Kit Black

Boson Books by Monica Danetiu-Pana

Kit Black

Intimate Stransgers Affair

KIT BLACK

A Novel

by

Monica Danetiu-Pana

BOSON BOOKS

Raleigh

© 2009 Monica Danetiu-Pana

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form including mechanical, electric, photocopy, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author.

Published by

Boson Books, a division of C&M Online Media Inc.

3905 Meadow Field Lane

Raleigh, NC 27606-4470

[email protected]

Tel: (919)-233-8164

ISBN (ebook): 978-1-932482-64-5

http://www.bosonbooks.com

Contents

Chapter 1

1821 – Aj
accio, Corsica

The pale blue, white-capped mountains rose in jagged layers like shark's teeth straight out of the Mediterranean. I walked the narrow, steep streets along the waterfront's dockside market, not far from the brothel where I lived with my mother. I strained my ears to hear the distinctive sounds of the Corsican language, but only sweet French poured around me. Ajaccio, with its deep harbor, pastel-painted buildings and connection to Napoleon, was Corsica's gateway to the French mainland, a haven for day-trippers from Nice and Marseille.

I could smell rotting fish, the stench of rum barrels and unwashed bodies. I could also smell myself, because it had been quite a while since I had a bath. I didn't bathe much, the dirt kept me from looking like a woman.

It was hot, and I was dressed like a boy because my mother has always dressed me that way to protect my chastity. The linen wrapped around my chest constricted my breathing and made my breasts hurt. I wore pants cut off at the knee, a loose linen shirt, and a battered tri-corn pulled down low over my shoulder length hair, which was yanked back and tied with a piece of leather. My boots were too small for my big feet, and I could feel them chafe my ankles and toes through my coarse woolen socks.

I didn't mind dressing this way; it was something I had done my entire life. Boys had more freedom and they rarely were raped in the street, unless it was by some drunk who had a fancy for young boys. I've had to run like hell from a few of these unnatural men, but I was convinced that being a woman would be far worse.

I lived with my mother in one of the brothel-opium hells frequented by naval men and smugglers. I have blue eyes and a pretty face, but I am very tall, taller by half a head than most men are, and strongly built like my daddy, or so my mom told me. He was a handsome fair-haired man, too pretty for words. I inherited his wide shoulders, slim hips, and his easy smile. I also inherited his temperament. Mom said that I was his spit and image.

My mother, Madeline Culbert, was a prostitute and an opium addict. She used to be one of the most desired courtesans in France, or so she asserted. She'd had a host of lovers, even a Russian prince. That was until she had met my father and let him bring her to Ajaccio. She claimed to anyone who would listen that my father was a swashbuckler Irish man named Walter Black. He was killed in a horrific sea battle off the Corsican Mediterranean coast before I was even born. She has been in a state of decline ever since she got word of his demise and had fallen prey to the evils of the opium dens. If it weren't for my ‘uncle' Roger, I would never have survived. He used to sail with my father as his quartermaster, and was the only person who knew my true identity. I had so far been able to escape the life of prostitution because of the efforts Roger had made in order to hide my identity.

But now, I had few choices left. My mom had contracted syphilis years before and the end was near. Either I remained a boy and signed on with one of the slave smuggling ships, or I became a doxy like my mom and likely suffer her fate. I sure as hell didn't want to lie with hundreds of ugly, rutting men only to shrivel up and die like my mother.

I needed some gold so that I could purchase a sword and a better fitting pair of boots. Real boots up to the knee, made by a cobbler and not bought from a rag picker, or taken from a drunken sailor. And Roger had already agreed to be my fencing instructor.

I was quite interested in the life of the sea, because there were no other occupations for women. Nevertheless, it was a hard choice to make, since I didn't believe in slavery and that's what made up most of the sea trade those days. I liked the idea of plundering and smuggling and being a citizen of the wind and the sea, but I felt too much for the plight of the Africans who were taken as chattel. I had seen them. Proud, but bent and beaten, taken in chains to the ships which would carry them to the sugar cane and cotton plantations on the Caribbean Islands and New Orleans.

I had decided at a very young age that I was going to have my own fleet one day, a virtual armada. Like the legendary Ann Bonny and Charlotte du Berry, I would be a lady pirate. I would run my own life, and I would never deal in human flesh. Just rum, coffee, and spices, and beautiful fabrics. I would never be a doxy like my mother, lying night after night on my back under some sweating, stinking sailor. If and when I wanted a man, he would look good, smell good, and be of my own choosing. I was getting ideas about sex lately. I knew what it entailed because of what I had heard and seen, and I'd heard that it was painful. If some of the screams I'd heard were proof, it didn't sound like a lot of fun for the female. When I mentioned the screaming to Roger, he just laughed and said that it was just an act so the man would pay more. I didn't understand it. I was pretty sure that once I had sex, my curiosity would be staunched and I would never need it again. I never imagined that day so close.

I had been sent to the market that morning, when I saw him, the man who finally moved me to reveal my womanhood. He was with another officer, a good-looking man with a mustache and soft black eyes. I heard his voice before I saw his face. He was speaking in French, asking the other man if he wished to have a piece of the pear he was eating. Up until that point, I was just eavesdropping on their conversation. I suppose it was the mention of doxies that got me interested.

“I won't be coming along to The Three Horseshoes, Damien,” he said.

“Oh, come on, Armand. We have an evening to kill, and I hear this place is unbelievable. The whores are beautiful, the rum is flowing, we could have a great deal of fun.”

“You know I'm betrothed to Sandrine,” Armand said simply.

“So, what's new about that? You've been betrothed to Sandrine since you were children, and you've been with other women before this.”

“I'm turning over a new leaf,” Armand said with a grin. “No more women of easy virtue. Even if it was an arranged marriage, I intend to be faithful until our wedding. Besides, this fooling around with doxies is dangerous, Damien. You and Gerard are going to end up with a pair of shriveled pissers. I personally intend to keep myself whole for a long time to come.”

“But you would like to be with a woman if the right one happened to come along.”

The young officer called Armand laughed. “I suppose that if she were pretty enough, I wouldn't say no. It's been a long time…too damn long.”

“When we set sail out tomorrow, it might be a year until we even see a woman.”

Armand smiled and nodded. “Alright, I admit it. If right now, right this minute, an angel came and offered herself to me, I might say yes.”

The officer named Damien just laughed. That's when they turned and I got a better look at the two men. I felt all the air drain from my lungs when I saw Armand's face. My limbs seemed to go weak and limp, my heart fluttered wildly in my chest. I think I fell head over heels at that moment. If there was ever a man to quench my curiosity and divest me of my cumbersome virginity, it was he. And I was sure that he would pay good gold for his night with an angel. I might get my boots and sword after all.

He wasn't a huge man, but tall enough. He was smaller than his friend, leaner, more elegant. He was likely only an inch or two over my height, but he was wide shouldered and lean of hip. He had a powerful physique that owed everything to smooth, long muscles, gracefully sculpted over his perfectly proportioned frame. Even his hands were exquisite. I watched as he cut pieces of the bright yellow pear and carried them to his mouth on the end of the knife. His nails were clean. Oh, and his mouth. Pink and smooth and bow shaped, the full lower lip glistening with the juice of ripe fruit. I felt a weird stabbing ping from my suddenly aching breasts all the way to my groin. Having lived my entire life in a brothel, the unruly sensation jolted me. I knew exactly what it was. Lust, something I'd believed myself immune to.

He, like his friend, was dressed in the uniform of the French Navy. The white buckskin breeches fit his muscular thighs like a second skin, tucked into knee high boots with gold tassels. The blue jacket was fitted perfectly to his broad shoulders and trim waist. His tri-corn hat lay on the crate beside him, allowing me to see his hair. He didn't powder his hair or wear a wig, but wore it swept back from his handsome face and tied with a narrow black ribbon. The chestnut brown, slightly curling locks picked up glints of the sun in red and gold. I had never seen a man so beautiful. His face was tanned, his eyes a light jade green with blue and gold flecks, his nose Roman, his jaw lean, and his chin cleft. He was perfection.

Suddenly, I couldn't remember what I needed to buy. Roger was off getting the rum kegs loaded onto the wagon, and I was going to catch hell when I didn't show up with the goods. What was it? Molasses. Vinegar. Coffee. I'd think about it later. This was too important.

So this man wanted an angel, did he? That's all I could think about. He was an answer to my prayers. Maybe we could do each other a service. I needed the sword and the boots, and it really wouldn't be the same as my mother did. If I only did it once, it would be fine.

I could feel my knees knocking as I approached them.

I kept my head down and my eyes on the ground. “Sir,” I said, keeping my voice deep. “Did I hear you mention that you might be interested in a night with a young woman?”

The one called Damien laughed. “That's what he said. You know of someone who fits that description?”

“My sister. She'd be willing.” I looked up at the handsome officer. “But just with him, and only for one night. For two pieces of gold.”

“What?” the man called Damien cried. “That's ridiculous. Get out of here before I kick your ass.”

“I wasn't talking to you, you bleeedin' blowhard.”

Armand placed his hand on my shoulder, his firm touch burning me like fire. Maybe this was not such a good idea.

He lowered his head and stared at my face. Then he smiled. Such a smile…the sweetest I'd ever seen.

“She's a virgin,” I stated with a gulp. “And she'd more than make it worth your while, sir.”

“Yeah, stab you through the heart in bed. Come on, Armand. We're late,” Damien tugged at Armand's sleeve.

“Please, sir. We need the money,” I tugged at his other sleeve. My fingers left a dirty smudge on the fine white linen at his wrist.

“So you've come out to procure for your sister. Does she know of this?” Armand asked looking at me strangely, as if he could see through my disguise.

Maybe he was one of those perverts who liked boys.
Oh, God, please don't let that be so.

“You don't like boys, do you?” I blurted.

“No!” he rasped. “And I'm not in the habit of sleeping with innocent young girls, either.”

“She's not young, sir. She'll be twenty next birthday, sir. She's…uhm…been saving herself. So to speak.”

“Really? She's that aged.” He gave me that smile again, showing rows of perfect, white teeth.

Was there nothing that wasn't godlike about this male? I just swallowed hard and tried not to swoon. My chest bindings were feeling about to burst.

“So she'd been saving herself. Yet, she'd be willing to sacrifice herself for one night? One entire night?”

“Yes, sir, she's willing. Most…uhm…willing. How old are you, sir, if you don't mind my asking?”

“I'm twenty-eight.”

“Come, Armand,” Damien insisted.

“You go on. I'll meet you later.”

“Don't cry to me if the angel picks your pocket.” The dark eyed officer went on his way with a dismissive wave of his hand.

“What's your sister's name?” Armand put his hand on my shoulder again, searching my face with eyes the exact color of the Mediterranean during a thunderstorm.

I could smell him, clean and cool. Like the sea and fresh pears. He smelled divine. I wriggled out of his grasp.

“Isabelle, sir. It's Spanish, so my…uhm…our mother says. Our father was from there,” I tried to hide the surprise in my voice at how easy and well I could lie. But I wasn't going to tell him that even if my real name was Kaitlin, nobody ever called me that way. Nor that I was born in London under a deserted bridge. Not that I felt like I belonged anywhere.

“And what's your name?” he asked in that softly accented voice.

“Kit, sir. It's Kit Black.”

“Well, young Kit Black, tell your sister to meet me at twenty bells. Can you do that?” Armand gave me the address of an inn in a good neighborhood. “You'll be coming along, I assume?”

I swallowed hard. “I shall drop her off, just to see that she's safe. I have other business, sir. You won't be seein' me. But if you agree with the price, I want to be paid up front. Uhm…I mean, she wants that.”

“Of course.”

I nodded. “Good.”

“Tell her to take a bath; I wouldn't want her to smell as ripe as you do.”

I flushed. “She'll be clean, sir. With clean hair and clean teeth an' all…”

“Is her hair long, Kit?”

Oh, no. My hair was only shoulder length, but it was a nice color. “It isn't too long, sir, but she…uhm…curls it in rags. Most say it's pretty. Yellow, like mine.”

“Is that what color your hair is? I'd have said it was much like dishwater.” Armand smiled again. The little divot above his lip was so deep, the most beautifully sculpted I had ever seen. There was the slightest cleft in his chin. He really was most breathtaking. “She doesn't drink rum, does she?”

“No drinking, sir.”

“And no perfume. I can't endure the stuff.”

“Yes, sir. I'll tell her that, sir.”

He smiled and gave me a wink. I watched him walk away. Maybe it was the uniform, but I doubted it. He had a loose hipped prowl that seemed to steal the rational thoughts right out of my head. I watched him until he disappeared behind a pile of wooden crates. My God, he was lovely. This Sandrine, whoever she was, was a very lucky woman.