Heather Graham (34 page)

“Yours!” she cried in return.

His fingers tightened upon her. “You swear it?”

“Oh!” she cried out in renewed fury, struggling to rise. But she had never felt him more rigid, more merciless, in all her life. “Swear it! You ask me to swear it! You don’t believe a word I say no matter what, so why in God’s name would I swear? Let me go! I’d far rather
jump
to the sharks then endure another moment of this!”

But he wasn’t going to let her go. The silver eyes were still burning into hers.

“A boy or a girl?” he demanded.

“It’s none of—”

“A boy or a girl?” he roared.

“A son,” she murmured.

Suddenly she could have broken free. He was barely holding her.

“Mine? I have a son?”

She shoved at his chest, determined that she was going to be free at last. He didn’t fight her. She rose, fleeing to the desk, coming around it to put the bulk of it between the two of them. But he still seemed too amazed to come after her.

Or perhaps it didn’t matter. If he did want her, he needed only to stride around the desk. And he knew it.

“A son?” he said again, and it was barely a whisper. “And he’s alive, and well?”

She didn’t want her heart to warm the way that it was doing. She didn’t want to forgive him for anything until he had begged for her to do so.

He shook his head, as if he still couldn’t quite comprehend the situation. “How old is he?”

“Nine months and a few days,” she told him grudgingly

Then he stood. Rose backed away nervously, but he wasn’t coming for her. He pulled open the bottom drawer of the desk, then the second drawer, and there he found what he was seeking. It was a liquor bottle. He started to reach for one of the tin mugs beside it, then muttered something unintelligible.

Then he swallowed down a huge draft from the bottle, shuddering all the while that fiery liquor burned its way down his gullet.

“A son,” he mused again. Maybe he’d been counting. And maybe he’d realized that the child most probably had to be his.

It seemed the best time to strike her bargain, Rose realized, and she spoke very quietly to him.

“You see, I can’t go to England with you. I have to go home. He is still so young. I can’t possibly just leave him.”

“You left him to come on this voyage!” he reminded her sharply.

“I was returning immediately.”

“Ah! And what about Sir Wesley, the very eligible husband material?”

“I assure you, milord DeForte, I was traveling on business! I had one husband, and that was certainly enough grief for me for a lifetime!”

“Ah!” he murmured.

“I have to go home to Woody!”

“Who?” he demanded sharply.

“Woody. The baby.”

“You named my son—the future Duke of Werthington—Woody?” His words were incredulous.

She sighed. “His name is Pierce Woodbine DeForte. We call him Woody.”

“Woody.”

“I can’t go to England!” she persisted.

“His home is Castle DeForte!” he snapped.

She bit her lip, swiftly lowering her eyes. He was definitely in the position of power right now. Whether she still wanted to crack a bottle over his head or not, she was going to try to control her temper.

“I told you, milord, he is only nine months old! I always planned to take him to England. I really didn’t wish to risk the health of a very small babe on so long a voyage. I just wanted him to be at least a year old before starting. If you don’t believe me, you’re welcome to ask Captain Niemens. He was going to be my captain when I was ready to bring Woody. And if you doubt—”

She broke off. Geoffrey could have told him! Geoffrey could have told him about the endless hours she had waited for the king, and then all the time she had tried so hard to see that Pierce’s name was cleared.

But Geoffrey wasn’t with her. He was with Garth in England; the two of them were caring for Castle DeForte, the ships, the English estates.

“If I doubt what?” he snapped.

She shook her head angrily. “I’ve nothing more to say to you!”

He leveled a finger at her. “You, milady, will have plenty more to say to me!”

But with those words, he was striding out of the room once again. She tried to follow him, running after him. “Pierce!”

He spun around, stopping her. “What do you think you’re doing, trying to run out on deck half-clad like that?”

She stood dead still, her temper soaring. “Oh, this is rich! You tear my clothing to shreds, then accuse me of improper behavior? Oh, my God, it would serve you right if I were to strip to the bone and go dancing out on deck!”

He caught her wrist and pulled her to him. “Make such a threat again, milady, and you will be out there, naked, tied to a mast, and trust me! You will be feeling the sting of a cat-o’-nine-tails!”

“You wouldn’t dare!” she charged him.

“Don’t tempt me! I dare almost anything these days, my love!”

“Don’t tempt you! My God, Pierce! My place in heaven shall be assured just for what I have endured from you!”

“Really?” he inquired, coming close again for just one minute. A smile curved his lip. “Saint Rose, is it? Well, you can rest assured that there is much, much more you’re going to endure from me!”

He forced her back, and left the cabin.

“Damn you!” she cried after him. “Damn you!”

Pierce strode out on deck, barely hearing her. He still couldn’t believe it. In all his long days of captivity, and in all the time he had sailed as a pirate, he had never imagined that he might be a father. A warmth filled him. A trembling shot through him. A son. Woody. Woody! What a name for a titled lord!

He smiled. Well, then again, the future duke was only nine months old. Maybe the name was all right.

He closed his eyes. She had had his child. Well, that was the way of things.

His stomach turned in turmoil. Again, she was claiming her innocence. And so self-righteously! If only he dared believe again …

Sean came striding up to him. “Captain! Do we sail straight for England now?”

“What?” he looked blankly at Sean.

“Do we sail for England?”

He shook his head. “I have a son.”

“Milord?” Sean looked puzzled.

Pierce laughed suddenly, catching both Sean’s shoulders and giving him a hug. “I’ve a son. I need to retrieve him. I’ll tell her—no, I won’t. Sean, go to the cabin and …” He paused. No! Rose was barely dressed. He cleared his throat. He was the only man who’d be going back to the cabin now. “Find out from Niemens where milady’s trunks are. Bring them to me. Quickly. I need to speak with her just a moment longer, then I’ll deal with the crew. Hurry now.”

Sean nodded. “We’d best hurry, milord! There’s another ship’s sails appearing far out on the horizon. I can’t tell what her flag is, but I thought we had best begin to outrun her before she comes close.”

Pierce nodded gravely. “I’ll hurry.”

Sean returned with a heavy trunk very quickly, and Pierce returned to Rose.

Rose was in a tempest. He had to go back to Virginia! He had been amazed to hear that she’d borne him a child, but pleased. Didn’t most men want sons?

Especially men who might hang if it was discovered that they weren’t dead already?

She strode to the desk herself, lifted the liquor bottle there, and took a huge swallow. It wasn’t rum, it was whiskey, Scots whiskey, strong and potent. She felt it burn through her body, all the way to her soles. It was good, it was warm, it was sustaining. She took another long swallow, shuddering with it. She had just set the bottle down when he burst into the cabin again. Standing in the doorway, he watched her set the liquor bottle down with just a twinge of guilt.

“Ah, so you’ve acquired a taste for the rough stuff, eh, milady?” he murmured.

“I’m certain, milord, that given time, you could drive me to drink heavily!” she informed him.

“I don’t think that saints are supposed to imbibe quite so freely,” he told her with a touch of amusement. Another warm shudder ripped through her, but it had nothing to do with the liquor, she realized.

It had to do with the fact that he was alive.

“Even saints have their bad days!”

“Well, my dear saint, swig away. Your day is going to get worse!”

She realized then that he was carrying one of her trunks. It had been left on deck when they had first boarded, though she would have been given the captain’s cabin for the voyage sometime during the day.

Pierce set the trunk down on the floor. “You’d best find something decent to wear.”

Rose sat stiffly at the edge of the desk, staring at him. “You wouldn’t have me striding off the ship with your handiwork so displayed?” she asked sweetly.

He walked over to her, hands folded over his chest. “Well, milady, I can tear the rest of the garment to shreds if you choose. We pirates are wonderful at such acts!”

She felt some of the blood rush from her face, but she tried to hold her ground. “So I have heard. So you’ve managed to practice ripping up gowns in these many months?”

“Actually, due to the new information that you have given me, I had intended to wait until later to do any more ripping on yours. When I had time. Lots of time. To make it very slow, and enjoyable. But if you don’t feel that you can remove this gown by yourself, then I shall just simply have to make the time now—”

“I can change the gown, thank you!” she told him swiftly.

“Do so. Quickly.”

“Are you going back to Virginia?” she asked. “I demand that you tell me now!”

He arched a brow high. “Oh, my love! You seem to have missed something here! I am the one making the demands!” he told her. “Now, get dressed!”

With that, he slammed his way out of the cabin again.

“Damn you!” she swore furiously when he left. Was he or wasn’t he going to take her home?

Could she take the chance that he would?

She was ready to burst out after him when she realized that she did want to be dressed. She plunged quickly into the trunk, giving little heed to what she chose to wear at first, then pausing.

She found the simplest cotton gown in the trunk. It was a blue day dress with a little fringe. She shed her petticoat, her plan taking shape in her head. He hadn’t locked her in. She was going to dress, and escape out on deck. With any luck at all, she could find a way to free one of the dinghies and escape …

Where?

To another ship.

It was a wild plan, but it was possible.

She closed her eyes in anguish. She still couldn’t believe that he was alive. But she couldn’t allow him to take her away from Woody!

The second she was dressed, she hurried from the cabin. To her amazement, no one noticed her at first. Every sailor aboard the ship had gone mad, so it seemed. They were all rushing about, pulling in sails, listening to the orders that were being shouted out by her husband.

What in God’s name was going on?

She couldn’t take the time to wonder. She ran quickly portside and looked to the rigging that held the dinghy in place. Oh, God, she could never manage it! Yes, she could. She could leap aboard the little boat, then inch the ropes down bit by bit. It would take time, but they were all so involved with their work that they wouldn’t notice.

Did she want to do this? she wondered in agony. Lying awake all those nights, praying, remembering …

Don’t think, jump! she commanded herself.

She did so, just as she heard cannon fire. She screamed, landing in the boat, and feeling it rock and sway wildly.

“The Spaniard’s shooting at us, Captain!” someone called out.

Oh, God, no! A ship had come upon them. Another ship had arrived, with all the ocean to choose from!

And it was a Spaniard, hurtling more cannon fire at them!

“Fire now!” Pierce roared in reply.

Still careening, their ship returned the Spaniard’s fire. The little dinghy began to swing madly. To Rose’s horror, it swung with such a vengeance that she was flipped wildly out to sea.

She hit the water hard, as if it were a wall, then went spiraling deeply down into it, encompassed by icy blackness. Her lungs burned. She fought the water, treading against it. The light! Oh, God, where was the light of day?

On the deck of the ship, Pierce carefully watched the Spaniard’s maneuvers. She hadn’t realized that she was up against two ships! he thought. She had seen the pirate flag of the
Dragonslayer
and she had attacked, not realizing that there was an English vessel right beside her. Not at first. She had seen it, and she had begun to shoot wildly.

They could take her easily, Pierce knew.

But dammit, he didn’t want a Spanish ship now! He wanted to get to Virginia, retrieve his son, and sail on to England.

“Fire two!” he roared out, and once again the cannon slammed. Another echoed from his nearby pirate ship, for the crew had not as yet had a chance to take her very far.

Then he heard it. The wild cry of warning from his own ship.

“Man overboard! Man overboard. Man—oh, no! Captain,
woman
overboard! The Lady DeForte!”

Rose!

What the hell was she doing? he wondered furiously. She was out of the cabin—

Trying to escape in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean!

Fear plunged into his heart. “Call the orders!” he shouted to Sean. Rose! After all this time. After wanting her so long. Dying for her a little each day …

After learning that she had borne him a son …

He raced across the deck, catching hold of the rigging and swinging to balance upon the wooden rail. He saw the swirl in the water where she had plunged into the depths. He arched, and dived cleanly after her.

Cold embraced him. The salt water stung his eyes. He swam hard and deep, searching for her until his lungs threatened to burst. He came to the surface, gasping in air for another dive. Then he saw her head, bobbing just feet away. She was trying to swim back toward the ship. “Rose!” he shouted.

Her eyes met his. Emerald and as wild as the tempest of the sea.

Then, between them, a cannon ball went ripping into the sea. A cascade of white water exploded. It fell, and he saw her no more.

“Rose!” Treading the water, he roared out her name. Desperately he swam to where she had been, plunged beneath the water.