisitive green lad. While fleeing them, she had bumped headlong into a broad chest, and powerful arms and hands had halted her escape. She had fought like a wild animal until her captor had subdued her with the strength of his body and voice. Finally glancing up at the tall man who was unlike her crude pursuers, Maren had felt her heart leap wildly. When he’d questioned her about her problem, it had taken a while for his words to penetrate her dazed mind.

  Suddenly she had realized how terrible she looked, how unfeminine, how ridiculous, how dirty from her explorations. She had wanted to flee the man, yet had also wanted to remain near him. To do so, she had continued to pretend to be a young lad. Jared Morgan had been generous with his time and money that day. He had purchased her lunch and had talked with her; no doubt he had believed her to be a poor wharf rat in need of food and affection.

  Jared, twenty-three at tha
t time, had been in port on business for his family in Savannah. Clearly he was an adventurer and a devilish rogue. Maren had been fascinated by him, and by the emotions he had unleashed in her blossoming body and her tender heart. She had fumed each time a woman had flirted with him, and for days afterward, she had sneaked away from her father’s warehouse to trail him, to spy on him, and to spend time with him. On the day he had left New Orleans, she had sneaked from her father’s office, dressed in her loveliest outfit. Knowing Jared’s routine, she had accidentally bumped into him. He had not recognized her, and when he had smiled and queried her about any injuries, he had treated her like a child.

  Consumed with love for him, Maren had flirted openly and boldly as she had seen other women do, whereupon Jared had grinned knowingly, amused and flattered by her smitten heart. Maren had realized she was being daring, but she could not stop herself. To let her down gently, he had purchased a nosegay from a street vendor, which she had later dried and placed in a small chest. Then Jared had walked out of her life to board his ship. Shamelessly she had observed him until he was out of sight, even waving goodbye twice. How foolish she must have seemed to the grown man who had so kindly returned her farewell gestures.

  From a distance, she had seen Jared again during the spring of 1811, when she was seventeen. But he had left town before she could devise a way to get into his path once more. At twenty-five, he had been even more handsome and compelling, and from that day onward, Jared had filled Maren’s fantasies and dreams.

  Now he was sitting on the floor, inches away from her, talking to her, touching her. As if her body thirsted for his, she greedily drank in the vision of him. He was not yet thirty, but his good looks and desirability had only increased. Still, he was a pirate who was robbing her and this ship. Like Daniel Redford, this man had changed immensely.

  Jared was aroused by the way this beautiful woman was looking at him. He had never taken a female captive before, but there was a first time for everything, he thought. A mischievous grin tugged at his lips and an amused glint brightened his whiskey-colored eyes.

  Chapter Two

  Jared ordered himself to abandon such a foolish idea. His country was at war, and he was raiding a suspicious ship which he doubted was French. Each day he had important work to do, many dangers to confront. His life did not allow him to have a woman at his side. Besides, he wasn’t a pirate, only a privateer. Breaking the dreamy aura in the cabin and hoping to catch this ravishing woman off guard, he asked, “Did you see Napoleon during your visit to France?”

  “Did I do what?” Maren asked confusedly.

  To test this ravishing intrigante’s knowledge, he said, “Everyone knows Bonaparte abdicated in early April. Did you get to meet him or visit him? Surely he would receive such a lovely guest in his country.”

  Maren gazed at him oddly. “Everyone also knows that Bonaparte is in exile on Elba, which every sailor should know is off the coast of Italy, not France. Besides, whyever would Napoleon want to meet me?”

  He eyed her appreciatively and grinned. “I would imagine that any man in his right mind would want to meet you. Maren, wasn’t it?”

  “Yes,” she answered, trying to grasp his mood and meaning.

  “You sound American. Why are you flying a French flag?”

  “Perhaps for the same reason you’re flying one, Captain Hawk. I know little of ships and business. I’m only a passenger. Why don’t you ask Captain Canton to explain such matters?”

  Jared’s steady gaze did not reveal his skepticism and curiosity. “But you are American, aren’t you?” he persisted.

  “Yes, from New Orleans. If I’m not mistaken, your accent is also Southern, perhaps Georgian,” she said, knowing it was not a guess.

  “You’re very alert and intelligent, Maren. Maren…That’s an unusual name, yet it sounds vaguely familiar.” His keen gaze studied her for a moment. Her hair was a becoming shade of dark brown, and her eyes, the color of aged brandy, were lively. He liked the way her brows arched over those expressive eyes, the way her nose turned ever so slightly upward. Her unmarred complexion appeared to be kissed by the sun; yet, it was obvious the sun had had nothing to do with its hue. She was so warm and responsive, unafraid to reveal her attraction to him, yet she was bold and brave, not wanton or coy or vain. He liked her openness and poise. His eyes settled on her lips. “Familiar, Maren, but I’m certain we’ve never met. I would definitely remember a woman like you.”

  “And I would definitely remember a man like you,” she replied. Maren was too ensnared by him to realize she was forgetting herself; she was forgetting she knew this man, but he did not recall her or realize why she was behaving this way. She was thrilled and titillated by the way he was treating her. Her passions blazed, her body tingled, and her cheeks glowed. She wanted to make him feel the same way she did, wanted him to wish to see more of her.

  Jared knew this ravishing creature was getting to him, and he wondered how she could move him so easily and so quickly. This desire he felt was unlike any hunger he had experienced before. It was inexplicable, but it seemed he had known her for years, had waited for her for years. She conjured up visions of lazy days beneath the tropical sun, her in his arms. Why did she make such a curious and powerful impression on him? He had to see her again, and often. He had to possess her fully. “When do you expect to be back in New Orleans?”

  “Why?” she asked, as she tried to decide what, if anything, to tell him. Her heart began to drum in panic and wariness. Eric had ordered her to tell their attacker they were heading for Martinique, but she wanted Jared to know where and when to locate her. What if she told Jared she was heading to New Orleans afterward, but had Eric told him something different? After all, Jared was Captain Hawk today, but she did not know what else he had become over the years. If only he weren’t so disarming and this encounter weren’t so brief…

  Jared read her hesitation, her alarm, her desire for him. “I would like to see you on my next visit, if you’re agreeable. I may be a devil at sea, but I promise I’m an angel ashore,” he teased, fingering her lips. “Surely you realize there’s a powerful current between us. It should be studied and enjoyed.”

  Before Maren could respond, Jared opened her last trunk, the one containing her trousseau. She did not want to explain Daniel’s death or to expose her sojourn in London. Quickly she pleaded, “Please, Captain Hawk, don’t damage them with dirty hands. I swear there is no money or jewels in this one. Let me lift the gowns out and shake each one for you. This was my mother’s wedding gown, so it’s very special to me.”

  To eye her ring finger, Jared lifted her left hand and kissed it. He was pleased when he discovered it bare. “I see no need to search this trunk. Relax, Maren,” he told her.

  “You are most kind. Do you have a name besides Captain Hawk? From what I’ve heard, pirates rarely use their real names.”

  He avoided answering by asking her another question, “Why are you aboard this ship, Maren? Wartime makes for dangerous travel.”

  She tried to reply without using her cousin’s false tale that she was married. If Jared had questioned the men above, he knew who James Slade was. Yet, he certainly did not behave as if he had been told she was James’s wife. If she was lucky, no one had mentioned it to him. “James is considering the purchase of this ship, so he’s aboard to check out her value and the crew’s expertise. Until now, we haven’t had any trouble. Is this what you do all the time, attack and rob helpless ships?”

  Jared smiled and ran his fingers through her silky brown hair. “I haven’t killed a single man aboard, Maren, and I don’t plan to do so. I only raid enemy ships, so I have to make certain yours is truly French. Are those papers real ones?” he asked, motioning to the desk.

  She could not endanger the lives of others or risk playing dumb, so she cleverly alleged, “I have no way of knowing, Captain Hawk, but I assume Captain Canton is an honest man. He’s been nothing but kind and polite to me since I came aboard. He insisted I
use his cabin, but I cannot say what he does while I am strolling the deck. I was visiting France when the war began and couldn’t get home because of the blockade. James picked me up on this voyage. As soon as Captain Canton handles his business and it’s safe, he’s taking us home to New Orleans. I’m afraid that’s all I know.” Maren wondered if her deceit was noticeable.

  Yes, Jared suspected her of lying, but he did not want to force the matter for he believed she had good reason to fear a pirate or a Britisher in disguise. He assumed Maren Slade was the sister of James Slade, the blond man he had met on deck. She had repeated the same tale Slade had told, yet…If he proved she was lying, by choice or by order, and this was an enemy ship, he would be forced to scuttle it and take her captive. Although that was a tempting course of action, he refrained from taking it. The best thing to do would be to sail in the Martha J’s shadow for a few days.

  Without warning, Jared leaned forward and sensuously sealed Maren’s lips. When she did not resist him, his tongue eagerly explored her mouth. He felt her tremble and press closer to his body. She smelled wonderful, and his senses spun wildly at her nearness. He guided her to the floor and lay half atop her as his mouth conquered hers.

  Maren clasped his head, pressed his lips more tightly to hers. It was exciting to be in his arms and to have his full attention. His mouth claimed hers skillfully, tantalizingly, mind-dazingly. As a fierce desire for him flamed within her heart, her body yearned to fuse with his. It had been her good fortune to cross his path again today, and she intended to take advantage of her altered fate. Her fingers roved over his sun-streaked brown hair, and they itched to roam over his entire body.