“The ones who joined the account are welcomed aboard. The rest will float.” He shrugged, which confused her further. “Elle, it is the name of the seas. Another ship will collect them. There are many who sail here, so don’t worry.”
She twisted her lips, frustrated. He seemed so indifferent…or distracted. What was in those books?
“You’ll burn their ship? Isn’t that a waste? Why not let them go on it?”
“It is not done. That ship is part of a larger catch. I want it burned.” He looked at her and as hard as she tried, she couldn’t stop her look of horror—she couldn’t close her mouth or keep her brows from rising and her eyes popping wide-open in surprise.
“Burn it?! That’s an English ship!” she blurted.
He shot out of the chair and took her hands with his, whispering soothing tones. “Elle, we are at war. Ships sink and burn.”
“We are not fighting ourselves!”
He cupped her cheek and brought her closer to where their foreheads touched. In that moment, she realized she was trembling. She steeled herself but couldn’t resist the heat of his touch.
“Elle, love, we are. Pirates are constantly hunted by the Royal Navy.” He kissed her forehead.
She wasn’t sure she wanted his touch. A shiver went down her spine. She inhaled and couldn’t get a breath. Her chest hurt, her heart beating frantic, and her ability to breathe turned hard. She needed air, fresh air. Twisting to disengage herself from his embrace, she did notice the books on the table had handwritten titles on them reading the Equuleus Manifest, an odd title but it didn’t stop her from pulling away. Freed, she nodded and backed out of the door to the deck.
Once outside, she relaxed and inhaled the sea air. Her lungs filled and she settled but mentally, it made no sense. She frowned. Trent wasn’t acting normal, nor did she believe he would as long as these nobs were aboard. But why? She looked down and found herself at the foot of the steps to the hold and the mystery below. Puzzled, she toyed with the idea of talking to them. The men and woman intrigued her, but why?
* * *
James stood, his anger building. His heart pounded hard, his thoughts racing through his mind at lightning speed. Eleanor was here, with a pirate. She looked well except she was dressed as a pirate, which was hard to swallow. Perhaps a change of clothes, a weak inner thought queried, but when she threw herself into the arms of the pirate captain, her eyes and smile only for that decrepit man, a wave of surprise, confusion and hate wound around his heart and speared his stomach. What the hell had happened?
Lydia plopped herself back onto the crate with a huff. James broke his clouded thoughts and saw the chit. It was the distraction he needed at the moment because he simply couldn’t believe what he’d witnessed above.
“No takes, hey sweet?” he cooed to her.
She shot him a nasty look. “None of these wretches know how to treat a lady!”
He bit back a laugh. She’d tried to coerce her freedom from any pirate that came close to her. Many sidled up to her, just to hear her seductive words but even he knew she’d never give herself to a pirate.
In an attempt to console her, Clearwater sat next to her and offered his shoulder, whispering in her ear that all was well. It made James wonder how he thought he could promise that. His friend had looked sickly when the pirates seized them, a look of fear easily detected in his eyes, but the pirate captain ignored them. The man’s interest lay in the bound books taken from the Sebastian’s quarters. With just a flip of his head toward them, he’d barked orders for his men to take them to here. Once the man escaped from view, Clearwater’s vitality returned, making James wonder. As time marched forward and they were left alone, the inertia made Lydia settled in next to Clearwater and they both fell asleep, James stared. They’d make a great couple. Perhaps that was the only way Lydia could survive…
A shuffle on the floor caught his attention and he spun to find Eleanor standing there, her head tilted with a puzzled look on her face. Joy raced through him. She came to see him! All was not lost. Her short hair caught his attention. He loved her long sable curls to run his fingers through or to grab in his hand as he plowed into her… The look upon her face made him believe those memories were absent. But why had she cut it off? Or had the pirates? His anger returned.
“Good evening, my lady.” He spoke softly though the pounding in his ears made him think he was too loud.
She bit her bottom lip absently as she looked him over. “Who are you?”
That was an odd question. “The Earl of Windhaven, at your service.” He bowed.
His reply from her was a giggle. Not what he’d expect from his wife.
“Quite a fancy one, hey?” She smiled and his heart melted again. It intrigued him that she didn’t go further.
“And?” He prodded her.
A look of confusion, mixed with surprise, flashed in her eyes. “I go by Elle.”
Elle? James stood speechless. This was Eleanor, right? The hair color was right, the eyes that same sparkling blue, her height was the same as he recalled, and those lips, pouty and pink, ever so inviting. The clothes hid her shape mostly and the urge to grasp her waist surged through him, for the fit of his hands on that curve was imbedded in his soul. But he stood still, every nerve on fire. Why didn’t she come to him?
He tried a different tactic. He smiled. There was a flicker but it was so short, he almost missed it. The lump in his throat turned as big as the rock of Gibraltar.
“How long have you been a pirate?’”
She fidgeted, averting her gaze from his at first. “Not long. Why?”
“Elle!” A voice from the stairs yelled with an Irish lilt.
She shot a glance toward the stairs and gave him another look before turning to leave.
“Don’t leave,” James begged. She was so close, he could almost feel her, despite the bars. But something wasn’t right.
It was if his plea fell on deaf ears for the moment the words parted his lips, she took off at a run for the stairs and disappeared.
This Love Of Mine: Chapter Twenty-One
Trent closed the manifest, sat back in the chair, and smiled. His prey was close. The vengeance he sought was within hand’s reach. Bastard took Rachel and he’d pay for it!
At that moment, the cabin door flew open and Elle raced in, slammed the door and breathed deep, trying to catch her breath. Trent watched, waiting for her to talk but nothing came.
“Sweetling, are you all right?”
She nodded than ran straight into his lap, throwing her arms around his neck. “That’s what I needed. To feel your arms around me.” She bent forward and nuzzled at his neck, her fingers undoing his queue tie in the back.
He chuckled as she started to work on removing his waistcoat, her speed quick, as if she was desperate. “So raiding ships makes you into a seductress? I might grow to fond of that.” He paused as she kissed him hard only to return to unclothing him. “Perhaps will drive me further to seek other treasures just so I get this.”
She sat on his lap, busily working the buttons and finally got the last one, throwing the garment over the table where it hit the floor. As she started to undo his shirt, he growled and scooped her up into his arms to take her to bed.
It wasn’t the first time she’d taken the lead in bed play but her enthusiasm here outdid any before. Within minutes, they were entangled on the mattress. She kissed him like the world was on fire and frankly, he felt those flames, too. His hand cupped her breast, holding it in place so he could suckle from her nipple. Her response was quick, as she arched her back and a mewl escaped her lips. His hardened cock nudged against her thigh, seeking the moist apex between her legs but he withheld to finish his taste.
The urgency surprised him. What had truly driven her to this demand for him? It was a question that would wait as their bodies joined. She was wet and willing but once he entered her sheath, he knew something wasn’t the same. Oh, her body took his cock with ease and the movement of he
r hips to match his was dead on, but it was off. They went through the motions but it was like she wasn’t into it. In fact, did he just witness a tear?
* * *
Elle could feel him from the moment they started. No, that she started, she reminded herself. The driving need to be with Trent intimately had her racing to the cabin and on his lap in seconds, like lightning. What had pushed her to this? Was it the raid, like he suggested? Or was it that nobleman? There was something about him that triggered a spark in her. To what end, she didn’t know and it scared her. Seeking solace in Trent’s arms was the only way to suppress that tug inside her she couldn’t explain. But that was a mistake she realized too late.
Trent pulled her close in the aftermath of their lovemaking. “That was a nice surprise,” he murmured in her ear.
She twitched at his embrace, as if it wasn’t right. Quickly, she hid that response with a smile as she snuggled against him. “I went to see the prisoners.” His body tensed behind her. Made her have to steel her own courage to continue. “I went to see how they could be of use, as treasure. They are titled.” He nodded. “Ransom?”
He ignored her question. “I thought I told you not to go. The hold is no place for a lady.”
She twisted in his arms to face him, a frown on her face. “You often refer to me as lady yet tell me to stay away from the type of people I should have kin with.”
Even by the oil lantern’s dim light she saw the conflict in his eyes.
“I worry only for your safety, my darling,” he whispered and lean forward to pull her back again and kissed her.
She wasn’t appeased. “How long are they to remain our guests?”
He rolled away and stood, reaching for his britches. “A week at best. Tides will have us on shore as early as four days if we’re lucky.”
“You’ve yet to tell me where we are headed.”
Shrugging his shirt on, he added, “Kings Point, Jamaica.”
“Isn’t that a royal port? Not a good place for pirates.” She shivered and pulled the bed sheet up tight.
With a snort, he tied his hair back. “’Tis true, but we are not pirates, now, are we?”
Her eyes opened wide. “You’ve raided ships, taken goods, even destroyed a British vessel, with captives aboard yet you claim this is not pirating?”
“Elle, now is not the time to argue.” He grabbed one of the books off the table. “Stay away from our guests and I’ll finish looking at this as soon as I am able.” And with that, he strode out the door, making sure to shut it.
“Grrrr!” She punched the small pillow and sat there, fuming.
* * *
Dawn’s rays slowly eked through the boat’s wooden slats and down the staircase. James had watched its arrival, knowing it meant another day of trying to catch Eleanor’s attention, though for the last two days, she hadn’t ventured down the stairs once that he knew of.
“James,” Clearwater started. “Simply claim her as your wife. It is your right to do so.”
He snorted. “And who on this ship would care on legal matters since they don’t follow any laws.”
“Because this goes beyond English laws,” his friend prodded. “You can demand your right by the captain and he’ll—”
“If you’ll recall correctly, it was said ‘captain’ who demanded us to be here and locked the door. Somehow I don’t think me claiming her will be applauded.”
Lydia laughed. “How revealing it is to see how the Lady Windhaven will spread her legs for any pirate.”
James bolted off the crate, his anger climbing, and she looked like a good target to let that rage out. But Clearwater’s hand slammed into his chest. “James, we’re all in a bind here. Lydia is a lady.”
“Insulting my wife will not be tolerated!”
“I apologize,” she replied, though James wasn’t sure of her honesty in that. “I spoke badly.”
The urge to still correct her rang through his ears but he didn’t. He worked to contain this energy. He ran his fingers through his hair, a habit started early in this search. “How far are we from that island?”
“Nie on two days till we hit Jamaica. I’ve been here once already this year and recall the landmarks,” Clearwater replied. He frowned. “The governor there has strict orders to hang all pirates. Surely you don’t think this pirate, what was his name?”
“Cavendish,” Lydia whispered, the name rolling off her tongue with a seductive tone.
“Right,” Clearwater continued. “You don’t think Cavendish would anchor at the beach with the inevitable noose over his head?”
“I’m not sure he won’t,” James concluded. “He appears to have his own plans.”
“How can you be sure?”
“Oh, I can’t. But there are ways to find this out and I believe my Eleanor could hold that key, in a manner of speaking.” The truth was, he feared she did and how she held that position made him uncomfortable, mad even. Yet he recalled the man’s look when he emerged from the cabin, the stack of ledgers in his arm. It was a look of satisfaction. Yet paper and pen held little value for pirates.
“How do you plan to get her back?” Lydia interjected. “You think I am in a bad situation with the ton, what of her? Coercing with pirates, sleeping with them—”
“Lydia,” Clearwater warned.
“Well, ’tis truth, as seen by our own eyes.” She narrowed her gaze at James. “Will you take her back?”
The girl was irritating, yet her words spoke truth. How could he woo his wife back, particularly from a cage in the hold? He rattled the idea around in his head and then turned to the pirate who just arrived. The man sat, sharpening a blade of a sword. So they now had a guard, James mused.
“Good afternoon,” James started. “Can I take a moment of your time?”
* * *
Elle sat on the side of ship, feet dangling over the water below. It was a habit she adopted and found it relaxing. Perhaps she spent too long doing so as the skin on the top of them was a finely tan color, no longer the red burn they had turned in the beginning. The pristine ivory was long gone. They matched her arms, neck and face. Inwardly she moaned. While she didn’t mind the color, she wondered just how society would judge her. A laugh escaped her. She sailed with pirates, hardly the experience they possessed. But still, deep inside, a tiny thread remained—how would they treat her? The thought made her nerves chill.
That thought made her twitch. Trent. She found, for a while, comfort in his arms and even now, there was a safety being there.
What she wanted was those English nobs gone because she was convinced they were the ones who interrupted her thoughts.
“Lassie, ya look upset.”
Fitzgibbons. She smiled. “Oh, I’m good.”
“Uh hum,” he murmured, leaning against the railing. “Aye, well,” he gazed out across the deck, “tha capt’n’ll be bringin’ her inta Port Royal.”
The land was taking shape in the distance. “But isn’t it owned by the Crown?”
The first mate smiled. “Aye.” He bent his head down, giving her a knowing look. “And the prisoners ta be released.”
As if on cue, there was a commotion in the center of ship, near the stairs to the hold. She’d witnessed this the last three days, where that man, Lord whoever, maneuvered their temporary freedom from below for a chance to come on deck. Being at sea made escape highly unlikely, so the man won that battle. Granted, she agreed, from her exposure to it, it was dark, musty and dismal down below. So now she watched them casually, or what she hoped appeared that way, because her curiosity was up and this was the safest venue to learn more.
The lady looked tense, holding her arms tight against her sides, her shoulders tight and her face disgusted. The other man, the one formally dressed with a ruffled shirt, fancy cut frock coat, britches and high-top boot, tried to console the woman and talk to Lord Leader, she decided to call him. But the man himself looked distracted, as if he was searching for something and yet not. His relaxed impat
ience made her want to start a discussion with him but she didn’t.
One thing was for sure about that lord, the way his clothes fit, he was like a clothed Greek god Apollo, and he moved with confidence, as if he owned the deck. Masculine and graceful movements, like a mountain lion scaling the terrain.
“Ahem.”
She broke her stare and felt embarrassment heat her cheeks. “Yes, sir?”
“Ya seem rather fond of that nabob.” He nodded in the direction of the lord she’d just been inwardly drooling over.
She snorted. “Fond of? Rather more along the lines it’ll be better to get them off this ship, that’s more what I was thinking.”
“Right…” He paused and gave her a questioning glance. “And what of your arrival here? Leavin’ us ta fly with them?” He pointed to the large war ships that slowly came into view. Even she could see the British flags that flew on them.
A chill ran down her spine. “Tell me he won’t jeopardize the ship, all of us, to sail into port just to ransom these three.”
The Irishman raised his eyebrows and shrugged. “One would believe not. Ya know him the best, lady. What has he whispered in yer ears?”
She squirmed. That was a personal question and made her wonder if he knew she and Trent hadn’t been intimate over the last four days. The last time set her head to hurt. It was like she knew the lord but how or where she couldn’t place. In fact, he caused her head to pound whenever she tried to figure it out and when nothing solved her issue, she frankly avoided the dreams that didn’t wake just yet.
“He’s whispered nothing,” she admitted. “Spends his time looking at those manifests and checking charts and maps.” She sighed. “I don’t understand. Whatever is in there makes him edgy.” Or he was mad at her. The last time they made love, a tear escaped her eye and she actually fought to keep others back. For as much as she enjoyed being in his arms, feeling him deep in her, it now didn’t feel right. It was the why that escaped her, or that she was avoiding.
Her Perfect Gentleman: A Regency Romance Anthology Page 17