Kit Black

by Monica Danetiu-Pana

  From where I stood, I could see the small silver scar that bisected his thick right eyebrow, his only visible flaw. And that only added a rather rakish appeal that I’m sure set the ladies hearts a flutter. As much as I wanted to stand there and gawk at him, I wanted to pick up my skirts and run. I wanted to rip off the damned corset I was wearing, so that I could breathe again. My entire body was hot, and I knew my cheeks had to be bright red. I raised my fan to my face and flapped it, not caring if it was unseemly.

  Jean was suddenly at my elbow. “You look slightly warm, love.”

  “Yes.” I hoped like hell I wasn’t sweating. “I’d rather be at sea.”

  He laughed. “I think you’re part mermaid, lass. And so lovely, I’m amazed no one tried to abscond with you.”

  “Oh, someone did, but I told him that I was the pirate. I do the absconding.”

  “Keep your voice down, love. We are traveling incognito.”

  I smiled, feeling somewhat more stable. At least my knees had stopped knocking. I told myself he did not know me. He just noticed my height. I was as tall as any of the men there. Everyone was gawking at me, wondering who the tanned giraffe was.

  “Have you seen him yet?”

  “Who?”

  “The Marquis de Balzaques. I heard some news about him. This is his first party in a year. He used to throw one every other week, but they’ve been in mourning for the older brother, Paul. The Marquis has no more heirs, so Armand will inherit the title now. He has taken a year from the Navy. They say he may never go back, even though he loves it as much as you and me.”

  “Armand,” I whispered. “Armand Etienne Dupuis.”

  “Yes, that’s the name he’s using in the military. How did you know? Speaking of the devil, here he comes now. Probably to arrest me. You seem rather pale, love.”

  “The damn corset. I’m not used to it.” I was thinking that if he smelled like I remembered, I would just die. I will faint right here in front of him. Dead away. Please, God, I prayed. Don’t let him know me. And if he does know me, let him pretend he doesn’t. But then, I would hate that, too. It would mean that he despised me, that I was nothing more than a woman he found desirable one lonely night, a girl he’d wanted sex from without the complications of love. Once. One night he gave himself to me. And I to him. Long ago. Two years without him seemed like twenty. I looked down at my gloves, glad that they hid the scars and the calluses on my hands.

  “Armand! My friend. I trust that you are well,” Jean greeted him with a bright smile.

  “I am, Jean. Thank you. No price on your head in France, I trust?”

  “Ah, well. One never knows. That’s why I am traveling under my alias. Let us keep that our little secret.”

  I had to look at him, I had to lift my eyes. I did, only to see that he was looking at me. I dropped them again quickly, my face flaming. I was shaking too hard, too moved by the husky timbre in his voice. I kept hearing the things he had said to me in the heat of passion. I could almost feel his bare skin against mine, his hands on me, his mouth…

  “I was sorry to hear of Paul.”

  “Thank you. It has been most difficult for my father. They were very close. We are officially out of mourning now.”

  “I owe you another felicitation. Your son. He is how old?”

  “Yves is six months.”

  My heart fell into my stomach. I chewed my lip and twisted the spines of my fan until it snapped and I gasped in dismay. Armand pretended not to notice, but I knew he was looking at me. I could feel his eyes caress the side of my face, my neck, the thrust of my breasts against the too tight ball gown.

  “Oh, how rude of me. Kit, forgive me,” Jean said with his usual aplomb. “Captain Armand, I have the pleasure of presenting Miss Kaitlin Black.”

  “How do you do,” I managed, giving him a rather graceless curtsy. I raised my eyes to his.

  He gave me a smile that did not reach his eyes, just as forced as mine. “Miss Black,” he murmured, bowing over my gloved hand. He raised my hand to his lips, shocking me.

  I yanked it back far too quickly. It burned from the heat of his lips, even through the cloth.

  Just then, a beautiful, slender woman joined us. “Mon coeur. Your father and stepmother are looking for you. I think they are afraid that they will turn around and you will have climbed onto one of your horrible boats, never to be seen again.” She raised up on her dainty toes to kiss him.

  She had such a sweet smile, his Sandrine. If I had thought before that I could hate her, I knew then that I was wrong. I did envy her luck. Her smile was agreeable, her laugh engaging, her manner flawless and friendly. She was adorable. Her exotically dark hair was as shiny and smooth as a raven’s wing, her eyes the color of jet. Her features were as fine as those of a classical painting, her skin like honeyed silk. She was a treasure to behold, just as he was. They made a beautiful set.

  I felt like a tall, gawky goose in my quickly made blue satin beside her in pearl encrusted lace. My hand seemed to swallow her tiny hand, and yet it made little difference to her. She was kindness itself.

  I wanted to hate her. I wanted to hate them both. But my heart was moved by her joyousness in just being close to him. She loved him. She couldn’t keep her hands, or her eyes off him. And they shared a child. A son. How I wished that I were her.

  I wished that I could dance, too. Poor Jean. His toes would be black and blue, but he was very nice about it. Roger had tried to show me the day before, but said that I danced like a bull in a china barrel.

  Armand did not ask me to dance. I was afraid he might, and then I was sad that he did not. But I was relieved that he did not, because I would have not been able to think or breathe or speak if he touched me.

  I managed to escape the room after supper, which was served at midnight, a most ungodly hour to be stuffing one’s face with delicacies. No wonder half the ton complains of dyspepsia. I was exhausted and in pain, my ribs pressing into my lungs, my feet hurting in the soft soles shoes. I was starting to sweat under my arms, my face as purple as the backside of a Madagascar baboon.

  On the pretense of powdering my nose, I escaped from Jean, who had joined the other men in the games room for cards and brandy. I made my way out of the ballroom through a pair of French doors that led out to the garden. I was breathing far easier as I walked quickly through the paths looking for a place where I might sit and be alone. I had considered asking Jean to call for the carriage to take me back, but I did not want to spoil his obvious pleasure in being with polite company.

  Why hadn’t I pressed him for details before I came? I had no idea that the Marquis was Armand’s father. It seemed too cruel that fate would throw us together now. I was just considering myself happy. I was forgetting him.

  I found an open stone house surrounded by ornamental yews and statuary in the midst of the gardens. I perceived it to be some sort of gardening ode to the Temple of Aphrodite in perfect miniature. I had seen pictures of the temples of Greece in Roger’s books. Jean had said we could sail there soon. It was pretty, the walls lined with stone benches. I sank down in relief, unlacing my slippers and tugging my bodice into a more comfortable position. I dug my bare toes into the grass floor and sighed.

  My, God, he was wealthy. And all this would be his someday. I wondered if he cared. If he even thought about his good fortune. How ridiculous I must have looked to him two years ago. How disgusting and poor. It made me shudder to think of it, of his telling me to take a bath. As if I didn’t know what I was to him. I wondered what his son looked like. Small, dark, and full of mischief like Sandrine was, or tall, well built, and tawny like Armand?

  A sound startled me. I looked up to see him standing there, his hair silvered by the moon. It was too dark to read the expression on his face. I hastily got to my feet, but he blocked the door and I found myself with my back to the wall like a cornered animal. I wanted to tell him to go away, to leave me alone. I wanted to ask him to kiss me, to touch me as I had dreamed of his d
oing.

  It took him two steps to cross the space, take me in his arms, and press his open mouth to mine. He pushed me up against the wall, his hard thigh wedged between my trembling legs. The mere touch of his fingers on my arms caused me to quiver, heat and desire suffusing my body. He lifted me above him, so that he had to bend his head back into the kiss, and so that I straddled his hard thigh. It was strange that he wanted that. To be beneath me. Strange and so beautiful.

  The kiss seemed to build like a fire: a spark, a trickle of smoke, a finger of flame, and then a raging fire that threatened to consume us both. I wrapped my arms around his wide shoulders, burying my fingers in the thick locks of hair at the back of his neck. It wasn’t until his hand cupped my bare breast, which had somehow escaped my bodice, that I realized what we were doing. I found the strength to tear myself away, to push at his hard chest with all the grit I had, just to get him away from me. I almost tumbled over as he released his hold. I had to use the wall to support myself. I could hardly draw a complete breath.

  “Why are you pushing me away?” he had the nerve to ask.

  “What?”

  “You seemed to be enjoying that.” His shaky fingers ran through his hair. He was visibly shaken.

  “How can you be so cruel?” my voice cracked and strained, low enough that others in the gardens would not hear us. I touched my swollen lip. Blood came away on my white satin glove.

  “Me? Cruel? And you don’t call coming here and flaunting yourself with your pirate lover cruel?”

  I was shocked by his words. “I didn’t flaunt myself, I had no idea that you lived here.”

  “I don’t live here. This is my father’s home.”

  “I don’t care who lives here! I want nothing more than to leave, and if you will step aside I will do just that.”

  “What is he to you?”

  “Who?”

  “Don’t be obtuse. I meant Jean Laffite. Are you sleeping with him, Kita? Is that how you finally got your fine ship?”

  I launched myself at him. I’d have scratched his eyes out if I’d had any fingernails. He grabbed me by both wrists. I was a strong woman, far stronger than most, but no match for him. His fingers dug into my forearms, his arms locked like steel bars.

  “Calm down,” he said.

  “Me? You’re the one who started this. You’re the one making accusations. You’re the one who accused me of sleeping around to get my own ship.”

  “Seems logical knowing you.”

  “God, how I hate you! As if you have any right to accuse me of anything, you rutting pig.” I tried to kick at his shins.

  “I offered you a home once. I would have given you anything.”

  “Under your wife’s nose. Your beautiful, sweet wife. The mother of your son.”

  He had the grace to wince.

  “Let me go.”

  “If you will speak to me. If you will let me speak to you, calmly and rationally.”

  “I can’t be rational. You make me feel insane.”

  He jerked me against his chest. “You do the same to me, Kit Black. For two years, not a day has gone by that I have not thought about you. I have dreamt of you. I have paced the floor wondering where you were, if you were well, if you were even alive. And then I meet you and you can’t even bring yourself to look into my eyes.” He went on, and I could feel his breath, hot against my ear. “I was starting to accept that I had lost you forever, that I could finally forget and let the past lie buried. I looked up and there you were. Do you know that I looked for you everywhere? In crowds? Every time I see a pair of blue eyes, it paralyzes me. I went back to Ajaccio and looked for you. I even searched for you at sea. Miles from nowhere and going nowhere, expecting to see you combing your hair and singing to me like an Armandine on the rocks.”

  “I sing like shit.”

  He gave a scornful laugh.

  “I think you ought to think about your wife.”

  “I have tried. God knows I have. I should have gone against their wishes, I should have hurt her then. It would have been easier. You’re right to hate me, Kita.”

  I wanted to comfort him. What did I know of society? What did I know of duty to one’s father? I was of a completely different class. I did not understand him or his pain. He did not understand me or mine. All I knew was that I wanted nothing of his pampered life. I wanted no part in hurting his wife.

  “Let me go, Armand. You’re hurting me.”

  He loosed his grip immediately, stepping back from me. “I’m sorry. I am so sorry for hurting you. I am sorry for what I said, but I am not sorry that I kissed you. I will not apologize for that.”

  “If I had let you, you’d have taken me against that wall. And it would not have mattered, because I am nothing to you but a whore.”

  “That is not true.”

  “That is what I see as true, Armand Etienne Dupuis. It is my truth.”

  “I love you,” he said softly.

  That took the wind out of my bloody sails.

  “I love you. Nothing will change that.”

  I never thought to hear those words from anyone, let alone him. I heard his wife calling him then, her tone lilting, amused, as if he were playing a game with her, a game of hide and seek.

  “Armand? Mon coeur? Armand?”

  “Go to her,” I hissed, urging him with a small shove. “I’ll stay here and leave later. No one will know we were together.”

  He nodded. “Kita, I…”

  “Just go.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I don’t want your thanks. I’m protecting her, not you.”

  He sighed and reached out to touch my cheek with the backs of his fingers. I didn’t back away from his touch. I just closed my eyes, feeling the tears thicken my throat.

  “Armand?” Sandrine called again.

  He ducked out of the small structure.

  “There you are, mon coeur. What have you been doing? We have to get upstairs. The nurse will have fed the baby by now, but he doesn’t like sleeping alone. Come, he only calms down in your arms. I do so hate to be stuck up there forever, when everyone else is having fun.”

  “You go and have fun. I will see to him.”

  “Thank you, mon coeur. Why were you out here?”

  “I was hot and stiff. I needed to relax.”

  “Your friend, the handsome dark haired man was looking for that strange girl. For a moment, I wondered if she might be with you. Isn’t that ridiculous of me?”

  “Totally. Let’s not have Yves wait any longer.”

  “Did you think she was beautiful, Armand? Everyone was looking at her and talking. She was so large for a woman. I like narrow shoulders far better on a lady, and she walks like a boy.”

  I did not listen to his reply.

  ***

  The next morning, Jean caught me crying. I was polishing Armand’s sword, debating on returning it to him. I had mulled it over all night while I relived that kiss, those harsh words he had uttered to me.

  “I wondered where you had disappeared to last night, Kit.”

  I brushed away the tears with the back of my hand, trying to hide the sword beneath the polishing cloth.

  “He gave you that, did he?”

  “Yes. I didn’t steal it. We knew each other in Ajaccio. It was not a long relationship.”

  “Yet, he gave you that. He adored his grandpere, Kit. That sword meant the world to him.”

  I swallowed hard. Oh, just what I needed to hear. “I’m thinking about giving it back.”

  “Don’t do it. Did you love him? “

  “I don’t think that’s any of your concern.”

  Jean sat beside me, lifting his face to the sun. “He was always a handsome devil. A little on the shy side, though.”

  “The shy side,” I scoffed. “Ha!”

  “Yes, he was. Rather overshadowed by his demanding and cold father. His brother could do no wrong, and frittered away every damned day of his life with his father’s blessing.” Jean s
hook his head. “Armand joined the Navy to get away from them. His grandfather bought him the commission before his death. While he was at sea, his mother died of a heart ailment. They tried to blame that misfortune on him, too. His leaving overset her. He’s not the hardhearted aristocrat you believe him to be, Kit. And he married Sandrine because it was expected of him.”

  “I understand that.” I sighed. “Will he go back to it? To the Navy?”

  “When the baby’s a little older, he probably will. Sandrine is unhappy about it. With the rumors of war, though, he may have to go sooner than he thinks.”

  “I hope I never see him again.”

  Jean laughed. “I see right through the bitter show of bravado, Lady Pirate. He gave me something to give to you.” He held up a sealed missive.

  I looked at the rather awful black script and shook my head.

  “Take it.”

  I took it, but I did not intend to read it.

  “You’re being very stubborn.”

  “I have to be. Did you come here to discuss business, or matters of the heart? I wanted to discuss Greece. Would it be possible to winter there? The Dark Jewel needs some work done on her. I hear the Greek ship builders are better than anyone.”

  “Yes, I think that would be possible. I know a woman in Greece I’d love to see again. Her hips are wide, and her bre—”

  “I got your point,” I interrupted him. “Wide hips, eh? I suppose those are better on a female than wide shoulders.” I was still stinging from Sandrine’s comment.

  “If it pleases you, I will meet you there. I have to stop in Africa first. I have business there.”

  “I wish I could change your mind about the slave trade.”

  “It’s a business like any other, my dear. And it’s far too lucrative to give up.”

  After he left, I dropped Armand’s letter into the sea and watched the water swallow it down.