The Black Morass (Pirates of the Coast Book 1) (2 page)

Guileless and genteel, his unwitting prize had no idea of the scheme he would enact to reclaim a portion of his pride, as the King stipulated naught in regard to conquest of the fair sex.  Indeed, she possessed no means of defense against his provocative persuasion, and he would employ everything at his disposal to well and thoroughly invade every inch of her.  Before he landed the little angel on Jamaica’s shore, he would instruct her in the art of pleasure, such that she would perform, at will, what even some professionals considered obscene, and render her quim raw.  And then he would leave her, unharmed but a bit worn about the edges, without so much as a backward glance, as was his way.

“I thought I was going to die, and you saved me when all seemed lost.”  Well, he was not so sure he saved her, inasmuch as he delivered her from one precarious position to another, though she knew it not.  Whimpering, she hugged him tight, and he savored her soft and feminine curves.  “How can I ever thank you?”

Oh, he had plenty of suggestions.  With a slight bend at the hips, she assessed her things, and he admired her round bottom.  Then and there, he decided to first defile her arse and sail her windward passage, as he relished the compelling contradiction between the vulgar act and the pristine virgin, given she was no short-heeled lass or three-penny upright.

“You may start by telling me your name.”  Of course, buccaneer or not, Jean Marc required no such formalities to seize the treasure between her thighs, and he would feast on her honeypot soon enough, but he did not want to frighten her—at least, not yet, as fear could be quite provoking.

“Lady Madalene Davies, sir.”  An exemplar of perfection, her mouth posed an unparalleled enticement, and how he would engage her aristocratic, plump red lips about his stiff cock.  Then she stared at the crew, released Jean Marc, and retreated a step.  “Is this a passenger-for-hire ship or a privateer in His Majesty’s Navy?”

“Not usually, and I am no longer a pirate.”  He advanced, as her chin quivered, and desire surged in his veins.  “Thus I am willing to negotiate terms, if you are amenable.”  With a shrug, he trailed a finger along the gentle curve of her jaw.  “Else I can return you to the sea.”

“I beg your pardon?”  Lady Madalene blinked.  “You are
no longer
a pirate?”  She made another perfunctory study of his men and gulped.  “Am I in danger?  Did you kill the
Trident
crew, and am I to suffer the same fate?”

“
Mon Chou
, you insult me, as I would have taken them captive were that my work.  And never would I waste something so lovely.”  Swift and sure, he caught her in his arms, and she screamed, just as he claimed a lengthy kiss, to ribald hoots and hollers.  When she wrenched free, pounded his chest with her fists, and prepared to protest, he nodded and thrust her into Tyne and Randall’s waiting escort.  “Take her to my cabin.”

#

Freedom often commanded a steep price, in many instances exacted against the will of the innocent soul caught in its implacable lure, and Lady Madalene Davies pondered the cost her liberator, a self-proclaimed, one-time pirate blackguard who seemed much invested in his former trade, given his bawdy behavior and iniquitous demeanor, might demand in exchange for safe passage to Port Royal.  But could she endure the consequences of such a bargain, as she foundered somewhere between the devil and the deep blue sea?

Out of place in her new cabin, which contrasted with her modest chamber aboard the
Trident
, she doffed her cloak and bonnet.  A plush, red velvet counterpane covered the largest bunk she had ever seen, given Captain Hammond used a hammock, and the mattress hosted a mountain of matching pillows.  The wall at the head boasted a salacious painting of a naked woman resting on her side, and its companion, a smaller work that featured a nude male and a female bent forward, pressed front to back, and engaged in some sort of odd activity, did little to inspire confidence, as she assessed her clean but well-worn accommodations and her precarious situation.

Behind the thick oak panel stood a surly looking character she dared not challenge, and the small side chamber held naught but clothing.  A locker marked with unique carvings revealed additional personal items, so she gave her attention to the hand-tooled desk, to search for some indication of the character of her erstwhile savior.

In the top drawer, she discovered a logbook, a set of maps and charts, and a deck of cards with the usual suits on one side and shocking images of ladies sans garments on the other, and she dropped the offensive items.  Then her gaze lit upon a rolled parchment secured with an elegant ribbon.  With a cursory check to ensure privacy, she untied the swath of silk, smoothed the paper, and examined what she realized was an official document, distinguished by its heading,
Letter of Marque and Reprisal
.

“Upon my word.”  Madalene gasped.  “Jean Marc Cavalier
was
a pirate.”

Before she could read the entire contents of the pact, a telltale voice brought her up short.  Lightning quick, she restored the parchment to its secure space, glanced left and then right, and hugged herself.  Adopting a relaxed stance, she peered beyond the window at the floating debris—all that remained of her ship, and considered her options, and of that there were few.  It seemed she had traded one perilous predicament for another, and she knew not if she would survive to be reunited with her father, as her life depended upon a questionable creature Aunt Eileen would have no doubt described as a man with loose morals.

“You daydream,
Mon Chou
.”  Her not so chivalrous rescuer slammed shut the door, and she jumped.  With a cocksure swagger, her less than noble knight strolled to the impressive desk, drew a bottle and two glasses from a drawer, and then pulled a chair from a small dining table.  “Have a seat.”

“Thank you.”  Stiffening her spine, she perched on the edge and settled her clasped hands in her lap to conceal her trembling, as she studied her opponent.

Unlike the sailors, the captain wore a white linen shirt, buckskin breeches, and a polished pair of Hessians.  Chiseled lines comprised his classical profile but did little to dispel his menacing guise.  A long, jagged scar traced from his left ear and across his clean-shaven cheek, disappearing under a black patch adorned with a large ruby, which concealed his eye, and a leather strip tamed his long ebony locks.  Although he might have been handsome at one time, he struck her as a dangerous adversary, and she would zealously guard her virtue in his company.

Madalene cleared her throat.  “Good sir, I—”

“First, let me correct you,
Mon Chou
, as I would have us understand each other.”  A sly smile played on his lips, as he leaned forward, and a tremor of dread traipsed her flesh.  “I am no sir, and neither am I good.  From this moment forth, you will address me as Jean Marc, as it is what I prefer, or I will give you to the sea.”

“But that is not proper decorum for a lady of character, sir.”  Something in his expression, not to mention his threat, gave her a shiver, especially when he laughed.  “And while I asked for transport to Port Royal, I would amend my request and have you put me ashore at the nearest dock.”

“No, and I have no use for proper decorum.”  He shook his head, and her confidence plummeted to new depths.  “You will tell me your history, and then we will negotiate compensation for my assistance.”

“I do not have much money, sir—Jean Marc.”  When he arched a brow, Madalene gulped.  “What I mean is I hold a trifle with which to pay my fare, but my father will reimburse you for any related expenses or a ransom, should you hold me prisoner.”

“You sell yourself short, as you are a handsome wench, but I will clap you in irons, if it will make you feel better.”  Everything in his manner conveyed equal parts of power and peril, and she dared not protest, so she held her tongue.  Tapping his chin, he narrowed his stare.  “Everyone aboard this ship fills a need, and I wonder how you might serve me.”

“What would you have of me?”  Bereft of viable alternatives, she composed a list of skills, the sum of which she could provide to the captain’s benefit.  “I can cook a few dishes, and I can sew, but I am unaccustomed to manual labor.  However, I am willing to learn, if you have the patience to teach me.”

“Oh, I am more than willing to teach you what I require, and I hope, for your sake, you possess a strong constitution.”  His chuckle only increased her trepidation, as she had an inkling their intentions conflicted.  “So you live well, Lady Madalene?”  Reclining, Jean Marc gazed at her with unveiled interest and folded his arms, and she realized, too late, she made a grievous mistake.  “Tell me of your wealthy father.”

“In truth, I know little of him, as he departed Boston when I was but a child of four, and I have not seen him since.”  Never had her sire written a letter inquiring after her health, and her mother indicated he cared not for his daughter, but Madalene clung to faith, as she yearned for a relationship with her father.  “When I was ten, my mother died of a nasty fever, and my grandfather became my guardian, but the task fell upon Aunt Eileen after he passed.”

“And I presume Aunt Eileen is gone?”  His eyes, so blue, reminded her of the crystal waters off Boston Harbor, and she would do well to avoid his captivating gaze, as it mesmerized her.  “Have you no siblings?”

“No, I am an only child.  And I lost my aunt in January, to an unknown malady.”  She bowed her head, as a tear coursed her cheek.  “I was very close to my aunt, as she was all I had in the world, which is why I was so glad to receive my father’s missive, asking me to journey to Port Royal.”

“Why does he live in Jamaica, when he is an English lord?”  The ex-buccaneer tapped his fingers to the tabletop.  “Is he a wanted man?”

“Not that I know, but he is a stranger to me, in a sense.”  And that bothered her more than she was willing to admit to herself or anyone else, as she knew not what awaited her in the equally foreign place.  “I suspect his request that I join him has something to do with Aunt Eileen’s will.  Given my mother preceded my grandfather in death, he left his vast estate, which includes a sugar plantation just outside Port Royal, to be divided between his surviving daughter and myself.  As Eileen never married, there are no other beneficiaries.”

“Am I to understand that, in light of your aunt’s demise, you are the sole heir to the family fortune?”  With an expression of surprise, Jean Marc stretched upright.  “Indeed, you are the owner, according to American law.”

“So it seems, per an attorney and a probate judge in the Boston courts.”  She nodded.  “Now will you help me?”

“Were you traveling alone, and what precisely happened aboard the
Trident
?”  The menacing captain rubbed his chin and shifted his weight.  “Did the attackers take anything or anyone?  Did you see them?  If so, can you provide a description, as I am curious as to their identities?”

“My governess, Miss Wimple, accompanied me, but she was killed.”  In a flood of unpleasant memories, Madalene revisited the screams of horror, and she shuddered and wrenched to the present.  “I heard plenty, and it was terrible, but I saw nothing, and for that I am grateful.  Captain Hammond bade me hide before the pirates overtook our ship.  Once silence fell on the vessel, I emerged from my makeshift shelter and found everyone murdered and the boat in flames.  Had you not come along when you did, I would have drowned, as I cannot swim, which I already told you, so I thank you for sparing me that fate.”

“Believe me, it is my pleasure,
Mon Chou
.”  For a while, he simply studied her, and she fidgeted with nervous anxiety.  “You had a governess.”  It was a statement, not a question.  “How old are you?”

“Eight and ten,” she murmured, as she toyed with the lace trim of her sleeve.

“Why are you not married?”  When she shrugged, Jean Marc sighed.  “Given your beauty and your inheritance, I gather you are popular in Boston.”

“While I appreciate the compliment, I am not interested in such flattery.”  To her regret, she met his azure stare, which she suspected gleaned too much for her liking, and she swallowed hard, as he appeared on the verge of devouring her.  “And I have no beau, given my father never negotiated a match.”

“You would leave such things for your father to arrange?”  He snickered.  “The English treat the most important commitment a man and a woman can make as a financial agreement.”

“If you intended to insult me, I take no offense, as I am an American.”  Madalene sniffed.  “And my private affairs are no business of yours, sir.”

“In that you are correct, and I told you that I prefer you address me as Jean Marc.”  He licked his lips, which she tried but failed to ignore.  “Since you do not strike me as stupid, I can only presume you deliberately bait me, which is never wise, because I may take more than you are willing to give.  Perhaps I should throw you and your private affairs into the sea.”  He snapped his fingers.  “Then again, you cannot swim, so I encourage you to consider your words with caution, in the future, else you may not enjoy the consequences.”

“I apologize.”  Never had she met anyone like Jean Marc Cavalier, and she wondered if the ocean might prove less dangerous.  Still, if she hoped to reunite and reconcile with her father, she had to keep the irascible captain happy.  Given her grandfather’s cantankerous nature, she knew how to placate a temperamental man, as they shared much in common with spoiled children, so she had but to appease Jean Marc until they reached Port Royal.  “To my shame, I spoke in haste, and I humbly ask that you forgive my inadvertent slight.”