The first signs of a pearl-gray morning showed her miles and miles of dull green sea, but with it, a blessed breeze blew past her cheeks.
“Take some deep breaths and keep your eyes on that line, there,” he pointed, “where the sea and sky meet.” His voice was low, and somehow calming.
She gripped the windowsill pulling great gulps of salted air into her lungs. Her head began to clear, but her legs still trembled like sponge pudding.
The captain caught her around the waist and held her against the solid wall of his chest. His nearness unsettling. It muddled her brain. One minute he seemed intent on killing her. The next he was being kind. She didn’t know what to think or which to fear most.
The heat of his body penetrated the thin fabric of her chemise. His warm breath brushed her cheek. Where had he told her to look?
He spoke to her as if she were a child. “I’ve got you. Just keep taking the air. Deep breaths.” The smell of the sea, rain-washed air, and the unique spice of his skin made her dizzy in a different way.
“I hate this boat,” she rasped.
Captain Steele gave a short laugh. “And she hates you calling her a boat. The Scarlet’s a fine sloop, and you need to call her a ship. She likes being the only woman about, too. No wonder you two got off to such a rocky start.”
“I’d be most happy to leave.”
He chuckled again. The rich rumble spread through her body. “And I’d be more than happy to oblige you, but there’s still the matter of who you are and how you came to be here. Why are you so desperate to get to Port St. Maria?”
Anna stiffened. How could she begin to tell him about the months leading up to this moment? Where would she start? Should she tell him about fighting her way through a devastating fire to save Alice and herself while flames licked at their hems, only to lose everything and everyone most dear to them? Perhaps she should tell him about being sent to London to start anew and meeting the madman who brought a new, indescribable horror to their lives. He believed she wasn’t bound to a member of his crew, but would he believe she was truly in danger and didn’t sneak aboard his ship on some brainless whim? Would he believe Port St. Maria was the only place she and Alice could find safety and their last scrap of hope? What could she possibly say to convince him to turn his ship in another direction? The mere suggestion sounded crazy, even to her.
Everything went horribly wrong. They were foolish to believe their plan would work. Now she was in the hands of pirates, barely able to stand on her own feet. How would she save them? She was adrift with nothing. She didn’t even have the clothes on her back. Panic threaded up her spine again. Wait. Her bag. The meager remnants of her life’s possessions were in that burlap sack.
She pulled out of his grasp. “Did you find a small bundle? I left my…provisions in that awful hold.” Just the mention of food sent her stomach on another tumble. She clutched at his arm to steady herself and made the mistake of falling into the changing depths of his blue eyes. His dark brows knit into a scowl. A growth of beard shadowed his jaw and framed his grim mouth. Her traitorous leg failed her again.
He caught her. “You’re still green around the gills. I doubt you’re thinking about food. You’d better lie back down and rest that leg.” Before she could respond, he scooped her up and laid her back in the softness of his bed.
The intimate gesture startled her.
“I’ll see your bag is found, and I give you my word you’ll get it back.” He pulled a thick blanket over her and paused to brush his fingertips across her cheek. “If you answer my questions.”
CHAPTER 4
Jaxon rubbed a weary hand over his forehead. The constant frown he was destined to wear around her tugged at his new stitches. He could not decide between strangling her or sweeping her into his arms again. Her body leaning against him as he carried her, with the thinnest of cloth between her and nakedness, played havoc with his mind. And his body. After laying her upon the bed, with her flaming hair fanning the pillow, a sudden, foolish urge to kiss her swept over him.
“Let’s begin with your name.”
She raised herself and sat, blinking at him with wide eyes. They were the most unusual color, like rich Spanish gold.
“Your name?” he insisted.
Giving a small, resigned sigh, she looked away before answering. “Anna…Annalise.”
“What’s your surname?”
She frowned and shook her head. “My name doesn’t matter.”
He snapped. “Just answer the damn question.”
She pulled the blanket up tight and shot golden sparks at him from her lovely eyes. Her mouth formed a stubborn, silent line.
Jaxon planted his hands on his hips. This woman wore away his last hint of patience. Forget the bloody kiss. I’d rather toss her over my shoulder and dump her over the rail.
“Must you curse at me?”
“Yes, dammit,” he growled. “If I didn’t curse at you, I’d be wringing your damn neck.” Or tossing you onto your back.
She tucked her chin and pressed those damnable lips of hers together.
Jaxon snapped. “Answer me.”
She jumped when he bellowed. “Gatherone. Annalise Gatherone.” Golden eyes sparked.
“Mistress Gatherone.” He tipped his head. “How did you get information about the course of my ship?”
“The information was obviously wrong.”
He shot her a stare that would have most men dropping their weapons and tossing their hands high in surrender.
“We listened to the lad in the Harbor Master’s employ. His name is Liam. He’s sweet on Gertrude, our scullery, and he told us the Scarlet Night was leaving that night and would be the only ship heading to Port St. Maria for weeks.”
“Wait, did you say we? Are there more of you in my hold?”
“No.” She paused and glanced away from him. “It’s just me.”
“I can’t tell you how happy that makes me.” His head began to ache again. “Go on. What’s so urgent that you were fool enough to stow away aboard my ship?”
“We needed to leave London, immediately. Separately. If we could both make it to St. Maria. Meet there. We’d be safe.”
“Every answer you give me only stirs up more questions.” He went to his desk and pulled brandy from its drawer, poured two pulls into glasses, and brought her one. “Try not to spill this.” Retrieving the bottle, he sat on the low trunk again. “Why the rush to get out of London?” Jaxon tossed back his drink and poured himself another while Annalise sat staring into hers.
“I was in danger.”
He snorted. “Foolish girl, don’t you know you’re in danger now?”
She met his gaze. “At least aboard your ship, I have a fighting chance.”
Something in her reply or the look upon her face brought him up short. She held his stare. The golden sparks in her eyes gave way to a gilded determination. Who was this woman? And why did he feel the sudden need to protect her? The fierceness of that need surprised him. For a moment, it blotted out all the rest.
His anger softened. “What about your family?”
It took her a moment to answer. “I’m currently without.”
Jaxon studied her closely, watching for any evidence of guile. No need to guess at her feelings. Her emotions were clear upon her face. Whatever happened had wounded her deeply and sent her racing into a desperate move.
She lowered her gaze and stared back into her glass.
“You keep saying ‘we.’ Clearly, there is someone missing you. Couldn’t they have protected you?”
“They did.” She tossed back her drink, put the back of her hand to her mouth, and coughed. She looked at him with shining eyes. “They found me your ship.”
* * * *
Jaxon paced the length of his deck. The polished gunwales and rain-scrubbed ruby cedar under foot shone in the sun. Three masts of white sails bowed against the deep blue of the sky. Aye, she was a beauty, hi
s ship. He passed a row of cannons strapped into their holdings and a steaming pot of tar to paint the rigging before the salt air and seawater destroyed their strength. Standing in his favorite spot, the farthest point of the bow, Jaxon stared out past the bowsprit toward the endless depths ahead. The strident rush of the water past the prow was music to his sailor’s ear.
With the storm behind them, the day burned bright and promised a fine stretch of good weather. Daily chores occupied the crew. The boatswain ordered the polish of the brass top of the capstan and the sail maker repaired a torn topsail. Other seamen coiled ropes into barrels and tightened lines. Those few with hearty voices kept a lively tune.
Everything as it should be. Nothing seemed amiss. Below deck, however, was another matter. Bloody hell. He was getting soft. Why did he care what happened to this chit? The first sign of womanly tears and he’d given the wench quarter, for Christ’s sake. He was forgetting she’d end up getting him killed.
Cookie appeared at his side with a tall leather tankard of ale and passed it to him.
“Capt’n.” The grizzled seaman leaned close. “How is she?”
“She’s come to and seems intent on living.”
“Good to hear. Learn who she be?”
“Her name is Annalise Gatherone. Insists she isn’t a guest of anyone on the crew. Said she’s running from some kind of trouble and looking to make it to Port St. Maria.”
“Ain’t she heard the news? Ye’re a dead man if you set foot there?”
“Makes no difference which way we head. If anyone finds her aboard, I’m a dead man no matter what.” Jaxon drained the cup and handed it back. “That’s all I’ve learned. Dammit to hell, she’s as forthcoming as you are handsome.”
“Mayhap this’ll give ya a better clue.” Cookie opened his hand. The white of pure silk was blinding next to the dirt of the man’s palm. “I set to cleanin’ the hold. She brought along food and water, but the rats made short work of the food, and she done lost her water to the bilge. Found this in what be left of her sack.”
Jaxon reached for the bit of silk. The weight surprised him. A crested gold ring slipped into his hand. He looked at Cookie in question. “A lord’s ring?”
Cookie bobbed his head. “That there’s a gentleman’s handkerchief. Got the initials HCG stitched in the corner. Mayhap our little miss be a thief runnin’ from the law?”
Jaxon shook his head. “She’s no thief.” He couldn’t explain how he knew, he just did. Pushing the ring and its wrapper into his pocket, he scanned the deck. No one seemed interested in his discussion with Cookie. Certainly, there were men about too curious for their own good, but they looked to be minding their business.
“Anything else?”
“Robbins swears there’s a spirit aboard. Come to me, twistin’ his hat. Boy swears he heard screams during the storm. His mates are givin’ him one hell of a ribbin’, tellin’ him he’s daft in the head and sayin’ maybe his rum be tainted.”
“See to it he gets a deeper ration.”
“Aye, aye.”
“Seems she has more questions to answer.” He scanned the crew again. “I’ll be below.”
* * * *
Jaxon’s gaze took in the sight of his lovely captive sleeping soundly in his bed when he returned to his chambers. A warm woman in his bed should be a most welcome sight. Not this time.
Moving to his desk, he took the ring and handkerchief from his pocket, then studied them both. The silk appeared new, but the ring told another story. The gold had thinned from generations of wear. An elaborate crest graced its face with small rubies and sapphires set into the engraving. He slipped it onto the third finger of his left hand. It fit as if made for him.
He watched her sleep, his mysterious Annalise. The ring was just another piece of the puzzle surrounding her. Would he ever get the whole story? And why did it even matter to him?
Anna lay on her side. The wide neck of the chemise she wore allowed one pale shoulder to peek above its lacy trim. He imagined the petal-soft feel of her skin. Her delicate collarbone set off the shadowed hollow of her throat. He had a decided urge to bury his nose there and breathe in the sweetness of her before kissing his way to the satiny skin just beneath her…
Whoa. Am I daft? This woman could be nothing but trouble. She was going to get him hung. He fought and pillaged his way through too many bloody battles. Became one of the most feared captains on the sea. He’d be damned if he lost everything because of some misguided female. The crew would kill her, while he watched, and then be happy to kill him in the vilest way they could conjure.
Plus, he’d lay coin on the fact she was a virgin. That alone should have been enough to cool his thoughts. He loathed virgins. They were nothing but grief. Every last one of them. Bloody hell. Jaxon moved to his washstand and threw a handful of cold water onto his face. He debated dumping the ewer’s icy contents down his pants.
Back at his desk, he slipped off the ring and dropped it into a drawer. It wouldn’t begin to pay for all her trouble, but it was a start. He slammed the drawer closed.
Annalise stirred.
“Ah, the beauty wakes.” He frowned at the undeniable truth. She was a beauty. No question on that score. “I trust you slept well.”
She rose and stretched before pushing her glorious hair away from her cheek and tugging her chemise back into place. Firm-tipped breasts caught the flimsy fabric.
Someone needs to shoot me. Jaxon forced himself to look away.
“I would bid you a good-morn, but I’ve lost track of my days and nights.” She touched her neck, running her fingers across her throat before lifting her hand to her mouth and worrying her lip. “May I ask if you’ve had the chance to find my bag?”
“My cook found what remained of it.” Her golden eyes sparkled and her chest lifted in a sigh of relief. He watched her closely. “All was lost, I’m afraid. Rats made short work of it. Ate everything.”
She shook her head as panic flashed in those eyes. “They couldn’t have eaten--there was nothing left?”
“What else was there? Perhaps your pack contained something more than food? A trinket? A square of fine silk?” He reached into his desk and held up the ring. “Would you be looking for this?”
Relief lit her face again. “My ring. Thank goodness you found it.” She stood using the frame of the alcove to steady herself and reached out a hand for it.
“No.” He shook his head and closed his fist over the ring. “Not anymore. Now, it’s my ring. And I dare say, unless you wore the blasted thing on your big toe, it never belonged to you. A bit light-fingered, are you?”
She jerked her hand back as if he’d slapped it. “Light-fingered? You think I stole it?” Color flooded her face. “It belongs to me, and I must insist you give it back, please.”
Jaxon laughed and slipped the ring onto his finger, admiring it. “Pirates never give back, my lady. Call it plunder or call it payment for passage. Call it what you will, this ring now belongs to me.”
She held tight to the edge of the alcove as the color slipped from her cheeks. “I don’t care if you’re a pirate or a milkmaid. That ring is mine, and I need it back.” She dropped her gaze to the floor and worried her lower lip. “I’ll do a-anything you ask. Just please, give it back to me.”
He cocked an eyebrow. Was she propositioning him? She had nerve. He’d give her that. “Anything? I would watch your words. I’m no milkmaid.”
“It’s all I possess.”
“If you didn’t steal it, how did you come by the ring of an English lord? Who is HCG?”
“Herbert Charles Gatherone. My uncle.”
“Your uncle was a lord?”
“Yes, and before him,” she pulled in a long breath and met his stare, “that ring belonged to my father, the Marquis Gatherone.”
Jaxon pushed his eyebrows toward his hairline. “You’re a lady?”
She shook her head. “Was. Lady Annalise Gatherone died
the moment I stepped upon this ship, and my father’s ring is all I have left. It’s the only thing that remains from a life I once lived and the one possession I have to secure a new one.”
“How did you manage to get on the Scarlet Night?”
“I snuck aboard and planned to stay hidden until your first landing--Port St. Maria, where I’d sneak off just as I had crept on.”
“What awaits you in Port St. Maria?” Jaxon moved his prize to the other hand, catching the gleam of the gold to taunt her.
Anna’s gaze never left the ring, as if she feared it would disappear. “Safety.”
He stopped his teasing. Something in the way she said the word brought him up short. “Safety from what?”
She lifted her gaze and held his stare. “The man who killed my uncle. He sent that ring to me as a warning, or perhaps it was more of a hideous announcement. The night my uncle Herbert disappeared, his murderer delivered it to me covered in what I can only guess was my uncle’s blood. I believe he killed Herbert to get to me.”
Jaxon followed the single tear that spilled over her lashes and trailed down her cheek. The muscle in his jaw ticked. “Does this man have a name?”
“The Duke of Wentworth. But most call him Wolfsan. Benedict Wolfsan.”
CHAPTER 5
A hired coach rattled down the cobblestone streets of London. The Duke of Wentworth sat within its shabby interior. Grimacing at the peeling panels and cracked leather seats, Wolfsan held a perfumed handkerchief beneath his nose to stifle the smells of sweat and filth that assaulted him.
The coach was getting close to his evening’s objective. He pulled the window curtain closed. A tear in the fabric let in the only light as they passed the occasional merchant’s lantern. He spoke to his darkened reflection within an ancient mirror, its gilding long worn away.
“We’re brilliant. The drunken sot, Lord Gatherone, never stood a chance. Now, his luscious niece shall be ours. Ah, Annalise, fresh and unspoiled. We will have you.”
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