When he closed her fist around the coins, he immediately regretted it: Sofia’s face clouded over, and it didn’t take a ship’s captain to recognize stormy seas. Her lips, still pink from their kisses, tightened into a line.
“How dare you pay me like a—a whore?” she growled. And before he could reply, Sofia stalked across the lawn—right out in the open moonlight, where anyone at a window could see her.
Damon sighed tiredly. He hadn’t intended to offend her, but perhaps it was best. No sense in having a hot-blooded wench cavorting in his wicked imagination during these weeks at sea. No sense in giving her any inkling that he’d leave his post—or relieve Sofia of hers—as they escorted the Havisham brides across the Atlantic.
Because he was the captain, and he said so, dammit!
3
“M ama! Mama, wake up!” Sofia whispered, although her mother was no more asleep than she was. “We’ve had a change of plans!”
Mama gripped her hand. She glanced around to be sure no one else in the darkened maids’ quarters followed their conversation. “You’re not going to America?” she whispered gleefully.
“You’re going! In my place! I’ve left room for your things in my trunk—but not a word to anyone!” she insisted against her mother’s ear. “Just play along! When the Havishams ask, you have no idea where I’ve gone!”
Sofia padded out of the low-ceilinged room before Mama’s questions awoke the rest of the help. She grabbed the clothing she’d bundled into her sheet, and when she reached the bottom of the back stairs, she put her shoes on. A square of light on the lawn told her Daphne was still awake, bemoaning her maidenly fate, so Sofia kept to the shadows. As she stepped between the hedgerows to the street, her thoughts of Damon Delacroix reminded her to be bold—downright brazen! If he thought he could buy her off—
“Sir! Could you take me to the piers, please?” she called to the driver of a passing wagon. His crates of clucking chickens meant he had business to attend to—but so did she. She tossed a coin onto the seat and scrambled up over the wheel before he could refuse her.
“I’m to prepare quarters aboard the Lady Constance before the Havisham girls arrive, and I’ve overslept!” she declared. “They’re going to America, you see, to wed Lord Havisham’s partners in New York!”
The old codger’s hand snaked toward the coin. “And how’s the likes of you throwin’ this silver around, eh?” he grunted.
“Never you mind.” Sofia leaned toward him with a scowl. “We’d best be getting ourselves along, or you’ll lose your stall at the market. The missus won’t be happy about that, now, will she?”
A lopsided back wheel jostled them all the way to the waterfront, yet Sophia didn’t care. While she’d been excited about escorting the girls to America, her plans were far grander now. As they approached the piers, where dozens of tall masts bobbed like skeletons against the gray sky, her heart thundered.
What if she couldn’t find Captain Delacroix’s ship? She’d helped Lord Havisham prepare new ships for his more prestigious customers, but in this darkness before dawn, one large, bobbing vessel looked much like the ones moored on either side of it.
“This’ll do, thanks.” Sofia hopped from the wagon with her bundle beneath her arm, praying her instincts—and her nerve—didn’t fail her. There was no turning back. No alternate plan if her audacious idea backfired—or if she got left behind because she’d come to the wrong part of the harbor.
Sofia slipped into the shadows to get her bearings…accustomed her nose to the stench of dead fish and salt air as she tuned her ears to the male voices around her. At this hour, stevedores and sailors grunted beneath the cargo they carted up the gangplanks, their faces slick with sweat in the light from the flickering lanterns. If she weren’t careful, they’d mistake her for a loose woman come hunting.
But she’d survived that slight already, hadn’t she? Sofia squeezed the cool, hard coins in her skirt pocket and walked slowly along the boarded piers, craning to read the names painted on the ships’ bows. These huge, hulking vessels, stretched as far as she could see along the docks, made her feel small and inconsequential. And the farther she walked, the lower her heart sank. Was that the first hint of dawn lighting the horizon?
By now, the Havisham household would be in an uproar as Daphne and Beatrix wailed their final good-byes—and maybe whined because their abigail was nowhere to be found. These fleeting images gave Sofia no pleasure, however. If she didn’t find the Lady Constance soon, the opportunity of a lifetime would sail away without her—not to mention Damon Delacroix. And by the saints, she wasn’t nearly finished with him!
Raucous laughter made her duck behind a lamppost: the last thing she needed was to be knocked into the water by a drunken sailor. As Sofia squinted into the shadows of the nearest ship, however, she spied familiar dark hair and heard an all-too-alluring voice.
“We’ll make our fortunes, partner! Havisham’s loaded his ship to the gills, with the idea that he—and we—are to profit hugely from this voyage!” Captain Delacroix wore a wicked grin in the flickering lantern light, and the man to whom he spoke laughed loudly again.
“It’s time for a rendezvous with Teach, then. Shall we set our course for America, by way of New Providence?”
This fellow wasn’t as tall as Delacroix, but his smile and catlike grace showed the same lust for life she’d felt in Damon. This must be the Morgan O’Roark he’d mentioned to Lord Havisham…a man she’d do well to watch—and not just because he was every bit as dashing and handsome as Delacroix.
“That’s what we’ll do, yes!” Damon replied. “I hope you got your fill of good food and female company tonight, as we’ll be a long time without such luxuries.”
“Two of ’em at once—and they provided the meal and the bottle!” O’Roark crowed. “I can’t imagine you fared as well at Havisham’s unless his wife availed herself?”
“Ha! Lady Constance is almost as enticing as her ship’s wooden figurehead. But I did take my pleasure with a vixen serving girl who gave the name Blackbeard a whole new meaning!”
“Did she, now? You must fill me in over our next drink!”
Delacroix glanced around the piers, grinning. “I recall a bottle of fine brandy in your cabin, Morgan. Shall we toast our success before those simpering Havisham girls arrive? You’ll be damn glad they’re sailing with Ned Cavendish instead of on board the Odalisque.”
“Let’s drink to Blackbeard, then! Wherever he—or she!—may be found!”
You do that, gentlemen. Sofia watched the two laughing captains saunter along the boardwalk and then followed them in the shadows of the ships. When they started up a gangplank, she craned her neck to read the vessel’s name. If this was O’Roark’s ship, the Odalisque, then Captain Delacroix’s vessel, the Courtesan, had to be nearby!
Sure enough, the Lady Constance swayed gently in the next slip, and when Sofia saw the bold red and black lettering on the Courtesan, she tucked her bundle higher beneath her arm. Her first impulse was to duck her head and dodge any questions from the bustling crew—but, then, they needed to know who she was! Who they were dealing with!
“Ahoy there, miss! Can’t came aboard this ship, on account of—”
Sofia arched an eyebrow at the grizzled old sailor and then sidestepped the tobacco juice he spat. “I’m inspecting, on behalf of Lord Havisham himself!” she announced. “I’m to see that all is clean and proper aboard the two ships escorting his daughters to America—to report any irregularities before you set sail! And what might your name be, sir?”
“Never you mind,” he muttered. He let fly with another stream of muck, deciding if he believed her. “How ’bout you carry on with your job, and I’ll do mine, eh?”
“A wise choice. As you were, sir.” Sofia watched him walk away with the uneven limp and the thunk…ka-thunk of his peg leg. Then she strolled purposefully toward the stern. Unless Delacroix’s ship was different from the Havisham vessel, the captain’s quarters were bene
ath the quarterdeck.
And as she approached, Sofia could hardly believe her luck! Not a soul was in sight! Sailors’ voices echoed in the hold below, but all hands on the deck were busy loading near the bow.
Chuckling, Sofia padded down the steps and opened the nearest door. The furnishings shone with promise in the first light of dawn that peeked through the small, high windows. The captain’s bed looked to be carved of mahogany and was far larger than any she’d ever slept in.
“Oh, this will do nicely!” Sofia closed the door—locked it, for good measure. Then she imagined how best to greet Damon Delacroix when he finally found her.
4
D amon bounded down the stairs toward his quarters and a much needed drink. Hours behind schedule they were, all because that feisty abigail’s absence had thrown the household into turmoil. Another suitable chaperone had been found—and then Daphne and Beatrix had clung to their mother as if certain death awaited them aboard the Lady Constance. Such weeping, wailing, and carrying on like he’d never seen!
But when he’d suggested to Lady Havisham that they must be sailing while the tide was in their favor, her glare would’ve felled a lesser man—as if he had arranged her daughters’ marriages in faraway America. As if he were separating her from her two oldest girls and had the audacity to keep a schedule they’d set weeks ago.
Women! He was happy to leave Lady Havisham and her last-minute instructions behind, bound for the open sea. With the nobleman’s ship sailing between his Courtesan and O’Roark’s Odalisque at last, some semblance of order had returned.
He twisted his doorknob and then banged into the door. “What the—? Why in God’s name is—?”
He turned the knob again—shoved the door with his shoulder—but nothing moved! He never locked his quarters! Hired only trustworthy sailors, so he had no need to carry a key.
Damon stood at his door dumbfounded, growing angrier by the second. The only thing aboard the Courtesan he ever locked was the strong box in which they kept the valuables after plundering a prize—and this only to prevent accusations of petty thievery from running amok, come time to divvy up the spoils.
Scowling, he peered through the keyhole. Nothing amiss in his main room, far as he could see…so he’d have to tell Jonas Comstock his door needed unlocking. Jonas had cooked aboard the Courtesan since she’d been built: if any man knew the whereabouts of important keys, it was the gimpy old salt who ran the galley and kept the rum kegs locked up.
Muttering, Delacroix took the stairs two at a time. His mood didn’t improve when Comstock quizzed him about where the deuce he’d put his own key and why the hell his door would be locked anyway. They then resurrected the damn key from a drawer of odd cooking utensils, wasting yet another half hour in the process.
When he returned to his quarters, his door stood ajar.
Damon kicked the damn thing and entered. Stood in the center of his main room, looking for reasons this whole damn day had gone wrong.
“What the hell’s happening here?” he demanded aloud.
He couldn’t find a thing out of place. His navigational instruments lay on his square table where he’d left them. His two baroque chairs sat on the Ottoman rug facing the matching settee—ornately carved pieces his sailors teased him about, but it gave the place a homier feel. This was his home, after all, and because he’d selected every book and tankard and tapestry himself, he thrummed with the sense that all was not right.
“I’m drawing my sword, dammit!” he warned, looking toward the half wall that separated his bed from the main room. “You’ve no place to hide, so you might as well—”
“I’ve seen your sword, captain, and you don’t scare me one bit! Bring it on!”
Damon’s jaw dropped. What was a woman doing in his bedroom? Aboard his ship? Where had he heard her voice?
And why was his cock already high and hard?
“You!” He gripped the edge of the low wall to keep from rushing at her in his frustration. “Haven’t you caused enough trouble for one day by disappearing from your post?”
The raven-haired maid from last night lay naked against his headboard, swaddled amongst his pillows and sheets like a cat settled in for a nap—as if she belonged there! “Come, come, now, captain,” she crooned, slyly raising her arms to rest her head on them. “Is there such a thing as ‘enough trouble’? You didn’t seem to think so last night.”
“You brought it on! Claiming to deliver my dessert—”
“Which you gobbled shamelessly!”
“—when you intended all along to get into my pants—”
“So you got into mine! And you loved every moment!”
Damon blinked. “You weren’t wearing any.”
“At last! A rational thought from a man who finds me distractingly attractive.” She flashed him an adorable grin while thrusting her bare breasts at him. “You can’t tell me you’re not happy to see me, Captain Delacroix. A man will say all manner of misleading things, but his cock never lies!”
“You can’t stay here,” he challenged in an ominous voice. “We don’t allow women on our ship. It’s bad luck.”
Damned if she didn’t sneer at him—and then she threw something! Hit him in the chest with it!
“What do I care about your silly superstitions?” she demanded. “You treated me like a slut last night—pressing money on me, no less! I’ve come to demand restitution.”
He bit back his retort. Studied the lush woman with the raven hair cascading over her shoulders…spilling over his pillows in invitation. “And just what does that mean, restitution?”
“Aha! So you weren’t paying attention in class, either!” Sofia crowed. “I know plenty of things that got past Daphne and Trix during their time with the tutors.”
Damon shifted, aware of the light in her dark violet eyes and the flush on her pretty cheeks—and his body’s reaction to them. This alluring domestic had no inkling of her place, which meant this conversation could continue down the primrose path for a long, long time. What man really wanted intelligent conversation from a fine, feisty female displaying herself so brazenly in his bed? Especially one who’d locked his own damn door on him?
He had half a mind to spank her. The thought of his hand landing a satisfying smack on her curvaceous backside made him shift his weight again. She was distractingly attractive, dammit, and she knew her power well.
“I apologize for my clumsy show of appreciation,” he murmured. “Even as I gave you those coins, I realized such payment might offend you.”
She pursed her lips in a pouty little moue, which made her extremely kissable. “Apology accepted—if you don’t commit any further faux pas.”
“You still can’t stay, Sofia. I must follow the code of conduct my men have agreed to uphold,” he insisted. Although, as she stretched, teasing him with her womanly attributes, a list of male rules was the furthest thing from his mind. “The Code states that any sailor who seduces a woman and brings her aboard shall suffer death.”
Sofia’s gaze didn’t waver. She sprawled proudly, with her lovely shoulders back, contemplating his edict. “But that doesn’t apply here, does it, captain? You own the Courtesan! And we’ve agreed that it was I who seduced you.”
How could he could he not like this woman? God love her, she was even more alluring by day than she’d looked in the twilight shadow of the hedgerow. “I doubt my men will make that distinction,” he said, swallowing a snicker. “Even if I’m their captain—of a ship we plundered awhile back—it’s unfair for me to have a lady at my disposal if they don’t get the same—”
“Thank you, sir. Not many address me as a lady.”
Damon stopped midsentence. Why should he care if she’d been treated poorly? She was a domestic—a servant who’d shirked her duties by running off and who’d cost him precious time this morning! “Stop leading this conversation astray! I’m telling you any man who has a woman aboard is to die. ‘Restitution’ of his life and rights is not an optio
n!”
“So if the man dies…what happens to the woman?”
He gaped. Her distinctive eyebrow arched as she awaited his reply…studied him with unwavering attention…expected an answer at least as astute as her question. Damn! He didn’t have an answer, but he had no doubts about the propositions this wench would receive before she was removed from the Courtesan. Just thinking about his men lusting after her made him seethe!
It was time to take charge by approaching her from another angle. “Why did you run off, obviously plotting to stow away on my ship?” he demanded. “Few serving girls are fortunate enough to sail to America with their—”
“Would you stay with Daphne Havisham?” she cried. “My God, the puking and bawling when Lady Constance tiptoed around the subject of ‘wifely duties’ and fucking! No, thank you!” Sofia declared, her cheeks flaring. “I’ll take my chances at whatever punishment you serve up, sir!”
Damon clenched his jaw to keep from laughing, as it would give her more advantage than she already had. Any moment now one of his men might come looking for him, and the sound of a female voice…or of his bed creaking in that unmistakable rhythm of…
Damn! He had to keep his mind on discipline! He was the captain here! “What punishment would you suggest, Sofia?” he asked slyly. “If you were one of my crew caught at wrongdoing, I’d clap you in irons on the deck, at the mercy of the wind and rain. Or I’d sic the cat on your back. What a pity, the scars our cat-o’-nine-tails would inflict on your lovely skin. And then there’s keelhauling.”
“And what might that be?” she asked in a more subdued voice.
“Your wrists would be bound, and you’d be tossed over the stern on a rope to be dragged from one side of the ship to the other…until you stopped struggling for air. You’d most likely be rubbed to a bloody pulp by the barnacles on the the ship’s underside.”
Pleasure of His Bed Page 2