Gemma followed James as they walked to the tavern. She didn’t want to go, but had little choice as Cook was not there that evening to prepare a meal for them. The only place for them to eat was at the tavern. She had suggested that she stay in the cabin while he brought some food back, but he had flatly refused, citing he would not leave her alone in the cabin. His concern for her safety was not something she could dismiss, so she couldn’t very well argue with him.
They’d walked over to the tavern a bit later that evening. It had already grown dark and the lights shone out of the small windows of the tavern as they approached. The noise of the place didn’t shock her as it had last time, and she spotted Rosie sitting at a table further down the crowded room.
Gemma sought out the only person she could remotely call an acquaintance and took a seat at the table close to Rosie, where she could keep her back to the wall and have a good view of the tavern. It felt important to have a view of these people she didn’t trust in the slightest, particularly the one she wondered if she trusted the least—the pirate who had brought her here.
It hadn’t gone unnoticed by her that he hadn’t answered the question of how he was to get her back to England. He’d just neglected or refused to answer.
“How are you, love?” Rosie asked. Her face was slightly red with the effects of drink.
“I’m...” she started without any clear way of finishing that sentence, before realizing that she didn’t have to be honest. “I’m fine,” she said with a smile.
“That is good to hear. You are such a pretty thing.”
Feeling a bit uncomfortable with the compliment, Gemma blushed. She wasn’t pretty, not when compared to Vivecka. She wasn’t plain, but Vivecka made her look it.
Her thoughts returned to the thing that was worrying her the most—her return to London. He’d said they weren’t ready to leave here for days. He hadn’t even confirmed where they would go thereafter. The prospect of several days, even several weeks in his company stretched before her. It wasn’t that the thought was distressing directly—the problem was more that the idea wasn’t distressing. She seemed to lose her sense when he came close to her and she wasn’t sure she could handle weeks, or even months of that—not if she wanted to keep her sanity and some semblance of distance and propriety between them. She’d utterly failed so far.
“Rosie,” Gemma said. “Merchant ships leave from Martinique, don’t they?”
“They do—sail to France from the other side of the island.”
“How do I get there?”
“The easiest way is to sail around the coast.”
“I need to get someone to sail me.”
Rosie watched her for a moment. “Now, why would you want to go there?”
“I need to go back to Europe.”
“And what of the Captain?” Rosie asked nodding toward James. Rosie seemed to have lost the effects of the rum and was considering her shrewdly. Gemma looked over at him as he was deep in discussions with a couple of men, his back and shoulders straight as he stood there, comfortable in this environment and his own place in it. Gemma was struck again how handsome he was, and she felt the heat spread through her body as she watched him.
“This life isn’t for me,” Gemma said as she tore her eyes away.
“It isn’t for everyone. And you don’t think he will take you if you ask?”
Gemma shook her head.
“Shame that; it was good to see him with a woman. But the heart knows what it wants and if yours don’t want him, then it’s better that you go.” Gemma looked down at her hands in her lap. She did appreciate the ultimate loyalty that Rosie showed for the man who was the source of all her problems and vexations. She felt horrible being deceptive, but she felt it was crucial that she get away. “Bertie’s got a little caravel. He could run you around if you’re sure.”
Gemma thought about it for a moment. It was a decisive step, but if the present company had taught her anything, it was that she needed to watch out for herself.
“I’m sure.”
Rosie sighed. “All right them. Real shame, but you know your heart. When?”
“Tonight, after midnight.” Gemma knew the only time she could sneak away was when he was sleeping.
“I will tell Bertie to fetch you.”
Chapter 20
They returned to the cabin later in the evening. Gemma knew that James wasn’t drunk exactly, but the drink had mellowed him slightly. Thinking back on their time together, he drank, but rarely to excess. She wondered if that was a consequence of a need to always be vigilant. She also wondered if he trusted anyone—he didn’t seem to with her safety at least.
She felt odd knowing that he watched over her all the time, and tonight she would venture away without his protection. She hoped nothing would happen to her, feeling that her trust in Rosie was not a misjudgement. She was definitely in danger of a different kind here, perhaps a more profound danger. If she stayed, she may not want to leave and then she would end up like some of the other women here, abandoned and forgotten, unable to return home and stuck eking out a living by whatever means. Give in to temptation now and suffer for it later.
So tonight was their last night together. It may well be the last night she would ever be with a man who could make her feel like he did. It was a disturbing thought, one that drove the gripping temptation to stay.
“You look absolutely ravishing tonight, Miss Montague,” he said after a while as he sat down at the table nursing a whiskey. His dark eyes sparkled in the dim light of the lantern.
“Thank you,” she said to the compliment. It wasn’t one she took to heart, but she didn’t doubt its sincerity. His gaze on her made her feel beautiful.
She felt her heart steadily beating in her chest. She both wanted the night to be over and didn’t at the same time. It would almost be disappointing if he were to go to sleep now. This was the last time for her to experience being in his bed and potentially the last time to ever experience such indescribable sensations. She didn’t even want to pretend that she wanted the evening to finish any other way; she felt her desire for him all the way into her bones. This would be the one indulgence she would give herself.
Walking slowly over to where he was sitting, she came to stand close to him, looking down on him where he sat. It was an undeniable proposition, but she didn’t care. She watched as he sighed, suspecting that he liked very much that she’d approached him. He put his hand up to her hip and stroked down the outside of her thigh. She felt her heartbeat quicken and her stomach clench with the touch.
He pulled her over to step in between his thighs while he leaned forward and wrapped his arms around her legs, placing his head to her chest. She didn’t know exactly what to do, but her arms moved to caress his head anew and her fingers slowly wound themselves into his hair. And then he stood, shocking her slightly with his height. He was looking down at her with deep, dark eyes and she suddenly felt exposed under his scrutiny. He made her feel like a woman—a feeling she couldn’t quite explain, but it was more than a girl, more than what she was or had been before.
Leaning down, he kissed her. Gemma’s eyes swam shut as she let the sensation of the kiss wash over her. Every part of her body seemed to light with the kiss. She never wanted it to end and she moaned as he drew her closer and deepened the kiss.
This should not be allowed; a stray thought entered her mind—this wasn’t allowed, she had to remind herself. This was everything that was forbidden. Her lips still burned with the touch as he pulled away and explored the tender skin of her neck. He lifted her up to him and she could feel his hardness against her, making her stomach flip with longing and tension.
She wanted to feel his skin again, to be completely naked and exposed like they’d been before. Her dress was constricting her, making her breathing labored.
“There are so many things I will show you,” he said, his voice coarse and reverberating through her skin and chest as he spoke.
“Yes,”
she said wanting him to show her everything. In that moment, she wanted everything he was and everything he could do to her.
He sat her down on the table and lifted her dress over her head leaving her completely naked before him. She wasn’t sure whether she should feel embarrassed over her nakedness, but she didn’t; she felt beautiful. Having his eyes roam her naked body only increased the heat in her, building it to unbearable levels.
He pulled her in to him and kissed her again before pushing her back as his mouth travelled down her neck. Gemma loved the feel of his hands on her body and his lips at her neck making her breath hitch. His mouth teased a path lower and his breath tickled her skin at he moved down to her breast. She almost jerked when his mouth closed around the achingly tight nub; the warmth of his mouth suffused her entire body, making her core convulse in ache.
“I think you were made for this,” he said through ragged breaths and she couldn’t argue with the sentiment. In fact, she could do little other than feel the sensations that were assaulting her. She could barely manage breathing. His tongue twirled around her nub making her cry out with the intensity of her body’s reaction. His other hand kneaded her other breast, lending her support through its steady firmness teasing delightful, sensuous feelings that only built her driving desire for him.
Pushing her gently down on the table, his mouth travelled down her stomach, making her muscles tense along its path. She didn’t know what he was doing, but she trusted him implicitly. His teasing lips travelled lower along her stomach down to her core, where his mouth closed around her, making her whole body convulse in powerful waves. As she arched up powerfully, his teasing changed to a charged demand and her body could do nothing but respond. White heat suffusing her entire being, burning her with an urge to move, or to relent. She wasn’t sure how, but she needed some conclusion to this driving tension. Slow swirls of his tongue teased out delightful pleasure making her wish for more.
When her senses steadied themselves again, he was undressed and positioning himself to enter her. She mewled in an attempt to get him to hurry with his intentions. He pushed into her slowly and her core pulsed around him as she stretched for him. She wasn’t sure she could take any more of the commanding sensations, but she couldn’t stop either as her body moved on its own to meet him as he pulled her hips to him. She was well beyond breathing at that moment, a slave to her body and his quickening demand.
He pulled back and pushed into her vigorously, making her groan as he buried himself completely in her body. Gemma’s body meet his strokes as the tension built in her again. A barrage of sensations battered her until she couldn’t perceive anything but the powerful strokes that lifted her higher and higher. Her body drew together and effected a shattering implosion that threatened her very consciousness.
When the world returned to some semblance of order, he sank down on top of her with his elbows supporting his weight while his forehead rested on hers. Their hot, heavy breath mixed and Gemma still wanted more of him—all of him.
“Men will cross a thousand oceans for that,” he said quietly without moving. “We might say that money and power drive us, but it’s all lies. It’s you that have us, you always have. You are more than I deserve.”
The statement that he was undeserving struck Gemma particularly. It was both true and not. She was leaving because she deserved more than he offered, but it bothered her to think him as an undeserving man. But society viewed him as undeserving. He was a pirate and a criminal, and by consequence, undeserving. But then maybe he was undeserving because of his intentions. Gemma closed her eyes. Why couldn’t he be different? Be more? Perhaps one didn’t get both, she mused, one either got this insane passion that stole one’s reason, or one got a respectable life.
Putting his arms under her, he carried her to the bed. She sought out his warmth after he joined her on the mattress. If he was a dependable man, her life would be complete—but he wasn’t. He was a pirate and he had seduced her. She wasn’t exactly proud of herself how easy she’d made it for him, but she also knew that in the time to come, she wouldn’t regret this.
His arm came around her and she lay with her head resting on his warm, strong chest. Her hand on his abdomen moved slightly with his breath. She luxuriated in the feel of his body under her hand. There was something in her urging her to sleep and to forget the boat that was coming to collect her. She would wake up in the morning and he would melt her yet again. She would exist in here to receive the feelings she got when he looked at her and to burn with his touch night after night.
Tears almost claimed her as she watched him nodding off to sleep. She didn’t want to go, but she owed it to herself and her family to do this. She knew her bond with him would solidify if she stayed and she wouldn’t be able to move away from him again. He wasn’t undeserving, she thought. He’d had a very tough start in life, living as an indentured servant—abused by all accounts, judging from the proof on his back. She wasn’t better than him, but the intention of what he offered was not meant for her.
Pulling her head out from under his arm, she slowly snuck out of bed after placing a gentle kiss on his shoulder. She dressed as quietly as she could while looking back at the sleeping man she was about to leave. This should not be hard, she told herself—he’d stolen her, cajoled her and seduced her. It was only her own weakness that made her object to this, she told herself and silently stepped to the cabin door. The door creaked slightly and she froze to see if he’d noticed, but his breathing didn’t change.
Bertie’s boat was along the side of the ship when she peered over the edge. She kicked the rope ladder over the side and climbed down. Bertie’s boat was significantly more unstable on the water than James’ ship and she felt like her balance being threatened as she stepped down onto it. Neither Gemma nor Bertie said anything as he pushed them away from the side of the ship and raised the sail to move them away. Only the gentle lapping of the water and the straining of the ropes could be heard as they silently sailed away over the moonlit water.
Chapter 21
After sailing all night, they reach the township of St. Pierre just as the sun rose, bathing the town in a golden light. The town was already awake, with people and horses moving along the roads. There was no doubt that this was a naval town—fortifications surrounded the whole town, consisting of stone and whitewashed buildings. Gemma could even see church steeples above the tree line as they approached.
“You know this is a French town.” Bertie said. “No friend of Englishmen. You sure you want to continue?”
“Yes,” she confirmed. It wasn’t like she could go back. James would know of her absence by now— shortly if he didn’t already. “I speak French. I should be fine.” She smiled in a manner she hoped conveyed certainty and assurance. It was more than she felt, but she couldn’t imagine the French Government refusing to assist her under the circumstances. Having no idea what she would do if they refused, she determined she would have to beseech someone to take her to a British port if nothing else. Surely someone would be amenable to assist a stranded girl.
She thanked Bertie profusely for assisting her by sailing her here, telling him that she would never forget his kindness. He seemed to blush slightly at her gratitude, which made Gemma wonder at these pirates, with their rough lifestyle and gruff manner—blushing at being thanked.
He sailed away as soon as she disembarked, waving to her before he got too far away.
Sighing, then shaking out her skirt, she stepped onto the road from one of the jetties made for smaller vessels of the town’s fishermen. After a moment of indecision, she started moving toward the town’s main port area. The front of the harbor was accentuated with a row of palm trees that swayed gently with the warm breeze. This town reminded her of Port Royal, except the architecture was a little different, and everyone spoke French. Then there were the French naval men, busily moving to and from the port.
If she’d been in British territory, she would beseech the Governor for assista
nce—who’d be duty bound to aid her. Perhaps it was for the best that she wasn’t in British territory considering how favorably the British Navy looked upon her and the act that had gotten her into all this trouble.
She’d heard the French had governors as well and it didn’t take her long to find the Governor’s office. It was a large stone building washed in white, a square building set in lush gardens. Entering the building, she explained her situation to a well-dressed clerk sitting at a desk in one of the generously windowed front rooms. His pale yellow fine wool coat looked much too warm for the climate. She noted the difference in propriety between the French and the pirates, who stripped down to very little when the heat built. Propriety came before comfort and this was how things should be. The pirates did have a point in dressing for the climate as opposed to the law-abiding citizens who dressed as was expected, no matter what the weather required. There was a certain logic to the pirates’ dispensation of society’s rules, but they couldn’t all live in complete anarchy like the pirates did, without rules of law and conduct. If a bit of discomfort was the price for order, then it was worth it.
The clerk stared at her disbelievingly before he stood up, seemingly uncertain what to do next. “The Governor is not here yet,” he said in French. “I think it is best to wait for his arrival before we … proceed.”
He showed her into a parlor where she sat and waited until the Governor arrived, looking out onto the lush garden through the open window. This place brought back memories of her life in Port Royal with Vivecka. She was relieved that she would get back to her old life, her family. If things went well, they would welcome her back, it they didn’t ... she was in considerable strife. She worried about the reception she’d get from her family, but there was nothing for it but to face it. She was an innocent party ... mostly. True, she’d engaged in some activities that tainted her innocence somewhat. Looking down at her hands, the memories of her intimacies with the pirate flashed through her mind, creating both heat and distress. It was the manner in which she welcomed him that questioned her complete innocence. It would likely be an issue that she would grapple with for many years.
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