Face to Face (The Deverell Series Book 2) (21 page)

Civility, even in this savage order of men, as though they were country squires exchanging gentlemanly favors. He made it sound like nothing, that they were at Barataria with Jean Lafitte. Merry wasn’t quite ready to be so trusting.

Her worry was betrayed by a thin ribbon in her voice. “If Jean Lafitte is a pirate why do you trust him? You didn’t trust Blackburn. I remember very well what you thought of Blackburn at
Grave’s End.
Why is Lafitte different? Won’t he try to steal your ship? What makes you think he won’t attempt to kill you?”

“He doesn’t fancy himself a pirate. So don’t call him that to his face. He is a privateer, legal in commerce sailing under the flag of Cartagena. He flies their banners from his ships and on his Islands. He is a man of business more than anything else. Though he is very flamboyant and women love him.” His black eyes caught the early morning rays of sunshine and held them there, letting them dance. “As to my safety, which you hearten me by worrying about, we have a truce between us, Little One. Men who are equally matched, equally skilled, and equally wise never do battle against each other, if they can manage a way to avoid it. He is a far cry from Blackburn. I think you will find him a pleasant entertainment. So you see, perfect safety for you in the company of two of the world’s most notorious, villainous pirate captains. If you would like to join me on Barataria, you are in total safety to do so.”

Merry sprang from the bed. Of course, she wanted to meet Jean Lafitte. Pirate or not, she was curious. She was laughing quietly to herself as she rummaged through her clothes. She was actually with the pirate Morgan about to be entertained by the pirate Lafitte. Kate would be so shocked.

Varian started to laugh as he watched her, his black eyes lushly warm as they smiled at her. She paused in her dressing to catch a glimpse of his face.

She loved it when Varian laughed in the manner he was doing so now, when it came from that private spot locked deep inside of him, that spot that belonged only to her. Each feature on his face relaxed until he was transformed into a beautiful man.

Fighting the fast escalating tempo of her heart, she told herself it was not so great of danger to indulge the little intimacies. She ran her fingers up his cheek and the burn in her flesh rose. She wanted to kiss him, so badly. The light brush of his lips against her wrist was her undoing. She lowered her face to his, wanting only to touch her own lips against his. At its inception it was urgent, the fiery need in her flesh exploding after days of wanting and not having him. Her lips softened and shaped his mouth, pressing into him a full, open kiss that left her trembling. Frantically, she broke contact.

She collected her body and shielded from his watching gaze herself by lowering to fasten her shoes. It was too much danger to look at him, and from beneath the cloud of her hair in a voice that for once obliged her by being what she wanted it to be, she said, “I will not be in a temper today. I want out of this cabin, Varian, since you will not take me home.”

It took all morning to get from the long boat to the fortress. Barataria was a thriving community of a thousand men, dozens of ships, a whirlwind of activity around them, but it was the earth with its endless array of beauty Merry could not ignore. Varian realized, as he watched her, he had lost reaction to too many things and he had grown weary of the world. He savored more of living just by living with Merry.

Catching Varian’s great dark eyes fixed on her as she examined a wayward blending of flowers, Merry laughed breathlessly and whispered, “I am sorry. I am not trying to irritate you, you insufferable man. I hope you know that. It is all new to me, beautiful and brilliant of color.”

“You never irritate me. I am a happy man just watching you. You charm me in everything you do, Merry,” he said.

He picked one of the sapphire starflowers she’d been studying and added it to the bundle of flowers which overflowed her arms.

Smiling into those eyes, shimmering discreetly with his tenderness, Merry eased back up, feeling a change in her body with the motion, noting Varian’s hand instantly on her elbow for support. His arm slipped around her waist, holding her close to him as they walked on. The color around them was dazzling and the touch of an ocean breeze carried her long hair until it sprayed a web around them both. She was pulsing for him in every cell, the desperation for intimacy sometimes cruelest in their quieter moments; these quiet moments which always snuck up on her and were dangerous. She felt vividly awake in her flesh and she hungered for him, and he had only placed a hand on her elbow and told her she charmed him.

When Varian’s arm tightened around her, Merry melted into his chest and knew in despair,
He is right. I will go into his arms again. Whether it causes me ruin or not. Whether I am at peace with all the things he is or not. He is in my flesh, a necessity of my living, the suffering of my soul, the beat my heart, and I love him.

CHAPTER TEN

Merry saw Jean Lafitte for the first time at sunset. He was alone on the fortress canon wall, lying in a hammock, one leg extended, the other bent and dangling in a lazy swing over the side of woven ropes. Around his head was tied a colorful scarf and from his ear a gold loop sparkled. Through the parted buttons of his flowing shirt peeked a chest firm and tanned, which flowed into narrow hips beneath a wide leather belt sporting a cutlass. His well-muscled legs ended in high-cut boots.

He was a magnificent figure of a man, though she would not have called him handsome, but she doubted women realized he was not a fine looking man when they were with him.

Merry suspected his present pose was crafted for affect, allowed herself to wondered if all pirates existed on half drama, and was sure the erotic love song he sang, as his fingers teased the cords of a mandolin, was intended deliberately to shock her. The words, French, were scandalous.

She stood in the fading mauve light, moved by the sadness and beauty of the song he sang on a seductively low voice. He pretended not to notice her, though she knew he was aware of her. She could feel him studying her, though his eyes never sought her. Was that a pirate trick as well? Varian had used the same trick often.

Once the song was done and she was held in the electrifying hold of his gaze. “Ah, la petite. I am Jean Lafitte. Welcome to Barataria.”

He sprang from the hammock with zeal and soon her hand was against his lips.

“Morgan did not lie. You are most beautiful, but too young to be the mistress of such a legendary man. A woman so young and so beautiful should only be a wife of such a man.” His dark eyes were glowing now. “Do you know why?”

Merry calmly arched a brow. She been aboard the
Corinthian
too long, had experienced Varian in every mood and drama, to be knocked off her feet by Lafitte, or the grim realization Varian had provided her no dignity with the admission she was his mistress.

“I could not guess. Perhaps you will tell me.”

Smiling, he leaned a step closer to her. “Men fight duels over their mistresses. And with one as beautiful as you the Captain will have to fight many duels.”

She met his stare directly. “No, sir, he will not have to fight a single duel since I am not a foolish girl and he is not a man to toy with.”

Jean threw back his head and laughed. “Touché.” As he guided her into the main room of the fortress, he looked over his shoulder at Varian. “Ah, Morgan. You did not tell me she was clever as well as beautiful. It should make for a more interesting party.”

Jean showed her into a great room, which Merry suspected was intended to give the fortress a courtly gathering space, and she stood for a moment under a garish chandelier. As elegantly correct as all things were in Varian’s world, this nightmare was its opposite.

From wall to wall was a hodge-podge mix-matching clutter of gilt French treasures, showy extravagant touches of gold and silver, weapons, heavy wood tables, and overly opulent brocade sofas with overly dressed women upon them. The room was without style, tasteless in its grandiose flair, just as the women in their gaudy, bejeweled garments were tasteless as well. It was precisely what she would imagine a pirate’s lair to be, women of loose virtue, rough uncouth men, and vulgar opulence.

Her searching gaze strayed to Varian as Jean, with a dramatic flourish, began introducing her to the room. It was swiftly evident to Merry that in this strange assembly of humanity, Varian required no introduction.

She was soon in the center of a small circle of men and women, and Varian was across the room in another group, which included a stunning blond who’s prettily pouting face betrayed unsettling things for Merry to read, fury, lust and false gaiety.

The woman took Varian’s arm in a familiar way, and her syrupy smile took turns favoring Varian and, from a distance, Merry. Varian said something and she tossed her flaxen locks, laughing; a flirtatious, cunning laugh which put Merry’s nerves on edge.

This adventure was fast becoming offensive. She wondered why Varian had brought her here, knowing how unkindly this society for her would be. The men did not talk to her the way Varian did. The way they smiled, the way they looked at her, and the things they said, had the strange power to make her feel vile. Mingled with the currents in this room was pulsing primal tension and greedy want. Lust ran rampant in the words, the touch, and the eyes.

“Ah. Dominique,” Jean announced. “It is time for the Captain’s council, non?”

Merry’s eyes fixed on Varian. The men were soon moving through the arched walkway. He did not look to her. He left her, alone, in this dreadful assortment of women.

She took a deep breath. The red and gold room still held the feel of being suffocating, even without the men. Some of the women sat in a small circle with Varian’s flaxen haired admirer. Others played cards at the tables set up for it. And others lounged beside an extravagant buffet table, indulging in ousters and champagne. The cluster sitting on floor cushions in the far side for the room Merry found most curious of all. They passed between them a small pipe, the smoke very strange smelling, indeed.

With Varian gone, not one gave Merry notice, not even the dreadful blond whose interest had betrayed she had once been a mistress of Varian’s. Regina had favored her with the same look. It was no longer a look she was unknowing to read.

The hostess, Jean’s current mistress, stood back and watched Merry for a spell. Giselle was young, with dark hair and eyes, and a figure that was fashionably plump. She was from one of the finest French families in New Orleans and she recognized the stamp of good birth on Morgan’s latest light-of-love. With a sigh, she sympathized with how the girl must feel in this setting, sensing this frail flower had only recently stepped onto the unlucky path which her own unfortunate love for Jean had made her captive of.

Giselle knew too well what lay ahead for the petite beauty who now graced Morgan’s bed. For a woman, it was not a kind existence outside the protection of family and society. There was still a fresh look of youth and innocence to Morgan’s mistress. She would not remain long in this unspoiled state. A mistress’s lot, regardless of her birth, was always the same.

Her gaze shifted to Cerynis. Men tire. Women cunningly survive. Among the women of Barataria, there was none more cunning than Cerynis. At one time she had been Jean’s and then Morgan’s mistress, but that was many men ago, and with her bloom fading and the passing of time, the harshness of her fate was a little more etched onto her pretty features. There was a little less pleasure, each day, in looking upon her face.

She noticed the girl’s interest in Cerynis.
So, la petite fleur, as young as she is can read the room quickly. She is smarter than I and perhaps it will protect her in this.
Reminded of Morgan’s harsh warning, that it would be her head if any misfortune befell the girl, Giselle stepped out of her careful watching place to Merry’s side.

“They are dreadful creatures, are they not?” she whispered to Merry, kissing her cheeks. “So you are Morgan’s new rosebud. It is no longer a mystery why he refused Jean’s gift of a woman while here. You are very beautiful. He will not tire of you quickly. Do not fret, ma petite fleur. He will not tire of you. I am very wise in these things.”

Merry stood transfixed. She had no idea what to say to that. The woman introduced herself, then took her to the long buffet, lifting a plate to set it in Merry’s hands.

Gesturing with her fork, Giselle advised, “Trust no one here, ma petite fleur. They are all whores, cunning and mean. I am Jean’s mistress. That makes me the queen bee and they smile and flatter me to my face so prettily, but there is not a one when my back is turned who will not try to take him from me. It will be no different for you. Jean and Morgan, they are unlike the other men, and coveted prizes.”

The other men had been crude and vile, though Merry was not as generous in her assessment of Jean as Giselle was.

Filling her plate with cheese and fresh fruit, Merry asked, “What is the Captain’s council?”

“Ah, it is nothing but men drinking and spouting of their exploits at sea. It is supposed to be the council that keeps order among the pirates, where they can air grievances, settle petty squabbles and share information of the countries at war at sea.”

“Tell her the truth, Giselle. It is but an orgy,” a sultry voice exclaimed behind her.

Merry turned to find the flaxen haired beauty standing close and smiling.

The cloying blond went on, her voice taunting now, “There are women with them now and they will trade their women here.” Her skirts swished about her hips as she moved toward the table. Her smile was cleverly sweet. Lifting a strawberry and pulling it through her lips, Cerynis added, “Pirates, my little friend, share everything. We are all excited and afraid, wondering the same thing. Whose bed will we warm this night.”

Giselle’s eyes flashed at the Cerynis. “Bah. No captain will trade for you. You know exactly where you will sleep.”