The Notorious Lady Anne: A Loveswept Historical Romance (6 page)

“Strange eyes?”

Oliver’s head bobbed. “They change depending on her mood, and watch out when they turn orange.”

Orange?
Nicholas wiped a hand down his face and coughed to cover his laugh. “Tell me, Oliver, have you ever been on a Blackwell ship that’s been attacked by pirates?”

“No, sir.” Oliver shook his head so hard he lost the ribbon tying his hair back. Dirty brown strands fell across his shoulders.

“What does this Lady Anne do when she attacks?”

“She puts a spell on the crew, enchants them, then takes ever’ting off the ship.”

How had the man made it this far in life? Ridiculous. The whole story was ridiculous. A pirate—a
woman
—with orange eyes that changed depending on her mood? Who attacked and plundered ships? No, not ridiculous. Impossible.

A knock on Nicholas’s door had Oliver jumping so high Nicholas feared the man would hit his head on the ceiling.

“Enter.”

Samuel came rushing in. “Captain, you’re needed up top. Fog.”

“Bloody hell.” Fog. Could this day get any worse?

Emmaline took a deep breath, felt for the dagger strapped to her thigh and headed with purposeful strides toward the orlop deck. Fog had rolled in earlier that afternoon, blanketing the ship, closing them in, bathing everything in an eerie glow.

Addison had furled the sails and the
Pride
sat unmoving in a calm sea. The clanging of the rigging produced a muffled, hollow sound that sent goose bumps running up her arm. Fog was never good, especially for a merchant vessel. If the
Pride
’s cargo reached Boston after other ships on the same run, the price of the merchandise she carried would decline, cutting into her profit.

However, the fog was a boon for her. Emmaline could slide through it unnoticed, and anything that cut into Daniel Blackwell’s profit was her ally.

With a stealth learned from years of illegal activity, Emmaline made it to the stairs leading to the orlop deck.

She proceeded with caution to the captain’s cabin, where he also conducted the business of running the ship. It was here that Addison would keep the shipping routes and his captain’s log, as well as any other pertinent information—like a list of the cargo the ship was carrying. No light spilled from the crack beneath the door. She eased it open, holding her breath when the
leather hinges protested. When no one came running, demanding to know her business, she opened the door fully and stepped through, closing it behind her.

She made her way to his desk, where Addison had draped his captain’s jacket over a wooden chair. She ran her fingers down the rough fabric, wrestling with an unholy need to bunch it in her hands and bring it to her face to smell the scent of ocean breezes and Nicholas Addison.

She’d neither seen nor spoken to him since the tour of the ship four days ago, when he’d kissed her. She missed his quick wit and sharp tongue and, yes, even his ridiculous commands. Not to mention that there were times she swore her lips still tingled in remembrance of their kiss.

With a snort of derision at her wayward thoughts, she pulled open a desk drawer and began to search.

Nicholas picked his way toward his cabin. Bloody fog. This was more than an inconvenience, this was a damn nuisance. Was it too much to ask for smooth sailing? His rough-and-tumble crew nearly shook in their boots at the least provocation, their darting eyes searching for the orange-eyed Lady Anne to fall from the sky and put a spell on them. No amount of reasoning would lead them to believe such a woman could not possibly exist.

To top it all off, Nicholas couldn’t shake his thoughts of Emmaline Sutherland. Four mornings ago, after catching her at her nocturnal ramblings, he’d deliberately waited only an hour before waking her. He wanted to teach her a lesson, to deprive her of sleep as she deprived him of sleep.

Now he wondered who had taught whom a lesson. Her sleepy-eyed glares hadn’t given him any satisfaction of the sort he’d sought. Instead, he’d pictured her looking up at him from tumbled bedclothes after a good romp.

His “tour” of the ship, a tour he’d purposely made mundane to aggravate her, had ensnared him. His manhood stood at half-mast almost constantly, and ached in a way it hadn’t in years. And that kiss … He certainly had not set out to kiss her, but when he pulled her into his
body, when he felt her curves against him, he’d lost all reason. That kiss had been short-lived and entirely unsatisfactory. He’d wanted more, but reason had intruded, and while he’d been thankful for it, he’d also been aggravated by it.

For the past four days he’d thought of little other than finishing the kiss to his satisfaction.

What he needed was to seek out a willing woman once he reached Boston, but the thought of bed sport with a whore didn’t appeal to him. He wanted Emmaline Sutherland, and it didn’t seem to matter to his body that she was married and completely unconventional.

He wanted her in ways he hadn’t thought of in a long while. Beneath him and above him. In front of him and with his face buried between her legs. He wanted to see her kneeling before him, looking up at him with fire burning in her eyes.

He wiped his brow, not knowing if he was wiping mist from the fog or sweat from his thoughts. Whatever it was, he needed relief from his constant arousal.

Unfortunately, steering clear of her didn’t help matters.

He reached his office, opened the door and froze.

Emmaline’s head jerked up and she gasped, her hand deep within her bodice.

’Twas as if all his erotic dreams had manifested themselves. Instantly, his manhood began to throb.

Emmaline quickly pulled her hand from her gown.

Nicholas closed the door and leaned against it, crossing his arms over his chest. “Mrs.

Sutherland.”

“Captain Addison.” Her gaze remained steady but wary.

He sauntered into the room, extremely satisfied when she backed up a step.

He stopped in front of her. Her green eyes widened and she licked her lower lip. His hungry gaze followed, and he wished it was
his
tongue licking her lips, wanted with an unholy desperation to finish what he’d started on the deck four days ago.

She lifted her chin, staring down her nose at him even though he towered over her.

“Why are you here, Emmaline?”

She opened her mouth, but no sound came. Her flushed face slowly lost color. She lowered her gaze to his lips and the color suddenly returned tenfold, until her cheeks seemed to burn. “I …” She looked up at him with shimmering green eyes.

His mind turned in circles, lust followed by suspicion and chased around by lust again.

He grabbed her arm and yanked her toward him. His starving gaze devoured her full lips and his skin sizzled where she pressed against him. His erection was exquisitely painful.

She sucked her bottom lip between her teeth. A groan tore through him, his powerful lust nearly buckling his knees. Holy hell, this woman would prove to be his undoing.

“Do you know what happens to women found in the officers’ quarters?” Her clean, fresh scent was like a siren call. He dipped his head and tasted those lips again, fully intending to savor them this time around … and every other part of her. She tasted of the ocean and he drank her in, flicking his tongue, wanting—
demanding—
more.

He ached to slide into her and lose himself in her wet heat.

She whimpered and encircled his neck with her arms, burying her fingers in his hair. Her breasts rubbed against him, dragging an enraged groan from him. He yanked her closer, wanting her closer still.

She kissed him back, with an ardor and passion he’d never experienced before.

He walked forward, forcing her to retreat until she came up against the wall.

“Yes,” he whispered against her lips, his hands trailing from her shoulders to her sweet, oh so sweet, derriere. He pushed his erection into the warm V of her thighs, nearly shouting with triumph and the promise of release.

Yes, yes, yes
.

“Nicholas.” She breathed his name against his cheek.

Pins fell from her hair, and for once it wasn’t wound into that damnable braid. Hair tumbled past her shoulders and he sifted his fingers through the thick, silky strands.

She tilted her head back and he kissed her throat, nipping the sensitive skin. Her cries of
pleasure nearly buckled his knees. Damn, but he wanted her here, against the wall. He wanted to drive into her, plunge his rod so far into her he could feel her womb.

“Emmaline.” He chanted her name between kisses and she mewled in agitation, her legs widening for him. He reached for her skirts.

A harsh, grating sound rent the air. The ship shuddered, tilted. Emmaline stumbled, ripped from Nicholas’s arms. He grabbed for her, snagging her arm and pulling her upright.

Above them, men began running about. Metal thudded on wood.

Even though his mind registered it all, his hands were still reaching for her.

Emmaline shook his arm. “Grappling hooks.” Her voice was tight, her eyes betraying no emotion.

“Damnation!” Grappling hooks meant pirates. They were under
attack
. He swung around and headed for the cabin door. Wrenching it open, he pointed at her. “Stay put. Do not leave this room.”

Nicholas rushed out of the cabin, slamming the door behind him. Emmaline leaned against the wall for support because her legs certainly couldn’t hold her. She pressed a hand to her racing heart and the other to her tingling lips.

What just happened here? How had she let everything get out of control?

Madness.

She closed her eyes, feeling the length of his body flush against hers, the steel of his manhood rubbing against her. She’d never felt like this before, all warm inside, goose bumps running up and down her body, a heaviness between her legs.

She’d wanted it, she wouldn’t deny it. She wanted more than what he was giving her, and would have done anything to get it.

Thank the Lord the pirates attacked.

She lifted her skirts and pulled her stiletto from the sheath tied to her thigh. Another reason
to be thankful they’d been interrupted. She would have had a difficult time explaining the lethal weapon.

Ignoring Nicholas’s final command, she left his office.

“Like bloody hell, I’ll stay put,” she said to the deserted corridor.

Emmaline stepped onto the deck and immediately sidestepped two men clasped together in battle. The pop of pistols and the smell of cordite pierced the thick fog that hung over the deck.

A leering, dirt-smeared face materialized out of the fog, and arms lunged for her. She plunged her stiletto into the man’s heart, then bent to remove her blade, cursing her gown and wishing she’d worn more sensible clothes. Fighting clothes.

She marched into the melee, searching for Addison. Her heart beat unevenly. Not from the fighting, but from fear for Addison.

“Where the hell are you?” she muttered. That her first thought had been about his safety both worried and aggravated her.

She stumbled upon two men locked together. One of the men pulled his pistol out and shot the other. He stumbled back, knocking her over and landing on her.