One of the ship’s crewman came to a screeching halt before her, sliding to a stop barely in time. She hadn’t seen him coming and at the vision of being run into, she stepped back, her own footing wanting to give. She reached for a railing or something to keep her from falling again, though this time straight on her bottom, and the only thing available was his arms. A gasp escaped her lips.
“Oh! For the Saints! ’Scuse me, missy!”
Shocked, she stood wide-eyed, taking in how he barely looked old enough to reach over the railing, not as a member of the crew. Her heart thudded widely after it skipped a beat when he virtually knocked her down. Still shaken, she could barely breath when he took off.
As if in a bad dream, she watched the scene before her unfold as if she’d walked into a tempest. The men, really boys, were not just doing chores but something more. Above her, the sails to the ship unfurled, catching the wind to drive her forward through the waves. Voices yelled back and forth as men climbed the rigging and others prepared below by clearing the decking. Stunned, she didn’t move except when another man repeated the first by almost running into her.
The second near mishap with one of the men was followed by another crash across deck, then another. It took a moment for it to register but her skin prickled and turned hotter than just from the sun and the warmth of the day. No, it was generated by the heat of the growing number of eyes that stared at her. Fear snaked down her spine, escalating as another thud followed by curses filled the air. Once she figured out she was the cause of their mishaps, she turned to retreat the way she came when she came abruptly to a halt from the man who appeared out of no where before her.
“What in the name of St. Peter are you doing out here!”
It was a statement that was a question, a vulgarity she did not deserve except the voice was deep, masculine and alluring. The captain…
One thing was for sure. Despite ruggedly handsome, he was mad. If nothing else, he glowed with authority and his presence made her insides burn with an attraction she couldn’t stop. She bit her bottom lip and refused to look away though there was fire in his eyes, one lit because of something she did? Her nostrils flared, inhaling the scent that was him, all male and untainted by the sweetness of the men she knew. That thought made her wonder, as she shivered before him, who were the men she knew?
“I stayed with that surgeon long enough. He has no training for the medical arts. In fact, he was…” She paused, her blood curdling at the memory of his filthy hands touching her.
“His primary station is to tend to my men, not cater to the ladies,” he snapped back. “But he has the manners to know better than let any woman of quality venture onto a deck alone.”
“How dare you imply I am not a lady of quality!”
He stepped closer, his shoulders tense, jaw tight. “So memory returns. Who are you?”
She frowned, aggravated beyond reason. “No, I still do not recall. But I do know that I am of station, one you should heed to.”
In a swift moment, he snorted, the hint of a grin on his lips but his hand clamped around her arm and spun her around. She winced as his fingers dug into her and knew she’d see the marks later. How dare he! She was about to lodge her complaint but the wind sucked the words out of her mouth as he led her across the decking, barking orders at his men who stood motionless, watching them.
Did he order them to prepare the guns?
What had she fallen into?
* * *
Trent steered her to his cabin, his mind racing. His men had stopped preparations when they spotted the girl standing on deck, most of them staring as if she was a siren, luring them to her. He had no choice but to scoop her away and stick her in his cabin, away from them and from the upcoming battle. He’d hoped Doc had kept her under his watch but the surgeon had sent word that she stopped his exam, accusing him of inept skills and stormed out, which he did not stop because he would not keep watch on an insulting, overbearing woman who thought to highly of herself, memory or not. Therefor, with a growl, Trent had to take matters into his own hands and that irritated him to no end. His mind sat to hunt and take his prize, not deal with a delicate lady who needed protection against his men, against the dangers of the upcoming battle and against him.
The last thought brought his rapid stride to a halt. Thankfully it was at the cabin door but still, where had that come from?
His abrupt stop caused her bump right into him. He felt every last inch of her against him—her breasts, even encumbered in stays and a bodice, her quivering belly, the soft and warm touch of her breath against his neck and the impact of her legs hitting the backs of his thighs sent a lightning bolt of fire spiraling down below his belt. It was the last thing he needed, to feel any compassion for her because that often turned to more and that he would not allow. But at the moment, he could only blame himself for her slamming into him. Damn!
With more force than necessary, he threw the door open and whirled her inside the cabin before him. The gasp that escaped her mouth at his fast maneuvering grated on him, recalling his mother’s schooling on how to respect the fairer sex. Well, this member of that class made herself part of his concern and that wasn’t good, considering this was a pirate ship.
She caught herself from falling as he released his grip once she was inside. With a quick spin on her heel, she faced him, her cheeks reddening and her eyes blazing.
“How dare you handle me as if I was no better than a lady of ill-repute! I am Lady…” Her angered tongue silenced. The look she had appeared as if the wheels of a windmill were spinning, trying to engage a mill to work on its power but it faded as her lips thinned. “I’m a noble lady, one to be given much respect…”
He snorted. “I’ve given you respect and more but let me clarify this for you.” He stepped closer to her, not sure why. Perhaps it was to bask in her beauty and inhale the fresh scent she wore like a skin, a touch of lavender so sweet it ate at his soul. He inhaled it, which only fueled the fire in his loins. “You’re not on a passenger ship. This is the type of vessel that the men either fear the bad luck you’d bring, being a woman, and the other set would rather take carnal knowledge. You will stay here. That is an order.”
She blinked in disbelief. He expected that.
“How dare you!” The words spilled from her mouth and instantly, he saw her retract, as if she realized she was not among an equal.
“You will do as I command. I have business here first, then we can discuss how to handle your affectation.”
Those beautiful golden brows furrowed. “What business?”
He didn’t answer. How could he? He needed his mission to remain unknown to her, for once he could return her to some port, she became a liability to this ship if she knew the truth.
Her gaze narrowed and her jaw tightened upon his pause. “What style of business? I heard words spoken by your men of guns and tightening the sails. Even though I may not fathom how sails are with this, guns are rather specific, wouldn’t you say?”
“You are quite outspoken for a fine lady.” He really had no time for this. “We are at war. Sailing requires guns to journey out of England, even for merchant ships.” That was a lie but one a woman at her station in the peerage wouldn’t have knowledge of. “There is a ship of unknown origins in our path. I will not risk losing my crew, nor my guest, nor my ship to the enemy. So,” he took another step closer to her, reaching for her arms to keep her still, “you will remain here. For your safety,” he added.
Confusion swirled in her gorgeous blue eyes. Perhaps she was a siren, one that held the beauty of Aphrodite and the countenance of a lady. Who was she?
The vision of the siren struggled in his grasp, her eyes widening with fear or mystery, he wasn’t sure. She opened her mouth but Trent, lured by, felt his control over the beast inside failed, and he pulled her to his chest. The flame ignited by touching her jolted him, awakening a passion he’d thought long dead. Instantly, his body tightened. Before he knew what he was doing,
his mouth sealed hers, kissing her deeply.
At that moment, he lost himself.
This Love Of Mine: Chapter Five
“George, what happened?” James stared at his carriage driver, biting back accusatory words and expletives for losing the woman he loved. He was exhausted, working with little sleep, without much food as he pushed himself harder to find Eleanor.
George hacked. Partially propped up on the bed, his battered body bandaged, his broken arm bound with wood slats, the man was barely able to look at him through his only open eye, the other badly swollen shut, black and bruised.
“We were attacked, near Brightiron. I think,” he sputtered and stopped. James picked up the cup of water and gently tipped it towards the servant’s lips. He took a sip and pulled back. “I think it was three highway men, my lord. That was all I could tell.”
“And Lady Eleanor?” He hung on a loose thread, hoping something would spill from the man but the George’s wife, who stood to the side, glared at James, warning him to stop. To hell with her! He needed more!
George frowned, his look puzzled. “My lord, they seemed more interested in taking her than stealing gems or anything of monetary value.”
With a huff of disgust, James paced, trying to prevent his hands from clenching. This was his trusted servant, not the enemy to strike. He refocused on Eleanor.
“Did they say anything at all that might strike a light? Like where would they take her or for whom? Any tracks of their departure the rains washed away.”
The injured man shook his head for a second. “No, sir. But their abduction of Lady Eleanor…” His voice faded as he made motions to his wife. With noticeable reluctance, his wife grabbed a stained coat off the table and brought it to him. George fumbled with the coat’s pocket and with an unsteady hand, withdrew a scrap of paper.
James snatched the piece and tipped it toward the firelight to see the faint writing on it.
“Dryer’s.” He frowned. The name didn’t hold much meaning. Was it the abductor’s? Where they planned to take her? He needed more. “Where the bloody-sakes is this?” he snapped at his servant and nearly bit his tongue, realizing he was yelling at an injured man.
“The wharf, my lord,” George answered, his voice shaky. “I’ve heard the name in regards to a warehouse of that name. My brother, Howard, works along the Thames, hauling cargo. He spoke of it in the past.”
For once, he had a piece of information that might lead to an end. Inside, his heart leapt with hope and started thudding with excitement. He wanted to race to the docks immediately, but the dusky skies outside hindered his enthusiasm. A plan. He needed to devise a plan and gather men. The docks, particularly at night, were not safe and if Eleanor was there, he must waste no time, but endangering her life without thought he could not do.
He glanced down at his servant. “Godspeed in your recovery, George. Her ladyship will require your services, upon her return.” He smiled and took off, rather pleased to have a positive outlook for once.
Now, the once dead-end turned to life and he wanted to sing. Eleanor, my love, I will see you soon!
* * *
The entire ship rattled and shook again, compounded by a loud, piercing explosion. She tightened her grip on around her knees as she squeezed into a ball on the floor near the bed. She’d tried sitting on the bed, in the chair, under the desk and in the corner only to feel every impact of the blasts against the ship reverberate through her bones. She’d shrieked at first, just out of shock and being scared out of her mind but she learned to control herself. Prayer would serve a better purpose and she began the Lord’s Prayer when another explosion slammed into the ship. She shut her eyes, reciting the prayer as she rocked back and forth.
The sounds of the men mixed with the gun blasts. A creak of wood resounded as well as the ship listing to one side. Frankly, she was shocked the ocean hadn’t invaded through the walls but she bit her tongue from voicing out loud that fear, for what if the fates turned their back to her and let the waves in.
The noise of the attack—though to be honest, she wasn’t sure who attacked who first—increased another note, as if the ships were side by side. Unable to contain herself, she leapt and ran to the porthole, taking a short glance outside. The minute she stood there told her more than she wanted and she wished she hadn’t gone.
The other ship flew the British Union Jack. She frowned. The captain had stated there was a war going on, one her addled brain couldn’t recall, but if the ship she was on was English, why would they attack another British ship?
Her curiosity peaked at that question and gave her the bravery to stand, despite the shaking of the floorboards and rattling of the walls. Tiny steps were all that was needed to cross the small cabin room to the door and bracing herself against the backside of it, she creaked it open just enough to peek out. She wasn’t ready for the scene before her.
Smoke filled the air despite the wind that worked furiously to dissipate it. The deck was wet with seawater and traces of blood. Barefooted sailors scurried across the deck, working to control the riggings, one of which had been severed by a cannonball, others working on the guns on the starboard side of the ship. The screams of the injured pierced the air, mixed with the yelling of commands. It was exciting and terrifying all at once, stirring her heart into a rapid beat that made the air thick to breath.
She glanced up the mast to the flag that whipped in the wind, fully expecting an Union Jack to be there, just like the other vessel, but what she saw took the rest of her breath away—a black flag. Pirates! Her heart even skipped a beat at the thought and she lowered her gaze to the high deck just beyond the mast and found Captain Cavendish there, looking glass in hand. She frowned. The idea of piracy didn’t make sense. He had the manners, though rusty, of a gentleman, having seen to her needs and welfare. His mastery of the English language equaled that of her peers, a thought that hinged at her memory though nothing more came. No, her mind was buzzing. He talked succinctly, she caught glimpses of the others that didn’t, though she’d guess sailing outside His Majesty’s Royal Navy didn’t attract the most educated men. He gave the airs of a gentleman. Pirates didn’t do that…or did they?
As another boom rattled the ship, she retreated to the corner of the room, sitting on the floor. Her mind was muddled and her head hurt, each explosion only intensified the pain in her temples. She pulled her knees up, cradling her legs close and lowered her head, fear slithering down her spine that she’d escaped those demons that hunted her only to now be killed at sea aboard a pirate ship. She wanted to scream.
* * *
Finally the ships were close enough that Trent ordered the boarding planks lowered, connecting the two ships.
He crossed the plank onto the Prestige, jumping off it and hitting the deck with his boot heels, the sound reverberating. Before him stood the merchantman’s crew, made up mostly of young lads, barely able to walk. Trent inwardly winced. Hadn’t he, himself, stowed away on a tug when he was barely in britches? The call of the sea pulling him toward to take sail? He shook his head and refocused. The captain was near the mainmast, with one of Trent’s men nearby, pistol in hand and cutlass in his belt.
The captain’s neutral expression didn’t surprise Trent. The man had seen the black flag and felt the fury of cannon fire warning of their approach The fact that he’d surrendered his ship so easily did pique Trent’s attention. To relinquish a ship was not easy as ships were the lifeblood of the seas. This man didn’t even try to outrun them. Trying to school his own surprise, Trent went over to the captured man and cocked his head.
“So easy to quit, are we?”
The captain shifted on his feet, his brows fretting. “You swayed colors as British ship to turn fire on us, raising the black instead. Your guns outnumber mine as I’m only a merchant ship.”
Trent snorted, one side of his mouth curling up in a lopsided grin, a grin that went no further than that. “I swing the colors that will get me what I want, Captain...�
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The man grimaced. “Captain Burrows of Prestige.”
“Yes. Is this ship not of the Kensington fleet? Shipping goods through troubled waters from India and further places of the Far East.”
Burrows eyes narrowed. “Yes, you designate us right.”
Now Trent smiled. “Excellent. Men!” Behind him, most of the men scurried to the lower decks to the ship’s hold, leaving an armed set above to keep guard on the crew. Trent’s prize, though, did not sit below, but here. “Captain, I must see your manifest and log.”
Burrows grumbled low. “It will tell you nothing more than what I hold below.”
“Perhaps. But I am interested in the past shipments.” His hand went to rest on the hilt of his sword, tucked into his belt. As Burrows mumbled, Trent paid no mind as he followed the man back to the captain’s cabin.
This ship, sailing under the banners of Kensington, held a far greater prize in the captain’s log and that made Trent’s blood race with excitement. His revenge drew closer.
This Love Of Mine: Chapter Six
She counted in her head. This time, she reached one hundred. During that space, there was no more blasts, no more yelling of orders. Nor was there the stench of sulfur, seawater, or men screaming from injuries. In fact, it was quiet, way too quiet. The type of silence that was deafening.
Slowly she raised her head off her knees and stood up. Her temple throbbed and a quick touch brought not only pain but surprise as the spot was swollen and hot. The pain at least reminded her she was alive and survived the attack. A quick look showed the cabin survived too but what about the rest of the ship? She peered out the porthole to find the whole decking appeared in good shape but absent most of the pirates. She frowned, curious, until she looked right and found the shredded sail of another ship that was extremely close. The ship they had taken. She shuttered at the thought. The decking she stood on belonged to pirates and she’d best remember that.
Her Perfect Gentleman: A Regency Romance Anthology Page 5
