The Pirate Takes A Bride (10 page)

“Ha! Not enough. I hate orgeat.”

He lifted a finger and pointed it at her. “Not the point!”

“I did want adventure, my lord. I did, but not this.” She gestured to the cabin as though it were some sort of rat-infested hovel rather than an extremely well-appointed great cabin for which he’d paid dearly.

“This is the adventure we’re on, sweetheart,” he retorted. “You might as well enjoy it because you won’t be welcome into any more ballrooms if that navy ship catches up to us.” He didn’t mention that she’d fare better than he. He’d be hanged as a pirate. She at least would be returned to her family who, if they were kind, would send her somewhere far away to live out the rest of her life quietly. He almost laughed at that. As though Ashley Brittany could ever live quietly. Whether she wanted adventure or not, it would find her.

“I won’t be invited into any more ballrooms as it is,” she bit out. “Ooh!” She balled her fists at her side and stomped a foot. It was a decent show of pique, one he appreciated because of the color it brought to her face. She’d looked too pale for his liking. He’d rather her fight him than faint or weep. She glared up at him, her eyes almost too large for her face. “I hate you. Do you know that? I hate you!”

“No, you don’t. You want to hate me, but you can’t because underneath all that prim and proper training, you love this.” He gestured to the cabin and more expansively to encompass the ship and the ocean, even the storm. “This is what you want, but you don’t know how to take it, to claim it.”

She shook her head, and he grabbed her face with both hands, holding her still. “You hate being afraid, and you were afraid today. You hate not being the one in control, and now I’m the one manning the helm. You hate…” He hadn’t known what he was going to say until it was on the tip of his tongue. He wasn’t even certain it was true, but a part of him wanted it to be true. “You hate that you want to dislike me, but underneath all your bluster, you still want me.”

Her eyes widened with anger, and the color flooded her cheeks. She pushed back with both hands on his chest. She was strong, and he might have stumbled back if the roll of the ship hadn’t put her off balance, lessening the force of her shove. “You arrogant pig.”

“Is that the best you can do? I live with sailors. Their grandmothers use more inventive insults than that.”

“Bastard!”

He shook his head. “Not true, though I’m sure my late father wished otherwise.”

“Coward.”

Nick yawned.

“Rake!”

He inclined his head. “That one hurts. A little.”

“Let go of me!” She grabbed the hands holding her head and tried to pry them off.

“Come now, Ashley, insult me. Show me how much you hate me. Prove it to me or I’m going to show you just how much you want me.”

“Lying, ignorant, numskull, jackanapes, rakehell—”

“You said that one already.” The ship roiled again, causing them to stumble, and he loosed one hand to steady himself against the wall of the cabin. Ashley bumped into it, and he had her right where he wanted her. If he had been a rakehell.

But he wasn’t a rake. He was her husband, and she didn’t hate him. Not enough, at any rate, to stop him from kissing her. He tilted her head up with the hand still cupping her cheek and lowered his lips to hers. He meant to kiss her lightly, but either the roll of the ship or some action on her part brought them violently together. Her mouth collided with his, reminding him how sweet her lips tasted and how soft her body felt pressed against his.

It occurred to Nick, in the back of his mind, that he should return to the main deck. The storm seemed to be worsening, and though Chante was a capable man, this was Nick’s ship. His presence beside the men would rally and encourage them until the threat was well and truly past.

Yet he could not pull away from Ashley. She wanted him. He had been correct about that. He hadn’t forced her to press her lips to his, hadn’t forced her to tangle her hands in his shirt. But it was a hollow victory because all the feel of her against him proved was that he wanted her too.

Still.

Always.

Desperately.

He pushed her back against the wall and took her mouth with his, claiming it with his lips and his tongue. Their tongues tangled and mated, and he relished the taste of her. She was sweet but with the tang of a still ripening strawberry. And underneath that taste was the salt and the flavor of the sea on her lips. The waves rolled up and down, bringing their bodies into contact and then separating them again. Nick yanked her firmly against him, pressing himself hard into her softness, sliding his hands over the velvet of her cheeks. He burned, hotter than the flames in the corridor a moment before. To touch her, to hold her, was a luxury he never thought he’d be given again. He wouldn’t—couldn’t—squander this chance.

He deepened the kiss, claiming her mouth and her body as he slid a knee between her legs and against her warmth. She might have moaned. The storm was too loud for him to be certain, but he felt her take a shuddering breath.

Where the devil was the berth? Why were there so many clothes between them? And the one intruding thought he could not banish: why was he not on deck?

With a curse, he pulled back from her, catching a glimpse of her pink cheeks and her red lips. Her eyes were closed, her neck arched, her breaths coming fast and hard. Nick did not think he had the will to resist her. Fortunately, he heard the knock.

He whipped about, discomfited to see he hadn’t even closed the cabin door. His bos’n, Red, stood in the opening, his eyes cast downward. “Sorry to interrupt, Captain.”

“What is it, Red?”

“Mr. Chante sent me to give you a report, Captain. Should I wait?”

“No.” Nick moved away from Ashley, the pain of separating from her like the slow plunge of a knife in his gut. “Go ahead.”

“Yes, Captain. The ship sustained significant casualties, but the men and the storm washed the deck clean of blood. The problem is, Captain, that we got men in the infirmary and more manning the bilge pumps, and there aren’t enough to see to the rigging.”

Nick nodded. So the storm might sink them yet. From the rocking of the boat, Nick could tell the squall was worse than he’d expected, but it did help put out the fires. That was good as long as the high waves and the rain didn’t sink the ship when they poured into the large hole at the waterline from one of the
Formidable
’s cannons during the battle.

“Mr. Chante could use you, Captain.”

“That will be all, Red.” Nick looked back at Ashley, but no words came to his lips. She was looking away and would not meet his gaze. “Just go. Get out before…”

He wondered what she would say. Before she hit him? Kissed him again? He could never tell with her. He moved toward the cabin door but before he reached it, she said, “What’s so special about it? The Isla de la…” She waved a hand to indicate the rest of the Spanish name.

“Isla de las Riquezas. It’s Spanish for the Island of the Riches.” He did not want to discuss this now. He didn’t want to think about what might have happened, how he might have prevented it. If anything had happened to Rissa he would never forgive himself. Even the thought of her, so beautiful, so trusting, made his heart clench in fear.

“Why are we rushing to reach it? Is it treasure you seek?”

“In a manner of speaking. The island is where the crew’s women live. An old nemesis”—he could not even speak the pirate’s name—”has attacked. We go to see who or what is left.”

Ashley’s eyes widened, and she gaped at him for a long moment. “I…I don’t know what to say.”

“A prayer wouldn’t go amiss.” He started for the companionway then turned back. “Both for this ship and the island.”

W
hen he was gone, Ashley sank to her knees. She felt as though she had been battered and broken and pulled in four directions by strong horses. With quick efficiency, she checked her legs and her gown then the corridor outside the great cabin. The fire was well and truly contained, and she was safe. Her hands were dirty with ash and soot as were her legs and feet, but she hadn’t been burned.

She returned to the great cabin, closed the door, and sank down beside the berth. No point in dirtying the few bed clothes remaining. She had a feeling it would be up to her to fetch water for washing and laundering the bed clothes. The men would be too busy repairing the ship—that was, if they escaped the British navy.

An hour ago Ashley would not have wanted to escape the navy. She wanted to go home and listen to her father bluster about her poor choices and feel her mother’s arms come around her. She wanted to tease her brother Devlin and hear all the news from Thomas and Charles. And she wanted to hug William and George, even though fifteen-year-old George would pretend the affection made him ill.

Now, she could not ask Nick, his men, to turn around. The women on the island needed rescue. Ashley had seen the look in Nick’s eyes. He feared the women were dead, but he would go back for the survivors.

What kind of man had the gall to attack innocent women? And why target the women of the pirates on the
Robin Hood
? If these women were the men’s mistresses, might there also be children on the island? Had this nemesis killed them as well?

And finally she allowed herself to ponder the question she’d wanted to ask from the moment Nick told her what the island was. If the men kept their women on the island, surely Nick did as well. He must be worried over his woman. He must fear that she might be dead.

And what was Ashley to do if the woman lived? Like it or not, Nick was now her husband. Ashley had no desire to confront his mistress. Perhaps that was why he’d treated her so badly all those months ago. Perhaps she was a toy to him while his heart belonged to the woman on Isla de las Riquezas.

Ashley lifted her fingers and touched them to her lips. She could still feel his cool lips pressed to hers. His stubble had scratched her jaw and her neck, but she’d welcomed the rasp of it on her hot and sensitive skin. She’d wanted him to do so much more than simply kiss her. When he’d slid his legs between hers and his flesh had pressed to her core—even though layers of clothing separated them—she’d trembled with the knowledge of the pleasure he could give her.

She rarely allowed herself to think of the night they’d spent together. The memory was sour to her now, but when she could forget the days following it, she could remember the pleasure. He’d been so tender with her, kissing her so thoroughly that he took her breath from her. His hands had stroked her until she was crying out for release. And he’d given it to her. She could still remember how he’d slid fingers slick from her own wetness inside her and teased her into a shattering climax. The room had been dark or she might have been embarrassed by her lack of control. He, however, demanded more, taking her to the brink again before sliding his hard member into her. That had been another feeling altogether. The pain of the breach mixed with the pleasure of the orgasm he’d given her was an experience she could not begin to describe.

He’d rocked into her then, gentle because he seemed to know that even in the midst of the waning pleasure, she felt the intrusion keenly. She had wanted to wonder over the sensation of having a man inside her, having a man claim her so completely, but she’d barely had time before he withdrew and spent himself on the expensive rug where they’d been lying. She wanted to repeat the act all over again, and he’d laughed and said he needed a few minutes to recover.

She thought of the night now and felt heat creep into her cheeks. She’d thought he cared for her. She’d thought they would spend a thousand nights like that one. She’d been such a fool, and she was still a fool because she allowed him to make her forget how much she hated him. One kiss from him and she forgot how he’d treated her, how humiliated she’d been, how completely and utterly mortified. He didn’t love her. He loved a woman on Isla de las Riquezas. He’d used her and then when he’d seen she was damaged, he didn’t want her any longer.

She did not know why he’d kissed her now. Perhaps he had been so overcome by lust he’d forgotten how ugly her leg was. Perhaps he’d forgotten himself, just as she had. But she would not forget herself again. She would not allow him to seduce her again.

As it turned out, Ashley’s vow was easily kept. By morning the following day, the storm had passed and the sea calmed. There was little wind, giving the ocean a glassy look that unnerved her. The creaking of the sails and the boards under foot unnerved her too, but she kept her thoughts to herself as she stood on the deck, hands clenched on the toprail, and stared at the thick fog. What was beyond that fog? An armada? A sea monster? More pirates?

She did not know, and she joined the men in their prayers for wind. There was plenty to do in the lull of the storm, though. Sails were repaired and the carpenter, Mr. Carey, had devised a rotation so men continually manned the pumps while others repaired the damage to the vessel itself. She’d watched in awe as men dangled over the side of the ship, patching the gashes with scavenged materials, canvas, ropes, and spars.

Still, she thought she could still smell the scent of gunpowder lingering on the fresh breeze. There’d been no more injunctions against her coming on deck, though she suspected Nick had said something to his men regarding her because the gave her a wide berth. Only Mr. Fellowes dared stand near her, and she assumed that was because he’d been told to do so. Mr. Chante insisted on frowning at her while Mr. Carey doffed his hat and Mr. Johnson said “Argh” and danced a little jig. The rest of the crew either leered at her with surreptitious glances or ignored her completely. She was not certain which she preferred.