The Rogue Pirate’s Bride (17 page)

More heat and color flooded her face. “I told you foolish flattery doesn’t impress me.”

“It’s not flattery. It’s the truth. Look into my eyes.” He took her chin between two fingers and forced her to look into his eyes. “Do you see the truth there?”

She did see the truth, and it stunned her. How could he possibly think
her
the most beautiful woman in the world? She was far from it, especially dressed in baggy men’s clothing and feeling as though she were half asleep on her feet.

“But do you know how you could be more beautiful?”

She was about to shake her head; instead, she frowned. “Take off my clothes?”

He grinned. “How did you know?” His fingers hooked around the belt she wore and tugged her to him. He loosened the belt, and she heard it drop with a clink on the floor. “I would have thought you”—he took her shirttail in one hand while he undid the buttons at her throat with the other—“would be able to follow orders.”

“I’m not one of your crew,” she said as he drew the shirt over her head. She wasn’t wearing anything beneath and had to fight the urge to cover her breasts.

“Much to my regret.” He looked as though he might cup her breasts, but his hands moved to the breeches and slid them easily over her hips. She wasn’t wearing anything beneath the breeches either. “You’d be the most valuable crew member I had—in here or on deck.”

She stood naked now—feeling vulnerable and hardly like the most beautiful woman in the world—but then he reached out and caressed her cheek. He leaned close, kissed her lips tenderly, and suddenly she felt beautiful again. His hands brushed over her. They traced her shoulders, molded to her arms, slid down to her waist, cradled her hips, skimmed over her bottom… and stayed.

“Mmm,” he said into her neck. “Turn around.”

“You can’t kiss me if I turn around.”

“Oh, no? Try and see.”

He turned her, and his hands came around her waist, pulled her bottom hard against his erection. She felt the tickle of her hair as he moved it away from her neck, then the softness of his lips as he nuzzled her. Meanwhile, his hands were free to roam. They circled her waist before moving to test the weight of her breasts. Finally, his fingers found her nipples. He teased them until they strained and peaked, until she was practically thrusting them into his hands. She could hear her breathing, heavy and hard, but she didn’t start moaning until one hand slid between her legs.

He teased her there, sliding fingers in and out and around, all the time flicking her nipple with two fingers and tracing his tongue along her earlobe. She shivered and cried out, wanted to turn into him, make him sink himself into her.

But he had other ideas. When she tried to turn, he shook his head, bent her over the bed. The fingers between her legs never stilled, but she heard him rustle with his clothing then felt his flesh against her bottom. He parted her legs with his own—kicked them apart—and she felt him warm and solid at her entrance. He slid into her, his fingers still working their magic as he thrust inside her.

Her body didn’t know which way to move. She wanted him deeper inside her and wanted his fingers to move faster. She bucked and writhed, and he continued the sweet torture.

Finally he cupped her, pressed and thrust hard into her at the same time. With a shout, she exploded, rearing back and arching. He caught her, tumbled with her onto the berth, and rolled her into his arms. Before she could think, could breathe, he was kissing her again. Her senses were overwhelmed, her body on fire. She didn’t think it could burn any brighter, but the harder he kissed her, the more he stroked her, the more she wanted him again.

He pulled her on top of him so she was straddling him, and it took no persuasion on his part for her to take him inside again. She needed relief. Again.

She reared back as his hands cupped her hips, held her locked against him. He moved with her, and just before her world went white again, she felt his release.

Before she fell into a deep, dreamless sleep, she heard his breathing change as he fell asleep beside her. She smiled and thought, thank God. She was beginning to think he wasn’t human.

She awoke sometime later. She wasn’t certain how much time had passed, as the cabin was still dark. But she was cold, and she fumbled for the bedclothes, pulled them around her. She blinked, looked around the darkness. Bastien was dressing, slowly and quietly, but deliberately. She watched him don a plain white shirt.

“No lace?” she murmured.

He turned to grin at her. “A battle is no time for a fashion statement.”

She sat. “Have they spotted
La Sirena
?”

“No, but we’re getting close. Dress and come on deck. I could use a good pair of eyes and ears.”

She blinked, more flattered by the plain words than all the compliments about her beauty hours before. She didn’t even think he realized how much his simple trust in her affected her. She felt strong and powerful, as though she could have single-handedly defeated Bonaparte. Her heart swelled, and she felt… beautiful.

When she didn’t rise immediately, he turned back to her. “What is it?”

“Nothing,” she said. But she felt her heart constrict in a way she had never felt before—not even with Timothy.

This was it, Bastien thought. This was his last chance. He would destroy Jourdain or be destroyed. The cat-and-mouse games would end today.

He stood on the bow of the ship and trained the spyglass back and forth over the horizon. Jourdain was out there. He could feel the man’s presence in the prickle on the back of his neck. It was an hour before dawn, and Bastien had ordered the
Shadow
silent and dark. Now he could hear the creak of the ship’s bow as it plowed through the water, the slap of the wind through the sails, and the hitch in the breathing of the woman who stood beside him.

He lowered the spyglass and turned to Raeven. She was peering through a second glass, but she held it steady and sure, no longer sweeping it across the water.

“You’ve found him,” Bastien murmured low and close to her ear. He knew even the smallest sounds could travel across the open water. He smelled the faintest scent of cherries before she lowered the glass and turned to him.

“There,” she whispered. “Three points off the starboard bow. I think I see a light.”

Bastien nodded and lifted his spyglass. If anyone but Raeven had reported seeing a light, Bastien would have been skeptical. Jourdain was no fool. Surely, he’d ordered his men to maintain silence and darkness as a precaution.

But there were always mistakes. One mistake could cost a captain a battle. One traitor could mean destruction for all aboard. Bastien hoped the bastard, whoever he was, showed himself today. He’d send both Jourdain and his traitor to the bottom of the ocean.

He gripped the spyglass tighter and stared long and hard at the flickering light. The ship and the water moved, hiding the light then teasing him with a quick glimpse. He lowered the spyglass, looked at Mr. Maine behind him. Maine’s lips were tight, his jaw clenched. Probably unhappy at having to give up his glass to Raeven. “Order Mr. Khan to maintain course, and make sure the men are at battle stations.
Silently
. I want the element of surprise as long as possible.”

“Yes, Captain.” He moved quickly to carry out the orders, and Bastien turned back to the ocean before him. He had Jourdain now. At the end of the day, one of them would be dead.

“Raeven,” he whispered. She’d been looking after Mr. Maine, and Bastien could see he’d startled her out of some reverie.

“Don’t tell me to go to your cabin,” she said immediately. It unnerved him how she could read his thoughts at times. “I won’t sit and hide while men fight and die around me. I can fight too.”

He’d seen that on the gun deck, and he was short gunners. But firing a cannon was hard, exhausting work. Even with the best of intentions, she wouldn’t be able to maintain the strength and stamina to fire as quickly and effectively as he needed. But he had to find a job for her to do. A safe—
safer
—task. He could not have said why, but he wanted to protect her more than he cared about protecting himself. Of course, logically he knew if he was killed, she would fare no better. But the woman had defied logic more times than he could count. He wouldn’t be surprised if she singlehandedly destroyed Jourdain and took over
La Sirena
.

But she had to survive to do so.

“How are you at sharpshooting?”

She blinked, surprised. “I’m a fair shot. I’m better with a sword and dagger.”

“I’ll expect you to have my back when we board
La Sirena
.” He’d been joking, but she nodded soberly.

“You’ll need someone to cover your back. I’ll go to your cabin now and retrieve my sword. Do I see Mr. Castro about a rifle?”

Bastien grinned. “Can you manage a rifle? You might do better with a pistol. I still have one of my Samuel Brunn flintlocks secured in my desk.”

“I know. I’ve seen them.”

They were in a locked drawer then locked again inside a hand-carved wooden box. He was the only one with the key, and he carried it on his person at all times.

Of course she had seen the pistols.

“Not that you need this.” He handed her the key. When she took it, their hands brushed, and even with his mind and body tense with anticipation of the battle, he stiffened at the flash of heat unleashed when they touched. “I’ll see you after the battle.”

She grinned. “You’ll see me in the thick of it.” On tiptoes, she kissed his cheek. “For luck.”

And then she was gone, and he was standing among his men, most of whom were trying to pretend they hadn’t witnessed the last exchange. Bastien raised the spyglass again, feeling for the cutlass hanging at his side, the pistol tucked into his waistband.

He was ready.

***

Raeven was ready. She had the second of Bastien’s beautifully engraved and embellished pistols in her pocket, her dagger strapped to her thigh, and her sword hanging at her hip. The weight of it was comforting. She’d missed it. She was making her way to the mizzenmast. She’d position herself there and hopefully take out some of
La Sirena’s
topmen. Fewer men manning his sails meant it would be harder to maneuver the ship away from Bastien’s advances.

She turned as she made her way across the deck and spotted him standing on the poop deck. Her heart lurched as she saw the first gray fingers of dawn behind him. In another hour they’d be visible to
La Sirena.
But right now, they were cloaked and had the essential element of surprise. Her heart pumped fast and not just from the anticipation of the battle.

Bastien stood with solid legs braced apart, black boots firmly set on deck. His black breeches were tight, and she saw the glint of steel at his hip. His hands rested surely on his hips just below his white shirt, which was open at the neck. His face was grim, his jaw set. His cobalt eyes burned as they looked out over the ocean, and his long brown hair had been caught back by the wind.

Her heart felt as though a fierce wind had caught it, turned it, and tumbled it around. She didn’t know when it had happened or how, but she was in love with Bastien…

Devil take it! She didn’t even know his real surname. How could she be in love with a man when she didn’t even know his full name? It was another sign she’d gone mad. But then hadn’t she been mad the first time she’d seen him? Hadn’t she fallen in love with him the first time they’d crossed swords? It was only now, when she knew she might not see him again, she could admit to herself the true depth of her feelings.

What was she going to do? She couldn’t tell him. Even if they won the day, it didn’t mean their relationship changed. They were enemies. He was a pirate, and she was the daughter of a British admiral—an admiral who was probably hot on his heels at this moment. He’d have another battle on his hands very soon if he didn’t rid himself of her. And a sloop against a man-of-war stood no chance. Bastien might try to outrun her father, but in the end, the
Regal
would catch him.

No, falling in love with Bastien would not save him. Leaving him and finding some way to convince her father not to pursue him would do the pirate more of a service than giving her heart ever would.

Besides, he didn’t love her. She thought he felt something for her, perhaps even something more than he’d felt for other women. She knew he respected her experience on ships, valued her judgment, trusted her with his ship and his men. That should be enough for her. It was more than she’d receive from most men.

But a tiny part of her heart wanted his love too. Even though they could never be together, she wanted to hear him say the words:
I love you, Raeven
.

She heard the sound of alarm bells across the water, the call to beat to quarters, and knew they’d been spotted. Knew, too, her silly reverie was over. She hurried toward the bow and almost toppled over when Maine all but jumped on top of her.

“I’m sorry!” Maine grabbed her arm and steadied her. He carried a lantern, and it bumped hard against her arm.

“I didn’t see you there, Miss Russell,” Maine said.

She stared at the lantern, stared at Maine, and then looked across the water.

“That’s quite all right,” she stuttered. She had her balance back now, and she withdrew her arm from his hand. The air around them shattered as the first volley of cannon fire exploded from
La Sirena
. They were too far out of range, and Jourdain was wasting ammunition, but the sound of it was terrifying.

“I need to get to my station.”

She nodded as he hurried away, but she didn’t load her pistol. Instead, she watched Maine. What was the quartermaster doing with a lantern when the ship had been ordered to maintain silence and darkness? And why was the man on the bow? Even on a pirate ship, where positions and duties varied from those on a naval vessel, she could see no reason for the second-in-command to stand uselessly on the bow. And where was the watch?

She stared up the foremast as a foretopman scurried across the deck and, brushing past her, began to climb aloft. She frowned at him. She had no authority, but it didn’t stop her. “You there!”

He looked down at her. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Why are you just now reporting to your station? Where are the other foretopmen?”

She thought he might ignore her, tell her to be about her own duties—perhaps adding some surly remark about how her duties were on her back—but she must have sounded dictatorial enough that he answered.

“Mr. Maine sent us to Mr. Castro to help the gunners. Captain’s orders. I’ve never fired a cannon before, and Mr. Castro sent me back. I think the other boys are coming back, as well.”

Another boom from Jourdain’s cannons, and she saw the youth jump.
La Sirena
was out of range, but the
Shadow
was closing the gap. Mr. Castro, no fool, was standing fast until his guns could hit the target.

“Get aloft,” she ordered the boy, “and check those sails. Make sure all is ready.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She considered going up with him to supervise, but she saw the other foretopmen stream back on deck and scamper up the rigging. Now she should ready her pistol and get in position, but she couldn’t get Mr. Maine out of her head.

Her head had screamed a warning this morning when Bastien had given the quartermaster orders. Something on his face hadn’t looked… right. She’d watched him go, and the unbidden thought had been:
He’s the traitor.

She had no proof. She had no reason other than intuition to suspect him. But she trusted her intuition. It was when she didn’t listen to it she found herself in trouble. And so instead of preparing to fire on
La Sirena
, she stared at the bow then up the foremast.

With no one on watch, Maine had been alone. Free to do as he would. Free to open the lantern, briefly shine a light, and give the
Shadow
’s
position away. “Bloody traitor,” she hissed.

The cannons boomed again—this time the shot coming from the
Shadow
—and the whole vessel shook. Everyone paused to observe the damage to
La Sirena
. One cannonball crashed into the deck, causing minimal damage, while another tore through a sail.

The battle was on now.

La Sirena
returned fire, grazing the
Shadow
’s bow and causing Raeven to stumble. The two ships were turning, coming alongside one another, moving into firing position. It would be several more moments before the most effective shots would be fired, and she could do the most good by taking out some of
La Sirena
’s crew. She started toward the rail only to find herself grabbed from behind and thrust hard on deck.

For a moment, she wondered if the ship had been struck again, but she hadn’t heard the boom or smelled the gunpowder. She looked up and saw Maine staring down at her.

“You couldn’t leave well enough alone, could you?” he yelled over the sounds of the coming battle. “You couldn’t stay in his cabin—where you belong.”

She rose up on her elbows and was alarmed when her head swam. Maine seemed to shimmer in front of her. “And I know what you did. You’re the traitor.”

“No one will ever believe that.” He reached for her, but she had her dagger in her hand and ready to throw. She’d end Bastien’s problem right here and now. But before she could loose the weapon, she heard someone yell, and a boot came down on her wrist.

She cried out in pain as it ground down, forcing her to release the dagger. She looked up, saw one of the foretopmen had come to Maine’s aid. She exchanged a quick glance with the quartermaster, who gave her a victorious smile. He looked at the foretopman, concern in his features. “She attacked me for no reason. I think we have a traitor in our midst, Cooper. Take her to the hold and chain her there until after the battle.”

“Yes, sir!” He grabbed her under the arms and pulled her to her feet. She stumbled and was pushed toward the ladderway.

“No!” She fought, tried to reach Maine, but Cooper grabbed her injured wrist, and she buckled from the pain. She was shoved down the ladderway. “Wait. Cooper, is that your name? Wait. It’s Maine. He’s the traitor. He gave our position away. I was trying to help.”

“We don’t need yer kind of help. Now shut yer hole, or I’ll shut it fer you.”

She knew when she’d lost. She shut her mouth and cradled her wrist close until he chained her in the hold and left her. Above, she could hear the sounds of men’s feet on the boards, the scrape of the cannons moving into position, the sound of orders. Cooper could follow orders, but he didn’t think for himself. She was still armed with her sword and Bastien’s pistol. Of course, with her injured wrist, neither was very useful to her, but they were better than nothing.

And she had still had her hairpins. She wasn’t going to spend the battle locked down here.

***

Bastien stood on deck as the two ships slid alongside one another. Across the space dividing them, he spotted El Santo, and beside him, Jourdain.

Jourdain had not changed. He stood tall in his brightly colored clothing. Bastien remembered that about the man—he preferred bright colors. Now he wore lose brown pants of some sort, a vivid green tunic, and a red vest. His head was bald, and the rising sun glinted off the oiled skin. Bastien couldn’t see the earrings glinting from his lobes or the rings adorning his fingers, but he knew they were there.