The Pirate and the Puritan (39 page)

The restraints on his wrists and
ankles were no match for his blind lust. He slid his forearms under her thighs,
spreading and supporting her. He bent his knees and surged into her. She arched
against him, and he covered her gasp of surprise at his rough entry with an
equally penetrating kiss. He withdrew and thrust again.

She pulled her mouth away. “I
love you.”

“Say it again,” he said as he
thrust harder.

She repeated the words he’d never
thought to hear from her. He buried himself inside her. A wave of pleasure too
strong to fight broke over him. His fierce release almost drove him to his
knees. After catching his breath, he collapsed against her, then showered soft
kisses over her face, half in apology for his loss of control and half just to
ensure himself she wasn’t a dream. He tasted the salt of her silent tears.

“Have I hurt you?” He eased his
hold and let her feet slide to the floor. Even in the semidarkness, the
impression of the chain attached to his wrist was visible on the inside of her
thigh.

She followed his gaze. “It doesn’t
matter. That’s not why I’m crying.”

He moved his hands away from her.
Her skirts fell over the welts, and he kissed the top of her head instead of
kissing the marks he’d left on her skin. That, he didn’t trust himself to do.
He had treated her like a whore, without the least care for her feelings.

“Why are you crying, then?” His
voice sounded too harsh even to his own ears.

She laughed softly, breathlessly.
“Because I thought I would never get to touch you like that again.”

“I think I did most of the touching
and the taking.”

“But I loved every minute of it.
I love everything about you.”

He pulled away from her and began
awkwardly trying to tie the cords of his breeches. The chains made the job he
had accomplished when driven by blind lust seem a feat of magic. “Not
everything.”

She brushed his hands aside and
finished fastening his breeches. “Everything might be an exaggeration.” She
moved her hands to his chest and looked up into his face. “But I won’t doubt
you again. I swear.”

He studied her trusting, upturned
face and realized the enormity of his mistake. He would give her the world if
he had it, but the only thing he could give her would hurt her. Unfortunately
for both of them, his death was the one thing that could save her.

“My execution will keep you from
being disappointed, because deception is the only thing I’ve ever excelled at.”

She balled the front of his shirt
in her fists. “I won’t let that happen. I’m already planning to get you out of
here. All I need from you is to tell me how I can find Solomon.”

He wrapped his fingers around her
arms and set her away from him as far as he could. He pushed until the metal
cut his skin. “I don’t want you to do anything. Do you understand?”

She shook her head, trying to
touch his face. He stopped her by shoving her with enough force to cause her to
stumble. It was all clear to him now. He wasn’t making a noble sacrifice by
giving up his life. He was being a coward.

Yet, wasn’t it better to be a
coward if it saved one’s life—or, in this case, the life of someone who meant
more to Drew than he’d ever thought possible. Drew was never one to quibble
over tactics if it got the job done. The job was to keep Felicity safe.

The look of desperation and
determination that pursed her lips frightened him more than his initial
introduction to his filthy cell. With no other escape, he turned away and faced
the wall. He had to stop her, but experience had proven that stopping Felicity
required an act of God…or the Devil.

She touched his shoulder. “I love
you. I don’t want to live without you.”

He turned to face her, mustering
up all his acting ability. “But I don’t love you. Surely you know that.”

She pressed her hand to her mouth
and stepped back. Her face drained of glowing loyalty, but he couldn’t say his
success pleased him. “I-I never thought…my father said…” She swallowed hard,
and to only his slight surprise, squared her shoulders. “You exchanged your
life for mine, and I’m not going to let you die.”

Truly, she was unbelievable. No
wonder he’d fallen so completely under her spell.

“Actually, I did it for Ben—but I
guess you did sway my decision a little. Two for one. That’s a pretty good
bargain.”

She cocked her head and studied
him. He forced himself to meet her steady gaze to prevent her from figuring him
out.

“You said you missed me.”

He seized on the note of doubt in
her voice. “I believe I said I wanted you. You’ve always been an eager mount,
maybe too eager.” He shook his head and sighed. “If I ever kept a woman
permanently, she’d have to be a virgin first. Sorry.”

She tucked strands of her wild
mane back into her bun. Her chin quivered. “I don’t believe you.”

“That’s wise. But I think we both
agree it’s highly unlikely I’d settle down with one woman, virgin or not. I
think I’d rather hang.”

When he thought he couldn’t take
another moment of her hurt stare, she whirled away from him and strode to the
far side of the cell. “I don’t need to hear any more of this.”

He couldn’t move to comfort her,
which was just as well. That he’d attacked her most vulnerable spot had been
intentional. He had no choice—her life was at stake. As far as he knew, she was
crying. The words he’d chosen were especially cruel. They had to be. He leaned
against the wall and waited. Her silence unnerved him.

“What are you doing over there?”

“Waiting to be let out,” she said
from the shadows.

She didn’t sound as if she’d been
crying. She sounded angry. He realized he would never see her again, and he
hated the way things had to be left between them.

“I’m sure I’m not capable of
loving anyone, Felicity,” he said.

“Shut up.”

He took her advice. If he kept
babbling, he might end up confessing his love—and that he could never do. He
slid to the floor and waited.

He was rescued from the tortured
silence in half the time promised. The young soldier was out of breath when he
unlocked the door. “Soldiers are coming. I have to get you out of here.”

Felicity slipped through the door
the moment he swung it open. She kept her back straight and her gaze away from
Drew’s. Her composure belied what had passed between them.

Drew was a wreck. During the time
she’d stood in the darkness of his cell, remote yet painfully near, he’d felt
as if he’d been made to chew on his own heart. It was as tough and rancid as
weevil-infested biscuits. Watching her leave made him physically ill. His
stomach burned.

“You haven’t seen the last of me,
love.”

He looked up to see her staring
at him from the other side of the bars.

Her eyes seethed with anger, but
she smiled sweetly. “I’ll be at your execution.”

***

The tangible pain of a boot
connecting with Drew’s ribs distracted him from the emotional agony of
Felicity’s parting words. Success had never tasted so bitter. A few more blows
delivered by his other unexpected visitors that night would soon bring him to
sweet oblivion, a place where Felicity’s hatred could no longer hurt him.

As abruptly as it had begun, the
beating stopped. Drew blinked away the trickle of blood blurring his vision in
time to see the soldiers’ black boots backing away from him. There were three
of them. At first, instinct had urged him defend himself. The restriction of
his chains had rendered the action ineffective, and only amused his attackers.
Submitting to the beating had not been so bad after he realized it lessened the
pain in his heart.

A disjointed voice floated
somewhere above him. “I wanted him docile, not dead.”

Drew recognized the man’s nasal
twang. Hatred gave him the strength to lift his head off the ground.

“Very good. You’re conscious.”
The Duke of Foxmoor turned to the soldiers. “Leave us. I wish to speak to the
prisoner in private.”

“He’s a dangerous one, Your
Grace. I don’t think—”

The duke stopped the soldier’s
warning with a wave of his hand, then strutted closer to Drew. “You doubt my
ability to handle this cur? I would have beaten him myself, but I had no wish
to soil my hands with his blood. Get out.”

The soldiers shuffled from the
cell without further argument.

Drew raised himself onto his
elbows to get his first unguarded look at his younger brother. That he’d never
seen him before this morning was not by chance. He’d steered clear of his
father’s estate even if other boys from the village cut across the wooded acres
and fished in its streams. To all except his illegitimate son, his father had
been a kind overseer, a paternal landlord.

Watching his brother parade
around the dirty cell with a lace handkerchief covering his nose had Drew
wondering what kind of man his father really had been. Apparently the old duke
hadn’t had much in the way of fathering skills. Neither of his sons seemed to
have turned out well. If it weren’t for the resemblance in height, Drew would
doubt they shared blood. On his worst day, Lord Christian didn’t swing his hips
or dangle his wrists. If Drew had thought he appeared half as effeminate as the
man in his cell, he’d have never taken on the role of fop, much less worn
makeup.

“What are you looking at? Sit
up.” The heightened pitch of the duke’s voice revealed his nervousness.

Drew struggled to comply,
stopping midway when the cell spun. The soldiers had delivered several blows to
his head before Drew dropped to the ground and wisely shielded his face with
his arms.

The duke leaned over him. “You’re
not so threatening, are you,
El Diablo
? I must say, you surprised me
when you escaped from that Spanish prison, so I was expecting someone a little
more flamboyant. Why did you keep throwing our father’s name around, anyway?
After ignoring you in his own backyard, did you really think he’d aid you from
halfway around the world?”

Drew lifted his head from where
it hung between his braced arms. Apparently, his brother didn’t share his
desire not to know what the competition had been up to over the years. Probably
because he didn’t see Drew as competition at all. “I don’t recall using the
Andrews name during that particular adventure, but I’m glad you’re keeping
careful record, brother.”

The duke’s cocky grin drooped on
one side at Drew’s appellation. “Oh, but you did claim to be a child of my
father’s. A bastard, no less. Apparently the Spaniard thought that was enough
to garner payment of a ransom. But alas, it wasn’t.”

Drew sat up on his knees, testing
his ability to stay conscious before he used the wall to help him stand. The
duke watched him with a satisfied smirk on his face. No doubt he thought the
knowledge that his father would leave Drew in a rat-infested torture chamber to
die would come as some sort of striking blow. Drew remembered making the claim
now, but it had only been to stall for time. The hope of a ransom had saved
Drew from immediate execution, and in the end, he had escaped.

“Why are you here?” Drew was
ready to cut the confrontation short. “As you can see, I won’t be escaping this
time.”

“No. And you turned yourself in
to save a woman.” His brother made a
tsk-tsk
sound that had Drew
thinking of desperate ways to slip from his shackles. “I wish our father had
lived to see this. He’d never have believed it. When he heard of your pirate
escapades, I fear he thought you an idealized hero in some tragic epic. He
always loved untamed things. How I’d relish him knowing I was the instrument
that brought you down.”

“You didn’t do much. Were you
always such a tattler? Probably hid behind your mother’s skirts.” Drew paused
as casually as he could manage, considering his circumstances. “That’s right.
You were sickly, weren’t you? Could never go out and play with the other
children.”

“I was the heir. The only
offspring my father had that mattered. My mother thought I needed sheltering.”
The duke squared his shoulders. “But she was wrong. I killed Marley and his
wife, you know.”

Drew placed his hands flat
against the moss-covered wall behind him and tried to appear relaxed instead of
on the verge of fainting. “I don’t believe you.” He wasn’t sure if he did or
not. His head spun, and he desperately needed to lie down, but he suspected his
reply would be the most upsetting to his brother.

“Who else would have committed
the crimes?” The duke stepped closer and pulled off his tall white wig. Hair
the same color and texture as Drew’s fell around his brother’s shoulders, and
even Drew was forced to see the resemblance. “I came to give Marley his reward
for the information he’d so thoughtfully provided. With the help of some hired
ruffians, of course. His pretty young wife saw our approach from the window and
ran down to greet us. At first she thought I was you. She was all ablush that
you came strolling up to her front door in the dead of night. Did you bed her?”

“No.” Drew wanted to close his
eyes against the duke’s words, but he didn’t want to reveal how much his
brother’s ruthless acts shook him.

“I did. A shame to kill her, but
there was no way around it. Marley, on the other hand, brought his fate upon
himself. You don’t blackmail a duke. It’s not done.”

Drew watched his brother in
silence, recognizing his cold detachment as something Drew had once cultivated
in himself. But even at his worst moments, he’d had limits. Apparently, the
Duke of Foxmoor had none.

“You look at me as if you wish to
say something. Speak, dear brother.” He said the word with ill-disguised
contempt. “That’s why I’ve come tonight.” The duke strode closer. “I decided to
offer the reward for Marley’s murder instead of doing away with you myself when
that dear, sweet Beatrice mistook us, even momentarily. I posed for the
drawing.” The duke stuck out his jaw and angled his face for Drew’s inspection.
“I think I might be the more menacing pirate. From what I see, you don’t live
up to your reputation.”