Beloved Captive (15 page)

To her surprise, the pirate plopped down beside her and rested his hands on his knees. For a time he merely stared—as did she—at the emerald waters, the crystal clear surf, and the sky so blue it hurt to look at it for long.

Finally, he leaned toward her. “We have one boat on the
Cormorant
, and it’s over there.” He gestured toward the upended vessel. “Mind telling me how you came to be on the island?”

She gave him a look that let him know she did not intend to converse. Yet something about his expression softened her resolve. “I swam,” she said matter-of-factly.

“You swam?” His brows rose, but for a moment he said nothing. “Looks as if you’ve ruined your swimming costume,” he finally said, his gaze traveling from her face to her dress.
 

Indeed, the garment was a total ruin, but that was the least of her concerns. She began to calculate the odds of appropriating the boat and rowing away from this island, leaving the Benning to wait for rescue from his pirate companions.

The image that came to mind of her at the oars and him giving chase was comical at best. She actually chuckled, though not from anything she found funny. She was well and truly stuck, a captive.

Heedless of the sand, Emilie fell back and closed her eyes. “What now, Lord? I certainly can’t swim home, though You were gracious to get me here.”
 

“You’re serious,” the Benning said. “You swam here?”

She opened one eye and saw him staring down at her. “I’m not talking to you.”

The Benning remained silent, as did the rest of Emilie’s prayers. When she’d exhausted her pleas, she turned to the man beside her.
 

“Go back to that ship and leave me here.”

He shook his head. “Cannot do that, madam,” he said. “You’d not live out the week.” He paused. “You really swam here?”

Emilie ignored him.

“Truly swam?” he continued.

“Yes,” she finally said. “It was either that or remain in your cabin and have my virtue compromised by one of your ruffians.”

She sat up and turned toward the pirate. An odd thought occurred. Without the beard and length of hair, he might be a handsome man. Emilie tried for a moment to imagine the features that lay beneath the rat’s nest of hair and the tangle of beard but could not.

Then the Benning laughed, and her thoughts returned to the situation at hand.

“Do you think I jest, sir?”

“Truly,” he said, “your imagination is quite vivid. Did I not leave you with my own pistol for your protection? Surely you cannot still believe my men are bent on your compromise.”

Emilie peeled back the still-damp fabric of her sleeve and showed the Benning the fresh bruises on her arm. “Likely the ones covered by this ruined garment are worse.”

He reached for her hand and drew her closer, inspecting her purpled skin with a soft touch then tracing the line of the foul man’s hands with his fingers.
 

“Who did this to you?” he demanded, anger coloring his words and expression.

“I told you.” She jerked her arm away. “One of your men.”

His fingers fisted, and he looked away. “Tell me more.”

She told him of the man who delivered her breakfast, of the rough way he handled her and the things he said. With each statement, the pirate’s face clouded more with what could only be anger. When she finished, he climbed to his knees and reached for her.

“Tell me who he is, and I’ll see that he swings from the same yardarm as Thomas Hawkins.”

Emilie looked past him to the freedom that the ocean offered. “He did not say.”

“You could identify him.”

She closed her eyes and nodded.
 

“Then we shall return to the
Cormorant
so this man can be identified and dealt with.”

When Emilie opened her eyes, the Benning was standing over her. He reached down to offer his hand. She ignored the gesture to look away.

Finally, he gave up and landed on the sand beside her once more. For a long time, he sat in silence, the only sound between them the crashing waves and salt-tinged breeze.

“I’m not what you think,” he said after awhile.
 

An odd statement, to be sure. “Nor am I,” she admitted. What harm did it do to say such a thing aloud? Likely he’d never suspect he carried on a conversation with a woman who was born to a slave.

Again, they fell silent.

Emilie’s stomach growled, a reminder of how long she’d gone without food. Of the meal that awaited her back in this man’s cabin and the price she nearly paid for it.

Her companion rose to walk over to the boat. He bent down to grab an object, then returned with what appeared to be a scarf stuffed with something.

The reminder of the fabric the vile man had stuffed in her mouth made Emilie turn away to gag.

He set the scarf between them then untied the corners to reveal an appetizing meal. Much as Emilie wished to eat, she declined.

“I assure you it’s quite good.” The Benning scooped up something that looked like a miniature hard-boiled egg and tossed it into his mouth, making a perfect catch without using his hands. He continued to repeat the process until she finally met his gaze. This time, the pirate lifted a caramel-colored brow and held up two fingers.

Carefully, he chose two and balanced them in his palm. Another quirk of his brow, then the pirate tossed both eggs into the air. Each landed, one after the other, in his mouth.

Emilie suppressed a smile.

“Tough audience,” he said. “Should I try for three? To my knowledge, it’s never been done.”

Her smile finally broke, but not until he tried and failed twice. “That’s better,” he said, “now eat.” He gave her another sideways look. “If for nothing else than to regain the strength you need to escape captivity and row home.”

This time her laugh was genuine, yet he quickly sobered. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I should not have left my post outside the door. Whatever harm has befallen you is my fault.” He met her incredulous stare. “It is my hope that you will find a way to forgive me. Despite what you believe about me, I am an honorable man.” He paused. “A man of justice.”

The statement rendered Emilie temporarily speechless. What sort of pirate asked forgiveness of his captive?

“There were explicit instructions to leave you alone,” he continued.
 

Emilie felt the odd need to comfort him, to tell the Benning that ultimately she’d not suffered any permanent damage at the hands of the ruffian. After the events of the last two days, she’d expected no less than another man behaving badly.

He reached over to grasp her wrist, his touch gentle. “Might I inspect the damage once more?”

She complied, lifting her hand to allow him to see what the man had inflicted upon her. Then, as if time slowed to a crawl, the Benning lifted the inside of her wrist to his lips.

Chapter 15

What had he done?
 

“Forgive me,” Caleb said as he reached to gather up the remains of their meal. “I’m afraid I’ve overstepped the bounds of propriety.”

“Mr. Benning,” she said in that throaty voice that conveyed humor along with a hint of sarcasm, “I daresay the bounds of propriety were crossed well before now.” Her dark eyes widened as a lovely shade of pink crept into her cheeks. “Oh, that did not sound as I planned.”

Caleb sighed. “Fear not,” he said, “I understand.”

“You do.” Words spoken so softly he almost missed it.

“Yes,” he said. “I do.”

This time when their gazes met, Caleb felt the undeniable pull toward her. He hardly knew this woman, and indeed, he could never allow her to truly know him. Yet something about her drew him to her like a moth to the flame.

The vision of what happened to a moth once it found the flame sapped away the need to know more about his captive. To open his heart to anyone was to risk all he’d worked for. All he’d promised his father he would achieve, the position that had never quite been within the elder Spencer’s grasp. To be attorney general of the United States was almost beyond a dream, but to rise above the taint of the Benning bloodline, this was attainable.

But only if he kept his lives separate.
 

Caleb rose and offered his hand to help the woman from her place on the sand. This time she accepted, and soon she fell in beside him on the short walk to the boat.

He righted the craft and made to push it back into the surf when the woman stopped him. “Might we stay a little longer?” she asked.

He must have looked reluctant, for she pressed her case. “I’m not ready to go back and face those who saw me take that jump.”

The color still rode high in her cheeks, giving her the look of one who’d stayed in the sun too long. Caleb returned the vessel to its side and positioned it to provide shade for her.

“Thank you,” she said as she took a spot at the far edge of the shaded sand.

Deciding there was ample room between them, Caleb took the opposite place, giving himself just enough room to lean back comfortably against the rough wood planks. The sun had traveled past its mid-point and now hung slightly toward the west. In a few hours, darkness would fall and this day would end.

“It’s beautiful here. I don’t think I knew there were places like this,” she added. “I read of them while at Miss Potter’s school, but never have I seen them.”

“So that’s where you learned to quote the Greeks. Miss Potter’s school.”

Her smile was beautiful, as was her laugh. “Yes,” she said, “though I’m put more in mind of Mr. Defoe’s works here.” She leaned against the boat and closed her eyes. “
Robinson Crusoe.
Have you read it?”

Caleb nodded, then waited for her to speak again. After awhile he assumed she’d fallen asleep and felt he could do the same. Crossing his hands behind his head, he closed his eyes.

“What’s it like to be a pirate?” his companion asked.

Opening his eyes, Caleb studied a lone cloud as it drifted lazily overhead. “I’m not a pirate,” he said. “Never have been.”

“All right,” she said slowly, her tone indicating she neither believed him nor intended to allow this to be his only answer. “Then explain the ship, the crew, the flag, all of that.”

Ah, the difficult question. The only thing harder to explain would have been the simple one: Who are you?

“Do you know what a privateer is?” He asked the question carefully, neither admitting nor denying any family participation in the career.

“I’ve heard of them.”

“I see.” He paused. “Then perhaps you know this is a trade that is highly regulated and of great service to the government the privateer serves.”

The wind blew a curl free from her braid, and it was all Caleb could do not to reach over and touch it. “I seem to recall this is true,” she said.

“Then how, might I ask, can you believe my family pirates when there is a longstanding tradition of privateering going back to the first Benning to sail the seas? We have always kept the law, though there are those who might wish to tarnish our reputations.”

She turned to face him. “You’re serious?”

“Deadly serious.”

The woman leaned on her elbow, supporting her head with her palm. “So you’re saying there’s some code of honor among pir—”

He held up his hand. “Privateers.”

“Privateers,” she corrected.

“Of which I am not one, and neither was my father.”

Her eyes narrowed. “I don’t understand. You said—”

“That the Bennings had a tradition of privateering.” He nodded. “
 
’Tis true. But I am not a Benning. That’s my mother’s name. I’m—”

Caleb clamped his mouth shut and tried to keep the panic-stricken feeling from reaching his face. What was it about this woman that made him lose all good sense?

“You’re what?” She gave him a curious look. “Or, should I ask, you’re who?”

“Oh no,” he said, his tone as light as he could make it. “It’s your turn. I’ve revealed enough. Perhaps you could begin by telling me your name.”

She turned to stare out at the ocean. “I do not remember agreeing to some game of taking turns,” she said.

“It’s only a name.”

“And yours is?” She paused and swung her gaze to collide with his. “Other than the Benning, that is.”

“Fair enough. No more taking turns.”
 

Caleb sat up and dusted the sand from his palms. Soon they would leave this island and likely never meet again. Strange, but the idea saddened him.

“You’ll be home soon enough,” he said, as much to remind her as himself.

The dark-haired woman seemed not to mind the change of topic. “I’m afraid to believe you,” she said.

He leaned closer, impossibly drawn to her. “What can I say to make you understand that I mean you no harm?”

Her eyes closed, and he watched, fascinated, as thick lashes dusted pink cheeks. She looked helpless, this woman whose name he did not know.

Whose name he realized he did not want to know. For if he knew, then he might be tempted to think of her.

And that would not do.

She knew too much already.

Her lids fluttered, drawing him nearer until he leaned impossibly close. Too close to avoid tracing the curve of her jaw and the tilt of her nose.

The woman sat very still, her mouth curling into what might pass for the beginnings of a smile. “Mr. Benning, is this an attempt to have me believe you mean me no harm?”

“No,” he said softly, “this is.”

He kissed her.

Chapter 16

As soon as he realized what he’d done, Caleb scrambled to his feet and began making his apologies. To his surprise, the woman rose as well.
 

“I assure you I am a gentleman.”
 

 
She straightened her braid, but not before a dark curl escaped to tease her neck. “Sir, if you continue in this vein, I will be forced to believe the experience was so offensive as to be regrettable.”

Was she serious? Caleb stuffed his fists into his pockets. “Regrettable?” He shook his head. “Never.”

“Repeatable?” She dusted the sand from her skirts.

It was Caleb’s turn to smile. Had he not the good sense to know this was an innocent, he would think she was flirting. Something in her tone,
however, gave him to believe she truly might not know the answer.