Pirate's Bride (Liberty's Ladies)

by Lynette Vinet

  Hawk reached out and stroked her cheek, but she felt no warmth in his touch. “Instead, my conniving little virgin, I decided that you should see my face. You’re the first captive I’ve allowed to see the great Captain Hawk. Regard yourself as highly honored,” His eyes traced the features of her face, seeming to memorize each pore.

  “I wanted … wanted to see you, to know how you look. Why are you so angry?” Bethlyn whispered, finding her voice at last.

  Hawk laughed and pushed her away from him.

  Standing up, he loomed over her prone figure on the bed. “You’re a damned good actress, Beth. I give you that. Even your stammer is adorably authentic. Your teacher is to be congratulated on a job well done.”

  “What do you mean, ‘my teacher’?”

  “Just the right amount of confusion, too. But I’m not stupid. Someone put you up to traveling on Nightingale, perhaps someone expected me to confiscate the ship, and you’d conveniently be aboard to gain knowledge about my dealings … and me.”

  “No, that isn’t true.” Scrambling off the bunk, unaware of her nakedness, Bethlyn reached for Hawk only to be rebuffed when he turned away to dress. “How was I to know Nightingale would be attacked? What are you accusing me of?”

  Hawk finished tucking his shirt into his breeches and swung around. His face appeared cold and the finger he snaked across her breasts felt like ice. “You’re a spy for the Crown, and a damned able one at that. The doxy act was quite convincing, except we both know you aren’t one of those women. However, don’t feel too proud of yourself for discovering how I look. I pretended to be asleep to see if you’d fall for the bait. You did. I knew that if you were a spy, you’d take off the mask. My suspicions about you are proved correct.”

  For a second Bethlyn felt as if he’d slapped her. So, he thought the only reason she’d wanted to see his face was to turn him in to the authorities. If this had been two weeks earlier, she would have relished the chance. However, now things had changed. She’d given her heart to this blackguard, and he was too caught up in his masquerade as the fearsome Captain Hawk to realize the truth.

  “You’re wrong, Hawk. I’m not a spy. I wanted to see your face because I think I might be in love with you. Under the circumstances it’s only natural.”

  She noticed him wince, almost as if he might be weighing her words. “If that’s the truth, and you aren’t a spy, why were you on Nightingale, pretending to be a prostitute? Tell me who you are, Beth.”

  Bethlyn stifled a groan. He would demand an explanation, and one which she found impossible to give. She was the Earl of Dunsmoor’s daughter and the wife of Ian Briston, a noted loyalist. Hawk was an American privateer. As much as she cared for him, she considered that he might use her position against her, entangling her future, and she’d never be free of Ian Briston, He might hold her for ransom, thus confusing an already unusual situation with her husband. She couldn’t risk telling him the truth.

  “I won’t tell you anything about myself, but I’m not a spy. I’d never turn you into the British. Not now.”

  “Ah, but you did consider that very thing. Because of your blunder with the mask, I must rethink my plans about you.”

  “What are you going to do with me?”

  “Imprison you.”

  Shaking her head, her tousled locks streamed across her breasts and her large brown eyes filled with fear. Her usually pink lips grew paler than sand. “Please don’t lock me up again. I swear I’m not a spy. I want to go to Philadelphia with the other women. I can’t bear being cooped up in some tiny room again. Please, Hawk!”

  He didn’t seem to hear her, but threw her gown at her. It landed by her feet in a crumpled heap. “Get dressed and be quick about it. We’re due to go ashore at first light.”

  “Where are you taking me?”

  A sneer turned up the edge of his mouth before he retrieved the mask and covered his face. “Prisoners don’t ask questions, my love, no matter how fetching they are. Just be forewarned that you’re not going to Philadelphia with the others. I have my own private prison in mind for you, and I doubt you’re going to like it very much.”

  ~

  Hawk’s orders to transfer all of the women, save Beth, to Nightingale took Crane unaware. One moment he slept peacefully with Mavis in his arms, and the next, a loud pounding on his door woke him. Half asleep he remembered the fierce, furious tone of Hawk’s voice as he issued the command that Crane take charge of the confiscated ship and see that somehow the women reached Philadelphia safely. Crane was too confused by this strange turn of events to argue with Hawk. Never had he seen the man this riled, and Crane, who had been with Hawk through years of turmoil, realized that only one person could get Hawk this bothered. Bethlyn.

  Now, as he stood in the center of his cabin, a shiver shook him. He noticed that Mavis’s large blue eyes appeared even larger in her small face.

  “Why isn’t Hawk allowing Beth to go to Philadelphia?” Mavis asked in a worried voice.

  Crane turned to her, and hurriedly he reached for his clothes. “I don’t know, but I have to stop him. Hawk looked ready enough to kill.”

  “Crane, don’t let him hurt her. I don’t know what she may have done to upset him, but please — You must have guessed by now that she isn’t like these other women.”

  Crane nodded. “I know that, Mavis. I also know that her name isn’t just Beth. She’s Bethlyn Briston, the daughter of Nathaniel Talbot, Earl of Dunsmoor, and wife of the Philadelphia ship owner, Ian Briston.”

  “Yes, but how do you know about that? Bethlyn tried to keep her identity a secret. She was on her way to Philadelphia to ask her husband to annul their marriage or to make her his wife. I suppose I should have told you sooner, but I didn’t want to betray Bethlyn’s confidence. She’s been like a sister to me, Crane. Don’t allow this fearsome Captain Hawk to harm her.”

  Crane finished dressing, all too aware that he might have done Bethlyn Briston a great disservice himself. He’d known for quite some time who she was, and he thought that things would progress nicely between Bethlyn and Hawk. He’d been wrong. “I promise I’ll do my best to calm down Hawk,” he promised Mavis before he left the cabin.

  However, once on deck Crane realized with a sinking feeling of dread in his stomach that he was too late. The early morning sun emphasized the outline of the island known as Windhaven, an island off of the New Jersey shoreline, where the Black Falcon would be tucked away in a remote bay, hidden from view by huge sand dunes. However, Hawk didn’t wait for the ship to anchor. Crane spotted his formidable figure in a longboat with Bethlyn by his side, and Sparrow rowed in the direction of the shoreline.

  Crane suppressed the urge to yell and halt them. He couldn’t very well scream the news about their relationship to Hawk. Too many ears and eyes even now watched them. Somehow he’d have to trust the fates to keep Bethlyn safe.

  He must perform his duty as he’d been ordered. Time was precious, and the women must be transferred to Nightingale for the trip down the coastline where Crane would drop them off and see that each woman was given enough money to find her way to Philadelphia. Then he’d oversee the refurbishing of the confiscated ship. By the time he and the men finished the repainting and overhauling, no one would recognize Nightingale or would be able to point blame at any of them.

  No one except Bethlyn Briston.

  Crane decided he’d tell Mavis that Bethlyn was safe, because no matter how fierce and forbidding Hawk could be, he knew the man would never really do her bodily harm. Besides, who knew how close these two people would grow, once alone together on Windhaven? The longer Hawk kept Bethlyn sequestered on Windhaven, the safer they’d all be. The question which concerned Crane most was what would the impetuous miss do when released.

  ~

  Soft ocean breezes blew through the window of the small wooden house where Hawk ensconced Bethlyn earlier that morning. Bethlyn sat on a small stool by the open window and watched the ocean surf swell and retreat against
the sandy beach. By the sun and the growling of her stomach, she gauged that it was early afternoon. She wondered if Hawk intended to feed her or let her starve to death. She knew she could easily mastermind an escape. After all, the windows were opened, the door to the house, unlocked. But where would she go? The beach appeared deserted, not one rickety boat could she see. In fact, she hadn’t laid eyes on a living soul. The perfect place for a notorious man like Hawk, she found herself thinking. Deserted and much too warm for her liking, having grown used to England’s damp and chilly weather, she wondered if Hawk had purposely placed her in a living hell.

  “How could I have thought I cared about him?” she groused aloud. “He’s an arrogant, pompous idiot. What do I care how he looks? In fact, he isn’t even that handsome.”

  As she mumbled these words, she saw Hawk meandering through the sand towards the house. His face was unmasked, and the breeze tousled his dark hair. Without a doubt she knew she hadn’t meant what she’d just said. No man could possibly be more handsome than Hawk. The breath caught in her throat to see that he’d removed his shirt, revealing his powerful, bronzed chest. Images of the times she’d kissed his chest, buried her face against him, rose up and taunted her. Just to know she’d reveled in this man’s lovemaking caused her face to grow heated, and when he entered the house, she flushed anew, hoping he couldn’t read her thoughts or see the flare of desire in her eyes for him. No matter who he was or how he’d treated her, he could still make her legs go wobbly with passion for him.

  “I trust you’ve familiarized yourself with the house,” he said, sitting on a chair and pulling off his boots.

  She had, but she pretended disinterest. The house possessed three rooms: a sitting room where they now sat, a kitchen, and a bedroom upstairs with a glorious view of the ocean. She recalled the feather bed, even having sat upon it and finding it quite comfortable. A colorful quilt covered the linen-clad sheets, and though the room was simple in style and furnishings, she found it most enchanting.

  “It’s very rustic” was all she said.

  “Be that as it may, you better get used to it, Beth. You’ll be here for quite some time to come.”

  “I won’t stay here. You can’t make me stay here!” She rose from her stool and clenched her fists. “I’ll escape.”

  Hawk shrugged. “Try it. I doubt you’ll get very far.” He rubbed his hands together. “Now what about lunch? I’m starved.”

  “I was about to ask you the same thing. I’m quite hungry.”

  “Well, fix us something, Beth. You did notice the cooking area.”

  “Of course I noticed it, but you can’t expect me to cook.”

  “I can, and I do.”

  Bethlyn blinked in astonishment. “I don’t know how to cook.” Infuriating man, she thought, and a bit of anger rose in her. He had the nerve to imprison her on this godforsaken island and then expect her to cook for him. She placed her hands on her hips. “And even if I could cook, what makes you think I’d cook anything for you?”

  Hawk rose to his feet, and without warning, he pulled her into his arms. His lips were inches from hers. “You’ll do what I say. Believe me, Beth, if not for your pulling off my mask, I’d have gladly shipped you off to Philadelphia with the other women. Women are a great bother, and good for only one use. The only reason I haven’t turned you in for being a spy is because you’re so damned beautiful, and I want you for one reason and one reason alone.” With a lowering of his head he touched her lips and bestowed such a long and lingering kiss upon her that she felt like a mass of jelly. Despite the circumstances, her body melted against his and she’d have given in to the pleasant ache in her womanhood except Hawk broke away from her. His next words threw freezing water upon her ardor.

  “I think you know now what reason that might be.” He left her so abruptly that she found support by leaning against a chair.

  “I’m to be your whore while I’m here.”

  “Yes.”

  “I won’t.”

  “You will. Whenever I want you, you’ll come to me. When we met, you wanted me to think you were a doxy, so now you shall be.”

  “I see that I’m being punished because you believe I’m a spy.”

  Hawk sighed and walked into the kitchen. She heard his voice. “What I believe isn’t important any longer. You present a danger to my operation and must remain here. While here, you shall avail me of your body. I think, under the circumstances, you owe that much to me.”

  Suddenly she almost hated him. “When will you free me?”

  Hawk reentered the room, munching on an apple. “That depends on how well you behave.”

  She knew what that meant, and she winced, hating to have to bury her pride. Once again, as on the ship, she’d become his virtual slave and do his bidding. She’d come to his bed when he wanted her, whereas on the ship, she had wished to make love to him and came willingly to his bed. Tears stung her eyes to think that he now regarded her no better than Della or a common trollop.

  “I hate you for this, Hawk.”

  “I know, sweetheart, but you’ll love the nights.” He sounded unbelievably conceited. “Since you can’t cook,” Bethlyn heard him say, “I’ll arrange for a local woman to help you in the kitchen and give you cooking lessons.”

  “Someone else is on the island other than Sparrow and us?”

  Hawk laughed. “Yes, but don’t get your hopes up that anyone in the village will help you escape from me. The Black Falcon is moored near here, and my men have families on this island. Without their masks, you won’t know who is who. I wouldn’t recommend trying to enlist help from anyone, not even a woman. She might be a wife, a daughter, of one of my faithful crewmen. No one will risk my fury, Beth.”

  “You’re so certain of yourself that you make me ill.”

  “I have to be sure of myself,” Hawk said, and moved near to her. His voice was whispery soft against her cheek. “I’m so certain of my power over you, that I know for a fact that when I touch you, when I make love to you tonight, you won’t push away. You’ll eagerly open your arms and legs to me.”

  The crudity of his words stung, excited, and mortified her, because she feared he was correct.

  11

  True to his word, Hawk, sent for a woman to help Bethlyn in the kitchen, and by late that afternoon, Bethlyn had helped prepare a seafood stew under the guidance of Mrs. Tansy Tolliver. The hardest part for Bethlyn was the actual cleaning of the fish, but with an expert hand, Mrs. Tolliver instructed her how to do it properly and also told her which spices would give the mackerel a delicious and pungent flavor.

  After simmering the stew for over half an hour, Bethlyn carried the bubbling brew in a white soup tureen and placed it on the table in front of Hawk. He motioned for her to spoon the stew into a bowl for him, and Bethlyn very nearly refused, but she stifled her impulse to hurl a nasty remark at him because the kindly and grandmotherly Mrs. Tolliver stood beside her. The old woman’s face beamed with delight as she urged Bethlyn to serve Hawk the stew. “I just know you’ll find it quite tasty, sir,” Mrs. Tolliver said to Hawk. “Beth is a very good cook.”

  “Is she now? Well, I can hardly wait,” he said in a tender voice to Mrs. Tolliver while Bethlyn dutifully served him.

  When Hawk shoved the first spoonful into his mouth, Bethlyn didn’t realize she waited with baited breath for his approval. It was only when he nodded and continued eating that she breathed a relieved sigh. “I told you he’d like it, Beth.” Mrs. Tolliver winked at her and Bethlyn followed her to the door, thanking her for the help in the kitchen. “Don’t worry, dear. I’ll come back in the morning to help you with breakfast, but not too early.” The kindly woman patted her arm and whispered, “I remember how it was when I married my Jack. Newly married people like to sleep late.”

  Too stunned to say anything, Bethlyn watched the old woman hobble through the sand to her home on the other side of the island. A warmth suffused Bethlyn’s whole body to realize that Mrs. Tolliver th
ought she and Hawk were married. She felt she should have told Mrs. Tolliver the truth, but a part of her hated to admit that Hawk wanted her for only one thing, and apparently he didn’t care what people thought about her virtue. But she did, and she found she didn’t want anyone to know she was Hawk’s whore.

  Going inside, Hawk waved her to a chair. “Eat some soup, Beth. You’ve done a more than adequate job for your first cooking effort.”

  Was he being kind to her, or belittling her cooking? Sometimes she couldn’t tell when Hawk meant what he said. He had a habit of disguising the tone of his voice and of making his eyes look inexpressive. Probably because of that damned mask he wore he could manage to hide his emotions, she thought in disgust. Suddenly she wasn’t hungry and told him so just as Sparrow knocked and entered the kitchen. With barely a nod in Sparrow’s direction, she lifted the hem of her gown and took herself upstairs to the bedroom.

  “What’s the matter with her?” she heard Sparrow ask Hawk.

  “Must be her time of the month,” was Hawk’s reply.

  Even from upstairs color suffused Bethlyn’s face that Hawk would be so crude as to say such a thing about her to another person. However, what could she expect from such a blackguard, a man who’d keep her prisoner here and expect her to enjoy it? Yet she mentally calculated the number of days since her last flux and realized, so far, she wasn’t late. She gave a relieved sigh. Nothing could be worse than to find herself pregnant by Captain Hawk. Most probably the bounder wouldn’t take responsibility for the child if she did conceive.

  Hawk’s comment caused her to laugh to herself. So, he thought he would come up here later tonight and claim her again, that he’d be able to make her purr for him like a kitten. Well, she wouldn’t. She’d tell him she was ill, and if he had the audacity to ask her what ailed her, then she’d recant word for word what he’d told Sparrow.