The Black Morass (Pirates of the Coast Book 1) (10 page)

BOOK: The Black Morass (Pirates of the Coast Book 1)
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After gathering his things, he set the items on the table, took up his palette, turned to her, and dropped the thin board to the floor.  “No,
Mon Chou
.  Your bottom is injured, and I would not harm you further.”

With her knuckles, she grazed her breast, as he never could resist her bold behavior.  “But there are other things we might do.”

Myriad emotions invested his countenance, evidencing the war raging inside him.  “Such as—what?”

“You can accept my maidenhead,” she said, in a whisper.  “I give it to you, of my own free will, without any reservations.”

For a few minutes, he just stood there and stared at her.  “Why?”

“Because I love you.”  It wounded her that he thought himself undeserving of her gift.  “And as we are to be married, what does it matter when we consummate our union?”

“Trust me, it matters a great deal.”  He licked his lips.  “We should not do this.”

“I disagree, and I want you.”  She flicked her fingers.  “Oh, open your heart to me, Jean Marc.  Give me a chance, as I will never disappoint you.”

“I believe in you,
Mon Chou
, and I hold dear your dream.”  Yet he fought her, as he lingered.  “Are you certain this is what you want?”

Considering his ribald manners, his reticence surprised her.  “Yes.”  He approached, and she grabbed his wrist and pulled him down to her.  “Tonight, I wish to look upon your face as you make love to me.  But in light of all we have shared, thus far, this is naught but a formality, as I long to be yours.”

On all fours, he crawled over her and then gave her his weight.  “
Mon Chou
, you were mine the moment I found you on the
Trident
.”

THE BLACK MORASS

CHAPTER EIGHT

It was a
sunny, clear morning when the
Black Morass
pulled into Port Royal.  At the entrance to the bay, a British Navy vessel signaled, and Jean Marc waved at the helmsman.  “Heave to and yield.”

“Who goes there, and state your business?” inquired a lobster of rank.

“I am but an honest fisherman providing assistance to a citizen of His Majesty.”  Jean Marc glanced at Tyne.  “Go below and fetch Lady Madalene.  Be sure to collect her belongings.”

“Aye, Cap’n.”  The first mate dipped his chin.

“During a trip to the American Carolinas, I happened upon a ship in distress, aboard which a young woman clung to the stern rail.”  Jean Marc recalled her history.  “She claims her father resides in Port Royal.  His name is Lord Nigel Davies, earl of Livingston.”

“If you will prepare your mainsail hull, you may transfer the lady into our custody, and we will deliver her to Lord Livingston.”  The soldier barked orders to his men, and Jean Marc did the same.

At the waist, he met Maddie for the last time.

It was in those few minutes that he realized it would not be so easy to let go as he presumed.  But when she appeared, garbed in another of her modest gowns, with a matching bonnet trimmed in lace, his knees buckled.

“Oh, Jean Marc, I am so excited, and you have made me inexpressibly happy.”  Bouncing on her toes, she favored him with a shimmering smile.  “And I just know my father will adore you, as do I.”  Grasping his wrist, she dragged him to the plank.  “We must hurry, as I want to begin the next chapter in our life, as a couple.”  She smoothed her skirts and fidgeted with her gloves.  “Do you think we can marry by the end of the week, as I long to be your wife?  And would you prefer a wedding on the beach, with your crew in attendance, or something small and private?”

“Maddie, wait.”  He drew her to a halt.  “I must speak with you.”

“Silly man, whatever it is, can you not discuss it with me after we arrive at the plantation, as I am uncontrollably exhilarated at the prospect of introducing you to my father?”  When she met his stare, her enthusiasm waned.  “For goodness sake, Jean Marc, you look as though you just lost your best friend.  What is wrong?”

“I must bid farewell,
Mon Chou
.”  Inside him, something fractured.

“What?”  Furrowing her brow, she retreated a step, and her glorious glow dimmed.  Then her expression sobered, and he braced for dramatics.  Instead, she compressed her lips, stretched tall, and lifted her chin.  “You never intended to marry me.”

It was a statement, not a question.

“No.”  And it killed him to admit it.  “Yet you should not grieve for what might have been, as we had fun, you and I.”

“Fun?”  She swallowed hard.  “But I love you.”

“More’s the pity, as I never asked for your heart, Maddie.”  That was supposed to have been his victorious triumph, the moment of her ultimate downfall.  She would cry, stomp her feet, pummel him with righteous indignation, and he would reclaim the marauder of old, the barbarian the British gelded would survive to ravage another innocent and prove he still controlled his destiny.  Instead, an invisible but nonetheless potent grip clutched his throat and threatened to choke him.  “Your dream is just that, a fantasy.  Were I a gentlemen, I should never have let you labor under the ridiculous belief, but you know exactly what I am, so there are no illusions.”

“All right.”  Inhaling a shaky breath, she extended her hand, as would a gentleman, despite her crestfallen appearance.  “If that is all it was to you, then that is all it was to me.  Goodbye, Jean Marc.  I wish you well.”

And so his grand conquest died in the flames and rubble, bested by the quiet strength and unimpeachable honor of a gentle society miss who preferred lace-collared frocks to breeches.

As he stood at the starboard rail, she exchanged bits of conversation with various members of the crew, all of whom doffed their hats, and paused to kiss Tyne on the cheek.  With the grace and elegance that pervaded her every gesture, she turned and addressed the men, as a whole.

“Thank you, for saving my life.  I owe you a debt I can never repay.”  Then she pinned Jean Marc with a steely glare.  “And I will never forget you.”

And then Maddie was gone.

The ensuing hole in his world, marked by her sudden absence, opened and gaped wide, jeopardizing the foundation upon which he built his stage, threatening to swallow him whole.  If only she had played her part, but the mere wisp of a girl outwitted him.  For a while, he remained rooted to the spot, hoping to glimpse her aboard the naval ship.  Impatient, he craned his neck and then caught sight of her in a skiff, accompanied by three redcoats, as a deckhand rowed her to the docks.

Each successive rise and fall of the oars increased the space between them, yet he maintained his post, struggling to preserve the connection, however fleeting.  And although he could not see clearly, he swore she watched him.  A dull ache flickered in his chest, the pain increasing in direct proportion to the ever-growing distance from Madalene.

Weighted by some mystical burden, which tightened its stranglehold about his throat, squeezing, choking, threatening to wring the air from his lungs, he clutched tight the rail but found no relief or support.  Instead, the invisible torment delved deep into his gut, unfurled, and spread, increasing the agony ravaging his soul, and he fought for breath.

When she reached her destination, she disembarked and disappeared in the crowd, and he dug his nails into the wood rail.  It was time to admit the real reason he rejected her, and it had nothing to do with pride, plunder, or possession.  “I am sorry,
Mon Chou
, but I had to surrender you.  I am a wanted man, and I could not endanger you, because I love you, too.”

Tyne cleared his throat.  “Have you decided on a new course, Cap’n?”

There were countless journeys Jean Marc could have chosen, but he could not respond.  Drowning in some foreign hell on earth, he emitted a feral growl and pushed from the rail.  “Take us to the windward side and drop anchor, as we will go ashore just after dusk.  And if you wish to retain use of your teeth, you will wipe that smirk off your face.”

#

It was early in the afternoon, as British Army Lieutenant Lowe steered the wagon past a stately stone gate, which bore a sign marked, The Fair Winds, and Madalene hugged her sacks of personal belongings and tried to ignore the heartache that threatened to tear her in two.  At the end of a long and sandy drive, lined with palm trees, loomed a large, two-story house with six massive columns spanning the front, a balcony rimmed by wrought iron railing at top center, and black shutters framing each window.

If she had any assumptions regarding how a plantation house should look, The Fair Winds exceeded her expectations.  When Lieutenant Lowe reined in, a dark-skinned woman appeared at the door and then disappeared inside the home.  Shortly thereafter, an older gentleman and a young lady strolled onto the porch.

“Let me help you, Lady Madalene.”  Lieutenant Lowe jumped to the ground and then turned to hand her down.  “Lord Livingston, I have brought your daughter to you, safe and sound.”

“Madalene?”  The grey-haired, distinguished elder with familiar blue eyes, which welled with unshed tears, pressed a hand to his chest.  “Is that you, dear child?”

“Papa?”  She dropped her things and ran into his waiting embrace.  “Oh, papa, it has been so long.”

“My darling girl, at last we are reunited.”  At first, he hugged her, but then he held her at arm’s length.  “Let me look at you.  You are the very image of your mother, God rest her soul.”

“What is
she
doing here?”  The pregnant blonde cast a countenance of unmasked loathing and cradled her large belly.

“Now, now, Prudence.”  Papa chuckled.  “Am I to be caught in the middle of two strong-willed females?”  With a twinkle in his stare, he drew Prudence, who appeared not much older than Madalene, to his side.  “Allow me to introduce your stepmother, Lady Prudence, countess of Livingston.”

“It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lady Prudence.”  Fighting to conceal her shock at the revelation, Madalene sketched a quick curtsey.  “I look forward to getting to know you, Papa, and what I presume is my future brother or sister.”

“Thank you, for bringing my daughter to me.”  Papa shook Lieutenant Lowe’s hand.  “Shall we adjourn to the drawing room for a bit of refreshment?”

After consuming a glass of lemonade heightened with sweet marsala, during which time she shared her woeful tale of the
Trident
and Captain Hammond’s demise, to her father’s horror.  Madalene recounted her rescue and subsequent travel aboard the
Black
Morass
but omitted her relationship with Jean Marc.

“Might I be shown to my chamber, Papa?”  Madalene rubbed the back of her neck.  “It has been a terribly lengthy journey, and I am in much need of a nap.”

“Of course, my child.”  Papa stood and kissed her forehead.  “Miss Hannah will take you to your accommodation, and we will talk more over dinner.”

“I suppose she wants the best room in the house.”  Scowling, Prudence scrutinized Madalene from top to toe.

“And so she shall have it.”  To the housekeeper, Papa said, “Install Lady Madalene in the suite at the south end, which overlooks the ocean, and see to her every comfort.”  Then at his wife, he wagged a finger.  “Prudence, do not ever take that tone with my daughter.  Madalene is my firstborn, and her position demands respect.  You will act as befits your station, or you will suffer the consequences of your ill manners.  Do I make myself clear?”

BOOK: The Black Morass (Pirates of the Coast Book 1)
13.61Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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