Prisoner of Desire

by Mary Wine

  moments. Something flared through Lorena that was more excitement than dread, and she kept

  her face toward the wall until she concealed it. She could feel that blue gaze on her.

  "You hide your fear well."

  Forcing her chin up, she stared at him. "I assure you, sir, I am not intimidated by you."

  Something flickered in his eyes that looked dark and inviting. Her breasts tingled again, liking what she saw. It unleashed a sensation in her belly that was hot and needy.

  "I actually believe you, Lorena, even if it isn't the wisest thing for either of us."

  "Civilized people do not discuss such topics." Even if she was thinking about them. But her belly fluttered in the oddest manner and her gaze settled on his lips.

  Regret crossed his face but it died quickly. "Maybe not. But your very civilized groom-to- be doesn't entice me to act like he does. If that's civilized behavior, I'll happily cling to my uncouth ways."

  They suit him well...

  Lorena chided herself but couldn't change how she truly felt. He was many things she'd been trained to deplore. But those same traits excited her. The lack of overcoat struck her as attractive because she could see his true form,

  unhindered by the latest cut in men's coats. His cream vest was neat and outlined a powerful torso.

  "I came to keep my promise to you. In my own uncivilized way, I tend to keep my word. If you'd like to go ashore, I will allow it."

  Authority rang in his last few words. Her pride bristled but he surprised her by not taking offense.

  Instead he stared at her, confident in his command of the Huntress.

  "I would like to go ashore." She disliked admitting it to him. A strange need to stand up for herself burned through her when she looked at this man. It defied her understanding as well as any ability to control it. Appearing meek felt like surrender.

  That was something she rebelled against.

  "There's fresh water on St. Martin, plenty of it. I'll arrange a bath for you."

  Her face colored. His keen stare touched on the stain, his lips curving slightly. This time there was a wicked slant to his eyes which made her palm itch.

  "You are quite forward, sir." Men did not discuss such personal chores with ladies.

  He offered her a half bow. Polished and executed perfectly, all he lacked was a tailed coat and top hat to look the part of a gentleman. The sleeves of his shirt billowed slightly in the breeze, making him appear rakish. Lorena discovered herself battling to keep from smiling again.

  "I am a captain, madam. A position requiring me to maintain balance between the world you know on land and the one I find myself navigating on the open water. Your countrymen will

  happily send my ship to the bottom in spite of their tradition and discipline." His stare hardened.

  "Besides, the chance to bathe is infrequent, and since I stole you aboard without a maid, we shall have to suffer through the topic. Out here, it is often every man for himself."

  Or woman...

  "I shall remember that."

  His expression tightened. He reached around behind him and pulled something from his wide

  leather belt. There was the chink of metal against metal.

  "I will take you ashore, Lorena, but I promise you, I will bring you back too. However you decide it needs to be done."

  He held up a pair of hand chains. She noticed the lack of filth on them. Instead of rusty red orange, they were shiny.

  "I believe I told you quite clearly, Captain Rawlins." She actually stepped closer, uncaring of how much larger he was. "I am not frightened of you. Your threats gain you nothing."

  "It's a promise." His voice was edged with hard determination. "What I gain is the knowledge that I have done everything in my power to help the ninety men under my and my brothers'

  command live to see their families again."

  "Then why allow me on shore? I should think it would give you good peace of mind to keep me right here." She was so angry she shook with it. Disappointment lashed through the excitement that had been brewing inside her since seeing land that morning.

  He stepped closer, the look on his face telling her not many people challenged his command. Her skin rippled once more, and she had to force back the urge to physically shove him away.

  "I'm taking you on shore because I am not Mordaunt." His voice was quiet and she struggled to hear him because of the blood roaring in her ears. "I know what it is like to sail for weeks on end and be denied shore leave. In spite of how much simpler it might be to imprison you here, I meant what I said when I brought you aboard."

  He drew a stiff breath. "I do regret the necessity of keeping you. Come on deck if you want to go ashore, I'm leaving as soon as the boat is ready."

  The man was a puzzle.

  Lorena paced around the table, her temper still burning hot. Organizing her thoughts eluded her.

  It frustrated her horribly because she had always been the strong, stable one. The one her sisters might look to for calm guidance. Now, this single man had set her to pacing like a dancing girl with no decorum whatsoever.

  He'd taken to using her first name.

  That was quite forward, but once again completely in keeping with what she knew of his

  character.

  There was a creak and groan from the deck above. Men shouted and more groaning. A loud

  splash announced that one of the smaller lifeboats had hit the water.

  "Oh damn your promises, Captain Rawlins."

  Swiping her gloves off the small side table, she cast a hard glare at her bonnet. It was well into the afternoon, the heat almost suffocating. But she would not suffer the wide brim of the thing.

  No, Captain Rawlins was a man she wanted to keep her sight on.

  She eagerly climbed up onto the deck, looking forward to going ashore. Warren Rawlins was

  sadly mistaken if he believed showing her a pair of wrist chains was going to make her cower.

  One good thing about Godford's method of raising her was that her mind was sharp. She was not completely helpless. A small locket with her father's picture hung around her neck by a fine gold chain. That should be worth passage. Gold was gold, after all.

  "Afternoon, ma'am."

  "Good day, miss."

  Men touched their hats the moment she stepped up onto the main deck. A few smiled good—

  naturedly at her before casting their gazes away. These men lacked the frightened nature Captain Connelly's crew had. They seemed to be respecting her by not staring, a few of the older ones reminding the younger ones with a sharp gesture of their hands. One younger lad earned himself a tug on his ear when he failed to notice the fingers warning him to stop gaping at her.

  "Warren tells me Holly has taken a shine to you."

  Lorena looked up to find a dark-haired man watching her. His features were similar to Warren's and he towered over her as well.

  "That's fine praise. Holly doesn't like many people. I'm Garrick Rawlins."

  "I'd like her much better stewed with rum." Another man touched his hat before striding closer.

  "That bird is more foul tempered than a butcher during lent."

  Garrick only raised an eyebrow. "This scrap is my younger brother, Harrison."

  "I can understand why Holly doesn't care for you, sir. I do believe I would avoid anyone who wanted to add me to the stew pot."

  Another splash drew her attention. Two boats were already on the water, men working the oars.

  "All ashore for those going ashore."

  Warren's voice rang across the deck with firm authority. He looked straight at her, a challenge on his face. Lorena stepped forward. The urge to shove him returned. Now it was even more

  tempting with the aqua water behind him. She closed her fingers into fists to contain the impulse.

  Warren threw one leg right over the rail, the second one following. A rope ladder hung down the side of the ship. Two men were already in the boat. They grasped
rope lines to keep the smaller boat alongside the Huntress.

  "I'll lower you down." Garrick appeared beside her with the same twin loops she'd been hoisted on board with. A tiny snarl passed her lips.

  "That ladder shall serve quite nicely."

  Warren eyed her, an amused look on his face. The man was halfway over the side of his ship, only his upper body visible. "You'll have to hike your skirts to your knees."

  "I shall do no such thing." Indeed she would not.

  Victory showed plainly on Warren's face. It needled her until her resolve burst. "Very well then.. .if that is the way of it aboard ships, I shall adapt."

  Men froze at their tasks but she ignored them. Grasping a handful of her skirt and petticoat, she pulled the fabric above her ankles. The smirk on the captain's face melted. He climbed down the ladder, clearing the top of it for her.

  Wearing a dress at sea was another miserable idea of modesty. Society had simply gone mad

  with all its rules. Sensible clothing should be worn by both men and women.

  The water looked farther below her than she had imagined. The little boat bobbed about, hitting the hull of the Huntress from time to time. Warren was only halfway down the ladder, a look of concern on his face.

  Well, she was going down the ladder. Lifting her leg, she swung it over the rail as he'd done. The wind caught in her petticoat but she did not stop. Setting her foot firmly onto one rung of that ladder, Lorena pushed off of the deck and pulled her other leg over the rail.

  All eyes were on her. Work had frozen, the sailors' faces reflecting their shock. Fine, let them stare. Her skirt billowed up behind her, the wind coming off the water and blowing up the side of the ship. She clamped down on the urge to reach behind her and smooth her dancing skirts down.

  She had a good set of drawers on and stockings so there was no need to be so concerned. It

  wasn't as if her bare skin was exposed.

  The first two steps were the hardest. Searching for the next rung in the ladder took a bit of getting used to while keeping a thought on just where her skirt was. But her head slipped below the rail and then farther down the side of the ship. Confidence filled her, placing a smile on her face.

  "You're full of surprises, Lorena St. John."

  Warren Rawlins clasped a strong arm around her waist before she touched the last rung. Her

  heart jumped, accelerating. There was so much strength in the man. A jolt raced through her, and this time it wasn't temper. It was excitement. Her cheeks burned when she caught a hint of what he smelled like. Never once had she considered she might like the way another person smelled.

  But it made sense. Babies had a scent that placed smiles on your lips when you kissed their soft curls.

  Warren's scent tightened her belly. He lifted her off the ladder and set her in the boat. Lorena dropped to the seat quickly, the smaller craft far more unstable than the Huntress.

  "Cast away."

  Warren didn't just give the command; he lifted an oar and pushed them away from the ship. The little boat rose up and down on the swells of the waves. Lorena grasped the plank that served as a seat and branched her feet wide to steady herself. The wind whistled across her cheeks and into her hair now that her bonnet was left behind. The tip of her ears grew cold but she smiled with enjoyment.

  A pair of blue eyes watched her. Warren was rowing along with the other men, his arms pulling the oars through the water with ease.

  He'd rolled his shirtsleeves up to his elbows, displaying his bare forearms. Unlike her own arms, his were cut with ridges of muscles. His face was marked with a similar enjoyment of the

  moment. Surprise flickered in his eyes but it rapidly changed to something she wasn't certain of.

  Or at least she wasn't willing to admit she understood the flare of heat burning in his eyes. Her belly remained tight, the muscles drawing into a knot. Looking out over the water, she tried to ignore the sensation rippling across her skin. Beneath her corset, her breasts tingled again. This time it wasn't a whisper of a feeling but a deep yearning. She wanted to feel. The gloves covering her hands suddenly become a hated barrier between her skin and everything around her. The

  memory of the way his hand felt against her neck surfaced and her body clamoured for more.

  Which was absurd.

  Or at the least very unwise. Without her virtue she had little. Warren Rawlins only held her to ensure the safety of his men. It was a noble cause, but at the same time he had shown he would sacrifice her good name for his own agenda. She would carry the stain of this abduction her entire life. There would always be whispers and doubts about what else the American captain had taken from her.

  "Hold on!"

  The boat had reached the breaking waves. Its bow tilted up and the men dug in with the oars. The swell broke into thousands of white frothy bubbles and carried the bow down. They raced toward the sandy shore. It was exhilarating, sending a soft laugh past her lips. Her eyes closed in pure enjoyment of the motion whisking her onto shore. When she opened them, Warren was standing

  next to her. The white-topped surf flowed around his calves, the black leather of his boots pulled up above his knees. She was the only one left in the boat, the other men fighting to pull it up onto the beach.

  Warren scooped her up. He cradled her against his chest, his men pulling the boat much easier, now that she wasn't weighing it down. Another wave crashed behind them, the frothy water

  rushing toward the man holding her. With a gasp, Lorena clutched at his neck and pulled her body higher. The water rushed beneath her bottom, chilling it but not soaking her.

  "Ah, my dear lady, I wouldn't let you get wet." His voice was coated in amusement, merriment dancing in his eyes. He held her effortlessly. The steady beat of his heart against her side. His keen gaze dropped to her mouth.

  Time froze. The surface of her lips tingled and hunger flickered in his eyes. Suddenly, the desire to know what his kiss felt like consumed her. It was so overpowering she could not think of anything else.

  "Who's that standing on my beach?"

  Warren's arms tightened around her, a soft word passing his lips that the wind carried away before she heard it.

  "What are you bringing me, Captain Rawlins?" The woman watching them refused to be ignored.

  She smiled from gold hoop earring to gold hoop earring. Warren growled. It was low and deep and edged with frustration. Looking back at him, she caught a glimpse of something that looked very much like a promise. But he pressed his lips into a hard line, his eyes centered on her mouth for a long moment.

  Warren walked toward the gleaming white sand, his legs taking on the surface with ease. A dark-skinned woman stood on the shore, her hands propped on her hips.

  Warren didn't release Lorena. He stood in front of the woman, a rakish grin on his lips. Releasing his neck didn't seem to get through to the man that it was time to release her. Instead he looked at the woman.

  "I brought you someone to mother."

  "Captain Rawlins." Lorena kept her voice low, but the man merely raised an eyebrow at her.

  Frustration flared through her.

  "If you please, sir. Put me down."

  Warren looked at her, playfulness glittering in his eyes. "You'd sink up to your ankles in those shoes."

  "What?" Glancing down her legs, she stared at the neat row of straps that ran up the center of each shoe. The fine grains of sand would fill her shoes on the first step.

  "Lord, I don't understand why you English women wear the things you do. This is the islands.

  Shoes like that don't have no place here."

  "They are all I have." Lorena tried to keep her tone even because she was grateful she had any shoes at all. The harsh truth that she was at

  Warren's mercy when it came to clothing was not something she enjoyed thinking about.

  Warren carried her up the beach. He let her down on the harder dirt just beyond the sand. A tiny little shiver went through her when she
stepped away from him, almost as thought she lamented the parting.

  "This is Tibetha. The best cook on the island."

  The woman flashed a brilliant smile at Warren. Her teeth were a startling contrast to her dark skin. A loose gown of some sort fluttered in the breeze. It had only puff sleeves that ended at the woman's elbows. There was no waistband and the hem was a good foot off the ground. A sliver bracelet twinkled around one of the woman's ankles and her feet were bare.

  She looked far more comfortable than Lorena felt. Sweat was already tickling down the center of her back. Even standing in the shade didn't

  cool her off. Her petticoat was slicking to her legs, trapping the heat.

  "May I present Miss Lorena St. John. My guest."

  Tibetha laughed. Her body shook with her mirth. "I got's to have a talk with you, miss. This man, he is a devil. Tempting all the ladies with that face." She shook her head. "Come along with me and we is going to wash out your hair and talk women talk. No men about to worry us none."

  "I would enjoy that." It would afford her the opportunity to try and slip away from Captain Rawlins.

  A ripple of disappointment went through her. The emotion was in direct conflict with her logic.

  Captain Rawlins promised her nothing save passage home. If she could achieve the same on her own, so much the better.

  But his crew would be left at the mercy of Mordaunt.

  Guilt raked across her thoughts. She could not shake it off. The faces of the crew came to mind with their genuine respect. Even Holly would suffer if she failed to return to the Huntress.

  Warren might die...

  The tropical heat was boiling her brain. Her mind was going soft under the strain of being a captive. Surely that was the explanation for why she looked back at Warren. He'd added a wide leather belt over his wool vest that had a sword hanging from it. The weapon was as fine as any officer might carry, but the rolled-up shirtsleeves gave him the look of a rogue. Like some pirate from a century ago. Such times were long past of course.

  Except he abducted you...

  Maybe time didn't have the same meaning here as it did elsewhere. Women walked by in nothing but what she might call a chemise. Their dark hair was pleated into tiny braids that held colorful beads on the ends. There wasn't a glove in sight except for her own. Warren fit in. Truthfully he looked at ease and dreadfully handsome too. Part of her longed to join him. Strip off her gloves and cumbersome petticoat so the tropical breeze might cool her legs.