“I’m going back to my ship. I need a boat.”
“And Maddie?”
“She’s staying aboard with you. I’ll send over her belongings in the morning.”
“I’ll fetch Eddie and Quincy.”
“Why?”
“They’re going back to the Nemesis with you.”
He growled, “I don’t need nursemaids.”
“But you need a boat.”
In other words, ‘take the fledglings or swim back to the Nemesis.’ Though tempted to jump ship as suggested, William gritted, “Fine.”
James left to make the arrangements.
William inhaled the salty air and shut his eyes, still fighting to keep the anguish in his breast from bursting through his ribs. When a feminine hand brushed his lower back and a head propped on his shoulder, he sighed.
“I’m still angry with you, you know?”
William opened his eyes and kissed the top of his sister’s golden head. She mirrored their mother with her blonde locks and umber eyes, while the rest of them resembled their father: black tresses and sea blue eyes.
“I’m sorry, Belle.”
She sniffed and parted from him. “Is everything all right between you and Maddie?”
“No.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” She removed a thin chain from her neck, a gold ring at the end. She held the chain straight until the bauble tumbled into her hand. “I want you to have this, Will.”
He recognized the ring. It had belonged to their father. “But he gave it to you for your twentieth year.” She cherished the ring. Wore it always.
“And I’m giving it to you on your wedding day. For luck.”
He accepted the gift with uneasy gratitude, fingering the bauble: a man’s ring with a winged hourglass for an emblem, a pirate’s ring warning time was getting away. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
She walked away then.
William curled his palm around the ring, feeling time flying away . . . but there was nothing he could do to stop it, much less turn it around.
CHAPTER 16
William entered his cabin and slammed the door behind him. He’d come aboard the Nemesis with Quincy, Edmund and a few of his tars who’d been present at the wedding. The other sailors had remained onboard to guard the ship and keep it on course.
William now regretted inviting even a few of his men, for they’d witnessed his return to ship without his wife. He’d made it clear to them she was staying aboard the Bonny Meg with the rest of the women for reasons of safety, as they were about to embark on the raid of the pirate camp, and while the excuse was wholly sound, he couldn’t explain the early departure from the Bonny Meg—before the wedding night was over. He had remained silent on that matter, and the wise sailors knew not to make any remarks.
The moment William was inside the privacy of his quarters, he thrashed what was left of the table and chair, reducing the furniture to splinters.
His energy spent, he dropped on the edge of the bed and stared at the ring on his middle finger, his father’s ring. He could suddenly hear the sands of time passing through the hourglass of his life, and the noise grated on his ears.
He had never been so aware of his mortality, not even in the heat of battle or when he’d struggled to survive after being shot. He was more aware of it than ever before because of Maddie, because of the time he wouldn’t have to be with her—or their child. If she was pregnant, the babe would grow up without any memory of him, without any essence he’d had a father.
William knew his brothers would step in and help raise the boy into a man. If a daughter was born, there would be plenty of uncles to protect her from harm, like fortunes hunters.
But he fisted his hands at the thought of others doing his duty, and not just because it was his duty, but because he wanted to be there for his family.
William suddenly wondered why his sister had given him the ring: to torture him? He knew she still resented him for leaving England without revealing the truth about his illness, for wanting to perish off shore without saying a proper farewell.
He tugged on the ring, but the damned thing was wedged firmly on his finger. He twisted and yanked it without success, then finally realized there was only one way to remove it: chop off his finger.
A pert voice then suggested, “Try butter.”
William glared at the impudent tar with his scruffy knee breeches and wrinkled shirt. A cap concealed his tousled hair, the brim low, covering his eyes.
For a moment, William was stunned by the boy’s audacity at entering the captain’s cabin without knocking, much less waiting for an invitation, but he quickly replaced his confusion with rage and bounded to feet, prepared to toss the boy into the brig for his insolence.
But before William scruffed the him, the lad removed his cap and long ginger locks tumbled over his—her—shoulders.
Maddie.
He staggered backward. She looked like an urchin. What was she doing in his room? How had she come aboard ship?”
As the flurry of thoughts distracted him, she closed the space between them—and slapped him.
“That was for taking so long to tell me the truth.” She smacked his other cheek. “And that was for ruining my wedding night.”
After she’d released her upset, she kicked about the pieces of broken furniture. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner, William?”
“I never intended to marry you.”
“What?”
“When I first met you,” he clarified. “I intended to rescue your grandfather and send you both home to England with the letter to my sister.”
“The letter mentioned your father’s illness.”
A stiff nod.
“And you’re sick? Like him?”
“Aye.”
“I see.” She then crossed her arms over her chest and glared at him. “Well?”
His cheeks still smarting, his ears still ringing, he wondered, bemused, “Well what?”
“What are you going to do to make it up to me?”
“Maddie—”
“I’ll tell you what you’re going to do.” She huffed. “First, I want my wedding night—and it’d better be an attentive one. Second, I want a child. In that order,” she emphasized.
He was still too dazed to breathe, much less respond.
“How?” he finally rasped. “How did you get on board the Nemesis?”
“Do you like the disguise?” She stretched the breeches at the hips, much too large for her figure and tied with rope. “Quincy and Eddie helped me fashion it, then bundled me into the row boat.”
“Why the hell would they do that?”
Had his younger brothers accosted her? Forced her aboard his ship, trying to make things right between the newlyweds? It was just the sort of asinine—
“Because I asked them to,” she quipped.
His breath hitched. “What?”
“Your sister was kind enough to pin my hair beneath the cap. She’s rather good at making a woman look like a man.”
“They all know?”
“That I came aboard the Nemesis? Aye, so don’t fret. No one thinks I’m missing, that I had an accident and fell overboard.”
“Why?” was his next query; the hardest question he’d ever asked her. After dropping the letter on the ground and grinding it with her heel, she had made her sentiments toward him clear—she loathed him.
“Because I want to be with you,” she said softly.
“Then why stow away? Why not just come to me?”
“I knew you were angry with me.”
“No.” He shook his head, resisting the temptation to believe her. “You left the room without a look or a word. You left.”
“I was overwhelmed.”
“You stomped on the letter.”
“I wasn’t watching my step. I just wanted to run away from the truth. But I couldn’t run away from it . . . I love you, William.”
He had never heard those
words from a woman not his kin. He had never opened his heart to any woman, and if he was honest, not even Maddie, for she’d reached into his chest and stolen his heart. He couldn’t breathe after her declaration.
She nestled against him, pressing her body into his, molding herself to him—and setting his blood on fire.
“I want to be with you, however much time remains. And I want a child—your child.” Her voice cracked. “If you can’t be with me forever, I want a part of you with me always.”
William remained stone hard, resisting the reckless proposal, then he remembered his father’s ring and its meaning: time getting away. And he realized his sister hadn’t given him the ring to torment him, but to remind him time was precious. He should spend it wisely. He should spend it in love.
A peace settled over him, and he curled his fingers around the back of his wife’s neck, pulling her in for a tender kiss.
He tasted the briny tears on her lips, and his primal instincts were aroused: to protect her, to take away her pain, and to make her happy.
CHAPTER 17
The moment her husband bussed her lips, the world righted itself. How strange that a single kiss had the power to raise broken dreams, heal wounds, and chase away dark shadows. One. Pure. Kiss.
Another miracle, Madeline thought, as he drew her deeper into his embrace, threading his fingers through her mussed hair, caressing her mouth with slow and deliberate thrusts. So attentive.
She relished the sensuous feel of him. Her blood warmed, then simmered. Her skin prickled, then shivered.
A steamy hand soon dipped under her shirt and played across the knobs of her spine, feathery strokes, so teasing, yet so full of sensual intent. She shuddered, over and over. Her heart hastened. She clinched his arms, holding him tight, then tighter still . . . like a storm brewing in the distance.
“Lift your arms,” he bade, his hot lips still brushing hers.
Her lungs quickened. She eased her grip on his arms. Gently, he hoisted the shirt over her head. Her hair rained across her backside. Her breasts swelled in the heady night air. Her nipples puckered, lengthened with want.
Another buss, more firm, stirred a soft moan from her throat. His strong hands went to her hips, unfastened the rope at her waist. The trousers dropped to the floor with ease, and she kicked them aside. Naked. Throbbing. Waiting.
He removed his own shirt and vest, more hastily than he’d tended to hers. He almost ripped the red scarf from his neck. But when he reached for his trousers, she stopped him, enveloped his hands and set them aside, fingering the buttons herself . . .
As she tugged and pulled, unhooking one button, then another, she sensed the man’s taut muscles vibrating, every titillating hum, and it stoked her own desire even more.
He growled at her slow progress. “You must really be pissed at me.”
She smiled inward.
“It’s my wedding night,” she whispered, nipping his chin with her teeth. “I intend to enjoy every moment of it—so keep still.”
His muscles hardened.
“Better,” she murmured.
As she loosened the final button, parting the flap, she gathered her breath, quivering, and slipped her hand across his hard length.
“Maddie!” he cried and dropped his head back in ecstasy. Or perhaps surprise. Or both. But the way he shouted her name, as if it were torn from his throat, thrilled her.
She raked her bottom lip with her teeth, dazed by her own bold gesture. She cusped his erection, tracing the thick veins of his cock, rubbing him with a primal impulse that defied all her good breeding—and good sense. Tempting a man like William would get her a rough bedding, not a tender one. But she clasped him just the same. And her control over him was more tasty than breath.
She pressed her breasts, so aroused, into his chest, and ordered, “Take off your pants.”
His eyes lighted on her again, almost black with lust, and her heart spasmed. He stripped off his trousers and together, bare fleshed, they stood in each other’s presence for a tense moment . . . before he steered her toward the bed.
Her nerves thrummed in expectation as they tumbled onto the mattress. He covered her with his hot body, captured her mouth in a ravenous kiss, and wrapped a muscular arm around her waist. She tasted the salty spray of the sea on his skin, felt his muscles jump and caper under her explorative touch. She hungered for him. So deep in her soul.
He rolled her on her side in a swift movement, and she offered a startled gasp. Her unruly hair whirled and landed across his face, where he buried his lips against the back of her throat.
“William!”
He ignored her entreaty, wedged his leg between her moist thighs. Her heart thundered at the uncompromising position he’d placed her in, her back caged against his chest. But when his wicked hand grazed the length of her torso, slipping between her flushed breasts, across her taut midriff, and over her pulsing clit, she seized in pleasure.
“William,” she groaned in surrender this time.
She thought she heard a grunt of satisfaction, but her thoughts soon disbanded as he lifted her thigh higher, opened her quim wider—and pushed inside her with a hard thrust, stretching her, making her arch in a maelstrom of unfamiliar sensations. She squeezed her muscles, but his raspy voice tickled her ear with, “Trust me, Maddie.”
At his comforting words, she eased her flexed tendons and joints and settled against him. He rocked her. So slow at first. It took her several moments to respond to his rhythm and match his tempo, but soon she undulated in blissful harmony with him, unleashing soft whimpers as he pounded her core with ever deeper, ever quicker penetrations.
“Yes,” she cried. “Yes!”
She gasped with every rutting stroke, her quim trembling, so wet with need. The tense pressure building at her clit released, and she let out a passionate scream. Her muscles throbbed. Fluids streaked her thighs, draining her of strength.
William rammed her hard, seeking his own orgasm, bumping her hips in frantic strokes before he spasmed inside her with a feral groan.
The couple stilled.
Madeline gathered her pulse and steadied her heartbeat, offering a euphoric sigh, and a little voice inside her told her he’d given her everything that she’d wanted—even a child.
She smiled in a dreamy fashion. “A good bedding is very troublesome. It takes so much effort.”
The husky chuckle at her backside quickly evolved into hearty laughter. “Hell, woman. Was that a complaint?”
“A compliment,” she assured him, still catching her breath.
He rolled her again, bringing her flush with his handsome features. He pushed aside her tousled hair and bussed her lips. “I love you, Wife.”
Her heart fluttered. “And I you, Husband.”
His lashes flickered. She sensed his drowsiness. But she wasn’t about to let their wedding night end so soon.
She nudged his nose, grazed his cheek with her fingertips. “Tell me about your past, William?”
“Now?”
“Yes, now. I want to know everything about my husband.”
It might have been wiser to learn more about the man before she’d married him, but most newlyweds knew even less about one another, their courtships public or supervised by chaperones.
“There isn’t much to tell,” he hedged.
“Your sister married a duke. You sailed the seven seas for twenty-five years. And there isn’t much to tell?”
In truth, she wanted to hear about his life. She wanted to know every detail about the man, to treasure his tales and, one day, to pass them on to their child.
He smoothed the frown lines from her brow with the pad of his thumb. “Fine.”
At his warm caress, she balled up the pillow, resisting the swell of emotion in her breast, and listened.
“Once upon a time—”
“Stop.” she sighed. “What are you doing?”
“I’m telling you a fairy story.” He tucked his muscular arm under the p
illow. “My sister married a duke, after all.”
“I’d like an honest tale.”
“No embellishments?”
“If you please, luv.”
He offered her a smoldering look at the sassy endearment, and it warmed her unlike any blanket or fire. She savored the warmth and waited. And waited.
Her husband wasn’t much of a conversationalist, it seemed. A good listener, aye, but otherwise not one for chitchat, so she prodded, “How was your boyhood?”
“Fine.”
She rolled her eyes.
“James and I were content,” he said at last. “Our father, Drake, worked as a carpenter. He made a good income and we wanted for naught. Our mother, Megan, dotted on us. We were lucky . . . for a time.”
“What happened?”
“One night, Father didn’t come home. Twelve years passed before we saw him again.”
She gasped. Twelve years! “Where had he been all that time?”
He seemed perturbed, and she offered him a moment to reflect, to regain his composure before he resumed with:
“He’d been abducted by a press gang and forced to serve aboard a naval vessel.”
Madeline fisted her palm and brought it to her lips. She had heard about such injustice during the eighteenth century, when The Royal Navy was desperate for sailors. Few enlisted voluntarily because of poor pay and even poorer treatment, so press gangs were hired to kidnap young and healthy men and drag them aboard ships.
“For ten years,” said William, “Father remained imprisoned, malnourished and mistreated.”
“And the last two years?” she whispered.
“The naval vessel was attacked by pirates, raided for supplies. But before the pirates returned to their own rig, their captain, Dawson, offered the weary sailors an opportunity to join his crew—and Father accepted. He turned traitor.”
“I understand.” After a decade at sea, away from his family, abused . . . it was enough hardship to turn any man traitor. “So your father was a pirate for two years?”
“Aye. He and Dawson became friends. My father was quick with a mallet and nail, repaired the ship after every battle. It earned him a place in Dawson’s good book. The pirate captain even gave my father this ring.”
How to Steal a Pirate's Heart (The Hawkins Brothers Series) Page 9