Falling for the Pirate (Entangled Scandalous)

by Amber Lin

  Sudden nervousness assailed her, though she wasn’t sure why. He was in shipping, wasn’t he? He had talked about captaining the ship, about the boys who apprenticed there. He’d pulled her out of the channel, of all things.

  “I’m sorry,” she murmured. “Forget I asked.”

  He bared his teeth again in a mockery of a smile. Who did he think he was fooling? He was clearly angry with her. She wished he’d just say so. It felt like there was an entire conversation happening beneath the surface that she wasn’t privy to—a shadow that lurked beneath the water, blurry and indistinct and dangerous.

  “Are you finished?” he asked with extreme politeness.

  It took her a second to realize he meant her meal. The food had been rustic and delicious. She had enjoyed it with a fervor new for her, unlike the careful sips she took in bed. But the dessert sat untouched. She hadn’t even taken a bite of the honeyed confection.

  “I can’t even remember the last time I was this full.”

  She thought his lips curved in faint humor. “Good,” he said. “You have to keep your strength up.”

  She struggled to hide her recoil. Why did that sound like a threat? God, she was going mad. Perhaps she had hit her head. At least that would explain why she saw danger everywhere, even in the one person who was trying to help her.

  Abruptly, she stood. He stood too, in the way manners would dictate. And yet she was almost sure it wasn’t good manners that compelled him around the table, that had him take her elbow in support. Especially when he smiled down at her. The hair raised on the back of her neck. Then she knew.

  It was a predator’s smile. She didn’t have to remember her past to recognize this. The knowledge whispered along her body, ancient knowledge, warning that she was about to be eaten.

  “I’ll go up to bed, then.” Her voice lilted up, turning her words into a question. Asking permission.

  He nodded slowly. “Allow me to escort you.”

  She placed her hand in his elbow, feeling oddly disconnected from her actions. Someone else’s heart was pounding. Someone else was afraid.

  Arm in arm, they passed through the main hallway of the house. Faint light from the street shone through the high windows in the door. She could leave, right now. She could walk out into the street and be free of him.

  And go where? There was nowhere to go. Nothing to do but pay the price of the gowns and the food and the doctor with the only thing she had left—her body.

  He propelled her firmly, inexorably up the stairs. She let him.

  Outside her door, he paused. She wasn’t sure why he stopped, why they stood shrouded in darkness without speaking, why the tension rose like a tangible vibration in the air. A peculiar state had overtaken her, replacing the air with liquid complacence. She was underwater, as if she had fallen off the dock and never been pulled back out. This was her life now, held captive by the currents beyond her control.

  He bent his head and pressed a kiss to her lips. That, at least, she understood. That was easy as breathing. She opened to his urging, obeyed the gentle demands of his lips, his tongue, his teeth. He made a small sound of surprise in the back of his throat. He hadn’t expected her acquiescence—but he took it greedily, like a starving man. He tilted his head forward and drank his fill.

  His hand moved to her waist, a sudden shock of heat that made her gasp. He pulled her flush against his body so she could feel the breadth of him, the hardness. Like a living structure. That was how he felt to her—massive and rigid, and yet he pulsed with a kind of manic energy.

  “Julia,” he murmured, and it sounded like a warning.

  Against what? She already knew what he wanted from her. She was already giving it to him.

  She sighed. The word please slipped out, even though she hadn’t meant to say it. Even though she didn’t exactly know what it meant. She knew better than to ask for him to stop. It was more a request for him to acknowledge her.

  And he did.

  His head lifted. “Julia.” His voice was lower now, deeper. He sounded as if he’d drunk a full bottle of wine instead of one glass at supper. Drunk and mystified. “Why are you allowing this?”

  Because it was all she had to give. “Why not?”

  Anger sparked in his eyes. He turned her around so she faced the wall. “Anything I want, then? Is that what you’re offering me?”

  She had that sense again. Out of her depth. What was there to offer? He was ordering from a menu she had never seen before.

  But then he added, “Is that what it’s worth to you?”

  He could have meant anything. Her health, her safety. Her future. And it didn’t really matter. It was all worth this much to her, so she let him reach around her body. She closed her eyes to the dark patterned wallpaper. He cupped her breasts through her dress and chemise, sending fierce heat through her body. He knew how to bring her pleasure—and he cared enough to try. She would be grateful for that tomorrow. Not today.

  His thumbs and forefingers found her nipples. They kneaded her softly, drawing a low, sharp sound from her. It affected him, too. He stiffened behind her. His breathing grew harsh against her temple.

  “Christ, Julia. What is this? What are you doing to me?”

  “I’m not doing anything. I’m trying to obey.”

  He pushed her away. His face was ravaged—guilt, frustration. She read it all with dispassionate acceptance. He could mirror all the things she felt, because she could not feel them for herself. She was empty.

  “I don’t want a doll in my bed,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. Her passivity, he meant. He didn’t like it.

  “Would you rather I fought you?”

  He stared at her, incredulous. “No, damn you. That isn’t what I—oh, hell.”

  Well, then, she honestly didn’t know what he wanted. Which wasn’t a surprise, since she hadn’t ever understood him, not on any level.

  She had the sensation of a feather floating down, of falling back into her skin, moving around, testing her own body. Wherever she had gone before, she had returned now—and she studied him with open curiosity.

  “I thought you wanted me to…to lay with you,” she said haltingly.

  He looked cross. “I’m asking why you would allow it.”

  “Because I owe you.”

  “For what, exactly?”

  “I’ve told you.” She spoke slowly, patient with him since he didn’t seem to understand. “On the roof, remember? For the clothing and the food. And for the doctor. I hadn’t realized you’d brought a doctor the first day, so that’s two visits. I don’t know how much it all costs, but this…is the only thing I have to give you in return.”

  “Don’t forget the cocoa.”

  She blinked. “Yes. And that.”

  His eyes were solemn in the shadows of the hallway. “You’re telling the truth,” he said flatly. “About losing your memory.”

  “Of course I’m telling the truth. Why would I lie to you about that?” He said nothing. “If I had somewhere else to go, wouldn’t I go there instead of staying here to be ravished by you?”

  He laughed, suddenly. She had learned he had a tendency to do that—particularly at times that were the least appropriate.

  “There won’t be any ravishing,” he said.

  “No?”

  “Not tonight,” he amended.

  “Captain Bowen,” she began brusquely, not sure what would follow.

  “God, I almost raped you.” He shook his head. “Ravished you. Accepted payment. Whatever you call it, I took you, and I didn’t care.”

  Well, he hadn’t actually taken her…yet. It didn’t seem wise to point that out.

  “I understand how the world works,” she said—to absolve him—instead.

  He chuckled darkly. “Then perhaps you can explain it to me, love. I certainly don’t understand. Why are you here?” He sounded pained again. “In my house? You! Of all people.”

  That seemed unnecessarily harsh. She couldn’t hel
p whatever inherent faults she had. “I was trying to repay you, if you’ll recall.”

  “Go to sleep, Julia,” he said, world-weary and bemused.

  “Well, all right. Although…”

  “I can ravish you tomorrow, if need be. For tonight, go to sleep.”

  Chapter Seven

  Nate went to the place he always did when he needed to think, Nightingale. The ship lay quietly on the water, its silhouette framing the moonlight in angles. Bennett sat on the railing, feet dangling over the side.

  “Halt! Who goes there?” he asked, then snickered.

  “Shouldn’t you be in your bunk?”

  “Not tonight, Cap’n. Quartermaster said if I was so set on stayin’ awake, I could make myself useful. I’m standing guard.”

  The last was imbued with a furtive pride, careful not to show its head or be slapped down. Nate would have preferred the boy sleep. Whatever he learned in his lessons would have the greatest impact on his life, and he couldn’t focus if he was tired.

  Then again, maybe a chance at real responsibility would provide the boy with what empty reprimands could not—discipline.

  “A lookout,” Nate mused, “must be ready to sound the alarm at any sign of trouble.”

  “I will, Cap’n.”

  “But more than that, he’s the ship’s first line of defense.” He glanced back at the empty dock. “If we were under siege right this minute, who would be responsible for protecting the ship and crew?”

  “I would, Cap’n, and I wouldn’t let nobody on board.”

  Nate eyed the boy, with his shirt an inch too short and his hair askew. Bennett must have sensed his doubt, because he added, “I’d push the gangplank off myself before I let anyone board us.”

  “There’s a lad.”

  Nate continued down to his cabin, already on a more even keel. The steady rock of his ship was like the pulse of his own heartbeat. In a storm it might beat quickly, moving over choppy waters, the rapid thud of footsteps over the deck. But on a quiet night, like this one, the steady thrum matched the sound of his own heart.

  He dug into the cabinet for a fresh bottle of rum. Direct from the Caribbean, this rum. A gift from a Spaniard captain he had traded with. He eyed the seal, wondering if it was poisoned. Only one way to find out.

  Settling into his bunk, he took long swigs until he was clear-headed enough to think about her.

  Of course I’m telling the truth. Why would I lie to you about that?

  Then again, maybe he should think about something else. Anything else.

  If I had somewhere else to go, wouldn’t I go there instead of staying here to be ravished by you?

  God, did she have to be so matter-of-fact about her ruin? Shouldn’t she cry or wail or fight him? Though, he wouldn’t have found the deed any easier if she had done those things.

  Revenge on Hargate had been his goal, his only goal, for over a decade. How could he have abandoned it so quickly? More important, what was so damned special about her that he would forget everything that mattered? His mother deserved better than that. His father deserved better. Men stuffed into cells the size of holding crates deserved better.

  The bed here was almost as comfortable as the one on land, even with the steady motion. Perks of being captain. The frame of the bed had been built into the cabin bulkhead, connected through bolts and thick planks—part of the ship itself. A thick mattress was tucked into the deep grooves and tied down, besides.

  A mirror had been installed on the wall at the foot of the bed, courtesy of the ship’s previous captain. Not very practical, even if it was bolted down. But then, the previous captain hadn’t been a practical man.

  Nate closed his eyes and let his head fall back. He’d been so sure she was mocking him.

  And maybe she had been, at the beginning. When she’d first ventured into her father’s warehouse—Nate’s warehouse—and told him her name was Julian. The excuse of losing her memory had been too convenient in the face of her identity. But she’d been willing to give him her virginity in exchange for a handful of gowns and the price of a doctor’s visit. That didn’t match the picture of a high society chit on an errand for her father. As desperate as Hargate was, he wouldn’t give up his daughter’s honor, would he?

  A knock came at the door.

  He was tempted to ignore it. If he’d been at home, he would have. But this was his ship. Its men were his responsibility. The very boards and glue that held it together were his responsibility.

  “What is it?” he called.

  “Can I come in?”

  Juliana.

  He sat up abruptly, sloshing rum onto his pants. Christ. Slamming the bottle down, he stood. She waited outside the door, hands clasped demurely in front of her.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” he snarled.

  “I needed to talk to you.” She made a vague, half-hearted gesture toward him. “May I…?” Her voice trailed off. He was damned sure she’d never invited herself into a man’s private cabin before. Good. And he hoped she never did it again, especially not to him.

  “No,” he said flatly. “What you may do is tell me how you got here.”

  “Mrs. Wheaton called the carriage.”

  Damn, he was definitely going to dismiss the woman. Either that or raise her salary. He could make out Bennett’s form outside the door. “Standing guard, were you?” Nate asked wryly.

  “She looked too nice to throw her into the water, sir.”

  “Indeed.”

  “And I figured if she were a robber of some sort, you could dispatch her as well as I.”

  Yes, that would make sense. Unfortunately, it hadn’t quite proven true. He could physically overpower her. He could ruin her. He just…hadn’t.

  “Return to your post. And, if you could, try not to let any other strangers on board. For tonight, at least.”

  The boy nodded. “Yes, Captain.”

  Nate shook his head as he watched him go. Discipline or not, he’d speak with the quartermaster tomorrow about not leaving Bennett on the night watch. He wasn’t concerned about safety. There was rarely an incident while in port, and they always kept a crewman in the crow’s nest just in case. However, the boy was too trusting. A pretty face and a smart figure, and suddenly he was tripping over himself to accommodate her. Foolish, that.

  “Come inside, then,” he muttered. “Since you’re here.”

  “Er, thank you.”

  Her blue-green dress shimmered in the dim light like the sea at night. The full skirt hid the shape of her legs, and he had a faint moment of regret that she hadn’t worn the grimy shirt and trousers. He would have liked to see her in boys’ clothing again. To touch her in them.

  Perhaps the traditional attire would keep his ridiculous desire in check.

  She had to pass by him to enter. The scent of her—unmistakably feminine—heightened every damned nerve-ending in his body.

  So much for keeping himself in check.

  She peered at his cabin with a curious look, and he was annoyed at himself for wondering what she thought of it. Too small, probably. He had long ago removed the more impractical furnishings of the previous captain—except for the mirror. It had always seemed a shame not to use it. But still, the space would appear tiny to a land dweller. Unimpressive compared to the Hyde Park townhome she had lived in. Crude and plain, and only somewhat clean.

  She turned back to him and smiled. “The room suits you.”

  Wonderful. “You needed to speak with me?”

  “Yes. I do. About what happened earlier.”

  “Nothing happened earlier.” Much to his frustration. Ancient retribution and immediate physical longing tied together, forming a knot within his body. He could scarcely move from it, barely look at her. And having her so near was drawing the knot tighter.

  “I would like to propose a bargain,” she said.

  “Because you understand the way the world works,” he recalled.

  She nodded, though he detected unce
rtainty in her brief hesitation. In the way her gaze touched every inch of the tiny cabin, except for his bunk.

  “Explain it to me,” he murmured.

  “A woman without resources has two choices to procure what she needs to live,” she began, and he could tell she’d rehearsed the words. Repeated them to herself, perhaps, until she could bring herself to come here. “She can steal it. Or she can earn it.”

  “And you don’t want to be a thief.”

  She swallowed. “I don’t.”

  “But you have no idea what earning would entail, do you?”

  “That’s not true. I am informed.”

  He laughed. “Who informed you, darling? Did Mrs. Wheaton give you a primer before tucking you into the carriage?”

  A flush darkened her cheeks. “I’ve read things. In books.”

  “You’ve read things,” he mocked. “In books.”

  “I know about kissing. And…and passion. And anyway, I can learn.”

  Yes, he had no doubt she could learn. He wanted to teach her so badly his teeth ached as he held himself back. Jesus, he wanted to show her kissing. And passion. He wanted her to teach him right back. Restraint strummed through every muscle of his body.

  He almost groaned. What the hell was he thinking? Revenge wasn’t for him to enjoy. And he wasn’t a man who kept a mistress. And yet…

  She had read books about passion.

  Christ.

  “Of course, you may refuse me. I don’t blame you for wanting a different woman for this purpose. However, I do not think I should remain in your home without means to repay you.”

  She turned away, and he could only stare helplessly at the slender lines of her body. He watched her chest rise and fall—too fast. She was nervous. She was scared. And that had ceased to be his goal.

  It never had been.

  Tell her she can work as a house maid. Tell her she will earn a small wage and sleep in the attic.

  “Come here, Julia.”

  She didn’t look at him. “Then again, upon discussion, we may come to a satisfactory arrangement. I’m sure my requirements are much smaller than—”