The Winds of Fate (29 page)

“You’re nothing but a thief and a pirate.”

The words had an impact of a pistol shot.

“So you’ve informed me,” he said with a bleak spurt of humor.

Claire shivered. The atmosphere of distrust lay thicker than the impenetrable sea fog that sometimes swept along the archipelago. “I believe we have nothing more to say to each other. At one time, you were a kind doctor, Captain Blackmon. Please don’t make me remember you otherwise.” She jumped off the bed to close the door on him, even having the gall to smile, dismissing him as an inconvenient caller. “If you don’t mind−”

He kept his foot stubbornly wedged against the door, acknowledging her with a nod of his head. In reality, he hid a ferocious need. That need ate at the composure she tried so hard to maintain. Her desire to speed him on his way defeated anything sensible. “I believe your fellow brethren are in need of you.”

“I may be a pirate. But my ways are not the ways of Le Trompeur, who should have remained in France, and practiced pickpocketing. I have a sort of honor−shall we say, some rags of honor, remaining from better days.” He reached for her hand. She pulled it back. He took her hand and kissed her trembling fingers. The light, reluctant contact burned. His touch had the same effect on her it always had. She glanced around the cabin. Claire had no illusions about her ultimate punishment.

Latent hostility stretched between them. He wanted her. He’d take her. If anything, his hunger had only become fiercer after so long. He was angry enough to hurt her. But she did not miss the hidden tremor in his hands when he kissed her hand.

Unspoken guilt had gnawed at her insides ever since he’d escaped. “I never betrayed you or Ames,” she said to break the screaming silence that reared between them.

His eyes in the waning lantern light did not flicker. “You set your uncle upon us. Ames almost died. The murdering wretch then set upon me. If not for the Spanish raid, I too would have met my end.”

“I never set my uncle against you. Jarvis overheard a conversation I had with Lily. It was never my intention−” She wanted to scream at him.

“You betrayed me. You need not lie to me. You know it in your heart.” He laughed, and the resonant sound sent a chill of fear down her spine. “Ah Claire, always the fine manipulator. You sought me out in a gaol to have my name. A promise you made, but never kept. Forgive me, if I’m justifiably bitter and naturally distrustful after getting wind of your deceit.” He brushed her cheek with the back of his finger, continuing downward over her collarbone, pausing at the pulsing hollow at the base of her throat. “Didn’t I warn you that if the winds of fate prevailed and our paths crossed, I’d have my revenge?”

“As I knew in my heart you’d seek reparation.” She pushed his hand away.

“Faith ‘tis true,” he shrugged. “I’ve been waiting this year to seek your atonement.”

She was most certain he would accomplish his goal. Claire let out a breath. If only she could dispel the thought before it shackled her mind. “And what of your recompense for all the dreadful crimes and outrages against your victims? You must be very pleased that you have achieved your dream of freedom. It is a shame you steal what others have honestly earned.”

He lifted a fine black brow. “Life’s lessons have taught me the powerful and the swift survive. Birth and happenstance make us empirical, do they not? I a former slave under a master whose sins against humanity rivaled the worst of pirates. I was fortunate enough to escape. Perhaps my profession has changed, but the man is still the same.”

“Do not delude yourself. The man I knew was honorable and kind. I saw you almost kill a man today, true to your barbaric nature.”

“He deserved to die. It is the price we brethren pay when one does not follow the code. The thought of piracy as horrifying to you as it may be, was my only chance at freedom. My life under your uncle held in balance on his whims whether by a whip or a hanging. The thought of being a thief appalls me, but it is a happy alternative to my former
punitive state. It is sweet, having you here. You have a lot to make-up for.”

“I owe you nothing,” she said though she did not sound convincing.

He ignored her protest. “Your lover and uncle rest safely in the hold. If they prowled about my ship, I could not guarantee them from not accidentally falling overboard. Do you know that you are under my power? Do you realize that you are now my slave and must do as I command?”

“I will not obey.”

He took a lock of her hair and examined it. “I believe you have no choice.” His voice came husky, dangerous.

Claire dared to slap his hand away. “I will not let a filthy pirate touch me.”

Too late. She had pushed him too far. He picked her up and threw her on the bed. Claire struggled to her feet.

“I am not in a forgiving mood. Nor will I tolerate your shrewish behavior.” Devon pushed her back with one hand against her chest. Then to keep her in place he straddled her, pinioning her bucking body between his knees. Devon leaned over and retrieved some ropes he stored beneath his bed. Claire lay on her back, twisting, pounding her fists on his chest. He caught them, tied each wrist to a separate bedpost. She kicked and screamed, but he ignored her. When her hands were tied, he began to work on her legs. He caught her flailing feet.

“Don’t you have some loot to divide, ships to blast from the sea, people to rob...”

He finished tying her feet, one to each bedpost. His eyes bored into hers. Her hair had come unbound in their struggle and it lay upon the pillow in wild disarray. He brushed back her hair from the side of her face, so he could see her. His touch was gentle and nonthreatening. She had not expected that of him.

He smiled, his rapier glance passed over her. “You’re obviously stuck with me. You’ll have to accept defeat graciously.”

Hadn’t he said those very words to her in the gaol?
How she wished she could go back and change that day.

“It’s unfortunate that I’m busy with running this ship,” he offered, his warm breath tickling her ear. “Otherwise, I’d be honoring our marital vows.”

Claire’s cheeks burned. “You will not compromise me.”

“I won’t?” He laughed at her. “Are you absolutely certain about that?”

Doubt shadowed her confidence. “It is no less obvious to me that you would dare to do so, and no less obvious for any woman you come in contact and rut with.”

“No wonder I risked life and limb to seize the ship that held you captive. My prize, a thankless witch.”

Claire’s eyes slid to the curve of his lips. A memory sprang forward with the tantalizing kiss they shared in the cottage, and too, he guessed the tenor of her thoughts. An emotion even more disquieting than the stillness of the cabin glimmered in his eyes.

“The year we’ve been apart has apparently not been forgotten.”

“Twelve months,” she corrected him. “Enough to forget a thousand lifetimes.”

“Yet you counted the months.” He laughed. Claire looked away, her transparency evident.

She missed the spasm of tenderness that crossed his face. She missed the devastating hope that kernel of truth held before his expression grew serious.

“Why Claire? Why that fop?”

Claire recoiled from the insinuation that she wanted Sir Teakle, and she hated Devon for that insinuation. Tears formed. She willed them away. Did she dare tell him of her father’s deed? Would he take the document and throw it into the ocean? “I have to go to England.” She could not fail. She had to do it because her father would have wanted her to fight for what should be hers. If only Devon would understand that need.

Why marry that disgusting lump of suet? Is it because he offers title, prestige and luxuries that you seek to be a bigamist? At the first sign of battle, that quivering mound of human flesh turned tail and demonstrated his cowardice. What do you see in him? Did you spread
your legs and let his pudgy fingers and slack mouth crawl over your delectable body? Did that lace-ridden dandy make you pant, writhe, beg and cry for pleasure?”

Claire pulled at the ropes that sawed her wrists and snarled. “What about your vows?”

“My vows, Madame? I would honor them and cherish you as my young, lovely, sweet, tender bride.”

Claire grew unsteady, furiously torn between accepting some demented truth in his words, and embitterment to the mockery that shaded them. She refused to ignore the facts. “The mighty Black Devil, the self-appointed, high pontiff of morality, preaching bigamy to me. You are to be married to a girl from Tortuga while keeping mistresses and cavorting with prostitutes.”

“So you have heard the rumors. What interest is it to you? You care for your husband?”

“Be assured, you are of no consequence to me.” Knowing another woman entered his arms and received all the sweet pleasures he could give, jealousy scalded through her veins like hot mercury. How pathetically foolish to think she could keep someone like Devon at her side.

I am free to pick as I wish,” he shrugged nonchalantly. “After all, is it not you who gathers husbands like the gulls gather fish?” he said, his face a mix of emotions, discerning and gauging her reaction. “I will doubtless set up a mistress, one woman for duty, one for pleasure.”

Contempt reeled in her mind, a beneficiary of his high-handedness, and womanizing.

His eyes sizzled with green fire. “Imagine, Claire, there are times when I do grow impatient for our wedding night. To have you as my wife, beneath my ever magnanimous thumb, but you will come to me, I vow, and willingly.”

He ran a finger over her breasts, pulling down on her torn bodice. Her breath caught.

Claire shivered as familiar stirrings rose within her from his touch, stirring a need long dormant. Somewhere, though, she found the will to resist. He straddled her again.

He laughed. In a cruel vise-like grip, he pulled her face back to him, stemming any insubordination from her. The annoying smile, which had come and gone ever since he had seized her, reappeared. If only she could get free. She struggled against her bonds, but the ties only served to align their bodies.

“If I were a stellar merchant, I would admire your business acumen.” He leaned over and snapped open a drawer. He dropped a handful of priceless pearls in the valley of her breasts. She shivered, the pearls cold upon her skin. “Consider it payment for services to be rendered.”

Claire gasped.

Without warning, he bent his head and kissed her. She fought beneath his weight, remaining powerless, her limbs trussed, incapable to push him off. She gritted her teeth together.

He coaxed, gently persuaded, enticing her mouth to open, and when she finally did, Claire felt as if she were being dipped into fire. His lips heated and tormented her, rousing a sudden fever that seemed to originate in the marrow of her bones. His hands slid around her shoulders and to her back, pulling her roughly to him, pinning her against the soft silk of his shirt, pressing her against him, allowing her to feel his strength and power, his heat.

Temptation flickered.

She crushed it.

“Ah Claire,” he murmured. Desire clung to the air like an invitation to sin. The kiss went on and on, teasing, tempting, and drawing a soft moan from deep in her throat. Surrendering, she felt herself softening, molding into him. Her breasts met the muscles of his chest, tipping her blood through her veins and turning her body into living need. She could feel the firm tight need of him straining against her belly.

He wanted her. Every sinew of his muscled body screamed that notion. Claire closed her eyes, reveling in the salty taste of his mouth, the ragged draw of his breath, inhaling the earthy scent of his body.

As abruptly as his embrace had begun, he ended it. He moved off of her, off the bed, standing over her. She felt the space where he once
had been. Lifting her lashes, she studied his face for answers. Black stubble roughened the lean lines of his jaw and chin. Claire’s own skin felt rubbed raw where it had touched her.

For a moment her heart stopped. The sweet memory of him in the governor’s garden. The way he took care of all the sick people during the plague. His gentleness with her, and the passion shared in the cottage, spiraled a need in her like a flower rapidly blooming. An indescribable softness began to steal over her.

“I am not marrying, Sir Teakle,” she whispered.

He halted. “What game is this you play?” The ship plowed into a deep trough and dipped precariously. Overhead a lantern swung violently, light escaping into deeper shadows. The light stayed unforgiving on his handsome face, revealing marks of tiredness and strain. He looked as if he’d tormented himself close to madness since their separation. It would be too vain to consider herself the cause of his lunacy.

“The marriage is an illusion. Jarvis paid for our passage to England. Cookie, Lily and I planned to disappear upon our arrival. I intended to hire a solicitor as I came upon some evidence that proves I own the plantation.” Claire lay silent. Confessing to Devon was a balm. His gaze never left her face.

“Claire, there are no other women. There never have been.”

Her breath caught. Was what he said true? In her heart, she believed him. If only she could forget all the bad about Devon. She looked at his hands. Loving gentle hands blackened with gunpowder and covered with blood. Blood from a man he had almost killed. The visible horror of the attack and what he had become rocked her.

Revived memories emerged of his sworn revenge, throwing her over his shoulder, and humiliating her in front of his men then tying her up. The man she had known in Port Royale, a shadow of the man she gazed upon now. Inside, he was warped by fraud, like the shiny pearls he threw at her, lustrous on the outside, but cutting inside to discover it to be paste. If only she could mask her disgust.

“I should have thrown you thirty pieces of silver, the price of a betrayer,” he said.

She saw him hesitate near the door. “Where are you going?”

A cold smile flickered. “Duty obliges me. I have obligations necessitating my command that greater mortals such as you are allowed to ignore.”

“Where are Lily and Cookie?”