Horsman, Jennifer

by Crimson Rapture

  SHE FEARED HIS PASSION

  Never had Christina seen a man as handsome as the notorious pirate Justin Phillips. His lean masculine frame radiated a shocking strength; his piercing blue eyes left her feeling helpless and weak. Somewhere deep inside her the innocent beauty felt the yearning for an unknown ecstasy thirsted for adventures forbidden even in her dreams. But as his lips gently grazed her flesh and his hands thoroughly ravished her senses, Christina resolved that after he had his way with her, she would flee under the cover of night and forever escape his ardent demands!

  HE FORCED HER RESPONSE

  There was nothing like a challenge to make the blood flow faster in Justin Phillips' veins. So when the dashing pirate saw the timid wench shrink from his gaze, he decided he'd take her with—or without —her consent. He coaxed desire from her pouting lips; he awakened passion with his expert touch. The experienced rake knew Christina would try to run away from pleasure, but once he'd have her he could never let her go. If it meant capturing her with his kisses and enslaving her with his caress he would do it and turn the seeds of her hidden desire into the full bloom of Crimson Rapture.

  A LOVING THREAT

  Justin led Christina to one of the shelters and laid her on the thick cushion of sweet-smelling moss. He lay down next to her, careful to keep her partially beneath him. He stared down at her and unmasked tenderness showed in his eyes, confusing her almost as much as the sweeping warmth that sprang so quickly between them.

  "Christina," he whispered, gently brushing his hand over her forehead, then through her hair. "This fear of yours, is it just a maiden's fear, or is there something more?"

  She could not answer him through all she felt and she tried to turn from him, but he stopped the movement. "No, don't turn from me, sweetheart. Close your eyes and pretend we're back on ship. I want to know."

  "But that's just it," she cried in a whisper. "We're not on the ship and you're not the... the Justin that I... I—" She stopped, for to finish would be a confession that she was not willing to make.

  "Fell in love with?" He smiled. "Christina, I assure you the man you fell in love with is the same man lying with you now."

  "No." She denied it adamantly. "He would never... never force me."

  He ran a hand along her side, stopping once a small shiver swept over her body. "Christina, the only thing I will force is your desire..."

  ZEBRA BOOKS

  are published by

  Kensington Publishing Corp.

  475 Park Avenue South

  New York, NY 10016

  Copyright © 1986 by Jennifer Horsman

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

  First printing: April 1986

  Printed in the United States of America

  CHAPTER 1

  Justin Phillips's unconventional height allowed him to stare out a rectangular hole in his prison cell to observe a pair of worn black boots belonging to a young lady strolling on deck. A hemline of heavy black bombazine material brushed the tips of the small boots and told him she was in mourning, wearing widow's weeds. She stopped in front of his only opening to the outside world and she turned toward the sea to stare at the expansive blue space there, and for this seemingly insignificant freedom, he envied her.

  Unlike the other twenty-three civilian passengers aboard the HMS Defiant traveling to Australia, Christina Ann Marks had not been able to nap during this the hottest part of the day, and, always inclined toward optimism, she stepped out on deck in hopes of finding a breeze. She knew it was probably ill-advised to stroll on deck unescorted, without benefit of chaperon or companion—the act could in fact incite comment—and had the air in her tiny cabin not been so insufferably stifling, she would have remained below deck, content with her solitude and a cherished copy of Marvel.

  Unfortunately, it was as stifling above as below and not a breeze stirred. The proud British naval ship stood motionless on the smooth blanket of blue ocean beneath a cloudless azure sky and the air remained unnaturally still, exactly as it had been for the past four days. A weather condition the crew called the doldrums. The ship's normally ceaseless rocking motion was gone too and the great ship's sails hung lifeless from its three tall masts. Like a ghost ship, she thought.

  The quiet was also complete. Small waves gently lapped against the side of the ship and she could hear her own soft breaths, somewhat labored in the oppressive heat and the cruel tightness of her stays. The sudden sound of a small mouse scurrying along the deck startled her, and she turned, washed in a hot wave of brief panic.

  Never in all her seventeen years had she been so hot! The heavy black dress, weighted with a cumbersome petticoat of thick crinoline, absorbed the relentless sun like a magnifying glass. Small beads of perspiration tickled her unmercifully. Her boots felt like braces and she was acutely aware of her feet swelling in protest, crying for freedom. She untied the black ribbon of her bonnet, stole the hat from her head, and began to fan her flushed face, thinking with a sad longing of the carefree windy days roaming the green hills, meadows, and woods of her home, Hollingsborne, in Kent.

  Abruptly seized with an irresistible idea, she bit her lip and anxiously looked in both directions for passersby. The ship seemed deserted and not even a crew member was in sight. With no further hesitation, she plopped down on the deck and began removing her boots and stockings.

  Justin knew he had reached the limit of human deprivation when the highlight of his day was watching the young lady unlace and slip off her boots, then her stockings. He was shown a brief glimpse of two slender legs and pale white feet, pinched red where they had rubbed against the boots. He watched her toes wiggle with their new freedom, heard a sigh of contentment, and he chuckled.

  "I would say... oh, perhaps seventeen or eighteen years old, much too slender and small for my taste and from the looks of your hands, I suspect you have fair features—which some might find pleasing to look at, if it only weren't for your mousy brown hair. Unfortunately—and I'm hardly surprised considering how my luck's been running—I prefer my women tall, dark, and exotic."

  With a sudden pounding of her heart, Christina looked down both sides of the deserted deck, then toward the heavens and, not finding anyone or anything, she concluded her mind had finally collapsed under the burden of her grief. She was about to run off for the ship's surgeon when the sound of his amusement forced her eyes to the small hole at her feet. A pair of dark blue eyes laughed back at her.

  "You!" she accused and rather breathlessly. "You spoke to me!"

  "Slow wits to boot," he observed. "Too bad, I was hoping you might make up in conversation what you lack in appearance.

  So stunned that the prisoner dared speak to her, Christina took a full minute to grasp the nature of his insults. "Why... why, I never—"

  Justin chuckled again, shaking his head. "Close your mouth, sweetheart, it's unladylike."

  Her hand flew to her open mouth, her large gray eyes widened enormously. She glanced around the deck in search of the quickest escape route, but spotted a wooden bucket of water instead. She wasted neither a thought nor a second.

  Justin howled his surprise as the blessed relief of cool water splashed over his face, down the wide expanse of his bare chest. Nothing could have felt better to him. Nothing with the possible exception of turning the young lady over his knee.

  * * * * *

  Tension marked Captain Forester's tanned, weathered face and showed in his rigid carriage, as, with telescope to eye, he straightened to his full height and began a routine search of the horizon.

  Colonel Carrington, the first officer, stood next to him, gathe
ring all his small patience not to show a certain bemusement. Bemusement resting on the border of scorn. Which in itself was unusual, for his captain rarely solicited any unfavorable judgments from his men, much less scorn.

  Captain Forester's long career had been illustrious; he was considered one of the finest officers in His Majesty's royal navy and this despite rumors of Irish ancestry. Not only had he been decorated for valorous conduct numerous times, most noteworthy during the great Admirals Jervis and Nelson's campaign against France and Spain in the battle of Saint Vincent, but his men considered him exceptionally fair and worthy of respect; few would willingly sail with anyone else.

  The captain lowered his glass, though kept his narrowed gaze on the distance. "Nothing but empty ocean, vast and endless and barren."

  "I daresay, it shall remain that way," Carrington added with but a bare hint of exasperation.

  The captain turned to his subordinate and stared unkindly, seeing the tall lean man's reckless confidence, the sentiments he was trying to hide.

  The colonel in turn shifted uncomfortably under such scrutiny. "With all due respect, sir," he sought to explain, "I can't help but believe your fears are unfounded."

  "A fool's wish," the captain replied bluntly. "Believe me, young man, it is just a matter of time. Justin Phillips's ships—two, maybe three, of the boldest sailing ships known—are out there and, at this very moment, held motionless by the exact same weather. And we shall see them at first wind."

  "Perhaps the swine had abandoned their leader," he suggested. "After all, one hardly expects a virtue such as loyalty from such disreputable creatures."

  "That's precisely what my superiors thought when I tried to warn them. But no, the collective concern from the king down to the magistrates officiating at Mr. Phillips's trial was expedience. Get the wretched matter over as quickly as possible before popular opinion turned completely to make Mr. Phillips into a hero, some kind of modern-day Robin Hood."

  "A hero?" Carrington questioned incredulously. "That bastard is the basest of criminals, a notorious traitor to both his country and his heritage, operating from the lowest principle of self-interest. He's made a fine fortune pirating anything with a British or French flag, playing both sides against the other; playing us for fools!" And the worst crime as far as he was concerned, "Profiting off the war!"

  "And getting away with it." Captain Forester pointed out. Justin Phillips indeed had played both countries for a pack of bloody fools, amassing a fortune doing it. England was at war with France and both countries desperately depended on American shipping for supplies. There were demands in both countries for anything an American ship could hold, especially munitions. Each country, in turn, had outlawed American shipping to the other country. Besides outraging the citizens of the young republic, all this had done was create ideal conditions for any man bold enough to risk smuggling. Justin Phillips was such a man. He had started off as a smuggler, quickly making a fortune and quadrupling the number of his ships.

  It wasn't enough for the young man. He started one of the most cunning pirating operations the world ever had the misfortune to bear. Typically he would smuggle munitions to the French. No sooner would the transfer of goods and money be done when another of his ships would pirate the goods back. Then the same munitions would be sold to England, thereby leaving Justin Phillips with twice what was already an outrageous profit. If it only went this one way, the situation would not have been so bad, but just as many times France ended up owning the goods and if the results weren't so devastating for England, the story might have been humorous.

  Carrington was using the pause in their conversation to contemplate the amount of money lost to Justin Phillips's deviousness. "Does he really own thirteen ships?" he asked no one in particular. "And how could he have gotten away with it for so long? What an unscrupulous bastard. Even in his own country, mind you! Why, there are rumors Phillips takes American ships, traitor to his new country as well as the old."

  "Only American slavers," the captain said in defense of Phillips, explaining. "And having personally smelled the stench of death on those ships—that is one offense any decent man would forgive, nay even commend Phillips for."

  "Hmmm." Carrington dismissed this without consideration. "Slavers or not, the man deserves hanging and had he not been the bastard son of the high and mighty Lord Winston Phillips, that is exactly what he would have got."

  Stroking his neat gray beard, Captain Forester hardly listened to his first officer's tirade, sentiments he had heard so many times before. It hardly mattered. What mattered was that at some point the HMS Defiant would battle Justin Phillips's ships. Not only would the Defiant lose such a battle but the safety of the civilian passengers would be at grave risk. Passengers that included a lord and two ladies, as well as half a dozen innocent women.

  "England should have turned Mr. Phillips over to France for French justice." Carrington continued to muse out loud. "As much as any decent Englishmen loathes the French, one does have to admire how quickly they sever a traitor's head." The idea of Phillips meeting this demise pleased him, and a wry smile lifted on his thin lips. Only to disappear when he encountered the captain's irritated, rather displeased look.

  "Colonel Carrington, in the future you will spare me your speculations, unless by some unprecedented happenstance, they provide something I might find useful. I'll have the work schedule on my desk in the hour. Dismissed."

  "Yes, sir," Carrington replied icily with a reddening face as he straightened formally and turned about-face to walk away.

  Watching him go, the captain sighed and then, ignoring the heat shimmering in waves around him, he turned back to the sea and was soon lost in contemplation.

  "Captain?" a small voice beckoned minutes later.

  "What?" the captain nearly yelled, swinging abruptly around, unpleasant thoughts having raised his dander.

  Startled visibly, Christina flushed and froze, and quickly lowered her eyes. She tried to speak but no sound was forthcoming.

  "Oh lord, Miss Marks, forgive me, please," the captain quickly apologized, "I had no idea it was you." He watched Christina struggle still and thought again how the lovely young lady was the shyest creature he had ever had chance to meet. She had not spoken two words the entire voyage and now, the first time she tried to address him, he snaps at her like she was a young green ensign, scaring her senseless no doubt. "Come now, young lady, I swear I didn't mean to scare you like that." His voice softened. "Do forgive me now."

  It was all Christina could do not to run away; she barely managed a nod. How could she have thought to bother the captain over such a petty incident? He had infinitely more important things on his mind: managing the ship and crew, concerns over the severe weather and all...

  "Did you want something, miss?" the captain asked encouragingly.

  "Yes," she whispered in the small voice, keeping her head lowered, her eyes fastened to the deck. "I'm sorry for interrupting you, sir... but I—" A hand reached to her mouth as she attempted to clear her throat, always striving for a louder voice that was forever out of reach. "I was strolling by on deck and the prisoner spoke to me as I passed. He made rather rude comments and... and, thinking of other passengers, I thought you might want to know," she finished in a whispered rush and turned quickly to leave.

  "Ah, Miss Marks." The captain stopped her retreat, hoping to pull her into a conversation. Her struggle quite easily broke his heart. All his officers had tried to pay her court, each man lured by a delicate beauty, large translucent gray eyes, the promise hidden under her dark mourning clothes. Each in turn had given up. So shy, she sometimes even lacked the courage to reply to addresses made to her. "What was it Mr. Phillips said to you?"

  Christina waved her hand in dismissal of the remarks. "Oh... it was really nothing."

  "Well, perhaps I ought to speak to him. You be on your guard now, walking that way. Might even avoid that area altogether. Mr. Phillips is a notorious devil, you know."

>   Christina shifted with sudden alarm. Would the captain punish the prisoner for the slight impertinence? She had just wanted to warn the captain, thinking only of other passengers. Concerned, she overcame her temerity and raised her gaze. "You're... you're not going to punish him, are you?"

  "Heavens no, lass. Mr. Phillips will receive his due, this life and the next. The young man's headed to a prison in Queensboro to serve a life sentence for high treason. Didn't any of you people in Kent hear of Mr. Justin Phillips?"

  Relieved, Christina shook her head. She apologized again for interrupting him, curtsied, and left. Watching the gentle swish of her skirts, the captain wondered how such innocence would fare in the new and untamed world. Her father, the Reverend Marks, had recently passed on, leaving his daughter no other choice than to journey to Australia to take up residence with her only living connections, an uncle and his family.

  An elderly woman—apparently the Reverend Marks's housekeeper—had seen Miss Marks off, and the old woman had confided the girl's unfortunate circumstances to him. Miss Marks's uncle was a farmer in a relatively isolated area of Australia and not very successful. While Chancey Marks agreed to accept his Christian duty by taking his niece into his home, Christina would have to work as a common field hand. The idea seemed at once absurd and cruel; she had been raised a lady, educated and well bred. Why, her hands had probably never lifted anything heavier than a tea pot, or toiled with anything more arduous than embroidery! He could not imagine such a gentle creature working from sunup to sundown, pulling potatoes from an unyielding soil.

  Lord have mercy, he shook his head.

  * * * * *

  One glance down and a shocking realization clamored into Christina's mind. She had addressed the good captain in bare feet! Had he noticed her imprudence? No, he surely would have said something, especially considering the indiscretion came from a young lady in her period of mourning.