“I’m pretending it’s roast goose.” She bit off another mouthful and gnawed the hard lump.
He did smile then, his golden eyes sparkling. “Mine’s cottage pie.”
She imagined the rich, savory flavors of meat, vegetables, and potatoes. “Yes, cottage pie… Or stew.” Even better.
“Beef stew,” he countered, “Or corned beef.”
“Apple pie.” Charity closed her eyes, her tongue darting out to touch her lips, almost tasting the sweet apples and flaky crust. “My uncle’s cook makes the most delicious pie.”
“Or how about steak and kidney pie?”
Another soft laugh escaped her, and she studied his features, the score along his cheek from The Judge’s whip catching her eye. “I sense a craving for beef.”
His dazzling grin almost stole her breath. “And not a steer in sight.” He set down what remained of his fare and picked up a bottle. “I could find no water, but this wine called to me.”
“Of course it did.”
“I’ll go back for water later.” He withdrew the stopper and held it out. “After you.”
She took the bottle from him and brought it to her lips. The slightly sweet wine moistened her mouth and quenched her thirst. When she handed it back, James’s expression had turned serious.
“You muttered in your sleep,” he said.
“Did I?” Ah, that must have been why she’d awakened with his hand covering her mouth.
“You called out to your mother.”
Her mother. An old ache compressed her chest. Vaguely, she remembered the nightmare—the pain in her mother’s eyes as she’d turned away, her hand already on the cellar door. Rain had pounded against the wood in a steady beat, and the wind had moaned like ghosts warning the living of their fate.
“You begged your mother to stay.”
She swallowed the last bits of biscuit in her mouth, the flavor more distasteful than before. “I dreamed about the storm that took my parents, that’s all.”
“When did you lose them?”
“They died a long time ago. I was just a child.” She picked at the bread in her hand as the pain of that horrible day squeezed her heart. “My mother left me in the storm cellar, and lost her life attempting to save my father. After all the misery he’d put her through, she chose him over me.”
He tipped back the bottle and took a drink. “I’m sure she meant to return.”
“You didn’t see her face.” She set aside the food, her appetite gone. “The storm was right outside the door. She knew what the odds were. She left me anyway.”
Charity stared into the shadows, trying to hold in the bitterness that seemed to come from nowhere. And failed miserably. “My life was never the same. If she’d lived, I wouldn’t have been placed with my uncle. In fact, I wouldn’t be here now.”
“That’s a lot of blame to place on one woman.” No judgment tainted the statement. Instead, it laid bare the truth she’d never understood until now.
“I suppose so.” Where had this resentment come from? She had loved her mother and always would.
James rested his hand over hers, his gaze supportive but determined. “We grow from adversity. As terrible as your parents’ deaths were, you’ve become the person you are because of it.”
Her throat grew tight. Just what kind of person had she become? She was hiding from one man while ensconced with another she’d vowed to hate from the first moment she’d met him. “I’m not so sure who I am anymore.”
James inched closer and settled his palm along her cheek. “Then let me tell you.” He looked deeply into her eyes with a sincerity that warmed her heart. “You’re an independent, strong woman who speaks your mind.” He brushed aside a lock of hair dangling in front of her eye. The graze of his fingers calmed her ragged nerves. “Your mother is gone. Blaming her for past wrongs whether true or not is only going to hurt you. Best to remember the good and let go of the bad.”
Sage words. Were they spoken from experience? “What of your mother? Is she still living?”
His eyes dulled for an instant and he sat back, making her regret voicing the questions that sprang to mind. “She passed away in a carriage accident.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Not to worry. It happened quite some time ago.” He gulped down more of the wine and offered it to her. “Another drink?”
She accepted the bottle and sipped. The wine was already going to her head, relaxing her. His mother and his sister both dead. His brother taken by force. Poor James. It must feel like his family was slipping away one by one. No wonder he was going to such lengths to search for his brother. Even to join a crew of pirates.
His scarf long gone, James’s unruly hair curled every which way as he studied her with a pensive look. “Is your uncle the only family you have left?”
A pitiful laugh rode her next breath. “No. After my parents died, my grandfather refused to take me in. He arranged to pay my uncle to care for me.”
“Why?”
“My father drank to excess on a daily basis. Because of it, he couldn’t sustain his medical practice in New York.” She shook her head. “Small communities don’t have the luxury of choosing the best doctor available. Usually they make do with the closest, so we moved. My grandparents saw him as weak, an embarrassment. They cut all ties to him and our family.”
She cringed at the silence that followed her tale. Such a dark picture she’d painted. She took a large gulp of the wine. “Don’t believe all my days have been nothing but bleak. I had my share of enjoyment.” She couldn’t think of one for a moment, but better memories soon surfaced. “I remember the pungent scent of Uncle Marshall’s tobacco. I don’t know why, but I always liked the smell. Then there was my uncle’s laugh. His twitter, twitter, huff, huff,” she mimicked, her spirits rising with the attempt. “Best of all were the snores of Miss Biddle.”
James nodded. “Ah, the infamous Miss Biddle, the man-hater. She snored, did she?”
Her gaze wandered over the stubble along his jaw, the memory of the slight scrape on her face as he’d kissed her invading her mind…before she shook it away. “She snored like a hungry swine, the volume depending on how many glasses of sherry she’d consumed before bed.” Those times had been merry indeed.
“You enjoyed the sound?”
“Quite. The real fun would begin as soon as I heard her rumbling grunts.”
“What fun would that be?” A curious smile lifted the corners of his lips, and she longed to keep it there, or better still, to feel his soft lips on hers… Oh, where had that come from? She cleared her throat, although she hadn’t spoken the thought aloud. “Once she’d fallen asleep, I’d be free to play tricks on my uncle. What could be more fun?” Of course, those tricks didn’t work as well as she’d hoped. Rather than a good-natured laugh, Uncle Marshall would inevitably give a sound scolding. Marshall never laughed with her. He’d only shared good humor with his friends. “No dinner and an early bed would be my usual punishment.”
James’s humor faded. “Your uncle is a fool.”
Perhaps so, but without her uncle, who did she have? The thought disturbed her. Beyond her parents, who had she ever had? Except James. Without him she’d be truly alone. She savored the sweet wine, her mood improving with each sip. “Miss Biddle kept me out of trouble most of the time.” Her governess had been the closest thing she’d had to a friend in an otherwise lonely house. “She wasn’t a man-hater, not really.”
He chuckled, the sound rich and pure, sending a tingle down her spine and a rush of excitement to her belly. “I have to disagree. You forget, I’ve heard the quotes you’ve spouted.”
“I grant you, she did have a fair number of sayings.” Despite all the years of lectures on the many faults of men, she’d never pondered the reasons why. Probably because she’d seen proof with her uncle and his friends, even her own father. Yes, Miss Biddle’s words had become ingrained. Yet, now that she looked back, the cause of Miss Biddle’s bitterness was obvious.
“I think she was in love with my uncle.”
“That hardly makes sense. Love and hate are worlds apart.”
“Are they?” She’d sworn to hate James just days ago, and now… Miss Biddle had been stiff and brittle, but her eyes had always wandered to Uncle Marshall whenever he’d been near. “My governess taught me one final lesson before she left. Never confront your employer after you’ve tipped too many cups of sherry.” That night had been filled with shouts and tears. “From what I overheard, she and my uncle had been lovers many years ago. At the time, she’d believed he would marry her, but he’d never had such intentions. She scoffed at him for how he treated women.” Her uncle had been merciless. “Uncle Marshall ordered her to leave at once. He’d only hired her on a lark, or so he said.” No wonder Miss Biddle’s views of men were so cold. “She’d told me once what a cruel man her father had been. He had beaten her and her mother for any infraction. She didn’t hate my uncle. She became my governess to get close to him. I believe she saw him as an escape from the wretched life she’d known. Perhaps it was a twisted type of love she felt, but it was love nevertheless.”
She peered over at James as he listened intently to her chatter—as if he’d rather be no other place than in this dank, godforsaken hold with her. Before she could think better of it, she leaned forward and kissed his lips, following her desires for once, instead of her mind.
Miss Biddle was wrong. Not all men were bad. Good ones existed, too.
…
James’s mouth moved with Charity’s, tasting and exploring. The red wine flavored her lips, and her scent—salt from the ocean and woman.
How she’d changed since they’d first met. The untouchable maid had disappeared into the ocean’s depths. When she sat back, he lifted her hand and kissed her palm. The woman next to him now teased and laughed, stirring something deep inside him. He nuzzled the crook of her elbow, and she shivered.
Charity thought she had all the answers from that Biddle woman, but she had so much to learn, and he’d love to be the one to teach her.
He lifted her arm and settled it around his neck, then cradling her head with both hands, he grazed his tongue along her lower lip before settling his mouth on hers. She responded sweetly, with a shy but curious kiss. Her left arm joined her right, linking behind his shoulders, and he almost groaned out loud. Her lips beckoned him like a siren’s song. Every kiss she gave him was more captivating than the last.
She placed a hand between them and pushed. With a supreme effort of will, he eased away. He’d never forced a woman, and he wasn’t about to start now. Yet Charity didn’t leave his loose embrace. Instead, she settled her hand along his neck, then lower, slipping inside the top opening of his shirt to slide her palm over his skin. Her touch set off a trail of sparks that burned deep.
James lowered her onto her back, and her hair spread out beneath her in a spray of downy softness. She lifted her hands to the sides of his face and pulled him forward for a kiss that drained all thought. The longing in that kiss touched him to the core, a desperation that bespoke of loneliness and pain. He’d love nothing more than to wipe away those wretched emotions.
His lips traveled along her throat, pausing over her pulse, her heart’s beat sure and quick. Her luscious curves sorely tempted him. He savored one sumptuous shoulder and dipped lower to the rise of her breasts. She dug her hands into his hair, pressing him closer still. Her every sigh and tremor affected him, intoxicating him like fine wine. Each taste so satisfying, he craved more.
He ached to touch every inch of her. In a long, sensual sweep, he brushed his hand down her body, stopping at the hem of her gown. He reached beneath. Such smooth skin. His hand cupped one bare knee and slid farther up that enticing limb. He devoured her lips, his passions running so high, he wondered if he should slow down or he might risk scaring her by pushing her too hard. Charity’s fingers raked through his hair, grasping handfuls. The desire in her eyes splashed rum on the fire that already burned in his belly, setting it ablaze, and any thought of holding back fled his mind. Her breath came out in short gasps as he drew his hand along her inner thigh. He inched closer to the juncture between her legs, his fingertips caressing her skin.
Charity stiffened.
He looked into her wide blue eyes and found no fear, only uncertainty. “For this short time, let’s forget where we are and what the future holds. Let me pleasure you, love. Nothing more.”
“Nothing more?”
“I only want to touch you.” The lie spilled from his mouth even as his loins ached with the truth. He hungered for her, but he would keep his word if he had to throw himself overboard to do it. Charity was a lady, one who had been taught to distrust men. He’d be damned if she’d regret their actions later.
He grazed her lips with his. “Trust me.”
She released a shaking exhale, then tentatively, she skimmed her tongue over his lips. He groaned and opened his mouth, allowing her entry.
His hand rose to cup her sex. She flinched at that first touch, before relaxing into him. Their tongues exploring and their breaths intermingled, James stroked one fingertip along her center. She whimpered and squirmed, but kept her lips pressed to his. He stroked again, lightly tracing her folds.
Kissing her throat, he pressed his finger inside of her, pleased to find how wet she’d already become. Her expression changed from wonder to pleasure, and she arched back with a low moan. He thrust again, and again. Charity clasped his shoulders, clinging to him, her obvious need sharpening his ache to have her. He added a second finger and rocked his hand, his fingers pumping, and his palm rubbing her most sensitive place.
Her head fell back, and images of sinking deep inside her clouded his vision. His muscles tightened, his erection pressing against his trousers. Charity cried out, and she spasmed around his fingers.
He nestled her close. Tenderness for her enveloped him, and the thought of what life might be like with a woman by his side seeped into his mind for the first time.
Chapter Twelve
“It’s time.”
Charity nearly jumped at the sound of James’s voice coming from the top of the stairs leading to the hold. She wiped her sweaty palms down the front of her trousers and picked up the burlap sack containing her dress and underthings, hoisting it over her shoulder. James held the lantern high and watched her climb the stairs. His look of concern slowed her steps. This time they’d found a cloth to bind her breasts, but even with this added precaution, her disguise was a poor one. While the shirt concealed her chest, the trousers, rolled up at her ankles and cinched at the waist with a crude rope belt, displayed her rounded hips and bottom, and her hair… They’d tied it back with a strip of leather, a scarf wrapped over her brow. Dear God, would she fool anyone? “Perhaps we should wait until dark.”
Once she reached the top of the staircase, he led her past the penned animals, the stench from their droppings making her wrinkle her nose. “I have my doubts the ship will stay that long,” he argued. “Captain Shevington plans to quickly survey the situation, then head back for reinforcements.”
Would that be so very bad? She cringed inwardly at the thought of more time spent in the hold, still… “We could stay and disembark in England.”
They reached another set of steps, where James glanced back with a frown. “We’ve avoided discovery through wits and luck. That luck won’t hold forever, and a trip back to England will take two to three months. There’s every chance we’d be discovered long before we reached port.”
James climbed the stairs and stepped into a gun room and up another flight to the next, then walked to the door leading outside. He stopped and bent for something on the floor. “Take this,” he whispered, handing her a large coil of rope.
Charity hoisted the thing onto her shoulder as he adjusted the scarf on her head. A rueful smile tugged at his lips. “You must have charmed old Whip.” He grazed one finger along the earring dangling from her lobe, setting it into motion. “A sailor, particula
rly a pirate, doesn’t give up one of these lightly. A single earring could mean the difference between a proper burial and a watery grave.”
With Whip locked aboard a nearby ship, she only hoped he wouldn’t need it now. God help him.
James’s smile quickly faded, and he moved her grip on the burlap sack so that it hung lower on her spine, long enough to dangle over her bottom. Inspecting her closely, he positioned the rope to cover more of her chest, before resting his hands on her shoulders. “Remember, you are a pirate going about your business. Head down and stop for no one.”
Her nerves strung like a taut bow, she nodded and shifted her weight, her bare feet brushing the dusty planks as James peered out the door. His hands absently checked his dagger and the pistol he’d stolen on his venture out of the hold just this morning.
Waving her forward, James stepped through the doorway. Her heart beating a staccato rhythm, she followed.
The crew attended their duties, all focused on their work. James walked among them as if he belonged while she trailed behind, her muscles so tense, she felt like she walked on stilts. Several ships, their masks tall and proud, were moored alongside them.
Judging by the daylight, it had to be late morning. Despite the blinding rays, she welcomed the sun on her face after so much time below.
They’d almost reached the plank leading to the pier when a shout carried across the deck. “You there. Where do you think you’re going?”
She knew that voice, and a cold sweat made her shiver.
“Don’t stop,” James warned. He took her arm and sped her along.
“Halt,” Captain Shevington bellowed from a higher deck.
She flinched and couldn’t help herself. She glanced toward the sound, her gaze connecting solidly with Richard Shevington’s angry stare. Recognition widened his eyes. Oh dear Lord.
“Stop them!”
James clasped her hand and raced down to the pier. She dropped the heavy rope she carried and ran with him, barely able to keep up with his longer strides. They quickly left the docks and hurried toward a stretch of dilapidated wooden buildings that comprised the town.
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