How to Steal a Pirate's Heart (The Hawkins Brothers Series)

by Alexandra Benedict

  He shifted his gaze and captured sight of Lady Madeline in a simple frock and short tweed coat. Her hair was pinned and stuffed under a matching tweed cap, a few ginger wisps fluttering in the wind. Her cheeks flushed with rosy color. Her eyes danced with faith. And something rent his heart at her beaming optimism. Cold irony, perhaps. That while she searched for life on this journey, he chased death.

  “Welcome aboard, Cousin Maddie.”

  “Maddie, please.”

  She clutched her carpet bag in both hands, no cumbersome trunks in tow. As she neared him, her smile broadened, and an inadvertent spasm gripped his chest.

  “Here.” She handed him a paper. “The map.”

  William unfurled the sheet and eyed the directions, ignoring the quiver in his heart. “I’ll plot our course.”

  “And have you the letter for me?”

  “In time.” He tucked the map in his pocket. “I’ve yet to write it.”

  Before she could make any more uncomfortable inquiries, William signaled his first mate. “Meet Lieutenant Fletcher, Lady Madeline. He will escort you to your cabin.”

  She paused for a moment, her pupils closing as she pierced him with a curious stare, but she soon bobbed her head. “Thank you, Captain.”

  As she crossed the deck, William studied her flowing figure and sensed, despite her smart outfit and practical luggage choice, she wasn’t going to be a sensible passenger, that his well-ordered ship just might run amok with her onboard.

  ~ * ~

  There was a knock at the door that evening.

  “Come in,” said William, hunched over the sea chart pinned to the desk. Without averting his attention, he knew who had entered his room. “How do you like your cabin, Maddie?”

  “It’s very comfortable, thank you.”

  He had placed her quarters next to his own to protect her, even though he knew his crew would never trouble her, but he still needed to maintain the appearance of propriety, that she was under the captain’s charge . . . or perhaps he just didn’t trust the woman too far from his sight.

  She soon settled beside him. A soft scent swirled in the air, a floral perfume. He suddenly imagined a sultry island filled with bright blooms nestled in a lady’s hair. He shut his eyes, the vision unsettling. He wasn’t a daydreamer. He wasn’t a man who lost focus. Ever.

  “Have you plotted our course?” she queried, her voice low.

  Slowly he lifted his gaze. Her ginger hair was plaited in a loose braid and draped over her shoulder. Under lamplight, her eyes glowed like embers and a distinct warmth spread throughout his chest.

  He pushed the disturbing sensation aside and concentrated on the map. “Aye, we’ll travel along the equator and catch the Caribbean current here. It will take us northwest to the Bahamian Islands.”

  “I’m so excited.”

  “We’re still in the English Channel. There’s a long journey ahead.”

  “I know.” She smiled. “Thank you for inviting me to supper.”

  Again her smile disarmed him. And again he wrestled with the intrusive sentiment that distracted him from his goal—to rescue her grandfather and send both crew and passengers home to England. His invitation to supper was a courtesy, a formal duty every captain performed when hosting civilians aboard ship. And he wouldn’t pretend it was anything more than a customary nicety.

  Without a word, William walked over to the dining table and pulled out a chair, accustomed to such refinements since retiring from piracy and associating with high society.

  Madeline took the offered seat. He joined her at the opposite end of the table, already plated with cooked fare, and removed the silver loche, releasing a cloud of steam and revealing a platter of roasted meats, potatoes and carrots.

  He’d every intention of keeping the conversation mundane, when Madeline forked a slice of ham and announced, “I’m grateful for your help, William. It’s a good thing you didn’t drink the laudanum cocktail.”

  He arched a brow before serving himself. “What would you have done if I’d taken the laudanum?”

  “Packed up the jewels and boarded the first ship to the Caribbean.”

  “And left me on the floor?”

  Her eyes danced with merriment. “You would have roused in time—but long after I was gone.”

  William shook his head. After so many years at sea, he had learned to listen to his instincts, to spot danger leagues away. And his instincts told him Maddie was trouble. But for once, it wasn’t his ship and crew in danger . . . it was him.

  “You must think me a fool,” she said softly, “hoping for a miracle?”

  After a short, uncertain pause, he poured her a glass of wine. “I do not believe in miracles, but there’s reason to suspect your grandfather is alive.”

  Her expression shadowed. “The world darkened when I learned of his death. Other than Cousin Amy, I have no one.”

  “What happened to the rest of your family?”

  She set her wrists on the table, gripping the utensils until her knuckles whitened. “I had an indiscretion with a soldier when I was seventeen. After the scandal broke, I was disowned by my family.”

  William lifted another brow. In comparison with his own “youthful indiscretions,” a fling with a soldier seemed small and undeserving of such severe repudiation. But she was a Lady. A woman. Her position demanded an almost impossible level of deportment.

  She loosened her hold of the fork and knife, her pale features filling with color. “Have I shocked you?”

  He snorted. “In my family, we would not have disowned you for such an indiscretion.”

  “Any why not?”

  She had him there. He should be shocked by her revelation—if he were a true gentleman.

  “I had an unusual upbringing.” He shrugged. “I would’ve sooner crushed the soldier’s head and stomped on his bullocks for dishonoring you.”

  Madeline was about to taste the wine—and paused.

  “Have I shocked you?” he mimicked.

  She burst into laughter. Musical. Beautiful.

  He seized, breathless.

  “You sound very much like my grandfather. He wanted to duel with Papa when everyone shunned me.” She released a heavy breath. “I would do anything for the devilish old man. He saved my life.”

  “I understand.” Her madcap thievery made more sense to him now. “I would do the same for my kin.”

  He would also spare them the burden of caring for him as he wasted away. He’d sooner put a bullet in his head than wither into a corpse before their eyes, but suicide would cause an even greater stir and veil the family in ignominy. No, death in battle, at sea, or even on a deserted island was the proper way for a seaman to perish.

  Under the bitter circumstances, he was actually fortunate. He had last seen his family during a jubilant ball, leaving him—and them—with the best of memories. And now he had a meaningful way to die.

  “William, are you unwell?”

  Startled, he snapped, “What do you mean?”

  She flinched. “I mean is anything the matter? You’ve grown so quiet.”

  As blood thudded through his veins, he sensed another cursed headache pressing on his skull. “No, nothing’s the matter,” he clipped, even as weakness overpowered him. Not now, he railed. Not in front of her! His hands shaking, he gritted, “If you’ll excuse me, I must finish plotting our course.”

  He watched her expression turn stony at his uncouth dismissal.

  She dropped the utensils on the table and headed for the door. “Of course.”

  “Take the meal with you,” he ordered.

  “I’m not hungry.”

  And she slammed the door behind her.

  CHAPTER 4

  Madeline was famished. Lamp in hand, she searched the store room for a bit of smoked meat and cheese. She had stormed from the captain’s cabin, indignant, confused—and hungry.

  As she inspected the barrels, she wondered what the deuces had happened to the man. Had she insulted
him? Wounded him? Impossible. If anything, their conversation had been refreshingly honest.

  She hooked the lamp to a post and sighed. He seemed a solitary figure, remote, austere. For a moment during supper, he’d revealed a sociable nature, making her laugh. She hadn’t laughed since the death of her grandfather. Why had everything gone so awry?

  “The boorish, confounding son-of-a—”

  Madeline stiffened, her clammy palms curling into fists. As the lamp lilted with the gentle current, shadows played across the room, illuminating, then darkening the supplies. A weighty dampness slithered over her feet, and her heart throbbed as she stared at the wall. Don’t look down! Of course, her gaze immediately dropped to the ground.

  Her eyes widened. Her scream trapped in her throat. She trembled as a giant snake glided across the floor, rolling over her toes. A silent prayer shot up to heaven. She waited. And waited. How long is this bloody vermin? She didn’t even care to know what it was doing in the belly of the ship. She just wanted it off her feet.

  “Oh, God. Oh, God.”

  Her voice squeaked like a mouse. At last, the serpent moved off without biting or coiling around her ankles. And the second its slimy tail slinked off her boots, she bolted from the store room, pounding the stairs.

  She bounded straight for the captain’s cabin. Bam! went the door. Screech! went the bolt. Safe. She heaved, desperate for breath.

  “S-snake!” she finally cried, and with each lungful of air, her heart steadied.

  Where was William?

  The room was dark. It took her several moments to locate a figure sitting on the bed. In the moonlight, she saw it was the captain, elbows on his knees, head between his hands. His muscular chest gleamed with sweat in the pale light. The bed sheets were tousled around his waist, as if he’d just awakened from a night terror. His feet, bare, were planted a good distance apart, supporting his hunched weight. He was dressed in only his trousers.

  She should have knocked. She had startled him, she thought. She could hear his labored breathing from across the cabin. She was about to apologize when a weary voice assured her:

  “Don’t mind the snake. She looks after the rats.”

  It wasn’t the humdrum way he talked about a monstrous serpent, or the familiar way he referred to it as “she” that troubled Madeline, but the faintness of his voice. He wasn’t a tired man just roused from a deep slumber. He was ill.

  Slowly she approached him, whispering, “William?”

  He remained unmoving, taking in great swells of air, then releasing the breaths like gusts of wind.

  She kneeled at his legs and reached for his brow. “You have a fever. I’ll fetch a cold compress.”

  He cinched her wrist, his strength unbreakable, and while his hold wasn’t hurtful, it was determined.

  “It’s not a fever,” he returned in an unsettlingly calm voice.

  His fingertips then slipped over the inner tendons of her wrist, the tenderness of his touch making her shudder.

  Though his tone remained impassive, there was a plaintiveness in his movements. And she sensed something dreadful was amiss.

  Madeline remembered their talk over supper, the moment he’d turned cold, brusque . . . when she’d asked him if he was unwell.

  The pattering of her heart turned rampant. She searched his arms, his chest for wounds and sighted the scar on his ribcage, just below his heart. “You’ve been shot!”

  “A year ago,” he confirmed. “The bullet’s still inside me.”

  “Who shot you?”

  “A slaver.”

  “Is the bullet troubling you?”

  “No, it’s not the bullet.”

  “Then what is the matter, William?”

  His gaze lifted—his angry, frightful gaze. “Leave.”

  “But—”

  “Leave, Maddie.”

  Her knees remained secured to the floor. “I’m not leaving,” she said, defiant. “You need care. And I won’t tell the crew, I promise. I know how important it is for a captain to maintain invincibility in the eyes of his tars. My grandfather—”

  He cinched her wrist again—and this time it hurt.

  “You don’t know a damn thing.” And he sent her tumbling onto her rump. “Get. Out.”

  She clenched her trembling jaw, a welter of feeling in her breast—a violent welter of feeling, for when she regained her footing, she slapped him.

  For some insufferable reason, tears filled her eyes as she hastened toward the door. She reached for the lock and unarmed the barrier, just as a distant voice murmured:

  “I’m not angry with you, Maddie.”

  She then left the cabin and shut the door.

  For a moment, she leaned against the wall, wiping the stinging tears from her eyes. She had heard the truth in his words—that he wasn’t furious with her—and for some other intolerable reason, the knowledge comforted her. Yes, she wanted the captain’s help to rescue her grandfather. But it was more than the potential loss of his support that had pained her: it was the potential loss of his fellowship.

  With a fortifying breath, Madeline regained her composure. If the captain wasn’t livid with her, then with whom? Or with what? And the malady that haunted him?

  She intended to find out the answers.

  CHAPTER 5

  The next morning, Madeline found the captain above deck, robust and forbidding as ever. The crew worked in perfect harmony around him as he gazed across the sea with his spyglass.

  The unobtrusive moment allowed her the chance to study him in detail. She noted his dark suede boots and trousers molded his calves and thighs like a second skin, while his white shirt moved fluidly in the breeze. He didn’t tie the shirt strings at the nape of his neck, leaving the base of his throat unfettered—and very unlike the disciplined captain. And that small rebellious gesture sent an unnerving shiver of pleasure through her veins.

  She next eyed his fashionable black locks, also ruffled by the wind, the contours of his handsome profile, and the overall confidence his energy exerted. It was clear the tars trusted him. And there was nothing in his rigid manner or cold temperament to suggest anything troubling had happened the night before. Of course, she and William both knew something had happened, and she wondered how he would treat her the following morning.

  She gathered her courage and slowly crossed the deck. Long before she reached the captain, he sensed her approach and set aside his spy glass, his bright blue eyes turning straight in her direction.

  The man’s piercing gaze leveled her for a moment, and she paused before regaining her momentum. His uncanny ability to detect the slightest change from a distance both assured and perturbed her. He could not be surprised or set upon by an enemy. A good trait for a captain, she concluded. But he also couldn’t be approached by a friend. A poor trait for a man, she thought.

  “Good morning, Lady Madeline,” he said in a polite, but flat tone. “How did you sleep?”

  She hadn’t expected an acknowledgment of their curious encounter the other night, but she also hadn’t expected his outright dismissal of it. He looked at her with the composure of a sober, able-bodied seaman, and for a second, she doubted anything unusual had occurred. Had she dreamed the entire incident?

  But her rump still throbbed with tenderness, and she knew she hadn’t dreamed a bit of it. The man was savvy, she admired. He had almost hypnotized her into believing nothing frightful had taken place in the late hours of the night.

  But Madeline would not be dissuaded.

  “Not too shabby,” she returned. “I’m still gaining my sea legs.”

  His eyes impaled her with a mesmerizing force, and if his conduct toward the ship and crew remained much the same, his attitude toward her had noticeably shifted. She wanted to assure him—again—she would not reveal his secret to the tars. She wanted him to trust her with his secret, whatever it was. And he must have guessed her thoughts, for his sharp voice offered:

  “There’s ginger in the galley.” />
  And again he dismissed her.

  Madeline wasn’t flustered this time. She had a better understanding of the complicated man. And while his brush-off made it clear he didn’t want her poking into his private life, she still intended to search for answers. Not out of nosiness. But out of concern. The man needed her help. It was the only certainly on their perilous voyage.

  ~ * ~

  William heard laughter. Palms-slapping-knees sort of guffaws. He followed the sound of the irritating amusement to the poop, where he stilled.

  There on the steps was Madeline. Her plaited hair had come loose in the wind, the long ginger wisps flickering like candle flames. Her eyes, bright with merriment, glowed in the fading light of dusk. The joy teeming from her was brilliant and bone-crushing. For all her hardships, she had not lost her passion for life, for hope. And an inexplicable, even dangerous, desire pulled him toward her radiance.

  His chest tightened. He resisted the intense draw. It would only lead to . . . death. His death. His inevitable, fucking death.

  As he dragged in a great swell of air, he cursed himself for being weak, for wistfully wishing for impossible desires. He had a mission to complete: to die with honor. He wasn’t aboard ship to get embroiled with a woman, especially a woman with whom he had no future.

  William remained in the shadows, watching his tars around Madeline, splitting their breeches with laughter. Whatever she had told them had captured their mirth with howling hilarity. And he knew then his well-ordered ship would run amok with her onboard.

  “Tell us another, lass,” from his first lieutenant.

  It annoyed William that his first lieutenant was participating in the discord. It burned his blood to hear him call her the affectionate “lass” instead of Lady Madeline, as was proper.

  “All right,” she said. “Here’s a frightening tale that’ll turn your whisker’s white.”

  The men hushed in unadulterated silence.

  “In seventeen eighty-three, my grandfather was part of an expedition to the Bahamian islands, transporting the very first English colonists. He’d taken the post for one reason: to find the Fountain of Youth. As a boy, he’d heard tales about Ponce de Leon’s discovery of a mysterious island, where the water possessed healing powers. But there were hundreds of islands in the area, and it soon became clear to him it would take a lifetime to search them all. After several, fruitless years at sea, he ordered his ship back to England, but before leaving Caribbean waters, he had a strange encounter.