by Pam Godwin
The air smelled like mint and cedar and cleanliness. Every breath I took was too intimate, too masculine, too him. Where did he expect me to sleep?
My gaze flitted to the bed and jerked away.
As much as I needed to collapse, I chose to stand. “How did you recognize me?”
“I didn’t.” He set the knife on the small table beside me.
I sagged beneath the throbbing accumulation of the day’s injuries with no desire to look at the knife and even less desire to use it.
“If you set that there to test my intelligence, I’m offended.” I gave the hilt a hard flick and left it spinning like a wheel on the table as I strolled away. “On a good day I can wield a blade against armies of men twice my size. You should also know I’m a dead shot with a pistol. But today’s not a good day.”
His face, too smooth and polished to require a barber’s razor, gave no reaction.
“Can I be frank with you, Ashley?” I wandered through his private space, touching everything from blankets and clothing to furniture and trinkets just to annoy him.
“I expect nothing less.”
“After being thrown off a ship twice in one day, only to end the night with a ruthless spanking on my lady parts—”
“The night isn’t over.”
I flung a glare at him. “I cannot simply forget these things occurred. You can trust that when I fall asleep, I’ll dream of my hands throttling your throat until your lips turn blue, and your eyes pop from your face like corks. But…” I held up a finger without looking at him. “I’m not foolish enough to retaliate. When I make mistakes, I learn from them.”
I turned and pointed at my swollen jaw, just one of the many aches he’d inflicted in the past few hours.
“I’m pleased to hear that you understand my expectations.” He braced his boots in a noble stance and raised his squared jaw, staring down his nose at me.
“God’s teeth, Commodore.” I squinted up at him. “Do you ever grow tired of maintaining that stiff upper lip?”
“Do you ever grow tired of mocking the great and the good?”
“No. Positively never.”
He stood like a statue for a minute or twenty. At length, he dragged a palm down his face, over his mouth, and let his shoulder drop against the wall.
Better? His cocked eyebrow asked.
The stiff lip was impossibly stiffer.
I shook my head. “Lord Ashley Cutler. All suited and booted and looking polished enough to hold the king’s cock while he pisses.”
“Your mouth is appalling.” His gaze slid to the object of his gall.
“Is that your appalled expression? It looks the same as all your others, so I can’t be sure. But honestly, Ashley, if my mouth disturbs you, why do you stare at it so?”
His eyes returned to mine. Deep blue gemstone eyes, thickly lashed and sensually hooded. Oh, how they must grow weary of watching females swoon in his path.
Flickering lantern light gilded his sculpted features and cast shadows over his perfectly combed, inky black hair. So shiny and lush, that hair. It was hard to believe it had ever been exposed to sun or salty air.
He was magnificent to behold, a distinguished officer in his prime who had just won a war and sailed across an ocean to capture Madwulf MacNally and the daughter of Edric Sharp. He would be the envy of his peers upon his return.
How long had he been at sea? Was he in a hurry to sail home? I was wildly curious to know what he was thinking as he answered my shameless appraisement with a calmer, more detached reserve.
“Do you have a lady in England you’re anxious to reunite with?” I crossed my arms, standing a foot away.
“No.”
No surprise there. When it came to women, he put more effort into spanking a clitoris than wooing a heart.
As I understood the situation, I would have a month to scrape information from his brain. Right now I had only so much energy left before my face planted itself onto the floor. The remainder of my questions would have to wait. Except one.
“How did you find me?”
“I was hunting another pirate, and he led me to you.”
Priest? It wasn’t possible. No one outside our circle of trust knew our connection.
My head pounded with panic and fatigue, but I kept my voice neutral. “Who?”
“Charles Vane.”
“Ah.” Grief collided with relief. I showed neither on my face. “Convenient for you.”
“Abundantly. With Vane dead, you were my next target. But, by the time I learned of your arrival in Jamaica, you already weighed anchor and set sail. Rather suddenly, wasn’t it?”
“You’re not the only one hunting me.”
“But I’m the only one who apprehended you.”
Arrogant fool. If he only knew that Priest Farrell had nabbed me first. Oh, how I wanted to tell him he could’ve captured Edric Sharp’s daughter and the Feral Priest if he hadn’t fallen for my ruse.
But my marriage was my most guarded secret and greatest hope for escape.
“If you didn’t recognize me,” I said, “how did you find me?”
“No one could accurately describe your image. You did well keeping that unknown. Until now. But I didn’t need to know what you looked like. I studied your behavior, your track worn in the sea, and lore that follows you. Your affiliation with Charles Vane. The galleon you commanded, which boasts no flags, figureheads, or markings. And your penchant for freeing slaves.”
I closed my eyes, released a slow breath, and glared at him. “You found the sunken slave ship.”
“I received word of it when dead seamen and burned timber washed ashore west St. Christopher. The attack had your stamp of ownership all over it. ‘Twas easy to track you from there.”
My hands clenched, but I couldn’t regret that raid. We’d saved two young African men that day. Besides, with Ashley on my trail since Jamaica, he would’ve caught me eventually. Just like Priest had.
He straightened from the wall and breezed past me, headed to the armoire. From a drawer within, he removed a blue three-cornered hat trimmed in feathers and jammed it on his head. From another drawer, he pulled out a long swath of linsey-woolsey and splayed it on the mattress.
A gentleman’s loose nightgown.
Priest had never worn a stitch of clothing to bed. I preferred nudity, as well. But not here.
“Is that for me?” I lifted the hem, rubbing the coarse cloth between my fingers, relieved it wasn’t transparent.
“Yes.” He flicked a finger toward the privacy screen. “Wash yourself before retiring.”
He pivoted and strode toward the dining cabin, dressed in full uniform as if he were going somewhere.
“Ashley?” I waited until I had his eyes. “Where do I sleep?”
“There.” He thrust his steely chin at the bed behind me and resumed walking.
“Where are you sleeping?” At his silence, I hurried after him. “Where are you going?”
The click of the exterior door sounded his exit.
A growl of frustration vibrated in my chest. I raced past the desk in the day cabin, around the table in the dining cabin, and swung open the door.
Ashley stood on the other side, boots spread apart, hands clasped behind him, and blue eyes narrowed on mine. Expecting me.
My breath came up short. “You said I could wander freely.”
“Not dressed like that.” He shifted to the side and motioned at the two lieutenants behind him.
The men bustled in, carrying piles of mismatched fabric. They dumped the tattered garments on the table, along with a platter of sewing supplies, and swept out of the cabin.
“There’s enough cloth there,” he said. “You will fashion a proper wardrobe for yourself before you leave these quarters.”
“I don’t know how to sew.” I folded my arms over my chest.
He bent toward me and put his nose inches from mine. “Your upbringing says otherwise.”
I blinked, searching for
the best retort. It was true that Lady Abigail Leighton had taught me how to work with a needle and thread. But the only sewing I’d done in the past seven years involved open wounds and bleeding flesh.
Another man stepped into the room, carrying a small medicine chest that rattled with glass vials.
“Madam.” The blond man glanced at my raw wrists, bloody shirt, and throbbing jaw. “I’m Lieutenant Flemming, the ship’s surgeon. Let’s look at your injuries, shall we?”
Shocked, I watched the wardroom warrant officer stride toward the day cabin. Behind him trailed a younger uniformed man holding a tray of fruit, meats, and biscuits.
After everything Ashley had unleashed on me today, never in a thousand lifetimes would I have expected this level of decency. There must be a catch.
When I turned back to the doorway, Ashley was gone.
I knew I was tired but hadn’t comprehended the extent of my exhaustion until I fell asleep at the dining table while Lieutenant Flemming treated the abrasions on my wrists.
He woke me with a hand on my shoulder, shaking me gently. “Madam? You should lie down.”
His soft English accent matched his demeanor. White strands streaked the roots of his blond hair, making him appear older than his forty years. That was my guess, anyway. He didn’t talk much.
Ointments and bandages gathered, he stepped out without another word, leaving me alone in the dimly lit cabin.
I ate some roasted meat and biscuits to appease my grumbling stomach. Then I padded into Ashley’s sleeping quarters.
Behind the privacy screen, I removed Priest’s shirt and held it to my nose. It no longer smelled like him, but I couldn’t bring myself to discard it.
Using the soap and water in the basin, I scrubbed the blood from the linen and hung it to dry.
Various supplies filled the cabinet, such as fragrant oils for hair, ambrosial salve for skin, an oxbone brush with horsetail hairs for cleaning teeth, and cutting instruments for whiskers. Did Ashley actually use the latter? After a full day, he still had naught a bristle on his unshaven face.
I washed my hair and body with his cleansers, taking care with the jade stone at my throat. Then I donned the gentleman’s nightgown, swimming in the linsey-woolsey as I crawled beneath the counterpane on his bed.
The stuffing was soft enough, the distance between sides wide enough for two. But I felt more secure tucking myself against the wall of the alcove and pulling the blankets up around me.
The ship rocked lazily, lulling me into the space between sleep and wakefulness. But I couldn’t turn my mind off. Couldn’t quell the churning in my stomach. Couldn’t ignore the cedar scent of an unfamiliar man embedded in the mattress.
Slumber came and went in restless fits. The passing hours chased the moon out of the frame of the open balcony.
Whenever Priest arrived, what would I hear first? The hissing sails of his ship? The battle drums of HMS Blitz? The command of Ashley’s voice from the speaking trumpet?
Something sounded in the dining cabin. The click of the door. Then footsteps.
My breath stalled, my entire being straining, listening to that gait. I recognized it—the confident, unhurried heel to toe rhythm.
How unnerving. I barely knew this man. He wasn’t the highlight of my life, something I looked forward to seeing. He’d been the darkest part of one day. So why was I lying here, focused on the cadence of his approach as if I’d been awake all this time, waiting for him?
I shut my eyes as he entered the sleeping chamber. His movements stilled on the threshold, and I imagined him squinting at my prone form in the darkness.
With my shoulder pressed against the back wall of the bed’s alcove, I’d left too much room on the mattress beside me, like an invitation to join me. But it was too late to rectify that mistake.
He was already moving, stepping near the armoire. Drawers opened and closed. Fabric rustled. Leather creaked. The glide of laces emitted soft, rapid sounds.
And there went his clothing.
With my eyes sealed shut, I feared what I would find if I opened them. If he believed I was asleep, maybe he would go away.
The mattress dipped, canting beneath his weight.
My lungs tried to push a gasp past my lips. But I measured my breathing and kept the rise and fall of my chest even, subtle, mimicking sleep.
He stretched out beside me and adjusted the coverlet, making no attempt to be stealthy. The heat of him alone could’ve woken the dead. With less than a foot of space between us, I felt his body warmth as if he were pressed against me.
I wanted to sleep alone.
Except I’d done exactly that for two years, and it had been miserable.
Perhaps I wanted to sleep alone with someone like Ashley Cutler. But that didn’t make sense. I would’ve never considered such a thing with Madwulf MacNally or Lieutenant Flemming or any other lout on this ship.
Priest was the only one I’d ever fallen asleep with. The only one I ever wanted to fall asleep with.
Until he hurt me.
I cracked open an eye and glimpsed the bold squareness of Ashley’s nude back. Opening both eyes, I traced the line of his strong neck, the muscled slope of his shoulder, the bulge of his bicep. Exquisite. Flawless. Mercy God, I truly had a weakness for cruelty wrapped in a beautiful package.
The residual moonlight blanketed his nude body in shades of gray and trapped puddles of shadow where his lean waist met the edge of the coverlet. He was infinitely more desirable to behold when lying at ease in nothing but his skin rather than standing at attention in a gold-embellished uniform.
Knowing his nudity continued beneath the counterpane, I couldn’t have looked away if I wanted to. I should have chastised myself for inspecting him so closely, and I would have if my brain hadn’t abandoned me.
“Go to sleep.” His thick, rumbling voice stopped my heart.
I glared at his back. “You’re naked.”
“It’s how I sleep.”
“There’s a woman in this bed.”
“It’s my bed.”
“But—”
“Quiet.”
I pressed my lips together. Until I imagined his unclothed body tossing up against me during the night. “I don’t know what to do with this.”
He expelled a heavy breath, and I could practically see those aristocratic nostrils flaring.
With a heave, he rolled over and faced me.
I wasn’t prepared for his mouth to land so close to mine. His soft breaths kissed my lips, and his dark blue eyes gave me their full attention. They were the eyes of a man who directed, oversaw, and controlled everything. Eyes that command a woman’s soul.
“I’ve never slept beside someone who I wasn’t involved with…amorously.” I swallowed. “This… We’re not amorous.”
“No, we’re not.” He shifted to turn away.
“Wait.”
He waited.
“What will your soldiers think?” I didn’t care a whit about my reputation, but I needed to understand the ramifications. “If they believe you’ve succumbed to a lady pirate’s sexual prowess, won’t you lose your hard-won status in the Royal Navy?”
I believed him when he said he was the only one standing between Madwulf and me. A mutiny among Ashley’s crew would strip me of that protection.
“I’m not commanding a pirate ship,” he said. “This isn’t a democracy. No one on this vessel has the rank to question me, especially not my unruly prisoners.”
“Just so. This prisoner doesn’t wish to be molested by her captor while she sleeps.”
“Don’t look for lust where none exists.” He returned to his side, giving me his back.
“Then don’t jab me with your erection.”
“Stop talking.”
“Do you always get hard when you truss up and spank rabid animals?”
“One more word, and I’ll gag your impudent mouth.”
Another threat. I was certain he would follow through on it and grow hard
as a rock from the result. The man was in severe denial, which served me well. For now.
In the back of my mind, I understood the likelihood of this situation turning in a direction I dreaded.
Much to my dismay, being rescued by my vicious, relentless husband was my best option. But the odds weren’t in his favor. He couldn’t just sneak aboard a first-rate ship of the line and carry me off unnoticed. The approach of the smallest, fastest sloop under his command would be spotted.
The terrifying truth was I didn’t know how he would battle the heaviest armed warship in the high seas. I trusted that he would try with every breath in his body, but I couldn’t wager my life on his success.
Ashley intended to deliver me to England to stand trial, where I would be convicted and hanged. That was a fact.
But I held the power to change it.
As a healthy adult woman, I’d won many hearts accidentally.
I had a month to win Ashley’s heart intentionally.
I’d thought of this before I’d taken the plunge off Jade’s gunwale. Before I’d met the unsmiling, unfeeling commodore.
A heartless man couldn’t fall in love. But part of me hoped that a warm, squishy, sensitive organ beat beneath his cold veneer. If a heart was there, I could take it, turn it, and use it to escape.
But the logical part had already considered a third plan.
If I couldn’t reach the commodore’s heart, I could most definitely reach between his legs.
While I wasn’t skilled in fluttering demure eyelashes or wagging my hips like a coquette, I knew how to lace myself into a bosom-revealing gown and touch a man until his eyes crossed and his brain exploded.
A sweaty tumble beneath the blankets with Ashley Cutler wouldn’t convince him to free me. But if he believed I carried his babe in my womb, that would change everything.
He wouldn’t send me to the gallows.
Because he wouldn’t execute his own child.
Win his heart or conceive his baby.
For either of these plans to work, I needed to get close to him. Close enough to take his seed into my body.
As I stared at his beautifully sculpted back in the darkness, it shouldn’t have felt like such a hardship. He was a gorgeous man, and I’d done worse things to survive.
