My Fallen Angel (12 page)

Garrick simply stared, the ramification of what Belial revealed slowly sinking in.

“And so I’ve come to offer you a deal.” The devil continued, taking a step closer to him. “I’ll give you your life back. You’ll be free to live out the rest of your days with whomever you choose. Mortal, as you are now. All you need do”—a slippery smile spread across the devil’s face—“is give me your soul.”

A gust of wind blew over the deck of the ship, the sails moaning eerily above him.

“But before you agree,” Belial continued, “look yonder.” He pointed to the horizon with one taloned nail. “Do you see that speck of white?”

Garrick indulged the devil with a glance. “What of it?”

“’Tis my friends.”

“Excellent,” Garrick snapped. “I’m in the mood for a good fight.”

The devil arched a brow. “My, we really
are
in testy mood. You should indulge in some hot, steamy fornication, Garrick, it would do your soul wonders. Oh, but that’s right—you’re not allowed. Too bad. One more reason for you to agree to my plan. But here’s another: that’s not just any ship there, Garrick, it belongs to Tully. You do remember Tully, don’t you? He didn’t die when he jumped overboard. Oh no. He’s quite alive, and quite anxious to repay you for the loss of his eye. So I ask you, Garrick. What do you think he’ll do when he gets his hands on Lucy? She’s just his type, you know. Spirited. Beautiful.
Yours.
Oh, I know she’s not yours in the
truest
sense.” The devil laughed mockingly. “But Tully won’t believe that.”

Garrick just looked down his nose, though the devil’s words sent a chill down his spine, a chill he couldn’t afford to feel. “He won’t catch us.”

The devil laughed again, a low, nefarious chuckle. “You’re wrong, Garrick. He will.”

“I’ve beaten Tully before, Belial. I’ll beat Tully again.”

“Ahh, but it’s not just Tully on that ship.”

“Oh?” Garrick asked mockingly. “Is the Countess of Selborne on it, too? Will she beat me over the head with one of her coronets?”

The devil’s eyes narrowed. “I’m beginning to grow impatient with you, Garrick.”

“Good.”

“Lucien St. Aubyn is aboard that ship,” the devil continued. “And what Tully lacks in brains, Lucien more than makes up for in cunning.”

For the first time, Garrick felt a niggling sense of unease. “The Duke of Ravenwood? What has he to do with this?”

“Nothing. Everything.”

Garrick stared, wondering at this latest twist of fate. He’d heard of the duke. Who hadn’t? The man had killed his own brother. Apparently the rumors of his dark soul were true. He shrugged. “When you decide which it is, let me know.”

The dark angel’s lids lowered into slits, his eyes turned red with anger. “Don’t mock me, Garrick. If you decline my offer, I’ll not give you a second chance. Do you understand what will happen if you don’t prove the boy is the earl’s son? You go back to the Well of Souls. And I assure you, when your number is called, it won’t be to give you another chance down here. You will be sent to me. What do you have to lose by agreeing to my terms?”

“Why do you ask me that if you’re so sure of my failure?”

Belial’s eyes glowed with anger.

“I’ll tell you why. I think it’s because you know you’re the one who’s going to lose, Belial. Not me.”

Belial leaned back, looking momentarily incredulous, then drew up to his full height, suddenly towering a foot over Garrick’s tall form. “You’re a fool, Garrick. See where your ego gets you when your soul is in my grasp. Your puny strength won’t stop the torment of watching your precious charge die before your very eyes. Nor will it assuage the agony of your soul’s slow death.”

The devil stepped back a few paces and then was gone.

Garrick stepped back, too, blinking at the spot where Belial had been. If the devil wanted a fight, than a fight he would have.

A man’s greatest pleasure arises from a woman’s titillation of his manhood. To achieve this titillation, there are several methods one can employ. The first is with the placement of the woman’s hand against the man’s erection. To do this, one must simply stroke the length of his arousal. The other method is one most men prefer. That is to place one’s lips against the hardened …

Lucy sat up abruptly.
Good gracious!

“Lucy Hartford, what are you reading?”

“She’s readin’ ‘ow to make the sheets sing.”

“Thomas Tee,” Lucy gasped, glaring at the boy who practiced making knots with a small piece of rope. She glanced at Beth, covering the tide,
A Hundred Ways to Seduce a Man,
with her skirts of her green dress, hoping Beth didn’t believe Tom. That was all she needed. Another lecture.

“It’s that book again, isn’t it?” Beth asked.

Lucy slumped. Rats. “There’s nothing else to do while we wait for dinner.”

Tom snorted from his perch in the hammock. Lucy glared. Beth gave her a look Aunt Cornelia would be proud of.

“Besides,” Lucy said with a tilt to her chin, “it’s a very, er, enlightening book.”

“Indeed it must be, judging by the color of your cheeks.”

“No needs to read about it when I’d be ‘appy to share what I know with ya,” Tom added.

Lucy rolled her eyes. “I hardly think—”

“I need to see you.”

Lucy’s mouth snapped shut. Her gaze shot to the door. A jolt of electricity zinged through her.
Garrick.

“M-me?” she asked, pointing to herself. The book slid off her lap and landed on the floor with a slap.

He nodded, his enigmatic eyes never leaving hers. “Now.”

The door closed. Lucy looked between Beth and Tom.

“Do you think—”

“No.” Beth cut her off. “He is not going to ask you to marry him.”

“That wasn’t what I was going to say,” Lucy sputtered.

Beth’s eyes narrowed. Tom snorted again.

All right, so the thought
had
hurtled through her mind. “I’ll be right back.”

Beth got up with her, stopping her before she crossed through the door. “Lucy, wait.”

Reluctantly, Lucy turned back. Tom looked on curiously as Beth pitched her voice low. “Be careful,” she said.

“Of what, Beth?”

Beth’s expression grew sympathetic. “Getting your hopes up.”

Like the stab of a hat pin, the words pricked at Lucy’s heart. She tiled her chin up. “My hopes are always up, Beth. You know that.”

Beth frowned. “’Tis exactly that which concerns me.”

Lucy placed a small smile upon her face. “Beth, one must always have hope. Always. Hope is what’s gotten me through the darkest times of my life. I will always be an optimist. If I weren’t, I would be asking myself to be less than I am.”

Beth didn’t blink as she stared up at her though wide eyes, eyes that softened when she nodded. “Luce, you make me proud to be your friend.”

Lucy smiled back. “And I’m proud to be yours, Beth.”

With those words and one last smile at Tom, she left, feeling very melancholy yet all the more determined to win Garrick’s heart. She would prove to Beth that where there was hope there could be victory, at least in theory.

The door to Garrick’s cabin was ajar and so she knocked lightly. Her heart skipped a beat when he called, “Come in.”

She stepped into his cabin, her eyes immediately drawn to his tall form. He stood gazing out the windowthat lined the back wall of his cabin, his hands clenched behind him, his back so stiff she could bounce a ball off of it. And any teeny little hope that he might want to see her because he’d enjoyed her company disappeared like a wish on Christmas morning.

“Garrick, what’s wrong?”

He half turned toward her, his queue curling in a question mark. The gold hoop in his ear glittered as it caught the last rays of pink, yellow, and purple sunlight visible through the windows.

“Garrick?” she repeated, her heat beginning to flutter in her chest.

“I’ve some bad news.”

Her breath caught. He was leaving her. No, wait. They were on a ship. He couldn’t leave her.

She swallowed. “What is it?”

Still, he didn’t face her fully. She moved up alongside of him, terribly aware of the heat that radiated from his body like nebulous shimmers off a hot carriage roof.

“Pirates,” he said at last.

“Pirates?” she asked, resting a hand on his arm, his skin beneath his white shirt so warm. She loved to touch him; it made her feel more connected to him. And he didn’t draw away. She swallowed back a smile. “Piracy dies out in the seventeenth century.”

“Not in some waters.”

She felt her brows draw up, then lower. “But we’re miles away from where those pirates roam.”

He swung toward her. Her arm dropped to her side. Her teasing smile faded when she saw the look in his eyes. “Not this particular pirate.”

Good heavens. He was serious. Her heart fell to her toes, then just as quickly jumped back into her chest, where it tried to beat its way out. Gracious. Pirates. A shaft of excitement rose in her. “What pirate?”

“Tully St. Clair. The devil’s own.”

The words made Lucy shiver for some reason, though the name Tully meant nothing to her. It probably should have, judging by the look on Garrick’s face. She stared. He looked magnificent in the golden light—pirates or no—almost like a painting she’d once seen of the archangel Gabriel, spectacular in his fury. And he was furious. She’d been on the receiving end of that look enough times to recognize it.

“Garrick, surely we can outrun this Tully St. Clair?”

Silence.

“They can’t be that close, for I saw no sails earlier.”

More silence.

“And with hardly any crew on board we must be lighter and faster.”

Still nothing.

“And if we hang out our hands and paddle, we’ll be that much faster.”

Not even a twitch.

“Then there’s always the option of tossing people overboard to create less ballast.”

He finally turned to look at her, though it was really more of a glare. “Lucy, this is no laughing matter.”

So he
had
been listening. “Who’s laughing?”

“If they catch you, do you know what they’ll do to you?”

She tried a cocky smile. “Invite me to tea?”

“Lucy!”

She flinched.

“If they catch you, they will rape you and then kill you, if they don’t decide to keep you for a few weeks.”

This time it was she who grew silent. “Oh, is that all?” she finally said.

“No, it is not. Do you know what it’s like to be forced by a man over and over again? I’ve seen it before, Lucy. ‘Tis one of the reasons why I vowed to rid the sea of pirate scum. The women become shells of themselves, some refuse to speak, some simply never snap out of it. I can’t …” He turned away. “I refuse to let that happen to you.”

She swallowed. All right, so maybe being captured by pirates wasn’t as adventurous as the
Gazette
made it sound. Still, the odds of them actually being caught were so slim, she refused to consider it.

She reached out and placed her hand against his arm again. “Garrick, do not fear. We must be far ahead of them—”

“I fear nothing,” he snapped.

She patted his arm. “Of course you don’t. And with you at the helm, how could they possibly catch us?”

He didn’t say anything. She thought he might ignore her words, for not with a twitch of his cheek nor a flicker of his eyes did he respond. Then, slowly, so slowly she might have missed it but for the fact that she stared at him so hard, she saw his face relax, could actually feel his tension beneath her hand drain away like water in a tide pool. He shifted, his eyes meeting hers, such blue eyes, their color even more spectacular with the sun drifting through them.

“’Tis going to be difficult, Lucy.”

“No more difficult than what we’ve faced so far.”

“You might be captured.”

“You’ll keep me safe.” She gave him a tremulous smile, hoping, praying, wishing, he could somehow hear what her soul was singing.
I love you, Garrick. And I know you’ll keep me safe, no matter what happens.

She wanted, oh how she wanted, to say the words aloud. But for the first time in her life she lacked the courage to say what was in her heart. She was afraid to reach for the moon. Afraid she might come up empty-handed. So she settled for telling him without words, moving her body closer so that it brushed against his. She saw the look in his eyes change: it began to flicker, then burn.

“Kiss me,” she murmured.

He didn’t move, just stood alongside of her gazing into her eyes as if he’d never look away. “Yes,” he finally said. “I deserve a kiss … for luck.”

For luck? Idiot man. Couldn’t he tell there was much more to it than—

He jerked her to him. She gasped. He crushed his lips against hers.

Ahhh,
Lucy thought. Maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t such an idiot. She opened her mouth, just as he’d taught her to do. His tongue swept inside. She groaned, the taste of him was so sweet. He made her feel as if she were kissing a bit of heaven, as if she floated among the clouds. She wanted more of that feeling. She rallied her courage to do … that
thing,
the one she’d read about.

Sucking in a breath, she placed her hand against him, just as the book instructed.

He gasped.

She waited for something—what, she didn’t know—something wonderful, something sure to be incredible, something she knew instinctively the book didn’t explain. Just to be sure she got whatever it was, she stroked him. He gasped again. She stroked him again. This time he groaned, a long, wonderful groan. And then, yes, she was sure of it, he began to
grow,
to
harden.
Amazement made her stiffen. He stiffened, too. Realization of where her brother’s stallion had gotten its fifth appendage suddenly dawned. And then thoughts of horses galloped away as he tilted his head, coaxed her tongue into his mouth, and sucked on it.

“Gawittth,” she moaned, then all but fell to her knees as little tiny explosions went off inside her. Her mind, her breasts … gracious, between her legs. She hardly noticed as he pressed her against a wall, only wanted him to keep doing that thing with his mouth. She stroked him harder—and he responded by placing his hand between their bodies and stroking her back.

Things began to happen quickly then, things she’d only ever dreamed about, or perhaps half-known but never understood. Her body began to tremble, her ears to pound. Sensations pulsed through her body, left her aching,
burning.

He drew away. Lucy gasped in a breath of Garrick. Bereft at the loss of contact, she stared up at him, panting. He gazed down at her, his big, manly chest heaving, too.

Slowly, she became aware of things, things that weren’t Garrick. The sound of waves as they hit the side of the ship. The rocking beneath her. The moan of the wind through the windows.

She thought he would say something, was hoping he’d say something, but then he looked up sharply, almost as if something had caught his attention.

She turned, still befuddled by what had passed between them. Still thinking that she could reach her hand out and do it again, that he would, in turn, do
that
to her again, only this time she wouldn’t let him stop.

A spot of white caught her attention. She stiffened. A gasp escaped past swollen lips.

Sails, their rectangular shape distinct against the rose-colored horizon, hovered in the distance. They looked to be less than a mile away.

“Go to your cabin,” he ordered.

She turned back to him. Honest to goodness pirates were trailing their wake. And though she knew she shouldn’t feel it, excitement once again surged through her. Oh, not the same kind of excitement she felt when Garrick touched her—this was different. “Garrick, don’t make me leave. I can help.”

“Shhhh, Lucy.” He placed a finger against her lips.

She shushed.

“I need you to take care of Beth and Tom.”

Her eyes widened. Well, when he put it that way.

He reached out and cupped the side of her face, the gesture so familiar, so dear. And as she’d done before, she tilted her cheek into his hand.

“Go. We’ll talk about this later.”

This,
he’d said. Did he mean the “this” that pulsed in the air between them? Or the “this” that had happened when he’d touched her private parts, and she touched his? Lucy wasn’t sure.

“Go,” he repeated.

She almost said no, but he glanced beyond her, his eyes fixing on the pirate ship. And against her better judgment, she went.

All night long they tried to outrun the pirates. Still, the sails loomed larger and larger behind them, the moonlight seeming to set the sheets aglow.

“They’ll catch us by morning,” Calico mumbled despondently from alongside of Garrick.

Garrick nodded from his position by the rail, staring out over the stern of the ship as if he could will the enemy ship to perdition. Damn Belial. But he’d not give up without a fight. Not while there was a breath left in his body. Fear was unacceptable. Fear slowed your reflexes. Fear could lead to failure, and he refused to fail Lucy, Lucy who was magnificent in her courage, who kissed him as a woman ought, and who would one day, despite her propensity for disaster, make someone a fine wife.