Between A Rake And A Hard Place [Pirates of London Book 2] (3 page)

He was a dozen other things also: handsome…quite devastatingly so, and intelligent, no one denied that, and tall and rather athletic-looking, though she rarely had ever seen him exert himself. He wasn’t the type to go mad-off dashing with the other young bloods, so she did have to wonder how he kept his muscular frame so lean.

“Hannah?” he asked with an inquiring lift of his brow. The sun gave his fair hair amber highlights and accentuated the nice clean line of his jaw.

Yes, back to Cassandra.
She cleared her throat. “A week ago I first heard of the rumored child. Naturally, as we are family, most people, even the worst gossips, know better than to smear my sister’s reputation in my presence. I am going to guess, since I have now heard the insinuations—which her continued absence does not help—that it has been whispered almost since she disappeared.”

“Hmm.”

“What does that mean?”

“That I am thinking.”

“Oh.” She laughed softly on a frustrated exhale. “By all means share those thoughts, if you will. I cannot ask my father about this matter for he refuses to speak of it he is so upset. You are my only recourse. I assume what I just told you is no surprise.”

His smile was slight. “Hannah, forgive me for pointing out the obvious, but you know the
ton
. What do you expect? Take a diamond of the first water like your sister, who was such a marked success on her debut, her engagement a coup, and then have her vanish suddenly with no explanation. Of course society is all abuzz.”

He was perfectly right and it wasn’t new information, though she was shocked when she’d heard the speculation. “How will your friend find her?” she asked quietly, the singing of the birds incongruous to the weight of the conversation. “There was no trace as far as I know.”

“Ives is a rather resourceful man,” Beau told her, one brow going up in a slight, graceful arch. “Trust me when I say whether or not she left voluntarily or was abducted, if anyone can track her down, he can.”

* * * *

Through the haze of realizing that she was sprawled in her half-dressed state underneath the body of her would-be rescuer, Cassandra heard with ringing ears the shouts.

Had this not already been surreal in every way, it was more so now. She had no idea what had just happened, was dazed and fighting for breath, but she did realize that part of the courtyard now seemed to be on fire.

Then she was hauled abruptly to her feet by a strong hand. Her rescuer muttered, “Blast it, Marc, I said a distraction, not to draw the attention of the entire North African coast, you fool.” His eyes gleamed in the firelight as he glanced down at her. “Need I point out it is best if we hurry, my lady?”

If she’d had a response there wasn’t time for it, though she couldn’t see through the smoke. Coughing, eyes streaming, she blindly followed, not that she had much choice with his fingers firmly clamped around her wrist. Considering she was barefoot, the idea of running through the remains of the burning gates didn’t hold much appeal, but apparently her rescuer realized it at the last second because he swept her up into his arms and shouldered his way through what seemed to be a low door in the wall.

Through the smoke was a glimpse of swaying palms and a starlit sky. She clung to him, pressing her face to his shoulder, listening to the pounding of his feet as he ran down the street. There was still shouting, and people running also, but they appeared to be heading toward the palace. As her vision cleared, she lifted her head and saw a shadowy figure on a horse near one uneven wall, and a second horse next to him.

Her savior stopped, unceremoniously setting her on her feet. “Take her.”

 “
This
is the earl’s daughter? Gladly I’ll take her. Can I keep her?” The horseman’s teeth flashed white in a grin.

“I somehow doubt her highbrow father would approve of the likes of you, Marc. You can keep her safe, if that is any consolation. And if I may point it out, that wasn’t a distraction, it was an apocalypse. We’ll be lucky to get out of the harbor.”

“I beg to differ.” The man reached down and offered his hand. She had the impression of a long cloak, striking features, dark sleek hair, and dusky skin. “Come on, fair lady, ride with me.”

He brought her up in one swoop of a muscular arm, settling her in front of him so she was balanced across a pair of hard thighs, her current state of undress disconcerting, especially as he spurred his horse forward with reckless speed, hooves clattering, down the cobbled way. The night spun, her streaming hair whipping out, and though she was an accomplished horsewoman, never had she ridden so fast.

“Where…” She tried to gasp out the words, breathless from the pace of the horse and the clamp of the man’s arm. Her bottom bounced against his lap. “…are we…going?”

“The
Sappho
,” he said as if that was an explanation, his cloak billowing out. “No one can catch her. If we can get you onboard and the wind is right, you will simply disappear.”

She’d disappeared once before, into the Sultan’s silken prison, and Cassandra wasn’t sure that his promise filled her with great confidence, but considering she’d been freed while naked and bound and apparently about to be ravished, whatever the
Sappho
proved to be sounded much better than the alternative.

Given the commotion behind them and the milling streets in the aftermath of the fire, their progress a matter of skillful maneuvering and the dazzling masterful expertise of the man guiding their mount, Cassandra decided maybe it was best if she simply closed her eyes and said a silent prayer. She could smell the smoke still, like a lingering ghost, and the heated sweat of the plunging horse and a hint of exotic male cologne from her companion, certainly not familiar from London ballrooms.

They skittered around a corner, sliding enough she thought perhaps the horse would go down, but the man called Marc merely leaned forward to whisper something encouraging to their mount and the world continued to flash by.

And suddenly, there was a hint of salt in the breeze, the tang welcome, and Cassandra, jolted by the wild ride, heard the splash as they waded into the sea.

The man called Marc slid off, taking her with him, and she realized there was a small skiff there, two men at the oars. “Ives is on his way,” he said tersely, lowering her into the small bobbing craft, “we won’t leave until he gets here unless it is necessary.”

She couldn’t swim, and normally she would have been terrified of such a small boat, but it was almost as if she was only half-awake, though that wasn’t accurate either, for she acutely felt the brush of the sea breeze, and was completely aware of the vast darkness above studded with brilliant stars now that they were away from the haze of the fire.

To their credit, both of the men he addressed just nodded, and if they even noticed her bare legs or loose hair, they gave no indication. One of them was a hulking specimen with wide shoulders and the other thinner but taller, their faces shadowed. “Aye, sir.”

Then, sitting without much dignity on the bottom of the little boat, Cassandra saw Marc remount and draw his sword, the blade gleaming lethally, the horse whirling in the water lapping up around its haunches.

The avenging warrior pose might seem melodramatic if it wasn’t for the realization that there was a horse racing toward them, and more flashes of light in the background, the busts of fire small pulses.

“Go!” The dark-haired man who had taken her from the palace shouted as he thundered up to the water’s edge and tossed aside his reins, sliding off to his waist in the sea. “To the ship. They are right behind me.”

As if to prove his point, there was the sound of gunfire, and Ives, as they’d called him, practically dove into the skiff, pushing her head down and covering her body with his, muttering, “Stay low, my lady. I didn’t come this far to lose you now.”

The one he’d called Marc must have gotten in also because the craft dipped and then they were moving away, oars splashing, the distant shouts growing louder.

The shirt he’d given her was bunched high on her thighs and though he balanced his weight enough to not crush her, Cassandra’s cheeks still flamed at having a half-naked man on top of her; and he must have sensed it, because in the starlit illumination, he gave a lazy grin, heedless of the riot they’d left behind, his mouth scant inches from hers. “I like this position, but a bed would be better.”

Had she not been incarcerated in a harem, snatched away at the last crucial moment, scaled rooftops, been jostled on a racing horse, and was apparently going out to sea with men she didn’t even know, she might have been more scandalized. But at the moment, all she did was respond tartly, “I agree completely. You don’t have the frame of the boat at your back. It’s hardly comfortable.”

He laughed as if half the palace guard was not milling on the beach, thirsting for his blood. “Don’t tempt me, Lady Cassandra.” His eyes gleamed and he added softly, “Wait. Too late.”

Whatever she might have said to that was lost as they came into the shadow of a small ship, the realization startling. In the darkness it was difficult to discern much but she had the impression of a sleek hull and then she was being pulled to her feet, a dangling ladder leading upward a few feet away. Ives balanced her by holding onto her waist, his legs braced against the rock of the sea. “Ladies first. Can you manage it?” He bent close enough his breath brushed her ear.

Can I
?
Well, I certainly don’t want to go back to the palace
.

She nodded.

And shivered.

There was something about the man who currently held her in the circle of his arms…

“I told you I’ve climbed a tree or two.” She took hold of the rope and put a foot on the first rung.

“Have I ever mentioned I admire hoydens?” He still held her, helping steady her as both the skiff and the ship rocked.

That made her give a choked laugh as she started to scale the ladder, no doubt giving each one of them a clear view of her bare bottom as she ascended and the breeze tugged at the inadequate covering of his shirt, but at this point her modesty was hardly a consideration.

Strong hands hauled her aboard when she reached the top and her companions rapidly followed, letting the skiff float away, vaulting onto the deck.

“Come with me.” Ives took her arm in a possessive hold. “Before Marc tries to make off with you. Captain Haldon, please get us out of here as quickly as possible. I am sure you can see why the Sultan is not going to be pleased at losing his prize and no doubt they are readying ships already. Full speed.”

“I understand, Mr. Ives.” The man who responded was tall, almost startlingly fair, and actually winked at her, his accent Scandinavian. “We’ll be out of the bay in minutes. Our destination?”

“Gibraltar,” he said succinctly. “The British Consul there can arrange safe passage back to England.”

Chapter 3

You can’t fuck her, so banish the lascivious inclinations
.

Christopher watched as the very beautiful, surprisingly composed, daughter of the Earl of Oakham sank down on the bed of the plush stateroom, her golden hair in delicious disarray. His shirt, while certainly oversized on her slender body, did not cover nearly enough to keep his salacious thoughts at bay, and he’d seen Marcus hadn’t been all that immune either.

Why that irritated him he wasn’t sure. He and the lady had not yet been so much as introduced and he wasn’t usually possessive of women.

“I’ll order wine,” he said more curtly than perhaps he should have, but this hadn’t been the easiest of rescues either. “And if you wish to bathe away the scent of the smoke; that is also possible.”

Sprawled in delectable repose, his sleeves rolled around her slim wrists, she lifted her eyelashes in a surprisingly languorous mannerism for someone who had just experienced such a harrowing escape. “I don’t even know your name. Marc called you Ives.”

His brows rose. “Marc? You exchanged given names? That must have been a very enlightening ride.”

“We exchanged nothing.
You
called him that.”

She had perfect legs. Long, slender, shapely. He wished he hadn’t seen her tied naked to that bed, but he had, and her crimson tipped breasts were also imprinted in his mind, full, pale and enticing. Maybe it was the rush of danger they’d just left behind; that could be a powerful aphrodisiac.

Or maybe, he thought prosaically, she was just very beautiful. His father had always told him he tended to overcomplicate matters. Lust was simple enough.

She gazed at him expectantly and he came back into the moment. “Christopher Ives, at your service,” he said ironically, with a slight bow. “Marcus is a friend of mine and as he happened to be in the vicinity when I was approached to affect your recovery, he agreed to help. He can be useful at times.”

At that moment she sat up, and her halo of fair hair tumbled over her shoulders. “I’ve heard of you.”

“Have you?” He shrugged, choosing a sturdy oak chair to sit in, and began to remove his boots, deliberately not addressing what she might—and might not—have heard. “Luck is on our side. There’s a fair wind tonight and the
Sappho
is a sleek vessel. I doubt we have any need to worry about our pursuers.”

But they would give chase. Of that he had no doubt, but he also knew firsthand that the
Sappho
could outrun any craft her size. Definitely the yacht handled better than any other vessel he’d been on, and he’d sailed around the world on all manner of different transports. Auberville had a keen eye.

For now, he wanted to divest himself of his dirty clothes, sink into a bath, and then have a nice stiff brandy.

Well, he wanted more than that actually, but he was rarely impractical. In his line of work, a man would not stay alive long if he indulged himself, and seducing the earl’s daughter would be an indulgence indeed.

“If it is possible, I could use some hot water,” his gorgeous guest said with a tinge of disgust in her voice, gazing at the bronzed hip bath in the corner of the room, the screen currently folded back. “The smoke aside, to wash away the cloying scent of the Sultan’s captivity.”