Captured for the Captain's Pleasure

by Ann Lethbridge

  ‘Pondering our next game,’ she murmured.

  ‘Is that all you are pondering?’

  A whisper of her indrawn breath tightened his body.

  Oh, yes. She was aware.

  He leaned forwards, until they were cheek to cheek in the window’s reflection, his face dark beside her pale complexion.

  ‘A pretty picture,’ he said softly.

  Her lips parted. He wondered what she would say. She shook her head, as if willing herself to silence and he found himself disappointed.

  ‘Surely you have not become reticent now?’ he said.

  A tiny laugh vibrated the air between her back and his chest; it carried her scent on ripples of air. ‘I was going to say that if either of us is pretty, it is you.’

  Once more she’d surprised him. He couldn’t hold back his smile. ‘Men are not pretty.’

  She shrugged. ‘Are they not? Doesn’t it depend on one’s point of view? You are one of a kind. A darkly handsome man who exudes danger. The ladies of the ton would faint at your feet. Except…’

  There it was again, the secretive little shake of her shoulders that lit fires in his blood. ‘Except?’

  ‘The beard would have to go. Unless your chin is weak, which would quite undo you. Or perhaps it hides some terrible scar?’

  Scars. The word bit into his mood like a whip. With rigid control, he held back an instinctive shudder of disgust and went on the attack.

  ‘Yet you deny your own prettiness, when it is quite obvious to me?’

  ‘I’m a realist, Captain Lionhawk, and you’ve been on board ship for many months, no doubt.’

  Her contempt for his compliment irritated like a sharp piece of gravel inside a stocking. ‘False modesty does not become you, Miss Fulton. Look at your reflection. Tell me you do not see beauty.’

  Her lips pursed. ‘I see a too-round face. Eyes too far apart. A forehead too high. Dreary brown hair. And if it were a real glass, I would see freckles.’

  He chuckled then. ‘You seek compliments indeed.’

  She tried to step around him. He blocked her with his body and she let out an impatient breath. ‘I state the truth.’

  ‘Let me tell you what I see.’

  She tensed. Did she fear he would be cruel, or that he would lie?

  ‘I see a Madonna’s calm face and eyes shadowed by secrets. I see a sun-kissed complexion and copper glints in silky hair. Intelligence sits on your brow. Your lips tempt mine.’ He paused. ‘I sense hot blood running beneath alabaster skin.’

  She gasped, her eyes widening in maidenly horror.

  He caught her shoulders, gazed into brown eyes pierced by emerald green. She lowered her lashes, hiding her thoughts. Keeping her secrets.

  Longing hit him in the chest.

  The emptiness inside him reached out in hunger.

  Not the sharp hunger of the body, but something deeper, as if this prosaic creature could fill a void he hadn’t recognised until now. His breath stilled in his throat. His heart thundered.

  Her face tipped up and he cupped her cheeks in his hands. Before he could stop himself, he tasted her pliant velvet mouth, savoured the tang of coffee. The answering sweep of her tongue drove all thought from his mind. He enfolded her in his arms and she melded against him. A perfect fit of slender curves against his hard form.

  A wildness grew inside him, a reckless urge to lose himself inside her and forget his duty.

  The course to disaster.

  He forced himself to let her go. ‘Are you ready to finish our game?’ His voice grated over what felt like iron filings in his throat.

  Her gaze lowered, hiding her thoughts. Disappointment? Relief? It didn’t matter. He didn’t care. Wouldn’t care.

  When she sank on to her seat, her face was calm, showing no sign of their wild kiss, but for the rosy tinge to her lips and the flush high on her cheekbones.

  She looked good enough to eat. But first he had a game to win.

  Chapter Nine

  The third game was not going well. Alice felt her back teeth grind and tried to relax her jaw. Tried to keep her mind clear and her gaze fixed on the play. Tried not to panic.

  He’d said he was rusty. But he hadn’t said that he’d once been more than a casual player. With each minute, his strategy gained a subtlety that challenged her to the depths of her knowledge.

  The squares in the board wavered and blurred. With her queen in check, if she didn’t find a way out of the conundrum he’d set, she’d be forced to concede.

  She could not lose. Her dowry was one thing, but the ransom would put Father in the poor house. Debtors’ prison loomed large, or worse, if Lionhawk made good on his threats. Richard didn’t deserve either fate.

  Fear had her stomach so tight she felt sick.

  In her head, she rearranged her last remaining pieces this way and that, each time ending in failure.

  Gambling. Was she mad? It never worked. She’d seen men lose their fortunes time and again and scorned their idiocy. Now here she was in exactly the same straits.

  There had to be something this man wanted. Something he would take instead of gold. Men like Lionhawk understood trade as long as they got the best of the bargain.

  She had nothing left.

  Andrew had tricked her from the only thing men admire in a woman. Purity.

  No gentleman wanted another man’s leavings. A wanton. Used goods. She knew all the words. Andrew had flung them in her face when she had rejected his suit.

  But a man like Lionhawk, a man who’d been at sea for months, might not care for such niceties.

  She’d have to tell him just what he was getting. He’d probably laugh at such a poor offer.

  She went hot, then cold. She couldn’t do it. She clenched her hands in her lap and stared at the board. Did she have another choice?

  If he agreed, there was no returning to her old life. No pretending to be a virtuous spinster. No good works at the hospital. She’d be publicly ruined. No brushing this dirt under the carpet. A persona non grata.

  On the other hand, what she’d experienced with Andrew hadn’t been unpleasant. Indeed, she’d thoroughly enjoyed herself, until she realised he’d used her passion against her, plotted with his brother to make sure she couldn’t change her mind about the wedding.

  Well, she had. And that left her on the shelf.

  Lionhawk desired her. She could see it in the depths of his ocean-coloured eyes, feel it in the heat of his body dashing against her skin each time he drew close, sense it in her aching core. As long as she didn’t think too much about later, provided she left her pride at the door, she could follow her nature. She swallowed and raised her gaze to meet his.

  He leaned forwards. ‘Finish the game, Alice.’

  When had he started calling her Alice? After the kiss, she supposed. She arched a brow. ‘Are you so anxious to lose?’

  He grinned. ‘Still fighting? Good for you. But it is time to pay the piper. One more move and the game is mine.’

  ‘Don’t be so cocksure, sir,’ she said, lingering over the words as if to taste them on her tongue. ‘Why not up the stakes?’

  He cast her a perplexed look. ‘What are you about?’

  ‘Making the game more interesting?’

  ‘It is quite interesting enough for me.’

  He wasn’t going to bite.

  ‘I don’t want to spend weeks in Algiers waiting for my father to raise your ransom. And nor does Lady Selina. You talked of resuming a life in England, but believe me, Lord Albright will see you hang if you treat his daughter with such disrespect.’

  ‘Are you saying I should trust your father for the money? Let him owe me?’

  Her heart picked up speed, drumming against her ribs like the hooves of a runaway horse on hard-packed earth. She couldn’t swallow, her mouth felt so dry. She took a deep breath and forced the words past her teeth. ‘You can certainly trust Lord Albright to pay his part of the ransom.’ She lowered her voice. ‘I, on the other hand, w
ould sooner find a different way to pay off the price on my head. One we could both enjoy.’

  She put down her glass, reached across the table and ran the back of her hand along the beard-soft line of his jaw. ‘There is more between us than mere conversation, Michael. Why waste it?’

  A glint of emotion she could not read flashed in his eyes. Triumph? It hardly seemed likely.

  ‘It’s a high price for something I can have for free,’ he said.

  ‘Not from me.’

  The words hung between them, stark and ugly.

  He let go a long breath. ‘I see.’

  He said it as though she’d made some great revelation. Which she had in a way. Heat stole up her cheeks, despite her effort to appear unconcerned. She smiled. ‘I’m glad you understand. But let me be clear. If you win this game, you own half of Fulton’s Shipping, and you will have your money, but I will use my influence with Lord Albright to ensure you never set foot in England.’

  He recoiled, his expression dumbfounded. At least she had the element of surprise.

  ‘I realise you will lose money if you accept my proposition, but I will do everything in my power to help smooth your path into society when you arrive in London. I swear it. As will Lady Selina, if I ask her.’

  Her hands convulsed in her lap. She stilled them. No backing down. No weakness. She curved her lips in a woman-of-the-world knowing smile. ‘Is it a bargain?’

  He looked unconvinced, even bemused.

  She forced her point home. ‘Be assured, with the right introductions, perhaps you will find a rich wife.’ She let her gaze run over his person in the same manner he had looked at her. ‘You shouldn’t have too much difficulty attracting a wealthy female.’

  His eyes danced then. ‘A rich wife and a mistress to boot.’ He cocked his head on one side. ‘Can you guarantee my acceptance in society?’

  ‘With Lord Albright in our pocket, I can. As long as no one learns of our arrangement.’

  He lifted his coffee and took a deep swallow. ‘I have to say you are the most devious-minded woman I have ever met. If you were a businessman, I would fear for every penny in my pocket.’

  Was he laughing at her? She wished she could read his reaction. Trying to feel like Cleopatra instead of plain Alice Fulton, she batted her eyelashes and cast him a seductive sideways glance. ‘Admit it. You are tempted.’

  ‘I’m tempted by your offer of an introduction to society.’

  So much for seduction. But then she was at a disadvantage. You didn’t need to practise flirtation while you were the richest woman this side of the grave. She forced herself to look on the bright side. She had found something he wanted, even if it wasn’t her. She ignored a pang of disappointment. It was no different to Andrew wanting her fortune. For him, a position in society, as well as Fulton’s Shipping was not a bad bargain in exchange for keeping her father out of prison.

  ‘A wise choice,’ she said. ‘In the long run, it will do you far more good than a bag full of gold.’ She arched a brow. ‘Do we have a bargain?’

  He brushed a finger over his lips, his gaze thoughtful. ‘My ransom money in exchange for an introduction to society and a few nights with you. Is it worth it?’

  She held still, tried not to let the mortification show on her face, or the eagerness of her body’s response at the thought of him in her bed while he looked her up and down. Heat flared in his eyes. He tried to hide it with a cynical smile. ‘Why would I be interested in an untried mistress?’

  ‘Untried, sir? Did I play my role too well?’

  The words hung in the air like a lady’s undergarments on the line on washing day. Available for all to see should they desire.

  Michael couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing.

  Not innocent. Blood sang in his veins. The erection he’d been fighting all evening hardened to rock. Damn her. She was lying.

  And yet passion was as natural to her as breathing. He’d sensed it from the first. But experienced she was not. She kissed with the enthusiasm of a maid, her body flaring to life under his hands, her pulse beating in her lovely throat, her body melting, but a skilled courtesan would have had him buried to the hilt long ago.

  Blood rushed from his brain and thundered in his loins at an image of her slight, naked body beneath him. He fought to retain some semblance of rational thought.

  Not an innocent? He almost smiled, she looked so prim as she awaited his answer.

  ‘The game is not yet finished,’ he said.

  ‘If you will agree to my offer, I will concede.’

  ‘Because you know you can’t win.’

  She raised a brow. ‘There is always a chance…’

  He glanced down at the board. There wasn’t.

  She was as good as offering herself to him without reservation.

  Or he could let her win and attack Fulton on another front. But if Alice and her brother spoke true, Fulton loved his children and their downfall would cause the bastard to suffer as Michael and Jaimie had suffered.

  The perfect revenge.

  But he would not take her unless she was truly willing. ‘You say you are experienced. Prove it.’

  A delectable wash of colour stained her face, her gaze searched his. ‘How?’

  Conscienceless beast. ‘Seduce me.’

  She swallowed and slowly rose. She walked around the table, her steps hesitant, but her gaze fixed firmly on his mouth. Fascinated, he watched her lips part, her small bosom rise and fall. The tip of her tongue moistened her lips. The anticipation of what she might do next caused his heart to beat harder, his blood to heat, and his erection to strain against his breeches.

  Then he looked into her eyes and saw the shame. Shame at the thought of bedding a crude rough bastard like him. He felt anger at Fulton rise like bile in his throat, burning and sour.

  Tell her no, a small voice whispered.

  His body protested. He held both urges in check. He would do nothing to help her down this path. It would be her choice.

  She placed her hands flat on his chest. Did she feel the thunder of his pulse through the layers of cloth with that feather-light touch?

  When he made no move, she raised herself up on her toes, brought one hand to his nape and drew him down to her mouth. For a moment or two he felt the puff of her quick little breaths on his lips.

  He wanted to enfold her in his arms, crush her hard against his body, demand, plunder, and ravish, like the cur her father had made him.

  His lip curled in self-disgust and he willed his body into perfect stillness, let the hot dark urges slip away on a slow exhalation.

  Prove it, Alice. Make me believe. Good God. Was that hope or a prayer?

  The pull of small hands on his nape brought his mouth level with hers. Her lithe back stretched and arched. A touch of lips. Whisper soft. A flicker of tongue against the seam of his mouth, over in less time than it took to blink.

  So gentle. So blasted maidenly.

  She kissed the corner of his mouth, his bottom lip, the other corner, a parade of little touches, and licks and nibbles. Achingly sweet. Unbelievably seductive.

  His lips burned to take command. Begged for firmer, more masterful contact, while hers teased and darted like butterflies, never settling anywhere for more than a second.

  A soft purr emerged from her throat. The sweetest sound he’d ever heard. It hit his groin like a lightning bolt. Hot. Searing.

  He fought the lust.

  She sucked on his bottom lip.

  Reason raced away like a rip-tide in full flood. He clung to it by a thread.

  Her tongue swept his mouth, her fingers speared into his hair, caressing his scalp as her tongue danced away from his. Before he could think about what he was doing, his hands were on her shoulders, drawing her close, dragging her on to his lap, while his tongue followed hers into the sweet warmth of her mouth.

  She suckled, holding his tongue captive, while she pressed her body hard against his length, her breasts flattened agains
t his chest, her buttocks cushioning his erection.

  Every breath he took was filled with her scent. Every inch of his skin felt nothing but her body, her warmth, the beat of her pulse. She filled his world. The here and the now. And he never wanted it to stop.

  Slowly she eased away. ‘Take me, Michael,’ she whispered.

  His body shook with the effort of remaining still. Never had he desired a woman with such bone-deep intensity. Answering heat blazed in her gaze. A dangerous combustible fire that transcended mere physical longings and spoke to something deeper, far more elemental.

  He was an instrument of justice and she was the perfect tool. A weapon forged in the fires of lust for his use, no matter how it burned in his hand.

  ‘Alice,’ he murmured, the name tasting sweet on his tongue, ‘be very sure.’

  Her shoulders straightened and courage shone in her face, but no matter how she denied her innocence, he saw shame in the forest green and browns of her eyes, and the taut skin over her cheekbones. Deep inside, like a buried blade, he knew she had decided to sacrifice herself to save her father from paying the ransom. The question was, why?

  ‘I am sure,’ she whispered.

  ‘Then there is one last detail required.’

  A rapid little swallow disturbed the muscles of her throat. He ached for that tiny gesture of nerves. ‘A contract,’ she said, nodding her understanding.

  ‘Yes,’ he agreed.

  He strode for the door.

  Trembling, Alice watched him let in the dark from outside.

  He stepped out into the night and whistled. Simpson arrived at the double.

  Alice couldn’t hear what he said to his steward, only the deep rumble of his voice, but she couldn’t help but wonder why he didn’t just take a piece of paper from his desk.

  Beyond the door more voices joined the conversation. Arguing. Perhaps his crew didn’t want to give up their share of the ransom. Pirates ran their ships by vote. She didn’t know if privateers operated that way, too. Would they mutiny? Or change his mind?

  The voices were still muttering when the door opened and Michael returned. ‘What is happening?’

  He didn’t answer.

  Simpson scuttled in after him with another sailor. They shoved the table against the bulkhead, clearing the centre of the room. The dishes, cups and glasses were whisked away.