The Pirate’s Bride
by
Cathy Skendrovich
Literary Wanderlust LLC | Denver
The Pirate’s Bride is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination and have been used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright 2017 by Cathy Skendrovich
All rights reserved.
Published in the United States by Literary Wanderlust LLC, Denver, Colorado.
www.LiteraryWanderlust.com
ISBN print 978–1-942856–11–5
ISBN digital 978–1-942856–12–2
Cover design—Ruth M’Gonigle
Interior design—Meghan McLean
Dedication
For all my faithful Wattpad readers, who were the ones to suggest I get this book published. Without your unfailing encouragement, I would never have taken the plunge.
And to my family, for putting up with all my piratical questions.
I love you.
Chapter One
He’d been summoned for an audience with the Commandant. No pirate ignored a summons, especially if the Commandant of the Confederation of Pirates happened to be your father. Captain Andre Dubois and his father had little or no contact under usual circumstances, but Andre couldn’t ignore the summons. Therefore, even though he was the most feared pirate of the Caribbean, Andre pulled up anchor from lawless Port Royal and sailed to New Orleans where his father resided.
“Do you think he is finally retiring, Capitán?” queried Pedro de Gallo, a short, bulky Spaniard of dubious descent with thinning hair and viciously pointed goatee, and Andre’s first mate. Andre replaced him at the wheel, taking control of his ship with a sigh of contentment.
The stiff wind threatened to unravel the plait he’d tied his dark, shoulder length hair into, while the sooty kohl he’d used around his eyes did a good job absorbing the setting sun’s glare. He adjusted course minutely before he responded. “Not a chance, Master G. Not a chance.” With his father, nothing would be as simple as retirement. “He may want a bigger percentage of our plunder.”
De Gallo’s gaze shot to Andre. “From his own son?”
Andre quirked a lopsided smile. “But of course, mon ami. We make money. Le Commandant makes money off us. You should know that by now. No one gets rich except Le Commandant. We will just have to wait and see.”
~*~
Le Commandant Louis Dubois’ private residence lay in the center of the Vieux Carré behind Madame Thibodaux’s brothel, separated by a lovely courtyard and trickling fountain. Andre first passed through the bordello, shooting wide smiles to his favorites, and raised brows to newcomers. Dressed for business in his weathered tricorn hat, his stolen blue, British Navy officer’s coat, and over-the-knee, calfskin boots, he didn’t stop to chat up any of the whores. Perhaps he would have time after this blasted meeting with his father.
Dubois Senior’s servant, François, let him in with an arthritic nod and directed him into the Commandant’s wood furnished study. Louis himself sat behind a heavy desk, chair turned to look out at his private courtyard, no doubt in order to force his son into speaking first. Andre recognized the power play.
“Hello, Father.”
His father rotated his chair unhurriedly, a smile brightening his lined countenance as though surprised by Andre’s visit. “Andre, Mon Dieu, you’re here.” He rose, headed around the desk toward Andre, who crossed his arms and frowned.
“You summoned me, Papa. Of course, I’m here. What do you want?” He shouldn’t be paying homage to this old goat. He and his crew should be plundering some unsuspecting Caribbean port.
“Andy, Andy, you wound me. Perhaps I missed seeing my son, the only fruit of my loins, my heir—”
“Heir to what, Papa? Your debts? Your broken liaisons? This moldering old pile of rocks? Sorry, Father, but if that’s all, I’ll be leaving. I have to make my own fortune.” He swung about, intent on leaving.
“I’m in a bind, Andy.”
Andre stopped, straightening his shoulders with eyes closed. After mouthing a few choice swear words, he pivoted. “How much?”
“My command of these seas.”
“Bloody ballocking hell. How?” While he waited for an answer, he noticed for the first time the age road-mapped upon his father’s face. The pouches under his father’s eyes were a testament to his wild living, as was the gray snaking through his father’s long hair. He looked ready to lose his birthright.
The older man wiped a hand down his face. “A little known code, I’m afraid. If the Commandant does not have a line to pass his command to, another pirate can challenge his leadership. I’m being challenged.”
“By whom? What am I? I’m your line.” Not that he wanted the command. As far as he was concerned, his father could rule until the end of time. Andre lived to plunder, both ships and strumpets. Sitting in this dark hovel would send him to Bedlam.
His father rounded on him. “A line that ends. You’re nearly thirty-five years old. You have no wife, no offspring...not even any by-blows. I’m going to lose my title because my randy son can’t stop dipping his wick into every whore in every port.”
“Like father, like son, eh, Papa?” Andre sneered, provoked by a flash of panic rising within.
Out of nowhere, his father backhanded him across his mouth. “I was faithful to your mother, you hapless cur, a trait which obviously bypassed you.”
Andre rubbed his aching lips, as he flexed his jaw. In silence, he acknowledged the truth of the statement. Louis Dubois had loved the woman he’d married, Andre’s mother, and had never strayed. After she’d died of smallpox, if he’d looked for release elsewhere, he’d done it in secret. Wary, Andre circled his father, just out of arm’s reach.
“I apologize, Papa. I did not mean to besmirch Maman. Or you. Who is challenging you?”
The apology mollified Louis. “Anton Bellard, Confederation captain of the Sargasso Sea. You have a well-known reputation, Andy, of never intending to settle down. Bellard wants my command, although he proposed a solution that might satisfy everyone concerned.”
Andre’s heart began to beat heavily. Here was the crux of the matter. “I’m neither concerned nor involved. How do I fit in?”
Louis hesitated, fidgeted. A ball of dread began to form in Andre’s stomach.
“A marriage between our two families would satisfy Bellard. A strong pirate merger would be formed with his daughter as your wife—”
“Oh, damn me to hell, I knew I would have to save the day somehow. You bugger up your life and I’m supposed to bugger mine to save you? You’re rich, old man.” Andre felt the noose tightening around his neck, and began pacing the room.
“It’s your life, too, boy. You can’t sail forever. The sea is a demanding mistress. Your body will give out before your spirit, and then where will you be, eh? Alone and lonely? Think about it, Andy, just, think about it.
“Bellard’s daughter is a beauty, but she’s turned down every eligible man introduced to her. Marry her, get her with child, and then go back to your trade. She’ll have a baby, and you’ll have your life back. You need an heir by now, anyway.” The old man’s face appeared overly bright. Andre grew more suspicious.
“What’s wrong with the femme? Why is Bellard trying to auction her off? I can’t believe her father wouldn’t mind me dipping my wick, as you colorfully stated moments ago. Fathers of daughters don’t like that behavior in a son-in-law, Papa.”
“Yes, but it’ll be too late by then, won’t it? As far as the girl is concerned, there’s nothing wrong with her. She’s a beauty. Just too picky.”
Andre made a la
st ditch effort to save himself. “Picky? You think the two of us will be a good match? Why can’t we just settle this challenge with a duel? I’m a crack shot with a pistol, and just as deadly with a sword.”
He swung away from his father’s desk to stand before the open French doors, and waited for the older man’s reply while feeling his destiny closing in on him. When an answer was not forthcoming, he turned, raising his brows.
“Then it would have to be me.” His father held out his hand. They both watched it tremble and shake. Their gazes met. Sighing, Andre swore under his breath, lifted his hat, and ran a hand over his hair in defeat.
“Merde. Fine. When?”
~*~
“No, Papa, I do not want to marry. You know that.”
Sophie Bellard stamped her foot in the salon of her father’s house on St. Charles Street, outside the decadent Vieux Carré. Tall, with alabaster skin and ebony hair, Sophie Bellard knew she was a beauty at twenty years of age, but the strong-minded personality she’d inherited from her father lessened her chance of a good matrimonial match. Not that she wanted one. After four coming out seasons, one disastrous, Sophie resolved to hang up her dancing shoes and become a captain in her father’s fleet. He didn’t agree.
“No Bellard woman has ever gone pirating and you will not start now. I understand your lack of interest in marriage, but this is one decision I must enforce. Our family has always had arranged marriages. I gave you the chance to choose a husband—”
“Papa, please.” She teared up at the very thought of giving herself to a stranger, a pirate. Forget the fact that she came from a pirate family herself, or that the house she stood in had in fact been purchased with pirate booty.
She didn’t know the man her father had chosen for her. What would happen if he were mean-spirited? A drinker? A womanizer? Sophie knew Papa needed money, but why did she have to sacrifice herself for his transgressions? It wasn’t fair. She stamped her slippered foot once more.
“Papa, it’s just not fair. I do not want a man to boss me around. Why can’t we just charge a higher percentage from the plunder you already get from your captains? Please?”
Her father wouldn’t be swayed. “The deal has been struck, ma chère. From what I know of Le Commandant’s son, he is not a man prone to excesses. In addition, he will afford you more protection than I can give you.
“The two of you will meet this evening at a soirée at your Tante Michelle’s, the bans will be read, and you’ll marry within two weeks. I’ve gotten the good Father’s blessing ahead of time.”
Sophie looked down. “But he may find out about...you know, Papa.” She heard her father shift his stance. He came to pat her shoulder awkwardly.
“Once you’re married, he will definitely find out. But it will be too late then, my sweet, for him to do anything.”
Cornered, Sophie hung her head, knowing she’d lost. By how much remained to be seen.
~*~
What a crush. Andre studied the many couples already on the dance floor while the announcements of attendees continued. His future bride still had not made an appearance, and he was fuming. He could be on the Jade Princess right now, instead of waiting like some lap dog for its owner. The room was hot, the people loud, the dance floor crowded, and the alcohol tepid. Add to that he felt like a stuffed toad in his captain’s garb within this overheated house and—
“Captain Anton Bellard and Mademoiselle Sophie Bellard.”
Andre’s head snapped up, gaze narrowing as he spied his bride-to-be on the steps of the foyer.
She was breathtaking.
“Merde,” he murmured, the vision at the entry stopping his heart. She was tall, statuesque, with black-as-night hair coiled atop her head. Small, iridescent peacock feathers adorned her intricate coiffure, a striking contrast to her alabaster complexion. Jet drop earrings dangling from delicate ear lobes caught the light of the foyer’s crystal chandelier, as did the jet collar necklace draped around her swan-like neck.
His breath stalled in his chest at the sight of all the creamy skin and ample bosom exposed by her off-the-shoulder neckline. The ivory silk pointed bodice, and gathered, double tiered skirt accentuated her tiny waist, as did the brilliant cut velvet and silk embroidered skirt, whose design mimicked peacock feathers along the tiers.
At last his heart began to pound once more, pulsing desire through his body as he watched Mademoiselle Bellard and her father make their way into the crush of the ballroom. He decided to forsake decorum and made his way toward his intended, leaving his father to follow, or not.
In a few purposeful strides, he stopped before the Bellards and bowed low. Standing straight once more, he noted she was near his own height. Not a tiny woman, but they would fit together admirably in the marriage bed.
He opened his mouth to speak, but was forestalled when his father interrupted, “Good evening. May I introduce my son, Captain Andre Dubois of the Jade Princess?”
Bending slightly and taking the young lady’s gloved hand, Andre brushed a kiss along its back. Blue eyes snapped to his as she pulled her fingers from his grasp. He hid a grin when she rubbed the back of the hand he’d kissed. Hearing the strains of a minuet striking up he said, “Pleased to make your acquaintance. May I have this dance?”
A quick glance at her papa, who nodded once, and then Andre had this beauty on his arm, felt her thick-lashed perusal as he led her to the ballroom dance floor. Immediately they took position. The dance did not allow for conversation, but only surreptitious, sidelong glances.
He knew his intended liked what she saw of him. Her heightened color and exaggerated feminine moves told him so. For once, he was glad he’d taken time with his appearance, had tamed his hair into an old-fashioned queue, and trimmed his whiskers.
Mon Dieu, she was stunning. The few touches he’d managed about her person teased him mercilessly. Marriage to the young miss, if handled well by him, promised to be much more beguiling than he’d first thought. He might actually have to thank his father. Not bloody likely, but the thought was there.
The last notes of music died out against polite applause while he bowed before his future bride, and she curtsied, affording him a hurried look at an enticing décolletage before their eyes met again.
“Shall I return you to your papa?” She surprised him when she shook her head no and tucked her hand in his elbow instead. “Please walk me to the courtyard, Monsieur. It is very hot in here.”
He raised his brows, since most young misses would choose to run back to their parent, yet he nodded and led the way, staying well within sight of all the guests so as not to endanger her reputation.
Once they’d gained the widely flung courtyard doors, Sophie Bellard faced him. “Papa says we’ll be marrying in two weeks’ time. You are a pirate, are you not?”
For all her haughtiness, he could see she was nervous by the way her lips trembled and her voice quavered. He nodded with a shrug.
She continued. “What are your plans after marriage?”
Her forthright question surprised an answer out of him. The wrong answer. “To get you with child and enjoy the hell out of that process.”
With an angry growl and a flurry of skirts, she was gone.
Merde.
Chapter Two
Waiting was the hard part. Hidden by the canopy bed’s curtains, Sophie awaited her bridegroom’s entrance to the bedchamber with a rapidly beating heart. It was late. He’d given her plenty of time to ready herself for the wedding night, although for what she readied herself she would never be prepared.
They had married downstairs in the salon, Andre Dubois in his captain’s uniform and she in a hastily made ivory satin gown with princess seams and a close-fitting bodice that enhanced her bosom.
Throughout the ceremony she’d felt her bridegroom’s dark eyes on her, which made her more nervous. After all, they’d only met two weeks ago, and now they were marrying. She’d stumbled over his title and name even as hers tripped off his tongue as if h
e said it daily. Once again, his warm hands had clasped hers as he’d pushed the rose-cut diamond wedding ring onto her ring finger.
They finalized the nuptials five minutes later, with the priest congratulating them and both parents nodding in satisfaction. Now she lay in increasing trepidation, knowing the night would not end well for her.
She heard the subtle click of the bedchamber door, and saw the candle flame by the bed gutter from the disturbed air. Her breath caught in her throat. The rustle of clothing beyond the drawn bed curtains told her Captain Dubois was disrobing. Soon she would face her worst nightmare. She forced those past images from her mind. The bed hangings were pushed aside, and her bridegroom sat down on the edge of the bed.
Her husband of three hours, the man who’d brayed he would impregnate her as soon as possible, leaned toward her. His muslin nightshirt hung open at his throat, its ties were undone and dangling down his front. It didn’t matter that on a superficial level she found him wildly attractive. She, Sophie Bellard—no, Dubois—wanted no part of children, or the child-making process. Especially not after The Occurrence, as she called it in her head.
“Sophie?”
Her eyes rose to meet his. She bit down on her bottom lip to stop its trembling, clutching the blanket under her chin as if it would protect her from what would soon happen.
“We’re husband and wife now, Sophie. Do you know what that means in the bedroom?”
“Y-yes. Yes, I do.” More than he realized, she thought, while a fist tightened its hold on her lungs. A slow smile crossed her husband’s face, and the random thought that he was quite handsome floated through her mind between memories of The Occurrence.
He seemed to study her countenance to make sure she told no falsehood. The silver earring in his ear glinted in the candlelight, which also reflected shadows beneath his high cheekbones. His long hair looked soft and touchable, though she refrained from reaching out to pet it. That would only accelerate the inevitable. The mustache framing his supple lips added to his striking appearance.
The Pirate's Bride Page 1