“A big, scary one,” she added.
Gaston nodded. “He is, but he’s a tracker. Probably learned it hiding out after running away from his plantation master. Somehow he sensed I was here and set out to find me. I’ve learned not to ask questions. The man has saved my life on several occasions.”
“Why?”
“Why would he save my life?” he laughed. “Because I saved his first.”
“Oooh!” she brightened. “That sounds like a good story. Tell me about it.”
“Hatch was born on a sugar plantation in Jamaica. Slave from birth. You can imagine he was valued quite highly because of his strength. From the Spanish plantation owner’s perspective, he was a perfect slave for harvesting sugar cane. Awfully hard labor that is, especially with no pay.”
“When the English attacked and defeated the Spanish, one of the British officers took over Hatch’s plantation. During the melee, Hatch escaped into the interior region of the island and hid out there for a while. Later, when he grew restless, he ventured out into Port Royale.”
“That’s when I met him. He was outside behind a tavern, rummaging in the garbage for food. Upon seeing him, I knew I must recruit him for an upcoming voyage, so I took him inside and bought him a drink. We were downing our second glass of ale when some officials came in looking for him. The Englishman who’d taken over Hatch’s sugar plantation was still trying to claim Hatch as his property, even though the plantation had changed hands over three years prior.” Gaston lifted a brow. “Hatch was probably the best worker that farm had ever seen.”
“So you helped him.”
Gaston nodded. “Turned into quite a brawl. Bottles broken, heads busted. When Hatch and I finally got out of there, I hid him on my ship. We set sail the next day, and he’s been with me ever since. Men should be free. At the time, I wanted Hatch with me for selfish reasons. Now he’s my mate, and I want the best life possible for him.” He paused. “I want a better life for all my men.”
Frederica considered his words. Gaston was loyal to his men and he cared about their futures. Perhaps he had some virtues after all.
The sun was setting amidst brilliant lavender and orange streaks just above the water when they arrived at the edge of a small village. Hatch rejoined them and the party of three trudged into town. By the time they arrived, it was the dinner hour and most people were inside, enjoying their evening meal.
“Will we stay on your ship?” Frederica asked Gaston.
“No. I’d rather we set you up with some finer accommodations for the time being.”
Tired as she was, Frederica perked up at the idea of nice accommodations. She smiled, thinking about how luxurious it would be to sleep in a real bed for the first time in many, many months. She hadn’t had that luxury since she’d left England.
“You’ll spoil me,” she teased, touching his arm flirtatiously.
“That is my intention, mademoiselle.” He tucked her arm in his formally, indicating he planned to escort her the rest of the way.
Hatch guided them to the Boar’s Breath Inn, an establishment that had rooms in back and a restaurant in front. Then the hulking man disappeared.
A plump, cheerful-looking woman called Mrs. Campbell showed them to a guest room, then mentioned they were shorthanded in the kitchen and made a hasty retreat.
Frederica wound her arms around Gaston’s neck. “Won’t you stay?” She pressed her lips to his, trying her best to seduce him.
He kissed her back but pulled away too soon. “Not tonight. I must get to my ship, greet my crew, and assess the situation. I have work to do.” He lifted his palms in the air as though the situation couldn’t be helped.
She sighed heavily, sticking her bottom lip out.
“Please don’t pout, my dear. I’ll be back to see you tomorrow. In the meantime, get something substantial in your belly and a good night’s sleep.” He kissed her on the forehead, and he was gone.
Chapter Sixteen
The banging of hammers occasionally stopped long enough so he could hear the seagulls call as they swooped down on the dock for a morsel of discarded food or the promise of one. The sea breeze was brisk today, and Gaston pulled his waistcoat tight across his body. It felt good to be back where he belonged, commanding his men.
Outwardly, he appeared the consummate captain—reconnecting with his men, taking charge and overseeing repairs of the Ocean’s Knave. On the inside, however, his mind was occupied by thoughts of Frederica. Though he did his best to hide it from her, the violent incident near the river had unnerved him.
When he’d adopted the life of a pirate years ago, he’d thought nothing of the dangers he would face. His family was gone and he’d been stripped of his reputation, a man with nothing to lose.
Now, having grown closer to Frederica, his perspective had changed. During the skirmish with the bandits, his first thought had been of Frederica. Protecting her. And this reaction alarmed him. For a pirate to succeed in his endeavors, he must focus on his own interests. While loyalty to one’s crew was an admirable quality, in the throes of a battle, self-preservation had to be his top priority. Pirates who did not make it so usually wound up in a pine box.
As enchanting as Frederica was, she did not fit in with the life he led. What could he possibly offer her? To keep her in this small village as his whore he visited a couple of times a year?
No, she deserved better. Frederica was a remarkable woman. She should have a loving husband and a slew of children. She deserved a man who not only adored her, but who could also give her the time and attention she deserved. Someone with whom she could build a life.
He paced the ship’s deck, giving the men and their work a cursory glance. Sporadically he would nod to them or clap one on the back. “Good work,” he’d say so they’d think he was closely supervising them. Instead he daydreamed about how he wished things could be between Frederica and himself. He would love to see her gorgeous face every day. Ever since they’d been thrown into the sea together and he realized she had not betrayed him, he had wanted to possess her. To devour her.
He found himself longing to know more about her. What did she like to eat? What were her best childhood memories? He wanted to hear about her dreams, her fantasies, her every need, every desire—he wanted to know all of them. Hell, he’d like to spend the next fifty years learning everything there was to know about her. He yearned to be present for every breath she would take.
But it was not to be, and the sooner he came to terms with that, the better. For both of them. Giving her false hope would only come back to haunt him.
He picked up a hammer and slammed it down upon a nail, eager to have an outlet for his frustration. Twenty minutes into his pounding, a trail of sweat trickled down his back, and he tossed the tool aside.
This was madness. He couldn’t remember a time when a woman had him so bewitched. That morning Hatch had asked him about his relationship with Frederica. Gaston had kept his answers elusive, but his friend had seen right through him.
“You can’t be thinkin’ of takin’ ‘er with us, Cap’n,” Hatch had said.
Gaston shook his head, as if the idea had never occurred to him.
Hatch had persisted, “The men won’t take kindly to a woman aboard. Women cause trouble.”
Gaston had agreed. In principle. But it hadn’t stopped his heart from wishing he could take her with him.
But as much as he desired Frederica, indulging in such boyish fantasies did neither of them any good. The only satisfactory outcome for the two of them was for her to continue on her journey to America and for him to resume living the life he’d led prior to meeting her.
With a tightening in his chest, he realized that to do what was right, he would have to break her heart. And he must do it soon, before he fell even further under her spell. Shutting her out of his life was the only way, no matter how intense the pain.
He smiled bitterly to himself as he predicted her reaction. She’d be mad as a hellcat at first,
and she might not understand his reasons. But her ire with him would fade, and eventually she would recover and go on to find another to love. No one in the colonies need know about her indiscretion with the pirate who rescued her.
Swallowing hard, he pictured her finding a fine, upstanding gentleman with whom she could make a home and have children. He imagined she would be quite the enchanting wife, surrounded by adorable, pudgy babies, each with their mother’s shocking blue eyes. The fact they wouldn’t also be his children made him immeasurably sad.
Shaking off his melancholy, he swore he would treat this dalliance with Frederica as he would a diseased limb. No matter how gruesome the act, their ties must be severed. Having made his decision, he turned the supervisory role over to his quartermaster and headed for the nearest tavern. Drowning his sorrows was exactly what he needed.
* * *
Frederica stared out the window. Gaston had told her he’d be back the next day. But the next day he did not return, and she’d spent the entire day at the window, watching for him to no avail.
She had ventured out to the Boar’s Breath restaurant, though she had no idea how she would pay for her meal. The red-faced Mrs. Campbell had told her not to trouble herself over it, to eat her fill. The gentleman with the eye-patch had paid in advance for her room and board and said he would be sending over a seamstress to fit her for a new dress and measure her for some shoes.
Frederica hadn’t the courage to ask the woman for how long her board had been paid, but she would be happy to get some shoes and something new to wear.
After choosing a pair of shoes brought over by the cobbler and picking out a robin’s egg blue fabric for her new dress, Frederica was torn between gratitude for Gaston’s generosity and irritation that he had not bothered to come visit her.
Later, Mrs. Campbell came to her room and asked if Frederica would like to have her blouse and skirt laundered. Frederica balked because they were the only clothes she had, but the woman offered to bring her some supper while they dried.
It occurred to her that if Gaston came by before her clothes were dry, it really wouldn’t matter. They could occupy their time in her room. This made her giggle and as she undressed she thought of him, his hands roaming over her naked body, taking his pleasure and bringing her to earth-shattering ecstasy before succumbing to his own release.
Clad in her shimmy, she had pulled a chair over to the window and had finally fallen asleep there. During the night, the sounds of rowdy patrons from the tavern next door awoke her and she stumbled to the bed in the pitch black. A deep, dreamless sleep overtook her, and she slept until midday.
This morning when Mrs. Campbell brought her breakfast tray, it included a note.
“From Monsieur Galette,” she’d said, then helped Frederica back into her clean clothes. Freshly laundered, they smelled of soap and crisp spring air. Frederica had gotten a proper bath earlier, and it felt good to be clean.
When the woman left, Frederica turned her attention to the note. Apparently Gaston had come by, but instead of speaking with her, he’d left a note.
Anger swelled inside her, and she fought to keep her composure while she finished the eggs on her plate. Setting the breakfast tray aside, she flopped down on the bed. Tearing open the note, she saw Gaston’s handwriting for the first time. The lavish, flamboyant curly-q’s so reminded her of the man that she chuckled despite herself.
Dearest Frederica,
I have booked you passage on a ship called the Katherine Jane. She sails for America in two days’ time.
My apologies the Ocean’s Knave has kept me otherwise occupied. If you would like to join me for dinner, I will come for you at seven this evening.
Yours truly,
Gaston
As she read the message, her heart sank. He wanted to send her to America. The world around her slowed and she found it difficult to breathe. Even the birds chirping outside seemed to stop. She lay down on the bed, her heart racing.
Six months ago all she had wanted was go to America. Theoretically, she should be pleased, if not thrilled, that Gaston had arranged for her to sail on to America. But the colonies seemed a distant concept now—a place far, far away from her life. The life she wanted with Gaston here.
She had set sail for America with all the hopes and dreams of a brand new life full of new experiences. But in truth, Frederica’s dreams of America had perished with Cassandra and the Adelaide.
All her life she’d been searching for adventure, aching for the thrill of something new. Something dangerous. A wild nature dwelled inside her, and while her parents had tried to temper her irrepressible spirit, they had only succeeded in civilizing her. They had not broken her spirit or diminished her desire for excitement.
And now she’d found a man with whom she could share that desire, or so she’d thought. Gaston had introduced her to the ways of love. He’d opened up her mind and body to a whole new set of experiences. A tingle of arousal surged through her as it always did when she thought of Gaston and their lovemaking.
There had to be more he could teach her. However, his absence told her that he considered her an inexperienced girl he could put aside without consequence. She tried to console herself with the idea that it was possible he was indeed busy and unable to get away from the pressing matters with regards to his command. But her gut told her he was brushing her off, ridding himself of her. Did he think he could just dispose of her like yesterday’s garbage?
If that was his thought process, he was sorely mistaken. She would not go without a fight. America no longer held the appeal for her it once had. What she wanted was a life with Gaston, sailing the high seas, taking on whatever challenges life threw in their path.
Yes, she may have been a virgin, and she was new to some of the ways of the world, but she was a quick study. She wanted him to lead her, take her under his wing. She had felt herself flourishing under his protection and his tutelage these last few days, and she wanted it to continue.
No, Frederica Beauchamp would not go quietly. When she wanted something, she didn’t let anything stand in her way. And she wanted Gaston Galette.
* * *
That evening, Gaston knocked on her door at seven o’ clock.
Frederica was ready. He was all she’d been able to think about since last she saw him.
He greeted her warmly, with a kiss on the lips. “I thought you might be growing tired of Mrs. Campbell’s cuisine, so I made plans to take you to Mango’s, a well-regarded local dining establishment. I’m told they have a rack of lamb that melts off the bone.”
“That sounds divine.” She was dying to talk with him about the arrangements he’d made for her to sail to America. She wanted to rip into him and plead her case, to tell him what a horrible idea it was, but her good sense told her to wait until they had eaten. If she did have to leave, she wanted to enjoy what little time she had with him.
Mango’s Restaurant was a step up from the Boar’s Breath Inn. With only a few tables, it boasted an intimate atmosphere. She thought it was a good sign he’d taken her to a place that could be considered romantic.
They drank wine and made small talk. She asked him how the ship was coming along, and he asked her how she liked her accommodations. Between courses, she reached across the table for his hand. He did not pull away but instead stroked her palm with his finger.
The server, a tall thin man with an upturned nose, delivered their desserts, a scrumptious pudding made with fresh ripe berries. Frederica savored the first bite. It had been a long time since she’d had the pleasure of tasting something so sweet.
“Delicious, isn’t it?” Gaston asked.
“Like I’ve died and gone to heaven.”
When she’d taken her last bite, Frederica could hold her feelings inside no longer. She leaned towards him and said, “Gaston, there’s something I must talk with you about.”
He shifted in his chair uncomfortably. “Yes?” he asked, feigning ignorance.
“Wh
ile I think it was admirable for you to arrange my passage to America, and I am grateful… I have no intention of going.”
His eyes rounded and he dabbed his mouth with his napkin. “What do you mean you’re not going? Of course you are. Your plan was to go to America, and that’s what’s best.”
“No, I’m not.” she replied smugly.
“What do you mean ‘no’?” he sputtered.
“Just that. I’ve lost interest in sailing to America.”
He glared at her, his brow furrowing more and more by the second.
She gave a delicate little shrug and said in a mocking tone, “And you can’t make me.”
“But, but… what will you do? Where will you stay?” He looked as if he might explode.
She tried to look unconcerned. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe Mrs. Campbell needs help at the inn. She did mention she was shorthanded.” She twirled a lock of hair round her index finger. “I have yet to determine the details. I just know I don’t want to go to America.”
Pushing his chair back, he abruptly stood. “You, my dear, are a most infuriating woman!”
She shrugged again. “I don’t see why,” she said, trying to look innocent.
“Arghhh!” He threw his napkin onto the table, turned on his heel, and left. On his way out, she saw him hand a small bag of coins to their server.
In his absence she sipped her wine and contemplated his reaction. While it had not gone well, it certainly could have gone worse. She felt badly for upsetting him, but she had to stand up for herself and fight for what she wanted.
Maybe now he would get used to the idea that she was in his life to stay. She popped a berry into her mouth and smiled a deep, self-satisfied smile.
Chapter Seventeen
The following day Frederica stood before the wash basin in her room, splashing her face with water. She pinched her cheeks, knowing she looked prettier with a little color to her cheeks, and she intended to have every advantage when she saw Gaston later.
Rescued by the Buccaneer Page 12
