The captain flinched. It was a very subtle gesture but James saw it. But then, he gave a hint of a smile.
“It appears, lord, that we are in love with two different women.” He motioned for him to leave and a pirate appeared, from where James didn’t know, to escort him. James sidestepped out of the way.
“She is my wife. I will take her!” It was his right. Clearwater was correct on this.
Cavendish snorted. “I am captain. My word is law! If I chose to divorce you, I will and it will be law.”
James’s first inclination was to belt the man, mid-section, hard and good. Fury raced through him that this vermin would even consider making such noise but in the back of his head, the tiny bit of rationality, the small portion of his mind, finally spoke audible words. He could make the decree and it had the slightest bit of possibility to be hold truth. Damn!
“You lie. You would have a difficult time reinforcing that. By English law, I am right.”
Cavendish’s flickered with conflict before he resumed his smile. “But we are not in English territory.” Yet… “We are at sea, where I am king.” James matched him in height and the two stood, face to face and he felt the anger raging off the captain equal to his own.
Cavendish stared into James’s eyes but James wouldn’t back down. Damn the man! And whatever spell he had on Eleanor! The mere thought of that thief’s hands on her nearly drove him to madness.
“Yet I do hold the proper hand. She is mine.”
Cavendish smiled. “Why don’t we let the lady decide?”
His blood surging, every aspect of him wanting to rip the man apart, knew the feeling was reciprocated and in that respect, James found himself recognizing Cavendish as an equal in the world of profit and survival despite despising him. Still in disbelief at that realization, James nodded. And the attitude reflected in the man before him equaled his—the competition was on.
Rules were set. He needed Eleanor to recognize him or he’d have to woo her all over again, to save her life.
This Love Of Mine: Chapter Twenty-Three
Elle stomped down the stairs, furious at Trent for refusing to listen to her pleas about the captive. Though as she lowered down to the hull, she quickly learned storming off barefooted was dangerous as she stubbed her toe on the ladder. She winced but other than that minor peep, she managed to keep the yell inside her.
Her main reason for going below was to take another peek at the captives. Something drove her, what she couldn’t name. Perhaps it was what Windhaven mentioned, that she did know them. Gritting her teeth, she continued toward the cell, her curiosity growing.
Only two of the gentry were inside the barred cell. The fancy-clothed man was curled on the cot, eyes closed. Her first impression was he was pretty, all white and pasty-skinned, dressed to the hilt in elaborate clothes, ones that made her garb look shabby and poor. The woman was beautiful, even after being thrown into the hold, in a dank cell, for three days. Her dark brown hair, almost black in color, remained piled on top of her head, a few stray tendrils loose on the one side, touching the nape of her neck.
The demure lady sat on the stool as if posing for a portrait. The way the sunray, that highlighted the cell, making her appear as if blessed by the orbs, showed her ivory skin, her high cheekbones, her slender neck and the dip of her bodice. She looked up and her gaze locked onto her, even though she thought the shade hid her. Her dark brown eyes sparkled and her coral lips curled slightly, as if beckoning Elle closer.
“A lady pirate,” the goddess spoke. Even her voice flowed like satin. “Tell me what it’s like?”
Elle was too busy watching and analyzing her to realize she asked her a question. There was something about her that triggered her thoughts racing, trying to figure it out. Suddenly, it hit her the girl spoke. “Pardon me?”
“Piracy. Is it as wild as they say it is? All the men, the sword fighting, the treasure? Did you jump at the chance to go beyond the realm of propriety and live life?” The woman’s eyes seemed to burn with jealousy. Made her stop and rethink the last months of her life, or the months she remembered. But nothing came…
“It is…” she paused, trying to find the right words, “different from anything I ever knew.”
The lady stared at her, the glare almost a burn. It made Elle twitch inside though she fought to not show it. Something about this woman made her stomach twist. Out of the corner of her eye, she looked to see if the dandy on the pad was awake but he didn’t move nor open his eyes.
“Have you been involved in the attacks?” She smiled. “Jumped on deck, like you did on our ship? Lift a blade against another person? Maybe even liked it? And what of the spoils? Do you feel justified in taking what isn’t yours, in the name of piracy?”
She swallowed. The verbal attack through light-toned questions, made her queasy.
“I have done none of those things.” She tilted her chin up a notch. “Though I was trained in the sword—“
The woman laughed. In fact, she giggled enough to start tears. “Pardon moi. I get ahead of ourselves.” She struggled to control her emotions. “Perhaps I just started questioning without introductions.” She smiled. “I am the Lady of Windhaven, Lydia.”
Elle’s mouth started to open but she shut it, as the awe struck her. This beautiful creature was married to the man topside who touched a part of her she didn’t know existed. She had felt a connection to him, one that made her stomach flip with butterflies, only to find this out. She swallowed hard. Now her gut clenched, as if it had been kicked. She forced a smile on her lips.
“Nice to meet you, Lydia.” Her mind raced. Confusion set in. Lydia might know who she was, but if it meant she’d awake to a world of orders, manners, and stabs at others, she’d remain deep at sea. Doubly so if that handsome man, Lord Windhaven, was her husband. Though she’d just met him, in a true sense, she decided, via conversation, she felt a pull towards him. Something that hinted at he knew who she was, too, and in her mind, she danced with what ways that might mean, but now, she needed to get away from them. For this type also triggered alarms inside her mind of heathens running after her…“I mean, Lady Windhaven. If you’ll excuse me, I’m needed upstairs.” And with that, she turned and fled.
* * *
Lydia watched her scamper up the stairs in her haste to get away. Her lips curled in satisfaction.
“That was quite a performance.”
She twirled and found Clearwater eyes wide open as he remained on the pallet but propped his head up by his hand. “I simply meant to clear the field, as it were.”
He snorted and sat upright. “James will have your head.”
She frowned, her hands on her hips. “I believe your plan was to drive her away from him. I simply aided you in that manner.”
“Right.” He stood and peered through the bars toward the stairs. “Rickety old thing. Amazing it didn’t collapse.” He turned towards her. “’Twas a falsehood, to tell her of your supposed marriage to him. But what I don’t understand is why she didn’t call you out on it.”
Lydia laughed. Pure enjoyment filled her very soul. At last, James would be hers, despite her current situation. “She has no memories.”
“What?”
“Well, while you and James sat bemoaning our predicament, I found out about her condition.” She sat on the only stool, total excitement replacing fear she had of telling the lie. She leaned in, lowering her voice. “They found her in the hold in London. She apparently fled some felons who had pursued her through the docks and she jumped onto this ship to hide without knowing if they were leaving port or not. She fell into the hold and hit her head on something, making her lose her memory.” She sided up to him and her voice dropped lower.
“With no recollection as to who she is or who she was married to, I took advantage, and gave her a viable solution. And,” she smiled at him, “who else to save her but a trusted friend, Albert Clearwater, the Viscount of Clearwater.”
He paused and looked away. S
he couldn’t see why he would be against her statement.
“Here I give you the perfect opportunity to step forward and claim the prize you’ve sought. As long as you don’t destroy this one like the last one…”
“How dare you, Lydia,” he snapped. “I allow certain privacies, but here, you exploit them. I did not ruin the last. That was my father’s attempt for Lionel. The pirates overstepped their bounds with that one. Her death has nothing to do with this.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “Damn!”
Lydia sat silently, letting him rage. She knew Clearwater well. They’d spent many an hour discussing what they really wanted and not what they’d been held accountable to have. He wanted Eleanor. Had wanted her prior to James meeting her, but her marriage to his best friend nearly set him on fire. And not that her thoughts hadn’t equaled his, for she wanted James just as badly but was saddled with gentry. Wattsmore would be easy to dispose of for James. While divorce was nie impossible, one of nobleman and gentry could be arranged in the shadows.
“Perhaps you are right.” He plopped down on the pallet. “Now the message is to convince James she’s too spoiled by this pirate to take back?”
“What a pity,” she replied in false pretense. “But from what I’ve heard, would be easy to do.”
“How did you come by this information?”
She leaned back and sighed. “You two bickered and I went looking.” She smiled.
Now Clearwater gave a real laugh. “I’m not sure who is worse—you or her?”
Lydia leaned forward, knowing her position gave him ample gaze down her neckline. “Oh, I know I’m far worse.”
On that, Clearwater relaxed and Lydia grinned. All was working perfectly.
* * *
Elle stormed into the cabin, her mind still trying to make sense out of the day. These English nobles were irritating! They were gorgeous creatures, compared to the muck that pirates allowed themselves to fall into—Trent being the exception. They wore their righteous attitudes on their sleeve, as if it were armor. Silky tongues and demanding, that’s how she’d view them. And that woman managed to destroy her evening, her marriage to the lord who had made her laugh was the worst of it all.
She slammed the door in response to the painful temple.
“Do we have a problem?”
She glanced at the table, focusing through the red that screened her eyes by the haze in her mind. There sat Trent, his nose in those bound manifests taken from the other ship. A cup on the table, next to a bottle of rum, made her think he’d been here a while. She was about to make a comment when she noticed a few sheets of paper before him on the table. One had Divorce written across it in his handwriting that peaked her interest but before she could ask, he spoke.
“Tomorrow, we should make port. I’d like it greatly if you’d avoid the business that’ll take place. It is a dangerous affair, one I’d like to keep you from being sullied in.”
The stern look on his face made her take a step back. He looked way too serious. It made her frown. She’d rather he’d smile…
“I’ll do the best I can. I take it this adventure won’t be happening here?”
“No.” He sat straighter. “Stay here. No presenting yourself in any way.” He downed the rest of his cup. “So tell me, what has you so flustered?”
She swallowed, instantly worried about tomorrow. What if he was hurt? Killed?
“Nothing, truly. Just,” she stopped and went to him, “those noblemen. Must we continue to lock them up? Are they really a problem here? There’s only three of them.”
The look he gave her, one of speculation, made her gulp. How could she explain a feeling of guilt, of responsibility for their welfare when she couldn’t figure it out herself? Especially when her own memory eluded her except for the connection to them. She shook off any idea of trying to argue that with him. He was a pirate…
He chuckled. “Then let it be so. I’ll let them roam the ship, but under careful watch. Don’t need any mischief from them. Since we’ll deposit them anyway tomorrow, I see no reason to allow them to stink up the hold any longer.”
“Really? Oh, Trent, that’d be wonderful!” She spun to fly out the door when his arm reached out and snaked its way around her, holding her firmly against him.
“Let their feet wander.” He bent down and kissed her. “On such good news, let us celebrate.”
She threw her arms around his neck and returned his kiss passionately. Unable to pull away from her, he gently picked her up into his arms and carried her to the bunk. She didn’t want to think, didn’t want to try to figure out from the entangled thoughts and the clues presented by the noblemen, what this all meant and if her past was linked to them. Instead, she’d relish in the arms of the rugged pirate. Passion took control. Clothes were strewn across the cabin along with the bedclothes.
Entwined in bed, they teased each other to the point of explosion. The moans and groans, musk filling the air until they joined. It slowly registered in her mind that their lovemaking was quick, animalistic in a sense. As if possession of the other, particular him of her, was the primary reason for this intercourse. Maybe it was his attempt to take her as his only for in the midst of their erotic play, Lord Windhaven stood at the edge in her mind. As if he belonged there instead of Trent.
That thought struck home right as Trent drove his final thrust in, setting off the million stars that burst in her mind as she shattered beneath him. Or was it the lord?
This Love Of Mine: Chapter Twenty-Four
James couldn’t sleep. Since they opened the door to the cell and walked away, James waited for the other shoe to fall. They had locked them up for four days to now, within sight of land, let them free on the ship. It was the not knowing why that disturbed him, for he didn’t trust the lot of them.
Under the moonlight, he found only the watchman, way up in the perch on the main mast, was up. Others slept. Some down below, some up here. One thing he did notice was their arms in close reach, even as they dreamt. He stared down at the captain’s cabin near the back of the main deck. A twisted thought grabbed him, telling him Eleanor was in there, with Cavendish and by the telling of no lights, entwined with him in ways James didn’t want to know.
It was then he heard the door to that cabin open. It was a quiet noise, not stirring a mouse. But to him, it registered. He stepped back to the overhang, near the stairs to the upper deck. He wasn’t sure if it’d be her or the captain, so he waited.
Dressed in a loose white shirt and dark, britches untied at the knee, Eleanor stepped out, barefooted. She put her fingers to her temple, massaging the area as she looked out over the dark sea. She appeared lonely and lost. Lydia made comment of her visiting briefly and that little interlude, mixed with his own experience, brought one conclusion—on her escape from the vermin in London, she did literally fall into the ship, as Cavendish had claimed, and that fall made her hit her head and lose her memory.
How did he get his wife to remember him under this set of circumstances presented here? It explained her turning to the captain for protection and wearing pirate clothes, but taking to his bed? His fists tightened at that thought. The captain did rule at sea and James feared he could legally end his marriage to her and the pirate seize her for his own. Simply unfathomable!
“Eleanor,” he called softly. The captain called her Elle. Perhaps if she heard her proper name, she’d be cured. But she didn’t move. “Eleanor.”
Her shoulders shook. Puzzled, he went closer. She was in tears.
“Oh, my dear lady, don’t cry.” He wanted to hug her. It felt like heaven to have her so near to him and he concentrated on that, trying to kill the thought that she probably just came from Cavendish’s bed.
She turned and looked at him. Her eyes were heavy with unshed tears and under the moonlight, her sapphire eyes glowed brighter. “You called me Eleanor.”
He smiled. “Because that is your name, my lady.”
She frowned as she pulled out of his arms. The
look of surprise in her eyes quickly turned to shock and even terror, emotions that struck him hard, as if he’d been hit in his gut with a sledgehammer. He expected happiness, a thrill even, not this.
“No, I have no recall of that name.”
He took her hand in his, softly rubbing it. “It is your given name. And your full title is the Marchioness of Windhaven.”
Her gaze widened. “I had been your wife?”
His wife? As in past tense? “Eleanor—”
“No!” Her face paled, even under the sun-colored tone. The wild look in her eyes worried him. Thankfully she wasn’t shrieking but her voice was agitated. “If what you say is true, how long were we married?”
Dumbfounded, he tried to figure the time. To him, everything had come to a stop until he found here. How long was she gone? “Four months.”
She blinked. “Four? Grieving me didn’t last, did it? Or did you just toss me out for her?”
Now it was his turn for surprise. What the hell was she talking about? “I’m afraid I don’t follow.”
She took another step back, her fingers covering her lips. “Stay away from me.” And she took off, around the corner.
What the hell?
* * *
Clearwater stretched. He just made it to the top of the stairs, inhaling the clean ocean air. It was so fresh compared to the confines of the hold. Nothing could fill the chest with garbage more than mildew, seaweed, and rotting wood. As he stepped out on the deck, he replayed the scene between Eleanor and Lydia. Lydia had one stake in this—James. Clearwater knew her husband. Henry Wattsmore was the latest addition to the gentry. He was an oversized buffoon and outrageously extravagant in monetary goods. She’d never want under him but he was a trader, not noble. And no amount of conniving or money would rank him higher than he stood.
Her Perfect Gentleman: A Regency Romance Anthology Page 19
