by Andrea Jones
And then his focus sharpened. He knew what she had done. With his desire uncovered, he glared at her, and his chains rattled as he seized her by the hair.
“Give me water, girl!”
She thrilled to his anger. “Water won’t help, Master. But I do have what you need.”
As if he held a fistful of snakes, he shook his hand free. He forced her away, but he couldn’t stop himself. The next moment he pressed her closer. He hissed in her ear, “What I need is the key.”
“It’s here.” She clutched his hand and held it to her heart.
Compelled by contact with her flesh, he rolled on top of the girl. His eyes blazed fire. “I’ll take it, and leave you with nothing!” Unwillingly, he kissed her, shoving his face into her own and pressing his manhood to her flesh. She felt him, his teeth cutting into her lips, his weapon jabbing at her belly— and she was foolish enough to ignore his warning.
He raised his head, and above the uncontrolled jerking of his lip, his eyes appeared purple. “The philter. You administered the philter—”
“I’m yours now.”
“I don’t wish to have you!”
“You will, and then the fever will leave you.”
He thrust up against her, crushing her, braising the skin of her abdomen. She tried to slide upward, to allow him access into her body, but he held her firmly in place. His teeth clenched. “You disobey.”
“No, Sir. I swear to set you free.”
His eyes were changing, alarmingly. “I won’t—”
“But you need me.”
He pressed her down, his arms as he leaned on them shaking with tension, but he strained to resist. “No!”
“You gave me your word!” Seizing him, she pulled herself up, rubbing her breasts against his chest.
With effort, he lifted his torso, separating from her. A cool draft floated between them, and again she propelled herself toward him. His arm shot out to distance her. He knelt, then drove her down and strung his chain across her chest, ice-cold against her heat, pinning her to the bed. The gash of his wrist grazed her face as he hoisted his right, handless arm. He glared at her with the red of his eye.
“I won’t give you the satisfaction!”
He struck out with his forearm, slamming it against her temple. Her head snapped to the side, and she sank, senseless, into stupor.
Above her, feeling little relief, Hook rolled his burning eyes. He flung his hair from his face, and breathed. For a long, determining moment, with his one hand clenched to a fist and his shaking knees supporting his weight, he struggled against the drug. He tried to remember who he wanted this girl to be. But his nostrils sucked a too-familiar musk. His body swayed, and his mind filled itself— but not with reason. No shred of rationality remained.
The dampness of the linen changed, from wine to warmth. The man was lost to the world, knowing no sight, no sound. Nothing but the urgings of his lust. Unheeded, the chains on his arm and the chains on his ankle strained and rattled with his motions, and the timbers of the bunk whined to beg his mercy. Oblivious to violation, her body, neither willing nor unwilling, served him.
Rocking in his rhythm, he never heard the chink of his own brass keys, shaken off a nail and falling to the floor. Hook moved, fearless of discovery, hopeless of help, and still a prisoner— intertwined with the female, and in thrall to his thirst.
It was thus entangled, a sweat-soaked vision from a nightmare, that her father came upon them.
§ § §
“L’Ormonde sounded lively from here, Sir, but all is quiet aboard the Roger.”
“Thank you, Mr. Yulunga. It won’t be so quiet in the morning. I have a bag of gold to divide among the men.” Cecco’s white teeth flashed a smile. He stepped back as Yulunga unlocked his cabin, then he dismissed his mate and entered.
Jill was sleeping. Cecco undressed, washed, and turned toward his bunk. Grinning, he tossed the pouch on it. It thumped against his pillow, sinking into a hollow, but the lady didn’t rouse. As the captain sauntered closer, flexing his shoulders, he was curious. His mistress usually responded to him immediately, whether sleeping or waking. But then, she’d had a trying day, seeing her sons join the privateer. He would be gentle.
“Lovely one.”
He slid under the comforter, anticipating the warmth of her body. But she was chilled. She wasn’t wearing her nightdress, perhaps thinking he would come to her earlier. It lay across the foot of the bed, its ribbons spread open, as if welcoming a lover. He gathered her in his embrace to press his own heat against her bare, icy skin, and he rubbed her arms. It was then he felt the absence of his jewelry.
He followed her arm to the wrist. There, too, she was naked. Almost. Lifting her hand, he examined it. The fading mark of his binding was just visible under the strap of his leather. Cecco rose up to set the pouch on the bed shelf, out of the way. And there they were, all her treasures. But why had she removed them? Why display her weapons, and another man’s gifts?
As his brow darkened, Captain Cecco shook his lady, who never before failed to please him in this bed. A suspicion began to flower. His gypsy instinct led him. Without his conscious direction, his hand slipped beneath her pillow. When it reemerged, a ring rested between his finger and his thumb. A simple band of gold. Too big for a lady. It was a man’s ring.
A wedding ring.
Cecco threw off the covers. He raised up on his knees, flung the surgeon’s ring on the shelf, and he slapped the woman in his bed until, as she never failed to do before, she awakened beneath his touch.
Her cheeks stung, and her eyes were misted, but she smiled to see him. Her eyelids drooped again, and she murmured, “Giovanni…”
The back of his hand collided with her mouth.
When she was able, she curled her fingers and pulled her hands away from the throbbing at her lips. This time, she uttered the proper word.
“Captain.”
She didn’t fall asleep again.
§ § §
With a clarity born of experience, Doctor Hanover comprehended Liza’s situation. He rushed into the room, knowing too well the danger to his daughter. Urgently, he yanked open his medicine bag and seized a bottle. He dashed its contents in a cup of water and leapt to the bunk.
“Drink this. Drink it! It will ease the symptoms— Drink!”
Beneath a tangle of black hair, Hook’s wild eyes stared. His grisly wrist batted at the cup. Hanover braced himself against the bed frame and grabbed Hook’s arm. It shook beneath his grasp. The man was already weakening. How long had he been this way? A glance at his daughter informed Hanover. He couldn’t make out her face, but her body was pale— and bloodstained.
“Captain. You must trust me. Drink.”
Whether due to the need for liquid or to the perception of truth, Hook allowed the doctor to clutch his skull and hold the cup to his lips. Like an animal he guzzled the substance, some of the fluid dribbling into his beard. He swiped his arm across his mouth. His breathing heaved, but the hideous twitching around his lip lessened.
Hanover threw the cup aside and hauled himself to the bunk. Pushing Hook by the shoulders, he eased the man’s glistening body toward the wall, rolling him off the girl. Hook slumped there, panting, his hair matted with wine and perspiration. The red of his eye grew vacant. Hanover wasn’t aware of the moment Hook’s eyes closed. He had jumped to the floor and gathered up the girl, laying her ghost of a body on the lower bunk.
As he ministered to her, he shook his head. He brushed her hair from her face and, observing the purple bruise rising on her temple, determined the cause of her unconsciousness. Thank goodness, it wasn’t from the drink; the effects of that concoction could render even the most robust physique febrile. Her lips were cut and swollen, her skin rubbed raw in patches, by his chains. She breathed, but without vigor. Her heartbeat lagged. Hanover felt of her limbs and found no broken bones.
But Liza herself was broken. Ruined. She bled from her wound, and no physician, however skilled,
could repair the damage.
Liza was lost.
Hanover bowed his head over his daughter. Lost. Doomed from the very first moment she was dragged aboard this vessel, just as her father had feared. He should have seen it happening. He should have stopped it. That pirate had stolen her heart, and now— now he’d robbed her of the only possession a woman could truly own. The one belonging a gentleman treasured…her virtue.
In an instant, in the moment he’d pushed open the door to witness her degradation, the surgeon had understood. Despite his prejudice, regardless of his hatred, Doctor Hanover realized what this little one had done. She had dosed the man— overdosed him— with the philter. Hanover knew it. He was familiar with this man’s agony. He’d seen those red eyes before.
In his reflection, on the night he murdered his wife.
Chapter 24
Satisfaction
Gypsy fire smoldered in Cecco’s eyes. “He was here.”
“I saw no one.”
“Here. In my bed!”
“I never knew it!”
Kneeling on the bunk, Cecco towered above her. “You have had a taste of the dish I will serve, if you lie.” Dark rage marked his face, his hand upheld as if to strike.
“No, Sir, you know me. I tell you the truth!” Urgent as the instinct to shy from him was, Jill remained where she lay, shivering with cold. Everything depended on her courage.
“How do I know this, when I see you have not been alone?”
“But I was! So very alone.”
He gestured toward her jewelry, his own bracelets flaring in the lanternlight. “And why this display?”
She turned her eyes toward the bed shelf.
“Answer.”
She lifted her hands, palms up, to indicate her leather bindings. “Because these are all I need, to show to whom I belong.”
He seethed, silent, his muscles bunched.
“Captain Cecco, I wanted you.”
He shook his head, once. “So much so, you accepted another man’s ring?” But as her face revealed her confusion, his shoulders eased a fraction.
“A ring?” she asked. “But I accepted that long ago— before we came together. Like the other things.”
“I am speaking of the ring beneath your pillow. The wedding ring. Of the Doctor Hanover.” He snatched it from the shelf. “This ring, my Jill.”
Now he was certain. The look of horror on her face mingled with a look of surprise that could not be mistaken. Her voice shook. “Where did you get that?”
“As I told you. It lay snug beneath your lovely head.” He angled his jaw. “Now tell me, my fine lady. How did such a ring enter this room to seduce you?”
“I will tell you what I know. I knew I wouldn’t rest without you. I swallowed a sleeping draught…and then you woke me.” She sat up, her hands moving as if to cover her breasts, and failing beautifully. She aimed her blue eyes at his heart. “Captain. I’m sorry I displeased you.”
“Do not try to distract me.”
“Please— I want you. I want you to make love to me.”
He would not be diverted. “How did the man get past Yulunga?”
“Sir, you must ask Mr. Yulunga.”
“Be sure of it. And be sure of this.” He threw the ring on the floor, and then the pillows. Seizing her bodily, he lifted her up, and then he flung her across the bed, so that her head hung over one side and her feet reached for the other. “There will be no more soft pillows to hide your secrets. In token of your ‘honesty,’ you will hold your head up— until I am finished with you.”
But even in his rage, Captain Cecco kept his promise; he waited for her sign of consent. Quickly, Jill offered her red hand to him. “Captain— You know you will never finish with me. Nor I with you.”
“More of your ‘truths.’”
“Yes! Yes, exactly! My words come true! Love me, right away, and you will see.” By the careful use of potion, the judicious use of words, she had managed not to betray their accord— and she had kept the surgeon’s secrets. Hanover would find no cause to withhold his information from her. Her prevarication cost her something, but she read Cecco’s brooding eyes; she had half won him back. As she struggled to keep her head level, her lover entered her arms, more roughly than he had ever done. Jill welcomed him, pulled his body close against hers, sealed her lips with embraces so that no telltale words might escape.
She believed his fury would make him quick. Her aching neck informed her otherwise. Hoping she had done the right thing, striving to forget the distress of that terrible day, she indulged her passion for the man. In spite of his outrage, Cecco, as she had gambled, responded to her tenderness. Gradually, the flame of his anger turned to ardor. The hand that had struck her, only once, granted mercy, sliding at last beneath her head, to support her. He kissed her stinging lips and murmured in her ear.
“Bellezza. I will be gentle— with you.”
And as she loved him, she felt his straps girding her wrists, a comfort in their constancy, and thanked the Powers that after all, at the very last moment, she had not been able to bring herself to cut them away.
The surgeon would attend to that. If he lived.
§ § §
Tom shook the cobwebs from his head. They were quality cobwebs, spun by very old cognac. The party upstairs was abating, and he judged it time to slip away to his hammock. But even in his cups he remembered his duty. First he checked on Guillaume. The second mate snored, his blue stockings propped on his pillow, and Tom saluted the uniform on the wall. Then, somewhat woozy, he turned up his lantern, slid the bottle in his boot, and tucked both boots under his arm.
Easing from the mates’ quarters, he stole starboard to search the cabin beyond. He didn’t have to venture further than the threshold. Like Mr. Smee’s, this room was cluttered with cabinets, paint pails and implements. The bunk was tidy, but empty. No unwilling guests.
Not surprised, but not satisfied, Tom made his way forward, past the bags of sleepers. These men, capable seamen all, were amiable enough. For the most part, he’d enjoy serving with them. That Guillaume, though, he bore watching. Tom’s spur-of-the-moment mix of curiosity and aggression had squelched the man’s suspicion. It also won his interest. Too handily. For the first time, Tom gave over his fears for Nibs and considered his own situation. The commandant, after all, had for a while to account to Captain Cecco for Nibs’ well-being. But nobody— not even LeCorbeau— cared what game his officers played. Tom’s instincts warned him to get about his business, and get off this ship.
He hauled himself into his hammock, where, before dropping off to sleep, he tested the edge of his knife. Captain Hook had run a tight ship. He’d commanded Mr. Starkey to work the young sailors hard. The lessons were painful at times, but Hook had looked after Tom and Nibs, in his own way. Tom felt prepared. He owed his best effort to Hook. Tomorrow, as soon as he descended from the rigging, he’d descend even further, to the hold. He’d keep his knife at the ready, and no matter what Mr. Guillaume had in mind, that was as far as he would ever descend.
§ § §
Liza emerged from the fog to an unfamiliar feeling. A pleasing feeling. Delightful, but foreign. Strong, warm arms surrounded her. A firm chest pressed against her back, his skin smooth, slightly moist. As she lay there, she kept her eyes closed, in order not to dispel the magic of the moment. Feeling him caress her hair, she understood what had awakened her. He was stroking her, moving the strands from her face as if he cared for her comfort.
As if he cared for her.
No, that would be too good to be true. But he wanted her. The evidence pressed against her backside. And as Liza knew from her observations, this touching was part of the dance. She breathed in deeply to let him know that he stirred her, and his hand in her hair stilled for a moment, then continued its work. Only just touching the soreness at her temple, the too good fingers soothed her face. The right side of her face.
Still refusing to open her eyes, Liza stopped breathing. Of a sud
den, her whole being rebelled.
He was stroking her. With his right hand.
As her body went rigid, the wrong arm wrapped around her waist, pinning her against his loins.
“Liza. You will not speak.”
The bright new world broke into shards, and came crashing down around her. Her eyes opened. By the harsh morning light, she beheld the wall of her cabin…and the bottom of the upper bunk. Liza lay in her father’s bed. In her father’s grasp.
“You will dress yourself and report to the mistress.”
“I am the mistress!”
“Do not test my patience.”
Employing her elbows, digging into the bed, Liza flung herself around to confront her father.
His face was stony. “I have saved you. From your own foolishness.”
Trapped again in the old grip of silence, Liza sat up to shake her head until the bed frame jiggled.
“I found the keys you stole from me. Nothing has changed.”
With a growing dread, the girl observed the steely glint in her father’s gaze. Slowly, she turned her eyes upward to indicate the occupant of the upper bunk.
“Yes. Your tricks have made our situation untenable.”
She lowered her chin, waiting. Afraid.
“At the earliest opportunity, I will dispose of him.”
Her face wrinkled in disbelief. She hardly felt the throb of her bruising.
“You yourself have orchestrated his death. He is severely weakened by your drugging. His recovery would be uncertain, even were I to order fluids and nourishment.”
Incredulous, she raised her hand as if swearing an oath, and she saw her father’s expression harden.
“Yes. As a physician, I have sworn no harm. The harm will be far greater if I fail to act.”
With both hands, she seized him, realizing only now, as she gripped his vigorous arm, that she was naked in front of him, and he was clad only in his breeches. He shook her off and scowled at her, and in his daughter’s eyes, the scar upon his face revealed his soul.
“And I now understand,” he said. “In the same shameful way you witnessed the bawdy rites of our captor, you have spied upon me. While I engaged in the very act that creates life, you watched me extinguish it.”
