Under Her Brass Corset

by Brenda Williamson

  “How are you this fine day, Miss Thatch?” The captain’s voice pulled her around.

  He stood by what appeared to be a control box one deck level up. She assumed it contained the levers for making the lift work.

  “I could be better.”

  The captain made a dashing sight in his billowy white shirt and his tight leather breeches. The power and beauty took her breath away when he neared the steps. He was a rogue if ever she saw one—a scoundrel all the way down to the familiar black knee-high, bell-cuffed boots.

  Aargh. The sound sputtered in her throat as she remembered why she had hunted him down. After sorting through the mess a vandal had made of her house, she discovered the odd snow globe missing from her bag. Captain Blackthorn had access and opportunity. She felt duped by his gentlemanly manners, and even more so now as he moved into a position for her to see his face clearly.

  “You have two eyes,” she charged, irritated by his deceitful use of the eye patch. She had run into con artists before, and to have this one get the better of her made her feel stupid for pitying him for the loss of an eye.

  “I have.” He agreed, his somber expression curving into a grin.

  The night before, he had made her feel unlike herself, timid and reserved. She had wanted his kiss and the feel of his hands caressing her skin. Her body had ached to know him inside her. Yet the unfamiliar had put limits on expressing her desires. Intimacy with someone new kept her reserved. The right and wrong of thievery boiled her blood. Nothing got in the way of her anger.

  “And you stole my snow globe,” she accused, not letting his boyish dimples and twinkling blue eyes distract her from her rage.

  “Actually—” He put a hand up to stop her from speaking. “The snow globe, as you call it, is mine.”

  “How do you figure?” She watched him walk down the steps from the quarterdeck, his arrogant smile irking her. A shiny gold hoop pierced his earlobe.

  “I left it in your father’s care many years ago.”

  “Why?” She looked at him suspiciously. “You’re not that much older than me. I would have known if you were a friend of my father’s.”

  His stroll toward her showed a certain swaggering confidence, so his sudden burst of laughter didn’t surprise her.

  She had guessed he was in his mid-twenties. Was she wrong?

  “I’m older than you think,” he answered.

  She took in the length of him. Leather straps and brass buckles adorned his sleeves, his breeches and his knee-high boots. He cut a stunning figure of a man, his image so swashbuckling, so piratical. He intimidated her with his towering frame. His wide shoulders blocked the morning sun so that the rays cast a halo of light around his head. She slid her foot back in retreat of the angelic glow masking the devil of a man.

  Tense with misplaced yearning, she hated how her attraction to the nefarious thief remained strong.

  “If you knew my father, why not tell me?” She continued to move back a step for each one he took toward her. “You pretended to be missing an eye. Was that to gain my sympathy?”

  “Why don’t we go below to my cabin and relax? Then I’ll see what I can explain.”

  “I’m not going anywhere with you.” She bumped into the railing at her back and reached into her skirt pocket to retrieve her gun.

  She lifted it free of the deep folds and aimed it at him. He stopped advancing. He stared intensely, his expression serious. Then he laughed a deep throaty roar, showing apparent amusement instead of fear or concern.

  “The snow globe has gears. What does it do?” she demanded, wishing he’d stop looking so pleased to see her.

  “I’m sorry,” he apologized, still chuckling. “You are more intriguing than I had ever noticed or could have ever imagined.”

  “Intriguing?” She blinked several times, shocked by his word choice, surprised by the change in his personality. “What was your opinion of me before? Gullible? You scared me on purpose, ransacked my house and then walked off with my snow globe. Did you truly believe I’d not come looking for it?”

  “I did not turn everything in your house upside down.”

  It was the only thing he refuted.

  When he moved alongside her, she turned and kept her gun on him. Not that he seemed to care as he leaned on the rail and stared at the bustle of activity along the wharf.

  “That careless plundering was the doing of your cousin,” he continued. “I didn’t think he’d figure out the details of—”

  “I don’t have a cousin.”

  “You have more than one, I daresay. Your grandfather cavorted with women on a regular basis for as long as I’ve known him. He probably doesn’t even know how many children he’s spawned.”

  “My grandfather? I don’t even know my grandfather.”

  “His name is Edward Teach, better known as Blackbeard.”

  “Blackbeard was my great-grandfather from two hundred years ago and Teach wasn’t his true name. You couldn’t have known him.”

  “I know his grandson, Eric Teach, and I assure you, Eric is a ruthless—”

  “I told you, Teach wasn’t Blackbeard’s name. It was Thatch.”

  “Are you sure?” He turned his head and looked at her. His mouth cocked up on one side, making the dimple in his cheek more prominent.

  “Yes, I’m sure. My father said he was named after him, and my father’s name is William Thatch.”

  “Well, I’m not privy to the absolute truth to challenge you, so we’ll move on. As I was saying, Eric Teach is a greedy bastard. He’s obsessed with getting his hands on a certain treasure.”

  “He wants my map!” Abigail lowered her gun. “So there is a treasure, and what, you’ve come to steal the map before he did?”

  “If that were the case, I would have taken your unfinished drawing of a shoreline and not the glass ball. Oh, Miss Thatch, I’m not interested in a treasure. My goal is keeping Eric from finding something else. Besides, the map isn’t the tool in finding what Blackbeard buried.”

  “What is?”

  “The Crystal Compass.”

  “The what?”

  “The glass ball you think is a snow globe.”

  “The snow globe is a compass?” She thought of the gears and the beam of light.

  “Yes.”

  “So as I said, you’re after the treasure too.”

  “No. My intentions are to keep the compass safe. That’s why I put it in your house. Don’t you think it’s possible I already know where the treasure is? Like I said, I only want to keep Eric from finding what Blackbeard buried. So as long as I have the Crystal Compass, all’s well.”

  How could she trust anything he said? A liar and a thief. He’d have a dozen ways to spin a story to suit his needs. She thought of the troll’s mention of a rainbow. Had he meant the white arc of light the snow globe’s glitter made?

  “There’s something amiss, Captain Blackthorn, and I intend to find out myself what’s at the end of the rainbow.”

  She noted the twitch of his jaw and the slight lift to his brow. A sign she was right. The beam of light from the glass ball had marked the map for her. If only she could be sure she had figured out where the land was that the map indicated.

  “He’s a troll, Miss Thatch, not a leprechaun. I wish you’d take my word it’s not a treasure for you—it’s not anything you can imagine.”

  “I’ll decide that for myself. Now give me back my snow globe.” She held her hand out, not having much hope he’d comply.

  “You’ll never figure out where to begin looking.”

  “That’s what you think. I’ve already determined the location to be somewhere offshore of the southern United States of America,” she said, taking a chance his expression would tell if she had correctly matched the map up with a map at the museum.

  He gave her a sad but informative look. She was right again, and the shake of his head said so.

  “Very well, we’ll leave immediately.” He wheeled to the right and marched to
ward a large contraption at the center of the deck.

  “I’m not going anywhere with you,” she exclaimed.

  “Ah, but I think you are.” The captain pulled a rope that wound up around several pulleys. He hitched a knot to hold it in place, and then his strides brought him toward her.

  She backed away, following along the bulkhead, bumping up against the mishmash of ropes strung upward and attached to the mast.

  “You can’t take me with you. It’s kidnapping.” She gasped, watching him unhitch a loop of rope from a hook.

  She glanced over the side of the boat for the little man. He was gone.

  Jump.

  It was too far.

  She looked at the lift folded against the ship. How did it work?

  Swim.

  The water was too cold.

  “He was in on it, wasn’t he?” She turned back around, upset with herself. If she had been thinking straight, she would have made the troll get on the ship first.

  “You trusted the troll?” The captain had read her thoughts. He shook his head and laughed again.

  Of course he would think it was funny. He already thought she was gullible, and there was no arguing that she had been foolish to trust either of them.

  The ship swayed to the left as the first sail spread open. Big canvases fluttered and billowed with the wind. The captain cranked a handle attached to an intricate design of cogwheels and levers, and Abigail hurried over, tucking the gun back in her skirt pocket.

  She glanced around for the crew. “What are you doing? Don’t you need men to sail this ship?”

  “I eliminated that requirement.” He looked up and so did she. The second sail unfurled.

  No one had made their presence known the whole time she was talking to the captain. Why should there be anyone now? Her heart beat rapidly from fear and exhilaration. Everything the captain was doing made it harder for her to get back to shore. Nevertheless, ahead of her awaited an adventure she would never experience from a storybook.

  She considered everything. While her home meant a lot to her, losing it represented a depressing life of loneliness. A treasure, on the other hand, even a small one, would pay off the mortgage, ensuring she had something comforting in her future.

  She put a hand to her chest and rubbed her fingers up along her neck, feeling her pulse hammering steadily. Was she crazy for wanting to go with what her heart told her? The captain looked in her direction. Did she dare trust the handsome rake? She was at a loss for an argument. One brief gaze into those striking blue eyes told her she’d regret not going.

  “What is that for?” She pointed to the steel and brass contraption bolted to the floor.

  “Speed. If the winds are right, we can be in North Carolina’s outer banks within a week.”

  “A week!” she said in surprise, his mention of their destination not going unnoticed.

  “I sense disbelief.” He leaned in and pulled hard on another lever. His shirt stretched taut across his back. Sweat dampened the fabric so it clung to his muscled shoulders.

  “You’ll find it hard making me believe anything you say, but I’ll not reject giving you the opportunity to disprove the dubious boast.”

  “Then you’ll be staying onboard?” He stopped what he was doing and looked at her.

  In most circumstances, she’d avoid the overtly shady character. However, something about Captain Blackthorn’s personality overpowered sane reasoning. That one kiss they’d shared had led her to wanting more, regardless of his plots.

  “I wasn’t given another option,” she reminded him.

  His gaze shifted to the longboat. There hung her escape, and by his permission no less. He had made her believe she had no other choice than go with him. Yet if she asked, he’d probably drop the boat into the water for her.

  It wasn’t too late. She took a peek over her shoulder at the picturesque view mired in fog. Down those streets, deeper into the city awaited her house. A home she hoped to rescue from the bank. By going with the captain she had a sliver of a chance to make that happen.

  “I’ll stay.” She made her decision official.

  Already busy with his chore of readying the sails, the captain didn’t say anything. Still, a hint of his satisfaction showed in his approving smile.

  As Abigail watched the captain, one thought remained stuck in her mind. What was she getting herself into?

  From his sideways glance, Jasper eyed Abigail in her full-length, dark blue taffeta attire. The skirt dusted the deck as she walked. The attached bustle and train swished rhythmically from side to side with her hips. He barely saw the tips of her footwear, but imagined the same boots she wore the night before. The scoop cut of the bodice exposed the swells of her breasts and her cleavage. But the fabric traveled to her sleeves and shoulders, and reunited with the high Chinese collar of black lace ruffling beneath her chin. The coloring reminded him that she mourned her father’s passing. However, she still showed a touch of progressiveness with the topping of a leather corset pushing her breasts high so that a gold locket on a chain sat nestled between the ivory-skinned mounds. Were there any ways in which she’d cease to amaze him? This was a more daring image of Abigail than he had seen the night before. Indeed, she was remarkably intriguing, and he knew he was risking his heart to know her better.

  “Come.” He held his hand to her. “I shall put you in a safe place while we get underway.”

  She hesitated. A flash of trepidation darkened her gaze. It reminded him of how forthright bravery often masked one’s fears. While he didn’t want her to fear him, a solution failed to present itself.

  “Miss Thatch.” He waved for her to go in a direction that put her away from the perils of the rigging while he hoisted more sails.

  She pursed her lips, showing annoyance with having to do anything he asked. Then she lifted the front of her skirt and proceeded ahead.

  “If you like, you can sit on one of the crates.” He directed her to the grouping.

  “I’ll stand, thank you.” She lifted her chin as if to dismiss him.

  He cranked the turn shaft on the engine to start the mechanism that raised and unfurled the sails. With steam at a peak level, his chore took only a few minutes. It was long enough for Abigail to make the choice to sit after all. He watched her bend down and brush dust off the top of one low crate. Her backside swayed from side to side. Dangerous thoughts entered his head. He imagined her over his knee in nothing but her petticoats and chemise, her bottom raised for punishment. The idea of spanking Miss Thatch’s smooth, ivory flesh appealed to him.

  He closed his eyes and leaned against the mast. His back to her, he envisioned her in the compromising position. The thought of her squeals, rising out of delight, stiffened his cock. He pictured her in her boots and corset. No other undergarments. Beautiful, shapely legs, slender arms and full, rounded breasts made for squeezing. How lovely the image of her reddened bottom from playful smacks appeared, the flesh jiggling on contact. When he was done, he’d turn her over and feel the heated cheeks of her ass on his thighs and her face tinged a coordinating pink—the blush of her arousal.

  At the sound of the canvas sails caught by the wind snapping out, Jasper jumped.

  “Don’t you have any crewmembers at all?” Abigail asked.

  He took a long, deep breath and held it, subduing the twitch of his erection. His leather breeches had no room for expansion. “I don’t need any. Everything is set up for me to operate myself.”

  Things were tricky some days, but it was better than having to deal with the same people on a day-to-day basis. That meant emotionally involving himself in the life and death of men. Immortality had a major drawback when it came to the social element of life. He didn’t want to have friends he’d one day have to avoid because he never aged.

  “That doesn’t sound very practical.” She rose from her seated place and turned gracefully. “Still, it’s amazing what a little creativity can inspire a man to do.”

  Yes, he’d
had plenty of time to be inventive. As for inspiration, Abigail had a hand in that for some of his projects. When she was ten, her father had taken her to an aquarium. Watching the fish seemed to fascinate her. She stood for a long time with her face pressed to the glass, just staring into the transparent enclosure. He used that vision of her entrancement to modify the bottom of his ship. He never thought she’d be onboard to see it. Now he suffered a bout of nervousness when he thought of her asking questions as to why so many things he had built on his ship correlated with her childhood.

  Abigail appeared focused on the harbor they left behind. The city soon vanished in the thickening fog as they sailed away. He thought it better to leave this way, with her unable to have a vision she’d miss. She believed there was a treasure to find to help pay her debts. It took a strong-willed person to act upon her convictions. There wasn’t a pot of gold or a trunk of jewels for her, but he knew better than anyone, Abigail needed to learn it for herself.

  “I don’t see how at this speed we can cross the ocean faster than any other ship.” She looked up curiously at the smokestack that rose from the furnace belowdecks, and then she glanced back at him.

  “Wait until we’re out to sea. Then I’ll show you what I can do.” He smiled.

  “You already did that when you stole my snow globe.”

  If not for his long life, he and Abigail might have never known one another. Now that he had met her, he struggled with the problem of not getting in over his head. She put excitement in his soul. His determination not to fall in love again weakened every minute he spent with her. He was four hundred years old to her twenty-one. That should have been enough to help him think of her as a child. Unfortunately, he’d become immortal at the age of thirty and felt no older than that around her.