Tessa Dare

by Surrender of a Siren

  Christ.

  He ran both hands through his hair, pushing it off his brow, then took the cleaver from Levi. “Put in the boat. Raise the call to abandon ship.” A hunk of charred yardarm dropped to the deck at his feet, forcing him to step back. “And be quick about it.”

  The men hurried to lower the jolly boat from the ship’s stern, leaving Gray to stare up at the burning mainmast. The mast danced with flame like a giant candlewick. He made a fist and punched the stubborn column of wood, earning nothing but scraped knuckles and searing pain for his trouble.

  “Fall, damn you.” He leaned his shoulder against the mast and pushed, though he knew it a futile effort. Teeth gritted and heels dug into the grooves of the deck, he shoved again. “Fall.”

  Nothing.

  An unfamiliar seaman’s voice rasped through the gale. “Abandon ship! All hands, abandon ship! To the boat!”

  A handful of sailors struggled up through the forecastle hatch, lurching their way toward the stern. If the men noticed a bearded madman attempting to topple the mainmast with his bare hands, they did not pause to spare him a second glance.

  “Stop that bloody shouting!”

  The surly, languid curse drew Gray’s attention toward the stern. He watched as a lanky man in a black, brass-buttoned coat staggered out from the captain’s cabin, rubbing his bleary face. Slack-jawed and blinking, he wore an expression that was one part bewilderment, two parts liquor.

  The captain looked up at the encroaching flames and scowled. “What the devil—?”

  Gray shook his head. Had the man slept through the whole damned ordeal? He’d lost at least two crewmen and his ship was poised to become an inferno, and this excuse for a commander had the idiocy to curse the alarm that roused him from his stupor?

  The deck lurched, and the drunken captain grabbed a pin for support. With the next roll of the ship, he vomited wildly on his own boots.

  Gray took two strides toward the helm and cupped his hands around his mouth. “O’Shea!”

  The Irishman caught his gaze across the ship’s wheel.

  Gray indicated the retching officer. “Get him to the boat. And stay there yourself. Tell Levi to start pulling away. Now.”

  “What about you, Gray?”

  “I’ll swim out to you. Now go!”

  “Aye, aye.” O’Shea yanked on the captain’s coat sleeve, practically carrying him toward the boat. They both disappeared over the ship’s rail, and Gray watched the ropes securing the jolly boat reel out and then go slack.

  They were away.

  Gray sagged against the mainmast, feeling the flames above him singe his hair. He was going to die here, alone, leaving nothing to mark his time on this earth but a string of dashed expectations and broken promises. His legacy would fade faster than the wake of a porpoise.

  Something popped overhead, and sparks showered down around him. Ducking, Gray buried his face against his arm. Perhaps, he thought, he could swim for it. There were injured men in the hold—how many? Four? Five? No way to save them now. But he could save himself. He could swim back to her. He’d swim miles to her, if that’s what it took.

  But could he live with himself afterward, knowing he’d abandoned five men to an agonizing death while he swam to safety?

  An image of her loveliness bloomed behind his eyelids.

  Gray decided maybe he could.

  Sliding his back down the mast, he sank to the deck and wrestled to remove his boots.

  The flames had reached the standing rigging now. Above him, the tar sizzled and popped on the surfaces of the ropes, dripping to the deck like a black, sulfurous rain. His first taste of hell? The heat of the flames washed over him.

  And then a familiar voice froze the very blood in his veins.

  “What now, Captain?”

  It couldn’t be. Gray’s head snapped up, and a curse tainted his rough exhalation. It was. Davy. “What the hell are you still doing here? You were supposed to leave with the boat!”

  The boy shrugged. “I didn’t. Thought you needed me.”

  Gray squeezed his eyes shut and let his booted foot fall to the deck. “Davy, I don’t suppose you can swim?”

  “No, Captain.”

  Gray swore again. He kicked the mast. Punched it. Stepped back, lowered his shoulder and rammed it with all his strength, all the while releasing a vicious stream of profanity.

  Davy tilted his head and scratched his neck. “Don’t think that’s working.”

  “You’re bloody right, it’s not working,” Gray shouted at him. “We’re going to die, do you realize that?”

  “Is there no other way to take a mast down?”

  “I’ve taken dozens of masts down. But from my own damn ship, with the …” As Gray’s voice trailed off, hope sparked in his chest. The idea was pure madness. But better mad than dead. He wheeled to face the bow, a prayer caught in his throat as his eyes swept the deck. Finally, his gaze locked on the object he sought.

  A six-pounder cannon, hunched low by the rail.

  He strode toward it, the boy hurrying to follow. “Davy, do you know how to fire a cannon?”

  “No, Captain.”

  After cutting the ropes with his knife, Gray swung the cannon one hundred and eighty degrees and shoved it to the center of the quarterdeck. “You’re going to learn. Put your thumb here”—he indicated the vent hole at the top, and waited until Davy complied—“and don’t remove it until I tell you to.”

  Gray retrieved the keg Davy had dropped earlier and broke it open with his knife, pouring a good third of its contents into the cannon. No time to measure out the charge. Better to err on the side of excess.

  Now for the cannonballs. “We’ll use a double shot,” he explained to Davy. “We’ll only get one try at this.” Gray reached for the row of shot stored in the bulwark, only to snatch his hand back. The bloody things were still scorching to the touch. And worse. His heart sank as he gave the row an experimental kick.

  The damned things were fused together. A caterpillar of iron.

  Every profane word Gray had ever heard, read, uttered, or invented spewed forth from his mouth. Don’t panic, he told himself, when Davy blanched. Anything can go in a cannon. Anything metal, and preferably round.

  The gale howled through the sails, now lacy with flame. The ship gave a sudden lurch; the deck tipped. And the smoking remnants of the ship’s bell rolled to rest at Gray’s feet, like the answer to a prayer.

  Using the cuffs of his shirt to buffer the heat, he threw the lump of metal into the cannon’s mouth.

  Gray gestured for Davy to remove his thumb. “Now, we need a fuse … and a spark.”

  “No shortage of those.” Davy’s straight-faced quip gave Gray a sudden surge of determination. He was not going to let this boy die. Crewmen with his good humor and courage were beastly hard to find. Crouching behind the cannon, he aligned the sights with the base of the mainmast, just below the spreading flames.

  If he missed—or even if he hit his mark—this single shot could have the entire ship exploding into flame and ash. It was a desperate risk, for a desperate situation.

  “Stand clear, to the side,” he ordered Davy. “And cover your ears.” Gray scrambled to pluck a glowing sliver of wood from the deck. He touched it to the fuse, clapped his hands over his ears, and ducked.

  Boom.

  The shot ripped from the cannon’s barrel. A cloud of smoke and powder instantly engulfed them. Splinters of wood showered them, some piercing straight through Gray’s shirt and lodging in his flesh. Blinded, deafened, choked, and gagged—Gray simply waited for one of his senses to return and let him know whether or not he’d survived.

  The powder slowly cleared, and through the dissipating cloud, Gray saw the mainmast. Blasted on one side, but still standing. Still afire. Burning brighter still.

  Gray jumped to his feet. “Fall, damn you.”

  The wind accelerated, and an eerie creaking sound pierced the air. Slowly, drunkenly, the mainmast splintered a
t its base and made an ungainly dive into the sea, severed rigging slithering behind it like eels.

  “Jesus Christ.” Gray slumped back to his knees.

  And then—as if God Himself had heard him and decided to drown his blasphemous soul and be done with it—the skies opened up and vomited rain.

  Stinging sheets of water scoured the deck, pelting them as they huddled by the cannon. For long moments the two of them crouched there, soaking up water like sponges. Gray’s limbs were heavy with shock.

  At last, Davy sputtered and shook himself like a wet dog, adding a horizontal spray of water to the vertical deluge. “Thank God.” His boyish grin broke the ice encasing Gray’s own reaction.

  He laughed. What else could he do? He ought to have died. He was going to live. It was either laugh or weep, and he was already soaked with enough water to float a barrel.

  “Don’t relax yet. We’re not done.” He put a hand under Davy’s arm and hauled the boy to his feet. “Find any able-bodied men still aboard and form a work chain. The ship’s not out of danger yet. A slow fire might have sparked anywhere in her frame. We have to bring up that rum from the hold and dump it overboard. Then we’ll see to the injured.”

  Davy paused as they moved toward the hatch. “If we’re throwing the rum overboard … Can we at least drink some first? I could do with a swallow.”

  Gray laughed. “So could I.”

  Some time later, Gray swung his shaky legs over the rail of the Aphrodite.

  Joss hurried to his side. “Any dead?”

  “Two. And three more gravely wounded.” Gray raked his wet hair away from his face. “Best to send the longboat for them. There doesn’t seem to be any fire in the hold, but you know as well as I do it’s too soon to tell. These things are known to flare up hours later. We’ve emptied it of anything incendiary, just to be safe.”

  Joss looked up at the sky. “Well, with this downpour, it seems less likely.”

  “Aye.” Exhausted, Gray leaned against the rigging and wiped his brow with his forearm. “Everyone all right here?” He tried to keep his voice steady.

  Joss nodded. “She’s in my cabin, Gray. I think you’d better go to her.”

  “I don’t think she’d want that.” After the way he’d deserted her earlier, he assumed she’d be just as happy never to see him again.

  “She’s been sick with worry, Gray. I had to order her to go below. Even then, she’d only heed my cautions long after the rain doused the blaze. She’ll be relieved to see you’re well.”

  “She’s just anxious for young Davy.” Still, he couldn’t douse the spark of hope that kindled in his chest. And he couldn’t stay away. Giving Joss an affectionate punch on the arm, he climbed the stairs to the helm and opened the hatch.

  Slowly, he descended into the murky cabin. Although it was still daytime, the storm clouds banked most of the sun’s rays. Gray blinked, scanning the shadows. Then he saw her, silhouetted against the windows at the stern.

  “Gray?”

  He nodded. Then, realizing she probably couldn’t discern the gesture in the dark, he cleared his throat and forced out, “It’s me.”

  “Are you … are you well?”

  “Yes.” His eyes began to adjust to the dimness, and he could just make out the soft slope of her shoulder, her arms crossed over her belly. Her hair was loose, falling to her waist in heavy waves.

  “Levi and O’Shea?” she asked, her voice tremulous. “Davy?”

  “They’re safe, too. The fire’s out. It’s all over.”

  She said nothing. Gray stood quietly for a moment, shifting his weight. Go to her, a voice inside him urged. Take her in your arms. Beg her forgiveness. Say something; promise her anything.

  God, what a coward he was. In truth, he’d been only too eager to board a burning ship and risk his life that afternoon. Because it was easier to walk through fire than to face this little governess, and the tempest of emotion she stirred in his heart.

  The silence mocked him. He was on the verge of taking his leave when suddenly she ran to him, flinging her arms around his neck.

  “Oh, Gray. I was so frightened. But I just knew you’d come back to me. You had to come back to me.”

  “Of course I did.” Gray stood shocked and immobile as she clutched his neck, sobbing noisily against his shoulder. His hands dangled uselessly at his sides.

  “Gray,” she cried again and again. “Thank God you’re safe.”

  Her affection overwhelmed him, as did her softness, her tears. Even after all he’d said to her, after all he’d done—she still gave a damn whether he lived or died. It was humbling. Incomprehensible. Wonderful. If he’d known this would be his reward, he would have fallen overboard weeks ago.

  Finally, he drew a deep breath and wrapped his arms about her, clutching her tightly to his chest. “Shhh, sweet.” With a trembling hand, he stroked her hair. The damp locks slid through his fingers like ribbons. “Don’t cry. Everything’s fine. It’s all over now.”

  She sniffed and raised her face to his. He was still murmuring assurances and stroking her hair, and the sight of that perfect face tilted inches from his—it caught him completely unprepared. Her beauty hit him like a lightning bolt.

  Her hands skimmed up his neck, tugging his face down to hers. Gray closed his eyes as she brushed a warm, feather-light kiss against his jaw. Another landed on his neck. Then the corner of his mouth. She pressed her cheek to his, and he felt her hot tears mingle with the cold rivulets of rain.

  His heart squeezed. After the callous way he’d treated her, for her to hold him like this and kiss him so tenderly—it was the truest act of bravery Gray had ever seen. She was offering up her heart, fully expecting him to break it. And selfish bastard that he was, Gray had lost any will to push her away.

  Maybe … just maybe, he didn’t need to. He’d just boarded a ship, sprung its mast, destroyed its cargo—the same actions he’d performed time and again in the past, out of greed. But this time, he’d done them for different reasons entirely. Not to take, but to protect.

  Just as he’d taken many—too many—women in his arms before, with only the most dishonorable of intentions. But this was different. So different. If he could seize a ship with honor … perhaps he could do this with honor, too. Not to take, but to protect. To cherish. To love.

  She sobbed against his cheek again, and he pulled back. “Hush, love,” he whispered, smoothing her hair behind her ear. He cupped her face in his hands and lowered his lips to hers in a gentle kiss. “It’s all over now.”

  And it was. It was all over now. The fire was out, and the men were alive. And she was here in his arms, where she fit like she was fashioned for his embrace. Weeks of frustrated longing were finally at an end. Years of emptiness, too. It was all over now.

  And Gray … Gray was finished. Done for. Completely and hopelessly lost in the softest, most tender embrace he’d ever known. He held her face in his hands, brushing light kisses over her lips. Kissing her slowly, carefully, as though he were only just learning about kissing—because he was. Not learning how to kiss, but learning why to kiss. Not in persuasion, not as a prelude to further liberties. Simply to discover the taste of her, delicate and fresh and exquisitely sweet. To tell her things he didn’t dare express in words. To tell her things he had no words to express. He kissed her for no greater pleasure than to kiss, because at that moment, kissing her felt like the greatest pleasure imaginable.

  He pressed his lips to her cheeks, her brow, her eyelids, her hair, interspersing his kisses with little endearments in every language he knew. Then, eyes closed, he rested his forehead against hers and waited. Leaving the choice to her.

  With a little sigh, she melted in his arms, pressing the length of her body to his. Her breasts rubbed against his chest, deliciously warm and soft. Desire blazed through him. And suddenly, Gray was right back in the middle of an inferno.

  She popped up on her toes, pressing her lips to his with a fierce urgency. An urgency he shared.
The desperate energy that had fueled his race against the flames still ricocheted through his body. Gray felt it humming in his bones and pounding in his blood. And now he poured it all into kissing this woman, lashing his arms around her and lifting her body against his. Crushing her soft belly against his growing arousal.

  Her lips parted beneath his, and he eagerly accepted the invitation. Their tongues tangled, tasted, teased, each of them giving and taking in return. Finally Gray broke away, sliding one hand down to cup her bottom as her fingers twined tightly into his hair.

  “I’m so sorry,” he said between kisses. “For what I said that night. For leaving you earlier. I never meant—”

  “I know,” she whispered, wrapping a leg over his hip and shinnying up his body. Her lips grazed his ear. “I know. Just don’t leave me again.”

  “Never.” The word burst out like an oath or a prayer, and God help him, he meant it. “Never,” he repeated, looking straight in her glimmering eyes. Then he sealed the vow with a kiss, deep and desperate and true. “Oh, God,” he groaned when their lips finally parted.

  She kissed him again, working her warm, slender fingers under the collar of his shirt to stroke the chilled flesh of his shoulders and back. He buried his face in her neck, inhaling the beautiful scent of her. He’d forgotten how roses smell sweetest after a rain. Trailing light kisses down to her collarbone, he began carrying her toward the bed.

  “Make love to me, Gray.”

  She didn’t need to ask it. They both knew what was going to happen. But Gray felt the significance of her words. He might have bedded ladies and whores the world over, but for the first time in his life, he was going to make love to a woman. And not just a woman. His woman.

  And this idea that should have been so unthinkable, so frightening—to his surprise, Gray found it wildly arousing. They tumbled together onto the narrow bed, and she began pulling his shirt free of his trousers. He rose up on his knees and impatiently yanked it over his head.

  He peered at her frock in the darkness.

  Bloody hell. Stripes.

  Gray started to roll her over, looking for laces or hooks or some other ridiculous device contrived by the devil to thwart men.