Lucian flew off the bed as if he’d been doused with a bucket of ice water. “Blast it all, woman, have you no morals?”
He turned his back on her and stormed over to the cabinet that held his liquor. He needed whiskey and he needed to bring the hard bulge in his breeches under control. He certainly didn’t need her to see his reaction to her lascivious remarks.
Feeling drained from her performance, she relied once again on a simple answer. “No.”
He turned his head and looked at her over his shoulder. She lay naked, her peach dress crumpled at her ankles, her pale, unblemished skin shimmering with a fine sweat, her hair tumbling over her shoulders, teasing her breasts. She looked precisely as a woman in the throes of passion would look, wild, willing, and wet.
He turned back around, grabbed a whiskey bottle from the cabinet and swallowed a mouthful straight from the bottle.
Lord, but she had tasted sweet, he thought as the fiery liquid scalded his throat all the way down to his stomach. Her skin had felt silky soft, her nipples pert and hard, her—
He severed his erotic thoughts and took another swig from the bottle. She was a harlot, he reminded himself, that she resembled an angel made no difference. She had slept with dozens of men, had satisfied their lusty whims as well as her own. She used men for her own selfish reasons. She was an Abelard. Randolph Abelard’s daughter.
More in control of his emotions, he returned the bottle to the cabinet and turned around. Catherine had discarded her dress and had slipped into her cotton shift. She sat in the middle of the bed combing her hair as though she had not a care in the world.
“You know, Lucian,” she began with what sounded like a voice that was about to chastise. “You shouldn’t condemn another person where morals are concerned. After all you are a pirate, a man of dubious character.”
Lucian couldn’t believe his ears. The woman had the blasted audacity to scold him. “My character is not in question here, madam.”
Catherine shrugged. “Neither is mine. I made it perfectly clear to you from the onset that I had enjoyed frequent liaisons. I kept nothing hidden from you.”
Lucian took advantage of the moment. “Then tell me of your father.”
A knot twisted in her stomach. “You know of mine, tell me of yours.” She dropped her hands with the comb grasped tightly in them to her lap.
“He’s dead,” he answered bluntly, and walked over to the bed, dropping down beside her and stretching out. “Now tell me of yours.”
She cast a hasty glance at him out of the corner of her eye and licked her lips nervously. Dare she trust him this close?
“Temper your passion, madam. You shall not feast on me tonight.”
Relief that he had no intentions of continuing from where he had so abruptly left off overwhelmed her. Her hasty and brazen reply surprised her completely. “Your loss, Captain.”
Lucian reached out like a striking snake coiling his fingers painfully around her arm, drawing her down across his chest to stare directly into her eyes. “Someday, Catherine, we’ll discover if that is so.”
He released her, pushing her back up away from him. “Your father,” he reminded her, and pillowed his arms beneath his head.
Catherine rubbed her aching arm as she spoke. “My father is a patient and gentle—”
Lucian interrupted with an unpleasant grunt.
She turned her head, her brow raised in annoyance. “Do you intend to interrupt my every word?”
He smiled wickedly as he asked, “Why, do you intend to sew my lips shut?”
“I am skillful with a needle.” She grinned, pleased at the suggestion.
“Your countless skills amaze me.”
“You have yet to know them all, Captain.” Her grin grew.
“We have time, Catherine, for me to discover all of your talents.”
Catherine instantly read his implied message. He intended to keep her captive for some time. Why? What good would her continued captivity do? And how long could she carry on this charade?
“As I was saying,” she said, returning to safer conversation.
“By all means,” Lucian interrupted again, “tell me of your gentle father.”
Catherine ignored his sarcastic remark and proceeded. “I was four when my mother married the marquis. From the moment I entered his house, he treated me like his own daughter.
He took me for walks, read to me —”
“Pampered and spoiled you,” Lucian added with disgust, annoyed by her description of an attentive and loving father.
“He most certainly did not,” Catherine said indignantly. “He expected proper behavior from me.”
“Proper?” he asked with a quirk of his brow. “And proper is hoisting your skirts for any man who sniffs at them?”
Catherine felt the hot tears gather in her eyes. They begged for release, begged to ease the ache in her heart. She would never embarrass her father by behaving so indecently. Yet her pretense of indecency would be her father’s saving grace. How ironic, she thought sadly, and locked her tears away to shed when she was alone.
She raised her chin in courage, not in arrogance, though she was certain Lucian would assume otherwise. “I keep my affairs discreet.”
“Discreet affairs are proper?”
“The aristocracy insists on being discreet for propriety’s sake,” she explained, having learned at an early age that the nobility made their own rules to cover their own indiscretions.
“Ah, yes, the aristocracy, the ruling class who rule themselves. And give not a damn for the common folk.”
“My father cares.”
“Don’t make me laugh,” Lucian said contemptuously. “The marquis cares for his own and no one else.”
Catherine took offense to his disparaging remark. “My father has been a proponent of the less fortunate for many years. He has established several orphanages, hoping to provide a home for the children that are forced to beg on the streets. He has arranged for educational funds for the needy. He does what he can though he considers it not near enough.”
Lucian stretched his arms up grabbing the top of the intricately carved headboard secured to the wall and pulled himself up. He rested comfortably against a stack of white pillows and regarded her with a scornful look. “And where does he get the money for these charitable works?”
Catherine chose her words carefully, feeling distrustful of him. “He possesses centuries-old family wealth and continues to invest it wisely.”
“Like an investment in merchant ships?”
A response seemed senseless. Lucian appeared intent on faulting her father regardless of anyone else’s opinion.
“What, no answer, madam? And here I thought you would jump to your father’s defense.”
“Why? You won’t bother to listen to reason. Your head is filled with nonsense and your heart is bitter with hate.”
“And for good reason,” he argued.
She shook her head sadly. “What reason? Because someone spoke the name Abelard?”
“His signature condemned me to hell.”
“Show me this document with my father’s signature, prove to me his guilt.”
“When I’m ready,” he answered calmly.
Much too calmly to Catherine’s way of thinking. A shiver ran down her spine and she took it as an omen of things to come.
“Had you been in debt to my father?” she asked, attempting to solve the misunderstanding that had existed for years.
“I was in debt to no man. My finances were above reproach, my family is known for their integrity.”
Catherine glared at him and spoke the sudden thought that popped into her head. “Nobility! You were of noble birth.”
He shifted uncomfortably against the pillows.
“I knew it,” she continued, pleased that she had solved one piece of the puzzle. “Your speech and manners are too refined for that of a pirate or a common man.”
“Being of noble birth did little good for me when I
discovered myself on the merchant ship as part of the crew.”
Catherine paused at this remark, and then commented, “Do you know of anyone who harbored resentment against you, or your family?”
Lucian shrugged, having briefly considered the possibility years ago and having found no validity to it. “I thought about it, but could think of few if any who held grudges against the Darcmoors.”
“Darcmoor?” Catherine repeated in surprise. “You’re a Darcmoor?”
“Lucian Darcmoor, the Earl of Brynwood, to be exact, my lady.” He executed a short mocking bow of his head.
Catherine stared incredulously at him. “The Darcmoor estate called Brynwood that lies next to my father’s in north Yorkshire?”
“Correct.”
She shook her head as if confused. “I don’t recall seeing you there over the years. And I’ve met the earl that is in residence now. Charles is his name. He has become a friend of my father’s and has dined often with us. But I do recall some rumors —”
“That I was dead,” he finished.
“An accident I believe was mentioned, concerning the son of the earl.”
Lucian nodded. “How that rumor came about I’ll never know. Charles is my cousin, next in line to inherit after me, which he has successfully done. He now possesses all the Darcmoor holdings.”
He paused considering the plan he had implemented to regain his title and possessions. He had shared his intentions with no one but Santos. He didn’t know why he wanted to reclaim his holdings, perhaps it was a matter of honor, or revenge. Whatever the reason he knew it was necessary.
“I had never cared for the country estate and spent little time there. I much preferred the active social life London had to offer. I was young and pompous like so many of the gentry. I learned quickly and harshly how life was for the other half.”
Catherine sat listening, gaining a better understanding about the infamous Captain Lucifer.
“I wrongly and ignorantly assumed my social position would free me from mistaken debts. The captain laughed in my face when I told him who I was. He informed me that he didn’t give a rat’s ass as to my title. He had a paper that said my ass belonged to him for three years and he intended to see that I worked off every minute of every day of my debt.”
He raked his hands through his hair, briefly closing his eyes on his past. Then he opened them and held her concerned gaze once again while he continued his story. “I never knew such misery existed. I never realized how harsh life could be. I never knew the gnawing pains of hunger, but I learned fast enough. I learned that when you’re hungry you’ll eat just about anything, even food laced with weevils.”
Catherine cringed at the thought of bugs in her food and shivered at the cruelty that necessitated such an act.
“I swore as each day passed that I would find the man who wronged me and make him pay.”
“This captain on the merchant ship,” Catherine asked. “Is he the one who gave you my father’s name?”
“With his dying breath.”
“Dying breath?” Catherine repeated.
Lucian once again relived that fateful day. “The ship was attacked by bloodthirsty pirates. They boarded and raided the vessel in minutes, killing any crew member who refused to join them. I took up a sword immediately, foolishly assuming freedom was close at hand. The captain lay on the deck of the ship bleeding to death. I went to him and asked him for the name
of the man who claimed the debts that sold me into servitude. The name spilled from his bleeding lips. Abelard.”
Catherine began to protest.
“Don’t bother to look for an excuse. A dying man isn’t about to lie. Why should he?”
“He could have harbored a grudge against my father.”
“Catherine.” He sighed her name. “When will you finally accept the fact that your father is capable of cruelty?”
She answered swiftly. “Never.”
Lucian smiled, a stark unfriendly smile. “Not even when I show you the papers with your father’s signature?”
“Show me them,” she challenged, “and we shall see.”
“Yes, Catherine, eventually the truth will be obvious to you.”
“And the documents that prove my father innocent of treason?” she asked. “Will you give me those papers as you had promised?”
“We had a bargain,” he said, his smile still indifferent.
“You broke the bargain, not I.”
Lucian stared at her strangely. “You really would have married me?”
She tossed her chin up. “To save my father I would have married the devil himself.”
Lucian laughed deeply and glared at her with eyes as hard as stone. “And it’s the devil you would have taken your vows with.”
Slowly her skin crawled as the truth of his statement settled in. His years of forced labor and subjugation had worn on his body, mind, and soul. He needed to heal, to forgive himself
before he could find it in his heart to forgive others.
Catherine felt a sudden need to comfort him and strangely enough she gave no thought to her actions. She did as she felt she must.
She moved over beside him, leaned down across his chest, kissed him gently on the lips and said, “You are no devil, Lucian.” Then she cuddled against his naked chest, yawned, and went directly to sleep.
Lucian sat there stunned by her actions. He glanced down at the top of her head and her arm draped across his waist. What in the hell was he to do with her? She confused him. Just when he thought he understood her, she stepped out of character.
She stirred as though troubled by a bad dream. His hands instinctively sought to comfort her, wrapping around her and soothingly rubbing her back.
She responded, settling in an instant.
He sighed and shut his eyes. Damn, but she could play with his emotions. He admired her fortitude and her strong belief in those she loved. He wished someone had loved him with such intensity, perhaps then he would not have found himself on that merchant ship, sold into service.
His heart ached with memories of his mother. He had thought that she of all people would have fought endlessly for his release. He couldn’t remember a day that had gone by that she hadn’t reminded him of how much she cared for him and always would. He had been devastated when he heard nothing from her and then he heard of her death. He had never felt so alone in his life, so abandoned.
He stared down at Catherine protectively wrapped in his arms. With every word she spoke, she had defended her father. She believed in his innocence, never once doubting it, fiercely defending his honor.
Never in his life had he experienced a love that strong. He envied and hated Abelard and was more determined than ever to seek his revenge through Catherine somehow.
Chapter Twelve
Catherine stood on the deck of the ship full of anticipation and excitement. She wished the crew would hurry and drop anchor. She couldn’t wait another minute to touch solid land and an island at that. And not just any island, the island of Tortuga.
She had read stories of Tortuga and its lawlessness. One story had called it the “the pirates’ spawning ground,” another had labeled it “worse than Hades,” yet another referred to its location as “the end of the earth.” All Catherine cared about at the moment was that she had the opportunity to see it with her own eyes and not through stories and books.
Lucian had only this morning informed her that they would be dropping anchor there shortly and staying for a day or two. He had tossed her a bundle of clothes and told her if she wished to join him on the island that she must dress in the clothes he provided and she must keep herself by his side and obey his every word.
She hastily agreed. She now waited impatiently for them to disembark. She had followed Lucian’s instructions, changing into the bright blue skirt and white linen blouse and leather sandals. She had braided her hair and fastened the sides back with ivory combs so no strands would fall free.
She turne
d her attention away from the island in the near distance and searched the ship for Lucian. The sight of him standing on the fo’c’sle deck startled her. He fit a romanticized image of a pirate perfectly. Large and strong and breathtakingly handsome, he stood arms akimbo, feet braced apart, dressed in tight black breeches and high black polished boots. His white shirt billowed in the breeze and hung open almost clear to his waist, showing off his sizable muscular chest.
And his long dark red hair? Catherine shook her head. Lord, but he had gorgeous hair for a man. Long, shiny and . . .
She smiled noticing the braid he had fashioned on one side behind his ear running down over his shoulder. It labeled him dangerous. Dangerously alluring.
She easily understood why women would be attracted to him. He had an air of mystery and risk about him. A woman took a chance when she became involved with him. A chance with her heart and soul.
Catherine shivered, thinking of the captain’s soul. She sensed a dark side, full of hate and contempt. And buried, locked deep away, a part existed that needed not only to be loved, but to give love as well. Lucian was a complex man; Catherine was only beginning to understand.
He shouted orders to the crew, walked a few feet, jumped over the wooden rail to the deck below and headed straight for her.
She smiled at his approach, clapping her hands together, demonstrating as usual her little-girl excitement. “I can’t wait to see the island.”
o0o
Lucian stopped in front of her, grabbing her clasped hands in his. “You will obey my every word once on the island. You will not question my commands, you will do as I bid. Is that perfectly clear, Catherine?”
“Perfectly,” she agreed.
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