by Silver, Lily
Rawlings seated himself in the chair opposite them. Steepling his fingers in front of him, he directed his gaze at her instead of his friend. “I confess to inviting you here because I have a great curiosity about you, my lady. You possess the ability to see into a man’s soul and glean insights about his character. I could use your gift to discern the character of one of my crew.”
“I’ve had no dealings with your men.” Elizabeth blurted. “I’ve kept to my lord’s cabin the entire voyage.”
“No one is accusing you of any wrongdoing, my lady. Please, hear me out.” The captain countered, lifting a hand to still further protest. “Our surgeon fell ill a couple of days before we set sail. Linton offered to fill the position in exchange for free passage to the Indies. My first mate took him on. Normally, I trust Mr. Jenkins’ judgment, but I don’t care for Linton, my lady. My gut tells me something’s not right about the fellow, and your husband has had similar misgivings regarding him and his persistent interest in you.”
Interest? She gazed from the floor to the captain’s face, and then her husband’s. How did they know about his ‘interest’ in her. “I don’t know what you mean.” She said as innocently as she could manage. All the giddiness of intoxication was gone. It was replaced by a sobering fear.
“I won’t lie to you. We’re men of action, your husband and I. Over the years, we’ve learned to trust our instincts as lives have depended upon them. Yesterday, you crossed paths with Linton. I couldn’t help noticing the man frightened you. Considering your intuitive abilities, I’m curious to know if you experienced any disturbing impressions about the man during your brief encounter.”
“No, sir.” Elizabeth sat up straight, edging away from Donovan. His arm remained about her waist. She tried to appear distracted by playing absently with the kitten in her lap.
“Lizzie.” Donovan said in serious tone, setting his brandy aside. “Tell Jack what you started to tell me yesterday. You said he isn’t a doctor, and that he was trying to do something. You didn’t say what, and I have the distinct feeling it involved you in some way.”
“I can’t!” She wailed. “He’s a doctor. I know I forget things, but I’m not all about in the head---and that’s what he’ll make you think if I say anything about those poor women—” She clamped a hand over her mouth. Once again her tongue was far ahead of her mind.
“I don’t doubt your reasoning in the slightest.” Donovan took her hand and lifted it to his lips. He kissed her fingers while gazing at her with tender, pleading eyes that seemed impossible to deny. “Nothing that idiot can say will change my opinion of you. Now, no more hedging about, my sweet, tell us what you saw or experienced when Linton touched you.”
“We all sense something’s up with the man.” Rawlings coaxed. “You’re the only one with a spyglass. Please, my lady, tell us what you see. The safety of others may rest upon you.”
Oh, what a pair they made, Black Jack and The Raven. Together, they were inescapable.
More than Donovan’s pleading, the captain’s words struck a deep chord within Elizabeth. Linton would go on hurting women when he reached the Indies—it was a hunger, a need. He wouldn’t stop—he couldn’t. What if more women were brutalized because she didn’t speak out when given the opportunity?
“He’s not a real doctor.” She whispered. “He was an attendant at an asylum many years ago. He stole a doctor’s case and he’s passed himself off as a physician ever since.” She paused to recover her breath, feeling small and dirty for having to confess such vile things.
Donovan released her hand and placed his arm about her waist. “Go on, Dearest.”
Elizabeth looked down at her lap. The kitten had escaped her grasp and jumped to the floor. “He preys upon the women in those places, using drugs and restraints to keep them in his power. And he’s adept at convincing his associates the women are suffering delusions if they tell anyone what he did to them. He was found out recently. He’s running away, hoping to start a new life in the Indies where no one knows about his evil.”
“Has he hurt you, Madame?” The captain asked. “Has he threatened you in any way?”
“No.” Her face grew hot with humiliation. “But he’s marked me as his next victim.”
There was a harsh intake of breath from the man seated beside her.
“What do you mean?” Rawlings prodded, leaning forward in his chair. “Don’t be afraid, my dear. He’ll never be able to get near you. Tell us, how has he has marked you?”
Elizabeth groaned. It was horrible. She didn’t know the words for such perversion.
“I have you.” Donovan whispered, “I have you, Elizabeth.” His hand cradled her cheek, urging her to settle her head in the hollow beneath his chin. She closed her eyes, wishing she could melt inside his vest and escape the vile images in her mind.
She inhaled the crisp, clean scent of his skin and tried to absorb some of his strength. She kept her eyes downcast, focusing on the silver threads adorning his waistcoat, unable to meet his gaze. She touched an embroidered flourish and traced it with her finger. “H-he takes mementoes from each of his victims--two locks of hair. The first lock is taken from the back of the woman’s head to mark her as his intended prey. Once he’s had them —h-he takes a lock from between--” She couldn’t say the rest, but with these two, she didn’t think she needed to.
“Bleedin’ Christ!” The captain swore. He rose from his chair and began to pace about. “I told you, Donovan. The lock of hair; the evidence was in front of us the whole time!”
The captain kept right on venting his spleen. Donovan’s arms surrounded her. He held her firmly against him. Elizabeth buried her face in her husband’s neck. She squeezed her eyes shut to block out the perverse imagery assaulting her soul. She was so cold. Her limbs were shaking. Bile rose up in her throat. She feared she might be ill and then she couldn’t draw a breath against the tightness in her chest.
“Brandy, Jack, now!” Her husband barked, bringing the captain out of his monologue.
The captain was beside them in trice, holding out a glass of amber liquid. Donovan took the glass and pressed it to her lips. She drank it at his insistence. It burned all the way down.
“Misogynist prick.” Donovan muttered. “I’m going to kill him.”
Chapter Fourteen
Getting Elizabeth settled for the night was foremost in his mind as Donovan led her down the hall to their cabin. He carried her shoes in one hand and his free arm was wrapped firmly about her waist to steady her. She was tipsy after wine and a shot of brandy to steady her nerves.
“I’ll see you tucked in before I leave.” He said as they entered the cabin. As soon as the words left his mouth, he wanted to retract them.
“You’re leaving me alone after what I told you?”
“I have to write a statement for Jack to deliver to the governor of Basseterre when he hands Linton over to the authorities. He’ll hang for sure, for aiding the abduction of a noblewoman, if not for the rest.”
Still pale, she nodded, accepting his lie.
If they were on land, it might work out that way. They were at sea. The punishment for betraying one’s crew was death. Linton would be forced to walk between two rows of men armed and thirsting for his blood. Donovan intended to be waiting at the end of that line. If Linton survived the trial by his fellows he’d be hung or keel-hauled; either way, he’d be dead.
“How do you know he helped the smugglers?” She asked.
“He showed up offering to take the place of our ship’s physician, who suddenly became too ill to sail. That’s too much of a coincidence, Lizzie. And, there is the lock of hair we found attached to the main mast with the ransom note. My guess is, he cut your hair, and kept a piece of it for himself. Jack will be searching his quarters as we speak. And, someone had to be here to signal the smuggler crew when my men succumbed to the drugged ale. Turn around.” He directed, and began unfastening the ties of her gown when she did as he bade.
He pulled
the gown over her head and slung it over the sofa. Lizzie turned to face him. His height gave him an unhindered view of her breasts beneath the opening of her shift. Perfect ambrosial spheres. Pink nipples matched the shade of her lush, sensual lips. He hardened to granite, unable to pull his gaze from the delightful creamy swells.
“. . . Donovan?” Her impatient tone slapped his conscience.
He swallowed, forcing himself to listen and look at her face, not her breasts.
“I said, what if someone comes in here while you’re out?”
“No one will come through that door.” He assured her, tracing the outline of her arm with a light forefinger. That finger moved across her collarbone, yearning to circle a delicate orb. He yearned to taste those tender buds and tease them with his tongue. Instead, he pulled her against him, mindful not to press against her and intimidate her with his molten male need.
Elizabeth pushed tight against him, not noticing the rock formation at the apex of his thighs. She was distracted by a greater threat, he realized, as she wore out the subject.
“How can you be sure? Why can’t you do this with the captain tomorrow? I could come with you. I promise not to be a--“
Donovan captured those enticing pink lips, silencing her. He slipped his tongue into that warm, moist cavern. What was this? Damn if she didn’t appear to mind the intrusion. She remained pliant in his arms; pouring oil on the fire heating his blood instead of wriggling away from him as she should be if she knew what was good for her. He cupped her curvaceous bottom and drew her hard against him in spite of his bulging erection. Perhaps if she knew the danger, she’d cease her pleading and let him go kill Linton.
He devoured her mouth with his kiss. Damn it, why wasn’t she retreating?
The brandy--chasing two glasses of wine. She was intoxicated. She didn’t understand what was happening between them. Holding her by her shoulders, he set her away from him and lowered his head so he could look her full in the eyes. “Listen to me, Elizabeth. Every man on this ship sailed under me when I was the Raven, every man, save one. You could dance naked in front of them and they wouldn’t touch you. They wouldn’t dare because they know me.”
A frown crumpled her adorable features. “Then, why did you make your men go below when I was out on deck the other day?”
“That was for your comfort, my sweet.”
Lizzie quickly found the chink in the wall of protection he was trying to build around her. “You said every man but one sailed with you in the east, you meant Linton, didn’t you? He could come in here while you’re away.”
Donovan was grateful Lizzie’s reasoning was sound, despite the annoyance it was giving him at the moment with her worrying and supposing. It wasn’t long ago he feared she might not be capable of reasoning deeply at all. Taking her sweet face between his hands, he held her worried gaze. “And that one man will be with me.”
Lizzie kept looking at him with those big, worried eyes. “I’ll let you do whatever you want if you stay with me.”
The words should have thrilled him. They did give him pause. He studied her, noting the apprehension in her eyes. Her invitation was borne of desperation, not desire. She was trading her body in exchange for protection from a greater threat than the one straining his breeches.
“No, Lizzie.” He turned away while he still could and busied himself by removing his silk vest and untying the annoying neck linens required for formal dinners. He shrugged off his dress shirt and replaced it with one more suitable for bloodshed. He moved to his weapons cabinet and unlocked it to select a blade that would cause the most damage without actually killing the man. He examined the blade of one dagger and set it aside in favor of another.
“You don’t want me?” The hurt in her voice was unmistakable.
He turned and stalked back to her, took her hand and pressed it against his granite cock. “Oh, I want you. I’m in pain from wanting you so desperately, Madame.”
She jerked her hand from him and retreated into the bedchamber, intimidated at last.
He studied the beamed ceiling for several seconds with his hands on his hips, released an exasperated sigh, and then surveyed the room with venom. He cursed himself for his callow behavior. It wasn’t Lizzie’s fault that he was hot and horny, ready to explode from the heady combination of pent up lust and the primitive desire to kill something.
He knew he should march in there and apologize for being so crude.
Donovan groaned, his rage defying his conscience. The gentleman in him was appalled by his savage behavior. And yet, he was in no mood to have to explain himself to a naïve miss. And having an erection was painful—sort of--it was bloody uncomfortable.
Shoving aside the guilt for intimidating his bride, he returned to his weapons cabinet.
*******
Elizabeth listened to the angry shouts coming from the outer deck. Donovan left several minutes ago. She heard the door slam and the lock turned with a key. She should be grateful the man remembered to lock the door, given his foul mood and his desire to be well shot of her.
The arrogant, self-absorbed cad. He had no idea how difficult it had been to offer herself to him in the first place. And then to be callously set aside like a meal that was unappetizing!
A shrill cry of pain brought Elizabeth up short. She remained still. A sudden cacophony of shouts overwhelmed that single wail of anguish. The angry sounds brought a sharp, jarring memory of the night she was abducted. There had been shouts outside her door that night, the clanging of swords, and finally those filthy creatures swarmed in with their torches and dragged her out into the night.
Elizabeth shrank against the headboard and clutched the covers up to her neck as the memory invaded her mind. She released a tortured breath, tossed back the covers and jumped to her feet, anxious to distance herself from the memory of being groped by cruel hands.
She returned to the larger suite. It was silent out on the deck, deathly silent. What was happening, a mutiny? Donovan left with haste, before arming himself heavily. And he never locked the door when he left before.
The sharp rat-a-tat-tat of drums broke the tense silence that descended beyond the cabin door. She sighed as understanding came. This wasn’t a mutiny; it was an execution. There would be no trial for Linton in St. Kitts, her husband was making certain of that.
“Miserable prick, I’m going to kill him” He vowed in the captain’s cabin earlier.
Elizabeth returned to the small room and sat down on the bed.
A morbid part of her longed to go out on deck to witness Linton’s execution, on behalf of the poor women he abused at the asylum. The sensible part of her overruled such lunacy. She couldn’t endure being surrounded by rough seaman again, even those under her husband’s command. Following his assurance to its rational conclusion, what he was actually telling her was that she was a female on ship full of ruthless pirates but she was safe only because she belonged to the head pirate, a man far more dangerous than the rest of the crew.
An eternity passed before she heard the key grating in the lock. A resonant clang of metal echoed as something was deposited on the desk. She rose and peeked into the larger room. Donovan stood at the desk, a pile of weapons being loaded onto it from his body. His shirt was saturated with blood. He didn’t seem injured. He stood calmly at his desk cleaning the curved dagger he’d taken out on deck with him, unaware she was watching from the doorway.
He replaced the weapon in the case and locked it. The keys were deposited in the desk drawer. He removed the pistols from his belt along with his sword and set them on the desk. He unbuckled the leather holster strapped to his thigh and placed the dagger holster on the desk next to his pistols and sword. He lifted his foot, braced it on the desk, and removed another long dagger from the shaft of his boot and set it with the others. He dropped his foot and peeled the bloody shirt over his head, tossed the soiled garment to the floor and then stalked to the washstand. Elizabeth watched his elegant profile as he poured water into
the basin, lathered his hands and rinsed them. Wet skin shimmered like burnished bronze as he dipped a cloth into the basin, rung it out and washed all trace of blood from his torso with practiced movements. His taut muscles rippled in the golden light, making her insides reel with admiration and wonder.
The man was lean, graceful and dangerous--a beguiling combination for any woman.
“Why are you not asleep?” His voice jarred her out of her strange enchantment with his physical form. He did not turn to face her as he waited for her reply.
“You lied to me.” Elizabeth replied, recalling the reason for his blood spattered shirt. “You said Linton would be handed over to the magistrate in St. Kitts. I’m not a simpering miss with tender sensibilities that need minding. I’ve been forced to deal with the ugly realities of life since my mother died. I assure you I can endure them without sinking into hysterics, my lord.”
That magnificent torso swung about and advanced. Elizabeth was confronted by a wall of naked male flesh. Always the gentleman, he remained clothed in her presence except when he came to bed. When she awakened from night terrors, she felt rather than saw his damaged flesh in the darkness as he drew her close to comfort her. Now she could see them clearly for the first time. Long, narrow ruts of pale purple lined his chest. The marks were vertical and precise.
“They tortured my lord.” Pearl confided not long ago.
Elizabeth stiffened. She would not disappoint this man by cringing at his disfigurement. She stared at his mutilated flesh, her heart cracking while outwardly she maintained the mask of calm perfected during her years with Fletcher. The damage was akin to surface scratches on a fine Greek statue. The vandals failed miserably in their attempt to ruin a masterpiece.
Fascinated by the power and grace of his male form, she placed her palm against the contours of that muscular chest. His skin was firm and slightly moist from his labor. Dark whorls of hair curled about her fingers. Fearing her action was too brazen she tried to retract her hand.
