“Aye! Hear! Hear!” came the unanimous response.
“We could choose to sail for another captain,” a different sailor spoke up, “but it suits me to elect Comstock as the quartermaster—”
“Aye! He rations out the rum, anyways!”
“—and have Miss Martine take over the galley!”
The pounding of tankards on tables was nearly as deafening as the sailors’ outburst in favor of this arrangement. Damon smiled and sipped his rum punch: Thomas had just stepped on some sliced fruit, but he was too agitated to notice.
“What’re you saying?” Quentin demanded above the uproar. “It was Sofia who got us into this mess! And because Delacroix refused to set her off—because he’s been partaking of her ‘favors’—”
“At least the captain’s been a gentleman about it!”
“And he weren’t payin’ us off, expectin’ us to look t’other way!”
“Silence!” a voice thundered from the other side of the courtyard. “Silence, I say! I’ve heard enough!”
All heads turned toward Captain Cavendish. Two of his men had hoisted him to their shoulders, and he sat as regally as a king surveying his subjects. “As Lord Havisham’s representative, I shall act as arbitrator,” he announced sternly, “because the two men in charge are those on trial. The crewmen of the Odalisque and the Lady Constance shall step back to allow the Courtesan’s sailors to step forward and vote in plain sight.”
After a stunned silence, the men followed his directions.
“Thank you, sir,” Damon said calmly. “All here may vote without concern for repercussions, and any wishing to leave my employ shall be paid his fair wages. I apologize for the way this unfortunate situation has affected us all.”
“Gentleman, you must vote only once, either in support of Captain Delacroix,” Cavendish intoned, “or for the retention of Mr. Thomas. I shall see that the vacancy is filled immediately. Expedience is our our best defense against Blackbeard’s treachery.”
He straightened his thick shoulders, looking much like a bulldog in uniform, but every sailor present respectfully awaited his pronouncement.
“All those in favor of Mr. Thomas, please raise your hands.”
Quentin clenched his fists, glaring at the men gathered around him—sailors he’d shared many a mug and meal with. When the only response was the shifting of feet and clearing of throats, he thrust up his hand to vote for himself. “I’ve been the finest administrator—the best damn—”
His foot slid forward on the moist fruit. As his frustrated cry rang around the courtyard walls, Thomas landed against Damon’s outstretched hands, and several sailors helped him find the ground with his feet.
“I hereby declare Damon Delacroix the winner by unanimous accord!” Cavendish declared. “We shall follow Captain O’Roark’s excellent suggestion and reboard the ships without further ado!”
A gratifying cheer filled the courtyard. Damon gripped the hands extended toward him, but the man he wanted to reconcile with scuttled angrily through the crowd. “Quentin!” he called above the din. “Quentin, at least accept your pay!”
Thomas flashed him an odd grimace and then swung open the high wooden door in the courtyard’s wall. As the sailors from the three ships surged around him, his laughter rang with a defiant tone. “This is the only pay I’ll be wanting, captain!” he cried. “I’ve delivered your beloved to the Devil himself!”
Scowling, Damon shoved between the crewman. “What’s this all about?” he demanded of O’Roark. “You assured me Sofia and her mother were—”
But Sofia stood on a low, makeshift dais between two torches—an auction block, it was. She was surrounded by notable pirates and traders from around the island who looked her over with intense interest—probably because she was tightly wrapped in a rope, which cut into her arms and made her breasts jut lewdly between its cruel stripes.
Beside her, Blackbeard stood in his usual cocky stance, feet planted firmly and hands clasped behind his back. His braided beard shook with his laughter when he found Damon in the stunned, silent crowd.
“What am I bid for this fair beauty, gentlemen?” he crooned with a wicked laugh. “Who’ll start us off with a nice, high offer?”
19
T he abject terror in Sofia’s eyes made something inside Damon snap. He grabbed the dagger from his boot and let out a wild cry as he ran toward the dais. “Sofiaaaa!”
All he saw was his lover in trouble because he himself hadn’t ensured her safety. Why hadn’t he anticipated Thomas’s duplicity? Why had he assumed his quartermaster would wage a fair fight here, when he’d played his captain and his crew so dirty aboard the Courtesan?
“Sofiaaaaa!” All he knew was he had to have her, had to save her from the treachery that threatened to undo them both. Vaguely aware that his men had taken up his cry—that all around him, knives and pistols flashed in the flickering torchlight—Damon rushed toward the woman he was suddenly ready to lose his life for.
Blackbeard, the bastard, stood beside her appearing haughtily invincible even though he was so outnumbered. He drew a flintlock from its silken holster and fired a shot into the air. “Stop where you are!” he cried. “You intended to sell her all along, and I’m merely—”
The traders and privateers fled in every direction. Sailors stormed the dais so fast Blackbeard didn’t know what hit him—and Damon didn’t care. He snatched Sofia on the run and kept moving—slung her over his shoulder as he pointed his blade at whoever dared get in his way. “Hang on, love,” he panted as he ran toward the harbor. “Hang on and trust me to—”
“I knew you’d come! Oh, Damon, that damnable Thomas.” Her breath rushed against his ear, sending warm, electric sensations through him as he kept his focus on the Courtesan. “But I don’t know what he’s done with Mama! Or with the girls! Please—we’ve got to help them!”
He kept running, clutching his woman…knowing full well how close he’d come to losing her. “It’ll all work out, Sofia,” he panted.
How could he promise her that when he had no idea what she expected of him? Or what he had to offer her? They’d made love—and, yes, they’d fucked themselves oblivious—many times, yet he’d looked no further than her face and her fine, ripe body. Hadn’t Sofia Martine been the insatiable, flirtatious woman who wanted a tumble without any strings? Yet here he was, suddenly faced with the way he felt about her…and the way he wanted to feel her.
Up the gangplank he trundled, tossing his dagger aboard so he could steady her bound, inflexible body with both arms. When he reached the deck, Damon set her gently on her feet. Then, not so gently, he kissed her.
Oh, lord, how that woman launched into him with lips that promised a yes, no matter what he asked her! He pressed Sofia against the wall with his entire body, drawing his breath from hers as he poured his relief into one kiss and then another and another. When he released her to look into her wide violet eyes, he saw himself mirrored in those dark pools of mischief and mystique.
And he liked what he saw. And he liked it that Sophia had apparently spotted herself, as well.
“They say the eyes are the windows of the soul,” she murmured, maintaining her gaze. “So if I’m reflected there, in eyes that sparkle like a crystal stream in this moonlight, or like diamonds tossed into the sky—”
“You have a jewel of an imagination,” he quipped. But he was smiling, brushing the loose raven waves from her flushed face. “What do you see in me, Sofia? I have to know.”
She went still. But just as he was chiding himself for asking such a presumptuous question, her eyebrow quirked. “You first, captain. Unless, of course, you’d rather untie me.”
He laughed and dashed for his knife. Torches moved along the street leading to the piers, and he recognized faces and voices, heard triumph in their laughter, and then spotted Magdalena and the Havisham girls being escorted aboard the Lady Constance by Captain Cavendish himself.
Damon smiled slyly. Did it really matter what
they’d done with Blackbeard? Or what had happened to Quentin Thomas? All was well: the chicks were being returned to their nest, and the sailors who escorted them strutted aboard their respective ships like proud roosters. Which meant Damon had precious little time for what truly needed doing.
“I’d rather not,” he murmured as he hoisted her over his shoulder again. “It’s time I took you captive in a whole new way.”
Sofia squealed and struggled within the rope that bound her arms against her body—not that she fought very hard. With Damon Delacroix’s strong arms wrapped around her, she felt safe and playful again. Ready to enjoy whatever he had in mind…for he had a mind every bit as adventurous as her own! She’d seen how his gaze had lingered on the parts of her body so bawdily accentuated by Blackbeard’s rope, and now that he’d rescued her from that brigand’s clutches, Sofia was set on celebrating!
“What’re you going to do to me?” she rasped. It wasn’t a good imitation of fear or shock in her voice, but it made Damon chuckle. And she so loved it when he laughed.
“I’m claiming you for my own lewd and lascivious intent,” he said, growling against her midsection. “Taking you hostage before anyone can stop me!”
“Should I fear for my maiden’s honor? My…”
Damon bounded down the steps and into his quarters, slamming the door behind him. He set her down and then held her head between his broad, strong hands. “Sofia,” he whispered hoarsely, “you should fear for much, much more than your honor. When I get through loving you, you’ll wonder if you have any sanity left. Or any compunction to leave my clutches, much less cast your eyes on any other man, ever again.”
Her heartbeat faltered and then sped up. He’d locked the door and lit the lamp. Buttons pinged to the floor in his haste to remove his shirt. Sofia rested against the wall, watching as his bare skin glimmered in the moonlight that filtered through his porthole. What a fine, broad chest he had, with a distinct vee of black hair that narrowed below his waist, as if his upper body had been expressly designed to call attention to the cock that rose tall and proud between his muscled legs. His beard brought his face to a provocative point, nearly covering his wound.
“I should remove your stitches—”
“All the more reason to keep your arms bound at your sides.” Damon stepped out of his pants, eyeing her mischievously. “Pulling out the threads would hurt like a son of a bitch, and I’m not in the mood for—”
“Maybe these ropes hurt, too. I feel burn marks where the rough hemp has rubbed my skin raw.”
As she’d hoped, Damon’s expression—his whole attitude—changed immediately. “Sofia, I’m so—how inexcusable of me not to consider…”
When he grabbed his dagger again, Sofia sucked in her breath: Damon Delacroix, man of action—naked—was truly a sight to behold. He deftly slipped his blade under the coils that bound her and slashed them with bold, decisive flicks of his wrist. What sweet relief when those bindings sprang away from her.
“Thank you!” She threw her arms around his neck. “I’ve been your willing captive since you caught my eye in Lord Havisham’s mirror, you know. No need for leg irons or handcuffs or—”
His breath escaped him. He held her against his unclothed body, burying his face against her neck. “I’ve been a beast. A heartless, cruel—”
“Oh, never heartless, Damon! You may be a pirate, but you’ve the heart of a lion—a fierce protector!” Sofia stopped gushing to gaze at him, sneaking her hand down to what it longed to grasp. “While I wasn’t really worried you’d sell me—”
“That was never my true intention, Sofia. From the start, you…captivated me.” His grin went boyishly crooked when her fingers wrapped around his cock. “I recognized a likeminded soul, and I was suddenly ready to sail the seas with you and…share your bed forever and—”
“Forever?” Sofia’s heart pounded wildly. This was Damon Delacroix, swashbuckler, talking. She’d never expected him to admit his feelings so freely or to have the deep, immediate need for her she’d felt for him.
Overhead, boots clomped loudly on the deck. Crewmen called to each other as they prepared the Courtesan to sail; Comstock’s voice carried above the rest. The ship shifted when a crowd of men labored at pulling up anchor.
“Come with me.” With a conspiratorial wink, Damon grabbed her hand. They trotted behind the partial wall that separated his sleeping area from the main cabin, and when he shoved against the bed’s frame, it revealed a sliding panel door behind the massive mahogany bed head. “This is where I store our most valuable cargo, along with my share of the plunder. Not even the men know where to look for it. Sometimes the captain keeps a few secrets, you see.”
Sofia stepped inside the low-ceilinged closet…heard the scraping of a flint until a spark caught and lit a candle just inside. When Damon lowered the globe over it, she could distinguish shelves and crates and armoires, all neatly arranged around an interior room about half the size of Miss Daphne’s at home. Indeed, had she known about this cozy hideaway, she would’ve stowed away here!
Unlike the hold, this sanctum smelled of dried herbs and the fresh matting of the woven rushes that covered the floor. Damon’s smile looked downright devilish as the lamplight made his beard glimmer. The shadow of his erection, enlarged against the opposite wall, made them both snicker.
“High time some of this treasure saw the light,” he murmured as he pulled open a drawer. He tossed a folded bundle at her—plush, crimson velvet, it was. “Over the years, I’ve amassed some choice booty, and while it’s all beautiful and highly valuable…well, it’s not of much use without someone who’ll do it justice.”
“Oh, Damon, this is so gorgeous,” she breathed. “Even the Havishams have nothing fashioned from such—”
“Spread it on the floor, Sofia. I want to see you sprawling on it naked.”
Her cheeks went hot with his command, with visions of what he intended to do to her. As she bunched fistfuls of the fabric to form a deep cushion, Sofia heard the secretive, silken whisper of delicate chains. Jewelry, perhaps? Her hands were shaking so hard she could barely finish her task without demanding what he was doing.
“Give me the pleasure of unfastening this dress,” he murmured behind her. His hands deftly separated the voluminous sleeves from her bodice, and then he bared her back. “You looked lovely on the deck, dressed in this dark gown with your hair pulled up. Not that I don’t fancy you even more this way.”
In one fluid move Damon swept the violet dress down the length of her. She turned, feeling almost shy, like a bride on her wedding night.
He was holding a pendant that caught the lamplight in its million facets; the two side strands sparkled richly with cubes and orbs along their length, and a fabulous heart-shaped stone hung from the center. Sofia’s fingers fluttered to her throat. “I’ve never seen anything like—”
“Good. It suits you perfectly, my love. It’s brilliant and brazenly flamboyant—and priceless.” He looped the pendant around her neck, his expression tight. “Lift your hair, Sofia. Let me array you like the queen you are.”
When she did as he’d asked, his eyes riveted hers. “Will you wear this as a token of my love—as a sign that you’ll be my woman…my wife someday?”
Her jaw dropped. “I—oh, Damon! Yes! Yes!”
“Promise you’re not saying that just because I’m draping you in diamonds.”
Sofia swallowed hard. While Lord Havisham had bestowed Lady Constance with many fine pieces—most of them peace offerings or gifts to assuage his own guilt—Sofia had never seen anything half so grand as this. And because she’d dreamily fastened a few of those pieces around her neck after cleaning them, she realized just how many diamonds graced this grand, weighty pendant. “Damon, I wanted you—wanted to be yours—when the only prize I knew about was that piece between your legs. I risked everything to be here with you.”
His close-cropped beard glistened when he smiled. “Yes, I suppose you did. So you understan
d what a…monumental risk this is for me, as well?”
“Nothing ventured, nothing gained,” she whispered. Again she lifted her hair from her neck so Damon could admire the sparkle of the gems he’d just bestowed upon her—even if he was really watching her breasts move. “Now, what was it you wanted? Something like this, perhaps?”
She slowly lowered herself to the pallet of rich, red velvet. When she stretched out, Sofia dropped her dark hair so it fell in the soft disarray of waves her man loved to weave his fingers through. Languidly, like a contented cat, she stretched her legs and arms.
His eyes glimmered with wanting. He stood tall and proud with a member that jutted toward her as though it couldn’t wait to bury itself in her velvet depths. She opened herself to him, grinning. “While I love these diamonds, dear man, just imagine what a serving girl like me might do with a string of pearls.”
His snicker filled the little room. He reached into the open drawer again and drew out a lovely length of pearls, glossy little globes of cream in the lamplight. “Don’t think you get to have all the glory while I stand idly by,” he said in a husky whisper. “I know of one particular pearl—a sensitive, wet, pink one—just waiting for the smooth yet bumpy attention I’m about to give it.”
He knew her thoughts, knew precisely what she’d had in mind—to titillate herself while he watched her squirm. Damon knelt between her knees, holding the pearls taut between his hands. He positioned the strand lengthwise along her belly with the bottom pearl at the top of her slit, watching her reaction…holding his breath along with her as he began the slow, delicious torture she begged him for with her wide, violet eyes.
One pearl, two…Sofia fought the urge to convulse with the smooth, cool sensation of the beads abrading her sensitive flesh.
Three pearls, four…spanning her slit tightly enough that she felt Damon’s pulse as he pressed them into her moist crevice.
Five pearls, six…She shut her eyes against a little flash of light inside, and when Damon’s thumb rotated the beads around that pearl he’d inflamed just by mentioning it, Sofia’s breath rushed out in a wild cry. “Damon! Don’t—I have to have you inside me—”
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