by Clare Sager
The foolish girl she’d been had loved him. And she’d brought him here with her silly dreams. And he’d died because of it.
And, alone, that foolish girl had fallen apart. Her only option had been to become Lady Vice. Who was strong. Who didn’t rely on anybody. Who didn’t love and so didn’t grieve and would not break.
“I just found the correlation interesting,” Perry went on, voice too light. “Caring for someone is –”
“It’s sex.” The words somehow ground from between her teeth. “If you’re doing it right, sex makes you smile. It doesn’t mean I care for him. It doesn’t mean anything.”
Perry pushed a lock of hair from Vice’s face, hooking it behind her ear. Vice kept stock-still as Perry pressed a warm hand to her cheek. “You just seem content,” she said, gentle, low, like distant memories of a mother. “And that’s – well, it’s a lovely thing to see. I’m happy for you.”
Drawing a fortifying breath, Vice jerked away from Perry’s touch. She was not content. Well, no more so than usual – she was always content because she was happy with herself, with who she was. It was everyone else that was the problem: it was only a matter of time before they let you down.
And Knigh was no exception.
With a stiff smile, she backed away. “You’re wrong.”
Her chest heaved as she strode aft, ducking beneath the lines her crewmates manned to adjust the sails and gritting her teeth as Barnacle dug her claws in to stay in place.
Best not to rely on anyone too much, certainly not for her own happiness. She’d made that mistake before, and she wouldn’t do it again. She was past needing anybody.
Perry might know some things, but on this occasion, she was so very wrong.
Sharp little claws dug into her shoulder again, and Barnacle jumped from her shoulder.
Vice flinched, blinking back to attention. She stood outside FitzRoy’s door. She hadn’t known where she was going when she walked away from the bow, but now she was here – yes, it made perfect sense. Her instincts knew exactly what she needed.
She would prove Perry wrong and rid herself of this pathetic yearning for Knighton Blackwood.
And it was pathetic. Just this morning she’d found herself thinking foolish, foolish thoughts. Lying against him in the afterglow of sex, she’d laughed to herself. If this is what being with Knigh’s like, maybe marrying Knighton Villiers wouldn’t have been so bad.
Urgh. No. No!
Being with him had clouded her mind. Made her weak. Made her think feelings were happening. All wrong. This was just physical.
All she needed was someone else’s touch to remind her that he wasn’t anything special.
Lords, even just thinking it felt so much better – her breaths calmed, the warmth trickled back through her like ice-melt in Albion’s early spring.
Nodding, she pulled her necklace from under her shirt, letting it rest noticeably over her chest. Fitz had given it to her back when he’d first made her his. She’d never really cared for the design – bright yellow gold with a massive garnet in the centre. Far too gaudy. But she’d got rid of all Avice’s jewellery, except for Evered’s ring, and this was the first thing anyone had given Vice.
Like a magpie with a shiny object, it wouldn’t fail to catch FitzRoy’s attention.
Cinnamon & Soap
Head up, shoulders back, she entered FitzRoy’s cabin.
“Vice?” FitzRoy looked up from the papers in his hands, eyebrows raised. “I’m busy.”
Stomach twisting, she closed the door behind her, leaning on it. “My darling Fitz, surely you’re not too busy for me?” Smiling, she cocked her head and stalked around the table towards him. “You shut yourself in here all the time nowadays – aren’t you lonely?”
His mouth flattened, but his hazel eyes grew dark, watching her. “I don’t get lonely.”
She perched on the table, knees brushing his. “But it’s been a long time, hasn’t it?”
“I’ve been busy.”
She sighed. Was ‘busy’ going to be his answer to everything?
Pushing her hair back over her shoulder, she let the necklace catch the sunlight spilling through the stern windows.
Predictably, his gaze fell to the glimmering gold, and his eyes lit up, breaths deepening.
“You’ve been too busy for too long,” she purred. “And so troubled. I thought” – she raised an eyebrow, placing her foot on the edge of his chair, brushing his thigh – “perhaps I could help take your mind off whatever it is.”
“Vice,” he breathed, “damn you, but you’re a hard woman to resist.”
Then he was tempted. Excellent. Exactly what she wanted. Her stomach twisted again.
Yes, this was absolutely as planned. Physical reactions. Just bodies doing what bodies wanted to do.
With half a smile, she rose from the table and slid into his lap, across the chair, legs hooked over one arm. “Why resist?” She placed a hand on his chest, thumb brushing a leather pouch hanging from a cord around his neck. That was new. And surprisingly plain for him.
His jaw knotted, but the pulse below it jumped, and his hand slipped up her back. “I suppose just a short distraction,” he murmured, face inches from hers. His fingers sank into her hair, and he pulled her head back.
She gritted her teeth as he kissed her throat. The manoeuvre had played havoc with her three years ago. Still, she’d been a girl then, easily impressed by how masterful he was. Then, she hadn’t minded submitting, had even found it thrilling.
But now … Now his arm wrapped around her too tight and his grip on her hair felt more like the gesture of someone baring a victim’s throat for cutting. This was nothing more than a powerful man taking pleasure in exerting – in proving his dominance over her. And his tobacco and musk scent was … wrong.
Not cinnamon and soap, some traitorous corner of her mind whispered.
Shut up.
Squeezing her eyes shut, she forced her breaths deep, trying to calm her heartbeat, which raced but not with desire.
No, no, this was desire, just … just different from what she felt with Knigh. She wanted this.
With a groan, he yanked her head back, other hand flicking open the top button of her shirt.
No, no, no. That hurt and not in the way Knigh teased her with pleasure-pain.
And when Fitz tugged open the neck of her shirt and squeezed her breast, it was covetous, greedy, not coaxing or even considering her pleasure.
She felt nothing but sickness threatening at the back of her throat.
The nails raking her breast said mine. The hardness poking her behind pulsed, sending a wave of nausea through her. Another yank at her hair didn’t play with power – it didn’t give and take, allowing her the chance to have the upper hand, before seizing it back again.
It only took.
When she opened her eyes, her view of the ceiling was blurred, her temples wet.
She didn’t want this. Didn’t want him. This had been a terrible idea.
“No,” she gasped.
But he only kissed his way down her throat and pulled her shirt off her shoulder, mouth seeking the way to her breast.
“No,” she said, stronger this time. “Fitz, no.”
He twitched, the grip on her hair loosening. “Hmm?”
Chest and stomach heaving, she leapt to her feet. “I – no, sorry, I changed my mind.” She shook her head, backing away until she banged into the table. Something clattered to the floor at her feet, making her jump. The box from the wreck – open. Empty.
Frowning, he cocked his head and adjusted his trousers over the obvious bulge at his crotch, but made no move to stop her. “You came to me. You started this.”
“I know.” She nodded slowly. “I know. And I’m finishing it.” She edged around the table, not turning her back to him.
His eyes narrowed, then his mouth broke into a laugh. “Oh, dear, Vice. Something’s got into you, hasn’t it?” He waved his hand. “Run along and work
it out, little Avice, and stop bothering me.”
Stomach calming, she strode out, slamming the door shut and pulling her shirt back over her shoulder.
Fresh, clean air. Thank the gods for that. Just the smell of sea, no tobacco or musk. She gulped it down as greedily the day she’d saved Knigh from that current off the reef.
The crew went about their business, no one looking twice at her. Good.
Damn FitzRoy, though, he was right about one thing. Something had got into her.
Knighton bloody Villiers.
He’d ruined her for other men. That was all.
Leaning against the door to Fitz’s cabin, she dashed the tears from the corners of her eyes and gave a brittle laugh.
Maybe Fitz was just the wrong person to cure her of Knigh – she’d outgrown Fitz and his sexual preferences. Funny, these past six months, she’d put the end of their physical relationship down to his jealousy about The Song of the Pirate Queen. But hadn’t she also resisted his control in bed around the same time?
Hands raking through her hair, she sighed. If Aedan wasn’t off-limits, he would have been a much better choice, but she didn’t want to get the poor man killed by Fitz. And did she really want Aedan?
She fastened her top button. She’d just have to stay away from Knigh and –
“Vee?”
Blinking, she turned towards the door of her cabin – former cabin.
Knigh stared back at her, gaze passing over her fingers on that top button, her undoubtedly messy hair, her chest that still heaved too quickly. “Are you – did he just –”
“No.” It burst from her, more a breath than a word. “No, he didn’t …” His mind went there first, that Fitz had tried something she didn’t want, not that she …
He cocked his head, confusion lining his brow. “Then …”
She swallowed, throat suddenly so tight it was a wonder she could breathe. Saying to him that she’d gone in there to seduce Fitz was impossible. Not that it should matter. It wasn’t as though she and Knigh were anything to each other. She could sleep with whoever she wished. So could he.
And yet it felt like it did matter.
How could she explain this?
Boots clomped down the stairs from the quarterdeck, passing behind Knigh. “I think I know what’s happened here.” Perry looked from Vice to him and back again. “And I fear it was my fault. Blackwood, could we?” She gestured to his cabin.
He blinked, and the expressionless mask slid into place, driving a dagger of ice into Vice’s chest. “Yes, of course.” He opened the door and strode inside, not looking at her once.
She grabbed Perry’s arm as she passed. “What are you doing?”
Perry raised her eyebrows, green eyes soft. “Fixing your foolish mistake,” she murmured. “Will you let me? Or would you prefer to let the man who’s made you so cheerful slip away because of your panic at – gods forbid – feeling some sort of emotion for someone?”
It wasn’t panic. And she only felt desire for Knigh. That was all. Her jaw clenched. “Depends. What’re you going to tell him?”
“The truth.”
Not the truth. Anything but that. Stomach flipping, she shook her head. “No, no, that isn’t –”
“Relax. I don’t mean all the truth. Just that I teased you earlier and should’ve known better because this response was inevitable. What happened in there? How far did –”
“No – we didn’t. I planned to. I sat in his lap, he touched me, kissed my neck, but no clothes came off. I didn’t even kiss him …” She grimaced, the wrongness creeping across her scalp, a slithering echo of FitzRoy’s touch. “I couldn’t go through with any of it.”
Perry nodded slowly, exhaling. “That’s … good … I’ll speak to him, pave the way, then you two can talk” – she grabbed Vice’s shoulders, grip as strong as when she hauled rope, and shook her until their eyes met – “about your feelings, Vice. Understand?”
Her stomach turned, but she nodded anyway. She had no feelings worth talking about. She was fine. She didn’t need help, she didn’t need anyone.
And yet, she didn’t want Knigh to block her out with that empty mask either. Nor was she ready for things between them to be over.
But she didn’t have the words to explain. Even in so few sentences, Perry had summed it up far better than she ever could. Maybe she had panicked. Maybe her attraction to Knigh, the unbearable compatibility of their bodies, had just shaken her with its intensity. That wasn’t the same thing as having feelings for him but if that was how Perry made sense of it, then let her phrase it like that.
“Thank you, Perry,” she murmured, gaze dropping.
Perry sighed and squeezed an arm around her. “Oh, Vice, what am I going to do with you?”
“Keep picking up the pieces of the things I break?”
Chuckling, she gently pushed Vice towards the quarterdeck stairs. “Wait up there. Let’s see if we can glue this together and get you back into those fine arms of his.”
Wordsmith
Vee paused in the doorway, the sight of her making Knigh’s pulse skip as it always did. Her mouth twisted to one side and her gaze was slow to meet his.
Well, Wild Hunt take him if she wasn’t uncertain. The Pirate Queen, always so bold, so sure, so comfortable and relaxed in herself – and here she stood in his doorway, tentative.
The chair creaked as Perry adjusted her position. She watched Vee with eyebrows raised.
When Perry had first started explaining Vee’s behaviour, he’d been sceptical. But as she’d continued, the parts had slotted into place, connecting with other pieces of the puzzle he already had. With the tragic death of her husband. With her bluster and bluff glibness. With the moments of kindness and gentleness he’d seen. With the way she twisted away from certain topics with a joke.
Considering it all, of course Vee kept people away, men especially. Arm’s length was safer than holding someone close, leaning on them, only for them to disappear.
It made a horrible kind of sense.
She closed the door behind her but stayed against it as if ready for a swift exit. Her jaw set, solid, and her mouth carved a straight line. Deep creases furrowed her brow.
It was like watching a battle. He cocked his head.
Eventually, she drew a deep breath and met his gaze. “I’m sorry, Knigh,” she murmured. “I – I shouldn’t have let Perry’s teasing affect me. I was stupid to react like that.”
He mastered his expression before his eyebrows rose, but – Wild Hunt. Vee, apologising. And admitting that she’d been ruffled. She was so close to talking about her feelings – precisely the thing she so often joked to avoid. The thing Perry had confirmed she refused to speak of.
For her, this was a huge step. He wouldn’t make her feel even more uncomfortable by showing surprise or by teasing.
He nodded slowly. “I understand.” Only thanks to Perry.
It didn’t help that Vee was too stubbornly committed to her tough, frivolous facade to admit the truth. How much her husband’s death had hurt. How much she feared loss and breaking. How much she shielded herself because of all that.
But yes, he understood.
A slow swallow rippled through her throat. “And, it didn’t go –”
“I know what happened – or, really, what didn’t.” He gave a slight smile he hoped was reassuring.
Much as Perry telling him what had gone on in FitzRoy’s cabin had made him grip the edge of his bunk until it groaned, not a great deal had actually happened. Vee had retreated before that.
Even if she hadn’t, they weren’t beholden to each other. In private, they had one mind-blowing sexual encounter after another, with soft-voiced talks in the dark after. In public they flirted, teased, and even manufactured a few arguments to throw the crew off the scent, eyes smouldering at each other all the while.
But they hadn’t discussed what this was between them. They hadn’t made any commitment to each other or declaration of feeling o
r intent.
Realistically, what could they even have? His stomach twisted.
His assignment here was temporary until … Well, under the old plan, it was until Vee was arrested. But that wasn’t going to happen anymore. Not that FitzRoy knew yet – telling him required the opportune moment. And there never seemed to be an opportune moment with the prickly FitzRoy. Still, Knigh had written the new report and just needed to send it back to Albion when they stopped at a suitable port.
Under the new plan, he wasn’t sure how any of it would turn out. It all depended on whether the Admiralty would still give FitzRoy and Bricus their rewards. If they didn’t, that could be a problem and an uncertain future for The Morrigan.
If they did, Knigh would likely be here until the Navy was satisfied the new captain, whoever that was, would continue working under the terms of the letter of marque. Then he’d return to the Venatrix, hunting the next pirate bounty, pulling himself back together after the cannon blast that was Vee.
So although seeing her walk out of FitzRoy’s cabin had rocked through him like a punch in the gut, he had no right to expect nor ask for anything more than they’d already given each other. For whatever time they had left, that would have to be enough.
Let this be a pleasant break in his usual work – a hospitable island with laughter and pleasure and moments of welcome rest in her bright sun, before returning to the sea and its endless battles and the constant need to maintain control over his slumbering rage.
“Even if” – he cleared his throat – “more had happened, I’d have no right to be angry with you. It’s not as though we’re married or even engaged.”
An odd strangled half-laugh burst from her and she covered her mouth. Such a strange gesture for her when she so often spoke her mind.
Perry raised an eyebrow, glancing from him to Vee and back again. “So, am I safe to leave you two to talk alone? No more good counsel needed?”
They both scoffed, the tension in the room whooshing out with their breaths. “No,” he said, meeting Vee’s gaze, which was dark and unreadable today, “I think we have it from here.”
