“His arms closed around her . . .
“Lacy!” James caught her in his arms and swam with her to the boat. “Lacy!” he shouted urgently in her ear.
She blinked twice and took hold of the gunnel, heaving herself up out of the water. For a moment, the azure-blue of the sea and the weathered brown of the Silkie’s deck seemed more vivid than ever before; the scents of salt and canvas and tarred rope seemed stronger. The sun seemed too bright—too hot—for her to bear.
“What the hell—” James demanded. His voice was loud in her ears as he thrust her up onto the deck and scrambled after her. The echo of his words resounded in her head. “Lacy? Are you all right?”
She blinked again as her familiar world shifted, then settled into place. Had she had another spell? “All right?” she stammered. “Of course I’m all right,” she lied. “What ails ye?” It was hard to concentrate on James when her mind was filled with the red man and his strange message. She took another deep gulp of air and tried to regain her shattered composure.
“I thought you fainted on me.”
“Nonsense. I’m fine.”
“You started to sink.”
“I didn’t.” She shook her hair and droplets of water spattered across the deck. “You’re worse than an old woman.”
“If you’re lying to me ...”
She averted her eyes and forced a grin. It had been a seeing. The memory was clear in her head now. But she’d never slipped into a trance in the water before. If James knew, he might refuse to let her dive again. “It’s beautiful down there,” she babbled. “Like nothing you’ve ever seen. Fish and crabs and—”
“I’ve swum on reefs before, shallower than this but much the same. Are you sure you—”
“Ah, Jamie. Ye do care about me,” she teased.
He grabbed the frayed edge of her shift and pulled it over her head so that she was naked in the hot sunshine.
Startled, Lacy stared up into his eyes. For a heartbeat she could see past the protective wall that guarded James’s innermost thoughts. The raw emotion revealed there made her breath catch in her throat. The force of his gaze was frightening in its intensity, and she trembled.
“Jamie?” she whispered.
His fingertips seared her bare shoulders as he yanked her against him. “God, woman! Don’t ever do that to me again!” The harshness of his words was overridden by the faint tremor of his body. Lowering his head, he claimed her lips with a demanding kiss. “I was crazy to let you go down there.” He wound his fingers in her hair, tilted her head back, and kissed her again—hard.
This time, she kissed him back, opening her mouth to receive the thrust of his tongue, welcoming the surge of excitment. The taste of him was sweet ... the sensation of fullness made her bold.
“I want ye ...” she whispered. Trembling, she ran her hands up under his wet shirt ... caressing ... tracing the outlines of his hard muscles. “Oh, Jamie, ye drive me mad with wantin’ ye.” Her fingertips found his male nipple and she pinched it between her fingertips until it swelled to a hard nub.
He molded her body to his with almost brutal strength, pressing his throbbing heat against her naked thigh. “Lacy,” he groaned.
Her breath was coming in quick, jagged gasps. Her skin felt as though it were on fire. Her fevered blood sang with the need to be part of him, even as his mouth claimed her again and again with hot, wet kisses.
Never before had they come together with such urgent need. Shamelessly, her seeking fingers felt the source of his desire pressed against her naked thigh, and she stroked the swollen length until he shuddered with passion.
“Jamie,” she murmured. “Ah, Jamie.”
He kissed her once more, and she clasped him against her so tightly that she could feel the thud of his heart. Her hands dug into his broad back as her body molded against his. His teeth nipped her throat; tiny, teasing caresses that made her cry out with pleasure.
Together, they sank onto the deck, possessed by a need so great that they could not wait to be part of each other. Quickly, urgently, she helped him off with his shirt and breeches.
“Lacy ... Lacy,” he whispered.
His hands moved over her, driving her wild. Her breasts ached to be touched and kissed ... her nipples swelled with desire. “Now, take me now!” she urged. “I want you inside me.”
He laughed, and the sound of his voice lashed her lust higher. His probing fingers found the source of her hunger. She moaned and arched against him, writhing beneath his touch.
“You know what you do to me?” he murmured. “You’re mine and I’ll never let you go. Never.”
His heated caresses moved down her body in a path of molten flame until she was sobbing with yearning. She could feel his tongue ... his lips ... against her tingling skin. He teased her nipples with slow, exquisite torture until she groaned and sank her teeth into his bare shoulder. Still, he did not give her what they both wanted so badly. Instead, his mouth moved lower and he pressed his face into her soft, damp curls.
“I want to taste your sweetness,” he whispered. “All of it.”
Realization of what he meant sank through to her consciousness. “No . . .” she started to protest. “I . . .”
“Sweet Lacy,” he said. “Sweet, sweet Lacy.”
She gasped with wonder at his gentle invasion, then her eyes widened as waves of intense pleasure washed over her. “Please ... I can’t,” she protested. “I need ...” She pulled him down to her, wanting to give him what she had been given ... wanting to share the bright, hot joy.
To her surprise, the rolling tide of rapture continued without receding. There was no break in her own gratification. The instant James filled her with his huge, swollen member, her desire came surging back, and she found herself not just giving, but receiving.
Crying aloud with happiness, she met him thrust for thrust. Laughing, she stared into his eyes as he found his own shuddering release, and she held him tight in her arms as they drifted on a warm sea of shared contentment.
It was James who spoke first. Lacy wasn’t sure if it was minutes or hours later.
“Woman. Woman. You are ...” He sighed and stroked her tangled hair. “There’s none like you in all the world, Lacy Bennett.”
“Ummm.” She closed her eyes tightly and snuggled against his chest.
“I’ll never let you go, you know that, don’t you? Not ever. You belong to me.”
“Ummm.” A tiny breath of cold rippled down her spine, but she ignored it.
“I want you to come back with me—to England. I’ll buy your pardon, Lacy, as I’ll buy my own. We can be together. I’ll give you everything you’ll ever want ... pretty clothes, a house, servants. You’ll never—”
She stiffened. “If we find this treasure you’ve bragged about, I’ll need no one to buy me what I want.”
“Now, don’t go all hiss and nails on me, girl,” he soothed. “I’ve been honest with you from the first. I’ll marry a woman of my own station—but that doesn’t mean I’ll put her above you. I—”
She scrambled free of his embrace and rose to her knees, her cheeks hot with shame. “Damn ye for a blackhearted villain! Put me first, will ye?” She grabbed the nearest garment she could find—his cambric shirt—and pulled it over her head. The hem fell to mid-calf and covered enough flesh for her to consider herself decent. Thus armed, she turned on him with renewed fury. “I’m good enough for a mistress, aye, but never for a wife! No milksop blue-blood will ever give ye what I can. Best ye remember that.”
His eyes filled with pain. “You’re no fool, Lacy. You know what I am, and what you are.”
“Aye.” She came to her feet, eyes flashing sparks of cold fire. Her chin went up as she deliberately pushed aside the lock of auburn hair that covered her scar. “A lady could hardly pass in society with this, could she?” she mocked. “Witch or whore—it makes little difference, does it. Either one sends me from the hall and into the street.” She threw him a look of utter loathing. “Who are ye to c
ondemn me, James Black? You’re naught but a pirate and no doubt a bastard to boot. Red Tom Bennett may not have been much, but at least I know who my father is.”
“And I know mine.”
“So you say.” Defiantly, she rested her hands on her hips and made a grimace of distaste. “Did ye ever think that perhaps it would be me who would keep you as my fancy boy, rather than me be your mistress? Ye didn’t seduce me, Jamie. I seduced you. Mayhap I won’t think you good enough for me, once we take this treasure.”
“Hold your tongue, woman,” he threatened. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”
“I’m Red Tom’s daughter. Whose son are you?”
His eyes narrowed. “Enough.”
“Whose son, Jamie?”
His voice dropped to a dangerous whisper. “The king’s son.”
She shook her head in disbelief. “More lies.”
“Charles’s son.” His features grew taut. “I am James Fitzroy, and my father is Charles Stuart, the rightful king of England.”
Lacy turned away, holding back the taunting gibe that rose in her throat. He was lying again. He must be. Her mouth tasted suddenly of copper. Jamie’s devil-black looks and stature could come from the Stuarts. The king’s conquests were legendary. He had dozens of bastards—nay, scores—according to gossip. She glanced back at him, still trying to make sense of what he’d said. “You’re too old to be Charles’s get. He would have had to sire ye when he was—”
“A few weeks lacking his sixteenth birthday,” James finished.
“No. ’Tis easy enough claimed. But your mother is of gentle birth. If you speak truth, why wouldn’t he have—”
“Acknowledged me?” James stood up and faced her. His dark eyes hardened. Pride radiated from every pore of his body. “My mother’s husband was his friend. Charles needed his support. He still does. At least, he needs that more than he needs another bastard claiming to be a prince.”
She shrugged. “Ye have his look, certain. But if he will not—”
James’s right fist knotted. “Wealth, Lacy. Wealth will open the right doors for me. If Charles is ever to name me his son, I’ll have to have more power than my stepfather.” His mouth tightened and he looked away from her, speaking more for his own ears than hers. “This treasure will buy me what my mother’s word couldn’t. I’ll have it all—titles, position ...”
“Ye think to buy the king’s favor?”
He arched a black eyebrow. “Charles is always short of money. If I cross his palm with enough gold, he’ll grant me anything I ask.”
“And what would it mean—if you had to buy his name?”
James shook his head in disbelief. “God save us, but you are a fool. Are your ears still clogged with water? I could be a prince of England.”
“No true prince,” she declared, scowling back at him. “If what ye say is true, ye still be born on the wrong side of the blanket. You’re still naught but a woods colt.”
“A king’s acknowledged by-blow can reach as high as his ambition takes him.”
She sniffed scornfully. “Doubtless you’ve hopes of the throne for yourself.”
“I never said that,” he corrected. His voice thickened with frost. “I’ve no wish to be a king—just to live like one.”
“Without a common wench to hold ye back.”
“Damn it, Lacy, use sense!” He seized his breeches from the deck and began to step into them. “Just because we can never marry doesn’t mean we—”
“Marry? Who the hell said anything about marrying? I’d sooner wed a jackass than be your wife!” She whirled about and started toward the cabin, then paused and flung back, “I’ll never marry. Not ye. Not any man born of woman.” With a final toss of her head, she disappeared down the cuddy ladder.
“A pox on all women,” he muttered after her. Was she mad? No woman of her station could expect to wed a gentleman. There was no shame in being a courtesan.
Still mumbling under his breath, James pulled the anchor and steered the Silkie toward the island beach where he intended to set up camp.
He cared for Lacy, cared for her more than for any woman he’d ever known. Hell, he thought more of her than of his own mother. But marriage? He shook his head in disbelief. He’d been a weak fool to tell her of his birth. He’d thought that when she knew who he was, she’d realize how things had to be between them. Instead, she’d carried on like a fishwife who’d gotten a lead shilling in trade.
Carefully, James leaned against the tiller, steering the Silkie into quiet water. Lacy hadn’t come back on deck, but the air was just as charged as it had been when they’d stood toe to toe trading hostilities.
He exhaled slowly, going over and over their argument in his mind. He’d never lied to her ... never promised marriage. From the beginning, she’d known that theirs was a business arrangement. They needed each other to recover the treasure. And when they had it, he’d give her a fair share. Then she could either come with him under his terms or go her own way.
A puff of wind struck his face, and he straightened and ran a hand through his damp hair. Lacy would come around in time. She’d have to. For if she didn’t, he wasn’t sure how he could go on without her.
Chapter 13
In the hushed silence before dawn, Lacy crept from the camp she and James had made near the island beach and went down to the water’s edge. Only a faint purple shadow in the east gave promise of the coming day. The moon was gone; a few lingering stars twinkled overhead, ice-white against a velvet-black sky. The ebb and flow of the sea surrounded her as she waded into the warm foam and breathed deeply of the salt air.
She pulled the soft shift off over her head, tossed it back onto the fine, white sand, and plunged into the water. With easy strokes, she swam out beyond the breakers, then rolled on her back and gazed at the wooded shoreline. Parrots squawked from the treetops, and white-chested frigate-birds clacked fierce warnings as they swooped over the beach, searching for food. Already, the sooty terns were beginning their morning patrols, darting among the rowdy seagulls like graceful dancers.
Lacy lay back in the water, letting her hair drift loose with the current, letting her mind soar far above the water’s surface. Her heart still ached from James’s harsh statements. And even though she’d known how he felt from the beginning, it hurt to hear him say the words.
Was he truly the king’s son? She closed her eyes and kicked slowly to keep from drifting out toward the reef. Was it possible? she wondered. Could he be of royal blood? She sighed and rolled over, swimming lazily along the shoreline toward the spot where the Miranda lay on the ocean floor. Prince or pirate ... it didn’t matter. He believed he was highborn. And even if his father was a palace groom instead of a king, his mother was a titled lady.
“Better ye had been a tavern wench’s bastard,” she murmured. “Then I’d have a better chance.”
Truth was truth. A blooded stallion wasn’t bred to a pit pony, or a fine hound to a rat-catcher’s terrier bitch. And only in fairy tales did the handsome prince make a humble goosegirl his bride.
She had done what she’d vowed never to do. She’d let James Black capture her heart. She’d believed she could share bed pleasures with him and not be snared like a herring in a net, but she’d underestimated his charms.
Aye, he’d promised to look after her—to give her whatever she needed. But without marriage such promises were worthless. A wedding ring on a wife’s finger might put her in her husband’s power, but it also gave her rights that a mistress could never claim. If she went with James as his ladybird, she would live each day in fear of being discarded for a younger, prettier woman.
It was not only herself she had to consider. Any babe that she and James conceived out of love would stand second to his legitimate children born from a legal wife. A trueborn child inherited from the father; a bastard got only castoffs. Not only would her children be condemned by church and state, but they would be in danger of being sold as bondservants if they ever lost
their father’s favor.
For a fleeting second, she covered her belly with her hand. Yesterday, she and James had made a child between them—she knew it with absolute certainty. Whatever future that baby had, she would have to assure it. She would stay with James and love him as long as she could, but when her pregnancy began to show, she would leave him to seek her own fortune. She’d have no pity for him. No pity, and no promises made for the sake of what nestled in her womb. She was young and strong and quick of wit. She’d make her own way for herself and the child here in the islands, or north in the American Colonies.
If the treasure lay in the hold of the Miranda as James said, then she’d see that she took away a fair share of it. She’d not be cheated of an ounce of gold or a bar of silver. And James did mean to try to cheat her—she was canny enough to know that. He felt that the riches were his alone. Oh, he’d give her something for her time, but not what he meant to carry back to England. James had big ambitions, he did. But Red Tom’s daughter knew a few tricks herself. And the first trick concerned that underwater limestone cave she meant to explore this morning.
An hour later, she waded out of the water, reclaimed her shift, and returned to camp just as James was starting a campfire.
“Where have you been?” he asked gruffly. “I don’t want you wandering around the island alone. There are wild cattle and pigs that—”
“I went for a swim.”
“Not to mention the reef and the threat of sharks,” he continued. “I don’t want—”
“Hmmph.” She sniffed and tossed him a silver flapping fish she’d caught feeding on the rocks under water. “We can have this for breakfast with some bananas. I’m tired of salt pork. I’m not sure what kind of fish it is, but it looks eatable.”
“It is,” he answered grudgingly. “It’s a sheepshead. The meat’s white and sweet.” He scowled at her. “I mean what I say about you swimming alone. It’s not safe.”
She caught a mass of her hair and wrung the water out of it. “If I get into trouble on the wreck, I’ll have to get myself out of it, won’t I?”
Fortune Trilogy 1 - Fortune's Mistress Page 16