The steamy, heavenly odor of roasted pork drew her in without any further hesitation. Jonas Dante was once again seated at one end of the long table, Varian St. Clare at the other. Hobson Grundy was on Dante's right and opposite him was the gun captain, Artemis Franks.
Molly had mentioned scarring on his face but now that Bella was within arms reach, she was shocked to see the extent. The right side of Franks' face—his cheek, ear, and neck down to the top of his shirt—looked like melted candle wax and he had no lashes or eyebrows.
When he saw where her gaze lingered, he smiled self-consciously and touched a finger to the damaged flesh. "A hazard of the job. But at least I managed to keep most of the hair on my head."
Indeed, waves of dark blond hair fell thick and shiny over his ears and spread across his shoulders; a sight that would have caused most women pangs of jealousy. It also served to conceal the worst of the damage to his face.
"Crimps and preens them golden locks like a lass," Grundy chuckled. "'Tis a wonder none o' the louts 'ave bent 'im over a bessie an'…ah…" He caught the quick look in Varian's eye and cleared his throat. "And, ah… give us yer plate, lass. No call to stand on ceremony here. Best skewer what ye can afore it's gone."
Bella took the empty seat between Varian St. Clare and Artemis Franks and while Grundy was heaping her plate, the gun captain filled her wine cup.
"It's a rather decent claret for breaking one's fast. The duke approves, so it must be."
"Thank you."
Bella was a little surprised to hear that he spoke with the refined English accent of a gentleman. His hands, however, were anything but soft and pampered. They were callused and bore a myriad scars from handling hot brass and lead, and he was missing half of a finger on his left hand.
Bella took the plate from Grundy and looked around the table at each face.
"How can you all be so calm?"
Grundy answered around a mouthful of runny egg. "Men fight an' think better with hot food an' a full belly."
"But why fight at all? You said you could be out of sight behind the island before they even know you are here. Moreover, I thought you were in a hurry to reach your home port? Far too much of a hurry to even put Molly and I ashore in Truro. Yet now you find the time to play the pirate with three ships? All things considered, I should think the better—and wiser—choice would be to avoid a confrontation entirely."
Dante glanced over. "That is what you think, is it? That is what your vast knowledge and experience at sea tells you to think?"
Grundy chuckled, which made Bella's spine go a little stiffer.
"I may not have your knowledge and experience, Captain, but I have enough good common sense to know it would be the act of a fool to provoke a fight when he is outnumbered three to one."
Varian, Franks, and Grundy held their forks still; they even paused midway through chewing as Dante turned the full power of his amber eyes on Bella.
"Do not presume, madam, that a hasty tumble in my bed gives you any extra latitude on board this ship. The day I consult your cunny about the decisions I make will be the same day my cold, lifeless corpse is thrown over the side."
Bella was stunned. All of her best talents for acting and bluffing could not stop the blood-red heat from infusing her cheeks. Nor could it stop the violet sparks from flashing from her eyes or her breath from leaving her body in an audible rush.
She stood so suddenly the chair scraped back onto two legs and would have toppled over backward if not for Franks' quick reaction in reaching back to catch it.
"You, sir, are a bastard."
"And you, madam, are a naïve street thief well out of your depths."
"Am I to believe it elevates you so much higher because you do your thieving on the water… and in the bed?"
"I hardly had to steal what was so freely given."
"Taken, sirrah. Taken to amuse myself and alleviate the tedium. As it happens, however, your barbaric efforts bored me even more. My husband had more spirit in his cock and he was sixty years old!"
Dante studied the defiant tilt to her chin for as long as it took him to slowly set his knife aside and push to his feet. By contrast, there was a sudden flurry of rapid activity from the others as they snatched up their plates of food and carried them out of the cabin.
When the door slammed behind them, Bella flinched but resisted the urge to run out after them. Her cheeks were aflame but she was not about to let Jonas Dante treat her like a Cheapside whore.
He took a deliberate step around the end of the table and she took one back. He took another and she bent quickly to draw the dagger out of the top of her boot.
That caused him to arch an eyebrow. It certainly did not cause him to hesitate a fraction of a second before he took the third menacing step toward her, forcing her back against the bulkhead.
"Do not come any closer," she warned.
A careless, demonic smile lifted the corner of his mouth. "And just what do you intend to do with that, little girl? Slash my throat? Stab me through the heart?"
"I am not afraid to use it either way."
"Shall I open my shirt to give you better aim?"
"You mock me, sirrah."
"That I do."
Despite her burning anger, she knew the wisest thing to do would be to drop the knife and run out of the cabin as fast as her legs would carry her. She knew she should and yet her feet seemed to suddenly be frozen to the boards.
"You are a cold and callus beast and I hate you," she said on a barely audible underbreath.
He was close enough now to reach out and brace a hand against the bulkhead while he gently pried the knife out of her fist with the other. "You have every right to hate me. Sometimes I hate myself. But not very often and the feeling does not last very long. Much like the experience of being bedded by an sixty year old man, I would imagine."
"My memory of your efforts are even more fleeting."
Dante pursed his lips thoughtfully and turned the blade, deliberately slipping the edge of steel beneath the leather point holding the bottom of her burgundy corset closed.
"Perhaps you need a reminder."
Seeing the glint in his eyes, feeling the knife against her belly, a shimmering flood of heat coursed through her body.
"I need nothing from you, sirrah. Now, if you would please step aside…" When she tried to move to the left, his arm shifted to block her. When she stepped the other way, he used his big body like a wall.
"Will you let me pass, please?"
He indulged in a long hesitation, noting the mutinous set to her mouth.
"While you are on board my ship, it would be wise to remember your place."
"What place is that, pray?"
"The place where prickly little tongues keep their thoughts to themselves. If you were a man and dared to question or dispute one of my orders or my intent, you would be hanging from the shrouds right now, your shirt stripped off, your back laid bare for the kiss of the cat."
"Kiss of the cat?"
"Cat-o-nine tails. Lovely little whip with nine leather tails. It would be a shame to mar that lovely skin of yours, but challenge me again, madam…"
He left the threat hanging in the air between them and Bella shivered. The tremor rippled down to her toes as he flicked the blade upward and sent one of the pewter frogs jumping across the floor. He slid the blade higher and cut through the second leather point, then the third, calmly slicing his way to the top of the corset until the garment hung open.
The black crescents of her lashes lifted and Bella stared up at him. She moved not one muscle as he slid the blade to the top of her shirt. Using just the tip, he slowly sliced his way down, splitting the shirt apart in the middle. He used the point of steel to push the linen aside and touch the soft upper curve of her bared breast. Using scarcely any pressure, he traced a lazy circle around the firm, unblemished flesh, tipping his head slightly, seemingly fascinated as the nipple gathered into a tight, hard little button.
; He did the same thing to her other breast, the blade glinting as it moved.
Bella felt as if she might disintegrate. Her heart was beating like a wild thing, sending waves of sensations that were half fear, half excitement coiling and twisting through her body. The blush in her cheeks grew hotter and to her utter dismay, the breath she had been holding escaped on a whimper.
The tip of the knife pressed lightly against her nipple, dimpling it.
"Loosen your hair."
His voice was low and husky and she barely heard it over the blood pounding in her ears.
The pressure against her nipple increased ever so slightly. "Your hair. Untie it. I prefer it unfettered."
Tiny, quivering tendrils of shock ran through her body, causing sprays of gooseflesh to prickle upright on her arms and ripple down her spine. Her mouth was dry, while other parts of her became distinctly and shamelessly wet. She did not think he would go so far as to pierce her skin… but then she realized she had absolutely no idea what he might or might not do when he was angry. And he was angry. She had challenged him in front of his men and he would not let that go unanswered.
She raised her hands and untied the strip of cloth that bound her hair into a tail. When it sprang free, she saw his eyes shift, his lips harden.
"Now the shirt. Take it off."
Her eyes blazed a moment, but she slowly shrugged the torn shirt and corset to the floor.
"The rest."
She tipped her chin higher. "Rather difficult to comply without the risk of you slicing off my breast."
"It is a risk I am prepared to take."
By stepping on the heel of each soft leather boot, she was able to slide them off. Barefoot and bare-breasted, she stood before him, her expression as unreadable as his own.
He glanced down at her breeches. "I could cut them off, if you prefer."
"That would be a waste."
"Indeed."
Her hands went to her waist and she unfastened the breeches. Wary of the blade pricking her as she moved, she pushed the garment down off her hips then carefully stepped out of each leg and kicked it aside.
A nerve twitched high on Dante's cheek. His gaze roved lower and scorched every inch of her exposed flesh before rising and meeting hers again.
"In future, madam, know that this is your deadliest weapon. Not insults. Certainly not some puny knife."
Tossing the offending weapon aside, he moved forward, forcing her back against the bulkhead. Crowding her there with his body, he fumbled at his waist a moment then lifted her into his arms. Her eyes widened when she realized his intent and she started to push against his chest, but then he was lowering her again and she felt the hard spear of his erection between her thighs, stopping just short of thrusting up inside her.
"Why have you been hiding from me the past three days?" he asked, his voice husky against her ear.
"I… I have been ill. Molly and I have both been ill."
"And had you not been ill, would you still have been hiding?"
"Perhaps," she whispered. "I don't know."
"A hint of honesty at last," he murmured. His lips grazed her ear and his tongue traced the vein pulsing madly on her throat. "And would you still like me to step aside?"
Bella's eyes shivered closed. The heat of his body was there, right there, touching her where she was already unbearably sensitive.
Her arms went around his shoulders and instead of a verbal answer, she pushed herself down over him, releasing a harsh, guttural sound as the solid heat of his flesh impaled her. It took a long, shocking moment for her mind and body to accept the incredible depth of penetration; less time for the first rush of pleasure to bring her legs up and locking tight around his waist.
Dante cupped his hands under her hips, lifting her, guiding her, pulling her into each stroke. Her back was against the solid boards of the bulkhead and she was dimly aware of them shaking and juddering with each thrust, but she didn't care. Her hands clawed at his shoulders. She arched and strained until she felt a great gust of breath against her neck and felt his body stiffen into one last push. Pulse after pulse of his heat and pleasure throbbed inside her, filling her, thrilling her. He held her there, her back braced on the wall, his flesh buried deep as he could humanly take it as the orgasm streaked from one body to the other.
When the last of the quivering shudders faded, her legs began to lose their strength and started to slide down. Her head was on his shoulder, her face was pressed into the damp crook of his neck, each panted breath stirring his hair.
Eventually his grip relaxed. He was still very much a presence inside her, but the incredible pressure had eased. She was too light-headed and swimming in a sea of confused emotions to do more than hang there in his arms, trusting him not to let her fall into a limp heap on the floor.
His lips moved against her throat. "You will have to forgive my further… barbaric efforts."
Bella sighed at the sarcasm. "You lashed at me. I lashed back."
"An unwise thing to do, especially in front of my officers."
"I realize that now. But you should not have boasted to them that I was in your bed."
"The entire crew knew within the hour that you had been in my bed. There had been wagers on the where and when of it for days before."
Bella lifted her head and looked up at him. "Wagers?"
"Have you not noticed the crew will bet on how long it takes a roach to crawl from one side of the deck to the other?"
She saw the amusement in his eyes, but when she tried to bury her face in his neck again, he tucked a finger under her chin and held her steady.
"It was a boast-worthy deed, although I suspect, Lady Nimblefingers, your need to lash back was due more to my referring to you as a naïve street thief."
She focussed on the shape and movement of his mouth as he was speaking. "And you, sirrah? Was it the mention of my aged husband's prowess that prompted this further example of callous behavior?"
His grin formed slowly. "Perhaps. Although I will allow that you are unlike any thief I have had occasion to meet, either on land or at sea."
"By that measure, since you are my first pirate, you have me at a distinct disadvantage."
He kissed her hard on the lips and eased himself free, then backed up enough to tuck himself away and fasten his breeches. An urgent ringing of the ship's bell had him tipping his head toward the door.
"We will continue this discussion later. In the meantime, return to your cabin and stay there. Do not venture up on deck for any reason, you will only be in the way."
"Are you going to attack those ships?"
"Madam—"
"I am not criticizing. I am merely saying if so, then I would prefer not to be shut away in a cabin not knowing what was happening. I am not entirely useless around guns, if you recall."
Jonas chuckled. "I do recall quite clearly. But these are not footpads chasing after us down a darkened alley, popping off musket balls. The three ships out there have cannons every bit as big as my own and experienced crews who know how to use them. And the day I put a musket in your hands and send you up into the rigging will be the day I know all is lost forever. If you are determined to be of use, I'm sure Digger would be happy with any assistance you can provide in the surgery. The men as well, particularly dressed the way you are now."
Bella followed his gaze down. Her breasts were chafed pink from being crushed against his jerkin. Her inner thighs were gleaming wet to the knees.
She snatched her shirt off the floor and glared at him, itching to slap the grin clear off his face and send a few teeth with it. But he only laughed at her sour expression, took his tricorn off the peg by the door and settled it firmly on his head before striding out of the cabin.
Bella waited until his bootsteps faded, then quickly pulled on her breeches and stomped into her boots, muttering all the while at her lack of simple willpower. The corset was useless and the shirt, aside from the sleeves being intact, was all but ruined. Cursing roun
dly, she slipped it on anyway and crossed the torn fronts of the shirt over each other before tying the ends securely around her waist.
And just in time.
Her modesty barely restored, the door to the cabin swung open without the trouble of a knock and four of the Tribute's crewmen walked in. Hardly sparing a glance in her direction, they lifted the berth and propped it against the wall, latching it there with hooks and chains. Beneath were two short-barrelled cannon crouched in front of gun ports. On the opposite side of the cabin, the chart table was similarly latched up flat to the wall revealing another port.
While the crews hauled the third gun out from under the dining table and winched the carriages into place, two younger members of the crew came through the door next carrying shot and powder casks. They were, in turn, followed by several burly men who affixed slender bow chasers to the rail across the stern gallery. Tightly woven fuses soaked in saltpetre were twisted through the prongs of a linstock to be lit when and if needed. The cork chocks in the mouth of the guns were removed, the wax plugs removed from the touch holes, and the throats swabbed clean before being packed with fresh charges of powder and shot.
All of this took under a minute and Bella, standing in the shadows against the wall, watched in amazement as the cabin was transformed and made battle-ready before her eyes. She heard more heavy footsteps coming through the door and saw Varian St. Clare and Artemis Franks returning to the dining table, their empty plates in hand. Both men noted the new design of her shirt, but neither man looked her directly in the eye. They took up their seats again and helped themselves to second portions of food as if there had never been an interruption. Grundy was not far behind, but he only paused at the table long enough to snatch up a fistful of cold meat before selecting a chart from the barrel of rolled parchments and rushing back out the door.
He spoke to Bella around a mouthful of grease as he passed. "No sense wastin' good victuals."
"Indeed," she murmured. "There is no sense to be had at all. In anything."
Chapter Fourteen
The sound of cannonfire echoed across the water, seeming to come from nowhere and everywhere. Muted thumps and throaty rumbles shattered the silence of the night air, keeping every man on board the Tribute on high alert. They stood silent, their faces tense, their eyes alternately fixed on their captain and on the blooms of light reflected on the undersides of the clouds overhead.
The Far Horizon Page 14
