Hart's Desire (Pirates & Petticoats Book 1)

by Chloe Flowers

  But who will protect me from you?

  Landon’s eyes were now a darker blue-gray like a turbulent sea. “Your virtue will remain intact while you are under my protection. You have my word, as a gentleman.”

  “Gentleman? Do you even understand the definition?” she asked, unable to break his gaze. Captain Landon Hart’s mere presence was dangerous. Reason and logic seemed to disappear faster than Ruth’s pecan pie when he was around her.

  He nudged his horse along and within a few minutes, they stopped next to a cabin. One corner of the roof was missing, giving Keelan cause to wonder how many creatures their entrance would disturb. The front door hung askew by the bottom hinge, and both windows lacked shutters for protection.

  She peered through the rain and hail and raised her voice above the wind. “I don’t see how this feeble structure will protect us.”

  Landon dismounted. He placed his hands on her waist and lifted her down.

  “This one has a cellar.” He gestured to the entrance near the side of the cabin. He turned to remove the saddle and pack, speaking over his shoulder. “We’ll be safe there.” He placed the saddle on the ground, then reached up and grasped the blanket.

  Keelan opened her mouth to argue, but a wave of dizziness crashed over her, cutting off her retort. A loud roar filled her ears and her world began to swirl and dip crazily. Flashes of sensation hovered near the fringes of her consciousness, a numbing wave seeping into her skin, darkening her vision, then the jarring impact of the rain-soaked earth.

  Landon’s scent, mingled with leather and fresh lake water, awakened her. His eyes sparkled with unbridled humor; white teeth grinned at her from the lake bank. Although a distance from her, it filled her head as if he was only inches away.

  She awoke in the semi-darkness. Confused, she searched for a familiar sight. It took her a moment to remember she was in a cellar below the main floor of the cabin.

  On the dirt floor, a small fire crackled merrily nearby, the smoke escaping through a large hole in the ceiling. Only about half the floor above remained intact; the rest was gone. It was unlike any cellar she’d ever seen. The dark gaping maw of a large hearth loomed in the shadows above, standing quiet and cold at the far end of the room on the main floor. Cobwebs coated the ceiling rafters far above, obscuring the shaggy remnants of several abandoned nests tucked in the corner eaves. Her surroundings smelled of neglect, mice, and damp dirt. There were steps built into the side of the wall at the far end of the room, leading up to a small hinged door, which appeared to open to the right of the hearth. The cellar appeared to be oddly larger than the cabin itself.

  A small alcove was on her right. She couldn’t see into it, so she wasn’t sure how far into the darkness it went. It was probably another storage area.

  The shanty appeared deserted, still she had an uneasy feeling she was intruding. There were remnants of old burlap bags stuffed with straw and a basket of turnips and potatoes, along with a couple of well-used blankets, as if the occupants had tried to live in the root cellar, rather than up in the old cabin.

  She had been resting on a saddle blanket; Captain Hart’s coat had been rolled into a makeshift pillow and placed beneath her head. She lifted it to her nose and inhaled. The scent from her dream… Glancing about, she spied his saddle leaning against the far wall.

  Keelan’s skin crawled at the sound of the angry wind lunging and clawing at the tiny structure, causing the frail structure to shudder and groan against such a vicious onslaught. A loud thunder clap made her jump, and she glanced up toward the open windows. The rain fell harder and blew through them to the floor nearby. How long would the already dilapidated shanty last?

  The angry slapping of the crippled front door, with its single hinge, couldn’t drown out the hailstones clattering on the porch and against the clapboards. She barely heard the clip of boots over the whistling gusts of wind and pelting barrage outside. The hinged door in the ceiling opened and Landon stepped down the cellar ladder, and closed the hatch behind him, his pack slung over his shoulder. He deposited it near the saddle and glanced about, as she had done a few moments earlier.

  With every movement of his shoulders, muscles rippled beneath the dripping shirt. The confident set of his jaw and the fluid movement of his stride added to that now familiar air of authority which seemed to surge toward him, envelop him, radiate from him. He was used to leading men, and it was obvious he was comfortable with the role that went hand in hand with such a position.

  He began to step closer, but stopped when he saw she’d awakened. “How are you feeling?” He seemed oblivious to the fact his own shoulders were soaked and water still streamed down his face and neck.

  Caught staring, she could only give the captain a feeble smile. She brushed her hand across her brow in a vain effort to wipe away the cobwebs from her mind before she mumbled thickly, “A bit muddled.”

  Landon picked up his pack, and moved to kneel beside her. He loosened the straps and withdrew a couple of bundles and a flask.

  He removed a cloth wrapping, revealing a loaf of crusty bread. Using the same cloth, he wiped the water from his face and hands. “When did you last eat?”

  Keelan couldn’t quite remember. She had meant to grab one of Ruth’s muffins at dawn, prior to training with Daniel, but in her haste, forgot. She missed breakfast. Of course, after Everett’s proposal, she’d lost her appetite for lunch and soon after went for a ride.

  “Last eve,” she said.

  “Keelan.” He eyed her sternly. “Going without water or food in this heat can be taxing. Add to it the shock you’ve had, and it’s no wonder you’re faint.”

  She bristled at his chastisement. She was not some weak maid who swooned at every turn of events. Although, it had become obvious she had less control of her actions and decisions when this handsome captain was near, which added to her frustrations of course, so her next words came out a little harsher than she intended. “It’s not as taxing as fighting off your roguish advances.”

  Hart eyed her with raised brows. “That remains to be seen, my sweet Keelan.”

  Landon gestured to the flask and bread he had removed from his saddlebags. “There is more than enough here for two.” He had a mischievous gleam in his eyes. “However, the rules of the high seas demand you earn your share.”

  Keelan pushed herself upright and tossed her storm-combed hair behind her. If this arrogant captain expected she would “earn” her share, as would a doxy from the docks, then he had a lot to learn about the daughter of Commodore George Grey.

  “I will not be manipulated.” She raised her chin a notch. “If you think I might serve you favors in exchange for a crust of bread then your senses have taken flight. I would choose to starve rather than bend to any more of your prurient whims.”

  He cocked a quizzical brow. “Aye.” He nodded. “I believe you would.” With a dramatic flourish, gave her an exaggerated, albeit seated, bow. “I humbly beg your forgiveness, my lady. I only seek to barter for pleasantries. I resolve to halve my share with you in exchange only for warm conversation and your beauteous presence.” He placed his hand over his heart. “Put away your barbed tongue for the rest of the day, and I shall gleefully starve myself instead.”

  As hard as she tried, it was too difficult to maintain the wall of ice she had conjured. She couldn’t keep from smiling; still, she gave him a wary look before responding in kind, “Dear sir, your price is too steep, for I can think of no other way a lady can fend off your rakish tendencies, unless you pledge your protection in addition to the treasures you would share.” She pretended to examine her nails. “I shall demand protection from all rogues, including and most especially…you.”

  He dipped his head and chuckled. The firelight gleamed off his dark hair, still wet from the rain. “The bargain you demand is a rigid one, my lady. However, I pledge to you my fealty. I shall fight for your love and honor until death removes me from your sublime presence.”

  Keelan feigned a tight-li
pped smile, while patting the space beside her makeshift pallet. “Come then sir, and sit, for my throat is parched and my stomach rumbles louder than the storm outside.” She’d never conversed in private so casually with a man before, and found it oddly pleasant. Had her parents shared a similar relationship, where they talked and teased each other when they were alone?

  Somehow, she didn’t think so.

  Landon sat near her and reached for the flask. He broke the seal and handed it to her, “Sip this slowly,” he warned. “It’s water heavily laced with rum.”

  Heeding his advice, she sipped cautiously from the flask. She could taste the rum and guessed the water was from the ship’s supply, where they mixed rum with it to keep it drinkable while at sea.

  The captain unwrapped a round of wax-coated cheese and several strange fried rolls. He handed one of them to her and smiled at her curiosity. “Marcel, the ship’s cook, learned to make these while we were trading in the Orient.”

  She took a bite. “It’s delicious,” she said gratefully, taking another bite. “Ruth makes something similar. She calls it a fried pie.”

  Landon broke off two chunks of bread, and used his knife to cut into the cheese. The fire cast quick, sprite-like shadows, which flickered and danced on the walls. Late afternoon had fallen, but the storm had darkened the day to a strange, blue-green hue of dusk. They shared the small corner of the cellar, seeking comfort in whatever small amount of protection it provided. As they sated their hunger, the storm continued to rage outside.

  He cocked his head and listened. “It’s gaining strength. ‘Tis good we found shelter when we did.”

  She eyed him, curious. “How is it you know so much of storms?”

  “Over the years, I have sailed around many and through even more. Although we map our routes and time our trips to avoid the worst tempests when we can, one cannot often second-guess the elements.”

  Keelan picked up the flask and reclined against the rough cellar wall before taking a sip. “You must enjoy the sea very much to spend so many years upon the water.”

  Landon shrugged. “I’ve made my fortune crossing oceans and have seen many strange and amazing sights.” He smiled. “Although, none can compare to the vision of beauty I witnessed today.”

  A blush crept up her neck. “You are a blackguard to continue to embarrass me so. Should I one day hear tales of you becoming a pirate, or a privateer, scouring the high seas for weak merchant ships to plunder, I would have no trouble believing it.” She took another careful sip from the flask and eyed him warily, determined to shave a layer or two off his own fattened opinion of himself, bargain or no bargain. Captain Hart certainly was not a gentleman and that particular character defect was certain to cause trouble for her.

  “Slaney says men of the sea have women in every port and isle. How many maidens have you tarnished in your conquests?”

  Landon Hart threw back his head and laughed. The genuine sound was contagious, and this time she laughed softly along with him. Amusement lingered in the corners of his eyes for a moment, then he sobered and leaned toward her.

  Her amusement faded as she pressed her shoulders against the wall in a vain attempt to keep a fair distance between them. Landon’s eyes glittered dangerously and she squirmed, now a bit unsure of her choice of topics.

  When he spoke, his voice was low and smoky. “If I became a pirate, my lady, you would be in dire need of a champion. I’d deem you a most valuable conquest indeed, and wouldn’t wait long before claiming you as my own.”

  Keelan swallowed. This maddening talent he had, turning her words to his advantage, vexed her, spurring her to attempt to deflate his ego to a more manageable level.

  She plunged stubbornly on. “You must have no desire to take a wife or start a family, or surely you would have done so. How long do you stay in a port? A few weeks? That’s not nearly enough time to court a prospective bride. I can only conclude, you have no wish for a family of your own.”

  Landon leaned back to recline against the adjacent wall, rested a hand over his bent knee, and finished chewing his fried roll before responding. “Aye. ’Tis true in part. I don’t normally stay for long when I run the trade routes.” His gaze locked with hers. “While I would treasure being part of a family, marriage does not suit me.” He broke her gaze and stared at the fire.

  How would he know unless he tried it? It dawned on her. “You’ve been married before,” she observed. Curiously, he must have tried to keep a life on land while maintaining his life on the water. But like any man of the sea, the temptations are too many. The ability to stray with no repercussions had to be difficult to resist. No marriage can weather the battering of that kind of storm.

  “Aye,” he whispered to the flames. “I was married, once.”

  “And?” she prompted. For some twisted reason, she wanted him to prove her right and say it was too hard to remain faithful, that the sea would be his only love.

  “She died in childbirth,” he stated numbly. “While I was away.”

  His words jarred her as if she’d been hit in the stomach. This wasn’t what she expected to hear. A dark cloud of guilt settled on her shoulders for assuming his marriage failed because he lacked fidelity.

  Landon reached over and tossed a broken clapboard on the fire. “But, you are correct,” he mused. “Courting a worthy bride cannot be accomplished in the span of the few weeks I’m in port.” Leaning forward again, he traced a finger along her jaw, turning her face toward his before lowering his voice to a husky whisper. “However, I must admit, my sweet Keelan, your beauty, your wit, your courage…has given me pause to consider making the time.”

  Keelan tore her gaze from his and busied herself, cutting another small slice of cheese, annoyed she was once again flustered by his words, so much so, her hands were shaking. She wished she could attribute it to the lack of food and the recent terror she experienced. She must look as wobbly as a new foal. Even the knife became an awkward tool, and she fumbled with it.

  Landon gently removed the rebellious utensil from her fingers. He cut a chunk of the cheese and impaled it upon the tip of his blade. He passed it to her, and she plucked the cheese from the knife while giving him a small, embarrassed nod of thanks.

  Landon’s damp, black curls fell forward around his face, giving him a roguish countenance, and she wanted to reach over and brush them away. She occupied her fingers by wrapping them in her skirt. What was it about this man that drew her to him? Why would her body continue to defy her common sense so foolishly?

  He’d been married before; he should know that a marriage requires more than beauty and wit. She managed to jerk her head away, breaking eye contact. “Beauty doesn’t make a marriage. Nor do riches or passion. I will marry only for love or not marry at all.”

  She passed the flask back to Landon. “I witnessed what my father’s absences did to my mother. I’ll not live in another lonely house.” She leaned her head back against the wall and stared at the web-thatched ceiling far above them. “I’d rather stay unmarried and open a shop in Charleston where I could sell all kinds of exotic fabrics, spices, and goods from across the ocean. I could never be lonely doing that.”

  She flicked the back of her hand at him, as if swatting a swarm of gnats. “And no matter how handsome or silk-tongued he is, I would never be able to love a man who comes home to port for a few weeks time, only to get me fat-bellied with child, then leave me alone for months.” She bit her tongue. Again, she spoke without considering her words. Is that what happened to his wife? “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be so forthright. It wasn’t my intention to insult,” she murmured.

  A gentle finger on her chin guided her gaze back up to his. A curious light shone in his eyes. The humor had left, and in its place was a smoldering blue fire glittering with a mesmerizing luminosity. The intensity of his stare made her lungs still. He leaned forward until his face was inches from hers.

  “Any man who would leave you alone for even an hour would be a f
ool.”

  Landon lowered his lips toward hers and her heart pounded loudly in her chest and her head and her stomach. In fact, it shook her entire body. Her mind screamed for her to retreat, but she wanted the touch of his lips against hers again and the warmth of his strong arms pulling her closer.

  A blinding light flashed through the cozy interior. It was joined instantly by a loud blast of thunder. At the next flash of lightning and peal of thunder, she gratefully buried her face in his neck. She was again pummeled by the delicious scent from her dream. She inhaled deeply, grateful she was reclining or else her legs would have surely given out. She no longer cared what she should or shouldn’t do. She was under a spell or in a dream, where her actions and desires couldn’t affect reality.

  Landon studied the woman who had stirred his interest so strongly and his passions so wildly. She was like a sprite flitting and dancing beneath the wide, waxy leaves of a magnolia tree; some moments still and pensive, others quick and carefree. He thought he’d discovered the real Keelan earlier at the lake, but now he wasn’t as sure. Was she the boyish imp sparring so bravely? Was she the stunning, yet haughty maiden ready to dash his heart into the fire? Or the beautiful fire-haired water nymph who drew him to her like a fish on a string? The mystery only stoked his curiosity, making him even more determined to solve it. For reasons he couldn’t fathom, he had a strong desire to be with her, beyond just to kiss and make love to her. He wanted to listen to her talk and laugh; he wanted to protect her and see her safe. He wanted to know what she was thinking. And he wanted to taste the skin on her stomach, run his fingers over her ribs, and down over her hip and stroke the soft skin of her inner thigh.

  She was studying him. In the twilight of the storm-darkened afternoon, her eyes glowed a jeweled green. It was like looking into the untamed gaze of a dragon, shimmering with fire and energy, ready to erupt into heat and flame. His desire to kiss her was urged on by an unexplained passion to capture without conquering, to yield without surrendering, and to protect without imprisoning.