Pirates, Passion and Plunder

by Victoria Vale

  He raised his dark brows at her. “Well, mademoiselle, I am a good aim. I would not have shot anyone in a vital organ.”

  She sat back in her seat, bristling. “Still, you not only brought a gun, but you shot it up in the air! Of all the things,” she muttered. “I hope there will not be any more surprises going forward. Might I remind you, sir, that I have paid you well for your services.”

  “And might I remind you, mademoiselle, that I am a professional outlaw.” Finally, he removed the black cloth, revealing a face so handsome that her breath caught in her chest. Granted, she’d known what he looked like beneath the disguise, as she had met him once before, but seeing him again made her heart flutter and her skin prickle with awareness. As if sensing her attraction, or perhaps noticing her impolite staring, he waggled his eyebrows at her and gave her a rakish grin.

  “Well,” she said, forcing her gaze away, “at least the difficult part is over with. I’m looking forward to arriving at my aunt’s chateau and putting all this unpleasantness behind me.” I’m finally going to be free. The carriage windows, open at her insistence now that they’d escaped the city, allowed a much-needed breeze inside, causing tendrils of hair to loosen from her once perfectly pristine hairstyle.

  “It will be after nightfall when we arrive at your aunt’s,” he said, “and you look exhausted. Perhaps you should get some rest.” He passed her a folded blanket. “You can use this as a pillow, mademoiselle.”

  “Thank you, but I’m not tired,” she said, eyeing the man as the gravity of the situation fell upon her. She was alone with a man, a stranger and an outlaw, no less. And no one knew where she was. Perhaps she ought not to fall asleep in his presence. In fact, the very idea of sleeping in front of him felt too intimate. She straightened in her seat and resumed staring out the window, allowing the wind to cool her further, as she resolved to remain awake no matter how fatigued she grew.

  “Suit yourself, little dove.”

  She felt his gaze upon her and it took great strength not to turn and peer into his dark, penetrating stare. Something about this outlaw, a man whom she’d found by chance after entering the notorious Pirate’s Alley in New Orleans, caused her to flush and quiver in her seat. Perhaps it was only because he was so incredibly handsome. She closed her eyes as the cool breeze engulfed her, her mind traveling back to that fateful day.

  Desperate to escape marriage to Mr. John Arlott, she had written Madame Cecile Boucher, her great aunt on her father’s side and a woman Lizzy’s mother had never liked. Aunt Cecile, a wealthy widow with a vivacious personality, had told Lizzy that she was welcome to come live with her, assuming Lizzy could escape New Orleans and make her way to her aunt’s chateau on the outskirts of Baton Rouge. But Lizzy hadn’t been able to arrange for travel herself, as she had become a well-known figure in New Orleans, particularly in the build-up to her wedding. In fact, she had tried to buy passage on a stagecoach headed for Baton Rouge several weeks ago, only for the ticket master to refuse to sell her a ticket, while chiding her for attempting to run away in a fatherly tone and telling her to go home.

  Well, she’d gone home, all right—and promptly swiped some of her father’s old clothing, dressed up as a man, and marched herself straight into Pirate’s Alley with the brilliant scheme of paying someone to help her orchestrate her own kidnapping. It had made sense to plan the event for her wedding day, the day she would be wearing the famed necklace. No doubt, the authorities would assume the man who’d stolen her had a ship waiting in port, intent to sail out of the Gulf of Mexico and head for parts unknown. But they would be wasting their time searching for her in the port. She had no plans to set foot on a ship.

  While she wasn’t certain what she would do with her life after she reached Aunt Cecile’s chateau, at least she would be free to make her own decisions. If she ever married, it would be to a man of her own choosing. Perhaps to a man she loved.

  Sighing with contentment, she congratulated herself on a plan well-executed.

  William “Sea Lord” Marshall, notorious pirate and captain of the Silver Shield, eyed the little beauty in the carriage before him. The petite young woman had golden hair and startling clear blue eyes. Ocean eyes, he thought, thinking of the vibrant blue waters that surrounded the Bulwark, his private Caribbean home that was situated on a small, infrequently visited island.

  As he continued staring at Mademoiselle d’Campe, he imagined absconding with her to the Bulwark and keeping her as his little captive. His cock shifted at the prospect. A lovely creature with creamy white skin, the tips of his fingers burned with the need to touch her. But, despite the fact that he was a pirate, and, currently, a hired outlaw, he did not allow himself to take such liberties with the young lady. He was a gentleman, after all, the most gentlemanly pirate the seven seas had ever seen, thus earning him the nickname of Sea Lord.

  How would Mademoiselle d’Campe react if she learned his real identity? She only thought him a regular outlaw, someone who’d gone to Pirate’s Alley for a bit of gambling, as that was what he’d been doing when she had recklessly approached him and asked if he was for hire.

  His lips curved in a smile as he recalled that day. He’d excused himself from the card game and taken the girl who’d been poorly disguised as a man aside, but only because the urge to protect her had suddenly swelled within him. If he could discern her true sex at a glance, he was certain others would do the same as well. So, he’d escorted her to a private room and informed her that he realized she was indeed a woman and scolded her for putting herself in danger.

  “I am not a woman!” she’d said, using a ridiculously fake deep voice that had made him laugh.

  “Then you’re the most delicate and sweet-smelling man I have laid eyes on, my dear,” he had retorted. “Now, tell me why you’ve come here. What do you require, mademoiselle?”

  And, so, to his great shock, she had revealed her identity as Mademoiselle Elizabeth d’Campe and informed him of her desire to be publicly kidnapped on her wedding day. In the bloody St. Louis Cathedral, of all places. Though William had pulled off many an odd heist in his rather eventful thirty-two years, he had never imagined he would one day pose as a bandit and steal a beautiful bride while the who’s who of New Orleans society watched on.

  Of course, William hadn’t needed the mademoiselle’s money. That wasn’t why he’d agreed to help her. He’d helped her because he had feared for her safety. If she hired the wrong person, and likely if he’d turned her down she would have done just that in her foolish inexperience, she could have very well ended up kidnapped for real. Especially since the necklace she wore around her neck was worth more than fifty times the handful of lesser jewels which she’d used to pay him for his services today.

  Not ready to sail back to the Caribbean for another fortnight, as he’d had business in New Orleans, he had accepted her offer. And, now, here they were, a most unlikely pair on their way to her aunt’s home in Baton Rouge.

  “You didn’t need to ride with me,” she said with an air of annoyance. “Your driver could have delivered me to my aunt’s chateau himself.”

  “I intend to see you safely delivered to your aunt,” he replied dryly. Though he trusted the driver of the carriage, a man named Thomas who had performed odd jobs for him in New Orleans from time to time over the years, he could not imagine abandoning Mademoiselle d’Campe before she reached certain safety. For reasons he did not quite understand, he had the strongest urge to protect her, even from herself.

  He watched as she shifted in her seat and reached around her neck, attempting to remove the weighty looking necklace. She struggled with the clasp and uttered a few curse words in French.

  “You ought to be punished, little dove, for using such vulgar language,” he said in a scolding tone, very much imagining himself as her disciplinarian.

  “Mind your own bloody business,” she retorted, still fighting with the necklace’s clasp.

  “If you were my wife,” he said steadily, “I woul
d spank your bare bottom red for talking in such an undignified manner.”

  “Well, then,” she said, her eyes flashing, “thank God I’m not married to you, or anyone else for that matter.”

  With a huff, she finally gave up on the necklace and sat back in her seat, her gaze on the changing landscape outside. He couldn’t help but take notice of the slight quiver of her lips.

  He moved to sit beside her and reached for the clasp. “Allow me, mademoiselle.” Before she could protest, he removed the necklace and placed it in her hands.

  “Thank you,” she murmured, their eyes locking as she turned to stare at him.

  Ocean eyes, he thought again, deep blue ocean eyes, as his arms ached with the sudden urge to wrap around her. She was exhausted and likely coming down from the stress of impending marriage to a man she despised—for he assumed she must despise the cowardly Mr. John Arlott if she had taken such drastic measures to avoid the union—and he thought she would benefit from some kindly treatment. But, alas, he could not allow himself to touch her. He would probably only frighten her and that was the last thing he wished to do.

  “At your service, mademoiselle,” he eventually said, before returning to his seat.

  As the carriage continued barreling toward Baton Rouge, he found his gaze repeatedly drawn to the pretty young woman who had thoroughly enchanted him. I will see you to safety, little dove.

  Chapter 4

  “Burned to the ground Saturday last,” the neighbor said, holding his hat in his hands and looking apologetic. “I am deeply sorry for your loss, Mademoiselle d’Campe. Your aunt was a lovely woman, charming and kind and so full of life. My wife wrote a letter to Madame d’Campe informing her of the fire and your aunt’s tragic passing, but perhaps it has not arrived yet.”

  Lizzy stared at the remnants of Aunt Cecile’s once glorious chateau, a sense of disbelief filling her. The setting sun cast just enough light upon the large charred area on the ground.

  “What-what started the fire?” she asked, her throat tight.

  “A lightning strike,” the man answered, glancing down the darkened road. Dusk gathered thickly in the surrounding trees and nighttime insects were already screeching. “I must be getting back home. My wife has taken ill and we’re expecting the doctor soon.” He patted Lizzy’s back gently and then hurried down the lane.

  Suddenly, black spots dotted Lizzy’s vision and she started sinking to the ground.

  She awoke, an indiscernible amount of time later, feeling as if she were in a moving carriage. As she recovered her awareness, she realized, with a shock, that she was back in the outlaw’s carriage. A lantern on the floor provided just enough light for her to make out his dark features. And he was cradling her in his arms. She struggled to get away, but he tightened his embrace and peered down at her.

  “What-what are you doing?”

  “Making sure you’re all right,” he replied, before finally allowing her off his lap. “You fainted.”

  Lizzy scooted onto the seat next to him and leaned against the wall of the carriage, grief echoing in her heart. Aunt Cecile was gone. Though Lizzy hadn’t seen the woman in years, they had kept in touch by writing letters. After her father’s death, she had considered the elderly woman to be the only living family member who had truly cared about her. But now she was gone and Lizzy had no one. Tears blurred in her eyes and she blinked them away, not wanting to break down in front of the outlaw.

  Anger burned through her, alongside her sorrow. She had begged her mother, countless times, for permission to visit Aunt Cecile, but Madame d’Campe, prickly as ever, always insisted that the woman was a bad influence and had thus prevented Lizzy from traveling to Baton Rouge. “You’re lucky I allow you to correspond with your aunt at all,” her mother had told her. “If you continue to argue with me, I shall put a halt to your mail.”

  So Lizzie had finally stopped broaching the subject of visiting her aunt, if only to be allowed to continue writing and receiving letters from the spirited but kind woman whom she had adored. And now it was too late.

  She eyed the outlaw, Monsieur Marshall. She wondered if that was his real name or if he’d given her an alias to protect his identity. Furthermore, she wondered just what in the heavens he was doing right now. She’d paid him only to kidnap her and bring her to Baton Rouge. Nothing more.

  “What’s going on?” she asked, trying to still her rising panic. As she shifted in her seat, she felt the weight of the necklace in her pocket. “Where are you taking me?”

  “To safety,” the outlaw replied a bit cryptically.

  “Safety?”

  “Yes, a place where the authorities or Mr. Arlott will not find you.”

  She scoffed. “The authorities will be looking for me, of course, but I doubt Mr. Arlott will.” She couldn’t restrain a tiny smile. “After all, he wet himself when you pointed a gun at him. He doesn’t possess an ounce of bravery in that stout body of his.”

  “Be that as it may, you must remain hidden.”

  “What do you care? You’ve already received your payment. I demand you take me to an inn in Baton Rouge at this instant.”

  “Believe it or not, I do care about your safety, mademoiselle. I also care about mine and the safety of those in my employ. Therefore, I cannot set you free.” His visage darkened. “You’re coming back to the Bulwark with me.”

  “The Bulwark? Where is that? What is that?”

  “My home.” He leaned closer, overwhelming her with his enticing masculine scent. “If I set you free, I have no doubt you’ll be found by those seeking you very quickly. I cannot risk you revealing my identity to the authorities. Doing so would put not only me, but my men at risk, as well.”

  “Your men? What ever are you talking about?” His men? It sounded as if he had a large number of men working for him, but she couldn’t imagine doing what. He was a hired outlaw, a random man she’d found in a bar in Pirate’s Alley. She’d seen him gambling and drinking whiskey, handsome and somehow, despite his appearances, exuding an aura of power, yet hardly looking like a man who commanded a huge workforce.

  “Aye,” he said, his accent suddenly not sounding quite so polished. Then, still remaining seated, he dipped forward in the semblance of a bow before straightening and meeting her eyes. “Captain William Marshall of the Silver Shield, at your service, mademoiselle.”

  She gasped and pressed herself further against the wall of the carriage. “A pirate! You’re a bloody pirate!” Yes, she had gone to Pirate’s Alley in search of a man to hire, but only because she hadn’t known of a better place to find outlaws. She’d heard one of the maids complaining to another maid that her husband had gone gambling in this particular location, while the servant lamented that the area was a cesspool of criminal activity. What better place for Lizzy to hire her kidnapper?

  Captain William Marshall—otherwise known as the Sea Lord, or so she’d read—simply tipped his hat at her and sat back in his seat, a casual manner about him. Though the carriage was barreling down the road at full speed, she leaned forward and reached for the door. He lunged at her and gathered her against his chest, holding her captive in an embrace that could have been passionate, had they been lovers. Despite herself, a pleasurable quiver ran through her at the thought.

  “How dare you,” she seethed. “Unhand me, salaud!”

  “The next time you use foul language, little dove, I will turn you over my knee and spank your bare bottom. You are a refined lady of impeccable birth. Even though you’re now the captive of a bloody pirate,” he said, repeating her words, “that is no excuse for vulgarity.”

  Her mouth went dry. Was he serious? She opened her mouth, prepared to hurl further insults at him, but the steely look in his dark eyes had her second guessing her intentions. She clamped her lips shut and glared at him.

  “Attempting to escape is also a punishable offence, little dove.” Holding her tightly with one arm, he reached for the errant strands of her hair and brushed them behind her ears,
his touch gentle compared to his tone. “You might as well start considering yourself my property.”

  “But I hired you!” Damn him. He was supposed to be doing her bidding, not kidnapping her for real. Damn and blast and bloody fucking hell. Her tongue practically vibrated under the force of all the curse words she longed to scream into his smug, handsome face.

  “Circumstances have changed, mademoiselle.” He cupped the side of her face and leaned closer, until the heat of his breath wafted against her cheeks. “And now, little dove, I own you.”

  Chapter 5

  The intensity of his dark gaze combined with his proximity was too much for Lizzy and she closed her eyes to avoid the probing way he seemed to be able to see into the depths of her soul. Fearful of the sensations his nearness created in her, she hid from his gaze, but not his touch.

  When he suddenly pressed his mouth to hers, her eyes shot open. Never before had her lips touched those of man. In her nightmares, she had blocked out the thought of Mr. John Arlott’s spittle-laden mouth ever making contact with hers. But this, why this was quite different indeed.

  Unbidden, a moan rumbled in her chest and she rested her hand upon his shoulder. His arms circled her waist as he pulled her tight against him, his mouth teasing hers until she matched his movements and their lips engaged in a primal dance which left her gasping for air.

  She ought to struggle against him, jump out the door and make a run for it, anything to escape the way he made her feel. Her control was slipping. His touch sent her senses reeling and her ability to think clearly faded away.

  This high-handed man... a pirate, no less. How the blazes had she managed that? She'd intended to hire a man who would do her bidding and instead the arrogant bastard had asserted ownership over her. Kissed her senseless.

  How dare he? Hadn't this whole escapade come about because of her desire not to be saddled with any man, to be free to live her life without encumbrance, duty or obligation? She would not be owned by any man.