Captured for the Captain's Pleasure

by Ann Lethbridge

  She shook her head.

  Disappointment sent his stomach to the deck. Because he’d welcome the excuse to stay? He glowered. ‘Then why are you here?’

  Rather than being intimidated, she looked…defiant, even a little mischievous. He ought to put her over his knee and spank her bottom. His body pulsed with a burst of longing.

  Lord, did he have no control when it came to this woman? He wanted her so badly he couldn’t look at her. Seeing her in London had been bad enough. This was torture.

  Somehow he had to make her leave.

  ‘I went to visit Jaimie,’ she said. ‘He told me where to find you.’

  ‘He did you no favours,’ he said coldly, crossing his arms over his chest to keep from reaching for her, clenching his fists to stem the urge to sweep her up in his arms, to kiss her senseless and carry her to the replica of the bed he’d lost over the side. For some reason, right at that moment, the bed seemed to take up more than its fair share of the cabin.

  ‘You should not be here.’

  ‘I know.’

  He did not like the way she was watching him, like a robin with its eye on a particularly juicy worm.

  ‘But since I was in Portsmouth to collect Father, I thought to drop in.’ She glanced around, her gaze coming to rest on the bed.

  Drop in. Dressed like that?

  Afraid she might see the desire in his eyes, he turned away, looked out over the moorings, at the forest of masts and spars held together by man-made webs. He grabbed at the back of the chair for support, squeezed until he could feel the carved wood biting into his flesh. ‘You’ve seen me. Now go.’ A deep breath steadied his legs. He strode around her, careful not to come in contact with her slim body, heading for the door. ‘Your brother was here. If you hurry, you can catch him up. I’ll have Simpson arrange for a carriage.’

  As if he hadn’t spoken, she prowled to the desk looking down at the scattered charts, poking at his compass.

  He could bodily throw her out, but if he touched her, she’d be more likely to end up in his bed. And that would be a mistake of unimaginable proportions.

  ‘India?’ she asked, looking up.

  ‘Yes. As soon as you are off my ship.’

  ‘I went to India as a child. I wouldn’t mind seeing it again.’

  ‘I don’t need a cabin boy.’

  ‘Or a wife, apparently.’

  He clenched his jaw so hard he thought his teeth might crumble.

  He watched from the edge of his vision, pretending not to care, as she padded around his cabin, her bare feet a soft whisper on the rug, her bottom and thighs clearly outlined in her disgraceful breeches. Never had she looked more disreputable, or more desirable. He tried not to see the sway of her hips. Tried not to look at her at all, but no matter where he looked, her image burned the backs of his eyes. He had the feeling she was all he would ever see for the rest of his life.

  Alice glanced at him sideways, over her shoulder, and caught him stealing a peak at her bottom. He frowned.

  She stopped at the bed, staring at the carved gryphon. ‘You replaced it.’ She reached up and ran a hand over an outstretched wing.

  He felt the brush of her fingers on his skin and shuddered inside. Blood rushed to his groin. He was burning up. He couldn’t think. He held himself rigid, unmoving.

  ‘Do you remember the shanty called “The Valiant Lady”?’ She tilted her head on one side, staring at the gryphon’s face.

  It took a moment for his brain to sift through the words and recall the old song about a woman who follows her man to sea as a surgeon’s assistant and saves his life. A flash of comprehension widened his eyes. ‘You aren’t signing on as ship’s surgeon.’

  Her brow furrowed. ‘With Bones remaining behind to open a hospital for mariners, you could do worse.’

  He swallowed a laugh at her bold assertion. ‘It isn’t a suitable occupation for…for a lady.’ He had almost said for his wife, but he had given up all rights in that quarter.

  She deserved so much more than a rough wreck of a man who left a swathe of death in his wake. God help him, but much more of this and he would go stark staring mad with wanting and lock the door with her on the inside.

  He must not. He’d made his decision. He returned to his charts as if she was no longer there, watching her from beneath his lashes. Waiting for her to get fed up and leave.

  She plonked down on the bed and hooked one ankle over her other knee, like a boy. The fabric of her breeches clung to her open thighs. His breath caught in his throat. He couldn’t keep his gaze from the temptingly delicious invitation.

  She was doing it on purpose. Bedevilling him. Letting him know what he’d be missing.

  He forced himself to look away. Simpson had brought her, he would damned well row her back to the quay. Wrapped in something large. Like a sail. ‘You must go. We weigh anchor with the tide.’

  She cocked her head on one side. ‘Why are you running away? I never took you for a coward.’

  A blow to the solar plexus could not have knocked the wind from his lungs so effectively. It took a moment to recover, even as he acknowledged it as the truth. ‘Think what you wish.’

  ‘I think you are leaving because you regret our marriage.’

  Behind the bravado of her outrageous costume, behind the careless wave of her hand, deep in her eyes he saw hurt. If he’d been a Roman he would have fallen on his sword, because there was nothing he could do to ease her pain. ‘I regret everything I did this past year, but my leaving has nothing to do with you.’ And everything.

  ‘Then why?’

  ‘Damnation.’ He spun away, stared out of the window. ‘You don’t understand.’

  ‘How can I, when you won’t tell me?’

  He heard the catch in her voice. It pierced the armour he’d built up to guard the soft, uncertain places in his heart. ‘I’m bad luck.’

  ‘What?’ She laughed. Then faltered as he stared at her.

  ‘A Jonah,’ he said.

  ‘What sailors’ superstition is that?’

  Put like that it sounded crazy, but he knew better. ‘I don’t want you on my conscience.’

  Her eyes widened. ‘How very selfish.’

  Stung by her injustice, he thrust his face into hers. ‘How is wanting to keep you safe selfish?’ he shouted.

  She put her hands flat on his chest. Holding him at bay, her womanly scent enticing him closer. ‘It isn’t about keeping me safe, it’s about you feeling guilty.’

  He laughed. Hard and bitter. ‘What do you know about guilt?’

  ‘Everyone makes mistakes,’ she murmured. ‘Some small, some large. You can’t correct them by running away.’ She spoke gently, as if she feared he might break.

  He’d been broken and mended so many times there wasn’t anything of him left straight or whole. There was nothing left to repair and the pity in her gaze was worse than if she’d been angry.

  He walked to the door. ‘My decision is made.’

  She bit her lip, stared at him for a long moment, sadness filling her eyes. She shook her head. ‘Very well. I wish you godspeed.’ Her voice shook, but she took a deep breath and continued in husky tones. ‘For my sake, Michael, don’t come back. It would hurt too much.’ She brushed past him on her way through the door.

  His heart stopped beating as if she’d ripped it from his body. The pain almost brought him to his knees.

  How he remained standing, watching her coolly, without a word, he didn’t know. But he did it for her sake.

  He did it to keep her safe from the ill fortune that hung about him like a cloud. The old Chinese sailor had warned him years ago not to tempt the gods. He had. By leaving, he could always remember her safe in the arms of her family. He’d told Jaimie to watch over her. Made him swear.

  He snatched up the quilt from the bed and followed her out on deck. A salt breeze caressed his cheek. The sails snapped their impatience to be gone. This was his life. His penance.

  No matter how mu
ch he wished it different.

  ‘Simpson,’ he roared. ‘Lower the boat.’

  While Simpson plied the oars towards the quay, Alice huddled in the quilt. The ache in her chest had grown more painful with each stroke of the oars. She could scarcely draw more than a sip of air without crying out. As if to torture her further, the scent of sandalwood on the quilt invaded each breath she took. Tears chilled by the wind ran down her face. She scraped them away.

  So much for Jaimie’s assertion that he was sure Michael cared for her deeply. The disguise had been her idea. A very unsubtle reminder of their last night of lovemaking.

  Sadly, Michael had not been the least bit pleased to see her. Most of the time he looked as if he barely remembered who she was. All his talk of luck was an excuse. She’d done exactly what she said she would. Learned the truth. He would never have married her, if not for his revenge. He didn’t love her. Not even a little.

  No wonder he couldn’t wait to get her off his ship and out of his life. She’d gone to him and he’d thrown her out. Like rubbish.

  She touched his ring at her throat. She should have returned it. She should toss it over the side. She closed her fingers around it.

  She’d keep it. As a reminder.

  Simpson missed his stroke. The boat wobbled. He was staring behind her, his jaw slack.

  She glanced back. A launch rowed by four men was gaining on them, making for the quay. In the stern, an officer hunched beneath an oilskin and his tricorn hat pulled low. A big man. While she couldn’t make out his features, his form looked remarkably familiar. When she looked back at Simpson, he gave a grin and a wink and continued pulling for shore.

  ‘Avast there!’ one of the oarsmen hailed them.

  Simpson squinted through the spray. An odd expression came over his face.

  ‘What is it?’ Alice gripped the gunnels of the rocking boat and looked over her shoulder.

  ‘Er…Navy bastards,’ Simpson said, shipping his oars and looking puzzled. ‘Or the coast guard?’

  Not Michael, then. Lord, would her foolish heart never give up hope. Not even after he’d bundled her off his ship like yesterday’s laundry.

  Staring back at the boat, Simpson had the look of utter bemusment. He raised a hand as if acknowledging a signal.

  ‘What do they want?’ She started to rise.

  Simpson grabbed her and thrust her into the bottom of the boat and covered her with the quilt. ‘Stay down, my lady.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’ She tried to fight him off. ‘I’ve nothing to hide.’ Nothing except her rather odd costume. Not the sort of thing to be caught in by a bunch of rough sailors. She stopped struggling.

  The other boat bumped theirs. Simpson said nothing and nor did they. A pair of strong arms wrapped around her waist, holding her tight inside the quilt.

  Familiar arms. And a very familiar large strong body held her close and leaped with her into the other boat.

  ‘Michael?’ she squeaked. ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘Quiet,’ Simpson hissed. ‘Blasted pirates. Just do what they wants.’

  Inside her warm dark cave, she narrowed her eyes. It was Michael who was holding her. She knew it. Otherwise she’d be terrified.

  And they’d played this game before.

  She pressed her mouth against the fabric to stifle her urge to giggle and went limp.

  ‘Looks like we got ourselves a powder monkey and a sail hand,’ a rough voice said. Not Michael. One of the other men. ‘Back to the ship wi’em.’

  A strong firm hand pushed down on her back, pressing her against the boats planks. The splash of the oars told her they were under way.

  Where was he taking her? Back to the ship? Had he changed his mind? Or? Or what?

  Or what if it wasn’t Michael?

  Simpson had given up far too easily for it to be anyone else. Hadn’t he?

  What if she was wrong and this really was some press gang looking for new crew? Wouldn’t they be in for a surprise? Dash it. They might be only too pleased to discover they’d captured a female disreputable enough to visit a ship in breeches.

  This had better be Michael or she was in trouble.

  ‘Up we goes.’ Ah, now that was Michael’s voice, even if he was trying to disguise it with a low accent.

  He flung her over his shoulder. There had been a lot of shoulder tossing in her life just lately. Finally it was by the right man.

  She could hear men’s voices all around her, muffled laughter and the thump of boots on the wooden deck.

  Finally her captor set her down on her feet and whipped her covering away.

  She opened her eyes to a familiar scene, his stateroom and a fierce-looking Michael with his hands on his hips, glaring at her.

  ‘Oh, my word. It is you.’ She reached out.

  Hands behind his back, his face stern, he stared at her. ‘Stand to attention, sailor. I’ll have no sloppiness on board my ship.’ The twinkle in his eyes belied his fierce expression. The corner of his mouth flickered.

  He was trying not to laugh, the rogue.

  She snapped upright, gazed straight ahead. ‘Aye, aye, sir.’

  He gazed at her for a long moment. Then his eyes ran down her length, skimmed her body. She felt hot all over.

  She swallowed. This was the privateer and the maiden game. Wasn’t it?

  His gaze lifted back to her face. ‘I am a fool,’ he softly.

  Her stomach fell.

  He smiled then. Sweetly. Boyishly. Apologetically. Her heart seemed to melt inside her chest. ‘A purely selfish fool.’

  ‘Oh, Michael.’

  ‘Let me finish. When I left you at Hawkhurst Place, I thought you’d be safe.’ He heaved a sigh. ‘But would you stay? No. And when I locked you in a room, you climbed out of a window.’ He glared at her from under his brows. ‘You could have been killed climbing down. Then you travelled alone on horseback to London of all places. Do you have no sense of danger?’

  ‘I rented a post-chaise in the nearest town, for goodness’ sake, with the money you had left me.’

  ‘Hardly safe late at night.’

  She winced. ‘I—’

  He held up a hand. ‘I finally found the perfect solution. I paid for an army of men and left you in their care.’

  She blinked. ‘An army?’

  ‘A small army of footmen at the town house. Old soldiers most of them. They have their instructions.’

  ‘Why would I need a small army?’

  ‘I’ve lost so many people in my life.’ His voice grew rough. ‘I thought if I left you at Hawkhurst, kept you in ignorance of my revenge, that I wouldn’t have to lose you too. But you wouldn’t stay where I put you.’ He let go a heavy sigh. ‘And of course when you discovered the truth…’ his voice cracked ‘…you were magnificent in your loyalty to your father. I was so damned jealous when you stood up for him, but you were right. I’d done a terrible thing.’

  ‘Father doesn’t seem to have suffered too much. I have never seen him looking so well.’

  ‘Don’t make excuses for me, Alice. I ruined an innocent man and planned worse. I deserved to lose you.’

  He gazed at the window, his throat working as if it was hard for him to speak. Yet she knew she had to let him finish.

  His voice was a mere murmur when he started speaking again. ‘I decided it was better for you to hate me and for me to lose you now than at some time in the future. Better to get it over with than always be wondering.’

  She frowned. ‘Wondering about what?’

  He shrugged as if the question was foolish. ‘I don’t know. A carriage accident. A fall. Death in childbirth. Anything can happen. And so I arranged for your father and brother’s return, money for the hospital. I thought that no matter where I went, I could always imagine you happy and safe, with all your heart’s desires.’

  She shook her head. ‘Not quite,’ she whispered. ‘Without you, they are but a shadow of my heart’s desires.’

  His eyes glimmered
with moisture in the lamplight. He swallowed. ‘You married the wrong man. I grew up rough. I am not one for balls and routs.’

  She bit her lip. Tears burned in her throat. ‘Are you sure you want me, with my less than spotless past? I thought that was perhaps what drove you away.’

  In a second she was folded in his arms. ‘God, Alice. I value you beyond price. What happened occurred long before we met. I won’t say I didn’t think about killing the selfish bastard. But he never stood between us.’

  ‘Oh, Michael.’ She raised her face and his lips descended on her mouth, gentle at first, wooing, velvet soft against her lips, his tongue plying for entry. She happily obliged. He groaned. The sound vibrated against her breasts. She dissolved against him. Grabbed his shoulders and feverishly kissed him back.

  Slowly, Michael broke the kiss. He felt so dammed happy and so utterly selfish. What if something went wrong? ‘You are taking a terrible risk, Alice. My luck has run out. This ship could sink tomorrow.’

  ‘I have this.’ She pulled on the chain around her neck, revealing the child’s signet ring. ‘It is waiting for the next Hawkhurst heir. And besides—’ she cast him a teasing glance ‘—we haven’t tried out the bed. To see if it is as good as the old one.’

  He kissed her furrowed brow, the tip of her nose, the full bottom lip, her chin, and dropped down to one knee, took her hand and kissed the palm. ‘Can you indeed tolerate a buffle-headed, rough-mannered sailor in your life?’

  ‘There is one thing I need to know before I decide.’

  His gut lurched.

  ‘Why did you change your mind?’

  A wry chuckle forced its way up from his chest. ‘If you must know, these last weeks have been hellish. I couldn’t stop wondering what you were doing. How you were feeling. Hoping you missed me. When I watched that damned boat pulling away, I realised it doesn’t matter how far away I go, I’m going to be worried mindless.’

  ‘Not a good enough reason, I’m afraid.’ Her smile teased, but a seriousness filled her eyes.

  If he didn’t take the final risk he would lose her for ever this time. He could see it in the determined set of her chin.