Once Upon a Pirate: Sixteen Swashbuckling Historical Romances

by Merry Farmer

  She shakes her head. “Listen, buddy, that’s enough. I know you’re an actor. I want to get off this ship and go back to my hotel. Actually, scratch that. Back to New York. I’ve had enough Caribbean vacations for now.”

  Bloody hell, the nerve of her. An actor? I cannot remember anyone talking to me like that, trying to tell me what to do. Not since Anne. Blood boils in my veins, hot and prickly. I leave the doors and walk towards her, my fists clenched. “You will go back to New York when I allow it.”

  She gasps as I lean over her, and her eyes darken.

  “You will help me get the cricket box,” I say. “Just as you claimed you came for.”

  She groans. “Are you seriously still playing this? You are going to be in so much trouble once this is over.” She stabs her index finger at me, and I want to bend her over my knee. “I’ll sue you. Personally. You’ll be sorry you didn’t let me go. Is there like a safe word or something? Because I’m done.”

  I chuckle. My anger is gone, replaced by curiosity. She is a mystery. Graceful in her appearance and movements but graceless in her manner of expression. She cannot be pure nobility. I like that because nobility bores me. “Sue me? Are you threatening to woo me? That sounds intriguing.”

  She throws her hands up, turns around, and hides her face in them. Either she is acting or she is truly dismayed. The urge to comfort her, to wrap my arms around her shoulders, makes my hands itch.

  “Miss Gilbert,” I take a step towards her.

  She sighs and turns around, her eyes cold. “All right, mister.” She straightens her back. “If the only way to get out of here is to play your stupid game, I’ll play it. What’s next? The ball?”

  She is charming in her anger, and something deep in her eyes tells me she is not pretending, but I refuse to believe that. She looks both helpless and resolved. The woman has strength.

  Even more reason not to trust her. “First, Miss Gilbert, I must insist that you tell me who you really are.”

  She rolls her eyes, then pinches the bridge of her nose and keeps silent for a few moments. “I am the daughter of a merchant from New York. Cole the Black raided our ship on the way to Jamaica and took my friend hostage. I’m very worried about her and I need to help you get the treasure so that he lets her go.”

  I frown. This sounds like something he would do. “But you agreed he is in the East Indies.”

  “Yes. He sailed away with her and hired a boat to get me to you. But the captain made advances towards me, and so I’m left in this.” She gestures down at her body.

  I clench my jaws. “How will he find out that you were successful?”

  “You need to give me the jade necklace so that I can find him and show it to him. Once he sees it, he’ll know you got the treasure, and he’ll let my friend go.”

  I scoff. “You are not seriously hoping you’ll get anything from the treasure chest.”

  “I just need that necklace. The rest is yours.”

  I shake my head, both amazed and astonished by her audacity. She is stirring something in me, feelings I buried two years ago, and I must stop them.

  To do that, I must plunge myself into activity. The ball. It is high time we go. I walk towards the door to my private quarters. “You are asking for the necklace when you are completely in my power? You ought to be grateful that you are going to make it off my ship alive and in one piece, considering your life rests in the hands of a pirate. Now, come. We must get you dressed.”

  I open the door and turn to her. She is watching me with raised eyebrows. “I can dress myself.”

  She must feel shy. “Miss Gilbert, although I am enjoying very much seeing you dressed like this, you cannot go to the ball in your undergarments. Therefore, I am afraid I am your only option to get the corset and the dress on. There are no women on my ship apart from you. And surely you do not want any of my crew to help you?”

  A blush covers her cheeks, her nostrils flare, and she straightens her back. “I don’t need you.”

  A smile spreads my lips. “Did you grow a pair of arms on your back?”

  She frowns. “Of course not.”

  I gesture for her to enter my private quarters, and the thought of her in my quarters—in my bed—sets my blood on fire. “Then you need me,” I say, and my voice comes out huskier than I intended.

  She swallows and licks her lips, then walks past me, and her scent tickles my nostrils and stirs desire in me.

  Inside the cabin, I look in one of the sea chests for Anne’s attire. The silk of the jade dress she wore that day is gentle against my rough fingers. Pain stabs me at the memory of the day I met her three years ago.

  I was walking with Cole to meet the local plantation owner to sell the plunder we had raided. Every pair of male eyes turned somewhere, and when I followed them, my heart stopped. I saw that silk sweeping the pavement of Nassau as she walked with her parasol. Her hair shone like a freshly minted gold coin in an exquisite hairdo, her amber eyes big and innocent, watching everything around her as if she were in a wondrous French garden, not among pirates, whores, and smugglers.

  Something took me over then. Maybe I wanted to protect her. Maybe I just wanted her. Breaking all etiquette towards a lady, I approached her. That very evening on my ship, in that bed, I found out that she was no lady.

  Later I found out that she had an even bigger ship than me. And even later, that she was still married and all she needed was to give me to the British so that she and her husband, the famous pirate Samuel van Huisen, would get a pardon.

  “This is pretty. Whose is it?” Miss Gilbert asks.

  My fingers tighten around the material, and I stand up holding the dress out to her. As I look into her face, I wonder what hides behind those eyes. She’s strong, bold, and smart. Beautiful. A storm starts roaring in my blood, and I realize I am in danger of repeating the same mistake again. No doubt, she is here for my treasure. “A woman who is long dead,” I say.

  She frowns but takes the dress. As she does, our fingers touch, and fire runs through my veins like a lightning strike. Our eyes lock. Her lips part, and the need to taste them scorches me.

  No. Not another woman like that. I let go of the dress and sink to my knees to find the undergarments for her, but the silkiness of the thin shift and stockings, and an image of removing them slowly from her luscious limbs, spreads the raging tempest through parts of my body best ignored. I shove the items to her before I can act on my desires and gesture towards the French screen.

  She walks there and disappears behind it. I hear the whisper of clothes against her skin as she takes them off.

  Glimpses of Miss Gilbert’s bare flesh flashing through the gaps between the panels only make me burn hotter. I yearn to see her whole, to touch her, to kiss her.

  To have her.

  I cannot stop looking. Through the gaps between the screens, the curve of her waist teases me, the full side of her breast gives rise to a low growl that originates deep in my gut and that I stop before it exits my lips. The round cheek of her gorgeous behind almost makes me reach out to grab her.

  No.

  I turn around to face the wall. I’m steaming. My cock is swelling, heavy with need.

  “James?” she says after a while.

  Dear Lord. If she is going to ask me to join her, I will not say no. “Yes, Miss Gilbert.”

  “I have the shift and the stockings on. I guess the corset is next?”

  I swallow as the images of her naked body, writhing, moaning, sliding beneath me flash through my mind. I want to throw myself at her like a wild animal. Slowly, I turn around.

  The sight of her standing in the white shift and stockings, holding the corset before her, kicks the air out of me. My heart stops. These undergarments cover more of her than the yellow shift, but seeing her in them feels more erotic. Maybe because they’re so common. So normal. Something I am craving.

  A home.

  Her eyes lock with mine, and I sink into them. Her lips are soft and red and call
ing for me.

  I take the corset out of her hands. “Turn around.”

  A gentleman should not know how to lace a corset, but I am no gentleman. Not quite.

  I wrap the corset around her thin waist and feel her breasts sink into it. They must be soft and silky. I tie the laces at her back—I’ve done it for lovers before. I avoid studying the delicate curve of her neck under her thick, glossy hair, the gentle movements of her muscles under the thin material of the shift. Samantha Gilbert must be the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.

  When I finish tying the laces, her waist is perfectly narrow and straight—as if she needs any help there. And the sight of her sweet, round, delicious behind makes my fingers itch to touch, to pull her back against my pulsating erection.

  I reach out and take the panniers and help her attach them, then take the dress she had hung over the French screen.

  I just need to endure this evening. As soon as she gets me the clue, I’ll leave her in Nassau, get the treasure, start a new life, and forget about her.

  But as she takes the dress from my hands and begins to put it on, I freeze, mesmerized by the sight. It looked like a costume on Anne, like she had always played a role in it. On Samantha, it looks as though it was meant for her all along. She pulls the sleeves on and now the only thing left to do is to lace the dress up her back, which I do, the warmth of her body burning my fingertips through the fabric. When she turns around, everything stands still.

  The fabric cups her breasts and highlights her tiny waist. The color compliments her dark hair and creamy skin, and as she watches me, her cheeks begin to blush, and her eyes shine.

  She is so gorgeous it hurts to look at her, and I do not think that I will ever forget the sight.

  I realize in that moment that I am in serious danger of losing everything, of smiling foolishly after her as she walks away with both the treasure and my heart.

  Chapter 5

  Nassau, New Providence Island, The Bahamas

  Later that evening

  Samantha

  As James helps me out of the small boat, a close look at the shore of Nassau hits me like a wrecking ball. I was already suspicious in the boat on the way from the ship to the shore, as there were no lights on the island. I had a few calm minutes to think while two sailors rowed and James stared at the shore. A million questions began popping in my head. How did I get on the ship? Clearly, I had been wrong about it being an escape room. Had Adonis drugged me and kidnapped me? He’d said something about time travel, but it couldn’t be actual time travel, could it?

  Now, standing in the place where last night there were cruise ships, yachts, luxury hotels, and cute colorful houses, I see no quay, no asphalt roads, no electric lights. Instead, at the end of a wooden pier, a horse-drawn carriage awaits us, lit by torches with real fire…

  As James and I walk down the pier, I know that this is not an escape room, an escape ship, or even an escape park. It is in fact the craziest, wildest explanation of all: I traveled back in time.

  And oh my God, what about Lisa? Did she travel back in time, too? No, she couldn’t have possibly put on that necklace after she saw me disappear. I have to believe she stayed back in the twenty-first century.

  The thought that I have left everyone and everything I know shocks me so much, that I stop walking. The wooden jetty shifts under my feet. The corset squeezes me and bites into my flesh. I can’t breathe. Sweat breaks through my skin. I’m too hot. The exotic scents of a tropical island—mango and sea—are too heavy, too thick. I want the smell of gas and the subway, of strong coffee and street falafel. I want to go back to New York.

  I double up, my hands on my knees, and breathe. James sinks into a squat in front of me, his violet eyes filled with concern. Darn it he’s handsome.

  Adonis’s voice talks in my head. You are traveling back in time to help James. To return, you must put on the necklace.

  “Are you all right, Miss Gilbert?” James says. “Did I tighten your corset too much?”

  I swallow, the combination of my realization and the look of concern in his eyes is disorienting. Should I tell him I came from the future? No, it’s probably not a good idea. Not yet, anyway. He still doesn’t trust me. And he would think I’m a lunatic. If I want to go back to my time, I need to get the treasure even more than he does. Making him think I’m crazy won’t help.

  I straighten and take a deep breath. He stands up, as well.

  “I’m all right,” I say. “The dress is a little tight, that’s all.”

  His eyes crawl down my body and darken. I get even warmer. “Would you like me to loosen the corset?”

  Where did the arrogant, self-absorbed jerk go? His voice caresses me, and my bones become melted caramel. When I was changing behind the French screen, I thought he was watching me, and a buzz had run through my skin. When his fingers had brushed against me as he was tying up the corset, all of my senses seemed to focus in on the touch. His fingers had sent sweet charges of current through me, making me feel as though I was getting deliciously drunk. Warmth had spread over my skin, and every hair on my body had stood up.

  I had hoped he would stop tying up the laces and release them instead.

  But he hadn’t. He’d just helped me dress. Although, his eyes had shifted from violet to amethyst and burned in the glow of candlelight.

  If he touches me again, I’m not sure we’ll make it to the party. “No,” I say. “I’m better. Let’s go.”

  As we continue our walk, my legs feel weaker, and my previous bravado disappears. What if we don’t get the coordinates? What if someone recognizes James and I’m considered guilty by association? What if now James and I both hang as pirates?

  I need to be very, very careful.

  James shows the invitation to the coachman, and we climb into the carriage. We are silent on the way, as I gaze out of the window still digesting my recent realization. We pass by the streets of the old town. If I had any doubts before, they completely vanish now that I see the state of the buildings. The streets are full of sailors, prostitutes, and merchants, many of them wearing dirty clothes, all from the eighteenth century. It smells like rum and grilled meat.

  I think I feel James’s eyes on me, studying me. As we leave the town and drive into the darkness of nature, the landscape changes from savanna to occasional tropical trees and bushes. James says, “You have been pale ever since we got ashore. Are you feeling unwell?”

  I meet his gaze, and the sight of him calms me down a little. He is probably my only hope to get back. I have never depended on a man like this in my life.

  And he’s not the Prince Charming I thought he was.

  I am in the presence of a real bad boy. And the thought makes me see him with different eyes.

  “Yes,” I say. “I guess I was just a little seasick on the way. Is it going to be long until we reach the governor’s estate?”

  “Should not be long.”

  After some time, we stop at the gates to a pale-yellow mansion with tall columns. There are white balustrades around the large porch and a wraparound balcony above. Tall windows shine from both floors, and two square towers flank the front porch with a wide staircase. The path to the mansion is lit with torches on both sides, and a sprawling garden stretches into the darkness around the house.

  James helps me get out of the carriage. He takes my hand, and his warm, slightly callused skin burns me. He’s gallant, his back straight, his face the cold social mask of a nobleman. Where did the pirate go? He’s still dangerous, but now there’s something more about him. As I step down from the carriage, our eyes lock, and the ground under my feet seems to drop away for a moment.

  The air is thick and slightly humid, dampening my brow as we walk down the gravel path of the garden. Through the lit windows, I see people in period clothing walking, talking, and drinking from crystal glasses. Classical music plays quietly in the background.

  Placing my hand on his arm as we walk towards the house, James says. �
��We are newlyweds. The marquis owns plantations on Cuba, and the governor wants to sell him some of his land on Nassau.”

  “How did you get the invitation in the first place?”

  James’s voice is cool as he says, “I stole it before it even reached the marquis. I had it from a reputable source that the governor has never met the marquis and knows little about the man. So your mission is to charm the governor and distract him while I look for the cricket box. It must be in his study.”

  “No way. I’m coming with you.”

  “No, you are not, madame. You are to ensure no one notices that I slip away.”

  The only thing I need to ensure is that I come with him to the island. I open my mouth to argue when I notice that we’re at the bottom of the stairs and that two servants standing by either side of the grand doors are looking at us. My mind is racing, trying to remember all of the period dramas I have ever watched. How did people behave back then? Should I curtsy? No, they are servants. But probably before the governor. Or maybe just the queen?

  James leads me up the stairs and gives one of the servants an envelope with a broken seal. The servant nods, opens the letter and takes it inside. From the gap in the door, music and people’s voices grow louder and my heart begins to pound. My God! What if I behave so strangely I give both myself and James away? My mouth stiffens as if I’m having a spasm.

  “Marquis de Bouchon.” The servant returns. “The governor is surprised to see you. He thought you had left Nassau.”

  Oh damn. James’s arm tightens under my hand, and his face turns stony. “The governor must be mistaken.”

  He forgot the French accent! The servant’s eyebrows snap together.

  My skin is prickling. Is that it? This can’t be it. James is turning white, his hand reaching for the back of his pants where I know he hid a pistol.

  I must do something, or we’ll lose everything.

  “I asked my husband to stay for the ball,” I blurt out, mimicking a French accent as best I can.