The Road to Ruin

by Bronwyn Stuart

  Through the haze of passion, of anticipation and longing, Daniella heard the words but didn’t believe them. “What?”

  “If we are still alive tomorrow at nightfall, you will marry me.”

  “You can’t trick me into saying I do—”

  He cut her off with his mouth and kissed her again and a pulsing started deep within her body.

  “No tricks,” he said, placing soft, feathery kisses down her jaw, his whiskers scraping so erotically she thought she might combust on the spot. “You’ll take my name and my protection and everyone will know you are mine.”

  Which way was up? He didn’t stop kissing her, his hands kneading, his hips rolling. He worked her up and up and she craved release. She wanted him inside of her and be damned the consequences. Everything be damned.

  “Yes,” she groaned as he hitched her up higher and closed his mouth over her nipple through her shirt. Through two fine layers of lawn and cotton, his wet heat played havoc with her senses.

  “Your word,” he said, his voice muffled.

  “You have—” She gasped when he used his teeth as well as his tongue. “You have my word. Tomorrow, if we still live…”

  “We will get through this, Daniella.” He slid her body back down the wall, gentleness and calm restoring the frenzy. “I’ll make sure of it.”

  *

  His sense of honour howled to the wind but his conscience pricked. He smothered the edges of its knifepoint and kissed her again. His hands were everywhere all at once but he wanted her naked. There were too many barriers. He wanted to rip them all down one by one until it was just the two of them, skin to skin, vulnerable and open and raw. He would have her no other way.

  He started with the ties of her shirt and loosened the strings.

  “Wait,” she said, her fingers squeezing until he had to stop.

  “It’s too late, Daniella.”

  She rolled her hips against his. “I have one condition.”

  Picking her up in his arms, he carried her to the bed and placed her on it, following her down until he hovered above her. “No conditions.” He placed his lips to hers, kissed her, drank of her. “No more talking.” Slowly, gently, without taking his eyes from hers, he slid his hand under the hem of her shirt, up her ribs, to cup her breast, his thumb firmly flicking her nipple until her back arched off the bed. “No more excuses.”

  Lowering himself down her body, he lifted her shirt and her chemise to her armpits and then over her head, baring her chest to his hungry gaze. He licked his lips. Then he licked her. First one side, and then the other, cupping her weight and kneading, learning the feel of her so if they did die he would go to hell with this memory seared into his very being. When he closed his mouth over a dusky peak, she threaded her hands into his hair and pulled him back up to her face, taking his mouth in a kiss so fierce it was a wonder he didn’t explode right then and there.

  Reaching down, he felt for the hem of her gown…but was frustrated by her tight breeches. “This is why ladies wear skirts,” he said with a curse.

  She laughed. “I didn’t know that.”

  Rolling off her, he opened the fastening at her waist in hurried motions, his fingers tangling in the laces, trying not to once again rip the only clothing she had.

  She tried to help, taking the laces and undoing them, but he was impatient now. He slid a hand beneath the fabric, his fingers finding soft hair and slick heat. She cried out when he found the nub between her wet folds. “Take your pants off, Daniella.”

  “I’m trying. You’re distracting me.”

  He withdrew a fraction and stilled, half rolling onto his back. “I can stop?”

  She clawed the breeches off, using her feet when the fabric caught on her ankles. He would have laughed but at the sight of her, all woman, all wanton, he bit his tongue and held back. His erection strained and his blood sang.

  “As you were,” she said, taking his hand and leading it back to her mound.

  This time a chuckle escaped and he rolled back towards her as if pulled by an invisible string. “Perhaps I should be grateful you aren’t an innocent.”

  “I hope I get the chance to say the same thing,” she said, her own hand trailing down to the opening of his trousers.

  In no time he was just as naked as she, the urgency building until there could be only one outcome. He didn’t want to hurt her. When he slid one finger into her, she was so tight, so hot, so welcoming, but he was afraid the last thread of his control would snap the glorious second he entered her.

  “Slow it down,” he whispered as he slid his finger slowly in and out, in and out, still learning, still memorizing and being mesmerized.

  She panted and dragged him into a hard kiss, full of urgency and carnal desire. He ignored the pain in his nose and his face and thought of nothing but pleasure.

  “Faster, James, I can’t bear it for much longer.”

  He smiled against her lips. “It’s going to hurt, my sweet. You’re not ready yet.”

  Pushing with the heel of her hands hard against his chest, she rolled him to his back and straddled his hips. He grew harder in an instant. He hadn’t known it was possible.

  “Just how many times did you…ah…lose your innocence?” he asked with a laugh.

  The feline grin she gave him made him laugh again but he stopped when she took his member in her hand and directed him towards her entrance. “There was one boy; his name was Jimmy,” she breathed, her eyelids drifting closed as she slid down his length, her body greeting his as though they had done this many times before. When she was seated to the hilt she opened her eyes again. “He showed me a few things.” She tilted her hips and clenched her inner muscles.

  James held on tight to the control he thought he still had.

  She bent to trail kisses down his neck, her hair heavy against his chest, her scent everywhere, like cherries and spices. She lifted a fraction at a time and then slid down again, the torturous friction agonizingly unhurried after the urgency of moments before. After about the fourth time, right after she nipped the flat plane of his nipple and ran her smooth hand over the other, that control snapped completely and he flipped her onto her back. “I happen to also know a few tricks.” His voice was coarse, husky, unrefined.

  “Show me,” she implored, her hands relaxing above her head.

  He pulled her legs up so her knees were raised, her ankles at his sides, then covered her hands with just one of his own. Gripping her buttock to hold her still, he pushed inside her folds again, knowing now he couldn’t hurt her. She was wet and ready and wanted it more than he did, if that was even possible.

  As he withdrew, her eyes would open wide but when he slammed back into her with all the force of his desire, she closed them again, her head thrashing against the rough cotton sheet, sweet little noises of pleasure filling his ears. A wholly male satisfaction the likes he hadn’t known in an age rocketed in his blood.

  Her muscles tightened, her nails dug into his skin but still he held back. He wanted to watch her face as she fell into her pleasure. He wanted to hear her cry out before he lost himself in this moment.

  Just when he thought her body couldn’t handle any more, just when he thought she’d reached the highest peak she could find, he took her mouth in a kiss not meant to be punishing but harsh in their combined needs, forcing the breath from both of their bodies. He was relentless then, stoking her desires, pushing and pushing until her nails scored his skin, pushing even after he’d swallowed her ragged cries and her legs lost their tension. When he reached heights he’d never before experienced and thought he’d die from the lack of oxygen and rationale, he let go and buried his face in her hair as he emptied his seed deep in her womb.

  “Extraordinary,” he whispered, running his palms lightly down her ribs, his thumbs brushing the edges of her breasts and then lower still to her hips. He kissed her cheek, her jaw, her neck, her chin. He raised himself up on his elbows just in time to catch the look of intense satisfaction o
n her face, the silly grin on her lips.

  It was the single most perfect moment of his life to date and if he did die tomorrow, he would meet his maker a very contented man.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Darkness had fallen in the time they’d spent in each other’s arms. Daniella couldn’t string a coherent sentence together to save her life and that gave James a thrill he’d never before had.

  All the time he’d spent with Marie during the campaign, never had he been this spent. Sure, he was younger and stupider then, full of fire for the battle and a naive desire to serve his country. But this was different. Daniella was different. He had more to lose now than he ever had before but he wouldn’t have done anything differently. Well, perhaps he would have bedded the chit before now. They’d had so many opportunities and he had squandered them all in the guise of propriety and honour.

  Moonlight reflected from the ocean created trembling shadows and darkened corners for past wrongs to hide away. Tonight wasn’t a good time for ghosts and nightmares. James rolled from the bed and lit the lantern, dressing swiftly.

  “What are you doing?” Daniella asked with a wide yawn.

  “We have to get dressed. As much as I like you like this—” all smooth contours and erotic dips “—Darius will be back soon and he can’t be aware of what went on here.” Although it would further James’s cause. Beneath that wily madman lay a gentleman. He recognized that and wondered what the pirate’s story was.

  “When did Darius come to your crew?”

  Daniella shrugged, the sheet slipping from her body as she rose in search of her shirt. “I was about twelve when we took a ship coming from London. All the lords and ladies were ransomed but Darius wasn’t one of them. Neither was his crew. I remember he was wearing servant’s clothing: there was an insignia but I couldn’t tell you now what it was. He didn’t have family to be sold back to and once we sunk the ship, there wasn’t a place for him to hide either. At first we assumed he was with a lord on the ship but he confessed he’d stowed away in search of a different life.”

  “That would account for his speech to an extent.”

  “What do you mean?” she asked, squatting down and looking under the table and then under the chair.

  James swallowed and willed his libido to calm though he didn’t stop watching her. “He speaks very well for a servant or even a pirate.”

  Daniella laughed and turned to him, gloriously naked and unashamed. James held the shirt out to her on two fingers. When she got close, she ignored it and put her arms around his neck, breasts pressed to his chest, squeezing until his head dipped towards hers. “Not all pirates are uncouth or uneducated.” She nipped his bottom lip and then snatched the shirt from his grip with more laughter. “My father teaches everyone to read who desires the benefit. Having them learn numbers is an advantage also.”

  She teased him. He let her. She mocked him to show she had the upper hand even in conversation and he let her. He liked the banter. No London lady would ever tease him so. “Still you don’t actually know where he came from at all, do you?”

  As she slipped her arms into the sleeves, her movements graceful and sure, James couldn’t take his gaze from her. He wanted to kiss her again and again but the soft skin around her mouth was already grazed from the roughness of his facial hair and would only get worse if he were to keep nuzzling her. He almost missed her reply so fascinated was he.

  “They all had lives before they came on board. We don’t ask questions.”

  “How do you know which of them you can trust?”

  She sat on the edge of the rumpled bed and pulled her breeches over her toes and up her legs. “It’s evident soon enough who wants to be there, who needs to be there and who shouldn’t be there. My father has a gift for judging a man’s character.”

  “Does he often get it wrong?”

  Daniella stopped midway through lacing her breeches and shot him an accusing glare. “No, not very often, but like any man, he isn’t perfect.” It looked as if there was more she would say on the subject but then she closed her mouth and resumed dressing.

  The more he talked to Daniella about her father and the ship and her crew, the more intrigued he became. He’d belonged to an extended family when he was in the army. The sense of camaraderie and brotherhood was most of the reason he’d stayed in for as long as he had. If his brother hadn’t cracked and killed himself and their father, he would have stayed. He probably would have died out there in the mud somewhere but he would have died doing something he loved and thought a worthy cause. Who the hell did Bonaparte think he was anyway? As bad as bloody pirates in his book.

  But maybe Captain Germaine wasn’t as bad as James had believed. He had to hope the man had more than a shred of common human decency for Amelia’s sake. If they lived through to the end of all of this, he was going to teach her to defend herself against a man. He might call upon Daniella to do the teaching. Since they were going to be married.

  When the time came, she was going to try to weasel out of it. He knew what she thought of marriage and men and belonging to either the institution of matrimony or the flesh and blood aspect of it. Why had she agreed at all? In the heat of the moment? Perhaps she’d finally come to accept that her father was unlikely to let her back aboard The Aurora, reputation or no. He didn’t mind being her second choice. Not if it meant having her in his arms for the rest of their lives, making love to her wherever and whenever he desired.

  There was only one thing he knew for certain. Come hell or high water he would marry her and save her once and for all from herself, from her father, from Darius. She was his partner in every way. If he didn’t hold on to her, the rest of his life would be miserable indeed.

  Damn, he grew morose when he was tired, and tired he was now. The injury to the back of his head still throbbed, and his muscles stretched with strain from climbing the rigging and then the effort not to hurt Daniella. Seems he needn’t worry at all on that score. His smile grew into a grin and when she caught it directed at her, she blushed and turned away, her head down.

  “You can’t look at me like that,” she said, doing her best to smooth her wild curls over her shoulders.

  “Like what?” His feigned innocence was tragic. He would have never made a good actor. She started when he draped his coat over her shoulders. He leaned in close. “You better cover it all up just in case I’ve a mind to take everything off you again.”

  His spirits were somewhat dampened when the door opened a while later to reveal Darius with another tray of food. He whistled a tune but didn’t call a greeting. At least he wasn’t neglecting them. But James didn’t want him there.

  He stepped forwards to take the tray from the blackguard’s hands before he came too far into the room. He gave him a little nudge back in the direction of the corridor. “I think we can manage from here.”

  Darius looked at them a little too shrewdly and smiled, oddly very civil. “I do believe you can,” he said, and with a little salute, he backed out and left, still whistling that God-awful tune.

  As they sat down to eat, Daniella still smiling and James itching to take her back to bed, he damned plots and scheming to hell and wished for the day when they could leave it all behind them.

  *

  Morning arrived far too soon and Daniella found her nerves stretched tighter than the dark sails leading them to their destiny. She fretted over what her father would say. She worried about James and his family and how being married to him would change her life. She hadn’t said yes under false pretences but she would not give up the sea. If he wanted her for his bride, there were negotiations to be had.

  For months she’d thought of nothing else other than what it would be like to be forced into a union with a tyrant of a man such as any one of Anthony’s “friends.” Lately she had begun to wonder what it would be like to be joined instead to a man who wouldn’t demand complete control over her every whim and fancy. Yes, James infuriated her, sometimes she even wanted
to kill him, but at the heart of everything he did was his instinct to protect those he loved. Of course James didn’t speak out of love or any such similar nonsense. She was just another female to protect—though the previous night had also made it clear he desired her. She was glad of that.

  Yawning in the cold light of day, she hugged herself and stared at the ocean—and land, beginning to come into view through the lifting fog. It would be a cold day, not that it mattered whatever the weather. Nothing would change their course now.

  Darius had already announced they were to dock and then take a carriage the rest of the way. He was taking them to Kirkcudbright. Her father should have received word about the debacle and be waiting for them. Now all they could do was follow.

  James came to stand behind her and draped his coat over her back and arms; the heat from his body enveloped her and calmed her somewhat.

  “Do you think it worth attempting escape once we are on land?” he asked. They—she, Hobson, Patrick and James—had been talking over their options since the other two men were brought to their cabin in the early morning.

  Daniella and James were dressed in their days-old clothing, waiting, the atmosphere sombre, moods ranging from fury to resignation. They’d made love all through the night, neither wanting much sleep if they were soon to be killed anyway. She knew his touch, his taste, and his desires. She’d behaved shamelessly, even begging for his mouth and hands on her body and then returning the favour with a willingness that stunned him. Long gone was the time for hiding or acting coy. She was free with James to be the woman she wanted to be. He didn’t make her feel shame in the darkness. He worshipped her body again and again and again. Never had she felt this kind of power.

  It was intoxicating.

  And temporary.

  Anything could happen yet. A stray bullet in a fight. The navy appearing out of nowhere and blowing them all to smithereens. This was a part of the planning no one could predict.