The Ransom (40 page)

The moon rose over a restless ebony sea, and Alex’s longing to see Juliana rose with it. He wanted to explain, make her understand the reasons behind his duplicitous behavior. But he wasn’t sure he could trust himself with her alone.

How could he blame his crew for ogling her when she’d come on deck? With her golden hair loose and flowing about her bosom like waves on a creamy beach, her sparkling gown flouncing over the deck like a ballet dancer with each move of the ship, turquoise eyes so full of spark and life, and those pink lips and flushed cheeks, she was more beautiful than any treasure they’d plundered.

Nay, ’twas best he stayed above at least until she fell asleep. Then he’d perch outside his cabin door alongside Bait, whom he’d already posted there to guard her. Together, they’d keep out all intruders. Even if that intruder was himself.

Sails snapped as the ship dove into a trough. Foam leapt up the hull, reaching for Alex, no doubt intent on dragging him to the depths for treating a lady thus. To his left, some of his crew huddled, passing a flagon of rum betwixt them. They nodded his way and offered him the bottle, but he declined with a heavy sigh. No doubt a drink would aid in loosening the knots that had formed in his gut, but it would also loosen the control that kept him away from the treasure below. Besides, he needed his wits about him. Not only because Juliana was on board but because there was something else afoot, some mischief he couldn’t quite place. The sooner they reached Port Royal, the better.

A high-pitched squeal—or perchance a scream?—etched through the air. For just a second, and then it was gone. Probably the wind through the rigging. Alex glanced across the deck at his men drinking and playing cards, then above at those in the tops, then over to the pirate manning the whipstaff. No one else seemed to have heard. Jonas was no doubt below with his nose shoved in a medical journal.

Alex faced the sea again as an overpowering uneasiness coiled up his spine.

Go to her
.

He rubbed his forehead. Now he was hearing things. Mayhap he
did
need a drink after all. Gripping the railing, he closed his eyes and allowed a blast of wind to rip over him, hoping it would steal away his agitation. But it only made it worse. Finally, shoving from the bulwarks, he stormed up the quarterdeck, leapt down the companionway, and headed for his cabin. Just to ensure Juliana was safe. And then he’d leave her be. God help him.

But the door was open, and Bait was lying on the deck, blood seeping from a knot on his head. Gripping the hilt of his sword, Alex rushed into the cabin. A barrage of lacy petticoats exploded from behind the form of a man shoving Juliana against the bulkhead.

Rage lashed through Alex. He grabbed the man by his jerkin and flung him across the cabin. Juliana screamed. Larkin crashed against the sideboard, jarring the tea urn and dislodging a few books from the shelves. One landed on his head.

Alex glanced at Juliana. Thank God her clothing was still in place. But her red-rimmed eyes stared at him in horror from a face as white as a virgin sail. Movement drew Alex’s gaze back to Larkin, who rose, bearing an insolent smirk. He raked hair from his face, his gray eyes flashing. “A captain is supposed to share his treasure,” he snarled.

Alex approached the man, cautious of his every move, every twitch of his hands, the hatred—and hint of fear—burning in his eyes. Then drawing back, Alex fisted him across the jaw. Larkin’s head whipped around, spurting a stream of blood on the bulkhead before he crashed into Alex’s desk and thudded to the deck.

“A captain’s treasure is not to be touched!”

Jonas stormed in, Riggs on his heels, both men assessing the situation. “We heard a scream.”

Alex shook his hand and gestured toward Larkin. “Take him below and lock him up. And see to Bait.”

Riggs yanked Larkin up, while Jonas gave Alex a look of reprimand that only added to the guilt that was breaking through his rage.

Wiping blood from his mouth, Larkin shot Alex a look that would have killed him if it had been armed. Instead it only wounded his heart. He’d once considered the man a friend. Had even trusted him.

Jonas shut the door, leaving only the lap of waves and creak of wood filling the room. And the quiet sob of a lady. Not just any lady. His lady. His Juliana. If only it could be so.

Slowly, he went to her. She raised her gaze to his, her chest heaving, her eyes pools of terror, her lips swollen where Larkin’s hand had held back her screams. Hesitant, cautiously, he reached for her hand. A tear slid down her cheek as she studied him, searching his eyes … for what? To see if she could trust him. How could he prove to her that he’d never hurt her?

Finally, with a ragged sigh, she fell against him. He enfolded her in his embrace, wishing he could barricade her from all danger, all calamity—forever. She wept bitterly, this woman who was all strength and confidence and bravery and goodness. She finally wept, releasing all the terror and pressures and misfortunes of life on his shoulder. And he allowed her, relishing that he was the one chosen to give her comfort, to protect her.

At least for this moment.

He rubbed her back and ran fingers through her hair, uttering comforting words, trying to squelch his guilt at having allowed this nightmare to happen. The ship swayed back and forth like a cradle, gently rocking them as lantern light from the deckhead washed them in waves of dark and light. She clung to him. Desperately, completely. Like he’d always longed for her to do. To rely on him, to trust him, to allow him to care for her.

Finally, her sobbing transformed to hiccups and then into deep sighs, and, much to his dismay, she shoved back from him. “Forgive me. I am not one normally prone to such bouts of sobbing.” Lashes laden with teary diamonds fanned over her cheeks.

“Mayhap you should allow yourself the luxury more often.” Placing a finger beneath her chin, he raised her gaze to his. “As you can see, I am in possession of a solid shoulder.”

She gave a little smile, stepped back, and hugged herself. A tremble shook her. Taking her hand, he led her to a chair and knelt beside her. “Can I get you something to drink? Wine, mayhap? A sip of port for your nerves?”

She hesitated and glanced over the cabin.

“You won’t go to hell, milady, for a sip of port.”

She nodded her assent and he leapt up, poured her a glass, and returned.

“Can you ever forgive me, Juliana? I thought you were safe. I placed my master gunner at the door, and only Jonas and I have keys.” He lowered his chin. “I shouldn’t have brought you here.” He rose, clenching his fists, longing to punch something, if only to spend his anger. Anger at himself.

She said nothing, only stared out the stern windows into the dark void of the sea.

“I am a fool,” he fumed, silently cursing himself. “I put you in danger, when all I ever wanted was to protect you. Thank God you are unscathed.”

Moments passed.

“I thought you didn’t believe in God,” she finally said, a hint of teasing in her voice.

Alex leaned back against his desk and rubbed the sides of his mouth. “I heard … up on the deck … I heard someone say ‘go to her.’” He squeezed the bridge of his nose and sighed. “It sounds crazy.”

Tears filled Juliana’s eyes once again. “Nay. ’Twas God. Saving me from being ravished.” Though her words were firm, doubt clouded her expression as another tear spilled down her cheek. Alex searched his desk for the cleanest neckerchief he could find and handed it to her.

“’Tis the first kind thing God has done for me in a long time.” She dabbed her cheeks.

“Mayhap ’twas not God but merely my own intuition.” It
had
to be. For surely God would not waste time speaking to him.

“Intuition doesn’t speak,” she countered, lifting the trembling glass of port to her lips. “Perchance I have finally done enough good to win His favor.” The thought seemed to please her as her shoulders lowered and a sigh escaped her lips.

Alex snorted. “If someone as good and kind as
you
must work so hard for God’s blessing, then I stand no chance with him.” Yet even as he said the words, he knew how contrary they were to Scripture. He’d spent years studying the Bible before his father had sent him to this hellish British outpost. “To save lost souls,” he had admonished Alex.

Instead Alex had joined them.

Juliana tightened her lips, a tinge of anger hardening her eyes. “You are correct. There is no chance with God for a thieving pirate, a liar, and a man who kidnaps women.”

The cut sliced deep into Alex’s soul. When she said it like that—with such disgust—it made him sound downright evil. “Alas, I am truly sorry for that last one.” He poured himself a drink. With his rising guilt and all this God-talk, he was going to need it. She was wrong about the Almighty. And Alex couldn’t stand the thought that her error would cause her to turn her back on God like he’d done. She was too pure, too innocent and good to end up like him—empty and lost.

So, he spoke the words of a holy book he no longer believed in. “You are mistaken about God, milady. You need not win his blessings. You
can’t
win his blessings. You must simply believe in him and walk with him.”

She stared at him quizzically. “Have a care, Mr. Pirate, you sound more like a preacher than a plunderer.”

He wouldn’t tell her he used to be just that. Before God showed him it did no good to serve him, to live imprisoned by his rules.

“You are an enigma, Mr. Pirate.”

“Please call me Alex.”

“Not Milord Pirate?” She teased him with her eyes before a frown formed. “You speak of a God’s blessing whose existence you deny. And you hear a voice from the same God and immediately obey.”

“If it
was
God I heard, He only spoke to me for your sake, milady.”

“It would thrill me to believe that.” She swallowed. “Yet with all the disasters that have stricken me and my family of late, I can only assume I have not pleased him. What could I be doing wrong?” She lifted questioning eyes to him as if he had the answer. Eyes swimming in tears and desperation, just like a similar pair of brown eyes from a young lad who had asked a similar question four years ago. Lud, did he have the word
preacher
emblazoned on his forehead? Who was he to explain the workings of a distant God?

He shrugged. He had given the expected platitude to the young orphan at the time, but it had turned out to be false. He had no answer now. Wanting to change the topic, he spotted the book that had struck Larkin now lying open on the deck. He knew the minute he picked it up what book it was—his father’s Bible. He set it on the desk, not wanting to see the page it had opened to but unable to pull his eyes away. They landed on the last verse of Isaiah 48:

There is no peace, saith the Lord, unto the wicked.

He didn’t know whether to laugh that such a prophetic verse had struck Larkin or weep at how much it reflected Alex’s own life. For he’d had no peace since he’d forsaken God and plunged into a sea of debauchery and dissipation.

He faced Juliana again, trying to hide his discomfort.

She said nothing and took another sip of her wine. It caused a flush to blossom on her cheeks, making her all the more alluring, if that was possible. Even in her wrinkled gown and bedraggled stomacher. Even with a rent in one sleeve and the silk fringe circling her neckline frayed. Even with her lips swollen and her turquoise eyes swimming. Not to mention her golden hair tumbling over her shoulders. He remembered the feel of those silken threads in his hand only moments ago, and he swallowed his rising desire.

To think he’d almost allowed this precious creature to be violated. His eyes burned, and he turned away and began sorting through the papers on his desk.

♥♥♥

Juliana stared at the pirate’s back as he fumbled with something on his desk. She could have sworn she’d seen a mist cover his eyes before he’d spun around. Impossible. Pirates didn’t cry. Certainly not the Pirate Earl who ruled an entire city full of pirates. Yet she could not deny the anguish that had come over him, tugging down features normally staunch with determination and pride. Nor could she deny the way he’d gazed upon her moments before, completely awestruck and adoring. Was it possible this man, this Pirate Earl, cared for her? That everything he’d done—the feigned courtship as Lord Munthrope, the protection down by the docks, burying her father, caring for Abilene—was all due to his affections? Not some prurient desire to lure her to his bed?

As he continued to sift through sheets of parchment, she—and mayhap the port—gave herself liberty to peruse the man intently. Thick muscled shoulders stretched wide beneath hair as black as ink. Dark stubble peppered a jaw that still twitched—from anger? Leather breeches gripped thick thighs as he shifted boots over the worn deck. A long knife clung to one hip while a cutlass hung at the other. There was an aura of power about him. Of control. Here was a man other men feared and obeyed. A man who could take whatever he wanted. She remembered his face, contorted in rage, as he’d lifted that horrid pirate from her and flung him across the room as though he were but a feather. Not the expression of a man protecting his concubine. But a man protecting his lady.