“I’ll be fine on my own,” she insisted, her tone terse. “You have no responsibility for me. I can take care of myself.”
Very well. Obviously, she was in no mood for this discussion. He returned to the door. “A warning before I leave…”
As if she hadn’t a care to what he had to say, she lifted one petticoat and shook it out, untangling it from the heap.
If her compliance didn’t have such dire consequences… “You are listening to me, love, are you not?” He stepped closer, until his boots nearly rested on her pooled hem.
She pulled her gown to the side and tossed back an errant lock of unruly hair. “I’m listening.”
The strands had a will of their own, falling back into place just as they had originally been. He raised his hand in an irresistible urge to pluck out the remaining pins securing her hair and to smooth her tresses away from her stunning face. Alas, the moment he moved, she reared her head away from the possibility, her eyes glittering with warning.
Extraordinary, expressive eyes. He swept an arm toward the corner, where a lamp hung on a peg. “Keep the room dark while I’m out.”
Her shoulders descended in a visible sigh as she looked about the cabin, her stare settling on the window above the bed.
With any luck, there’d be no cloud cover and the moon could provide whatever light she needed. “Sorry, lamplight will be noticeable beneath the door.”
“What if I blocked the opening with cloth or…”
He shook his head. “Too risky. Any crack or pinhole in the cabin wall or door will give you away.”
Her jaw clenched in displeasure, and her luscious lip protruded in a slight pout. That fascinating curve of her mouth captured his attention, perfectly formed lips that begged for a man’s kiss.
“Promise me.”
She followed the path of his gaze and stiffened, backing away as if to ward him off. Her feet became tangled in her dragging hem. She swayed backward, and he lunged, grabbing her arms before she could fall.
Startled eyes focused on his face. “Give me your word,” he insisted. When she didn’t respond, he tightened his hold. For both their sakes, he had to be sure. “Or do I have to truss you up to prevent you from doing something foolish?”
“Yes, you have it,” she sputtered. “You have my word. I swear. I’ll keep the room dark.”
He studied her indignant expression. Was she sincere? Hell. It didn’t matter. What could he do? Bind her up to force her obedience? He didn’t have it in him. Heaving a labored exhale, he walked to the door and began to retrieve the key when he remembered the sharpening stone in his hand. Yes. He headed for the trunk. One last thing and he’d be on his way.
Yanking her hem up, Charity stepped in front of him, cutting him off from his planned destination. “Can I help you with something?” She nearly came full against him in her haste, her chest an inch away from his before she stopped herself with a sharp inhale and stumbled back a pace.
What was this? Her teeth worried her lower lip while her palms smoothed her petticoat in repeated hurried strokes.
“I’m stowing my stone in the trunk.” He made a move to go around her, and she countered his actions, blocking his path once again.
“Let me do that for you.” She held out her hand, an earnest look on her face. “I’m sure you must need to get back on deck.”
True enough. Still, this hardly seemed like the same woman. Ah yes, the reason struck. Of course. She wanted to be helpful, to prove she was worth trusting. He couldn’t blame her. His threat must have struck a nerve. After all, going free about his quarters would be far better than being bound and gagged. He handed her the stone. “Many thanks.”
Her lips compressed into a strained line he wouldn’t exactly call a smile, more like the look of someone who’d swallowed a fly and was expected to call it delicious. What a curious creature. Interesting. Amusing. Once he found his brother safe and well, he just might enjoy this trip after all.
…
As soon as James’s footfalls faded from beyond the cabin door, Charity rushed to the trunk. Opening the lid, she stared down at the pistol that lay on top of the disorderly pile inside. She’d only just found the thing when James had arrived with her petticoats. Thank God she’d convinced him to give her his sharpening stone. She dropped it inside and picked up the gun, testing the feel of it in her hand, imagining her finger pulling the trigger.
She’d use it if she had to. She would. Kneading an aching spot between her eyebrows with the heel of her hand, she clung to that thought. Why shouldn’t she use whatever means she could find to escape? A pirate had ogled her person, and locked her inside his cabin. She’d been duped. No, more than that. She’d been bewitched by a skilled seducer. That was the only explanation for her current circumstance.
Charity snatched up the gunpowder flask from inside the trunk and sat on the bed, ready to give loading the thing a go. She blew the hair out of her eyes and pulled the hammer back in a half-cocked position as she’d seen her uncle do. Now, which came first? The powder or the ball? Think. She struggled to remember. The last time she’d seen a pistol being loaded was when her uncle had prepared a pair for a duel a few years ago. His disgusting friend, Paul Adler, had been caught dallying with his neighbor’s wife. Alas, that rutting pig had survived the ordeal to dally another day.
Powder. She poured a small amount down the barrel. How much was needed? Drat. She poured another pinch, maybe two, her mind returning to the reason she bothered with it at all. James.
He’d imprisoned her under the guise that he was helping her. She knew better. Miss Biddle had said it a thousand times—men wanted two things in life: money and gratification of the physical variety. She set a ball and patch into place and rammed them down the barrel. James wouldn’t accept her money, which left only one thing he could possibly want. And she had no intention of appeasing his lust.
Miss Biddle had repeatedly warned her of men and their true nature. Uncle Marshall and his crude bachelor friends had proven her words true time and time again. Then for heaven’s sake, what was wrong with her? Why did she react to James as strongly as she did? She filled the flashpan with powder and shivered. Each time he touched her, a rush of excitement flowed through her, turning her thoughts upside down. He was handsome, yes…and charming, but he was a pirate.
The pistol loaded as well as she could manage it, she snapped the frizzen into place, and looked around the small cabin. She huddled on the bed, the emptiness she’d battled for years returning with a vengeance.
With a choked sigh, she mourned the loss of her mother’s satchel. Inside she’d packed her mother’s silver hairbrush and mirror. All she had left of her was gone. A hollow ache filled the whole of her chest, proof that some injuries never heal.
These last years living with her uncle had been the loneliest of her life. He hated her, and always had. She winced. Not hate, exactly. While he certainly wasn’t fond of her, he needed her, or rather her monthly stipend. Without her steady income to finance his extravagant spending, his own funds would quickly dry up. Then why marry her off? She’d seen her grandfather’s will. The payments for her care would stop. He must have arranged a bargain with Captain Shevington.
She peered down at the gold band on her finger. Her husband would benefit from her dowry—a considerable sum of money and properties in the colonies. Plenty for her uncle and the captain to split.
Her husband. Setting the pistol aside, she slipped the band off and lifted it to the light from the window. The gold glistened. She spied an etching inside and peered closer. Two words were carved. Forever mine.
Her breath left her in a rush, and her fingers trembled so badly she dropped the piece. It landed on the bed. Her insides melding into a massive lump, she stared at it a long moment.
She belonged to no one. She pulled the purse from her bodice and snatched up the ring, dropping it inside. Her resolve firm, she returned the bag to its hiding place and picked up the gun, its solid weight rea
ssuring. She wouldn’t be used by any man. Never again. She’d become her own woman. Yes, from this point forward, she would determine her own fate. She would make the decisions regarding her safety and her future whether James liked it or not.
Chapter Four
Hours had passed by the time boots scraped outside the cabin. Charity lifted the heavy pistol in her hands and pointed it at the door, its muzzle barely perceptible in the dim moonlight.
A key grated in the lock before the door swung open and James stepped over the threshold. Faint light shone from the room outside, but not enough to give away her location standing at the farside of the bed.
As if deep in thought, he locked the door and crossed to his desk, setting down a bowl and a biscuit. Reaching high on a shelf built into the wall, he felt around the space and retrieved a tinderbox.
She tightened her grip on her weapon as he lit a lamp and scanned the room. “Charity?” His gaze found her, and his eyes darted to the barrel she pointed toward his chest, then dropped to the gunpowder flask on the bed beside her. “Bloody hell. Where did you learn how to load a pistol?”
“My…my uncle taught me,” she lied, rather unconvincingly.
He shook his head and turned his back to her. “Let’s hope he taught you well. Pistols explode when not loaded properly. I’d hate to see it mar that pretty face of yours.”
Explode? A niggling of doubt scuttled along the nape of her neck, and her fingers tingled, then numbed. Still, she braced the gun with both hands. This pistol was all that she had, no matter how well she’d loaded the thing.
He pointed to the food he’d brought with him. “Sorry I couldn’t get away sooner. You must be famished.”
Her jaw nearly dropped. He carried on as if a mere woman could never be a threat. His mistake. “I’m not hungry,” she insisted, even as her stomach growled in earnest.
James picked up the bottle of wine from the desk and crossed before her to a cabinet recessed into the wall.
“Mr. Lamont, give me the key to the door.” She directed the barrel toward his chest and gripped the pistol tight.
He retrieved a corkscrew from the cabinet and proceeded to open the wine, giving her no heed. His bronzed hand twisted the corkscrew, the movement somehow fascinating. Those hands weren’t white and soft like her uncle’s. They were working man’s hands, nimble and capable. Fascinating? What? She released a sigh of frustration. What on earth was she thinking?
“Mr. Lamont,” she snapped.
Popping the cork from the bottle, James studied her, a knowing glint in his eyes, as if he could read her thoughts and knew that his very presence distracted her.
“Where do you plan to go?” he asked.
She wiped her damp palms on her petticoat one at a time, determined to focus on what needed to be done. “That’s none of your concern. All you need to know is that I’m leaving this cabin.”
His attention strayed to the stocking of coins she’d found in one of his spare boots before he poured the red wine into a goblet and took a slow drink. “I can’t let you do that.”
“You can, and you will.” Charity shook the gun as if the motion would somehow make the piece more threatening.
“Have some Madeira.” He filled another glass and returned to the desk.
She glanced at the bowl and her stomach rumbled again. Swallowing, she tore her gaze away. “I’m going to the captain.”
“Don’t be a fool.”
“A fool? I’d think this should make you happy. After all, you were the one who suggested it. Worried you won’t get your fair share of a ransom?”
He tasted the wine in his glass. “I’ve changed my mind. The captain isn’t to be trusted.”
“Why?” She picked up the stocking from the bed. “He won’t hurt me if a profit can be made.” And she’d need more than her paltry sum to convince him. “I’ll find a way to pay you back.”
A frown tugged at his lips. “From the little I’ve heard of Captain Payne, I believe him to be unpredictable.”
“He appreciates money. I think we can come to an agreement to make a short stop. Once I disembark, you can sail on.”
He studied the rise and fall of her chest, and his frown deepened. “Aye, an agreement may be reached, but it may not be to your tastes.”
Her skin tingled beneath his steady regard. She ignored the feeling and adjusted the gun in her grasp. “I’ll take that chance.”
“You know what I say is true.” The edge to his voice insisted she listen to reason. His reason.
“Do I? What do I know of you? You’re a murderer. You outright admitted to killing a man to become the navigator of this ship.”
“I was teasing you, love. I did no such thing. The man was swept overboard in a storm.”
“Teasing me? I see no humor in lies.”
With a short exhale, he scanned the floor as if he could find answers there. He took another swallow of his drink, and his eyes flared with enlightenment. A slow smile crept across his mouth. “If you’re so sure of the nobility of Captain Payne and his crew, why don’t you call out now? Bang on the door.”
An image of the unwashed masses outside, all alerted to her presence, flickered through her head.
James approached her, his pace slow and menacing. “Listen to me, my lady. You’re extremely fortunate I have decided to help you, as I have far better things to do than act as governess to a spoiled child who ran away from home. The only reason I didn’t return you to your family is my supreme distrust of the captain.” He halted no more than an arm’s length away.
Her hands shook, the gun bobbing between them. “Stand back.”
“No. You will do as I say. For if you don’t stay in my good graces, Charity, I’ll release you from my protection and let these scurvy dogs do to you as they please. Am I clear?”
With a quick hand, he snatched the gun from her grasp and leaned in close. “Don’t point my pistol at me unless you intend to use it.”
She stared at her hands in disbelief, his coins still clenched in one palm.
“I’ll have my money back.” He seized the stocking from her. “And to keep this reckless idea out of your head…” James plucked her purse from her bodice, his fingers grazing her sensitive flesh. “Those earbobs too. Give them to me.”
“What?”
“Your jewelry. I won’t have you going to the captain thinking your valuables will sway him.”
She crossed her arms and pinned him with a glare. “You can’t just—”
His golden eyes glowing with warning, he stepped closer until her view consisted of only his broad chest. “Hand them over, or I’ll take them from you.”
The air rushed from her lungs in an outraged huff, but when he raised his hands as if to do the deed himself, she removed the earbobs and slapped them into his waiting palm.
“Anything else?” His gaze swept over her and stopped on her hand. “Your ring. Where is it?”
She clenched her teeth so hard, her jaw ached. “In. My. Purse.”
James peered into the purse. He dug inside and pulled out the gold wedding band, then dropped all her jewelry into the pouch hanging from his neck.
Of all the… “Miss Biddle was right. Men are the devil’s spawn.” Her voice shook with fury as she balled her hands into fists. “I’m not afraid of you.”
“Perhaps you should be, damn it—before you get us both killed.” He yanked the scarf from his head. Dark locks fell to his forehead and dangled before his eyes.
Despite the anger that still burned hot, the sight stirred something pleasant inside her.
He swiped the errant tresses back. “Now, come, sit in the chair.”
“What?” He’d just foiled her attempt to buy her freedom, and now he would lord over whether she must stand or sit, too?
He gestured toward the only chair in the room. “Take a seat.”
“But why?” And, blast it, who was he to say that the captain wouldn’t help her if she paid him?
“Come over
.” James reached for her arm.
She pulled away before he could touch her. Giving him a wary look, she took the few steps to the desk and sank down onto the seat. Did he really know the captain so well? Maybe the man would be more than happy to take her to the nearest port for a price.
James swept his scarf before her and settled it around her head.
Her pulse raced. Had she pushed him too far? So far that he felt the need to truss her up? She grabbed for the cloth. “Why are you doing this?”
He pushed her hands away, and with a few swift tugs, secured the scarf over her eyes. “Apparently, I have to find a better hiding place for my money and weapons. And I’d rather you not be privy to their new location.”
She exhaled and relaxed into the chair. Of course.
His boots clicked against the floor, beating a path to her front. She flinched when his hands slid against either side of her face as he adjusted the scarf. “You can’t see, can you?”
The brush of his fingertips ignited sparks of awareness along her skin. Those sparks only strengthened when his breath grazed her cheek. She imagined how close his face was to hers, his lips mere inches away from her own. “I see nothing,” she croaked out, then cringed, swallowing the sudden dryness in her throat.
“Good. Now rest your hands on the arms of the chair so I can be sure you won’t remove the cloth.” His voice floated away, and the warmth of his breath disappeared.
She did as he bade. The tingling of her skin faded, and she almost wished James would return. Almost. Instead, she embraced the frustration that still simmered in her veins. She’d been so close to taking control of her life.
The tap of his heels moved about the room, followed by the squeak of the trunk lid. “This might be easier if you promised not to search my cabin again.” His tone took on a lighter, teasing quality.
His mood had improved, and why shouldn’t it? He’d won…for now. “I’ll make no such promise, and you wouldn’t believe me if I did.” She caught the scent of ocean and man from the scarf on her head. It wrapped her in its embrace, making her feel closer to James, as if the scent permeated her skin, marking her as his. She dropped her hands into her lap and squeezed them tight, shaking her head to rid herself of the thought.
Tempting the Pirate Page 4