Three Redeemable Rogues

by Tanya Anne Crosby

  “You’d think the man was a prince!” she muttered. But then, he was, wasn’t he? He was Prince of Smugglers. She laughed without mirth, cursing herself for a silly hysterical fool. Her gaze reverting to the curtain, she decided it was much too still for her peace of mind, and she rose to peek behind it... to be certain he was gone.

  He was still there, smiling knowingly, taunting her, his teeth flashing in mockery. His brow lifted diabolically.

  “Oh! You! I hope the rope snaps and you plummet headlong into the ocean and drown, you cur!” Yanking the curtain shut again, Jessie fumed. But his voice when next he spoke seemed unsettled, and she experienced a twinge of guilt for her hateful words.

  “Damn it, Jess!” Then more frantically, “Jessie! I’m slipping... damn it... Jess!”

  Arms crossed stubbornly, Jessie refused to reopen the drapes, refused to believe him. It was a ruse, she was certain. He was a cad! a cur! a lecher! And he sounded no more distressed than a gluttonous toad at home upon his lily pad.

  Yet even as she endeavored to convince herself, there came a cacophonous thud against the side of the ship, followed by an awful, endless abrasive sound that concluded with an ominous splash far, far below. Jessie’s heart lurched, and she snatched open the draperies with trembling hands.

  Lord, what if he had fallen?

  The rope dangled dismally before her eyes, swinging ever so slightly, evidence that he’d been there—but was no more. He was nowhere within sight.

  Oh, God—dear God. He had fallen. Hadn’t anyone seen? She glanced up, pressing her nose to the tinted glass, spying no one above—not that she could see a blessed thing through the colored glass! Frantically her gaze slid down again, to the fathomless ocean. She could see very little through the greens and blues and reds of the stained glass... and yet... and yet... she could have sworn that the water rippled away from a foaming center.

  It was all her fault! Not daring to waste even a single precious second, she went to the door and began clearing it of obstacles at once.

  “Someone! Anyone!” she shouted hysterically. “Please, Christian—Hawk!” she screamed. Lord, what to call the accursed man? “Your captain!” she decided finally. “He’s fallen overboard! Someone, please—help!”

  Thank heavens that her own trunks were easy enough to remove, but the other two, his two, were another matter entirely. They were as heavy as sin! Squatting upon the floor, she planted her feet squarely and gave a mighty heave. It moved a little, though at this rate, she thought that by the time she removed the last of the sea chests and made her away above deck to summon help, Christian would be long gone—dead—and at her hands, no less!

  Lord, she was a murderess! Tears stung her eyes. The very thought of never seeing him again made her heart suddenly ache. The possibility chilled her, left her bereft.

  Giving the trunk one last desperate heave, she shoved it out of the way, and with a groan she tackled the largest of them all, the one that was buttressed so securely against the door, the one that had taken her a lifetime to set into place.

  “Dear God,” Jessie prayed aloud, “please don’t let him die—don’t let him die—please!” Her face turned scarlet with her efforts and still the trunk would not budge.

  “Someone, please—oh, please, please, help!” she cried out, despairing ever to be free of the cabin. She was desperate to aid Christian. The armoire she’d admired earlier was within reach, and she happened to brace her feet upon it in her despair. Finding anchorage there, she shoved with every last bit of her might. Nailed down as it was, the armoire gave her the much-needed reinforcement and the confounded chest inched slowly but surely away from the door. Her face flushed and her brow beaded from her exertions, she gave the chest a final shove, sliding it just barely out of the way, and then she stood hurriedly, unbolting the door.

  Her mouth fell agape as she opened the door.

  “What took you so long?”

  In one swift, agile motion, Christian shoved away from the wall that faced her, smiling devilishly.

  Much too belatedly, she tried to slam the door in his too wicked, too handsome face. His hand swept out to hold it ajar.

  “My, but you do seem distressed,” he said much too calmly. “Tell me... where are you off to in such a frantic rush, my love?” The gleam in his cobalt eyes told Jessie that he truly didn’t wish or need an answer to that particular question, and she didn’t offer him one.

  His jaw working angrily, he suddenly shoved the door further open, causing her to lose her balance for the tiniest fraction of an instant. One boot on, one conspicuously missing, he came into the room, stalking her as a lion would its prey. Jessie backed slowly away from him, fearing him suddenly.

  “Y-You tricked me!”

  “You locked me out of my cabin,” he returned smoothly, his glittering blue eyes never leaving her own.

  “B-But you t-told me to...” He shook his head slowly in negation and her voice suddenly failed her.

  “I told you to stay out of my sight, not to shut me away from my bed.” He grinned then, but it was an ominous, mocking grin, not the least bit reassuring.

  “Wh-What were you doing out there anyway?” she asked defensively.

  “Why, I was looking to see what you’d barred the door with, of course,” he said. “But tell me... what were you doing at the window?” He smiled that wicked, knowing smile of his.

  Jessie ignored the impertinent question, though her cheeks flamed. She fanned herself reflexively, unaware that she did. “How did you get back up?” Her treacherous knees began to wobble. Nor was he wet, she noticed, frowning.

  Slowly, ruthlessly, he backed her toward the bed. “How else do you think, Jessamine? At my signal, my men hauled me up.”

  “B-But I heard you fall,” she stammered, her legs buckling as the bed came up behind her unexpectedly.

  He watched with ill-concealed amusement as she fell back upon it.

  “I swear it—I shall scream!”

  “And who do you think shall come?” he taunted, his voice little more than a whisper. “Your hobbling cousin? I very much doubt it, Jess. At any rate, you deserve a good lashing, and it was he who first suggested it, ma belle.”

  “But you wouldn’t dare!”

  Christian’s eyes gleamed with the devil’s own light. “Wouldn’t I?” he said, his jaw clenching.

  “N-Nay! Y-You’d not dare!” she stammered, and truly hoped it was so. The look in his eyes, however, confirmed otherwise. He would, indeed, dare, and thoroughly enjoy it besides!

  “I wish to God you had fallen!” Where she found the strength and courage to do so, she would never know, but she flew at him in that instant, her hands pummeling his chest. “I heard you fall!” she cried. “I know I did! Why didn’t you? Why didn’t you?”

  Christian caught her hands with a single sweep of his own, stilling them against his chest. She felt his heart beating fiercely beneath her fingertips.

  “Ah, ma pauvre petite,” he said huskily, “what a dreadful shame for you... Alas, but it was only my good boot you heard plummetin’ into the sea.” He nodded, his eyes glinting with arrogance. “Aye, my love, you did note I was missing one, did you not?” Her eyes shot him with cold contempt and he added, “Aye, I see that you have noticed. Tell me, m’mselle... should I take the price of them out on your pretty little derriere?” He reached back as though to make good his threat, swatting her backside.

  Jessie shrieked indignantly and began to struggle anew, twisting her arms to be free of the prison of his grip. In one swift motion, he lifted her and thrust her down upon the bed. He straddled her then, taking his sweet time so as to prove to her how very defenseless she was against him, that she would bend to his will even against her own.

  He bent low over her, to look into her eyes, his own eyes gleaming ruthlessly, and she swallowed convulsively, never feeling more vulnerable than she did at the moment. And then his lips came nearer still, until she could feel the heat radiating from them, beckoning...
and Lord help her, she wanted him to press his lips to her mouth, mold them to her own. Even as angry as she was with him, she found herself wistfully remembering the way his velvety tongue had felt within her mouth, so warm, so insistent, and her breath quickened.

  She wanted to taste his fierce hunger... again... and again... and again... never to stop.

  The sweetest ache began again to unfurl within the depth of her body, reaching deep into her soul, tautening the peaks of her breasts and making them ache for his touch.

  If only he could touch his lips to them once more, tenderly now. If only...

  She flushed crimson at her wanton thoughts.

  But then, in that bittersweet instant, he shifted and came closer, brushing his lips against hers so very gently, too gently, almost as though that brief contact were part of his warning.

  “I could have sworn,” he whispered, “that I’d told you once already... it would go all the easier for you did you simply stay out of my way. Do so... and you shall save us both much trouble... Do not... and you shall pay dearly... I swear it. My patience is at its end—doubt it not.”

  Her mind dazed with his nearness and his whispered threats, she returned, “Really, m’lord...” She lifted a brow, mocking his imperious gesture. “What more can you take from me that you’ve not already?”

  He laughed then, the sound ruthless, his breath searing the tender flesh of her lips. “More,” he swore, the threat no more than a whisper, “more, my naive little princess... so very, very much more.” And with that, he released her abruptly, lifting himself from the bed.

  He sat on the edge, ignoring her, lifting his one booted foot to his knee to remove the shoe, and still Jessie dared not move. His boot slipped off, and he tossed it unceremoniously across the room, where it landed with a wrathful thud.

  He rose from the bed abruptly and went to pour himself a snifter of brandy, tossing the contents down his throat and pouring himself another. Eyeing the bottle of Madeira that sat beside it, he lifted it, assessing the lack, and said, his back to her, “Well... as long as we are at it, then.” He lifted a clean goblet and poured her another glass of Madeira, bringing it to her and pressing it into her hands.

  Then, with his own glass in hand, he strode to, and sprawled backward into, his blue damask throne of a chair. He sat there, ignoring her for the longest time as he finished his brandy. She sipped nervously of her Madeira, watching him all the while, as the sun continued its descent, leaving them finally bathed in little more than dusky shadows.

  “You will light the lanterns?” she asked after a long, strained silence.

  “Nay.” His gaze met and held hers across the shadows. He shook his head. “I came to sleep... yet here I find myself sitting instead, wondering just what it is I should do with you.”

  Jessie sat numbly, not knowing what to say, unable to move, unable even to tear her gaze away from his much too stunning face. In the growing darkness, his features took on a sinister cast; his eyes seemed to glow by the light of the moon, and a shiver traveled her spine. Dread settled in the pit of her stomach. What would he do? she found herself wondering—but to her shame, not without exhaling a shattering breath of anticipation.

  “You plan to share my bed with me?” his husky voice inquired after a moment.

  “O-Of course not!” she cried indignantly, but she was mortified to feel the flutter, the thrill, that raced through her body like wildfire.

  “Then get out of it,” he advised her. “Now.”

  The last was said so softly that she barely heard the command.

  “I swear you are no gentleman!” Yet having said that, she gaped, fascinated by his sleek grace as he proceeded to unbutton his shirt cuffs.

  Though his features were now hidden deep in shadow, she could have sworn he smiled at that insult, his teeth flashing white. Taking a nervous sip of her wine, she swallowed it with a tortured, strangled gasp, and continued to sit, hopelessly entranced, watching shamelessly as he then started upon the buttons at his throat. She was utterly helpless to tear her gaze away from his ritual performance.

  Belatedly recalling her own gaping dress, she clasped it together, holding it fast, cutting off her breath as her flesh burned under his scrutiny. But Lord help her, she really couldn’t care that she couldn’t breathe just now, could only be thankful for the darkness of the cabin to conceal her brazenness.

  And her desire.

  He stood then, his body little more than a dark silhouette before her, and she was spurred into life finally, clinking her goblet down quickly upon the small table by the bedside.

  “I believe I’ve given you fair enough warning,” he said low, unbuttoning his breeches and shrugging out of them. Her heart leapt as they slithered to the floor and he stepped out of them, magnificently naked.

  Like Adam.

  She froze, again staring as though transfixed, her gaze leaving him only to revert to the window, to the silhouette of Adam glowing faintly there by the light of the moon, before returning to Christian, but Christian stood too deeply in shadow and she could see nothing of him.

  Chapter 20

  “I’ll not ask you again,” he swore, and then his shadow descended upon her.

  Jessie leapt from the bed, scurrying away. She listened intently to the rustling of the sheets as he snuggled between them, nude, she knew, and the thought made her shiver, though she could see absolutely nothing as his body slipped into the crisp coolness of the sheets. She knew they were cool, even as she knew his body was hot—as was her own. She burned as though with fever.

  Once he was settled, he tossed her a blanket. It fell at her bare feet. She stooped to retrieve it, holding it close to her as she stared into the darkness of the curtained bed.

  “Where will I sleep?” Her voice trembled slightly. Lord, she loathed herself for that weakness.

  He grunted, as though annoyed by her question, and said, “Wherever you wish... in the bed, if you please.” And then he added, “If you dare...”

  It was a challenge, a gauntlet cast at her feet, but one Jessie had no intention of accepting, or even acknowledging. She didn’t dare, for she’d be lost if she did.

  “I-I shall sleep on the floor, then.”

  “As you wish.”

  “Oh! I do so wish!” she assured him, her voice laced with bitterness. What manner of man was he to allow her, a gentle-born woman, to sleep on the floor—on the deck of a ship, no less, to roll with the ocean’s waves! God, how could she have ever thought him a gentleman? And again, she had the despairing thought that she was the worst kind of fool, for she was a fool in love.

  And he was a devil and a knave, the lowest of low!

  Resigning herself to a night of discomfort, she settled upon the floor, drawing the blanket to her chin to keep away the chill of the night. To her chagrin, she found the one blanket was not proof against the cold. And then again, perhaps the chill came from within? And then, too, it was dark... and she could hear him breathing, smoothly, evenly, peacefully.

  And then slower still—the cad! How dare he sleep!

  In that miserable moment, Jessie despised him immensely. Cursing him, she shifted, trying in vain to find comfort on the hard, cold floor.

  He snored.

  “Famous!” she muttered to herself.

  He made some curious sound, and then it seemed his entire body jerked, as though to catapult him into blissful slumber.

  Jessie couldn’t bear it—that he could sleep so peacefully when she was so very miserable.

  “Christian?” she whispered. There was no reply. Louder this time, she hissed, “Hawk?”

  Still no response.

  She waited a moment, and then shouted, “Are you sleeping?”

  He grunted, and responded finally, “Not anymore. What the devil do you want now, Jessie?”

  “I need a pillow,” she said petulantly.

  “I have only one.”

  “Might I use it, then?”

  “God’s teeth, woman! I am usin
g it!”

  Jessie gritted her teeth.

  “But you may share it,” he conceded irritably.

  “Share it? With you? Thank you, but nay. Is there another cabin I might make use of, then?”

  “Nay.”

  “Another bed?”

  “Jess.”

  “Another cot? Another world?” she mumbled beneath her breath.

  Some choked sound escaped him, as though he would laugh but refused to allow himself the concession. When he spoke again, his whisper sounded for all its caressing softness an irate command.

  “Go to sleep, Jessamine. Tomorrow will be a long day.”

  Indeed, Christian amended silently, a long voyage, for it was going to prove wholly impossible to share the same cabin with her while keeping his sanity.

  It was impossible to sleep with her scent filling his nostrils, arousing his senses. Yet there was truly no place else he would have her go.

  Certainly not with that damnable cousin of hers—and there was no place else.

  “I do so loathe you!” she informed him with great feeling.

  “And the sentiment is mutual,” he returned dispassionately. “Now, be a wise little wench and go to sleep. Or I swear, you’ll come to regret it.”

  “You don’t understand,” she cried softly. “I cannot sleep in the same room with you! ’Tis unseemly... and... and—”

  “To bloody hell with what’s proper, Jess! ’Tis a man’s ship,” he apprised her, his voice strained. “There is no other place for you to sleep but here... in my cabin—where you will be safe,” he added almost reluctantly, for he wasn’t truly certain she was safe with him either.

  “Why couldn’t you have thought of that before you abducted me?”

  He sighed. “As I’ve already told you, there was no time to consider. Look at it from my view. I believed two men lay dying, and I knew not where to turn for help... Being that one of them was your beloved cousin... I rather hoped you might feel somewhat inclined to aid them. Perhaps I was wrong?”