by Diana Layne
She also found a box of her father’s favorite contraband cigars. Having lost the love of his life, as well as being no longer able to roam the seas, he took little pleasures where he could find them. Gina helped all she could, wanting to make her father’s life as happy as possible.
As night approached, she found herself debating whether to change into clean clothes for her meeting with Charles. She had nothing more than an assorted selection of shirts and britches. The dresses she’d been forced to wear at the all-girls’ school had been left behind without a second’s thought.
She couldn’t deny that seeing Charles resurrected old feelings, feelings that made her want to look her best. However, her obligations to her father, her ship, and her men couldn’t be risked by trusting emotions. To be successful in a world of cutthroat men, she had to stay levelheaded and not vain. Still, it was as easy to be levelheaded in clean clothes as dirty.
She pulled off the shirt and britches she’d been wearing the last two days, then poured water from her pitcher into the tin basin and used a cloth to wash off the worst of the grime. She’d rather have clean skin than cover up the smell with heavy perfumes. As often as she could, she indulged in a bath.
While she dressed, she steeled herself against every argument he would lay before her. Her suspicious nature—the one that had kept her alive this long—reared up faster than a sudden squall when she entered The Boarshead and located him. He sat huddled at the corner table with two men, deep in conversation. More help for his venture? Crew? Or something else?
Watching them, she was inclined to think they fell into the “something else” category. The two men cast furtive glances over their shoulders, obviously alert to being overheard...or worse, attacked. Charles, on the other hand, looked deceptively at ease.
Charles proved her assumption correct a few seconds later when he looked up and searched the tavern. After a glance toward the entrance, he brought the meeting to an end with a shake of his head. The men stood and stomped off, frowns furrowing their faces.
Gina wondered what they’d been discussing. More deals Charles was making? Something to do with what he planned to propose to her? Of course everyone had to be careful these days, even though the martial law Governor Rogers had enacted was over. The hangings of pirates who disagreed with the new governor served as motivation for the other pirates to at least give the appearance of reforming their ways. But there was always the chance for those men who had truly given up pirating to share damning information with the king’s men for a gold coin.
Charles stood, as she made her way through the tavern, and waited until she slid into one of the recently vacated seats, the wood still warm from the previous occupant.
Reaching across the table, he took her hand and brushed a kiss across her fingers before he sat back down. “Good evening, m’lady captain. You’re looking lovely.”
She steepled her hands to stop the tingling but, otherwise, refused to be charmed. “Who were your two friends?”
“Suppliers,” he answered without hesitation.
He sounded convincing enough, but she didn’t quite believe him. “They didn’t look the type to be selling supplies.”
“Mayhap you don’t know what sort of supplies I seek.”
“Something to do with your scheme, I suppose.”
He arched an eyebrow. “You would suppose right. But ask me no more so I will not lie.”
“Why lie? Aren’t I part of the plan?”
“Not yet.”
She leaned forward, lowering her voice. “Don’t trust me, hmm?”
He smiled. “Not yet.”
Giving a short laugh, she settled back into her chair prepared to listen. “All right, then. What exactly do you want from me?”
She regretted the words before they were fully out of her mouth. He gave her body a measuring look, then broadened his smile.
“Do not look so stricken,” he said. “I will not respond as you are dreading, tempting though it may be.”
It felt like he was feeding her bad turtle soup. “No improper remarks? Or actions?”
“Now that I can’t promise. You might have an urge to slap me before the evening ends.”
“Anything improper and you’ll get more than a slap,” she promised.
“You would do me bodily harm? That truly surprises me.”
“Think you I would welcome your advances?”
“You once would have.”
His stare almost compelled her to admit she was lying. Instead, she forced herself not to drop her gaze or crawl under the table to hide. She had known the subject was bound to come up.
Attempting to swallow her embarrassment, she managed to say, “That was long—”
“Not so long, methinks. It was little more than five years gone, and that was no child who climbed into my bunk.”
She felt like tinder set on fire with a spark from a flint. Confound the man, why did he have to revive those memories?
Because he thought it would serve his purpose, of course.
“You’re doing yourself no favor to bring up my indiscretion.”
“No? It is a rather fond memory to me. ’Tis a heady thing to go to your bunk and find a warm, willing woman—”
“Woman!” she spat against her better judgment. “You said I was naught more than a child!”
“You know I had to lie. You were of marriageable age. Your father seemed to suddenly realize it, as well, and decided you had to leave. He wanted you to make a better marriage than to a lowly seaman.”
Yes, she’d known, but despite her pleas, her father would not be dissuaded. “His idea obviously did not work. I’m sailing with a ship full of men again, with nary an opportunity to meet more than a seaman.”
“Which is why you’ll like my plan. If it works, you’ll nevermore have to sail. You can stay on dry land and take care of your father. Find a good husband.”
His remark brought forth a snort. “Who says I want a husband?”
“I thought that’s what all unmarried women want.”
Unmarried women wanted marriage? She refrained from reaching across the table to slap him. She’d grown quite used to the freedom of having no man, not even her father, telling her how to live. “How many unmarried women do you know who captain a pirate ship?”
“Your point?”
“A husband would simply be too restrictive after that, don’t you think?”
He cleared his throat, obviously holding back a retort. After giving her a speculative look, he at last said, “Fine, forget the restrictive husband part, but you do wish to take care of your father, aye?”
How did he know that was her wish? “I do feel obligated to provide Babbo comfort in these years, si.” Uncomfortable with the subject, she decided to probe the past, but this time his past, not hers.
She placed her palms on the table and drew a silent breath. “Where did you go? There were those who said you jumped ship. Babbo has always been convinced you were shanghaied.”
“So you kept tabs on me through your father, did you?”
Nonplussed at his shrewdness, she stuttered, “H-he only mentioned you when you disappeared. I certainly never asked.”
Charles gave her a look that said he knew she was lying. “There are those who did think I jumped ship.”
The thought drew an indignant denial. “No one in their right mind would think such.”
“It pleases me to know you are still loyal. Mayhap that means you will find it in yourself to trust me.”
She recognized her error immediately. “I only say that from the man I knew you to be. Years have passed. I have no idea the man you are now.”
He held his hands wide. “I am but the same.”
“You would like for me to believe that. You only bring up the past to persuade me.”
He smiled. “Is it working?”
She sent him a cynical look.
“I suppose not.” He sighed. “Perhaps a full belly will make you more receptive.”
He signaled the tavern wench.
“Do not count on it,” she warned.
Over their dinner of boiled beef and potatoes, with a loaf of bread shared between them, he outlined his plan, pulled out his charts.
“So you want to attack a Spanish galleon? One that is well-armed and ready for war?”
“And loaded with gold,” he again reminded her.
“I have no wish for Spain to take back Italy—” she began.
“Yes, Italian gypsy that you are, I thought capturing a Spanish ship would have appeal.”
Had she but a reason to go back to Italy and learn the gypsy ways. Regretfully, her doll was the only tie she had to her people in the old country.
“Appeal or not, ’tis easier confronting merchant ships.”
“But the reward is greater. And we could use the ruse we used on that merchant ship. You engage, and I’ll sail up on the blind side and board.”
“What? Risk my ship with a one-on-one fight against an armed war galleon?”
“My ship is not fully outfitted for battle. She’s a small transport ship, armed for defense. We can add more cannon to your frigate.”
“I see you have no aversion to risking the Gypsy Doll.”
“But the reward—”
“Bah! The reward will be worth nothing if my ship is at the bottom of the ocean.”
“You’ll have the Spanish ship, in that case. Although you won’t need it—if ’tis truly a life with your father you want, there will be enough gold to last him the rest of his lifetime. If you spend wisely, enough to last yours, as well...”
“Big promises you make. And big risks.”
“Have a backbone.” His voice grew harder, mocking. “Pirating is a risky business.”
“I’m no coward,” she snapped. Have a backbone, indeed. She tore a chunk off her loaf of bread and mashed it between her fingers.
“Your actions say otherwise, since you are hesitating over a sure thing.”
Her rising anger made it tempting to spout off a retort. She resisted by tossing the mangled bread on her plate and pushing to her feet.
“I will consider it, but don’t count on me.”
She turned to leave, feeling suddenly stifled, needing to be out of the hot, smoky tavern. The food she’d eaten lay heavy in her stomach. He didn’t call for her to stop, and she didn’t want to analyze why that bothered her as she pushed her way out of the crowded tavern.
Outside, in the cooler night air, she breathed in the sea breeze and felt her emotions settle. Damned emotions, always a bother when the times required straight thinking.
She marched forward, gathering her thoughts. His plan sounded solid, and the opportunity for a good haul promising, but for some reason she distrusted the whole scheme. Suddenly chilled though the night was warm, she wrapped her arms around her middle. Nay, maybe the truth was she didn’t trust herself.
She stopped at the pier where the Gypsy Doll was docked. Did she want to keep sailing? The ship was practically the only home she’d ever known. She’d never considered another option. Her father, with his bad heart, could no longer sail, and she knew no other way to earn money to support them. Certainly nothing at that fancy girls’ school in London had taught her any way to earn a living. Only how to be a proper lady. A lot of good that did when she faced another ship’s cannon or the swordblade of a man intent on murder. What use then was knowing how to properly pour tea?
She could neither sew nor cook, despite her teachers’ best efforts, so earning an income as a seamstress or a cook was not an option. Nor was being a tavern wench, who had to take men to bed to earn a living wage. Grazie, no, that was not for her.
Pirating earned a decent living, ’twas true, but after paying the men their share and keeping the ship in good repair, a living was all she earned. Nothing extra to put aside so she could quit the sea. She foresaw many years of pirating, unless she landed a ship with a huge bounty.
And now one was being offered to her, if Charles could be believed. If only it didn’t seem more than a too-good-to-be-true opportunity.
She heard footsteps on the wooden pier. She somehow knew it was Charles.
“There’s one thing I forgot to add,” he said, coming up behind her.
She didn’t turn, but continued to stare at her ship. “What?”
“This.” She felt his hands on her shoulders as he spun her to face him. She barely had time to register his face moving closer before his lips landed on hers, light as the breeze.
Perhaps because she didn’t shove him away, he grew bolder, pressed his lips more firmly, silently persuading her to kiss him back.
She hesitated, then wondered why. Wasn’t this really what she wanted? What she’d never stopped wanting all these years?
Sacrifice and restraint had been part of who she had become, but at the moment all thoughts of sacrifice or restraint flew away over the sea faster than a seagull diving for his breakfast.
She kissed him back.
He pulled her closer, and eagerly her arms wrapped around him with no conscious effort on her part.
She answered the urging of his lips, opening her mouth to accept the stroking of his tongue.
Just as she was ready to ask him to her cabin—something she never did—he pulled away.
It was too reminiscent of what he’d done those years ago, leaving her to feel vulnerable. Had it been he simply hadn’t wanted her then?
Didn’t want her now?
Her mouth felt bare and lonely, and she gasped to suck oxygen into her lungs. The rush of air to her brain brought logic to tamp down her disappointment.
If he didn’t want her, so be it. She could still retain her dignity. “Do you think to persuade me with a kiss?”
“Did it work?”
She shoved at him. “Do you think I’m so easily bought?”
Watching her with a leery gaze, he took a few steps out of her reach. “Nothing about you is easy.” Then, smiling, he turned away and proclaimed to the sky as he walked away, “I think it worked.”
Curse him, thinking one little kiss could persuade her.
But, curse him more, she feared he was right.
Chapter 3
Another morning dawned after a night of restless sleep. Gina had done little more than toss and turn in time to the gentle sloshing of the waves against her ship, reliving the kiss, worrying about the proposal. Though weariness dragged her bones, she planned to head to the small neighboring island where her father lived as soon as possible.
Most of her crew was on shore leave, spending their share from the booty sold yesterday. She instructed the remaining skeleton crew to pack up half the supplies she’d set aside for her father into the dinghy and lower it to the water. She’d have to make a second trip to take the rest.
With the morning’s salty, cool breeze ruffling her hair, she picked up the oars. Usually she enjoyed the half-hour trip to her father’s tiny island, but today the rhythmic rowing soon grew irritating, agitating her thoughts, making her more anxious to reach shore. She wanted to talk to her father, get his opinion, knowing his judgment wouldn’t be clouded with emotion.
She would be able to debate with him whether the risk of losing the Gypsy Doll would be worth the possible reward. He’d never been for her captaining the ship, claiming she should have found a rich husband after her finishing school experience. But finding a man to support them both, whether she wed him or not, seemed too much like prostitution.
She couldn’t deny the sea life was a lonely life. It wasn’t so when she’d sailed with her father, but now, with all the decisions weighing on her shoulders, it was stressful and often fraught with danger. There were times she did fantasize of a home, stability. A family. Though she’d never admit to it.
Nor would she consider anything else without the means of supporting her father.
She’d been hearing of opportunities in the new Americas to the north and south of the islands, stories of people settling, creating plantations out of t
he rich, fertile soil of the new land. And yet what did she know of farming?
Still, it couldn’t be harder than pirating, just something new to learn. If she made a good haul, she could buy some of that land and create a new life for herself and Babbo.
Charles’s promise of such a rich haul was tempting, but the real possibility of her ship and crew at the bottom of the ocean kept her mood tempered.
It was a relief when her oars struck sand. She slid the dinghy up onto the beach and tied the rope on a small pier, noticing a couple of other dinghies tied up as well. The larger piers were a bit north. The island didn’t have many residents, and yet those who lived here depended upon supplies from the bigger island, and most had small boats to travel back and forth.
She hefted a crate into her arms.
The sandy beach turned to craggy rocks with caves dotted along the shoreline. Hardwood and palm trees grew farther inland. Most houses here were small wooden huts, with palm frond roofs. Her father’s hut was one of the closest to the beach. Too many years’ sailing, he couldn’t get the sea out of his blood.
A hundred meters inland, his home came into view when she rounded an outcropping of rocks and a small cave. He was sitting outside under his palm-covered porch. But he wasn’t alone.
She stopped, gritted her teeth. Blast it all, what was he doing here? Immediately, the feel of his lips came to mind—and the suddenness of him pulling away.
The box in her arms grew heavy. She couldn’t stand frozen all day holding it. She wiped the frown off her face and replaced it with a pleasant expression. After months away, she didn’t want her father’s first view of her to be with her face looking as if she’d eaten a sour fruit.
“Good. You have help,” she said as she approached, giving her father’s appearance a critical eye. Was his hair grayer? Had he lost weight?
Both men, lost in conversation, turned at the sound of her voice. Charles immediately jumped to his feet and came over to relieve her of the crate. When his hand brushed hers, their gazes met. She practically dumped the crate into his arms to break the contact.
She gave her father a quick hug, as always, disconcerted to feel bones instead of hard flesh of the strong man she remembered from childhood. “There’s more in the boat,” she said to Charles after he set the box down. She left for the pier with both men following. Experience told her not to argue with Babbo about helping. His illness left him feeling useless, and she wouldn’t insult him by suggesting he was too weak to help. She handed him the smaller crate with his cigars and wine.
