by Louise Allen
The sudden shock as he took her nipple into his mouth and sucked hard until it peaked sent her bucking against him, her indrawn breath rasping her throat. The act seemed to send a dart of sensation deep into her belly, deep between her thighs as she twisted and strained against him.
She moaned, her head twisting on the pillow as Chance switched his attentions to the other breast, teasing that nipple into aching arousal in turn. Something was building inside her, tense, demanding, unfamiliar. Desperately she gasped, ‘Chance, please. I don’t understand…but I want something, I don’t…’
‘Hush, sweetheart, I know.’ His voice was soothing and she quietened, despite the anguish as his mouth left her breast and his weight slid off her. Too weighted down with sensation and strangeness to move, she lay limply, arms outstretched, passive to whatever he chose to do to her next. This was Chance, she trusted him, she loved him—nothing else mattered.
The sudden cool air on her legs brought her out of her trance. He was drawing the hems of skirt and petticoat up with his teeth. Bemused, Alessa craned her neck to try and see what he was doing, then fell back with a gasp as she felt his kiss on the inside of her thigh.
‘Chance, what are you doing?’ There was no answer as the trail of kisses moved higher. He pushed her gently, the feel of his hair on her skin unexpectedly soft. The message was unmistakable—quivering with mingled excitement and shyness, Alessa parted her thighs. What is he doing, surely he cannot mean to kiss me there?
But he did, and not just kiss. Alessa stifled a cry as the flick of his tongue parted her, sought out the core of those overwhelming sensual demands that were clamouring at her now. She could hear panting, and realised it was coming from her own throat; she knew she should stop him, stop this outrageous, immodest…‘Chance, no…oh, yes, yes!’
If he even heard her incoherent pleas she had no idea; it seemed nothing was going to stop the skilled assault on her very core. She knew she was wantonly lifting herself into the sweet torture of his mouth, yearning towards whatever was twisting every nerve into screaming arousal. It would kill her—she could not be this tense, this consumed with sensation, and live.
Then, as though understanding she could bear no more, his demanding tongue ceased. For a moment she seemed to hang there, suspended in a whirlpool of desire, then his lips fastened on the aching centre of it, suckled ruthlessly, and the world broke apart.
Alessa broke with it, every part of her limp and quivering, her head empty of everything but a silent shout of love and completion. How long she lay there, abandoned to the impact of it all, she had no idea. Gradually she became aware of warmth next to her cheek, of the scratch of stubble, of breath stirring her hair.
‘I want to hold you,’ Chance murmured.
‘I want you to,’ she confessed, her eyes still tight shut. ‘Chance, that was like nothing I ever imagined.’
‘I wanted to pleasure you,’ he informed her huskily.
‘You succeeded,’ Alessa responded with a shaky laugh. Somehow she managed to open her eyes and found herself looking into the dark depths of his, only inches away. ‘Chance, you made love to me—but what about you?’
He straightened up and sat back on his heels beside the bunk. ‘I may be able to pleasure my lady with both hands tied behind my back, but not being a contortionist I cannot remove my trousers or undo the fall in this state.’
My lady. Alessa recalled the awe-inspiring sensation of his body pressed against her. ‘Isn’t it rather uncomfortable?’ she ventured, struggling to sit up. Unexpected, intimate parts of her body rippled with the aftershocks of her passion and she felt weaker than she had after they had dragged her out of the harbour.
‘Very,’ he confessed ruefully. ‘But unrequited desire is probably the least of my problems right at the moment.’ He swept a tender glance down from her face—which she could feel was glowing—down the length of her body. ‘Hell!’
‘What?’ That was hardly the reaction she was expecting. Then she followed his gaze. ‘Oh, my heavens!’
Her breasts were exposed, the drawstrings of both chemise and gown tangled and knotted, her skirts were round her waist and her hair was all over her face.
The next ten minutes, if they had not know the likely consequences of Chance being discovered, would have been as hysterical as any stage farce. Chance shook the tangled ribbons like a terrier with a rat in its teeth until he had untangled them, then wrestled with making the first part of the knot without hitting Alessa on the chin with his head. He did not always succeed, but after the first few blows, all of which seemed to find precisely the point where Zagrede had struck her, she gave up yelping in pain and concentrated on keeping still.
Finally Chance managed to slip one chemise ribbon through the other and lifted it towards her mouth. ‘You hold this,’he mumbled, ‘I’ll pull.’ Their lips met and Alessa froze, fighting the need to simply press her mouth to his and drown in his kiss. The brown eyes so close to hers sparkled with mischief. ‘No,’ he said, as firmly as a man with a mouthful of soggy ribbon could, and she caught it between her own teeth, waited until he found the other end, and tugged.
Chance managed to pull up the edges of her gown and they repeated the operation all over again, by which time Alessa was fighting giggles. Chance surfaced from the eleventh attempt to tie off the knot. ‘What is funny now?’
‘Your nose tickles my, er, cleavage.’
‘Hmm…’ He shot her a provocative glance. ‘Well, let me tell you, Miss Meredith, that this is an agonisingly arousing enterprise for a man. In fact, I imagine the patrons of high-class bordellos would pay a fancy price for this experience.’ With a final tug he managed the knot and sat back. ‘There, I defy anyone to manage a bow.’
Alessa squinted down at the result. ‘The ribbons are a bit wet and mangled.’
‘Do you want me to ring for a maid and a flat iron?’
‘I doubt they have any heating at this time of day.’ Alessa felt the smile waver on her face. ‘Chance, are we going to get out of this?’
‘Yes.’ He said it flatly. ‘Yes, we are. And we’ll get your wretched aunt and your silly little cousin out as well. Now, one thing at a time—you still look as though you’ve been comprehensively rogered.’
‘Chance! What a frightful expression.’
‘Must be the association with pirates,’ he said vaguely, getting to his feet in one smooth motion. ‘Can you kick your skirts down? Good. I don’t know what we are going to do about your hair, or those trailing ribbons.’
‘I have been struggling,’ Alessa announced with sudden inspiration.
‘Oh, good girl,’ he approved with a grin.
‘It doesn’t explain the chewed ribbons though,’ Alessa worried.
‘If the man can take his eyes off your bosom long enough to notice, then there is something wrong with him. Everything has ended up several inches lower than when we started, you know.’
‘Oh my goodness! Chance, tug it up, quickly.’
‘No time.’He was standing, his ear against the door panels. ‘Someone’s coming.’
‘Hide!’
She watched in anguish as Chance spun round on his heel, searching the cabin for cover. There was a door in the panelling across the room; he took one stride towards it and the handle of the main door began to turn. In one fluid movement he dropped to the floor and rolled under the bunk. Alessa kicked frantically at the rumpled bedding on which she was lying and one edge fell to the floor. It was the best she could do. The door opened.
Chance pressed himself back against the wall, ignoring the pain in his wrists in his effort to keep as flat as possible. Above him he could hear Alessa thrashing around on the bed. He licked dry lips and set himself to breathe evenly and softly.
‘My dear Alessa, what are you doing?’ It was, as he had expected, Zagrede, his voice amused as he strolled across the floor to stand beside the bed. ‘Why, you look a positive hoyden.’ His voice dropped a tone. ‘Delicious.’
‘I wa
s trying to get free.’ Alessa’s voice sounded as though she was speaking between gritted teeth.
‘But why, my sweet?’ The Count sat on the edge of the bed, making it dip perilously low. ‘You know you cannot escape.’
‘I wish to relieve myself,’ Alessa announced in tones of freezing dignity. ‘Have you no recollection of how long I have been tied up here?’
‘Oh.’
Chance bit his lip in an effort to suppress a snort of laughter. The Count had obviously not thought of that, and his attempts at smooth seduction were hardly suited to a lady who was demanding to use the privy.
‘But of course, I will untie you at once.’
‘And send me a maid with a chamber pot,’ Alessa demanded. ‘I have no desire to be dragged through this ship to whatever squalid arrangements your crew uses.’ Oh, well done, if she is hoping to distract Zagrede from thoughts of seduction, she could hardly do better.
‘No need for that.’ Chance rolled over slightly and squinted from under the bed. The Count was walking towards the other door. He threw it open and announced, ‘You see, your own private facilities, my dear.’
‘Then will you kindly untie me so I can use them?’
‘Of course.’ There was a pause, sounds of rustling, a thump and a grunt. ‘What did you do that for?’ Zagrede stood up, sounding indignant.
‘To stop you gazing at my bosom,’ Alessa retorted frigidly. ‘Will you kindly help me up?’
Chance watched her feet as she approached the door and threw it open, exposing the entire space, no larger than a cupboard, to view. ‘It will do, I suppose, but there is no soap and no towel.’
‘I will send for some.’
‘Please do so. I am sure my aunt has something suitable in her baggage—I have no wish to use whatever Albanian goat’s-fat concoction you have on board.’
There was a moment’s hesitation, then the Count strode to the cabin door and opened it. ‘I will lock this door behind me, the porthole is screwed shut, and, believe me, I will reopen the door with some caution, so please do not trouble yourself to stand behind it, waiting to hit me with the ewer.’
‘I am flattered that you think me capable of such daring,’ Alessa countered. ‘Now, will you please go away and give me some privacy!’
The Count was hardly out of the door before Chance was rolling out from under the bed. He dived into the privy cupboard and Alessa pulled the door shut.
‘Quickly, turn around and let me untie your hands.’ He turned as best he could in the tight space and felt her kneel down behind him. The urge to pull her into his arms and kiss her until she fainted was instantly suppressed by the pain as she began to worry at the knots. Doggedly Chance fixed his eyes on the view from the porthole—an expanse of sea with no sign of land or other ships—and endured. Alone, he would have sworn ripely to relieve his feelings: now he knew he would rather die than show weakness in front of her.
The relief as the knots gave was replaced with lancing pain as the circulation began to flow again. He twisted round, hauled Alessa unceremoniously to her feet, and stifled his groans against her mouth.
‘Stop it,’ she hissed. ‘He will be back in a moment.’ He watched in admiration as she struggled with the knots they had so recently tied and pulled off her gown.
The outer door opened, there was the sound of approaching footsteps and Alessa opened the door just far enough to put out one bare arm. ‘The soap and towel, if you please, Count.’
‘My dear, allow me to assist you.’
‘I have absolutely no need for any assistance, thank you.’ Chance held his breath as she withdrew her arm sharply, a linen towel and a tablet of soap clenched in her fist. She banged the door shut and Chance breathed again at the sound of an indulgent chuckle from the other side.
‘I shall return in fifteen minutes.’
They waited, squashed together until the outer door closed. Alessa peered out suspiciously. ‘He really has gone. Now, out you go.’
‘Why?’ Chance poured water into the tiny basin, plunged his hands into it with a whistle of discomfort, then dragged a handkerchief from his pocket and tore it in two. He began to wrap one half around each wrist, and offered the loose ends to Alessa to knot.
‘Because I meant what I said to Zagrede. I want to use the privy.’
Chance found himself firmly pushed out and the door closed again. He had some sympathy with the Count’s ambitions—this woman would make a fit consort for a pirate. He was already convinced she would make a startlingly unusual countess. And if he had anything to do with it, she was going to preside over rolling English acres and his Palladian mansion, Freshwater, not some craggy castle and miles of mountainside.
He went to stand with his ear to the door jamb, listening for returning feet, and whiled away the time remembering the sensations of caressing Alessa, of bringing her to a shuddering climax. Her first, he was certain, and it was with him. He felt a wave of tenderness that he did not recognise from any previous encounters with women. It was a need to protect and to shelter, he realised. It was love.
‘You can come back now.’
He slid into the narrow space, delighting in the way she fitted against him. She smelled deliciously of some floral scent, her hair was braided into a thick plait that had his fingers itching to untie it and muss it up again, and her gown was chastely tied high on her bosom again.
But whatever his thoughts were for passing the next few minutes, Alessa’s were resolutely practical. ‘See, the top of the privy hinges down. If you crouch on that when I come out I can open the door quite wide and it will seem to be empty in here.’
It worked. Alessa stalked out of the privy cupboard as the Count came back into the cabin, stood for a moment with one hand on the open door to allow the Count an apparently comprehensive view of the interior and shut it behind her. ‘I poured the dirty water down the privy,’ she announced. ‘You do not see fit to allow me a maid, and I most certainly do not want one of your crew in here.’
Now his hands were free and he knew Alessa was unharmed. Things were significantly more promising than they had seemed a few hours ago. There remained only the trifling problem of taking this ship, preventing pursuit and getting the women safely to land. The crew of the merchantman would have to take their chances until the navy caught up with them.
Chance settled back in his hiding place and began to plot, a part of his attention on the spirited conversation between Zagrede and Alessa, who was objecting to everything from his intention to lock her door to the menu he was offering for her dinner. He grinned: any man who wanted to marry that termagant was besotted—or in love.
He let himself be distracted by the thought for a moment, a pleasant interlude rudely interrupted by the cabin door crashing open to admit someone shouting in agitated Albanian.
‘What is it?’ Alessa demanded. ‘Is it the navy?’
‘No.’ The Count sounded grimly amused. ‘My good friend Benedict has decided to go for a stroll. I am afraid I must lock you in, my dear, and put a guard on your door. This, at least, is the one place on the Ghost where we know he is not.’ There was the sound of the door opening, then the Count must have turned back. ‘I understand that Caribbean pirates make their captives walk the plank. In the case of our mutual friend, that is beginning to sound like an interesting option.’
Chapter Twenty-One
As the lock on one door clicked shut the latch of the other opened and Alessa found herself held hard against Chance’s chest. It felt wonderful. ‘I could stand like this for hours,’ she confessed, wrapping her arms around as much of him as she could reach and burrowing harder against the solid wall of muscle. ‘You make me feel so safe,’ she whispered.
A weight on the top of her head must be his cheek resting against her hair. Alessa closed her eyes. He was so tender with her—surely it meant he felt more than sexual desire?
‘That is flattering, and I agree this is a deeply pleasurable way to spend the afternoon, but we have a ship to
capture and holding you like this makes it very hard to think.’ Chance was whispering too, as aware of the guard outside as she. He took her hand and guided her towards the head of the bed, as far away from the door as possible.
‘We,’ she murmured. ‘You will let me help?’
‘Do I have much choice? I could emulate my dear friend Voltar—I really am going to have to knock his teeth in if he calls me Benedict one more time—and tie you to the bed, but I wouldn’t want to live with the consequences afterwards.’
‘We don’t have any weapons,’ Alessa lamented. ‘He took my pistol.’
‘Mine, too, and my sword. I should have taken a leaf out of your book and carried a knife in my boot.’
There was a moment of dawning comprehension as they stared at each other, then Alessa threw herself on her bags, which had been piled in one corner, and began to search. ‘Someone has been through them already,’ she hissed. Feet thudded past as men ran along the passageway, shouting at each other.
Chance joined her. ‘Probably searching for bodkins and embroidery scissors as befits a young lady of breeding, not boots full of knives. Here.’ He dragged out the worn pair of soft leather boots and handed them to her. There, snug in its sheath, was the thin, wicked blade that she had last used to tickle Georgi’s fat ribs. How long ago that seemed now.
Alessa gripped it for a moment, then handed it to Chance. With only one weapon, he was best equipped to use it. ‘Now what?’
‘We wait until they have turned the ship upside down and convinced themselves I have gone over the side. Then they will have to search the Plymouth Sound, thinking I must have swum over and be preparing to free the crew. With any luck they will take some of the men off here to do it. Zagrede has already had to split his men—some to guard the crew, some to man the other ship and the rest to sail this and guard his hostages. If he takes more off, then we have some hopes of taking this one.’
‘But how can we sail it? And he will give chase.’
‘I can sail it if I have, say, five crew, but I can’t do that and man the guns for a running fight. So we will just have to make certain he cannot follow.’
