Heather Graham (32 page)

Like lightning she moved, leaping upon the blade and spinning around with it in her hands to stare at him with sheer defiance again.

The letter opener. Against his sword?

Oh, Rose! he thought in silence.

He strode into the cabin. Even as he did so, a fickle wind picked up. He was so accustomed to the pitch and roll of a ship that he simply balanced with it. Rose teetered precariously. The door slammed shut behind him.

They were alone. At last. At long, long last. Even at this distance, he could smell the sweet scent of her. It curled around him. Beckoned. Taunted.

“I’ll kill you!” she cried out suddenly.

Rose. Sweet, sweet Rose!

“I demand that you leave me be this instant. You’ll receive an exceptional ransom for me if you—”

Enough. He took a stride nearer her, smiling as he lifted his sword, just touching it to her waist. She broke off with a gasp. She stared down at the blade, silenced at last.

Pierce smiled. Ah, yes. Revenge. The green gown with its black and white was a true piece of art. With stunning dexterity he lifted his razor-sharp blade, breaking through the laces that tied the bodice together. Her breasts seemed to spill fascinatingly forward. Damn, he just didn’t remember them being quite so full or tempting. There was an awful pulse beating in his head, a terrible ache ripping at his body. Suddenly, and with all his heart, he wished that he were a truly dreadful pirate. He’d like to have his wife then and there, naked before him, before the pounding exploded all sense and reason within him.

She stepped back hastily, her letter opener waving menacingly before her. “I will kill you!” she promised, trying to hold her gown together. She tried to parry his sword with her small weapon, her chin going up, her eyes ever more emerald and defiant. “Haven’t you listened to a word I’ve said? My father is wealthy beyond your imagination! He will pay tremendous sums for my safe return. You rogue! I am incredibly wealthy. Do you know who I am? Are you daft? Can you understand English?”

Did he know who she was! Oh, yes, yes!

Rose, ever wild, ever defiant. So determined and reckless and filled with fire. She flew at him, her little dagger raised and aimed straight for his heart. He caught her wrist, his fingers winding with a furious trembling pressure around her. She gasped, trying to breathe, drawn close to him.

And her fragrance filled him …

His fingers wound tighter. A soft cry escaped her at last as the letter opener slid from her fingers. He pushed her from him; she cried out a sharp “No!” and lunged for the letter opener once again. Damn her! When she caught hold of the little weapon again, he knew that she meant to use it, that it was time to end this play. He caught the little blade with an upward thrust of his own, sending it flying.

She was not defeated. Before he could take a step toward her again, missiles began flying his way. The log, a bottle, anything she could get her hands upon.

He came toward her, ducking them, warding them off. He neared her, and lifted the sword to her throat again. He pressed gently, forcing her back. Damn those eyes of hers! They were still so wild, so defiant. And in the shadows and smoke she still hadn’t recognized him!

“Kill me then!” she cried. “You foolish, stupid rogue. Thrust your blade through—”

“Oh, madam!” he cried, breaking his silence at last. “I do intend to thrust my blade through. And trust me, lady, I do know exactly who you are. You would pay me ransom with DeForte money, would you, lady? Oh, lady, I think not!”

He laid the sword more flatly against her, a mocking smile curling his lip. He pressed the sword lightly again. Despite her valiant efforts, she sprawled backward to that very spot where he had first seen her, at the foot of the captain’s bunk. She lay there, panting, staring at him incredulously. Something widened her eyes. Ah, yes! Now she’d heard his voice.

And now she would know.

He stared at her hard, but couldn’t fathom the swift flickering of emotions in her eyes. What would they be? The last time he had seen her, she had been in the act of betraying him. Was there fear within those stunning emerald depths? A fear even deeper than that with which any maid would meet a pirate known as the Dragonslayer? Or was the gleam there that he had always known? Defiance, still, defiance against all odds.

Pierce jerked the black eye patch from his face, tossing it to the foot of the bed. He bowed low to her in mocking courtesy, sweeping his plumed cavalier’s hat from his head. He fought the rise of his temper.

And that of his near-overwhelming desire just to touch her, to have her …

Had she missed him? At all? Just a little in the darkness of the night?

“Why, milady! You look as if you have seen a ghost!”

“A ghost? Indeed! One dragged up from the depths of hell!” she cried.

Apparently she hadn’t missed him.

“Yes, indeed, lady! And Rose, you will find you have awakened a demon!” he promised.

She continued to stare at him incredulously, her eyes gemlike in their luster. Then she cried out, “I thought you were dead!”

“I am so sorry to disappoint you,” he said harshly.

“But—the Dragonslayer—”

“Well, I
was
left for dead, you see, my love. But lucky me. I was taken up by a Spaniard with a bone to pick against Englishmen. I was worked and beaten day and night, and made to be eternally grateful for my salvation. Naturally, once I found my freedom—and once I had disposed of the captain—I became a pirate preying upon other Spaniards.”

“This is an English vessel!” she reminded him quickly.

“Oh, yes. I know.” How dared she! It was his own damned ship. He bent over her, dying a little to touch her. Wanting to wind his fingers around her throat.

Wanting to taste her lips …

He gripped his fingers tightly around the carved footboard of the bunk.

“But I had word that you were aboard, my love,” he said softly. “Not to mention the fact that it is my own ship!”

She chose to ignore that.

“So what do you want?” she demanded fiercely. So that was it. After all this time, after discovering that he was alive …

Hadn’t she planned for his death?

Hadn’t she …

Or had she?

Why wasn’t she making some furious bid to claim herself innocent? He wanted to grab her, shake her, demand to know the truth.

Niemens was waiting. The men were waiting. No matter how fierce and furious his passion, this would have to wait.

Yet …

Was she trembling? What was the emerald glitter in her eyes, almost like tears?

“What do I want?” he repeated softly. He gritted his teeth, touched the air with the silver of his sword and brushed it against her throat once again.

He leaned closer against her, his lip curling into a mocking smile. But she wasn’t daunted. Not Rose.

“Indeed, what do you want?” she repeated. Ah, but she could be ice!

“What do I want?” he said again, very, very softly.

If only she knew. At that moment? To touch her, ah, just to touch her …

He moved his sword swiftly, with great care and precision, slitting the remnant of the bodice of her gown. He groaned aloud to himself, wondering just what in hell he was doing.

Making a threat …

Making a promise.

Proud and unwavering, she didn’t flinch. Her green eyes met his.

“I want—what every good pirate wants!” he said, smiling mockingly again, yet unsure just who he mocked. He wanted both to stroke her cheek with the greatest tenderness …

And to enclose his trembling hand around the exposed mound of her breast. It was lush, it was tempting …

It was huge. His last work with the sword had nearly stripped her of a bodice, and he could see the rouge crests of her nipples, too, and even they had seemed to darken and grow.

Making that pulse begin to beat again in his temple, in his loin.

“Plunder, riches! Pieces of eight! Ships and cargo and hostages. And … revenge!” he gasped out harshly.

He heard the merciless grating of her teeth. She coolly dared to shove his blade aside. He dropped it, watching her still. “You are a fool, Pierce DeForte!” she hissed softly. “But be one, if you will. Those who betrayed you are still in England. If you weren’t such a stupid fool, you’d know that I was innocent—”

“I believed you innocent once! And I paid for that bit of stupidity!” God! After all this time, revenge was his at last, and all he knew was anguish! He had learned to believe in her after they had wed. He had come to be certain that she had not been in on the plot to kidnap Anne, that she had been as innocent as he in all that had transpired.

And then he had found Anne dead. And even when he had returned to Rose, the soldiers had come. And one of them had cried out that Rose’s message had brought them rushing there after him, seeking him where she would hold him until they came …

She was innocent, she claimed. Dear God in heaven, how could he believe in her again after that!

“You still don’t see the truth! Yet, even if you are a fool, I’ll not give away your secret. I’ll not tell anyone who you are.”

“How magnanimous of you!” he cried in amazement. Did she think that he would just sail away now, and enjoy his life as a pirate? Maybe. Maybe she didn’t realize that he had come for her first, before dealing with Jerome and anyone else who had aided the man in any way.

Rose was calmly continuing. “Just return me to my father and—”

“Lady, you must be mad!”

“He’ll pay you! You just said that you were after plunder—”

“And revenge. The revenge is so much dearer to my heart!”

She stared at him, emerald eyes blazing. Oh, truly, she had not realized her position yet. She twisted her jaw, gritted her teeth, and stamped a foot furiously. “You will let me go! You’ve no right—”

“But I do!”

He hadn’t meant to really touch her.

Not yet.

She was too distracting. The rich firmness of her breasts was suddenly pressed against him. The silk of her hair teased his hands. Her eyes were liquid, looking into his.

God, he wanted her right then and there!

“Let me go!” she demanded.

Let her go …

“You know,” he said, “you always were headstrong. A little spitfire. Well, my love, this time, strength of will is not going to be enough. Perhaps I will let you go in time. But if and when I do, it will not be for money, but just because I have tired of my revenge.”

“You bastard!” she hissed to him.

“That’s right, Lady Rose. Count on it. I will deal with you. And I will return to England and deal with the others, I promise you.”

“You cannot return to England! You fool! You will hang!”

“Truly, what difference can it make? If I were to hang for murder I did not commit or lose my head for being a pirate! And believe me, revenge is worth any risk. Why, there were times when thoughts of revenge were all that kept me alive. However, revenge will have to wait just a bit. I’ve business at hand. But fear not. I will return.”

He had to let her go! But he couldn’t seem to tear himself away.

At last he did. He released her and turned blindly toward the door.

“Dammit, you wretched bastard!” she accused him, her voice wild. “You are a fool, and you are wrong! I tell you, you will let me go! You’ve no right, no right at all—”

No right!

Oh, God! He had all the right in the world! Now he really couldn’t wait to get his damned hands on her again.

Don’t touch her! he warned himself.

But he did. He was back before her. Trembling. He lifted her with scant control, fury, hunger, a tempest, driving him.

He threw her back upon the bunk and straddled her, staring down at her, feeling her, hating her, wanting her.

Loving her.

She was a wildcat. She twisted and bucked and tried with all her might to slap him. He subdued her with a rigid determination.

“Don’t tempt me, Rose!”

“Dammit, you’ve no right—” she repeated.

“You’re mistaken. I’ve every right!” God! He reached out to touch her cheek. To feel its softness.

He snatched his hand away. He had to remember that night at the docks in Dover. Come back to me, she had told him.

And he had come back. After finding Anne dead and fighting an army.

He had wanted her that night, too.

“Have you forgotten that you’re—my wife?” he demanded furiously.

“I have never been about to forget!”

“Ah, you thought that you were a widow, rich beyond all imagination, eh? Sorry, my love. I am alive.”

“Fool, bastard!” she whispered.

“Ah, but husband still!”

Her eyes glittered as he stared into them. He could feel her trembling. Was it fear? Anger?

Something more?

Aye, she had made denials now. But what could he believe?

He was still an outlaw in London. She was running his shipping business.

He pushed away from her. He had to get out! He strode swiftly for the door, opened it, slammed it in his wake.

He leaned against it then, his eyes tightly shut. She would try it any minute, seeking to escape.

He turned, wedging his sword against the doorframe, making it impossible for her to open it.

Then, seconds later, as he had known she would, he heard her fling herself against it.

“God, I hate you!” he heard her cry, slamming a fist against the door. “I hate you, I hate you …”

The last was a heart-wrenching sob.

He stiffened, feeling a new anguish sweep into his spine. He’d wanted revenge. Ah, yes. He could have it now.

But suddenly the taste of it did not seem so sweet in his mouth. The sound of her cry brought a new pain ripping through him.

He didn’t want revenge.

He just wanted his wife. He wanted the tempest of love.

But he wanted the sweet peace of it, too.

ROSE LAY UPON THE
bunk fighting the wild pounding of her heart.
He was alive!
No matter what else, the sheer joy of seeing him swept through her. She kept reminding herself that she should be furious with him, that she had never betrayed him, that she had never done anything but fight for him. He didn’t believe her. She had no idea what he really intended. And Jesu! She could not give in to him in any way unless she could make him realize the truth.