Prisoner of Desire (17 page)

The rain peppered her with cool drops that soaked into her dress. Tipping her head back, she smiled when it splattered all over her face. It was cool and fresh, the smell clean.

"Dance with me, Lorena."

Slightly embarrassed to be caught so absorbed in the rain, she turned to look at Warren. Here there was more light and he was cast in different shades of gray and black. A huge form in the night, but she was not afraid of him. It was the truth that she had never been.

"I wouldn't know how."

He extended his hand, offering her his palm. She was responding before her thoughts caught up with her actions. His skin was warm, and his fingers closed around hers in a firm grip.

"I think you will surprise yourself as you do others around you with how much you manage to do simply by adapting."

He pulled her toward him and on past his position while his other hand cupped the curve of her hip to turn her. The scent of his skin joined the rain to fill her senses. He turned her in a full circle, each step very slow until she gained confidence in the motion. The storm howled around them but she found it as pleasing as any quartet.

"That's the way, follow your instincts."

He raised his hand high and turned her right under his arm. Her skirts tried to swing out but they were heavy with water now. Warren came up behind her, his body large and solid. He laid a

hand on her hip and kept her turning in small circles. She got caught between the contrast of the rain and his warmth. The fury of the storm mixed with the strength of the man holding her. It suddenly didn't matter if her dress was soaked or her hair pulling against her hairpins because of the water weighing it down.

"Every girl should have the chance to dance."

He turned her once more and released her. His hands appeared on either side of her face, gently cupping her head. "And every dance should end with a kiss."

Oh yes...

He leaned down and she stretched up on her toes to meet him. His lips were warm and

intoxicating. His shirt was soaked and allowed her fingers to stroke over the hard ridges of his chest. But it wasn't enough, not anymore. She wanted to feel his skin. Running her hands along the front, she discovered one button. Her wet fingers pushed it through the hole to separate the front of the garment.

His kiss changed. His lips becoming demanding. His hands slid down her body, pressing her

toward his. Hunger licked its way along her skin, twice as hot as before. His tongue swept over her lower lip before thrusting deep into her mouth. Between her thighs, her passage yearned to be filled. She'd never noticed how empty she was. The shirt separated, allowing her fingers to make contact with his skin.

"I shouldn't have started this." Warren's voice was raw, his breathing harsh. He gripped the back of her head and studied her in the dark. "I didn't intend to kiss you when I brought you up here."

"I believe you." She did too. There was something drawing them together, some force that neither could resist.

He shook his head. "Sweet Lorena. You are too trusting for your own good."

He released her but captured one hand and led her back to the hatch. Below deck she had trouble seeing but he didn't. Warren led her through the hallway and into his cabin without a single misstep.

The cabin door closed with a soft click. For one moment she shivered, not knowing if he was in the cabin or not. Her skin was still sensitive, begging for his hands to stroke it.

"Tell me to go." His voice was edged in hunger that made her belly tighten. "Tell me to leave you alone."

Her body begged her not to. Her logic tried to rise above the swirling sensations clouding her mind, but failed. His hands reached for her, stroking along the column of her neck. A soft moan left her lips because she just couldn't hold it inside. But he stopped when he encountered the row of stitches in her neck. His fingers froze there.

"I can't take any more from you."

The cabin door clicked softly behind him and she cried out in anguish. Her body needed so much it hurt. She wrapped her arms around herself, seeking any comfort there might be. It was pitiful little. Sobs raked her body, shaking her as the need and passion rose even higher. It burned painfully deep inside her passage, dropping her to her knees among her wet skirts and petticoat.

There was nothing to do but ride out the waves. Nothing to do but lament.

Nothing.

He was a bastard.

Warren pounded the railing with a fist. Pain snaked up his hand and into his arm but it wasn't enough to take his mind off what he wanted. So sweet, too sweet for him. Never had he laid eyes on a woman who enjoyed the same things he did. Watching her face brighten drew him to her. It was that same sweetness that drove him away tonight.

Lorena deserved better than stepping back onto land without her virtue. Women valued their

purity. Hell, plenty of men demanded it in return for wedding vows. His mistresses had been few, but each one had come to his bed knowing that pleasure was the only thing he offered them.

Lorena did not know that.

Warren hit the rail again, trying to drive that single thought deep into the center of roaring need assaulting him. His cock didn't care. It was swollen and hard, demanding he return to his cabin.

He could marry her.

The thought was mesmerizing. In fact, it would be the most honorable solution. But he'd

promised her choice. Overwhelming her tonight wasn't keeping his word. The need to return to his cabin began to recede as he considered the idea of keeping Lorena. Aye, it was a fine idea but there was a part of him that wanted her to choose him.

Not as the best way to cover up being abducted but because she wanted him.

He wanted her to marry him because she enjoyed the way he lived his life. Marry him for

affection and the joy they found in each other's company.

That was an insane idea according to most of the world but his parents loved one another. The idea of having Lorena choose him was stronger than the lust stiffening his cock. It kept him at the rail, instead of following his lust back into the cabin. The soft cry she'd let out still echoed in his ears. It would be simple to seduce her. He knew all the right places to stroke. But he craved more.

Morning was cruel. However, it did offer her an excuse to leave the bunk. The cursed thing had been nothing but a place of torment for every hour she lay on it. Her mind had been full of Warren. Even in slumber her brain thought about him, about the way his hands felt on her skin.

With a groan, she tugged on a hank of her hair. Enough already. Looking around the cabin, she established that she was very much alone. A fact she owed Warren's honor a debt for. Her own self-discipline had been nowhere in sight last night. The man could have taken every inch of her and she would have met him in the middle of the bed.

So coarse, yet completely true.

But was it wrong? The question refused to be banished because of some lecture she'd been given.

Warren was correct about the ocean being a different world. Everything she thought she knew was being worn away. All the layers of carefully practiced manners and rules simply did not seem to fit here.

Sunlight sparkled on the windows this morning. Her dress was almost dry thanks to the wind

blowing into the cabin. She'd spread her wet clothing out on top of the chairs and worn one of Warren's shirts to sleep in. Her sisters might gasp in shock but she was not in a position to be so prudish. The rain had rinsed out her clothing and that was a welcome thing. So what if she had slept in a man's shirt. The garment was twice the size of her chemise and transformed her into a lump without curves. That should serve modesty well enough. Holly was the only creature

viewing her in it anyhow. Her dress was slightly damp but she struggled into it and opened the back windows to increase the air circulation.

The bundle of muslin came to mind. It was more than just fabric, it was something to do. She'd read every book in the cabin, including the charts, which made the fabric very tempting.

Too tempting.

With a final touch on her hair, she went searching for the fabric. It had been stored securely in a cabinet with a sturdy latch. She paused when she opened the door. Another bolt of blue linen was stacked with it. Lorena ran a finger over it, smiling at the soft texture. But what truly snared her interest was how lightweight the fabric would be compared to her wool dress. Much more suited to the tropical climate.

Of course Warren knew that.

She chewed on her lip for a moment but deserted her indecision quickly. The captain was correct.

Out on the ocean, there was a different set of rules. She needed clothing and he was the only one who might provide her the fabrics. She lifted the bolts and placed them on the table.

She carefully unwrapped the fabric. It smelled new and fresh. It was high quality and would feel divine against her skin.

The second item Warren had brought was a solid wood box. Lifting the lid revealed sewing tools.

Several spools of thread, two-dozen straight pins and a large pair of shears. The blades were polished and gleaming with just a hint of oil to keep them from rusting in the sea air. The pins were neatly stuck through a piece of wool to protect them as well. Another scrap of wool held an assortment of needles which intrigued her. There were smaller ones that she recognized. But there were also large ones, over four inches long with very large eyes. Two needles were actually curved into half circles.

A ship's mending kit. The necessity of such a kit aboard ship was obvious. Sails ripped in storms like the one they had just weathered. Without sails, a ship floundered.

As the Golden Dawn was doing. Garrick's ship was making the most of the sails she'd been given, but their pace was slow. The Huntress cut her own speed to keep in sight of the other ship. Any ship chasing them would find it easy to do so now that they were not sailing as fast as the wind.

Two pieces of chalk lay in the box as well. Picking one up, she eyed the fabric. With the aid of a small folding ruler, she began to draw out the pieces of a chemise. She measured the one lying over the chair to check her measurements and carefully choose where to mark the fabric to

minimize waste.

Another skill she might thank Godford for. Somehow, her stepfather was becoming a likeable

fellow to her way of thinking. She hated to consider how miserable her fate might be if she had no resolve to overcome the obstacles in her path.

She might have actually done what Mordaunt demanded of her.

A shiver raced down her back. She'd be the man's wife now, wedded and bedded. Nothing but a life of servitude to the master in front of her. It was a dreary idea to say the least.

She might never have known Warren.

Her hands froze. That thought sent two tears to the corners of her eyes. She blinked them away with a scoff at such foolishness, but the melancholy remained. He was a fine man. One who

clung to his principles. She had tasted weakness last night. A weakness so overwhelming, she'd been ready to surrender to it. A month ago, she would have laughed at anyone telling her she might be reduced to such a state.

Perhaps reduced was the wrong word. In a way, she'd risen to it. Stood up and refused to look at the carefully crafted world she was expected to live in. It was like looking over the edge of a wall and realizing she had been kept in a cage her entire life. The world was more vast and diverse than any one nation.

She focused her mind on the cutting of the fabric. Nothing was wasted. The small scraps that weren't needed for the chemise, she tied into little knots. Lady Holly squawked with excitement when she dangled the little knotted fabric pieces in front of her. The parrot happily chewed on them while Lorena began sewing.

With nothing else to disrupt her, the garment took shape rather quickly. Her neck ached from looking down so long, and the end of her finger became tender because she didn't have the

luxury of a thimble. Lorena smiled anyway. Her new chemise was like a gift and she eagerly

worked the needle. She slipped into it before sunset and was quite sure she had never enjoyed a new chemise quite so much.

The blue linen sent excitement through her. She picked up the tailor's chalk again, eager to begin working on a lighter-weight dress.

The strangest noise shattered her concentration near sunset. Her eyes went wide and she stood up while her brain tried to identify it. A rap on the cabin door interrupted her thoughts.

"Yes?"

Warren's second in command, Kurt Barclay, pushed the door in but didn't actually set foot in the cabin. He tugged on his hat. "Begging your pardon, ma'am. But the captain asked if you'd join him on deck." He grinned at her. "The men are fixing to have a spot of fun. You don't want to miss it."

More sounds filtered down from the deck. With the cabin door open, she recognized them. Music.

Or the beginnings of music. She could

hear a violin being tuned and something else that sounded like a mandolin. Kurt was gone with another tug on his hat, clearly impatient to listen.

She was as well. Excitement began nipping at her while she forced herself to replace everything in the sewing kit and store the box securely. It wasn't as if she might run down to the corner market if the small needle slipped through the floorboards because she was careless.

She hurried through her tasks, impatient to join the rest of the crew. You might have thought she was bound for a ball the way excitement built inside her. But she enjoyed the feeling. It seemed like she had been worrying about something constantly since leaving Northfleet. Some music

would be most welcome.

The sun was low on the horizon, casting scarlet fingers over the Huntress. Men crowded the deck, some of them sitting in the rigging as comfortable as padded armchairs. Five sailors had set up their quartet near the bow opening to the hold. A violin, two mandolins, a recorder and a hand drum began to play out a lively tune. Their shipmates clapped and stomped to the rhythm. The entire deck became a swirling mass of song. Those who knew the words belted them out, making her smile. It wasn't formal. Wasn't anything like the quiet recitals she'd listened to in elegant parlors after somber dinner parties.