His gaze drifted from the silk draped in lush folds like a shawl about her bare shoulders to the swells of her breasts brimming the delicate fabric. The lass was asking to be ravished.
"Sweet Christ, Tess. I'd no idea 'twas so revealing," he whispered close to her ear as she stepped onto the deck.
"I know." She fought the urge to tug at the low cut bodice. "Just compare this to my bikini, and you'll be fine," she replied in a husky tone, and he groaned, winding her arm through his.
"The woman has come two hundred years to prove me naught but a rutting beast in her presence," he murmured lowly, his gaze caught in hers.
"A rutting beast, eh? Care to elaborate?" She stole a quick look down his body, and those tight green pants left nothing to her imagination. "Or maybe demonstrate?"
His breath hissed through clenched teeth. "Woman, do you seek to torture me before my officers and crew?" His breeches tightened across his hips, and he shoved a hand in his pocket. She laughed, quiet and throaty, the sound snapping further at his control.
"You know, you didn't have to leave last night."
"Aye, 'twas necessary," he chided softly, failing to ignore the invitation in those smoky eyes; like last eve,
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when she was drowsy and playful, purring like a soft kitten, trying to entice him to join her on the coverlet. I should receive a bloody commendation for gallantry, he decided. "And I seem to recall a promise to yield to the ways of this century, Tess."
"Hey, I'm dressed for the part, aren't I?"
His grin was quick with approval. "Change naught but the clothing, love."
A little spark burst in her chest, and the soft squeeze on his arm kept him from taking another step. "I want to thank you, Dane. You've got great taste. The clothes—they're like a fairy tale. I've never worn anything so —"she spread the skirts sprinkled with glass beads—"breathtaking."
He turned fully, his smile revealing straight white teeth. " Tis time, then."
Tess's heart skipped a beat, then tumbled in her chest. Time. It hit her all over again where she was and with whom.
"A good morning to you, Lady Renfrew," Gaelen said with slight bow.
"Yeah, it is, Mr. Thorpe." Her skirts swished in the breeze and she thought she heard him moan. Dane fought a smile, and out of the corner of her eye she saw sailors removing crates through the forward hatch. "Is that more booty from one of your captured vessels, pirate lord?" She nodded toward the bow. Dane chuckled, catching the shocked look of his first officer. When Gaelan opened his mouth, the first mate felt the captain's silencing glare like a sabre's prick.
Gunfire cracked, and she jolted, bumping into Dane. His hands rested on her waist with a gentle weight, and he could feel her tense fear give release.
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Trust. She trusted him. He'd cherish the garnered honor close to his heart.
Shielding her eyes from the sun's glare, Tess watched as the Ttiton came swiftly about the windward side, moving so close alongside the Witch she thought they'd collide, but the meeting was smooth, graceful, like lovers*sweeping into a gentle dance. Ramsey was perched high on the mainmast rigging, swinging with the dip of the vessel, and Tess felt Dane's grip tighten.
They watched as Ramsey adjusted his footing, then pushed off the spar, sailing across the water at the end of a thick rope. He landed with vibrating thump on the deck a few feet before Tess.
He took in her attire from slippers to bared shoulders as he straightened.
"Morning, m'lady," he murmured with a quick bow, his eyes feasting on the delectable sight as he tugged at his cuff.
She nodded in response, her lips twitching. "You sure got a thing for grand entrances, don't you, O'Keefe?"
"The lady prefers something more subtle?"
"From you? You've got to be kidding." She laughed, and Ramsey was caught again by the stunning beauty of this woman.
Ram turned to Dane.
" 'Tis there," he said excitedly. "By God, man!" He smacked his fist into his palm. "Exactly where you predicted!"
"Whoa, wait a sec," Tess interrupted, wondering if she'd heard right. "What's there?"
Ram's gaze shifted briefly to Tess. "The island we've sought, m'lady," he replied as if she should know, then
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looked back to Dane. "Her port is small, yet her township is nothing like we imagined. The Barstow is moored in her harbor,'.' he added with a touch of rancor. "She's been repainted, but her figurehead is unmistakable."
"You mean you've been there?" she nearly shrieked, her temper boiling.
"Aye, from a distance, of course."
Petulantly she folded her arms over her middle. "When, O'Keefe? Exactly?"
He frowned. "Why, the morn after the squall, m'lady."
"What!" She rounded on Dane, hands on her hips, her body trembling with anger. "You—you sent the Triton ahead—!" Before he'd found the coin, flitted through her mind, and she nearly choked on what that meant.
Dane smoothed a thumb and forefinger over an imaginary moustache, trying to hide his smile as the fire suddenly fizzled out of her. Her features softened into a tender smile, and her eyes misted as she stepped closer, lightly resting her hand on his forearm.
Ramsey tensed, unable to tear his gaze from the delicate fingers smoothing over Dane's skin. "That was sneaky," he heard her say. "Just like a pirate."
Ram's head snapped up, his brows raised in astonishment. Surely the woman knew 'twas not the case? Yet Dane seemed to enjoy the insult, making Ramsey wonder what else he was keeping from the lady.
Dane had read her pamphlet that told of the history of the small island. For over one hundred years the small paradise had flourished as a haven for hardened criminals fleeing the law. A true pirate's lair, he
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thought, looking down at Tess.
But her attention was riveted somewhere beyond him. Dane followed the direction of her gaze.
Sailors reached into wooden crates, removed pistols and muskets, loading the weapons with quick, efficient steps. Tess stared, somewhat awed at what she saw. The crew was acting differently now, no unnecessary chatter, their movements practiced, professional.
She looked questioningly at Dane. "You aren't going to attack this puny island, storm the beaches, that sort of thing, are you?" Reality suddenly crashed in on her. What kind of future do I have with an outlaw? Then wondered why she was thinking along those lines to begin with.
Dane seemed to struggle with a decision, then burst with, " 'Tis not your concern."
Flame lit her silver-gray eyes. "Don't give me that crap again, Blackwell! 'Tis my concern, I deciphered those rudders." She poked his chest, "I told you where this island was, so don't go spouting that 'I am man, you are mere woman' crud. Are you going to attack?" She thumped his chest with every word.
Dane looked down at her. God, she was glorious in her rage. " Tis not my intention to —"his lips quivered—"storm the beaches, lass."
"Promise?"
"Aye," he answered without hesitation.
"Good," she harumphed, then moved toward the rail to watch the sailors. Dane turned to Ram, who was looking rather strangely at Tess.
"Make your arrival known, Ram," Dane said in a low tone. "Give the men leave into the town, yet little coin."
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He dragged his gaze back to the captain, then nodded agreement. Too many tankards lifted could cost them their lives. "Shall I hoist the Jolly Roger, sir?" Ram quipped dryly.
Dane's gaze shot to where Tess was conversing with Mr. Thorpe, then back to Ram. His lips twisted in a wry smile. "Though it seems to be your forte of late, O'Keefe, 'tis unnecessary to resort to such dramatics."
Ramsey took the barb with an easy grin. "The lass seems to enjoy them," he returned while plucking imaginary lint from his sleeve.
"Unlike the addlepated boobies you are accustomed to—"Dane chuckled quietly—"Lady Renfrew is wise to your ploys."
Only Ram's eyes
shifted. "I fail to recognize your purpose in deceiving her, Dane. Methinks you take your oath too far."
Dane stiffened. "The less knowledge of our mission she possesses, the safer she will be."
"You cannot mean to take her there? Sweet heaven, 'tis naught but home for murderers and thieves!"
Dane folded his arms over his chest, resting his weight on one leg. "I am well aware of the danger. What do you propose I do, leave her on the Witch?" Dane had no intention of letting her out of his sight.
"I will give you that," Ramsey said after a moment, his shoulders relaxing. He hated to think of her under the guard of mere seamen. "Shall I pay a visit to the governor?"
"If there is one, aye, he is suspect. As well as any authority. We've a duty to discover who is financing these attacks on our ships." Dane rubbed the back of his neck. "Fly no colors, Ram. 'Tis best we not show
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overmuch. We will weigh anchor on the eastern side with this night's tide."
For the next few moments they discussed their plan, sending the quartermaster ahead for accommodations, where to rendezvous, passwords, who would act as courier. Dane offered a map of the island, points marked in thin black ink. Ramsey frowned as he examined the thin striped paper, then stuffed it in his pocket, said his goodbyes to Tess, and made to depart.
"How will you explain her presence?" The words were laced with a challenge.
Dane's expression hardened. "Again you trod into matters that are none of your affair, O'Keefe." His voice was cool with quiet rage.
"Afraid she'll rebuke a proposal?" Ramsey's brow lifted with the question as he adjusted his grip on the rope, then not waiting for his answer, pushed off the rail.
Dane looked in her direction and knew she would. She'd made that clear. Did Tess value her freedom so dearly, he wondered, or did she not want the ties to this time? Dane realized he wanted her bound so tightly to him that she'd never want to go back. But with the woman's strong independence, he simply did not know how. For one wild instant Dane considered the pleasure of making love to her until she became with child, the joy over creating a life with this woman making his blood sing, before he cast the absurd notion aside. If she were not already from their first and only time, she would never forgive him for such a debase deception. And perhaps question his feelings toward her. Then he recalled she was a bastard or at least had no notion of her parentage, therefore she might not believe being
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pregnant and unwed a scandal. Not if her painful past was any indication of what the lass could endure. Sweet Neptune, but you-sound like a desperate fool! Naught will keep her here if her time wants her back, he realized sadly, his heart sinking to his boot heels.
Damn and blast!
A sailor suddenly lost his grip on a crate, and it hit the deck, wood splintering, its contents spilling. He heard her gasp of surprise and hastened his step as she lifted her skirts and descended the ladder.
Tess was already beside the sailor when Dane arrived. Dane's gaze moved to the box, to Tess, then to the seamen. His captain's look was damning. He'd recognized the crate's markings.
She stood motionless, then slowly lifted her gaze to Dane. "You lied to me," she whispered.
Pooled at her feet were the uniforms of the Continental Marines.
Tess pushed between the crewmen, heading for the cabin, Dane hot on her heels. She slammed the door behind her, nearly in his face. His shoulder hit against the oak, sending it banging against the wall.
"Woman!"
"In my father's office there was this print," she said, ignoring his anger. "It was entitled Changing to the Green." She whirled on him. "Continental Marines changing from red uniforms to green! What are you, Blackwell, Marine or pirate?"
He stared at her for a tense moment before he said,
"Both." "Boy, do you have some explaining to do." She
folded her arms over her middle. Dane sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. Why was
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he hesitating? Didn't he already trust her? Without another word, he moved to his desk and opened the bottom drawer, removing a box. Tess had seen it before, but it had been locked, or she would have snooped there, too. Dane flipped back the lid and lifted out papers sealed with wax. Breaking the imprint, he handed them to her. Tess unrolled the stiff parchment, her eyes widening until they absorbed her face. They were Letters of Marque, giving Dane the right to protect American interests as he saw fit. And it was signed by none other than George Washington. Her body trembled, her hands shaking with the impact of her discovery. The President wrote this himself. Why had she never heard of it?
"Why did you let me believe you were a pirate?" she asked, unable to tear her eyes from the letter.
" 'Twas not my right to tell."
"You're here for two reasons, aren't you?" She looked up, handing him the papers. "This — and to get the guy who killed Desiree."
Dane nodded, replacing the documents. "You must swear not to breathe a word of this."
"Like who am I going to tell?" she snapped, insulted.
Dane couldn't soften. "Your oath, Tess."
"I swear." She moved to him, winding her arms around his waist. "Semper Fi, me hearty, Semper Fi."
The pitch-black frigate rounded the tiny island, blending with the night. Her ebony sails at quarter, Dane quietly maneuvered his ship. No one on this section of the island would question the presence of the
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dark vessel. There were souls that wished the world would forget they had ever lived. Unable to sail the Witch any closer for the reefs, they let down a long boat on the seaward side of the frigate, coming under her bow. Tess sat in the stern of the rowboat as sailors dipped oars into the water with practiced rhythm. No one spoke. Dane sat behind her, steering the small craft. Water lapped at the hull, a small lantern offering the only light. She heard murmurs of wonder, Dun-can's soft chuckle, and the boat slowed as they slipped beneath the frigate's carved bow. Her brows furrowed, for each occupant was suddenly studying her with an odd fascination, then the ship. She followed the direction of the crewmen's gaze and gasped, a chill making goose flesh plump on her skin. The figurehead of the Sea Witch was visible in the moonlight. And Tess saw a reflection of herself draped in flowing black.
" 'Tis proof, love, you were destined to be here," Dane whispered into her ear. "With me."
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
A bawd in a torn, dirty dress sat on the scarred bar, bare legs dangling over the edge as she munched on a chicken leg. She lifted her ankles when a man slammed into the wood beneath her feet, then slid to the floor in a heap. She bent over, peering between her knees to assess the damage as another man staggered past. She shoved him back into the brawl with a hearty cheer, waving the poultry limb over her head.
A booted foot connected with Ram's stomach, and he buckled over with a loud groan, staggering backward, but not before catching his opponent's heel and toe, twisting it viciously, then planting a solid kick between the man's thighs.
"Now I'm assured of no other imbeciles to litter the
earth," Ram gasped, rubbing his stomach as he
straightened. *
The man writhed in agony on the dirt floor, clutching his groin with both hands, spewing curses on Ram's lineage to several species of swine as men toppled over chairs and benches and bodies. Ram fought to catch his breath, somewhat awed as one of his
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mates went flying through the smoke-filled air to land on a table laden with food. The impact split the table in half, and young Davey was sandwiched in the middle. Seconds later he sprang to his feet and threw himself into the fray, salad greens hanging from his shirt collar.
Ramsey spit into each of his palms, rubbed them together, then with an eager grin rejoined his comrades.
Dane burst through the tavern door already half off its hinges, then moaned, sagging against the frame.
"He's done it again, Duncan." Dane shook
his head.
"Aye, sir."
"I suppose we should come to his aid." Dane winced as Ram took one on the chin. "He doesn't seem to be faring very well this time." "It does appear to be the case, sir." Dane sighed, peeled off his coat, and handed it to McPete, then rolled up his sleeves.
"The lady will be most displeased, sir." "I did not hear that, Duncan," he tossed, grabbing a grimy sot off a Triton crewman by the shirt front, then planting his fist in his nose. Dane released the cloth, sucking on his knuckles as the man slithered to the floor in an unconscious lump. Tis been a while, he thought, then turned to the next degenerate.
Ram sailed over a broken bench, landing with a splintering crash at Dane's feet. Dane looked down, a hand on his hip.
"When I asked you to make yourself known, Ram, 'twas not in this particular manner." O'Keefe grinned, accepting the offered hand.
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"Bloody hell, man! 'Tis been this way since we set foot on the docks!"
A window shattered with the impact of a body plowing into it. The poor man hung over the sill like dirty laundry as the captains stood back to back, punching anything that came into their path.
"And I'm certain you did not enter this pesthole with your flags out?" Dane remarked sarcastically, then jabbed.
"You do me an injustice, old friend." Dane glared at him out of the corner of his eye. "Well, 'twas this red-headed wench with a magnificent—Ugh! Sweet Christ!" Ram winced when he heard his finger crack with the last blow. The smarting pain was inconsequential when a man the size of a house charged on them. The two captains separated, allowing the bull to speed past its matadors and crash headfirst into the wall. A woman shrieked, skittering out of the way, then hollered at the unconscious heap that he'd spilled her drink. She rifled his pockets for payment due.
"I swear you live by the needs of your prick, Ram. Did you, by chance, discover if there is at least any authority on this island?" Dane dealt with a young pup, retrieving a bottle from the bar and cracking it over his head. 'Would be unfair to dress his hide, he thought, dusting off his hands, then turning to Ram. Dane waited patiently for his friend to subdue his brawny opponent, then stepped in when it appeared Ram was about to lose a few teeth.
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