Maybe it had. Her hands began to shake. Captain Gregory had been standing right beside them when the shell detonated. Was it his cry of pain she’d heard, his body that had fallen? And what about Justin? Where was he?
She even found herself worrying about her captor. Cole McRae was big, and likely the sort of man who would put himself in the middle of the fight. Wouldn’t that make him an easy target? Devon felt her stomach twist painfully at the thought, but didn’t bother to dissect her emotions. It didn’t matter why that image upset her, only that it did.
She listened to the clamor on deck, frantic to know what was happening. The men shouted to one another above the roar of battle. Commands were tossed back and forth. Minie balls and grapeshot pelted the outer walls, striking so rapidly it sounded more like fierce rain than artillery fire. She felt the engines grumble and strain beneath her feet, struggling in a desperate attempt to free the ship and gain maneuverability. It didn’t work. They were stuck, trapped in the middle of the river, a perfect target.
A new sound reached her ears. It took her a moment to recognize the heavy, dull rumble. The men must be dragging the guns from the starboard side to the port, where they could be put into play against the Rebs. No sooner had she identified the noise than a fierce blast rocked the ship, sending her flying against the wall. The explosion must have knocked the crewmen off-balance as well. The massive cannon they were pulling came loose, the wheels screeching as it careened across the deck. Devon heard it rumble back and forth until a second blast knocked her flat once more.
She listened in horror as the huge cannon crashed down the narrow flight of stairs that led from the deck to her chamber, sounding as though it was taking half the ship with it in its mad descent. Devon pressed herself flat against the far wall, the only position that might save her from being crushed by the deadly weight of the huge gun if it were to smash into her cabin. She squeezed her eyes shut and muttered a little prayer as the cannon plunged and skidded. Bless us O Lord for these thy gifts which we are about to receive… Inappropriate maybe, but it was the only prayer she remembered.
The cannon lunged off the last step and came to a bone-jarring stop, slamming sideways against the thick door frame. Still shaking, Devon waited. Nothing happened. She slowly let out her breath. The battle raged on above her, but the cannon wasn’t moving. She crept cautiously toward the door and tried to edge it open, but the portal wouldn’t budge. The gun was lodged firmly sideways, blocking it. While the position had prevented the cannon from smashing through the entry, it also rendered her a virtual prisoner in her chamber until it was removed.
As she considered this fact, another blast rocked the hull, louder still than all previous explosions. A keen silence followed, then the desperate cry reached her ears, “Abandon ship!”
More shouts echoed the first. Devon listened to the sound of furious footsteps rushing back and forth and boats being lowered off the starboard side.
“Wait! Wait, I’m trapped!” she shouted through the overhead scuttle, knowing even as she did that her cries were useless. If the shouts of the men didn’t drown out her voice, the constant explosions would. They grew louder and more violent, culminating with a blast that knocked her off her feet once again and was followed by a piercing, screeching hiss. A shell had detonated, destroying the boiler. The impact knocked the ship sideways, finally freeing the hull, but it was too late. In a matter of minutes, maybe only seconds, the entire ship would go up in flames.
Devon threw herself against the door, pounding furiously. “Help! Someone! Let me out!” She lifted the small washbasin and threw it at the door. It crashed and then fell back, breaking in two. The door didn’t budge. “Help—”
“Blake!”
McRae. He’d come back for her. Relief nearly sent her to her knees. “I’m in here!” she screamed. “I can’t get out!”
“Wait there!”
Hysterical laughter bubbled up within her. Where was she going to go? She listened, but couldn’t hear him. Panic choked her voice. “Don’t leave me! Please!”
He returned within seconds. “Get away from the door. Get down,” he shouted.
She flung herself to the farthest corner of the room, curling up in a tight ball. He drove hard against the door, battering it with a thick wooden beam. The portal finally gave and shattered open above the body of the cannon.
Her captor was filthy. His clothing was torn, streaked with smoke, sweat making it cling to his body. A dark stain—blood?—seeped over his left thigh. His expression was fierce, his rugged features absolutely frightening. Devon had never been so glad to see anybody in her life.
She gave a cry of relief and raced unhesitatingly toward him. Cole grabbed her by the wrists and tossed her over the cannon. He was beside her instantly, wordlessly pulling her with him through a maze of dark passageways. The crewmen had vanished, but signs of the battle were all around. The ship tilted wildly, leaning dangerously to port. The air was thick with heat and smoke, choking her lungs and burning her eyes.
She didn’t understand how Cole managed to see anything, but somehow he did. He tugged her along, not slowing for an instant. When they reached the ship’s rail, Devon peered over the side and gasped. All the boats had been taken. She turned to him, intending to ask what they would do now, but had no time to form the words. Cole McRae picked her up and threw her overboard.
The ship exploded before she hit the water.
CHAPTER 4
Blackness surrounded her. A sharp, throbbing pain started at the base of her spine and worked its way up. There was something else too. A noise. A voice, rather, one that was vaguely familiar and not at all welcome. It kept prodding her, insistent. Devon wanted to sleep, to make the pain and the voice go away, but she couldn’t. Resigned, she slowly opened her eyes.
Cole McRae leaned over her, his expression, as always, grim. His hands were locked on either side of her head, one powerful knee lodged between her skirts. His clothing, like her own, was soaking wet. Small beads of water dripped from his hair and onto her face. She watched his broad chest heave as he dragged in deep, painful gulps of air.
“Are you all right?” he asked. He sounded irritated. Either because he’d had to repeat the question several times now, or because she might not be all right, and what an inconvenience that would be. Devon gritted her teeth as everything came rushing back. And to think she’d worried about him.
Her annoyance dissolved as a flash of alarm raced through her. The ring. She’d forgotten about the ring. Her hand flew to her chest, feeling beneath the soaked bodice of her dress. Please, she prayed, she couldn’t have lost that. It was all she had left. The gold band was still there, tied securely with a bit of string and hanging from her neck. She let out a low sigh of relief.
“Dammit, woman, say something! Are you hurt?”
She slowly returned her attention to her captor. She knew what she needed to say, but getting out the three little words proved more difficult than she’d imagined. Her throat was raw, and just summoning her breath was an effort. Finally, however, she managed.
“Get… off… me.”
To her amazement, Cole’s mouth twisted into what might have been termed a grin. His deep brown eyes sparkled with golden light, but it was gone as quickly as it came, replaced by the dark, haunted shadows that normally sheathed his gaze. He rolled off her with a grunt, sprawling out next to her on the coarse, sandy bank.
Devon leveraged herself up and studied him from beneath a sweep of lowered lashes. The man made no sense. He was a dark, brooding, miserable human being. But he’d spent his own money to buy her the finest pair of shoes she’d ever owned—much to his regret, apparently. He’d been furious with her for talking with Justin, but only because of the risk facing the boy if he aided her in escape. And finally, Cole had saved her life. He could have abandoned ship with the rest of the crew, but he didn’t.
Unable to resolve the disparities in his character and annoyed that she’d even bothere
d to try, Devon turned away from him. She reached beneath her and pulled out the sharp piece of driftwood that had been stabbing her in the spine, then surveyed the area around them.
It looked as if they had floated downriver a bit, pushed south by the current. They’d washed up on a small, sheltered inlet banked by a grove of dense cedar. She tilted her head to one side and listened intently, but heard nothing save the occasional chirping and squawking of birds.
“Where is everyone?” she asked.
“Upriver.”
He didn’t so much as glance in her direction. She waited. When it became evident that no more information would be forthcoming, she asked, “Was anyone hurt?”
He turned to look at her now, his dark eyes intense. “Bloodthirsty little thing, aren’t you?”
Devon tightened her lips, refusing to give rein to her anger. “Just tell me. Please,” she added, proud of herself for getting the word out without choking.
Their gazes locked and held. Just when she’d about given up hope for getting an answer, he spoke. “No one was hurt,” he said at last. “Not seriously.”
“I’m glad.” Her captor gave an inelegant snort at that, clearly expressing his disbelief. Devon ignored it. “I thought, in a battle that fierce—”
“That wasn’t a battle,” he interrupted curtly. “More like an abandon ship drill gone awry. We were barely able to answer their fire before deserting.”
Devon didn’t know what to reply to that, so she let silence fall between them once again. Cole shifted beside her. She heard his slight intake of breath as he stretched out his long legs. She glanced over, noting the deep crimson stain on his left thigh. “Is it bad?”
“No.”
She bit back a sigh of frustration. Even if he was bleeding to death, she doubted he’d admit it. He probably considered that a sign of weakness. She moved toward him before he could protest, gently pulling the torn fabric apart. “Here, let me see.” As her fingers lightly probed the injury, she realized that he was right. It was merely a flesh wound. A bit sore, perhaps, but nothing too severe. Their recent dip in the Potomac had even served to give it a proper cleansing.
Satisfied, she patted the fabric back into place, laying her hands over the wound. She heard him give another sharp intake of breath, then his large hand slammed down, pinning hers beneath it. Her head immediately snapped up. Was she hurting him?
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he snapped.
Taken completely off-guard, Devon could only stammer out a reply. “I—I thought I’d…” she began, but her voice trailed away.
That strange, golden fire was back in his deep brown eyes, but it wasn’t pain she read there. It was anger, and something else. Something stronger. Devon’s breath caught in her throat, and her stomach twisted. Her senses were suddenly heightened, and she became aware of everything at once.
For the first time since they’d met, they were alone. Totally and completely alone. The realization took on a weight and meaning that overshadowed everything else. She lifted her gaze upward, forcing herself to meet his eyes.
Cole’s face was framed by a mass of tawny-blond hair, which somehow served to heighten his rugged appeal. His firm, sensual lips were slightly parted. The angry scar that split his cheek stood out in white relief against the deep tan of his skin.
She felt the muscles of his thigh quiver and tense beneath her fingers, then felt herself tremble in response as a shiver of delicious anticipation raced down her spine. It occurred to her that she should protest, force herself away. But she couldn’t move her hands. Nor did she truly want to. She swallowed hard and tried again. “I thought I’d—”
“I know what you thought.” Cole moved slowly toward her, tracing his rough hand gently across her cheek. His body was only inches away, raw power and sensuality emanating from him like heat from a fire. Devon froze, captivated by his touch. His deep voice was soft, almost a whisper. “I’d be happy to oblige you, Devon Blake, but know this: nothing changes. You’re still going to prison, and Jonas Sharpe will die under my hand.”
Had he slapped her across the face, Devon could not have been more stunned. She jerked back, alarm and indignation flashing in her soft green eyes. “I wasn’t offering—”
“The hell you weren’t.”
“I thought you might be hurt.”
“Did you? And just where did you acquire your nursing skills, in a brothel?”
Devon drew in a sharp breath. “Obviously I made a mistake,” she conceded regally. Determined to regain her dignity, she rose to her feet. “I should have let you bleed to death.”
He grabbed her arm as she spun away from him. “Where do you think you’re going?”
“I require a few moments’ privacy. I have to… to attend to myself.”
His eyes narrowed, but he let her go. “Two minutes.”
Devon moved quickly away from him, skirting through a hedge of boxwood and into a dense grove of cedar. She saw to her needs, irritated to find that her hands were still shaking. Once again, she’d completely lost control of the situation. He’d gotten to her, and she was furious with herself. She was also flustered, embarrassed, and thoroughly confused.
After years of being in complete control of whatever situation she found herself in, Cole McRae’s ability to muddle her thinking was entirely unprecedented. Not only was it dangerous, it was a shocking blow to her pride. She had to get away from him. No sooner had the thought flitted through her mind when the realization hit home that this was the perfect opportunity. Devon frowned. It couldn’t possibly be this easy. And yet…
She lifted her head, listening. Her two minutes were up, but she heard no sound of Cole coming after her. They were alone and on foot, she thought, weighing the odds. Ordinarily that would give Cole the advantage, but surely his leg wound would slow him down. Not only that, he’d let her wander out of his sight, so he’d have no idea in which direction she headed.
Devon lifted her sodden skirts and moved cautiously away from her captor. She set a brisk pace until she was confident he was out of earshot, and then broke into an all-out run. She moved recklessly, dodging fallen logs and tree stumps, trampling shrubbery and leaves beneath her feet. Beads of sweat clung to her skin as the midday heat bore down on her, thick and heavy as a blast from a baker’s oven. The muggy air made breathing almost impossible and turned her arms and legs to lead, but she refused to let it slow her down. Exhausted and exhilarated, driven by desperation, she kept moving.
After a few minutes, Devon risked a glance over her shoulder. Still nothing. Victory swelled in her chest. She’d done it. She’d escaped. It had been so simple, so easy. Now all she had to do was make her way back to the harbor and find Jonas Sharpe—
Suddenly Cole McRae stepped out from behind a tree directly in front of her.
“No!” The word flew from her lips before she could stop it. She cut sharply to the right, narrowly avoiding flinging herself into his outstretched arms. She heard his dark curse as she sprinted past, felt his hands brush the fabric of her gown. He was on her heels in an instant. The sound of his heavy, booted tread roared like thunder in her ears. Devon panicked. Her heart pumping furiously, using every last bit of energy she possessed, she pushed herself to run faster than she ever had in her life.
It wasn’t fast enough.
Cole neatly closed the gap between them and brought Devon down with a flying tackle. With a strength born of terror, she twisted and rolled from beneath his grasp, scrambling onto all fours as she lurched away from him. “Dammit, Blake!” She heard his low growl, then felt his iron grip around her ankle as he pulled her down once again. Devon had never struck another human being in her life, but now her survival instincts surged to the surface. She turned and swung as she fell, her fist landing solidly against the side of Cole’s head. His grip loosened for a fraction of a second, enough time for her to pull free and lunge down a grassy ravine.
He was right there after her, grabbing her about the h
ips this time. But the momentum of her lunge, combined with the sheer force of gravity, propelled them forward. They tumbled down the steep slope, their bodies locked together as they rolled and slid. When they finally lurched to a stop, Cole’s body lay flat atop hers.
Devon instantly renewed her attack. She pummeled her fists against his back and shoulders and bucked her hips in a desperate attempt to break free. When that didn’t work, she twisted and squirmed beneath him, letting loose a string of curses. He pulled back so that he was straddling her, caught her wrists in one hand, and effortlessly pinned them above her head. “That’s enough!” he snapped.
Devon drew in deep, heaving breaths, feeling as though all the air had been choked out of her lungs. It didn’t help. Rather than cool air, she was engulfed instead by the heady, masculine scent of Cole’s body. He leaned over her, his legs locked around hers hips in a position that had originally been necessary to restrain her movements. Now it felt undeniably wanton. Captain McRae seemed to become aware of it at the same instant. Their eyes locked, and they both went suddenly still.
It was an opportunity Devon couldn’t afford to miss. The vulnerability of her position, combined with the overwhelming superiority of his strength and the utter uselessness of any attempt to resist him, was finally driven home. He had accused her only moments ago of trying to seduce him. She realized now she had nothing to lose by actually attempting it. Summoning all her courage, she arched her hips against his and forced her most seductive smile, despite the fact that she was trembling inside.
“I’ll give you anything you want,” she said. “I’ll do anything you want. Just promise you’ll let me go when you’re done. That’s all I ask.” In desperation, she reached up and wrapped her arms around his neck. “Please,” she choked out. “Anything you want. Just let me go.”
When still he didn’t reply, but continued to stare at her with his cold, fathomless eyes, panic and despair gripped her. It was suddenly all too much. Her arrest, her trial, the drunken insults of Sergeant Coombs, the icy contempt of Captain McRae, the ship explosion, her clumsy attempt at seduction… Her nerves were strained to the breaking point, and she simply couldn’t take any more.
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