The Seduction of Miss Amelia Bell (29 page)

New York Times
bestselling author Paula Quinn lives in New York with her three beautiful children,
three overprotective Chihuahuas, and a loud umbrella cockatoo. She loves to read romance
and science fiction and has been writing since she was eleven. She loves all things
medieval, but it is her love for Scotland that pulls at her heartstrings.

You can learn more at:

PaulaQuinn.com

Twitter @Paula_Quinn

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C
aptain Alex Kidd hooked his sapphire-ringed finger into the narrow handle of his jug
of rum and brought the spout to his lips. The woman spread on the table beneath him
moaned. He wiped his mouth and looked at her. The hunger in the slow, salacious smile
he lavished on her made her drip around the base of him. He ran his hand up her thigh,
withdrew from her hot body, and then drove himself deeper into her, biting down on
her pink nipple. Ah, but there was nothing better than warm rum and an even warmer
whore. Plundering a ship was a close second, but he’d done that already this morning.
He laughed and the wench tightened her legs around his waist. He tipped his jug and
drizzled his rum over her breasts and her belly, watching with dark, hungry eyes.

He wasn’t sure of her name. He didn’t need to know it. He paid her to please him and
she did.

He heard the sound of fighting from beyond the door of the candlelit room. Fighting
was good, but now was the time for pleasure. He bent forward and drank from her behind
his veil of dark hair.

He sank into her, deep and slow, then withdrew almost completely, teasing her with
what she wanted before he spread his palm over her belly and pulled cries from her
throat with the gyration of his hips and the smooth thrusts that arched her back and
brought them both to climax.

Done, he pulled back, fastened his breeches, and took another swig from his jug.

“Will I see you again?” the wench asked when he stood over her, covering his tattoos
of Neptune and Poseidon with his shirt.

He looked at her and shook his head. The last thing he wanted in his life was a woman.
His father taught him to trust no man, but he’d learned firsthand not to trust a woman.
He never returned to the same wench’s bed twice, providing no hope in forming attachments.

Pity, this one was a lovely thing with eyes as dark as coal and long raven hair. She
was likely a native of the Americas and brought here to New York as a slave to work
in one of its many backstreet brothels like this one.

He plucked an extra coin from a small pouch tied into his sash and tossed it to her,
then stepped out of the room and out of her life, and into a brawl that sent his quartermaster
flying across the full length of the front room.

Alex downed what was left in his jug, then smashed the clay vessel over the head of
the man who’d done the punching. He watched the culprit go down, then cupped his groin
and readjusted. A woman at a table at the other end of the room smiled at him and
waved. He returned the salutation but headed to a larger table, preferring, for now,
to share drink and laughter with the drunken, rowdy seamen who helped him sail his
ship. He tucked in his shirt, then slipped into a chair and ordered another jug of
rum.

“Capt’n.” His tanned, one-eyed first mate turned to him. “Tell this scab-pickin’ bottom-feeder”—he
hooked his thumb over his shoulder, pointing it at another sailor who looked insulted
enough to start killing people—“who among us plays the better jig on the pipes?”

“I’ve already told ya, Mr. Bonnet,” Alex answered, giving his attention to his brocade
coat and feathered tricorn hat resting where he’d left them on a chair to his right.
“I prefer Simon’s jigs over yars. That’s why he’s the ship’s musician and ya’re me
first mate.”

Alex paid his one-eyed comrade no mind when Mr. Bonnet cursed him for breathing. He
looked up instead at the man who’d sailed by him a few moments ago.

“I think me tooth came loose that time.”

Alex had known his quartermaster, Samuel Pierce, for more than eight years now. Sam
was with him when he learned of his father’s arrest, at his side during his father’s
hanging, with him when Alex’s heart was broken, the first and only time, by a woman.
They’d plundered many ships together and fought many battles, watching the other’s
back. Alex loved him like a brother. “The gold one?” he asked, eyebrow piqued.

Three of his men who had been deep in conversation stopped talking and turned to eye
Sam.

“Not the gold one,” the quartermaster growled at them. “But if any of ya be wantin’
to try to pry it loose from me jaw, just stick yer fingers in there if ya have the
balls.”

Alex laughed and swigged his rum. “Robbie Owens there doesn’t have ’em.”

It was true, poor Robbie had lost his balls two summers ago when the mother of two
of his children caught him in her sister’s bed. Fortunate for Robbie that the ship’s
carpenter, Harry Hanes, knew how to stop bleeding and sew a man up good as new. Well—

“Captain Kidd?” A stranger appeared at the table, drawing all the men’s attention
to him. Another man would have taken a step back, or at least reconsidered his decision
to make himself known to them as their dark, wary gazes fell on him.

But not this man. He remained unflinchingly cool in his drab but costly attire, clean
hands folded in front of him.

“Who’s askin’?” Samuel said, reaching for the cutlass tucked into his boot.

“My name is Hendrik Andersen. I was a friend of the captain’s father, William Kidd.”

“Me father had no friends,” Alex corrected, reclining in his chair and slamming his
booted foot on the table. “None who were worth more than bilge rat shit.”

“I’ve been looking for you for several years now,” the stranger continued, as if Alex
hadn’t spoken.

It didn’t bode well for Alex that he’d been searched for and found.

“What do ya want?” Alex asked him. “Make yar plea convincin’ or I’ll kill ya where
ya stand. I should do it now fer claimin’ to be a friend to me father. No friends
watched him die. All had abandoned him.”

“But not you.”

Alex slowly removed his leg from the table and sat up in his chair. How would this
stranger have known that Alex was there at his father’s death? His movements caused
Sam and several others to draw their daggers, others their pistols, and begged Alex
to let them fire.

Andersen didn’t bat an eyelash. “I would speak to you alone.”

“Nay,” Alex said, not risking a stab in the gut the instant they were alone. The Royal
Navy likely sent Mr. Andersen. They believed Alex was in possession of a map to the
treasure his father gave his life up for. “Say what ya would now and say it quickly.
Ya’re tryin’ me patience.”

The man cleared his throat and glanced at the others. “Very well then. May I sit?”
When Alex nodded, he pulled out the chair nearest Alex’s coat and hat and sat down
on it. Alex watched him catch his hat before it hit the floor and then place it, with
the due respect a captain’s expensive leather hat deserved, back on the chair. “I
was your father’s boatswain. I was with him when he captured the
Quedagh Merchant
.”

Everyone at the table grew silent. They all knew about the rumors of the
Quedagh Merchant
, the infamous Armenian ship said to be loaded with gold and silver, gems of every
size and color, not to mention satins, muslin, and priceless East Indian goods, including
silks. It was a treasure any pirate worth his weight in salt would kill for…or die
for. His father was rumored to have captured it shortly after Alex left him to begin
his own life of adventure and piracy. Andersen would have had to have joined his father’s
crew right after he left.

No proof was ever discovered against William Kidd, but Alex didn’t doubt that his
father had indeed captured the ship. What he didn’t believe was that his father had
trusted anyone with its whereabouts.

“Ye’re tellin’ me ya know where the
Quedagh Merchant
is?” Alex wouldn’t have believed him if Andersen answered with an aye. The first
Captain Kidd had been tried and hanged for piracy and murder rather than give up the
location of that ship. Since Alex hadn’t been with him when he took it, nor had Alex
seen him alive since, he didn’t know its whereabouts either.

“I’m telling you nothing of the sort, but…” Andersen paused and looked around. When
Alex nodded for him to continue, he obliged. “There is a map.”

A map. That sounded quite plausible, Alex decided. His father wouldn’t have gone to
his grave without a map to his greatest treasure. What if somehow he had come out
of the trial alive? His father would have made certain there was a map.

“Where is this map?” he asked his guest casually.

Still reluctant, Andersen looked straight at Mr. Bonnet’s patched eye and the scar
running down beneath it. “You trust these men?”

“Nay, but I need them, same as they need me. Where is the map?”

“Scotland.”

“Where in Scotland?”

“I have a condition, Captain Kidd,” Andersen was foolish enough to announce.

Half the men at the table readied their daggers and aimed their pistols again. Metal
gleamed against the firelight coming from the hearth.

“If yar condition isn’t that ya walk out of here alive”—Alex tipped one corner of
his mouth up—“then I’m afraid I must refuse.”

“I wish to sail with you.”

Alex shook his head. “I already have a boatswain. I don’t need any more men.”

“You need me.”

Alex laughed. “Kill him,” he told Samuel, rising from his chair.

“You need me to find the people who have your map,” Andersen exclaimed as Samuel’s
dagger edged along his throat.

Holding up his hand, Alex halted Samuel’s next move. Not that his friend was truly
going to kill Andersen. At least, not while he knew the whereabouts of this alleged
map. After that…

“Ya’re correct in callin’ it my map. Fer that, I’ll spare ya. But I was born in Scotland.
I don’t need ya to find me way ’round. Now tell me of these people who have it.”

“Will I sail with you?”

Regaining his seat, Alex narrowed his eyes on him, wishing he hadn’t just said he’d
spare him. It was obvious that this man who claimed to be a friend to his father wanted
the map for himself. But why not just go to Scotland and get the map himself if he
knew where it was? Why did he need Alex?

“You will never find them on your own, Captain,” Andersen forged ahead, undaunted
by Alex’s scowl. “And if you do, they will kill you before your feet touch land. They
are hidden in the mists in the Highlands.”

Ah, savages. That’s why Andersen needed him, his ship, and his crew. He’d let Alex
take the map and then try to kill him for it later.

“Your father knew the clan chief. He took me and a few others with him as witnesses
when he brought the map to them to guard. The chief agreed to surrender the map to
you…and you alone.”

Alex smiled at him. “Bring to me mind the reason I need ya again?”

“Because the chief doesn’t know you, or whose son you are. If you happen to find them
on your own you will have no way to convince them of your identity. They’ll kill all
of you for finding them. They value their privacy highly.”

“So ya intend on provin’ me identity?” Alex asked him. “How?” he asked when Andersen
nodded his head.

“A letter.”

Alex cocked his brow. “A letter?”

“From your father to the chief, stating that you are his son and the map should be
handed over to you. I have been made privy to things about you that can prove who
you are. And because I traveled with your father and already met them, my word will
validate.”

Believable and clever on his father’s part. Alex would take this Dutchman with him.
He wondered how much Andersen knew about him. He hadn’t seen his father in a little
under a decade and he’d changed much in that time. How could anyone prove his identity?

“And what of these folks who have the map?” he asked. “How do ya know they haven’t
already looked fer the ship?”

“They are Highlanders, not pirates. Their island is their treasure and they guard
it unceasingly.”

Alex thought about everything he’d been told so far. He shared a look with Samuel.
As his quartermaster, Sam had as much say in what treasures they sought and plundered
as the captain. More than that, he was the only man Alex trusted. If Sam didn’t feel
right about Andersen and his claim of a map, they would forget him.

Sam ran his fingers through the blond waves on his uncovered head and nodded.

“I’ll let ya board me ship.” Alex turned back to their guest. “But I have a few conditions
of me own. First, ya’ll take four successive watches fer the first three nights at
sea while we travel to Scotland. The crew can use the rest to recuperate from our
time ashore. Second, ya’ll aid our navigator and cook, Mr. Cooper, in any way he commands
to get us to our destination as safely and as quickly as possible. I inherited my
father’s enemies, from the Royal Navy on up to the throne itself. If word of a map…nay,
a whisper of it, reaches their ears, we will have to fly over waves or hoist our flag
and kill some soldiers. I’m prepared to do either. Are ya?”

“If you command it.”

Alex grinned at him and sank languorously into his chair. “I’m almost certain that
at some point in our journey we’ll discover if ya speak true.” He held up another
jewel-encircled finger to quiet him when Andersen would have spoken. “Next, I want
the letter and would hear of me father’s adventures from ya. We parted long ago.”

“I know. He spoke of you often,” Andersen told him.

“He trusted ya then?”

Andersen nodded.

“Then why did ya betray him by not standing at his side while he hanged?”

Alex noted the stranger’s shallow breath before he answered, his gaze that fell to
the ground and didn’t rise again while he spoke.

“They would have killed me and you never would have found the
Merchant
and your father would have died for nothing. But I was there and I saw what you saw.”

He knew Alex had been there. Had his father known it, too? It didn’t matter. It was
long ago, when the time of dwelling was lost past. Now he wanted to get drunk. “I’ve
one last condition before I allow ya aboard me ship.”

“What is it?”