Thistle and Roses Collection: A Bundle of Scottish, Irish and English Historical Romance

by Eliza Knight

  Titus stiffened. “Bloody hell, you’re a virgin.”

  Her mouth fell open, appalled. “I am not.”

  “How many lovers have you had?”

  “Enough,” she answered.

  “I don’t bed virgins.”

  “I’ve likely had more lovers than ye.” She jutted her chin and he was inclined to believe her.

  “Will I be another notch on your pirate wench’s bed post?” Titus teased.

  “That remains to be seen. I only carve a mark for those who can perform.”

  “Perform?”

  “Not all of your gender know what they’re doing,” she taunted. “I find men as arrogant as ye often bed a woman in the same fashion as they run their ships. Orderly and efficient.”

  “You insult me. I assure you when I bed a woman, ’tis as thoroughly as I keep my ship’s manifesto—nothing gets left uncharted.”

  The wench actually grinned at that. “That remains to be seen, Graves.”

  “Then get undressed so I can tell you whether or not I agree to your arrangement.”

  “And if ye don’t like what ye see? What do I get for baring myself to ye?”

  “I’ve not seen a woman I didn’t like.”

  “A man of many tastes?”

  “A body is a body, they are all beautiful to me, but ’tis a woman’s passion that makes a difference.”

  “In that case, ye’ve already examined what I have to offer ye when ye kissed me.”

  Titus tapped his chin. “This is true, but you did slap me afterwards.”

  “Fine, then, another kiss.”

  He leisurely shook his head, grinning. “Undress.”

  Antónia frowned. “All right.” She placed her blunderbuss on the desk beneath the porthole, and then slowly raised her hands toward the laces at her chest, the ruby Lucius Ring flashing in the light coming through the porthole.

  “’Tis a good look for you, madam.”

  “Wet garments?” She finished untying the shirt and tugged it open, revealing the tautly wound linen beneath.

  “The ring, but aye, I like the look of the fabric clinging to you.”

  She blushed, hiding her face as she raised the shirt over her head. Her belly was flat, and even though she’d bound her breasts, he could still make out a swell beneath the fabric.

  Antónia dropped the shirt to the floor and stood there, waiting. Titus’ desire grew, but he watched her face, watched the way her eyes drifted over him. There was interest there. Even if she didn’t want to admit it just yet, she liked him. He could tell in her kiss. And, the fact that she’d offered herself to him. She could have offered coin. Could have even shot him in the leg and not killed him, to escape.

  “Keep going,” he said. “I want you in nothing but that ring.”

  She reached for the knot between her breasts, unwinding the linen until the pink globes of her breasts were revealed. Beautiful, supple skin, topped with rosy nipples that hardened into peaks as he gazed at her.

  The linen fell to the floor with her shirt and then she reached for the ties of her breeches. Titus’ throat had gone dry, his body pulsing with the need to touch, to taste, to conquer. He itched to reach forward, to trace the line of her jaw all the way down to her navel.

  Antónia kicked off her boots, then shimmied out of the breeches, revealing the curve of her hips, the tuft of dark, red hair at the crux of her thighs, long, shapely legs, dainty feet with wriggling pink toes.

  “Does the merchandise satisfy?” she asked with a raised brow, a cock to her shoulder.

  Hell, aye, it did. “Turn around.”

  She opened her mouth to protest, but he made a whirling motion with his finger. Titus had to keep his laughter inside as she muttered something under her breath and begrudgingly turned in a quick circle, giving him just a flash of her delicious bottom.

  As she turned back to face him, he covered the distance between them, grabbed her bejeweled hand and tugged her flush against him. Blast, but he had to bite his lip to keep from groaning at the delicious feel of her length against him.

  “Very satisfying,” he murmured, gazing into her emerald eyes. “I’ll take it. Twice.”

  Desire darkened her eyes to the color of pine. “And the ring is mine when ye’re done. Free and clear.”

  “The ring is yours.”

  “Free and clear.”

  “That I can’t promise, for I intend to tell the queen you robbed me.”

  She tried to back away but he held her tight, his hand splaying on the soft skin of her back.

  He trailed his fingers over the line of her spine. “And she will demand I chase you all around the world, and every time I see you, I might be enticed to make another arrangement.”

  “Why ye—” She wriggled against him.

  But Titus didn’t allow her to speak. Instead, he crushed his lips to hers, taking what she offered and preparing to give her a piece of himself in return.

  Chapter Six

  Antónia had never been so bold.

  Oh, aye, she’d done her fair share of seducing men. But this… Well, this was altogether different. She might have offered herself up as payment, pretended that this kiss, that Titus’ touch, meant nothing to her, but then she’d only be lying to herself. And him.

  She’d not been able to stop thinking about his kiss. His tongue. The hardness of his body. The exciting way that he looked at her when she’d boarded his ship hours before.

  And now… Now, she’d never be able to forget the heat of his searing gaze and the way his fingers threaded through her wet hair. The way his tongue lapped at hers and how her naked skin felt flush to his scratchy naval uniform.

  Every inch of her sang with delight, with need, with excitement.

  And even more so at the fact that she’d won. The ring and the chance to bed him not once, but twice? What more could a wicked lass such as herself ask for?

  Well, besides true love, but that would come later. That was why she wanted the ring to begin with. So she’d know when such a sentiment found her.

  Titus’ hands skimmed over her back, moving down toward her rear. He cupped her bottom, hauling her against the tight, hard length in his breeches. She shuddered. If he could kiss this well, she knew the bedding would be good. She’d only been provoking him, taunting him to prove her otherwise, letting him know she wouldn’t settle for mediocre.

  Not that she needed to worry. It appeared when Titus set himself to a task, there was no doing it halfway.

  “Graves…” she moaned, tilting her head to the side as he kissed a path along the column of her throat. “I have to tell my crew…that I will be awhile. Else they take it upon themselves to rescue me and they massacre yours.”

  Titus pulled away from her, nodding. “Aye. We canna have that.” His gaze roved over her breasts, his fingers following their path. He caressed one breast, bringing her nipple to his lips.

  Her head fell back, delicious pleasure coursing through her at the swipe of his tongue. Dear heavens… She was in for a delicious afternoon…

  “Graves,” she said again. “Let me dress and—”

  “Ah-ha,” he said. “I know the game you play. You intend to disappear. Or cause mayhem.”

  How funny that he didn’t realize how much she wanted this, and how fortuitous. “Fine, give me one of your shirts to wear, and ye can carry me up, if ye like.”

  Titus narrowed his eyes.

  “For the love of Davy Jones, I’m not lying, ye English sot. We’ve made an arrangement and I’ll not be the one to back out of it. Pirate’s honor,” she said.

  That had the man chuckling. Infuriating.

  “All right.” He unbuttoned his coat and wrapped it around her shoulders. “You realize pirates have no honor?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Ye know nothing.”

  Antónia slid her arms through the sleeves and buttoned it to cover her nakedness. Titus lifted her into his arms as though she weighed next to nothing and carried her toward the door, m
anaging to unlock and open it without jostling her.

  “What will you say?” he asked.

  “Does it matter?” She toyed with the hair at the nape of his neck.

  Titus leaned down and bit her lip, sending frissons of sensual need rocketing through her. “Aye, wench.”

  “Nothing to start a war,” she murmured.

  “I’d hate to mar your beautiful skin,” he said, licking where he bit her. “’Tis a wonder ye’ve been able to escape a mark thus far.”

  “I have not escaped my share of the strap. Granuaille just made sure they didn’t break my skin.”

  “Lucky.” He carried her toward the stairs.

  Antónia shrugged. “In that, aye, but when I misbehaved she new that the best way to punish me was to leave me at home, away from the sea and politics. My father and mother were always too enmeshed in their own chaos to notice me. I languished. I could have died of boredom.” She laughed as they made it up to the deck.

  The look of pure astonishment, followed by rage, that passed over Sweeney’s face made her heart skip a beat. She realized that she and Titus looked like lovers. Happy lovers at that, and she regretted having told him such a personal story, one that had brought a chuckle to them both. But she couldn’t help it. There was something about Titus that made her want to share. She opened up to him without thinking.

  Even still, she wiped the smile from her face and gave her crew her most fearsome stare.

  Titus walked her to the rails and she looked Sweeney right in his angry eyes when she said, “I’ll be up shortly. The captain and I have some business to deal with.”

  Business. Everyone knew what that meant.

  “Captain…” Sweeney drawled. “I must insist that a guard accompany ye.”

  “That will not be necessary,” Antónia said, narrowing her eyes. There was no way in the vast blue sea she was going to allow one of her men to stand outside the door while Titus bedded her. “I assure ye all is well. Captain Graves has sworn to return me in one piece as soon as business is concluded.”

  “One piece,” Sweeney drawled. “What about—”

  But she cut him off before he could alert the whole of The Lionheart as to what the entire deal was. That was up to Titus. “All is as it should be.”

  “Best keep your sails low and prepare your men to settle in,” Titus said. “Storms brewing and we’ll likely not be done for a few hours.”

  Then he whirled around and started back towards the stairs, stopping abruptly, to turn to his men. “As you were! Grenville, you’ve got first watch.”

  Silence followed them down the stairs and into the cabin. Titus placed her back on her feet and shut the door behind him.

  “That went better than expected,” he said.

  “What did ye expect? Mutiny?”

  “Aye.”

  “From your crew or mine?”

  “’Haps both? Grenville certainly looks like he may shite himself. Pardon my language.”

  “I’m a pirate, Graves, ye need not curb your tongue of vulgar words.” She unbuttoned the coat and tossed it over a chair. “Now, about our business. ’Twould be best if ye undressed, too.”

  Titus grinned. “I insist you stop calling me Graves. My name is Titus, and if we’re to be intimate, than I want to hear my name on that luscious tongue of yours.”

  “Titus,” she drawled, winking and walking toward his bed.

  “Where do you think you’re going?”

  “To your bed?” She glanced over her shoulder, raised a brow, pausing in her steps.

  He shook his head. “Oh, no love, it’s a business transaction. I want you on my desk where such things occur.”

  Antónia flushed from head to toe. Brazen, he was. It was not lost on her how utterly perfect a lover he was for her. “I wholeheartedly agree, Gra—Titus.”

  As she walked toward his desk, he shed his clothes until he, too, stood naked before her, all sinew and sensuality. His shoulders were as broad as she’d imagined. A sprinkle of dark hair dusted his muscular chest, coursing a path over a flat stomach straight down to his groin. And that… well, she’d not been with a man so endowed. Her insides twitched, and she hurried her pace toward the desk, eager to offer him her part of the bargain.

  On her finger, the ring sparkled, and it felt hot around her flesh.

  But before she could think more on that, Titus reached for her, lifting her up and setting her bottom down on the edge of his desk. He spread her thighs with his hips, one hand snaking around her waist to haul her up close and the other threading through her hair and tugging her head back so he could devour her mouth with his.

  Titus left no inch of skin unexplored. No part of her untouched. Unkissed.

  She melted into his embrace. Followed in his footsteps and kissed her way from his head to down to his knees. When they were both trembling uncontrollably with need, only then did he finally thrust inside her.

  Antónia cried out, clutching to his shoulders, her legs clutched around his strong body. He surged inside her, over and over, never allowing her to catch her breath. Pleasure sparked bone-deep along every inch of her body. No lover compared.

  And then, when she thought his lovemaking could get no better, she was falling apart, her body seizing and then bursting in waves of pleasure. “Oh, Titus!” she cried out, curling herself around him and riding the seas.

  He was relentless, thrusting harder and faster as she climaxed, allowing no time for recovery, compelling her body into another crescendo of pure bliss.

  “My God, love…” he growled, thrusting hard, deep for a final time, and shuddering from head to toe.

  They remained motionless, Antónia wrapped around him, Titus still deep inside her.

  And then he languidly withdrew, his forehead pressed to hers, his shallow, shuddering breaths mingling with her own. Her heart still pounded fiercely against her ribs. Could he hear it?

  Titus cleared his throat, then walked to a wooden chest and lifted the lid. He pulled out a basin, pitcher and a cloth. Without looking at her, he poured water into the basin, dipped the cloth and wrung it out, and then he brought it to her.

  “To wash,” he said, sliding the cloth along her inner thigh.

  Antónia shivered, placed her hand on top of his, taking the cloth. Though they’d just shared their bodies in the single most passionate and delicious episode of her life, him washing her felt entirely too intimate. And yet… she liked it.

  But no matter how much she liked it, she shouldn’t. That was what always got her into trouble before. Sharing too much of herself too soon. Falling hard, fast and not having enough air to breathe when her heart was crushed. So, she took the cloth and washed herself, hopping down from the desk to ring it out in the water and rinse once more.

  “A drink?” he asked.

  She nodded, wondering if he’d pull the bottle of liquor she’d found in his desk or pour her something more civilized like a glass of claret. This was no civilized union and she much preferred the whisky.

  “Whisky?” he asked.

  Antónia smiled. “And here I thought ye might be of the stiff English sort.”

  Titus chuckled. “I am English and plenty stiff when I need to be.” He winked and she let out a shivery giggle. “But I do enjoy a good whisky. In fact, this one is Irish.”

  “Is it really?”

  “Aye. From a distillery in the north. I confiscated it. Seems ironic I’d share it with you now.”

  Antónia walked confidently forward. “I shall consider it property returned.”

  Titus chuckled and pulled the bottle from his drawer. Both of them still fully nude, he poured them each a dram in small wooden cups. She watched the way his muscles rippled beneath his golden skin with his movements, keeping her fingers tightly to herself instead of reaching forward to touch. Antónia had always pictured the snobbish English captains as soft-bellied and pale. But Titus Graves… He was an enigma. A delicious paradox. And a damned fine lover.

  “To our a
rrangement,” Titus said.

  “To a captain who thoroughly reviews his manifesto.” Now it was Antónia’s turn to wink.

  They both drank, in one full swig.

  “Another?” he asked.

  “How else does one drink whiskey? Surely never only one.”

  “You’re an intriguing woman, Antónia.”

  “Ye’re not as boring as I would have predicated,” she retorted, swallowing the next round, and reveling at the burn as the liquor made its way down her throat. “This is good. How much did ye take? I might have to add in a bottle of this with the ring.”

  “That would require thrice and not twice…” he drawled, his eyes roving over her figure.

  Traitorous as her body was, it tingled in all the right places. “I suppose we are allowed to make addendums…”

  “Aye, if two parties make an agreement, then those two parties are most assuredly allowed to make changes if both should agree.”

  “Indeed, Captain Graves, indeed.”

  He clinked his glass to hers and they each drank again.

  “Shall we eat first, Pirate? I’d hate for your second performance to be deterred by deprivation.”

  “Let’s be honest, Captain, ye’ve left me famished for certain, but I feel anything but deprived.”

  Chapter Seven

  What the devil was happening to him?

  Titus’ hands had the slightest of trembles. Almost the same as when he’d first been handed his new rank as captain. Dare he say it was nerves?

  His heart pounded and he was hot one moment and chilled the next.

  ’Twas Antónia. She was the reason he felt this way.

  He glanced into his cup, for a split second wondering if it was possible that she’d drugged him. Nay, he’d been the one to pour the glasses.

  But hadn’t she made note of the bottle in his desk? She’d had plenty of time to spike it if she wanted to. Then again, she’d drunk from the cup, too.

  “Well, Graves?” she asked expectantly.

  Titus shook himself from his trance. “Aye, food, lass.” Shoving off the odd case of nerves he marched toward the door, opened it and hollered to his valet, “Ward! A meal for two!”