Prisoner of Desire (29 page)

"I do find myself having trouble deciding just who is treating me correctly."

The lieutenant lost a small bit of his harsh demeanor, uncertainty flickering in his eyes. "A necessary action. Regrettable, yes, but no less brutal than the means by which you were taken out of Bermuda."

Oh, it was so much different.

Such a thought didn't make any sense. It was something she felt in her heart. A solid knowledge which burned bright enough to keep her from sinking into hopelessness. The emotion was so

strong she could not ignore it anymore. Somehow she'd missed it, avoided noticing what it was.

Now, when fate was pulling her away she finally understood.

She loved him.

Loved Warren Rawlins in spite of his arrogance. Actually, loved him for that part of him which never doubted or wavered. It was not civilized. It sat burning in her heart, refusing to be influenced by logic.

She only hoped she got the chance to tell him.

Desolation caught her in its grip and there was no mercy. She'd sneered at the chance to bind Warren to her. It was very possible he'd consider himself well rid of her now that someone else had stepped in to absolve him of honor's dictates. The distant shore filled her eyes with tears.

Suddenly her pride was poor company. She found little comfort in it. Instead she tried to recall why she'd been so against the idea of marrying Warren. She had told him no, refused him even as her body tried to show her how much happier she was in his embrace. Which left her neatly at the mercy of despair. He had no reason to come after her.

None.

The wind was good.

Which drew another curse from Warren's lips.

The wind that drew the Huntress out of Boston was filling the sails of the ship he was chasing.

Scanning the horizon, he looked for it. Garrick was poised on the rail with telescope in hand to read the names of the vessels in sight. Night was their enemy, hiding their prey.

He had to find her.

The need pounded through him, his soul aching for the knowledge that Lorena was not lost to him. Tibetha's words echoed across his memory, touching off a ripple of fear. The emotion

startled him because it had been so long since something had scared him. He lamented things, missed friends who had been lost at sea, but he was not afraid of anything.

Except not finding Lorena before that bastard Mordaunt locked her up in his fortress. That idea scared the life out of him.

"Are you sure she wants you to come after her?" Garrick muttered his question with an ease which drew a growl from Warren.

"What kind of a question is that?"

His brother didn't seem impressed with the anger coating his brother's voice. "A rather important one. We kidnapped her once for a good reason. What's our reason tonight?"

"I've got a good reason this time. They bashed young Timothy and Scott in the head. I won't leave her at the mercy of men like that."

"Are you sure she wants to be rescued or is this about taking back what you consider your possession?" Garrick abandoned his teasing and stood tall. "What's driving you, brother?"

"I can't live without her." And there were few souls he'd admit it to. But the words crossed his lips in a husky tone that stole any pride from him. The desire to find her went deeper than anything else.

"But did she agree to marry you?"

Warren snarled at his brother. "Stop digging, Garrick. No one forced you to come along."

His brother snorted. "That's a matter of opinion. You seem to forget that I'm the one you pulled out of that hellhole. I won't leave her at the mercy of Mordaunt any more than you will. Even if she doesn't see the wisdom of that."

"Then why are you annoying me with your questions?"

"Just trying to discover if I have any chance of wrestling her out of your grip."

Garrick flashed him a quick grin before he turned to resume scanning with his telescope. It was a desperate effort but his brother remained at the rail throughout the night. His crew kept to their posts, ensuring that not even a breath of wind went unused. But Warren couldn't help but wonder if it was enough.

The night felt endless. Lorena paced back and forth across the tiny cabin she'd been placed in.

She snorted. Aye, placed was indeed the correct word. There was no courtesy being extended.

Lieutenant Bridges had taken her below decks and watched her enter the small cabin just as he would have watched an important prisoner being locked into chains.

She was somewhat astounded the door wasn't bolted from the outside. The feeling was so

familiar to that of her time aboard Captain Connolly's vessel. Somehow, she'd never felt so cold aboard the Huntress.

A small smile turned up her lips. She had her temper to thank for that. The early days aboard Warren's ship had often seen her nursing her anger. Warren had that effect on her.

A hard rap on the door made her look up. It was pulled open a moment later, letting in light. The cabin had only a small porthole and the sun had risen on the opposite side of the ship.

"Good news, miss. We've sighted our ship." She didn't know the face of the man addressing her, but he was British.

"What ship is that?"

"Commissioner Mordaunt's flagship, ma'am. She's off the starboard side. We're set to row over to her within the hour. Those Americans won't be any trouble what with us traveling with another ship." He placed a tray on the small barrel which served as table and chair in the cabin. He closed the door again, this time she heard the grating of a bolt being slid into place. It was a chilling sound. One that unleashed desperation in her. It bounced around inside her skull until it was as loud as thunder.

Stomping her foot on the cabin's planks, she broke the spell, ordering herself to think. She had managed to survive in Godford's house and she would not buckle. There was a way. All she had to do was think the matter through.

Reaching for the tray, she ate what it offered. Strength was the key to success. She shied away from thinking about Warren. It was her own doing, the mess that was making her heart bleed.

The least she might do was learn from the experience and not make another colossal mistake.

Like marrying Mordaunt.

She refused.

"You've managed to cause me a great deal of trouble."

Adam Mordaunt greeted her with a frown. Standing on the command deck of his ship, he raked

her with his cold eyes.

"Indeed. I fail to see how I am the party responsible for setting these events in motion," Lorena informed him.

"Of course you don't understand. You are a woman after all." He delivered the slight easily, without one hint of chivalry. "If you hadn't defied me, you would have been safely installed in my home. Thereby making it impossible for any escaping convicts to use you as their shield.

They would have been stopped and you would have been present at our wedding as I planned it."

He stepped closer, his nostrils flaring. "Your actions have cost us information which would have been quite valuable."

Her eyes narrowed. This man was pompous and reeked of his own pride. His gaze flickered with hunger, turning her stomach.

"Still, we have an arrangement, madam. Fetching you back was a matter of honor."

He closed the distance between them, his eyes still burning with lust.

"You have an agreement with my stepfather. I wish you the best of luck with it," she announced firmly.

"One you shall honor, madam."

Something else flickered in his eyes and it looked exactly like the emotion she'd witnessed in Bart Carroll's. Greed.

Stepping closer, she stared up into his face. "I would rather build your fort."

He stared at her for a long moment, silence surrounding them as the crew attempted to look like they were invisible. A soft male chuckle broke the silence, Mordaunt's lips twitching up at the corners. He reached out and stroked her cheek. The touch made her skin crawl. Lorena jumped away from him, her stomach churning with disgust.

"You shall simply have to change your mind, my dear. One third of St. John shipping has been promised to me and I intend to wed you to complete the contract."

"One third?" It was much more than she'd ever expected. Godford didn't have to settle so much on her. By law, he had the right to keep half her mother's holdings.

"Quite so." Greed mixed with lust on his face, transforming him into the ugliest man she had ever seen.

"Not so. I shall not bind myself to you in front of a parson."

He raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying her show of temper.

"We shall see."

He smiled at her. A chilling expression that only intensified her resolve to refuse him.

"We shall."

He didn't care for her answer. All traces of enjoyment faded, leaving a cold expression. "You shall sail under Lieutenant Bridges' command. I want to make sure you aren't carrying that

convict's bastard. Or grant you the opportunity to insinuate it is mine because of the close confines of ship."

That suited her well. At least it was better than sharing a ship with him. Out on the open water, her choices were few. But climbing down to the dingey that would take her toward the second ship, Lorena felt relief moving over her. Tension still remained, but time could help that. She was certain of it. At least she would tell herself that.

Because the alternative was to sink into despair.

The days became long. Time became a torment that pushed her almost to the point of breaking every single hour. Back aboard the second British ship, Lorena once more existed in a state of being ignored. There was one marked difference this time. The men watched her when they

thought the officers weren't looking. Speculative glances that bordered on leers. Many of them licked their lips. But the ones who worried her most were the older men who looked at her with fear in their eyes. They made the sign of the cross over themselves when their duties brought them too close to her. Women had often been considered bad luck aboard ship. Seeing that belief in the eyes of the crew turned her skin cold.

Adam Mordaunt's ship kept pace with them. She grew to detest the sight of it. Lorena remained on the command deck in spite of it. Scanning the horizon for any hint of reprieve from her

impending reunion with Mordaunt. The wind was not their friend. It blew only at half-strength.

Food was rationed by their third week out at sea.

The nights became her sanctuary. The only time she allowed herself to think of Warren. Alone in her tiny cabin, she couldn't fend off the dreams of her lover. So she stopped fighting them. She needed her strength to endure the silent days. The lack of interaction from her companions left her with nothing to do save turn over her thoughts in her head.

And dread the coming confrontation with her fiance.

But she found her courage stirring whenever she considered Adam Mordaunt. What she dreaded

was the certain knowledge the meeting would not be pleasant. The world was a far larger place than it had been six months ago. Godford looked kinder with every possessive, controlling

glance she received from Lieutenant Bridges.

Three weeks and four days out to sea, fate turned vicious. The ship bobbed higher on the swells when Lorena climbed up to the deck. It was hushed, tension gripping every man on board.

She gasped when she looked up. A wall of clouds sat in front of them. It stretched from the edge of the horizon and all the way across with no relief in sight. The edges were white but the core of it was darkest gray. The wind whipped the sails about like toys and she could hear the Lord's Prayer being muttered.

"Hurricane, Miss St. John. Better tie yourself to your bunk." Lieutenant Bridges barely spared her a glance as he tossed a length of rope to her.

"There's no way around it."

The younger officer's voice was raised out of its normal controlled tone. Lieutenant Bridges didn't take issue with the man either. His hands were curled tightly about the wheel, his eyes on the swollen cloud mass. Lorena stared as well.

The sight was mesmerizing in a horrid way. So much power and their ship was soon to be at its mercy. They were trying to cross the path of the wind in short direction changes but the wind blew them about with ease.

"Below deck, Miss St. John."

She went, the rope hugged against her chest. White water was churning up to the level of her small porthole now. Hurrying to close it, she pushed the latch to secure it. There was nothing to do but wait and pray. She did end up knotting the rope through the frame of her bunk before the night was finished. The ship tilted so far on its side, she was sure it would roll. Somehow, right when it was teetering on its edge, the wind would give enough relief so that the hull could crash down into the water. The wind howled so loud it was deafening. At least it covered up some of the sounds of the wooden hull groaning. The timbers that made up the ship

creaking and grinding while it was twisted by nature's fury.

The night seemed to go on forever until she realized the sun simply could not penetrate the storm clouds, leaving them in a gray light that didn't illuminate her small cabin.

A day later the ship returned to bobbing. Lorena gasped with relief, tears touching her eyes. Only two glided down her cheeks before her body refused to lose any more precious water. No one

had eaten in days, the crew too focused on keeping the ship afloat. She opened her cabin door to wet wood planks. Even the walls were soaked, the scent of water making her mouth feel drier.

There was light now with the hatches open to the upper deck. Sunlight streamed in, more

precious than she'd ever given it credit for. The cook was in the galley, his small stove lit once again. He looked up, his face lined with deep folds.

"Good to see you up and about, miss."

"Indeed, I was just about to say the same to you, sir."

He smiled. "I expect you're thirsty." Something in his tone warned her that things were not well.

Lorena handed over the small pewter pitcher that was her measure for the day. The cook took it but only poured a quarter of the amount into it.