Once a Pirate

by Susan Grant

  He stared at her. “A duke’s legitimate son? Wherever did you get such a notion?”

  His astonishment escaped her notice. “Listen,” she said, “I don’t know what happened to you to make you such a jerk, but it has nothing to do with me.”

  “It has everything to do with you, milady.”

  Her eyes flashed. “It has everything to do with her. Amanda. My name is Carly. Why don’t you try saying it? Maybe it will help you figure out that the night you thought you saved Amanda, you saved me instead. Carly. Go on, say it.”

  Watching her, he brought the bottle to his lips.

  “Say it!”

  “The dress—it suits you,” he offered, making certain she saw his appreciative perusal. It was an attempt to dilute her growing fury, but it did quite the opposite.

  She rolled her hands into fists. “I’ve had it. You’ve ignored everything I’ve said since the day I got here. All you care about is your revenge, your plan, what benefit I will bring you. I’m sick of it.” Her voice trembled, and she swallowed. “You aren’t the only one with a grudge to bear. You aren’t the only person in the world who has been wronged by someone else. Or has felt pain.”

  “You know nothing of pain, milady.”

  He heard her sharp intake of breath, as though she’d been struck. Her eyes glinted with sudden tears. She bit her lower lip and raised her face to the stars. “You know nothing about me,” she whispered. “Nothing.”

  Her anguish smashed his heart into a million pieces.

  “Milady, I—’twas wrong of me to say that,” he heard himself say in a hoarse, alcohol-slurred voice.

  She would not look at him.

  Andrew rubbed the palms of both hands over his eyes. He was fighting on two fronts now—one against the woman he was dangerously close to falling in love with, and another with the man she would marry.

  “If you think that I’m going to go to this duke-guy willingly, then you’re more nuts than you think I am.” Pausing, she silently mouthed the words she’d uttered. Apparently satisfied that she’d gotten the statement right, she bent forward and tapped her finger on the top of his head. “I ain’t going. Got it? Work that into your brilliantly calculated strategy, Captain.”

  With that, she left him.

  “Cuddy,” she called out, smoothing her skirt, “how about another dance?”

  Every part of Andrew cried out to run after her but, drawing on years of discipline, he did not. The beginnings of a headache throbbed behind his eyes. He set aside the bottle. He’d had more to drink than he’d intended, and he did not need more.

  For hours, he listened to the music, the laughter, the lusty celebrating of his men. He was their purpose, their livelihood. He’d worked hard to earn their respect, and judging by the eagerness with which they followed him into battle, they trusted him with their very lives. With the exception of Booth, who he tolerated because the man had helped him escape from prison, the men had served with him in the navy, where Andrew had been known for his rather unconventional thinking.

  Unlike most of his contemporaries, Andrew had welcomed new ways of solving old problems, opened his mind to all possibilities, and then made his decisions heedless of tradition.

  When had that all changed? When had he become so set in his ways?

  He pressed his face to his open palms, massaging his temples with his thumbs. He thought of Amanda—her sweetness, the vulnerability that she tried so hard to conceal. And at odds with it all, her iron will. He’d called her daft, but his heart told him otherwise. For months now, she had been trying to tell him something. Perhaps it was time he listened.

  “Sail ho!”

  The cry startled Carly awake. She was still on her hands and knees, blinking, groping around in the bright morning sunshine as the crew sprang into action.

  After the party had died down, the sour stench of sweat, grog, and rotting food was nearly overwhelming in the cloying, humid air, but the heat in the cabin had been worse. She’d slept on the deck protected by Gibbons and Theo.

  Hastily weaving her snarled hair into a braid, Carly sought out Andrew. Deep in conversation with Cuddy, he was holding his telescope to one eye. She followed the direction of the telescope to the horizon. Her heart lurched. She could barely make out the speck of white, but there was no doubt about it. It was another ship.

  “Who is it?” she asked, joining the two men.

  Andrew calmly handed the telescope to Cuddy. “’Tis a man-of-war.”

  Absorbing his statement, she started to chew on a fingernail, then forced her hand away and into a fist.

  “Aye. Too far yet to see her flag.” Cuddy lowered the telescope. “What do you make of it?”

  “They may simply be running along the same route.” Thoughtful, Andrew squinted through the telescope. “Or they may be after me. Or perhaps the lady. Only time will tell. We shall be ready for them in either case.”

  “Aye, sir. That we will.” Cuddy left to shout some orders to the weary, hungover crew.

  Though Andrew hadn’t given Cuddy specific instructions on what to say, she knew the orders were Andrew’s. Cuddy spoke often of his years with Andrew. In situations like this, she surmised that they anticipated each other’s thoughts.

  “May I see?” she asked with strained politeness.

  Andrew gave her the telescope. She squeezed one eye shut, focusing on the ship as he moved behind her. His warm breath stroked the side of her neck. “Three masts, square-rigged—’tis a monster, armed to the teeth,” he said.

  Her insides felt watery with his description of the threat. What if it was the duke’s ship? What if they took her aboard against her will? How would she ever find her way home then? Worse yet, what if they harmed Andrew and his crew? Willing herself not to show any emotion, she placed the telescope in his open hand. She gripped the railing until her fingers throbbed. “Thank you,” she murmured, her back to him.

  Andrew hesitated before leaving her side. “It frightens you.”

  “Yes.” It seemed she could not hide anything from him. She exhaled slowly. “But not in the way you think.”

  “In what way, then?”

  She stubbornly kept her gaze on the water below, avoiding his eyes, avoiding the warship. “I don’t want to be taken against my will. I . . . feel safe here.”

  I feel safe with you, Andrew, was what she wanted to say. I could love you.

  Heat spread over her cheeks with the revelation.

  She lifted her gaze. “I’m not Amanda,” she said quietly. “Help me get home.”

  He winced, and that familiar look of pain clouded his tender gaze. This time, he was the one who glanced away.

  Could it be that he didn’t want her to leave? Had he changed his mind? Hope buoyed her. “Andrew, don’t make me go aboard that ship. If Amanda’s who they’re after, and I’m not her, I don’t exactly relish the idea of being onboard that ship when they find out.”

  “There is no wind, milady. We cannot move. Nor can they.”

  “So, what you’re saying is, don’t pack my bags yet.”

  A moment of uneasy silence ticked by; then he faced her, his face contorted with what had to be honest-to-God guilt. “Later, I should like to speak with you, milady. About last night.”

  The memory of his rudeness pulled her thoughts from the warship, the possibility of her capture. She waved her hand and said almost airily, “Let me guess. You want dance lessons.”

  His expression darkened. “Stay out of my men’s way this morn,” he said in an equally frosty tone. “The hammock in the rigging, too. That is an order.”

  “Aye-aye, Capítan.”

  He scowled, then strode off, his cutlass slapping against his tight blue pants, while his knee-high boots thudded on the deck.

  It was childish bickering, and she hated it. Sighing, she sagged against the railing. Why was she pushing him away when she needed him most?

  As the morning wore on, the whisper of a breeze that had arisen at dawn died off. An
drew had ensconced himself at a small table with Cuddy and several other men in a tarp-shaded nook near the helm. He smoked a cheroot, occasionally rubbing his eyes tiredly as he leaned back in his chair. Though he looked haggard and hungover, there was no doubt he was in command of his men and his ship. She felt safer for it, admired him for it, too. After a while, her anger began to fade. Maybe the snob really didn’t know how to dance. In light of the present crisis, the whole thing seemed like a silly argument anyway.

  By noon, the other ship’s position on the horizon had not changed. The men not immediately involved in hauling gunpowder and cannonballs from belowdecks were edgy and went about their chores quietly. Carly untied the festive ribbons and carefully folded them into the basket. She reclaimed her bra from Savannah, only to give it a well-deserved slingshot burial at sea. She watered the ship’s vegetable garden and played with the new litter of rabbits. The ship grew some of its own food, of course. As the temperature climbed, she and Theo spent the remainder of the afternoon in the shade reading Rob Roy.

  Finally, when the supper whistle blew, Andrew stood and stretched. He crossed the deck to where she sat with her plate. “Would you care to join me for dinner?” He gestured to the same table he’d been sitting at all day.

  “Sure.” She walked alongside him, stealing glances at the stubble on his jaw, the shadows under his eyes. “You’re looking a little rough around the edges.”

  He pulled out her chair as she sat, then took his place opposite her. He propped one long leg across his knee and regarded her with thoughtful blue eyes. “Rough around the edges, is it?”

  “It was a long night for all of us, I suppose,” she said, grateful that she’d danced instead of drinking grog.

  Gibbons brought a tray with two plates of roast pork, biscuits, a side of pudding—which wasn’t much more than boiled flour and molasses—and two cups of warm beer. They thanked him, and he rejoined the other men.

  Andrew cut into the pork and gestured with his chin to the horizon.” ’Tis too far away to see who she belongs to, but she has the lines of a new warship. If her captain is intent on catching us, he will.”

  Carly’s heart thudded in her chest. “How long?” she asked, lowering her fork.

  “In the absence of wind—days, perhaps weeks.”

  “That’s the best news I’ve heard all day.”

  His expression softened. “Do not worry. No one will force my hand. I will not give you up before the appointed time and place.”

  “Was that what you wanted to tell me?”

  “No.” He spread his hands flat on the table. “I was rude last night, milady. ’Twas a consequence of reacting before thinking. I do not wish to lose the pleasure of your willing companionship, so I pray you will find it in your heart to forgive me.” He reached across the table and grazed his fingertips over her bare arm.

  She shivered, and her eyes prickled with unshed tears. What was it about the man that made her carefully dammed emotions gush to the surface? “I didn’t want to argue, either,” she said softly. “Apology accepted.”

  Andrew felt his tension dissolve. “I am certain the duke received the news of the kidnapping weeks ago. Since our progress has been slow, this could very well be a ship dispatched to apprehend us.”

  She sipped her beer. “They outgun us, don’t they?”

  “Vastly.” He noted that she did not flinch. Would not a gently bred lady fall to pieces? Perhaps she was indeed his muslin-wrapped warrior. “This is the reason why I drill the men twice a week. Our twelve-pounders—our cannons—are no match shot for shot against the bigger guns on a man-of-war, but we can fire, reload, and fire again in under four minutes.”

  “Can’t they?”

  He cut off a piece of pork and chewed thoughtfully. “Most captains rarely drill their crews. Gunpowder is expensive. Prowling the seas in the most powerful ships in the world has made them complacent.”

  “And thus speed is their weakness,” she said.

  “Precisely.”

  Her luminous eyes glittered with interest.

  Encouraged, he continued, “I’ve accumulated a vast store of gunpowder. My men and I have often gone without other necessities in order to purchase it . . . or take it.”

  “From other ships?” She leaned forward, her lips slightly parted.

  He forced himself to ignore the temptation of her sweet mouth. “Aye. The only way to fight sheer muscle is to be quick and clever—”

  “And unconventional.”

  “Well put. I learned that lesson during this last unsuccessful war with the Americans. The closest I came to defeat as a naval officer was to those former colonist upstarts. I daresay they earned my hearty respect.”

  Smug, she sat up straighter.

  “You haven’t yet touched your food,” he said. “Eat, milady, or I shan’t tell you another thing.”

  She gave a soft laugh. She picked up her fork and regarded him from beneath her thick, dark lashes. “I suppose you think I’m too skinny, too.”

  “You are not skinny. Slender, yes, but with curves in all the proper places.”

  Her cheeks reddened as she shyly averted her eyes. The amber light of the setting sun illuminated the skin on her neck and bare shoulders. He felt a jolt of arousal as he imagined exploring her smooth, sun-warmed flesh with his lips. “You are no longer among polite society, milady. Unlike the men you are accustomed to, I speak my mind.”

  “Please do. And don’t stop.” She flashed him a saucy, flirtatious smile that made him want to kiss every freckle on her little nose. “I wasn’t fishing for compliments, but thank you.”

  “Whyever would you need to ‘fish’ for compliments?” He was astounded to see her blush brighter than before. “You are enchanting. A beautiful woman. Surely men have told you that before.”

  “No,” she said softly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Not like that.”

  Clearly distracted, she pushed her dinner about her plate. He could see her pulse ticking in her throat.

  He folded his arms over his chest, drumming his fingers on his upper arms. He must cease this dalliance immediately. It would only make matters more difficult for both of them when the time came for her to leave. “In the morning I will be meeting with Cuddy in my quarters to discuss our, ah, unexpected guest. You may join us if you like.”

  She appeared relieved by the change in subject. Then her eyes sparkled as an eager grin lit up her face. “I don’t know much about sea battles, but I studied them in my history classes at Annapolis.”

  “Ah, the military academy you spoke of. Where you were a midshipman.”

  She looked at him askance. “You’re not going to add something snide? I don’t believe it.”

  “Let’s just say I have decided to keep an open mind.” He pointed to her plate. “Eat.”

  With a victorious smile, she dipped her fork into the pudding.

  Agony exploded down his back, pulsing in white-red flashes behind his eyes. Panic squeezed his insides. He had to stay conscious so he could keep her warm. He mustn’t lose her. Blinded by saltwater streaming into his eyes, hands numbed by the cold, he reached for her. She slipped from his grasp.

  “Stay with me!”

  “Blast!” Andrew struggled upright in his hammock, his hands clutching air, his heart thudding in his chest. Drugged by the intensity of the dream, he glanced wildly around the darkened room as he slowly slipped from the dream back to reality. His heart lurched. “Amanda,” he murmured and headed for her door.

  Moonlight drifted into the cabin. The faint light eased his journey to her bed. Relief flooded him at the sight of her. Dressed in Theo’s shirt, she was sleeping on her back, one arm thrown casually over her head.

  Tonight’s dream had been the most vivid of all. He’d tried to protect her, ignoring the pain that threatened to render him helpless. But in the end, as always, he lost her.

  Yet, here she was, unharmed—his spitfire with the face of an angel.

  He move
d closer, smiling in spite of his thundering pulse and the fear reverberating inside him. Carefully, so he would not wake her, he caressed her soft, warm cheek with his palm. She stirred and flung her arms to either side. The linen shirt drew taut over her breasts, revealing the hazy silhouette of her nipples.

  His heartbeat quickened anew. He wanted to climb into the bed and feel her arms come around him.

  Again he touched her, his fingertip to her lower lip. He smiled at the way she pursed her lips in her sleep. Lifting a lock of her hair, he rubbed it between his fingers and savored the weighty, silken texture.

  He looked down at her face once more. Her eyes were wide open, watching him. His throat went suddenly dry.

  “Milady,” he blurted hoarsely, yanking his hand away as though he’d been burned. “I had another dream. I was merely assuring myself of your well-being.”

  “You don’t need to explain,” she murmured sleepily, pulling the blanket higher. “I know what your dreams are like. Sometimes I come in to check on you.”

  “Do you now?” He reached down to smooth her hair away from her forehead. Then he slipped his fingers into the hair bunched at the nape of her neck and massaged her gently. She made a sigh of contentment. Pushing aside his inner warnings, his better judgment, he leaned down to brush his lips over hers.

  Her lips parted beneath his gentle pressure. Groaning, he slipped his tongue into her warm, wet mouth. He heard her utter a muffled cry as her hands locked behind his head, pressing him to her as her tongue stroked his in an unexpected intimate, erotic welcome. He shuddered. Good God—the woman could kiss!

  Urged by her eagerness, he kissed her deeper, wanting more, much more. His arousal strained against the flimsy covering of his robe. He supported the weight of his upper body by propping his arms on the bed. Although he ached to touch her, to hold her close, he grasped fistfuls of the bedsheet instead, lest he lose himself and allow the kiss to go too far.

  In the end, he lost track of time, loving her with his mouth until he feared her lips would surely be sore.

  He pulled away to gaze at her in wonder. “I don’t believe I’ve ever shared . . . a finer kiss.”