“I would know, and that is what matters.” Still, he piqued her interest, but she clung to the hope that he might consider her something more than what he suggested. If only Mama had not posited Turner as a viable suitor. “Have you no conscience?” As she gave her attention to the sky, she peered into the distance. “Turner, I believe there is a ship in our wake.”
“What?” He jolted alert and released her. From the waistband of his breeches, he retrieved a spyglass, which he extended. “Hell and the Reaper, it is the plague o’ the seas.” To the helmsman, Turner said, “Murtaugh, set a speed course for that island.” Then her captain shouted, “All hands about ship! Crowd that canvas.”
“What is it?” She gulped. “What is wrong?”
“It is…pirates.” Turner glanced at Murtaugh and hauled Rose down the companion ladder, to the waist, where the crew scrambled into the rigging. “It is pirates, and we must run like smoke n’ oakum, unless you wish to tangle with a band of cutthroats.”
“Oh, no.” At the mere suggestion, she trembled.
“Cap’n, why do we alter our tack?” Mr. Allen asked.
“We have the plague o’ the seas in our wake.” Turner shifted his gaze from Rose to the quartermaster. “So we make for the island.”
“We will never reach the other side, before they are on us, and they will have us by the hip.” Lowering his spyglass, Mr. Allen shook his head. “We should come about and bear down with ports open.”
“Not a chance.” Turner bared his teeth.
“Why can we not take refuge in that inlet?” Rose pointed for emphasis. “There, among the trees, to the right of the promontory, where the waves break.”
“What inlet?” Turner’s mouth fell agape, as he again raised his spyglass. “Well burn and blast my bones, Miss Armistead is correct.”
“Our Lady of Fortune saves us.” Mr. Allen scratched his temple and shuffled his feet. “And we have no time to spare.” To the crew, the quartermaster commanded, “Lively, men.”
“Should I go below?” She inhaled a shaky breath, when Turner caressed her cheek, and over his shoulder she spotted Clinton, staring daggers at her. “Or may I stay with you?”
“Stay, forever, if you want.” Turner tugged on a lock of her hair. “Just stay.”
“Is that a proposal?” Rose held her breath.
“Uh—no.” He compressed his lips. “I revisit our negotiation, as you never gave me your answer.”
She should have refused him. Should have lectured him on honor and duty. Instead, she squared her shoulders. “I am considering your offer.”
Chapter Four
A howling gale marked a full month at sea, as Turner loomed at the bowsprit, and the rain abated. The Malevolent pitched and rolled beneath his feet, and he savored the wild ride. If only he could say the same for Rose, but she did not appear on deck during rough weather, much to his disappointment, so he settled for recollections of her charming, if less than successful, attempts to bend him to her will. While he wanted her, and he would pay almost any price to have her, he had no intentions of marrying her. It was fortunate that she wanted him, and he could not ignore the longing in her blue eyes, whenever she looked at him. Soon, he would take her to his cabin.
“Cap’n, might we have a word with you?” Eastman stood at the fore, with Allen, Tolly, and Murtaugh at the rear, and Turner braced for an argument, the heart of which he suspected he knew well. “The crew has been talking, ever since Miss Armistead spotted that British naval ship, as well as the inlet that helped us avoid action.”
“She is our Lady of Fortune, Cap’n.” Tolly adopted a defensive posture, which was surprising for the usually loyal first mate. “She saved our necks, she found treasure, and we mean to keep her.”
“I know that, but we are not having this discussion.” To delay and calm his nerves, Turner gathered his hair and tied it back with a leather thong. “I know what you want, and I am working on it. Believe me, I want Rose to remain aboard ship as much, if not more, than you, but I would have it by her request. Not by force.”
“How do you plan to achieve that?” With an unmistakable leer, to which Turner would have taken exception under more advantageous circumstances, Allen jutted his hip. “And our scheme does not include the mother or the brat, because they are useless. I would prefer to throw them overboard.”
“And how will that work, if you harm Rose’s kin?” Turner had to think fast, because he smelled mutiny, and he could do nothing to save Rose, if he was dead. “Do you believe our Lady of Fortune will continue to support us, if we kill her family?”
“So what are you going to do? More of the same games you play with Miss Armistead, at the stern rail?” Murtaugh smirked. “I pay attention, Cap’n.”
“That is none of your affair, and have care how you speak about her, or I will slit your gullet.” In that instant, Turner rested his hand on the hilt of his sword. Somehow, he had to win Rose, or else she could be in real trouble, given her peculiar abilities, which she shared without reservation, because she did not know she was surrounded by a ruthless bunch of pirates. “Trust me, I spare no effort to persuade her to our side, but it must be done in a way that does not position us as her adversaries, and I must reveal the true nature of our trade. She has to know what we are and still want to be here, or we will lose our Fortuna.”
“So you agree with us?” Eastman set his jaw, which caused even more concern, given the bo’sun never questioned Turner’s authority, and he realized the situation was not just precarious. It was grave. “The Armistead woman stays.”
“Aye.” And Turner had to enact a seduction, to achieve his goal. “The sun breaks below the clouds. Tolly, send for Miss Armistead to join me at the stern, and fetch her an oilskin if she has no outerwear.”
“Aye, aye, Cap’n.” Tolly saluted, as the other men grinned.
“Wipe those bloody smiles off your ugly faces, and make yourselves scarce, if you wish to retain your teeth.” Desperate to ensure Rose’s safety, Turner prepared to do what he originally intended, when he departed Port Royal. Of course, he changed his mind when he got to know her. But he would debauch the innocent Miss Armistead, if only to ensure her survival. Given her professed preference for her virtue, he wagered she would take whatever role he offered, if he stole the prize between her thighs.
Inhaling a deep breath, he strolled to the stern rail and waited for his prey to join him. For some reason he could not explain, he righted the velvet coat beneath his raingear and wiped his mouth. He folded and unfolded his arms and cleared his throat.
“You sent for me, Turner?” Just the sound of her voice aroused him.
“I did.” Slowly, he rotated and met her gaze. Garbed in the same blue mantua she wore when they met, she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, and that was why he helped her in the bordello. Extending an arm, he flicked his fingers and wondered just how to ravish a virgin. “Come and enjoy the sunset with me, lovely Rose. The lingering clouds will make for a spectacular show.”
“So there is no danger?” He could not say that, and he could not share the truth without terrifying her. “The worst is past?”
“Sweetheart, we were never in peril from a harmless spring shower.” Summoning charm he never deployed, because he paid for his flyers, he pinned her against the rail and then checked his hunger. “Do you not trust my skills as a mariner?”
“You called me your sweetheart.” She shrieked and bounced in his embrace, which he did not anticipate, and the old long cannon primed for battle. “Does that make you my beau?”
“I suppose it does.” How easily she fell for his manipulation. After pulling loose the tie of her oilskin, which she must have borrowed from a crewmember, he slipped his hand beneath the outerwear, to tease the flesh exposed by the neckline of her mantua. “Are you pleased?”
“Immensely.” Her eyes flared and she swallowed hard, as he tugged on the ribbon of her chemise. “What are you doing?”
“Why, I am savori
ng the sunset, with my lady.” And she was his lady. A quick glance over his shoulder revealed no one nearby, so he pressed on her an illicit caress, as he teased a pert nipple with his finger. When she faltered, he held her tight, brushed aside the fine lawn garment, and cupped her bare breast. The first touch of her supple flesh almost brought him to completion, and he cursed himself.
“Turner, please, someone might see you.” So she worried they could be discovered—not that he enticed her. That boded well for him. Not so much for her. “You really must not do that.”
“Oh, but I must.” With his tongue, he licked her lips and then covered her mouth with his, and she slackened against him. “And you want this, do you not? Because you expressed as much.”
“Does that mean you intend to marry me?” She gave vent to a soft moan, and he swore he could bounce doubloons off his whore’s pipe, as he ached to weigh anchor in her honey harbor. “I am to be your wife?”
“You are to be mine.” He nipped her nose with his teeth, as he restored her garb. Just as he expected, she clung to him. “You are my woman.” Gripping the hair at the nape of her neck, he whispered against her lips, “Never forget that.”
“Yes.” She nodded. “And you shall be my husband.”
“Then let us adjourn to my cabin and celebrate.” He set her at arm’s length, and she immediately reached for him. “We can toast to our future.”
“We can do that with the crew, at dinner.” She bounced with unveiled joy, as she glowed, and never had he incited such a response from a woman. “Will you make the announcement? And wait until I tell Mama, because she insisted you were a prime candidate for a suitor.”
“No, sweetheart.” Again, he deployed the term of endearment, and she flung herself at him and kissed his cheeks. “Let us enact our own private observance.” Clutching her hands, he took three steps in reverse, drawing her with him. “Later, we can share our news.”
“But I want to do so, now.” Slow and steady, he lured her toward his cabin, and she raised no objection. “And there is much to discuss, because we must fix a date for the wedding, and I must purchase a new gown. Oh, Turner, we will invite all of Charles Town and the entire crew of the Malevolent to witness our nuptials.”
“First, we mark the occasion, in my quarters.” At the door, he fumbled for the wrought-iron ring, and with his foot he kicked open the panel. “Come inside, my dear Rose. Show me just how much of a woman you are.”
At last, he had her where he wanted her, and he secured the bolt against any interruption. Then he turned and pounced.
In seconds, he shed his raingear, stripped her of hers, and doffed his coat. Then he framed her jaw and beguiled her with searing kisses, as he loosened her laces. Employing the crude finesse that served him well with whores, he launched his aggressive attack, offering Rose no quarter.
As he backed her toward his bunk, he gave her no chance to protest, as he wielded his mouth as a weapon, kissing her into submission. By the time she came up for air, he had her mantua bunched about her waist. When she discovered her nudity, she tried to cover herself, but he pushed her to the mattress and pinned her down.
“Turner—” Her protest died in her throat, when he suckled her nipple, as he kneaded the other, and she gripped fistfuls of his hair and whimpered. “Oh, Turner.”
The sultry summons drove him over the edge, and he shifted, hiked her skirts, and delved between her thighs. To his infinite gratitude, he found her untried quim hot and wet, just as he wanted her. After untying his breeches, he freed his long cannon and hovered over her.
And then he stopped.
With a feminine smile and glassy eyes, Rose looked on him with adoration and something else, something he could not identify, but it touched him nonetheless. Her luscious lips, swollen from his assault, parted, and she whispered his name, and how he longed to answer her call.
It would have been so easy to take her. To seize what she unwittingly presented without challenge. But that was not how he wanted her, yet his body would not be denied.
Working his length, he grunted as he fired his seed into the sheets.
Then he collapsed beside Rose.
“I am sorry.” Angry with himself, he tensed and wiped the sweat from his brow. “I hope you can forgive me.”
“For what?” Sitting upright, she folded her arms in front of her. “While I would rather we wait until we speak the vows, I did not complain, and I did not fight you, so I am as much to blame for what happened here. But, in all fairness, I am uncontrollably excited.”
“No, you are innocent, Rose.” Spent from the force of his completion, which rocked him to his core, Turner shook himself, restored his breeches, and then assisted her. “I never should have brought you here, and I apologize.”
“For ceasing our activity?” Blushing, she bowed her head, as he righted her bodice and chemise. “Because I know there is more, and I am left to wonder what I did to displease you.”
“You should return to your cabin.” He stood and pulled her from the bunk. “And you did not displease me. Quite the contrary, you gave me the greatest satisfaction of my life.”
“Then why do you send me away?” The hurt in her expression tore at his already wounded conscience, which he did not believe he possessed, until that moment. “What did I do wrong?”
“You did everything right, sweetheart.” He ached to hug her, to reassure her, but he doubted his ability to restrain himself a second time, when everything inside him screamed and clawed for her. “But the dinner bells will sound, soon, and Clinton will search for you. Do you want your brother to find you here?”
“What care I for his opinion, when we are to be married?” Tears welled, and if she cried Turner would damn himself to hell. “My darling, you make no sense.”
“You need to go, now.” Grasping her by the elbow, he led her to the door, yanked open the oak panel, peered outside to ensure no one lingered in her path, and thrust her into the corridor. When she turned to say something, he slammed shut the door in her face.
Pacing in her cabin, Rose mulled the heated exchange with Turner, four days ago. Since that memorable meeting in his cabin, he avoided her, when she could hardly contain her excitement at their impending marriage. To her chagrin, her fiancée seemed disinclined to share their joyous news.
“Rose, sit down.” Mama pulled her embroidery from her trunk. “I am tired just watching you. What has upset you, child?”
“I am not a child, Mama.” In Rose’s estimation, after what occurred in Turner’s quarters, she was a woman. Only, she knew not why he halted his advance, just when she had been gaining ground. “And I am in a quandary.”
“Does it involve Captain Reyson?” At Mama’s query, Rose jolted to a stop. “My dear, I am your mother. I did not get that way by accident. And I notice you no longer join Captain Reyson on deck, at sunset, as you did before. Has something happened between you two?”
“No.” Oh, no. Turner was not something. He was everything. “But I have a question to pose, in the speculative sense.”
“All right.” Mama smiled a knowing smile. “Tell me of this speculation.”
“Say a man and a woman engage in what would be considered inappropriate behavior, but not exactly what you may think, except they are affianced.” Her mind raced, and her cheeks burned, as she revisited the stunning but tender rendezvous. “And then, for no reason at all, he simply ends the encounter.”
“Upon my word, but you shock me.” Mama fanned herself. “What sort of behavior, Rose, and do not lie to me.”
“Kissing.” Was there anything so embarrassing as discussing such matters with her mother? Of course, she could not tell Mama of the various places Turner kissed Rose, as she feared Mama might not survive that. “Just kissing.”
“And they are affianced?” Slowly, Mama set aside her needle and thread and stood. “There has been an offer of marriage?”
“Yes.” Rose nodded, even as she replayed the conversation in her head. But with her
thoughts cleared, and bereft of Turner’s influence, which muddled her brain, she realized he never actually proposed. She presumed as much, and he never once contradicted or corrected her suppositions, before he took her to his cabin. “At least, I believe so.”
“My dear, when it comes to the sacrament, there is no halfway.” Furrowing her brow, Mama frowned. “And there is no parsing to the consummation. Has that event taken place between this couple?”
“No, Mama.” As reality dawned, Rose struggled with a painful tightness in her throat. “As I said, they kissed and naught more.”
“Well, I am positive that young lady’s mother is grateful for that.” Mama gave a curt nod. “And I suppose the young man came to his senses, as his actions could compromise his future wife, when his primary responsibility as her husband is to guard her reputation.” She tapped her chin and snapped her fingers. “I would also add that affection for his future bride guided his actions, which should not be misconstrued as a slight against her. Rather, she should stand by her good man, and count herself fortunate that she has landed a sea captain.”
“Mama, I did not apprise you of his occupation.” Rose clucked her tongue. “And I do not claim to discuss my friendship with Captain Reyson.”
“But there is a relationship?” Mama steepled her fingers. “Because Captain Reyson would make a fine addition to our family.”
In that Rose agreed with her mother, but she needed to talk to Turner, and she had to clarify their arrangement. Not for a minute did she believe he would ruin her for the sake of sport aboard his ship.
“Thank you, Mama.” Rose smoothed the skirt of her dark green velvet mantua. “I am going to venture on deck, to admire the sunset.”
Riddled with indecision, she navigated the narrow corridor, acknowledging salutes from the crew, which had become their habit, although she could not understand why they afforded her such obedience, as she made her way to the waist, where she hoped to find Turner. To her disappointment, only Clinton lingered at the rail.
The Blood Reaver (Pirates of Britannia Book 6) Page 5
