Captive Secrets (20 page)

Dykstra shrugged. “Señor Domingo is my guest, so I will pay. It is of no importance. Now, to
my
wants . . .”

“I know, I know, three virgins,” Clarice purred. “Do you think they grow on trees, Mynheer? But for you, anything.”

“How old are they?” Dykstra asked, one eyebrow lifted skeptically.

“Old enough,” Clarice replied with a casual wave of her hand. “They just arrived yesterday. I've been saving them for you.”

 

It wasn't until he was removing his trousers that Luis realized he'd described Fury in telling Clarice what he wanted in a woman. The one she'd sent him was called Naula, and it didn't take him long to learn that she was hellfire and damnation when she wasn't being angelical and ethereal.

Within minutes Luis found himself moaning as he throbbed and pulsated, nearly out of his mind with desire. Naula transported him to such dizzying heights, he soon gave himself up totally to her expert ministrations. Up, up, up she led him, until finally he exploded into slick wetness. He was aware of Naula's smiling face as he relaxed into the soft bedcovers.

“Devil,” he managed to gasp.

“Yes,” Naula whispered. “Will you tell Clarice I pleasured you?” she teased, her fingers trailing intricate patterns down his chest.

“Jesus Christ, hell, yes . . .” He moved to lie on his side, his dark head nuzzled between Naula's creamy, round breasts.

“What shall I tell the other . . . young ladies waiting outside your door?” Naula asked coyly.

“Tell them to . . . to disappear.”

Naula's laughter tinkled about the room. “That's what Clarice said you would say. Mynheer Dykstra said
he's
the only man here who can . . . service
all
of Clarice's young ladies.” She laughed impishly as she worked her tongue inside Luis's ear.

Luis's long legs were suddenly over the side of the bed. “They said
that
? Then maybe we should play a little trick on Clarice and the mynheer.”

Naula leaned over and trailed her fingers down his back. “The kind of trick Mynheer van der Rhys used to play with Mynheer Dykstra?”

“Which was?” Luis asked, curious.

“They always boasted of their prowess, but the truth was quite the opposite . . . you understand, señor? The girls kept their little secrets because they were generous men. And since Mynheer Dykstra is paying for your night's entertainment, I see no reason why you can't turn his own trick back on him. If you like,” Naula said, nibbling at his shoulder, “I can help you.”

Luis's heart skipped a beat. He
knew
this young woman could very well kill him with her bedroom skill. He wondered how it was that Dykstra was still alive.

He was on his back again with Naula leaning over him, one round, pink-tipped breast sliding back and forth across his lips. Desire swelled in him a second time.

“What shall I tell the others?” Naula whispered, pressing the length of her silky body against his own.

“To come in, of course,” Luis groaned. “I'll think of something.”

Naula pouted as she walked naked to the door and motioned for the others to enter. The girls, one more beautiful than the other, giggled when Luis drew the sheet up to his neck.

One of them, more brazen than the rest and sinfully beautiful, walked over to the bed and pulled back the sheet. Luis's erection died immediately. A second clucked her tongue in disapproval, while a third wagged a playful finger under his nose. A fourth crept to the edge of the bed, her breasts spilling from their gossamer covering. “If you like, señor, we can make this a night you'll never forget,” she murmured.

Luis swallowed and tried to speak, but his tongue had grown thick and somehow incapable of forming words. He settled for a nod. Goddamn, Dykstra certainly knew how to make a man happy.

Naked bodies whirled about him as the covers were thrown from the bed. Every inch of his body was oiled and massaged. He felt himself being poked and prodded in some places while others were reduced to lacy, shivering trails of ecstasy. Just when he thought he couldn't stand it another second, he felt five pink-tipped tongues lapping the sweet-smelling coconut oil from his entire body. At some point his ankles and wrists were pinned to the soft mattress as one deft pink tongue trailed the length of his entire body. His growl of pleasure was so intense, the women smiled knowingly as he struggled to free himself. The moment Naula's sheath imprisoned him, the others freed his wrists and ankles and tiptoed from the room.

Luis was aware of the droplets of perspiration on Naula's face as she rocked over him, bringing them both to a dizzying crescendo of fulfillment.

From somewhere far away he heard a faint whisper. “You'll sleep like a newborn babe, señor.” A whispery kiss feathered his parted lips. “Very few men have given me as much pleasure as you have.”

The moment the door closed behind her, Luis was wide awake, wondering if making love to Furana van der Rhys would be half as satisfying as this. His last conscious thought before drifting off was to wonder what it would be like to make love to the Sea Siren.

Luis woke at midmorning to a light tapping at his door. He mumbled something, then immediately rolled over and went back to a half sleep. A moment later he became aware of muted noise and activity in his room and jerked to wakefulness, thinking Clarice operated a day shift of sorts.

They were lined up, all five of them, dressed in proper day attire and looking every bit the same as the town ladies. Only their eyes were merry and devilish when they pointed to the tub full of steaming water.

Of course, he needed a bath! He reeked of himself and Naula, not to mention the coconut oil. He was aware for the first time of the bits and pieces of feathers from the pillows sticking to his oiled skin. Willingly he allowed himself to be led, by five giggling females, to the inevitable.

An hour later he was so clean, he literally squeaked. Every inch of his skin had been prodded, poked, rubbed, and scrubbed. He squinted at his glowing skin. In his entire life he'd never been this clean.

Breakfast, they said, would be served in the dining room. Luis dressed quickly. Clarice, he decided, managed a full-scale operation that ran smoothly. He'd been in many a brothel, but none like this.

It was past the noon hour when Domingo and Dykstra tripped down the whitewashed steps of Clarice's establishment. “How was your evening?” Dykstra asked him.

“Superb,” Luis said, shielding his eyes from the glare of the sun. “And yours?”

“Equally superb. Clarice certainly knows how to treat a man. We must come back again.”

“By all means.” Luis grinned.

“Meanwhile, back to business,” Dykstra said coolly. “Before leaving the office yesterday I gave orders to have one of the company's frigates readied for the evening tide. If you are ready to begin, that is. If not, tomorrow will be soon enough. I think we covered everything last evening. If there's anything else . . .”

Luis rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “No. From here on in I'll manage. I'll be aboard the
Silver Lady
until it's time to sail, should you need to get in touch with me. Otherwise, I'll plan to sail with the tide. The sooner I get matters under way, the sooner this will be resolved.”

“Remember, Domingo, I want her—one way or the other!” Dykstra said as they parted at the Dutch East India offices.

Luis nodded and strode off. One way or the other . . . If necessary, could he kill a woman, even one who'd robbed him of his dream? He prided himself on being a gentleman. A poor gentleman, thanks to the sea witch.

As he leapt on board the
Lady,
he decided he could kill a woman if his life was in danger. But the woman hadn't yet been born who would ever get that advantage over him again. No woman was as strong and powerful as a man. This he believed implicitly.

 

While Luis Domingo was transferring his belongings to the Dutch East India's ship, Fury van der Rhys was slipping and sliding down the rise that bordered the
Rana'
s berth. She looked back to the top and waved to Juli, who was busy untying a bundle from her stiffly starched apron.

“Hold out your arms!” she shouted. Without thinking, Fury stretched out her arms and caught the packet.

“What is it?” she called up. Juli brought her hand to her forehead in the age-old maritime salute. Fury laughed excitedly as she slipped into the water. Minutes later she was climbing the rope ladder that would lead her onto the
Rana'
s decks.

Dripping water, the bundle tied around her neck, Fury hauled herself up on deck and looked about her, her face full of awe. This was
her
ship now. Strange feelings rushed through her as she touched first one thing, then another. Her mother's ship . . . Her mother had fought and killed aboard this ship to avenge her sister's death. She'd made love down below with Fury's father. How many times, Fury wondered, had she cheated death on these same decks? Suddenly the urge to swim back to shore was so strong, she had to grip the rail to keep from bolting. She dropped her hands to her sides when she saw Gaspar and Pilar work their way down in the warm breeze. “You're a welcome sight,” she called. She stroked the birds' sleek heads, laughing as Pilar pecked at the bundle around her neck. “I don't know, maybe it's a mid-afternoon snack. I suppose we could eat it now.”

How curious they were, these beauties of hers, she thought as she undid the twine around the bundle. The hawks rustled beside her quietly, their black eyes glittering with alarm at her gasp of surprise as she withdrew her mother's costume from the bundle. She could imagine Juli smiling at the thought of her reaction. She brought the fine lawn shirt to her cheek and swore she could smell her mother's scent. The birds inched down the brass railing, their eyes never leaving her face. “Stay here,” she ordered, “I'll be right back.”

In her mother's old quarters, Fury shed her wet clothing. Above deck she could hear the birds and knew they wondered what she was doing. She herself was wondering the same thing. Whatever it was, she knew it was something she
had
to do. What she was feeling, right now, this very minute, was quite different from what she'd experienced when she'd first dressed in the costume—the day she'd arrived at the estate. That had been amusing; this was real. So real, in fact, that she raced up to the wheelhouse and gripped the wheel the way her mother had hundreds of times, the way she herself had when she'd brought her father's ship into port with the aid of Gaspar and Pilar.

Where were they? Frantically she looked around and saw Gaspar take wing and soar straight up out of sight. Pilar remained on the railing. She frowned; the two hawks never separated from each other unless they had to—or in case of danger. She raced to the bow of the ship, her eyes searching for Gaspar.

In the distance she saw Juli, who was waving frantically, as though trying to tell her something. Fury shielded her eyes and saw the housekeeper sweeping her arms about in wicked, slicing motions. Of course, the rapier. She remembered seeing both the rapier and cutlass below. Juli must have had one of her brothers bring the weapons on board earlier. She ran to the cabin and brought the weapon back on deck. Razor-sharp and wicked as sin, it was; she flexed it, her stance secure as she danced back and forth across the deck. “En garde!” she cried as the blade nicked and sliced at the warm air.

On the rise Juli smiled her approval. “Now, little one, you'll know what it's like to feel alive.” She watched the pantomime below with bated breath, her eyes taking measure of the young woman who feinted, dipped, and slashed at an imaginary opponent. “You are your mother's daughter,” she whispered at last.

Down below, Fury was filled with a sudden fierce pride. She was instantly all things—courageous, beautiful, daring, accomplished—all the things her mother was before her. She was the Sea Siren.

“Quarter!” she shouted triumphantly. “Quarter and your life is spared, señor!” Of course she would spare the Spaniard's life, the way her mother had spared Regan's. How could she do less? she thought, elated. She laid aside the rapier and ran below again to return with the heavy cutlass that was her father's.

Fury's thoughts were swept away when she noticed Gaspar circling overhead, working the wind to descend. She shielded her eyes from the sun and saw something gleaming and sparkling in his talons. In the blink of an eye Pilar was off the rail to catch the shimmering bangle. A second later she was holding it out to Fury.

“My garter! Gaspar, wherever did you get this!” she cried as she fingered the glittering diamonds. “The last time I saw this was the night of my birthday celebration. Gaspar, you took it! How wonderful! You brought it all this way.” Tearfully, Fury nuzzled the bird's sleek head. “You could have given this to me any time since I've been here, but you waited till now. Why?”

Both birds cocked their heads and regarded her with keen eyes.

Fury sighed. “I won't pretend to understand, but it's obvious that you mean me to wear this.” Quick as a flash she secured the glittering circlet around her thigh. “Ooohhh, I feel so deliciously wicked,” she purred. “And now I understand. Before I was . . . pretending. This garter makes me real.” She clapped her hands to show her approval and watched as the birds soared high overhead. They would play now, delighted with their little trick.

Vivid blue eyes stared down at the winking diamond garter. Long, tawny legs flashed in the sun as Fury brandished the heavy cutlass, nicking and slicing the air about her.