Till Dawn Tames the Night (17 page)

He stared at her until she felt singed by his gaze. "You're the key to that, Aurora. You're going to decipher it for me."

A tingle of fear crept down her spine. "And what if I cannot? What's to become of me then?"

He leaned closer. "We'll just have to make sure you stay useful then, won't we?"

It was all she could do not to blurt out right then that there was another verse. He frightened her. The uncertainty of the voyage frightened her. But she knew she had to remain strong. Her survival depended on it. If she handed him her trump card, then her worth to him would be speculative at best. And what did pirates do to worthless captives? Make them walk the plank? Abandon them on a sandy little cay? She took another fortifying sip of the brandy and fervently wished she'd read Defoe's
The Life and Strange Surprising Adventures of Robinson Crusoe.

"You're going to be three sheets to the wind if you keep gulping that down."

She looked at him, only half hearing his comment. Fanning her face with her hand, she wondered how this enormous cabin could have grown so small. She was suffocating. If she didn't get some air, she thought she might retch. Rising unsteadily to her feet, she walked toward the stern and opened one of the ports. The breeze whipped at her hair and the sea spray cooled her cheeks. She placed her tumbler on the sill and looked out in the distance to where St. George's melted into the turquoise horizon. Already they were so far from the island there was no getting back. The thought panicked her all over again.

"Vashon," she finally said, "you must believe me that I don't know the whereabouts of the emerald. If I did, wouldn't I have found it myself?"

She felt him come up behind her. His hands took her upper arms in an iron caress.

"You would have, that's true," he answered, his voice a deep rumble against her back. "But I can see you've had no knowledge of the emerald's existence, so how could you look for something you didn't even know about?"

"But I know about it now, and still the rhyme makes no sense to me. I can't decipher it for you. So you must let Flossie and me go."

"I won't."

"Why?" she demanded.

"Because you're hiding something."

She whipped around and faced him. His eyes were as hard as the emerald itself. "What are you saying?" she gasped.

"I'm saying that you're keeping something from me. I can see it in your manner. You know something you're not telling me."

"And if I did know something, what would you do if I told it to you?"

"I would discover if it was true."

"And then, if it was, would you let Flossie and
me
go free?"

"If that's all you knew, perhaps."

She turned back to the open port. The cooling breeze was no longer working. She felt hot and her thoughts were difficult to articulate. Slowly she said, "How can I believe you after all that you've done to me today? You're not an honorable man."

He laughed darkly.
"Perhaps not, but there are worse characters out there who want the Star quite as badly as I do.
I can only tell you that any information is best put in my hands rather than in theirs."

"Or best left in my own."

His hands tightened on her arms. "Listen to me,
Aurora,
I've gone to a lot of trouble to get you. And I'll keep you until I get what I want, however long that may be. Are you willing to endure that?"

"I cannot trust you. I have no choice but to take the risk."

"You have another choice." As if she were a doll, he flung her around to look at him. "Tell me what you know and I shall be generous."

"And if I don't?" she said with a rebellious set to her chin. "What shall you do about it? Torture it out of me? Well, perhaps you misjudge me. Perhaps I've more fortitude than you think."

"And perhaps you haven't. You know, in some cultures torture is elevated to an art. It needn't even hurt, it just needs to bring a man . . . or in your case, a woman . . . to his breaking point."

"My breaking point shall be elusive indeed." She stared up at him, her eyes glittering with the sheen of defiance and intoxication.

"Your breaking point, my little maiden, is all too obvious," he answered pointedly.

Their gazes locked and they stood for a long moment in mute combat, the primeval understanding and hostility of the sexes flowing between them. Finally she declared, "That's not so," but as if mocking her statement, he merely lifted one black eyebrow, then abruptly caught her up into his arms.

She fought to be free from his hold, yet her movements were softened by the brandy, and she quickly found she was no match for him at all. His hand rode at her back while his other hand stroked the tangle of her hair. She made to cry out, but before she could, his mouth stifled her protest. His lips found hers, and once he had them he refused to relinquish her no matter how hard she pushed him away. Eventually his kiss became so deep and thorough that his tongue broke the barrier of her teeth, and he thrust himself again and again into her mouth until she moaned in despair. His hands became as brutal and unrelenting as his mouth, and beneath the linen of her gown she felt him cup her buttocks as he pressed her closer into his embrace.

But the final shock was his other hand moving up her torso. She had never ever had a man touch her breast, and when she realized that was what he was about to do, she knew she wouldn't last. Feeling as if she might faint, her vision blurring, she fell limp against his chest. She waited for his assault, but her surrender seemed to bring about a very different reaction. He stiffened. As if he felt he'd proved his point and was afraid that he might indeed break her, he tore his lips from hers and his hands fell away. Left without support, she quickly grasped the casement of the ports, all the while sobbing and panting her dissent.

It took quite a few moments for her to calm down, but finally she did. Her face was as pale as a wraith's, but this only enhanced the luminosity of her eyes and fragility of her coloring. With her hair
atumble
and her breath coming in short, sporadic bursts, she looked like quite the little girl lost.

But as usual she was not to be underestimated. Her hand quickly found her glass of brandy still resting on the sill, and with a passion and bravery she had never known before, she flung the contents into his hard, handsome face.

"You evil man."

As still as death, he stared at her, the brandy running down his cheeks and nose. Just by his look she was sure no one had ever done such a thing to him. She was also sure he had killed those who had done far less. In the back of her mind she wondered if he might try that with her. Though she could see the jaws of death opening, she doubted he would go that far. As he had just proved, his torture for her would be far less physically damaging, and far more unendurable.

With barely leashed fury he wiped his face with his hand. Surprising her with his swiftness, he reached out and grasped her chin so that she would look up at him. "I don't know where the Star of
Aran
is, but it's not in St. George's. So we have nowhere to go but to sail to Mirage. And when we get there, there'll be nothing to do but watch the tide roll in and roll out. In short, I have time, Miss Dayne, to await your information.
All the time in hell.
Think about it."

He twisted away his hand and walked to his wardrobe. Finding a linen towel, he dried his face and thrust his arms back into his shirt. When his boots were on, he slammed out of the cabin. Only when the door was firmly locked behind him did she sink unsteadily to her knees and gasp her relief.

The isle of St. George's was but a bump on the horizon when Vashon appeared on the quarterdeck. Evening had fallen and the sun had sunk low in the sky, painting the waves with a brilliant wash of golden red. A good breeze snapped in the sails above and the pale pink shell of a full moon could already be seen topping the mizzen mast. It was going to be a fine night for sailing, but Vashon either didn't care or was oblivious to this fact as he leaned stiffly against the railing. A hardness was in his eyes that even the beautiful seascape couldn't soften, and he cut a fierce figure as his long thick hair blew in the breeze and his earring gleamed red from reflecting the dying sun.

Deep in thought, he stared out to the east where a school of porpoise arched through the sea, playfully swimming alongside the ship. Yet the sleek black-and-white animals could have been the ship's trailing bilge water for all Vashon seemed to notice.

"How goes it?" Isaac asked quietly, stepping from the binnacle, where he had just logged their position.

Vashon shot him a glance,
then
resumed his staring in the direction of the porpoise. "It didn't go quite as I thought it would. But nothing has gone well this entire damned day."

"No, it hasn't. Flossie Lindstrom's so
mad,
the old girl almost swooned into a faint when I told her she couldn't see Aurora." Isaac turned his guilty gaze seaward. "I wish to God that widow had stayed off this ship."

"I expect you to keep her under control."

"She'll stay locked in her cabin. I promise you."

"Good." Vashon released a deep breath.

For the first time Isaac seemed to take note of his sour disposition.
"And Aurora?
Is she—?"

"She's in my cabin. Where she will stay until she cooperates."

"She could hold out a long time."

"She could."

Isaac frowned and took a moment to stare out to sea. When he seemed to have gathered the courage to speak his mind, he eyed Vashon,
then
commented, "I don't see how you two can compatibly share one cabin."

"And one bed?"
Vashon flashed him a surly glance.

"That too," Isaac finished quietly.

Vashon riveted his gaze to the blushing horizon. "Her comfort and destiny are up to her. I've informed her as much."

"She's certainly got more backbone than we first thought. I expect she'll be quite obstinate. It'll take a great effort to win her over to our side—"

"She's fragile, naive, and overly protected. I could break her in one night if I chose it."

Vashon's harsh words seemed to take Isaac aback. He stared at the younger man's profile as if unsure of his next move. "I've never known you to condone rape, Vashon."

Vashon only grimaced.

"God knows," Isaac continued, "where our travels have taken us we've seen enough women shattered and abused that way. But you of all people have never been one to resort to it. In fact, I remember well the night we found that beaten slave girl in Barbados. You nearly strangled the drunken sailor who had forced her down to the beach."

Vashon remained silent.

"It might kill her," Isaac stated softly.

"I know that," he snapped. He ran an agitated hand down his jaw. "This is a damned vexing situation."

"Ah, I see your dilemma. You use too much force and she'll crumble like a Roman ruin. Not enough and she'll fight you to her last breath. Yes, that is perplexing." The captain nodded.
"Quite a new dilemma for you.
After all, subtlety is not your forte. You usually have the touch of a machete."

"She's only a woman, Isaac. I'll have her in my palm eventually."

"But you've got to admit she's unlike other women you've known. You can't just throw her to your mattress and be assured she'll be purring in the morning. No, my sorry friend, you'll have to devise a new method for her."

Vashon's mouth took on a grim set. "I only know one thing."

"And what is that?"

"Peterborough wants that emerald. And because Peterborough wants it, I swear I'll be the one to get it first and nothing—
not oceans, not continents, not even that tight-laced little chit in my cabin—is
going to stand in my way." Vashon pounded his fist on the railing and left, totally ignoring the captain's worried expression.

The cabin was dark when Aurora awoke. She had no idea of the hour except that it was night. Through the open stern ports, the stars glittered across a velvet sky like a dusting of diamonds. She could hear the waves beat against the ship as the
Seabravery
cut through the water, neither the fatigue of its crew nor the dark of night keeping it from its destination. An ominous dread built in her chest as she rose to a sitting position. The counterpane fell away, and with a shaking hand she flung her hair across one bare shoulder,
then
looked around.

After Vashon had gone, she'd tried to come up with some kind of plan. She'd opened her locket and read the nursery rhyme over and over in the hopes that it might clue her in to the whereabouts of the Star and thus bring her
her
freedom. But it had been no use. The rhyme was just as silly and meaningless as it had always been, perhaps even more so now that she was trying to find some hidden intelligence in its lines.

When the rhyme offered no ostensible salvation, she'd turned her worries to Flossie. She was sure the kind widow was all right, but it was vexing being kept apart from her only ally on the ship. She prayed the captain was treating his captive better than Vashon was treating her. Every time she thought of that pirate's ruthless kiss, she trembled in anger. His threat had been all too clear. Submit or retreat, he had told her, neither of which she was ready to do.