by Kathryn Le Veque, Suzan Tisdale, Eliza Knight, Cynthia Wright, Christi Caldwell, Eva Devon
“Sang Dieu,” cursed Jean-Philippe, but there was no hint of panic in his voice. He seemed to lift her through the air, up the ladder, and out into the night air with one easy movement.
“They come!” cried Father Jozef, clearly in a panic.
“You must run,” she urged. “Hurry!”
Barnes and Pierre each had one of the priest’s arms and they nearly brought his feet clear of the deck as they rushed toward the rope ladder. As they all reached the rail, Tonie saw the booty that had been returned to Conquerer. It was neatly stacked in the middle of their escape route, the jeweled, gold box containing the medieval illuminations right in front where Ormond could see it.
At the last moment she saw the Gladius, balanced rather precariously on the top chest of tea. Part of her longed to reach out and touch it one more time, to thank it for bestowing its secret on her at the time in her life when she needed it most.
But there was no time. Conquerer’s sleepy crew was stumbling onto the deck as a shrill whistle continued to sound the alarm. Ormond himself burst out of the hatch then, waving his arms, screaming orders, a turban teetering sideways on his wigless head.
The biggest challenge was getting Father Jozef down the rope ladder and into the boat with all possible speed. Tonie scrambled after him while Pierre and Barnes continued to urge the priest downward. She had just hopped safely into the boat beside the three men when it dawned on her that Jean-Philippe was not following her.
“Rest easy, love!” he called from above. “Sit down!”
She looked up in dismay to see him still at the top of the rope ladder, sitting casually below the ship’s rail.
“Pierre! Do something!” cried Tonie, but he and Barnes had already put their oars into the water and begun to row. “What are you doing? We can’t leave him! Stop, stop!”
“My lady, did you not hear the Captain? Sit down and rest easy!” And with that, Pierre returned his attention to the task at hand.
Stunned, Antonia sat down in the rocking boat beside the priest. As the oars dipped into the sea, water splashed in on her and she thought, It is out of my hands. She had bravely done all that she could and now she must trust the man she loved to somehow escape death at the hands of Ormond and return to her arms.
High above them on the edge of Conquerer’s rail, Jean-Philippe cut a dashing figure. Ormond and his men came rushing into view, swords flashing, and Tonie swore she saw him laugh at them before he used his cutlass to sever the rope ladder from the sides of the ship.
He truly was mad, it seemed, for as he stopped their enemies from following them, he was also disposing of his own means of escape!
All her instincts called for her to cover her eyes so she wouldn’t have to witness the mortal blow Jean-Philippe would suffer from Ormond’s raised sword, and yet something deeper compelled her to watch. With a graceful power that took her breath away, Jean-Philippe perched on the rail for a mere instant and dove from the edge of the ship into the black ocean.
As if they had done it a dozen times before, Pierre and Barnes deftly turned the boat and headed toward the spot where their captain had hit the water. Pistols fired now from the ship, narrowly missing their boat. Just as they rowed past, Beauvisage emerged from the deep like a force of nature. It was Tonie who leaned over the side of the boat to put out her hand to him.
Never had she been more thrilled to see Jean-Philippe, cold and wet as he was, and quickly he was beside her in the long boat, laughing in exhilaration. He shook himself and droplets of salt water rained down on her and the hapless priest.
“You are mad!” Tonie accused, joining in his laughter. “I was so frightened!”
“Nay, my lady, do not say so.” His strong arms enfolded her against his soaking wet chest. “Never fear for me. Have you heard my motto, Find a way? You should trust by now that I always do.”
Chapter Ten
“I still say it all feels a bit hasty,” Pierre complained under his breath as he brought Father Jozef up the steps to the quarterdeck. “M’sieur was ever the reckless one, turning his back on the family estate to go racketing off as a pirate!”
“Pardon me?” the priest asked in Russian.
“And I’d also like to know, how can it be a real wedding if it’s not even spoken in French?”
“I do not understand what you say,” Father Jozef told him again in Russian, but he seemed to perceive enough of the situation to give the cabin boy a reassuring pat on the arm.
After observing from the other side of the freshly polished deck, Beauvisage approached quietly enough from behind to grasp Pierre by the collar of his short jacket. “Enough, windbag. Wish me joy.”
“Mais oui. It’s just that –” He broke off and nodded. “Of course, you are right as always. And may I say that you are looking exceptionally dashing today? I only wish that your own maman and papa could be here to see you.”
“You are talking like an old man!” Beauvisage laughed as he glanced down at his own fine suit of pewter-gray silk with silver buttons. His hair was un-powdered as usual, but he wore it neatly bound at his neck and that morning he had shaved what Tonie liked to call his “pirate stubble”.
Pierre straightened the snow-white froth of Mechlin lace that contrasted with Beauvisage’s tanned face. “Someone has to say these things to you, m’sieur.”
“Try to remember that you are but a youth. Love is something you know nothing about. One day you will understand.” With that, he turned to greet the priest and led him to the spot near the mast where he would stand to perform the service. He would be grateful to have Tonie there to translate for him.
A fortnight ago, Jean-Philippe wouldn’t have believed it if someone had told him that he would fall abruptly in love and be getting married today. A wry smile touched his mouth as he remembered the recent urgings from both his parents to begin considering marriage. He had scarcely bothered to reply. Of course, they would have chosen a different sort of wife, but he knew enough of their own rebellious romance to feel certain they would be embracing him if they were present today.
The crew had begun to assemble on the deck. All of them had washed and donned their cleanest clothing for the occasion. Today they had gone without kerchiefs on their heads, but they proudly wore leather baldrics with their best weapons inserted through slits in the straps. A band of pirates were hardly the sort of guests who would have attended his wedding at Château du Soleil, yet it seemed right that the men who had fought with him to rescue Tonie would also witness their vows.
Even Zoya was there in the background, garbed in violet, a shawl covering her head and a little half-veil obscuring her scars. He thought that she seemed wistful. Perhaps, even though she would continue to be Tonie’s maid and part of their household, Zoya sensed that her orphaned mistress would no longer need her as before. Henceforth, Antonia and Jean-Philippe would shape their own new family.
Lieutenant Malle stood beside the rail, wearing a powdered wig and his best suit of clothing. He had polished his buckled shoes and even his stockings looked like new. In his hands, he held a fragile-looking violin. When he lifted it and began to play Bach’s lilting Violin Sonata in C Major, the effect was breathtaking. The sounds of the music drifting out over the ocean made the surroundings more stunning than any church could ever be.
Tonie appeared then, and Beauvisage saw that she ascended to the quarterdeck on young Barnes’s arm. She wore a gown of ivory taffeta brocaded with delicate vines, and a stomacher of embroidered satin. The gown parted in the front to display a quilted, leaf-green petticoat that accented Tonie’s eyes. Sheer ruffles fluttered in layers from her elbow-length sleeves. Sunlight shone on her chestnut curls and, when their eyes met, she gave Jean-Philippe a smile that melted his heart.
It came to him that her beauty had only deepened since the night at Rayne Hall when he’d fallen in love. Then, he’d been captivated by her aura of sadness, and perhaps he’d imagined that he might be the hero who would magically restore her to happine
ss.
Today, Tonie’s inner glow mingled fresh joy with the strength and wisdom forged through loss. Happiness had indeed been restored to her, but it was her own accomplishment, and Jean-Philippe realized that was exactly as it should be. It was his privilege now to take her hand and be the recipient of her freely given love.
Together, they stood before Father Jozef as he performed the wedding ceremony in Russian. When it came time for them to say their vows, Tonie translated hers into French and Jean-Philippe repeated them. At the very end, when the priest called for a ring, Pierre stepped forward. Roland the monkey, clad in his best, blue coat and tiny cravat, clung to his shoulder.
“Félicitations, m’sieur,” he murmured, and proffered a small, engraved, gold ring. “Excusez-moi. I meant to say Captain.”
Beauvisage arched a surprised eyebrow when he glimpsed tears in his cabin boy’s eyes. “Merci, mon ami,” he said sincerely.
The poesy ring had been passed down through his family for more than two centuries. When Jean-Philippe had admired the inscription that circled the band, his father had given it to him on his twenty-first birthday, saying, “Keep it for your own bride, a woman who values devotion over treasure.” He’d absentmindedly packed it away in a chest, only remembering this morning that he did indeed have a ring to slip on the finger of his beloved.
As he did so now, he saw her gazing at the words on her wedding ring.
“Tu et nul autre, Tonie.” Jean-Philippe’s eyes stung with emotion as he bent to kiss her. “You and no other, for eternity.”
* * *
“I think I have eaten too much,” Tonie lamented as she plucked another dusky, purple grape from the last cluster on the plate. The table before them, so recently crowded with food, drink, and celebratory seamen, was now nearly empty.
“My love, you’ll not escape your wifely obligations with that tired excuse,” Jean-Philippe warned with a roguish smile. “Do not forget that your husband is a pirate. I intend to do wicked things to you tonight.”
“You do?” A pleasurably warm sensation blossomed between her legs. Although a little shocked at her own body, she tingled with anticipation.
Hooking an arm around her waist, he slid her closer to him on the bench. Slowly he kissed her neck. “Are you nervous?”
Antonia looked deep into his eyes that were as blue as the ocean under a midday sun and sighed. “No. Well, maybe a little, but it’s just because I want to please you and I am… unskilled.”
“Don’t worry, we have a lifetime to discover together the many pleasures of love.” With one long finger, he tipped her chin to one side and pressed burning kisses along her jawline.
“Oh, I like that word: lifetime.” She felt her own pulse jump tellingly against his lips. “Do you intend that we shall live on your family’s estate in France?”
“I wonder if we should settle somewhere completely new, rather than France or Russia. What do you think?” As he spoke, Jean-Philippe lifted his head and met her gaze. “What about the American Colonies? I have heard Philadelphia is a fine town with a promising future. Of course, I shall engage in a new profession. Perhaps I’ll build ships.”
“Philadelphia.” Testing the word, Tonie smiled. “And could we have a real home and family?”
“Of course! I want to make you happy. And, I confess I am growing tired of living as a pirate.” His eyes strayed back to her neck, then down toward the first curves of her breasts. “My days as the Sea Rogue are at an end.”
She sighed again. He had begun to work at the lacings at the back of her gown and every casual brush of his fingertips sent a current of arousal to her breasts, and then to the core of her womanhood. A slow pulsing began there.
“I think…” Her lips were suddenly dry and as she licked them, Jean-Philippe stared. “I shall enjoy your lessons about the pleasures of love.”
“You are driving me mad, do you know that?” He reached for her hand and brought it straight to his crotch, where she could feel the heat and power of his erection through his breeches. “As for those lessons, we shall learn together. I may have experience with the pleasure side of it, but not love. Now it seems that’s the secret ingredient I’ve been missing all along.”
He pushed himself against her hand, his gaze smoldering, and her own throbbing intensified. Aching for him to touch her, she reached for his free hand and dared to bring it to her breast. When he cupped it and then found her hardened nipple through the stuff of her stomacher and shift, Tonie gave an involuntary whimper. A moment later, he brought her onto his lap and began kissing her with unbridled passion. As she returned his kisses, it came to her that the thrusts of his tongue must be a preview of what he soon meant to do to her.
Jean-Philippe’s hand deftly found its way under her gown and petticoats, reaching her soft thigh, caressing, caressing, moving higher. She was flooded with need when he touched her most private place and knew that he could feel the slick heat. Just when Tonie thought she couldn’t bear any more, the pad of his thumb deliberately brushed the hidden nub where every fiery sensation was concentrated. She gave a little cry.
“We are mad,” he muttered, his breath hot against her ear. “If we don’t get up now, this marriage will be consummated on a table bench.”
Tonie almost begged, Yes, yes, now, right here. She only wanted him to keep touching her with shocking intimacy, to open her legs, to unfasten his breeches –
But Jean-Philippe was effortlessly lifting her off his lap, up into the air, and they were standing.
“Hold still,” he commanded, his voice rough with passion. He was behind her, unlacing her gown. “If you females didn’t wear such cursed, complicated garments, this would be much easier.”
“That is why we have maids,” she replied with an effort. “I could have asked Zoya to assist me.”
“Never mind.” Brows knit in determination, he drew off her gown, unfastened her stomacher and tossed it aside, then untied the ribbons that secured her petticoats at her waist. Tonie obediently stepped out of them and stood before him in her linen shift, stockings, and the cane and linen panniers that had supported her gown.
“You seem to know what you’re doing,” she remarked rather dreamily. She loved to watch his beautiful, masculine hands as they removed her clothing, especially when she considered his purpose.
Jean-Philippe found the ties for the panniers and pushed them down so that the hoops collapsed into one another. “I have had a bit of practice, it’s true, but only in preparation for this night with you, my love.”
Her heart began to beat faster when she saw him begin to raise her shift. All that she wore beneath it were her white stockings, fastened with garters. Suddenly, she felt shy. Only four lanterns, hanging on the cabin bulkheads, provided flickering light, but silvery moonbeams poured in through the gallery windows.
“What about your clothing?” she asked. “Aren’t you going to join me?”
“How kind of you to ask,” came his roguish reply. “I’d be delighted.”
He had removed his coat an hour ago and the rest came off easily enough. Tonie watched with an awestruck mixture of love and lust as he revealed to her a body that was even more lithe and hard-muscled than she had imagined.
“You are made like a Roman sculpture,” she whispered.
“I’m gratified that you think so, cherie. And perhaps it’s fitting, given our experience with the Gladius.”
“I wonder if the Roman soldier who first owned it made that inscription for his lover?”
“We’ll never know their story, it seems,” he said, doffing his drawers. “But now we’re part of the tale. The Gladius has touched our lives, too.”
He stood naked before her and Tonie drank in the sight of his tapered chest, lean hips, and long, muscular legs. A slashing scar extended from his left shoulder to his sternum and she touched it, concerned.
“Don’t worry. My sword-fighting days are behind me.” He caught her hand and drew it down over the ridges and planes o
f his male body until she touched the warm, hard shaft of his desire. After a moment’s hesitation, Tonie wrapped her soft fingers around him and Jean-Philippe gave a low groan. “My darling, the only ambition I have at the moment is to be your lover.”
She felt the pulse of longing intensify between her legs. He slowly drew her linen shift up and over her head and then she was naked, too, except for her stockings and garters … and the fragile chain from which dangled his signet ring.
“Mon Dieu, how exquisite you are. Absolutely beautiful.” His gaze lovingly caressed her in the moonlight, followed by the feather-light touch of his hands exploring every curve and hollow of her body.
“I want…” she gasped.
“Yes, love.” He kissed her slowly, deeply, and cupped her bottom to bring her against him. “What do you want?”
“More. Please, more.”
He gave her his mouth then, using it to pay homage to her neck and shoulders, the tender insides of her elbows and wrists, before gradually blazing a trail toward her breasts. Tonie nearly cried out when his tongue, hot and wet and knowing, licked the puckered rosette of one nipple. She clung to his shoulders, urging him closer, but Jean-Philippe drew back and scooped her up in his arms.
Moments later, Tonie was lying on the bunk, bathed in moonbeams. It was bliss to be in her husband’s embrace without clothing to separate them. Hungrily, they kissed and touched, their passion and need building like a wave approaching the beach. Jean-Philippe lingered over her breasts, evoking sensations she hadn’t imagined were possible. Her thighs opened under his body. Any uncertainty she felt about the act of mating was swept aside by primitive need – and pure love for Jean-Philippe.
His mouth moved lower. He was holding her legs apart, kissing her sensitive inner thighs, blowing lightly on the curls that vainly attempted to shield the most secret part of her from him.
“Oh, no, don’t –” Tonie protested weakly.