James lost all patience as rage exploded. These men took his wife and he would have answers! He grabbed the man by his arms and jerked him upright, the shillings falling through the planks to splash in the water below.
“Oh, I bet you do know all about her,” he seethed. “And whoever put you up to this, for surely as nitwitted as you are, to seal a hole of your escapee isn’t likely but ordered to by your benefactor? Yes.” He slammed the man up against the remains of the building wall. “Where did she run to?”
The man tried to squirm free but James held him tight. “We ain’t sure. Please, my lord, we done her no harm!”
“You took her from me by force! Do not take me as a mouse! I will take in return what was stolen from me! Now, where the hell is she?”
* * *
A wave of nauseam washed over her at the mere hint of returning to the docks. She swallowed the bile that reached the back of her throat as she clutched her hands into small fists, trying to stop the tremors that threatened. Visions, faint like ghosts, flittered through her thoughts. She needed these demons to go away but instead, they taunted her, claiming they’d get her. Anger threatened to overtake her. She would not go back and that was all there was about it!
The captain frowned, obviously not understanding her fear. But then, this was a man who fired cannonballs at other ships and stole their goods. She should be wary of him. But there was something about him that also made her want to melt. High cheekbones and a square jawline, Trent Cavendish was a fascination for her. A faint voice in the back of her head wondered how he’d look in a frock coat and breeches the stylish men of the ton wore. The musing hitched her thoughts. How did she know that? Of course, the remains of her own gown did give her the impression of good breeding.
The silence between them became thick as the wool frock she imagined him in. But her mouth was too dry to speak, her mind bombarded with wicked thoughts and of fears from ghostly images. She bit her lower lip.
Trent’s brows furrowed as he leaned back against his desk.
“I did not mean to startle you. I had thought returning you would make you happy, perhaps trigger more memories, not nightmares.” He shook his head and pushed off the side of the desktop. “Darlin’, see here…” he paused. “I don’t expect a name has popped into that pretty little head of yours?”
Another problem. She struggled through the web of her thoughts when she heard a voice, deep, fighting to be heard. “El...El…”
“El? Rather odd. Elle, perhaps? Elizabeth?”
Neither of those sounded right but she was too exhausted trying to clear the mess of her mind to care. She shot him a sad shrug, not caring at this minute what he called her.
He laughed. The ringing tone soothed her ears. It was deep and seductive. Oh bother…
“We shall use Elle. It rolls off the tongue easily, that is if you will.” He cocked his head. “Or shall we try Elizabeth?” He gave her a dazzling smile.
She was mesmerized by him. He was danger and temptation, a puzzle that stirred a fire deep inside her. She swallowed hard. There were bigger issues to work with and her allure to him was not one.
“Elle will be fine.” There was a certain way it sounded that made her wonder if it was her name.
But all thoughts of pushing him aside fell to ruin as he took a step closer to her, still with that devil-may-care grin, and reached for a tendril that fell, touching her shoulder. Her heart skipped a beat but she couldn’t drag her eyes off him.
He was grinning but that smile wasn’t reflected in his gaze. What she saw was a whirling stream of emotion ranging from seduction to curiosity to bitterness. What was he thinking?
A pounding at the door interrupted them right as the door swung wide.
“Capt’n, think you’ll wanna take a gander at this.” Fitzgibbons stormed in, ignoring them and plopping a ledger book, opened, on the desktop.
Instantly, the captain’s eyes hardened as he spun to see the book. Elle stepped back, her heart still beating fast, her blood still on fire from him. Something hinted in the back of her cluttered head it was for the best this happened. He was too close, the desire that pooled inside her too ignited, to expect to be ignored. He would have kissed her, she was sure of that. She had to dampen this burning desire for him because he was danger.
* * *
Trent wanted to beat Fitzgibbons and to thank him all in the same breath. Inside, his blood raced, his loins burned to be buried inside her and what was left of his rational mind told him to run. The first mate answered his question over what he should do. He was to refocus and find the person who got Rachel killed.
He blinked, trying to erase the thought of Elle’s lips, her petite luscious body all within his arms’ reach. Forcing himself to concentrate, he focused on the page the first mate pointed to. The lines held the scrawl of the captain Trent had questioned just a short while ago. That man claimed to know nothing but his log indicated he was a liar.
Dated six months ago was the manifest of the Prestige and on it was Rachel Cavendish. As he scanned the next two pages, white hot anger poured through his veins, his vision red as the captain reported a “mishap” at sea involving a ship with black sails and the name Matilda. He hissed.
“So, the ghost rises.”
Fitzgibbons nodded. “Ain’t it amazin’ how a ship, so lost at sea, weighted too much ta sail after the storm and it sank, managed ta find sail again.”
“We all know what happened. Damn Spanish can’t admit they too fall prey, thinkin’ their wickedness outweighs pirate luck.” He slammed the book shut. “Worst is, I let that son of bitch go when I should have hung him from the yardarm for hiding this from me!” He shoved his hand into his hair while he paced what little he could in a cabin that was now crowded.
“Did ya notice the post of where the capt’n thought the ship was headed?”
“He made mention of it turning west with it’s new cargo in place along with new recruits who went on the account.” The account being they turned pirate. A lucrative position that paid higher than any sailor got though the price tag was high—death by hanging, the sentence for all pirates. He knew well as he, too, had gone on the account months ago. With his mind calculating, reached for the rum bottle sitting on top of the shelf over the desk.
“Did ya notice the markin’ in the front of the log, mentioning the home port of the ship? And how home ain’t listed?” Fitzgibbons took the offered cup and raised it in unspoken celebration.
Trent raised his as his lips curved in satisfaction. “Yes, and to it’s port we shall go.”
The cups clashed as the men roared a festive sound. As he took a swig of the rum, Trent realized Elle stood in the corner, her head tilted in a questioning look. He’d forgotten the woman. And only minutes ago, he’s battled with his will to throw on his bed, making mad passionate love, or throw her into the waves. He now berated his lack of manners. The news took him back to his driving force and disrupted any desires he held in either direction in regard to her. In a quick motion, he poured her a drink and offered it.
“Good news, a thing I’ve been looking for.” He raised his cup and she mimicked his move.
“Hear, hear,” she said softly, and raised the cup to her lips.
A jolt of desire stabbed him deep when she sipped and he saw her throat working to drink the dark brew. His cock thickened again and he diverted his gaze in hopes of stopping the wicked member from hardening, which would be highly visible pressed against his trousers. If nothing else, he needed to re-think his course. Elle or Matilda and a price due. He peered at her above the rim of his cup as he swallowed the end of the rum. Desire for her could steer him from his goal, one that now lay so close to grab. That and the twitch in his groin snapped him to attention. He had a crew to appease to get them to take the course he needed. But first, to off load a prize he did not take and couldn’t keep.
Fitzgibbons coughed to grab his attention. He grinned. The Irishman was well talented in making him veer back
on track. Without taking his gaze off the woman, he ordered, “Have us head west, Fitzgibbons.”
“Aye, aye, Capt’n.”
The girl cocked her head to the right, a questioning look on her face. It caused a nerve to crackle, for she would not like his conclusion. But he tired of battle and needed sleep.
“Get some rest. Perhaps that’ll make your mind right itself. We’ll discuss your plans later.” As he turned to the cabin door, he made his escape before she asked him more because he couldn’t tell her their first stop was London.
This Love Of Mine: Chapter Eight
“They were sniveling bastards, nothing more.” Clearwater downed the contents of his glass and sighed. “But now, after two bloody weeks hunting, you’ve got a name to go by. All well and good.” He smiled broadly as he slouched back in stuffed chair at Brooks.
James stared at his glass of brandy, the liquor barely touched. Two weeks without his Eleanor felt more like a lifetime. He coughed, clearing his mind of that fact and returned to now. “They were commoners of the lowest quality. Spilling the name of some ship no longer in port told us nothing. For all I know, the ship wasn’t real—”
“Posh!” Clearwater spitted out. “You did check with the harbor master and found a ship by that name in the ledger.”
Finally taking a sip, James relished the burn that scorched his throat and fired his belly. At this point, the pain was the only thing that made him feel alive.
“Yes, a ship with that name Equuleus was there but no longer. And you heard the rumors.”
“Pirate/privateer, all one and the same in time of war.”
But with his wife taken as hostage? Narrowed the field down to simply pirate. Fear raed down his spine. “We wasted valuable time downing drink while she…”
Clearwater moved to the edge of his seat. “It is night, James. Now is not the time to sail, looking for a ship that could fit into the docks, a pirate ship, and not go noticed. Do you think you’d find her at night, under the glow of the stars and moon?”
Damn! He didn’t want to admit his friend was right. With a deep sigh, he sat back, sitting the snifter down on the table nearby. Contemplating his next step, he eyed Clearwater.
“While I appreciate your help in my search, do you not a one of your own? For the future Lady Clearwater?”
Clearwater snorted. “I have met and pursued such a miss only to have my affections tossed to the side while another stole her heart.” He gave James a half smile. “And her dowry. I, of course, was the better match, but her father deemed the other superior.” He shrugged.
James frowned at his friend. “And who was this lady of valor? Where was I, to have missed this tragedy?”
Clearwater snagged James’s glass and downed the entire contents. “You, my friend, had your bollocks tied to knots seeking Lady Eleanor’s hand, too busy to waste time of the world around you.” At his move to protest, Clearwater’s waved him down. “There is no reason to apologize, my friend. In the game of marriage, one must work to find a wife, not worry if dearest friend marries or not.”
James caught the flicker in Lord Clearwater’s eyes, a flash that did not look like love or even lust when he mentioned the lady. No, there was a quick look of anger before Clearwater’s easy smile returned. It made him wonder what had happened. Before he could inquire, his friend stood.
“From what you discovered today from those miscreants, you have your work cut out for you tomorrow. Think sleep should be your top priority.”
James smiled, following Clearwater to the front of the club where they retrieved their hats and frocks before finding their horses. As the horses clip-clopped down the street toward James’s townhouse, Clearwater slowed near his own place but before he dismounted, James reached over and grabbed his arm.
“I would appreciate any further time you have to help me on the morrow.”
Clearwater snorted. “I wouldn’t miss this adventure for anything in the world. Good night.”
“Good night,” James replied as Clearwater bounded the stairs to his residence and snuck inside .
The trip to the townhouse was short but long enough for him to feel the exhaustion of all the time spent searching catch up to him. In fact, he almost tripped up the stairs to the door and laughed, since he acted as if drunk without even finishing one drink. The butler at the door was not amused. Trent ignored the stern-faced servant, leaving his coat, hat and gloves with him and turned toward the stairs, leaping up them quickly.
The townhouse had been his favorite bachelor residence, always within short distant to the club, the social center of London and the gambling halls where youthful single lords hung, spending family money with ardor. And the ladies….not proper but the improper ones that hugged on him, had offered enjoyment beyond measure. That was until he met Eleanor, then his world changed.
The fireplace in his room glowed with the embers of a low fire. He sighed. His help was exceptional, and must have spies out to find when he would be in residence. The welcoming glow from the burning fire seeped into his bones and he’d gladly wanted to give in but not now. Quickly, he tore off his waistcoat and kicked his shoes to the side, stretching. Sleep. He hoped it would come for it had eluded him before. With that doubt in his mind, he strode to the table in the corner of his room and poured himself a shot of rum that had come in the last shipment of goods from his lands in the West Indies. The rum had a settling, if not burning, effect on him.
He did not wait for the butler to come help him change for bed. No, Trent would do it himself. Shoving his breeches to the floor, he grabbed his drink and walked to his bed, eager to jump in and fall asleep. He reached for the curtain that fell around the head of the bed and came to a sudden, complete stop.
Sitting in the center of his bed, dressed in a blue lace dressing gown, was someone that totally surprised him. The dove white-skinned goddess with the tangle of dark curls brushing her shoulders was obviously there to attract him. But still, it stunned him.
“Lydia. What a surprise to see you here.”
She smiled.
He was doomed.
* * *
The sea had always been a balm to soothe his soul. Always. So why was he now so conflicted?
Trent stood on the upper deck, scanning the map in his hands, listening to reports from Fitzgibbons about the ship and their course, but when she walked onto the deck, his senses picked up and the turmoil inside him started again. He couldn’t even take his eyes off her, despite his desperate attempts to do so. At least she no longer wore his clothes, well, not his pants. He had found a smaller pair in the hold, left by a sailor sometime ago, a man who stood shorter than the rest of the men. The shirt, though, he couldn’t, no, wouldn’t replace. There was something vastly appealing to his inner soul for her to wear what was his. As if she was his... He cursed inwardly at that thought. No one would ever replace Rachel.
Yet, even now, this woman appeared to float across the planks in the early morning light. Dawn at sea was always a glorious event and she added to it, as if she were an angel.
“And with that, the cow moved into the cottage…”
Trent heard that remark and knew Fitzgibbons was rattling him. “I heard that.”
“Didcha now? Could’ve sworn if I said the pope was next to ya, you’d agree,” the Irishman grumbled. “Why not bed the wench and get her out of your blood?”
“You know I won’t do that.” Anger took control, yet was the man far off the mark? In memory of his wife, Trent hoped not.
“You’re a stubborn boy, Capt’n, stubborn.” Fitzgibbons shook his head. “It’ll be your undoin’.”
Trent inhaled deeply and physically turned away from the overview of his ship’s decking in a way to block his vision of her. “Repeat what you were saying, minus the cow.”
“Jus’ that your course to the West Indies, while all well and good, with a stop in London and its nest of naval ships and waitin’ nooses if we’re seen, has got the men stirrin’.”
&nbs
p; Trent grinded his teeth. His attempt to rid himself of the siren below did put them in serious trouble. Prestige, if discovered, would add to his reputation as pirate and all his men too. The Crown had given a blind eye for most of the war against France to any privateer whose sights might veer off simply French targets, except when it meant English. He’d crossed that line perhaps once too often.
“So, if given word, what do you recommend, outside of carnal desires.” There was no point in denying attraction to the girl. But not acting on it was what he needed to do. Steeling his guts, he forced himself to focus on now.
“The watch has caught sight of a ship, nigh off the coastline due south, bearing the markings of The Raptor.”
That did indeed catch his attention. “In these waters?”
“Aye.”
The ship was a pirate ship, one that he saw listed in the book off the Prestige. “Makes one wonder what they’re searching for. No riches lay here, outside a bounty of naval ships and those protected by the crown.”
“Aye, but there are those like the Prestige that are likely full of prizes.”
“Not enough to lure a ship of those colors. She normally lurks closer south. Yet it does make one wonder what she might be holding.”
Fitzgibbons laughed. “It is a way to protect ourselves, to make her appear that she went afta our stop and not us.”
Tapping the tabletop absently, Trent’s mind worked fast. To attack another pirate ship was bad form in this world of black sails, but to be able to glean more information might work.
“All right, then veer south by southwest, Mr. Fitzgibbons, and let us find what we can.”
“Aye, aye, Capt’n!”
As the Irishman went marched off, issuing the orders to change course, Trent found his passenger. She stood near the gunwale, hands on the railing, staring out on the sea. He needed to release her from his ship, calm his men’s fears and re-direct them to his orders as they headed west. A tiny voice deep within him clamored to be heard, not to let her go nor trust the other ship to return her.
Her Perfect Gentleman: A Regency Romance Anthology Page 7