Tempting the Pirate

by Tamara Hughes

  “Oh.” He would have her bare her breasts in the hopes of finding some way to beguile her opponent. Of course he would, especially if he were her opponent. What a despicable, rude… “You should be thanking me for stitching you up instead of harassing me about my appearance.” She returned to the cabinet. “No more rum.” He’d had enough.

  “As you wish. Makes no difference to me.”

  “You’re fortunate that your wound is all I stitched closed,” she grumbled to herself. The bedding rustled behind her, and something scraped the floor.

  She turned to find James yanking on his boots. All her annoyance evaporated, replaced by a fine dose of worry. He wasn’t nearly well enough to get out of bed. She rushed to his side. “What are you doing? Lie down.”

  “We’ve just been through a storm. I need to navigate the ship back on course.” He snatched up his scarf and rose, then wobbled on his feet. His eyes clenched shut for a moment before he took a step.

  “James, no.” She caught hold of his arms and urged him toward the bed. “You can’t go.” Searching his face, she looked for signs of weakness or pain. All she found was determination.

  “If I don’t go up, they’ll come down,” he said as he removed the torn shirt and donned a fresh one from the trunk. He felt inside the pouch dangling from his neck, then fixed his gaze on her and held out his hand. “I’ll need the key, love.”

  She pressed a palm over her heart, the key trapped there, solid and reassuring. “No. You said—”

  “It will look a might odd if I have to knock on my own door to enter.”

  True. Still, she loathed giving up the feeling of control the key gave her.

  His hands rose to cup her face, a tender look in his eyes. “You’re right. I did say that you could have the key if you managed to take it from me, and I keep my word. While we’re together in this cabin, it’s all yours. In the meantime, may I borrow your key, madam?”

  The world brightened a bit, both from his touch and his request. Her key. She liked the sound of that. “Yes, you may.” Her spirits rose, the feeling almost a giddy one. On impulse she rose up on her toes and planted a kiss on his prickly cheek. “Thank you.”

  James cocked his head to the side, one eyebrow raised in a high arch. “Had I known I would have received such a pleasant response, I would have relented and given you the key earlier.”

  Her mouth dropped open as she considered her actions, but no words came forth. Her face flamed, yet inside a slow smolder warmed her through and through.

  Chapter Nine

  His muscles stiff as an old man’s, James headed to his cabin, carrying his quadrant and a bowl of Whip’s salmagundi. After seeing Charity so shaken this morning, he wished he’d had time to make her something more recognizable as food, but he had to get back before The Judge decided to search the cabin. Damn Thomas for giving him reason. All morning, James had kept an eye on the quartermaster, waiting for a sign the time had come. Thankfully, The Judge had been too busy.

  James strode to his cabin door and spotted a movement off to the side. Thomas stepped from his quarters across the officers’ mess.

  “You’re awake.” Peering out the door leading to the deck, Thomas joined him. “I trust you’re on the mend.”

  His throbbing temple said otherwise. “I’ll survive.” James juggled the items he held and unlocked the door. “I’m glad you’re here. We need to talk.”

  Thomas thrust out an arm, blocking the doorway. “Let’s go somewhere else.”

  “Why?”

  “You know why,” Thomas insisted with a nod toward James’s cabin.

  Charity? He could almost laugh. At least she hadn’t approached The Judge on a whim. “She has no one to tell our secrets to.” He pushed Thomas’s arm out of the way and stepped inside.

  Charity sat at the desk, stitching the tear in his shirt. The tear she’d caused when she’d sliced the garment open. Naughty girl.

  She looked up from her mending as James entered, a relieved expression flickering across her face. Her concern warmed him. Perhaps he was no longer her villain after all. As soon as she spied Thomas, she pinned Glanville with a pointed glare. Her distrust was understandable, if misguided.

  “For you, my lady.” James set down the bowl onto the desk before her. “With my apologies,” he added, recalling its less than stellar taste from his own luncheon.

  She bent low over the bowl and sniffed, wrinkling her nose.

  Thomas seized his arm and led him to the far corner. “Who is she, and why is she here?”

  “Charity? She’s a special surprise I found stowed with the wine.” He watched her sample the meal as if she didn’t hear their every word.

  “Does anyone besides me and Whip know she’s on board?”

  “No, and I’d like to keep it that way.” He chuckled at the grimace on her face from the one bite. Lots of salt. He remembered well.

  Thomas took hold of his shoulders and gave him a shake. “Blast it, James. You’re too soft when it comes to women. You give them whatever their heart’s desire, damn the consequences.”

  The sudden motion made his head pound all the harder. He shrugged off Thomas’s hands. “Believe me, I’m well compensated.”

  Thomas found no humor in the joke. “She’s going to get you killed.” He waved a hand in Charity’s direction. “She shouldn’t be here.”

  Now, that he couldn’t argue. Truly, she shouldn’t be here. “What would you have me do? Turn her over to the captain and his men?”

  “But she—”

  “Is in danger now because you’ve given The Judge a reason to search this cabin.”

  Thomas’s gaze hardened. “I didn’t know you were hiding a woman in here. How could I have known?” He brushed a hand over his eyes. “Give up the ransom money. The Judge will have no need to search your quarters if you hand it over.”

  Out of the question. “He’s not a trusting sort. No matter how much I’d give him, he would believe more could be had by ransacking my cabin. Besides, I may need it. David is still in trouble, possibly somewhere in Madagascar.”

  “He’s alive?” Thomas gasped out. “How do you know?”

  “Someone who witnessed David escape from the ship told me.” He could tell Thomas the man’s name, but why take the risk? Thomas didn’t need the details, and if pushed, would he divulge the fact to The Judge? “Talk to The Judge. Tell him you made a mistake.” The last thing they needed right now was the quartermaster storming the cabin.

  “I can’t do that. It won’t work.”

  “It’ll have to.” He glanced toward the desk. Charity no longer pretended not to listen. She stared at them with wide eyes.

  “Let’s move her somewhere else,” Thomas suggested.

  “Where?” An idea came to light. He didn’t like it, although it might work. “Your cabin?”

  “No,” Thomas and Charity said at once. They exchanged glowers. No love lost there.

  “Since I offered to help him, The Judge sometimes comes to my cabin,” Thomas clarified. “In fact, he paid me a visit early this morning.”

  James tensed. Nothing good could come of the visit. “What did he want?”

  “He told me to be prepared to act soon.”

  Dread pooled in the pit of his stomach as Thomas’s face lost some of its color. “What does he want you to do?”

  Thomas rubbed his neck with a shaking hand. “Kill the captain.”

  “Kill Captain Payne?”

  “The Judge says if I want to be his ally, I must help him take over the ship.”

  Thomas should have never gotten involved in The Judge’s affairs. The Judge was testing him or setting a trap. Either way, Thomas was in a fine mess. What to do? James paced to the bed, sliding his knuckles over his stubble. “Has he mentioned a specific time or place?”

  “No, not yet. Likely once we reach New Providence, I would guess.”

  James made a move toward the wall cabinet. God, he needed a drink.

  Charity stoo
d. “The two of you aren’t considering murder, are you?”

  Once again the villain? “Do you really think so lowly of me?”

  She shook her head. “No, of course not. I’m sorry.” She heaved a sigh. “What of your brother then? Will you go to Madagascar?”

  James retrieved a bottle of rum from the cabinet and poured a glass, offering it to Thomas, who declined with a wave of his hand. “Nothing you need to concern yourself with, love.” Despite her interest, she didn’t need his problems compounding her own.

  “James—”

  “I can’t stay much longer.” Thomas glared at the two of them. “Soon I’ll be missed. I have repairs to complete due to the storm.”

  Damn it. James took a large gulp of the rum. If he were the only one at risk, he wouldn’t worry much about The Judge. He could hide the ransom in another place aboard ship. But he had another’s safety to consider. He glanced at Charity. She’d crossed her arms over her chest, her eyes darting between him and Thomas. Maybe they were both her villains now.

  Drinking down the remaining rum in his glass, he turned to Thomas. “You’ll need to convince The Judge to wait on searching the cabin, and in the meantime, we’ll hope you’re right about him biding his time until New Providence.”

  Thomas opened his mouth, no doubt to argue.

  He held up a hand, his patience at an end. Thomas had brought this on himself. “We have no choice. If you can hold him off for a little more than a day, we’ll arrive in port. Once we’re there, we’ll all disappear.”

  Thomas muttered a curse and returned to the door. “I’ll do what I can.”

  Maybe if he wasn’t so tired, so annoyed by the man, he’d offer more help, but as it stood James unlocked the door and let Thomas worry about how the deed would be done.

  Charity marched back to the desk and sat, then she picked up his shirt, stabbing the needle into the fabric. “Well, I for one, am eager to reach New Providence. I’ll find a place to stay and employment, and you’ll never have to hear from me again.”

  After securing the door, James stowed the glass in the cabinet and headed for the bed. “You can’t stay in New Providence.”

  “Why not?”

  “New Providence is little more than a pirate’s paradise.” He kicked off his boots and lay back, stifling a groan as his sore muscles sank into the mattress. “It’s not a place for well-bred young ladies.”

  “It can’t be so terrible.”

  “It is. From what I understand, there are few women who live there, and those who do service the men.” Charity, with her youthful face and luscious body, wouldn’t last a day unscathed. “It’s not the place for you.”

  “Then what will I do? Stay here?” Her tone sharp, she jabbed the needle into his shirt and flinched. “Ouch.”

  “Is there anything I can do to help?” he asked. “I could kiss it for you.”

  “I’m fine,” she insisted, sticking her finger into her mouth.

  He could almost feel that tender skin beneath his lips. “You’re sure? My kisses have been known to soothe and heal.” And he’d be most willing to tend her finger with a kiss, a nuzzle, a caress. First her finger and then more.

  Her eyes softened a bit, but she waved his offer away.

  A pity. “Well then, for the time being, you’ll come with me to New Providence, and we’ll see if we can bribe a ship to sail us out.” Once Charity was safe and settled, he could go to Madagascar and find David.

  James removed his scarf and tossed it to the side, his head pulsing with the beat of his heart. Gingerly, he tested the bandaged wound, which somehow managed to ache and itch at the same time.

  “Leave it,” she warned, although her tone was mellower than before. “You’ll disturb the stitches.”

  He moved his hand away, and watched her as she sewed. “I wouldn’t be opposed to your kisses. I’m sure my wound would heal all the quicker.”

  “Do you now.” She bent over his shirt, her nimble fingers quick and steady.

  Perhaps too quick and steady. “You’re not up to mischief, are you?”

  She added two more stitches and tied off the string, breaking the thread with her teeth. “Why would you ask that?”

  “Hmm. You’ve rifled through all my possessions, pointed my gun at me, and tossed me from my hammock in the middle of the night. You’re a devious woman when vexed. I wouldn’t put it past you to sew my cuffs closed to spite me.”

  “What a ridiculous notion,” she insisted, but a secretive smile forced its way to her lips. “Then again, I’ve been known to…” Her cheeks took on a pink hue.

  “Go on.”

  She bowed her head, and her smile widened to the first true grin he’d seen on her. A glint of happiness brightened her eyes like sunshine on a rainy day.

  “Tell me.” He rested his arm behind his head for a better view of her radiance.

  “It’s nothing.” She set the shirt aside and returned the needle and thread to the chest. “When I was a child, I used to play pranks on my uncle.”

  Pranks? She hardly seemed the type. “What did you do?”

  “Little things. I sprinkled rice in his bedding.” She smothered a laugh behind her hand, and her eyes darted to his. “Buttered his dresser handles…and at my worst, I mixed sand in his inkwell.”

  The more he heard, the more his aches eased. “My, my, you were an impish one.”

  She nodded. “For a short time.”

  “What made you stop?”

  She returned to the desk chair and sank onto the seat, the light in her eyes dimming. “I finally realized that no matter what I did, my uncle would never have a fondness for me.”

  “You tried to gain his affections with foolery?”

  “Any attention was better than none.”

  The look on her face became one of sad reflection. What he wouldn’t give to brighten her mood once again. “It’s a shame you gave up on your mischief. I’ve always enjoyed the antics of a playful girl.”

  “I doubt you’d say that if you’d been in my uncle’s position.”

  “I disagree.” Her uncle had been a fool to turn a blind eye to such a desperate plea. How had he not seen the value of the bond they could have shared? He should have done everything in his power to make her happy.

  He swore under his breath. Speaking of making her happy. Sitting up, he fished inside the pouch that hung from his neck. “I’m sorry, love.” His fingers couldn’t quite grasp… He spilled the contents into his palm and picked up the key. “I should have given this to you earlier.”

  With a grateful smile, she took it from him. “You remembered. Thank you.”

  “A little delayed, but it’s yours.” His attention caught on the silver locket he still held. After returning all else to the pouch, he leaned back and studied the single rose etched on its front.

  Isabelle. He clenched the locket in his hand, the pain of losing his sister still raw. The necklace had become a reminder of why he never allowed women to sail with him. They didn’t belong at sea. Too many dangers could cross their paths. Too many threats to protect against. Like The Judge. With the quartermaster closing in, he needed to get Charity off this ship, and he needed to do it soon.

  …

  September 30, 1659. – I, poor miserable Robinson Crusoe, being shipwrecked, during a dreadful storm, in the offing, came on shore in this dismal unfortunate island, which I call the Island of Despair, all the rest of the ship’s company being drowned, and myself almost dead.

  Her legs curled beneath her on the bed, Charity peered over the volume in her hand. James sat at the desk where the remains of her meal grew cold. Like the incessant tick of a clock, his blade rang against the sharpening stone in a steady rhythm. His wrist twisted after each stroke, ready to slide the blade along the stone another time, his movements deft and measured.

  Although Thomas had assured them that The Judge had been dissuaded from invading the cabin, James prepared his weapon for what may lie ahead, and yet he seemed relaxed a
nd confident, as if he could forget the dangers that threatened. She couldn’t forget. They would be in New Providence as soon as tomorrow.

  “Tell me more about New Providence. What can I expect?”

  He looked up, and the clang of his blade stopped. “I’ve never been there, but I do know it’s a tropical island with a port stretching between two land masses. It’s big enough to moor five hundred ships, and has two inlets for a hasty escape.” James tested the dagger’s edge on the pad of his thumb.

  She smoothed a hand over her outer petticoat, the row of stitches there rough against her fingertips. Mending silk had never been one of her strong suits. While serviceable, the new seam resembled a horrific scar. Worse, her careful stitches wouldn’t hold long. But frankly, she was tired of tripping over her hem.

  Charity glanced at the bit of red fabric at the top of the crate. Perhaps if she modified the bodice. “What of the people in New Providence? Are they all pirates and…and…?”

  “Strumpets?” he suggested with a wicked gleam in his eyes.

  Straightening, she set the book aside, ignoring the heat that prickled her skin. “I simply forgot the term.”

  “Of course.” He resumed his sharpening, a smile playing upon his lips. “I suspect there must be shop owners and innkeepers, those folk who cater to the pirates in port.”

  His piercing stare bored into her with a look of warning. “If you’re still thinking about settling down in New Providence, don’t. I won’t leave you there.”

  Wouldn’t leave her? He had no say in the matter. He wasn’t her father, brother, or husband. “What hold do you have over me?”

  His tone held an edge as sharp as his blade. “Charity.”

  “The truth be told, I’ve been thinking more about the red gown you brought me.” She watched his hold on the dagger’s hilt tighten and an impulsive need to taunt him arose. “Maybe I should try it on.” Had James told her the truth? If she wore the gown, would she suddenly have some sort of power over men?