The Pirate and the Puritan

by Howe, Cheryl

  To stop her before her trembling fingers grazed his chest again, he grabbed her wrists. “I’m not injured.” He let her go and turned away abruptly. Truth was, he was more wounded than she knew.

  Delivering McCulla’s punishment had done little to return Drew’s sense of control. He still reeled from his father’s betrayal. Marley he could understand. The man was a realist to Ben’s over optimism. But Drew’s own father...

  To offer a reward for Drew’s demise gave a new definition to the word betrayal. His father’s actions wounded Drew in a way he’d no longer thought possible. And the only place he had to turn for comfort was Felicity. He knew he could lean on her and she wouldn’t crumble.

  “If you’re not hurt, why are you covered in blood?” Felicity’s voice held fear.

  Drew forced himself to face her. “It’s somebody else’s.” Despite his clipped words and hard stare, her compassionate gaze didn’t falter. Were those actual tears making her eyes look so wet and inviting? All he had to do was open his arms and she’d be in them, doing whatever he wanted, whatever he needed.

  But he had no right to find solace in her luscious body. Telling her of her father’s imprisonment would accomplish what his weak morals alone could never master. Their seductive interludes would be nothing more than a vague memory or a forgotten dream. When she learned he was the infamous El Diablo, her feminine concern would be replaced by gratification at the sight of him drenched in blood, preferably his own.

  “Did you kill somebody, Captain Drew?” Hugh’s question reminded him that the boy was still in the cabin.

  Drew strode past him to pour himself some brandy.

  Hugh sat at the table drawing on something Drew hoped wasn’t a map. “No, Hugh. I didn’t kill anyone. Go find your father. He’s worried about you.”

  “That wasn’t much of a battle.” Hugh sighed with obvious disappointment.

  “Maybe next time. Now go.” Drew gulped the brandy he splashed into the tankard, then refilled the container halfway to the top.

  Hugh dashed from the cabin. Felicity quietly closed the door after him, then began moving about the room. Drew tried to ignore her as he swilled his brandy. He shouldn’t have come here until his mind had cleared.

  After seeing to Avery’s comfort and McCulla’s lashing, he’d convinced himself he needed to attend to Felicity’s safety. A dozen bizarre accidents could have befallen her during the battle. And now that he’d seen her, he knew he had to tell her what had happened to Ben. The rift that would come between them already seemed like a stone wall stretching across the room.

  He sank into a chair. The suit of iron guilt made it hard to stand—and Ben’s fate pressed harder in Felicity’s presence. He clutched his tankard as if it were a lifeline.

  Felicity appeared beside him holding a basin of water floating a clean white cloth.

  “What’s that?” he mumbled between gulps of brandy.

  She set the basin on the table. “Despite your present appearance, I know you’ve seen soap and water before. Would you be so kind as to remove your vest?”

  “I told you, I’m fine.”

  She picked up the cloth and squeezed out the excess water. “I’d like to see that for myself. You could be stunned and not realize you’re hurt. That happens, you know.”

  Drew sat up and shrugged off the vest to prove to her he was intact, physically anyway. “I’ve met the wrong end of a sword more than once. If all this blood were mine, I’d know it.”

  She rubbed a small piece of soap against the washcloth until foam appeared. Her movements were stiff, as if she struggled for control. She circled behind him and began to gently wipe the blood from his upper arm.

  “Don’t do this,” he snapped. The strong scent of rose and sandalwood crept from the soapy water, reminding him of the moment he’d found Felicity draped in the ruby-silk robe. He should yell at her for even thinking of dousing him with the fragrant lather, but alluding to the scent would give the memory too much power. It was like a bruise too painful to touch.

  She continued cleaning his arm with long, gentle strokes. “I want to help you. I need to make up for the way I’ve treated you. I want you to know—”

  “You’re wiping another man’s blood from my body. I’m no saint. Anything I’ve gotten from you, I deserved.” He pinched the bridge of his nose to keep from saying more until he found the right words. When he brought away his hand, he realized his fingers were still covered in blood.

  She rinsed the cloth in the basin, then dabbed away the smudges left by his touch. “Hear me out, Drew. I misjudged you from the very first moment we met. I only saw exactly what you wanted everyone to see.”

  He leered up at her. All he had to do to make her hate him was be himself. Apparently that was enough for his own father. “And you know better, sweeting? I’ve lured many a good woman into my bed on the ruse of letting her save my black soul. Is that what you had in mind?”

  She threw down the rag, sending water splashing over the edge of the basin. “Certainly not.”

  To get a better view, he leaned back in his chair. Her angry eyes shone like sunlit moss. How could he have ever found her fiery features cold?

  While she silently fumed, he used his cupped hands to pour water over his chest and arms.

  “You’re making a mess.” She grabbed the cloth and wiped away the pink streaks left by his hurried effort.

  He brushed her hand away. “It’s a ship, Felicity. A little water isn’t going to hurt anything.”

  She persisted despite his not-so-gentle hints to leave him alone. He noted the tilt of her chin, a sign he’d come to interpret as a prelude to battle. When he was drunk enough to deliver his news, the row they’d have was sure to rival anything in the past.

  She dried him with quick, rough strokes. “I know what you’re doing. You’re not going to stop me from saying what I want to say.”

  He almost laughed. “Has anyone ever accomplished that feat, Miss Kendall?”

  She looked him over. When she appeared satisfied, she placed the soiled rag in the pink-tinged water. After sitting down beside him, she focused all her attention on his face. The intensity of her gaze pulled him to her. He met her smoky eyes, something he’d been trying to avoid since entering the cabin.

  “As I said, I misjudged you.” She held up her hand when he tried to interrupt. “It doesn’t matter what name you’re using or who you’re pretending to be. There is a man underneath all that who didn’t deserve the horrible accusations I made.”

  He laughed, though the irony of her words left him with the feeling he’d swallowed an anchor rather than anything resembling amusement. “Oh, there are a few things I could say to change your mind.”

  She smiled and shook her head. It was a closemouthed grin, a gesture of confidence. “You’ve said things that should have irrevocably condemned you in my mind, but nothing has. And I have tried to persuade myself. I hate to be wrong.”

  “Felicity, you’re not wrong. Trust your first instinct.”

  “I am trusting my instincts, and it’s the first time I’ve truly done so in years.” She gently placed her hand over his clenched one. “Children don’t lie. They aren’t clouded with notions of how people should be. The way Hugh looks at you...”

  He couldn’t stand another moment of her regaling him with praise for his good nature. “Felicity, your father’s in jail. The Barbadian government believes he’s my accomplice.”

  When she snatched her hand away from his, an Atlantic wind blew through his hollow chest. He hadn’t meant to say it so bluntly, but now that it was out in the open, he was glad. Let her hate him for what he’d done to her father. Maybe her animosity would relieve some of his own self-loathing at the thought of Ben rotting in a jail cell while Drew tried to seduce his only daughter.

  She flattened her palm against her chest. “I don’t understand. How could you know this?”

  “The ship we just took was the Carolina. She brought the news.”

&n
bsp; “That can’t be.” Her features wavered between disbelief and horror. “Surely no one would believe my father a pirate.”

  He topped off the brandy in the tankard and pushed it her way. “Drink. It gets worse.” To his surprise, she took a large swig and hardly grimaced before she swallowed another. “All your father’s ships have been seized. Captain McCulla was lucky enough to gain use of one in order to hunt me down. They believe Ben and I had something to do with Marley’s death.”

  “That’s ridiculous. A pirate killed Marley.” She shook her head, as if trying to clear it. “My father would never do anything to break the law.”

  He’d not tell her of Ben’s involvement in their scheme to sell pirated goods. At least he could spare her that. As sharp as she was, Drew found it amazing that she didn’t know how heavily in debt her father had been when he fled Boston. The fact that she’d ignored the man’s obvious faults spoke to her capacity for love. Not that Drew had experienced that kind of unconditional sentiment, or ever would. Still, it made the world seem less cruel to know it existed.

  “My father came to Barbados and is offering a reward for my capture.” No need to tell her of Marley’s involvement. She’d never believe Drew hadn’t killed him. Drew wouldn’t believe it himself.

  “How could he do that to you? What is your crime? Oh. Being his son.”

  Drew abruptly stood and paced the room. The look of compassion on her face proved harder to digest than he’d anticipated. That she soothed his soul with the very words he’d longed to hear didn’t help. He strode back to her, leaned one hand on her chair and braced the other against the table. “I’m a pirate. Remember? Perhaps on your arrival in Barbados you missed some of my associates’ heads rotting on spikes.”

  “But he’s your father. And why is my father being accused? This isn’t right.”

  The tremor in her voice forced him to straighten abruptly. If she started crying, he’d have no choice but to leave the room. He couldn’t take much more of these emotions ravaging his sanity. His heroic sacrifice, giving up Felicity’s seduction in order to tell her the truth about her father, should have freed him from his guilt. It hadn’t. Her unhappiness made him even more miserable. Knowing he had inadvertently caused it cut him until he felt as if he would actually bleed.

  Drew sat back in his chair and gulped brandy from the bottle. He needed fortification in order to stick this out. Leaving Felicity alone to face her hurt was not an option. To his dismay, his lowness had limits. With any luck, the brandy’s heat would burn away the demons of emotion. He’d rather be stinking drunk than feel like this. But first he had to explain to her why he was such a complete and utter fiend.

  “Knowing Ben, he tried to defend me. Since the Duke of Foxmoor can’t set his hands on me, Ben gets to be the sacrificial lamb. I suspect they’re hoping I’ll come to his rescue.”

  Felicity’s watery gaze hardened. “Your father wants you dead, doesn’t he?”

  “It appears so.” He rubbed his forehead to avoid looking into her eyes.

  She stood. Her angry footsteps told him she’d taken up pacing where he’d left off. “Those aristocrats think they can always have their way even if they trample good men in the process. If it weren’t for their greed, my father would never have had to leave Boston in the first place. I won’t stand for it anymore.”

  His neck ached from watching her stomp circles around the room. He got up and leaned against the table with his arms folded across his chest. “What in the hell do you intend to do about it? Have you forgotten I’m not exactly innocent in all this? Don’t doubt for a minute I’m a pirate.”

  As she swung around to face him, her skirts swirled about her trim silk-clad ankles. “You were driven to it. Your father abandoned you. What were you supposed to do, starve? Or worse, stay an indentured servant? Anyone who cared to know you would realize that would never suit you. I don’t blame you for escaping.”

  Drew tried to maintain his relaxed stance. Playing the callous bastard worthy of her hatred grew harder when she appeared not to know her role. She should be railing at him, not defending him. Though he suspected her tirade had more to do with salving his hurt feelings over his father’s cruelty than defending his choice to become a pirate. God bless the female heart.

  “Of course I agree with you about my being driven to a life of crime. Even I’m convinced by your passionate defense of the good man gone bad, but I don’t follow the rest. The only reason Ben is in jail is because they can’t get their hands on me.”

  She stopped directly in front of him. Her touch on his cheek forced him to look into her eyes. “We both know the New England Trading Company barely broke even until you came along. If my father was a pauper, no one would have looked at him twice.”

  He laid his hand on top of hers and turned his face toward her palm. He shouldn’t touch her, but her initiation of the contact made it impossible not to respond. “I gained that money illegally, Felicity. I used your father’s business as a front for selling stolen goods on Barbados.” He should have told her more, but he couldn’t let her know of his connection with El Diablo. Money might be a strong enough motivator for Barbados’s current governor, a man infamous for corruption, to seize Ben’s ships, but the population’s terror of El Diablo was an infinitely more powerful reason to arrest Ben. Especially since El Diablo was accused of killing two of their citizens in their own home.

  Felicity tucked a lock of hair behind his ear, forgiving him for things for which he hadn’t asked forgiveness.

  “I realize the company’s wealth came from your stolen goods, but my father didn’t. He’s an honest man. He won’t survive in prison.”

  It took everything in Drew’s power not to draw her into his arms, quenching his hunger and her fears. He recognized the vulnerability behind her bravado. He captured her hand and brought it to his mouth, turning their joined hands to press his lips against her palm. The callous bastard be damned. He had to reassure her that her father would be fine, even if he wasn’t sure himself.

  “I won’t let Ben stay in jail.”

  “If we go to Barbados and confront this Duke of Fox—whatever, they’ll have to let my father go. You are his son, after all. That can’t be a crime.”

  He flicked his tongue against her palm, then whispered against her bare wrist. “It’s the Duke of Foxmoor... and I think impersonating his legitimate son might be a crime. I know piracy is.”

  The taste of her undid his good intentions to make her hate him. He swore he heard her moan softly before she pulled her wrist away and stepped back. Without hesitation, he let her go. Thank God she had the sense to pull away. He tried to remember how he had come to be licking her palm in the first place. His response to her nearness had taken over his common sense. If she touched him again, he feared he’d be lost.

  Felicity folded her arms over her chest and drew a shaky breath. “I’ll have to go back alone, then. The first step is to unite the merchant class in my father’s defense. Common citizens have strength in numbers. When the duke realizes he’s accused a well-respected member of the community—”

  Drew pushed away from the table and stood before her. “Slow down, my little hurricane. I know Barbados would never be the same if you unleashed your fury upon its poor souls, but I have to handle this without your help.”

  She touched his shoulders lightly. He tried not to flinch at the contact on his bare skin. As if she sensed his unease, she let her hands glide down his arms to grip his hands. Not better. The draw of her palms along his skin sent a shiver he clamped down on his jaw to suppress.

  “I can’t sit idly by and watch my father’s life destroyed at the whim of some self-centered aristocrat.”

  To break the skin-to-skin contact, he pulled her against his chest, careful to keep his hands on the thick layers of her corseted waist.

  “Felicity, I don’t want to have to rescue two Kendalls. Please, do it my way.”

  His brotherly hug might have worked if she hadn’t lean
ed her curves into him in all the right places. He set her away from him with teeth-jarring abruptness.

  She blinked in surprise. “You have a plan?”

  He tried to think of something to say to satisfy her, but all he could do was stare at her parted lips. Her breath came in gusts of sweet scent that fogged his thinking. He had to take care of this woman, protect her. If he couldn’t save her from himself, he’d save her from being snared in the web her father had created.

  “Trust me,” he whispered, close enough so she could feel the brush of his words on her wet lips.

  The urge to devour her held him in place. He feared it wouldn’t be a simple kiss, but an all-out assault. His body wound tight, his control teetered on a fine thread stretched taut. A damning chant taunted him, reminding him of what he’d caused her father, binding him from moving. If Felicity had any sense of self-preservation, she’d stop staring at him through doe-like eyes and remove herself to the other side of the room.

  ***

  “I trust you, Drew.” The opportunity she had asked for came, and she surprised herself by having the courage to grasp it. Unfortunately, it was her father’s life at risk instead of her immortal soul. If not for Drew’s deception, her father wouldn’t be in prison at all; but her father had made a habit of trusting scoundrels, and at least Drew intended to right his wrong. Common sense dictated that she keep up her guard against him, but common sense had never assured her with the same determination she saw in Drew’s eyes. She slid her hand under his hair to cup the back of his neck. “I trust you,” she repeated with more conviction.

  At her breathless declaration, Drew tensed and balled his hands into fists at his sides. She knew what he thought. Saw his battle in every hard line of his body. If she wanted him to stop, if she had lost her nerve, she should say so now.