The Pirate's Tempting Stowaway (12 page)

Yet here stood the most improbable vision his imagination might have conjured: Mrs. Clara Halton, survivor of American medical ineptitude and a transatlantic quarantine with Blackheart the pirate. Vixen. Widow. Mother.

Stowaway.

She was as porcelain-perfect as a highborn English rose. As speckled with mud and dust as a street urchin. As graceful as a swan and as mad as a March hare. He’d kiss her senseless if he weren’t a hairsbreadth away from throttling her.

He handed his port to the closest swab. “Mrs. Halton, what the
devil
are you about? Do you realize—”

“Please,” she murmured with a demure flutter of dark eyelashes. “Call me Clara. I’ll feel positively matronly if I have the entire crew of a pirate ship calling me Mrs. Halton all week.”

Steele flexed his jaw.

“Bloody siren,” the boatswain muttered. “Never called you ‘Mrs. Halton’ in all my life.”

“You don’t have to call her anything,” Steele growled. “Don’t even look at her.”

Mrs. Halton—
Clara’s
—lips made a perfect pout. “Does that mean no wine, then?”

The sailing master swung his gaze toward the helm. “What say you, Captain? Should I turn her around?”

Turn the
Dark Crystal
around? When they’d finally been handed their first sliver of an opportunity to catch the Crimson Corsair unawares? Never. They were already four hours out to sea. Any further delay would cost them the treasure—if it hadn’t already. There was no time for distractions.

“Stay your course,” Steele said through clenched teeth.
 

He stalked forward, drunken sailors parting around him like the Red Sea.

Clara didn’t budge an inch. She had the gall to look
relieved
. “Thank you so much, Mr. Steele. I’m sorry I—”

“You can call me Blackheart,” he growled as he closed his fingers about her delicate wrist. “And you’re coming with me.”

She stumbled as he yanked her to his chest and dragged her down the hatchway toward his private quarters.

He jerked to a stop outside the cabin door and flashed her a look of disbelief. “You brought
luggage?
”

“It’s not at all what you think,” she assured him, then blushed. “Actually, yes, at this point it is exactly what you think. But it didn’t start out being that. I just meant to look at apartments and have a bit of supper, but didn’t manage to do either once I’d spotted the
Dark Crystal
moored at the Port of London.”

Steele turned his face toward the open hatchway and bellowed, “Galley! Tray of lukewarm scraps for the lady.”

“Everyfing’s still hot,” came the return shout.

“Dip it in the ocean,” Steele called back. He returned his gaze to his vexing stowaway. He still had not loosed her wrist from his grasp—or released her from his arms. “Well?”

“I wondered what you were doing. How you’d been. If you ever thought about me, or remembered—”

“I told you we would never see each other again,” he said firmly, then ground his teeth. Clearly he’d been mistaken.

Clara bit her lip. “I—I missed you.”

“We do not have a romantical understanding,” he enunciated, clearly and coldly. The sight of her face, the scent of her hair…dear God had he missed her. But this was his best chance to trap the Corsair. He could not let her get in the way. “I am a pirate. I am busy. This ship is and will remain my top priority.”

“But that’s perfect,” she blurted, gazing up at him with wide green eyes. “I don’t
want
anything permanent. Not with you. I just want a spot of…adventure.”

She didn’t want anything permanent. Not with him. Steele glared at her sourly. Never had getting his way been so anticlimactic.

“Hot tray, Cap’n,” came a voice from above the hatchway. “And some wine for the lady.”

Steele released his doe-eyed stowaway and reached up for the tray. He kicked open the door to his cabin and slammed the tray onto the small table. “Eat.”

Clara slid into the corner chair and eyed the glass of port and array of fragrant dishes with delight. “It looks sumptuous!”

It
was
sumptuous. The first meal at sea always was. Everything was still fresh, still plentiful. Everyone in high spirits.

Until now.

“
Eat
,” he commanded again.

She ate.
 

He flung himself into the chair opposite and made no attempt to disguise the fact that he was glaring in contempt.

Of himself, mostly.

Bloody hell. His hands grew clammy and his heart raced at the sight of her. He’d thought about her every day during the six interminable, land-locked weeks caring for his ward. His bed in Maidstone was larger, more luxurious. Lonelier.
 

He’d wondered how the reunion had gone with her daughter. Whether she’d resolved the estrangement with her parents or given into temptation and shot her witch of a mother. How it felt to be back in England after more than two decades in America. Whether she still missed her dead husband…or if her thoughts sometimes turned to her black-hearted rescuer instead.

“As soon as this is over, you’re going right back to London.”

“Closer to Bath, I think,” she said with a pensive frown. “I’ve decided it’s more prudent.”

His heart jumped in alarm. “But if you were still coughing, we would have found your hiding spot before leaving the dock. Are you ill? Do you truly need to drink those wretched ‘restorative’ waters?”

She shook her head. “Not for my health. To buy property. Somerset seems like a safe but interesting place to call home, don’t you think? Bath has the Pump Rooms, the Assembly Rooms, the circus…”

“It sounds horrid,” he said flatly.

“Oh, certainly. To a
pirate
. A widow like myself, however, could be perfectly content with teas and dancing and afternoon promenades in Sydney Gardens, if no other options presented themselves.”

He folded his arms across his chest. No doubt the average woman
would
be content taking tea with self-important patronesses and indulging in the occasional waltz with an ex-soldier. He doubted whether Clara Halton was an average woman at all.

Steele returned her gaze in silence. The
Dark Crystal
had never before boasted a stowaway. There had never been even the slightest attempt at such a feat. Blackheart’s name alone was enough to equate crossing his path with certain death or visceral embarrassment. Respect was so easily and freely given, he rarely had to fight for much of anything anymore. Why, the last time his heart had pounded due to apprehension or uncertainty…

Was when he’d caught sight of Clara Halton stepping out from behind the gunroom skylight.

“Where are we headed?” she asked innocently.

“Eat your supper.”

“I have done so.” She smiled up at him. “There was enough to feed the entire crew and I managed to put away half of it.”

He stroked the whiskers on his chin. Might as well tell her. She would find out soon enough. “We have come upon a treasure map.”

“A treasure map!” She clasped her hands together in delight. “But you said—”

“It doesn’t mean there’s anything to find. Real life is not an adventure story. There are no caves with skeletons and talking monkeys, or whatever nonsense you’ve read in the papers.”

“Parrots,” she corrected primly. “The talking monkeys were a jest.”

“’Tis all a jest,” he snapped. “Even if the map proves legitimate, there’s no reason to believe we shall arrive in time to collect any bounty.”

“Then why are we going?”

His smile was dark. “Because it belongs to the Crimson Corsair.”

Clara clapped her hands. “Then there
will
be parrots!”

“He doesn’t—” Steele let out a breath. The twinkle in Clara’s eyes indicated she was provoking him a-purpose, and besides. He had never met the Corsair. Perhaps the man had a peg leg, a hook hand, a missing eye,
and
a talking parrot. “You won’t be going anywhere near him.”

She shook her head. “I’ll stay near you.”

“You’ll stay far away from me.
I’ll
be stringing up the Corsair.”

Her face paled. “You plan to garrote him?”

“I plan to…bring him to justice” He pretended to think over her comment. “But lynching the bastard isn’t a bad suggestion.”

Doubt clouded her eyes for the first time since her unexpected appearance.

Good.
He
might not be the sort to take advantage of a misguided widow playing at adventure, but not all pirates would do the same. Not all
men
would do the same.

He picked up the tray and placed it outside of the cabin, where one of his men would come by and return it to the galley. He turned to warn Clara he’d be right back after he walked his final round of the ship…and discovered her following him so close behind she’d nearly tripped over him when he’d turned to face her.

He caught her. “Don’t follow me.”

She shook her head. “I won’t.”

He tightened his grip on her arms. “I’m serious. Go nowhere without my permission.”

“What about the mess tables?”

“You just ate,” he growled.

She tilted her head. “What about breakfast?”
 

“I’ll be back before breakfast,” he bit out. “You stay here.”

“In your cabin.” She cast a glance over her shoulder then blinked up at him coyly.

He released her. “Yes.”
 

She arched a brow and smiled. “In your bed.”
 

He leaned against the open doorframe. “Clara—”

“I’ll be lying there, awaiting your next command.” She trapped her lower lip between her teeth. “Eagerly.”

He pulled her to him, his voice harsh. His heart banged against his ribs. “Be careful what you start.”

“Why should I?” She tilted her face up toward his.

“Because you just might get it.”
 

He closed his mouth over hers. She tasted as rich and sweet as port. As forbidden as a sacred temple. Every kiss was a promise he couldn’t keep. He would not be waltzing in assembly rooms or promenading in public gardens. He lived here, in the moment.

And now, in
this
moment, she was right here with him.

He cupped the back of her head and kissed her with the hunger he normally kept tightly leashed. Kissed her not like a man with a future, but a man who well knew tomorrow may never come. Kissed her with savage passion, with desperation, with every pulse of his blood begging him to take her here and now, up against the doorjamb, quick and carnal and satisfying.

So he pushed her away.

“You’re not cargo under contract,” he warned her, his voice ragged with checked desire. “Which means you’re no longer under Carlisle’s protection.”

She blinked. “You were paid not to touch me?”

He stepped out of the cabin. “I was. Not anymore.”

She licked her lips. “Well, I’m certainly glad that’s over.”

His blood heated. As he stared at her wordlessly, she swung the door closed behind him.

Chapter 14

Steele eased open the cabin door and slipped inside.
 

It was late. Far later than usual. Besides his normal rounds, he’d had to discuss the new development with each of his men. It wasn’t the best of situations. Besides the obvious disadvantage of having a distraction on board, Steele’s crew had never before witnessed anyone take him by surprise. That it came at the hand of a mere woman…well. It wasn’t good for his image or for morale.

More to the point, what was to be done with her now? He ran his fingers through his hair. Of all the luck. He had lied when he’d said she was no longer under anyone’s protection. She was under his.
 

The men knew without asking that they were to treat her with respect and guard her life at all costs. Steele had reminded them anyway.
 

They were heading into uncharted waters. The map might or might not lead to a cove. The cover might or might not be the Corsair’s secret lair. The lair might or might not contain heavily guarded treasure. Blackheart’s crew might or might not return to the ship with the treasure…or return alive, for that matter.