Tempting the Pirate

by Tamara Hughes

  “Many pardons. I mean no offense. I’m sure you’re only acting on the captain’s orders. I’d expect Captain Payne is most interested in what’s to be found in that cabin. I’ve heard talk of a hefty ransom Lamont brought aboard to free his brother.”

  A scuffle of feet blew dust beneath the door a moment before something solid crashed against the wood. Charity jumped away, and nearly stumbled.

  “Whatever my interest in Lamont, it’s no business of yours,” The Judge snarled.

  “We could work together,” Glanville rasped, his tone strained as if he couldn’t get enough breath, “and take some of the coin for ourselves.”

  Holy Moses. Such boldness. She half expected to hear the slide of steel drawn or the sound of a deadly blow.

  “The hell you say.” A heavy weight slammed against the door once again. “Why do I need you?”

  “What do you think the reaction will be if it’s found that you broke into a cabin and stole from one of the crew?” Glanville gave a pained grunt. “Wait! Lamont trusts me,” he said between ragged gasps. “He’d never suspect if I did the deed myself.”

  “You’d betray him?”

  “Aye, I would. Lamont is a rich man’s son who’s been coddled his whole life. His father owns one of the largest shipping companies in all of England,” Glanville scoffed, his words not as choked as before. “Lamont hasn’t had to lift a finger to become captain of the best ship in their fleet, while I’ve had to climb the ranks one rung at a time. To hell with him and the bloody search for his brother. I’m tired of following his orders. It’s time I give some of my own.” Glanville wheezed, and the weight eased off the door. “You must know what it’s like. I see how you do all the work while the captain plays dress up.” One set of feet staggered away. “If nothing else, I can provide a reason for you to break down Lamont’s door without giving the crew cause for suspicion. I can help you.”

  “I’ll consider it,” The Judge hissed. “Be off with you now.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Charity stood frozen until their footfalls faded away. James was in trouble, and if she remained locked inside his cabin, his troubles would soon become hers.

  …

  James studied the gray skies off the ship’s bow. The winds were shifting, and a clean, damp scent infused the air. Storms ahead.

  Standing on the uppermost deck with the sun to his back, James lifted the quadrant into position, bringing the device to eye level. His focus on the horizon, he took note of the sun’s shadow on the instrument, his mind on everything but laying their course. He still refused to believe his brother was dead, although he had no clue as to where David might be… And then there was Charity.

  He couldn’t fail her, not like he had Isabelle. Her death still weighed heavily on his conscience. If only he’d been more careful, she might still be alive today. Damn. No woman should be in Charity’s situation, vulnerable and alone. She needed his protection, and by God he’d provide it, no matter what he had to do.

  James blew out a breath. Of course, she might still need some convincing. She was a stubborn one, to be sure. And bold. To approach him in his slumber for an attempt at the key… He couldn’t help but chuckle at the memory. A bit prickly, but well worth the thorns. Her face gave away every thought and emotion. Pretty and innocent, yet she had a fire within her that burned bright, making her eyes snap and sparkle. And his teasing lit that fire again and again. How he loved to tease.

  Her reactions had amused him to no end. Last night it had taken everything he had not to laugh and give himself away.

  When he remembered her response to his kiss, James lowered the quadrant and almost groaned aloud. She’d pressed her soft lips to his with long-suppressed passion. The tangle of her fingers in his hair, those lush curves against him…had been exquisite.

  Footsteps approached, and James glanced over his shoulder. Stokes, a stout fellow in a brown leather vest lumbered toward him, his attention focused on inspecting the ship, no doubt preparing for the storm. The boatswain couldn’t be much older than himself, and yet an old man’s eyes stared out from Stokes’s youthful face. When he stood at James’s side, he peered up at the rigging. “I know what happened to your brother.”

  James’s pulse sped. “You didn’t mention a word when last I asked.”

  “I couldn’t. Too many around to hear.” Stokes didn’t look James’s way. In fact, he made a point of taking a few steps, his squinted eyes fixed on the sway of sail. “I came to know your brother. He was a fine man,” Stokes said, his admission steeped with reverence for someone respected and lost. “He always knew you’d come for him.”

  Guilt burrowed a deep path to James’s middle, leaving a trail of pain and regret. James raised his quadrant back into place, his hand shaking for an instant before he willed himself steady.

  Lifting a hand to shade his eyes, Stokes wandered a bit closer. “I was there when he escaped.”

  A jolt of excitement streaked through his chest. “He escaped? I was told he’d been killed for desertion.”

  “That’s what The Judge wants everyone to believe, the captain included.”

  The sun dimmed behind the layer of clouds, casting only the barest shadow onto the quadrant as James tried to absorb this new fact in his head. He just couldn’t comprehend. “When? How?”

  “Months ago.” Still looking skyward, Stokes shrugged. “We were of a like mind. Tried to help one another get off this rat-infested ship.”

  “Yet you’re still here.”

  “Aye, and my back has the claw marks of the cat-o’-nine-tails to prove it.”

  James almost cringed. He’d seen the damage that whip could do. “And David?”

  “He got away in Madagascar.”

  The tension he’d lived with for the last nine months ebbed, and a long sigh escaped him. I knew it. David was alive. But why hadn’t he come home? James’s muscles clenched once more. David had been free for months. He wouldn’t have allowed the family to worry. Something more must have happened. “Where did you see him last?”

  “On the docks in Tamatave… I held back, and he pushed on ahead.”

  “He left you behind?”

  Stokes scanned the deck before sparing him a glance. “I told him to. It was the only way.”

  The bos’n didn’t need to say another word. James could see in the way his back straightened and his chin rose. “You were recaptured so he could escape.”

  Stokes’s head bobbed once.

  “Why?”

  “He reminded me of my own brother. So quiet, cared more about his music than his next meal.” Stokes’s brows drew low. “He’d never have survived on this ship, under the rule of one such as The Judge.”

  James lowered the quadrant, tempted to slap the man on the shoulder in gratitude. “You have my sincerest thanks.”

  Stokes waved the appreciation away.

  At least one man on this crew had some decency, integrity. Unlike The Judge. Damn him and his lies. The bastard. Still, he could see why The Judge wouldn’t divulge David’s escape to James and his men, but why not to the pirate crew and captain? Taking two steps, James hoisted the quadrant back into place. “Why the secrecy of David’s escape?”

  “Would be a show of weakness.” Stokes strolled along the rail, although not so far he couldn’t be heard. “The Judge wants to take over the ship.”

  “Not through mutiny then.”

  “Nay. There are few who would willingly follow him. There’s good reason the captain was elected by the crew to lead instead of The Judge. The captain is greedy as sin, but The Judge, he’s the one you’d best keep your eye on. I’ve heard it said he killed his own mother when he was just a lad.”

  Somehow that wouldn’t surprise him. “How does he plan to take over the ship? And when?”

  “I best not say more even if I could.” Stokes edged farther away. “One of the men who brought me back was later caught spilling The Judge’s secrets and was hung from that yardarm right there. The Ju
dge said he’d been hoarding loot.”

  “Then why risk telling me all this?”

  Scrubbing the back of his hand over his lips, Stokes shook his head. “Like your brother, I never wanted this. I was forced on this ship by The Judge.” Bitterness twisted his frown into a grimace. “Neptune’s Mercy needed a carpenter, and I happened to be in town buying supplies. I was dragged aboard with no word to my wife and children. They probably believe I’m dead.” Stokes looked up, sadness weighing his features, dragging the last of his youth away. “If you’re still looking for him, your brother has fallen into more trouble. I want one of us to find our way back home.” Clearing his throat, he turned his attention to the sails above. “I should go.” His eyes darted to the men on deck as he beat a path to the stairs.

  The man had a healthy fear of The Judge. As he should. James supposed he should fear him, too. Yet all he felt was anticipation, The Judge be damned. David had last been seen alive in Madagascar. Once free from this ship, James would head there next. His hopes rose a notch. He still had a chance to save his brother. He and his men would escape in New Providence, then find a willing crew to take them on the next leg of their journey. His mind strayed to the woman in his cabin, and his stomach lurched. What to do with her? He couldn’t leave her behind and he couldn’t bring her along.

  Bloody hell.

  …

  Charity stared out at the darkening skies as she wiped a damp cloth down the nape of her neck, the faint scent of rose petals clinging to her skin. Thunder rumbled in the distance while the conversation she’d overheard echoed inside her head. James was the son of a wealthy London businessman, the captain of his own vessel? Then what was he doing here on a pirate ship? Did it have anything to do with his search for his brother? So many questions, but so few answers.

  And what of The Judge? It seemed her predicament grew worse with each passing minute. The Judge only waited for a reasonable excuse to break down her door, and James’s friend would be all the happier to help him. Left with no weapon to protect herself, she was stuck inside this infernal cabin, waiting for the end.

  No, not waiting. What good would that do? She dipped the cloth into the bucket and wrung it out, the light splash of water competing with the rush of waves outside. She could do something productive, like look to the future.

  Once she left this ship, she would…she would… What? With so little money, she’d need employment. What could she do? What real skills did she have? She knew how to read and write. She could apply as a governess…a governess with no letters of recommendation and no experience to speak of.

  Her gaze caught on her dress neatly laid out on the bed. She could stitch reasonably well. A seamstress? Lord knew she’d repaired her gowns until they’d been nothing but stitches. She reached out and lifted the sleeve. Save this gown. Although now smudged with dirt, this was the finest dress she’d owned in years.

  A humorless laugh burst from her throat. She should have known. Uncle Marshall’s insistence that she purchase a new gown should have made her suspicious. So unlike him. He had never allowed her out of the house. The only freedom she’d known had been her own doing, slipping out whenever she could bear no more. Yes, without a doubt, Uncle Marshall had acted strangely. He’d been in a jovial mood for weeks. She should have guessed he’d been up to no good. But marriage? And to Richard Shevington. For money. That could be the only reason. Marshall enjoyed his lifestyle, and he found her to be a nuisance. Why not sell her to the highest bidder and relieve himself of a burden he had never wanted? She lifted her arm and scrubbed, welcoming the roughness of the cloth against her skin.

  Well, married or not, she would forge a new life, one without men to make her decisions.

  The key clinked in the lock. Charity peered down at her bare skin, exposed by her shift, and her heart collided with her stomach as it dove for her toes.

  She snatched up her gown and clasped it to her chest as the door opened. James walked into the cabin and scanned the room until he found her. A sinful grin crept across his lips, and she wondered what wicked thought had sprung into his head. Strike that. She didn’t want to know. Or rather she shouldn’t want to know, but God help her, she did.

  He locked the door behind him. “I see I’ve come just in time.” His eyes never leaving her, he carried a crate to the desk.

  If only she had the power to will herself dressed. Since that wasn’t an option, she forced herself to stand a little taller and rotated her finger in a circle. “Turn around.”

  “Ah, but the view is much lovelier in this direction.” His admiring gaze wandered over her exposed skin and beyond, as if he could see right through the many layers that remained. A giddy thrill lanced through her.

  She thrust the feeling aside, tempted to pinch herself into submission. “Turn.”

  “Very well,” he said, yet he stared at her for another moment before he finally turned away.

  Hurrying to dress, she struggled to steady her breathing, her fingers fumbling with the pins to secure her stomacher.

  James faced the desk and opened the crate, pulling out a book. “I brought you some reading to relieve your boredom.” He flipped through the pages, waiting for several moments. “Are you presentable?”

  Presentable? She stared at his profile with its strong features and smooth jaw, a gentleman’s profile. “Yes,” she mumbled, taken aback. “I’m dressed.”

  With a nod, he faced her and handed her the book. Robinson Crusoe. “I’ll try to be better about bringing timely meals. Yesterday was a rush.”

  His words barely penetrated. A shipping magnate’s son turned pirate. That would explain his air of authority, his unfaltering confidence. “A rush?”

  “Yes, first day at sea.” He lifted a loaf of bread from the crate, his hands catching her eye.

  They were capable hands, used to work, and yet they could be gentle, too. Like when he touched her. With care and tenderness. Unlike others she’d met before, he hadn’t forced himself on her. And she suspected he never would.

  He set the loaf on the desk. “I’ve brought just the bread for you now. It’s not much, but a storm is approaching, and Whip, the cook, is securing the galley. No one will be getting much supper tonight.”

  She glanced out the window to skies that had darkened. A ripple of dread skated along her skin. Her first time at sea and now a storm?

  “Don’t worry, love. She’s a sturdy ship.”

  Charity took a fortifying breath and prayed he spoke the truth.

  She crossed the room, tripping on her long hem, trying in vain to ignore the way he watched her as if he found her every move fascinating.

  “I see the petticoats made little difference to the length of your gown.” James turned to the crate once again.

  “No matter,” she said, a smile of gratitude on her lips.

  He lifted a red garment from inside the box. “So, I’ve brought you another option.”

  Her smile faded. He held up a crimson gown, which even at a glance appeared to be cut to flaunt a woman’s figure.

  “Where did you find that thing?”

  “In storage. We’re sailing with pirates. It probably came from a plundered ship.”

  She stared agape at the shocking bodice. He’d brought it for her? “Just what kind of woman would wear such an audacious dress?”

  He caught her in his sights with a look that challenged. “The only woman who would wear a gown like this one, love, is one who knows the power she wields and isn’t afraid to use it.”

  Sounded like perfect logic, from a man’s perspective. “I’ll never wear it.”

  “Do what you will. I’ll leave it here in the event you change your mind.”

  “I won’t.” She’d rather stumble on her hem every other step.

  “Perhaps not.”

  Why had he brought her such a thing? Unless, he assumed… Oh. “James…Mr. Lamont. Don’t think because of last night anything has changed between us.”

  “By last night, you
’re referring to when you came to my bed?”

  The seductive quality of his voice awakened parts of her she’d rather remain dormant. “I didn’t…” she insisted.

  His smug expression stopped her cold.

  “I had no intention…” she began again.

  He leaned against the edge of the desk, his eyes glowing with mischief.

  “I have no interest in you,” she finally burst out.

  “So you say.”

  “I only searched for the key.”

  “Ah, yes. The key.”

  With a cry of outrage, she stepped toward him, frustration propelling her forward until she stood a mere foot away. “All men think they own the world. Miss Biddle—”

  “Who is this Miss Biddle I hear so much about?” He bent forward, his face so close to hers she could see flecks of copper in his golden eyes.

  “I—” Charity fought to keep her indignation intact despite the flare of excitement that prevented her from inhaling properly. “She was my governess.”

  A line formed between his brows, his features alight with curiosity and amusement. “Miss Biddle. She doesn’t think much of men, does she?”

  “She has good reason. Look at you.” She waved her hand before him. “Why do you behave this way? Lording the key over me, as if women are your personal playthings to do with what you will.”

  James held his hands out in a show of innocence. “Don’t judge me too harshly, Charity. I love women.” He leaned closer still and inhaled, his gaze caressing her eyes, nose, and lips. “I love the way they smell after a steaming bath with perfumed soap.”

  She backed up a step, the scent of rose petals faint but discernible.

  “The way they move with graceful sensuality.” He followed, treading so close she had to look up to see his face. “Most of all, I love discovering the passions they keep hidden from polite society.”

  With stubborn determination, she held her ground. “Passion. Is that all you care about?”

  “Not at all. I also delight in their soft curves. Their luscious breasts are of particular interest.”