As Marie was helped over the side, she flung one last tantalizing smile at Kirby. “Perhaps I’ll grow bored and come to visit you in Tortuga,” she murmured.
His eyes kindled. “Do that and I will visit you in Charles Towne,” he said. “If they decide to hang you, send me word and I’ll persuade this grim-faced captain here to come and sack the town!”
“They’ll not hang me,” Marie called out and her light seductive laugh floated back to them as she climbed into the longboat to be swiftly rowed to shore.
Charity turned to Court. He stood watching her, and for a moment she saw the deep hunger in his face and the spasm of pain that crossed it. Then it was gone, leaving his dark countenance haggard and stern. He turned on his heel.
“Get her from my sight,” he ordered in a thick voice. “Ravenal, take her to my cabin.”
There was no love lost between the crew of the Sea Witch and Charity, who had nearly cost their beloved captain his life on two occasions. Before she could recover herself, Ravenal had seized her and hustled her away.
She glanced back once and caught Kirby’s gaze. I can wait, that gaze told her. There’ll be other nights.
And then she was in the captain’s cabin, Court’s cabin. Surely once he came through that door his heart would soften, he would not send her away. . . . She touched the bunk with tender fingers. Remembering his touch like liquid fire, his hands moving over her soft quivering breasts, the hard feel of his thighs. How often she had fought him! She laughed to herself. But never again, never again . . . now, together, they would sample all the delights of love. Her heart was full of plans as she waited for him, but the sun pinked the sky and still he did not come.
Tired, she pounded on the door and Ravenal’s laconic voice answered her. No, she was not to be allowed on deck. Not to be allowed out at all until an English ship was sighted.
“And suppose none is sighted?” she flashed.
“Then we take you with us to Tortuga, I suppose,” rumbled Ravenal.
To Tortuga ... ah, there she would have him. Let Jeremy keep his rage on board this rolling vessel. Caressed by the spice-scented winds of Tortuga he would find it harder to keep his footing.
Gloomily, she ate the breakfast the cabin boy brought her.
An hour later she received a rude jolt when Court knocked on the door of the cabin and told her coldly to make ready, an English ship had been sighted and she would soon be transferred.
“Aren’t you going to tell me goodbye?” she asked wistfully.
“I told you goodbye in my heart when you ran away from Tortuga,” he said through the closed door. “You let the letter from Marie turn you against me without even waiting to find out my reply. No, I’ll not give you another chance at me.”
“But you came for me in Charles Towne, Jeremy. . . .”
“That was to save your life,” he said crisply. “The like will not arise again.”
Anger rose in her.
“Are you a coward then?” she taunted the closed door. “Afraid of a woman? Faith, I always thought so!”
With an oath the door was flung open and Court strode into the room. His boots held the deck squarely and his rapier clanged against the doorjamb behind him. His eyes were steady and cold but his face was haggard and at sight of her he paled under his tan.
Charity laughed. She was at the moment taking a bath. Standing naked at the washstand. Tossing back her damp pale-gold hair, she held out a cloth. “There was a time,” she reminded him, “when you’d have washed my back for me.”
Court groaned. “You drive me too far. If I touch you, I’ll carry you back to Tortuga—and hold you there against man and God!”
He tore his eyes from her and turned to go.
With speed she had not known she possessed. Charity made it to the door first, leaned her naked back against it, holding a towel almost to her chin.
“If you put me off the Sea Witch, when I get back to England I swear I’ll take the first passage back to Tortuga,” she warned, her eyes gleaming.
“What do you mean?” Court demanded hoarsely.
“That I love you, Jeremy,” she said, and dropping the towel, walked naked into her lover’s arms.
From the deck, the voices of a group of buccaneers singing drifted down to them. . . . The songs were of lost, of hunted men, lonely and forever damned to roam. Someone had a stringed instrument and plucked at it softly, and the twanging notes mingled with the words that told of homes they’d never see again, of lips they'd never kiss. Like the wind over the water their lonesome music cast its own spell.
“Ye’ll be the death of me,” Jeremy muttered. “Against my better judgment I held you before, and against my better judgment I take you now.” He turned his head toward the door. “Ravenal,” he shouted. “Forget the English ship. Tell Tim to come about and resume course. The lady’s coming with us.”
Later, much later, after a silken joining that was all she could have wished for, she lay spent and naked against his broad chest and asked drowsily, “Are we for Tortuga then?”
“Briefly,” he said. “To pick up Ella and then, with the king’s pardon in hand, I thought to make for the James and buy me a plantation there. I’ll be needing a wife. Will you come with me. Charity, and share in this venture?”
Wife ... his wife. Tears shimmered on her dark-gold lashes and wet her cheeks.
“I will go with you, Jeremy,” she said huskily. “To Tortuga, or the James—or to hell. Wherever you’re bound.”
At the richness of her tone, he lifted his head and looked into her eyes, looked deeply, smiling into their topaz depths. The words would be said over them later but their troth was plighted then. With that long wordless look they had given themselves to each other for all time, whatever fate held in store for them.
Then his arms tightened about her again and she moved luxuriously as their bodies locked together and together they sought the farthest shores of desire—and fulfillment.
THE END
This Loving Torment Page 48
