“Brooke!” he exclaimed in a low, burly voice. His arms were outstretched and Brooke walked into them, hugging the governor as he hugged her. “You look bigger and bigger every day!” He took a step back to look at her, but his hands still squeezed her shoulders in emphasis. “My, you look beautiful. How odd that you are not married yet!”
“She has met a potential prospect,” Master Cunningham interjected with a smile. Governor Radcliffe released Brooke so he could give his full attention to her father. “A young merchant - a young, wealthy merchant. He is supposed to dine with us in two days’ time.”
“Well, congratulations!” Radcliffe exclaimed, now turning to face Brooke, who was trying to hide a knowing smirk about her wealthy merchant. “Fiona is outside - you know the way. Your father and I have to speak of boring, old matters of business. It was so nice seeing you.”
“And you as well,” Brooke replied, curtseying before she made her way outside.
The backyard of the Governor’s mansion was large, filled with flowers, finely cut, rich green grass, tall, maintained trees, as well as a large fountain that provided bathing water for the birds. Fiona Radcliffe was sitting alone in the middle of the garden, her feet bare so that grass could invade the middles of her toes. Brooke grinned as she made her way over to her closest friend, excited to finally be able to tell someone about her dangerous visitor from the night before.
Brooke stopped in front of Fiona, and the sitting woman was so surprised that she nearly spit up her tea. Her long auburn hair was tied into a simple bun, and she wore a small, fashionable green hat on top of her head that matched her green dress. She was not worried about her pale complexion getting any darker only because she inherited her porcelain skin from her mother. She was epitome of beauty, nearly perfect in every way. She was tall and slender, her lips full and her cheeks high. When Brooke was younger, she was jealous of Fiona’s looks, but after many years, she began to appreciate herself more and more.
When Fiona saw Brooke, her lips curved into a smile, and she jumped up and pulled her friend into a bone-crushing hug.
“You are dangerous,” Brooke told her friend after Fiona released her, trying to catch her breath.
Fiona looked at Brooke with her dark blue eyes, a knowing smile on her face. “You have something to tell me,” she stated, her smile evolving into a mischievous grin on her delicate features. “Tell me now before I wither away in anticipation.”
Brooke erupted with a throaty laugh as the two young women sat down. Brooke quickly poured herself some tea and added milk and sugar to the hot concoction.
“Before I say anything, you must swear me your secrecy,” Brooke said in a serious tone, but her eyes were light and playful.
Fiona placed her right hand over her heart. “I swear,” she promised, her tone just as serious.
“Well,” Brooke said after taking a sip of her tea. She leaned in close to Fiona, despite the fact that no one was occupying the backyard save for the two of them. It was as if Brooke was slightly paranoid that the wind would carry her secret away. “Last night, I found a man in my room.”
“How?!” Fiona exclaimed, her hand covering her mouth in shock. “Did your father know? Was it one of those god-awful suitors he keeps trying to set you up with?” she asked with the roll of her eyes.
Brooke shook her head. “It was no suitor,” she told Fiona firmly.
“No more of your games!” Fiona exclaimed, her patience worn. “Tell me who this stranger was!”
“All right,” Brooke said. “The man in my bedroom was Captain Charlie Colt!” Her whisper was fast and excited, and her eyes were bright.
“No!” gasped Fiona, her eyes widening. “The Captain Charlie Colt?! The man who left the East India Company for a life of piracy? Why was he in your room? I see you are unharmed…” Her voice drifted off as her eyes scanned Brooke up and down carefully.
“Yes, well apparently he and his crew robbed my father from a portion our family’s wealth, and yet I do not think my father has noticed yet…” Brooke furrowed her brow, deep in thought. “Or maybe he has, and that is why he has called upon your father.”
“How did Colt manage to do that?” Fiona asked, skepticism clear in her tone.
“His first-mate disguised himself as a wealthy merchant who called upon my father to sup with him,” Brooke explained. “It was a means of distraction. Captain Colt’s crew surrounded my home, and as the first-mate supped with my father, the crew broke into the home, stealing whatever they could and leaving before supper ended.”
“How deliciously wicked!” Fiona exclaimed with a smile. “That Captain Colt is brilliant as well as attractive. He is attractive in real life, is he not?” Fiona’s brow pushed together, her chin nearly touching her throat as she looked at Brooke with curiosity in her dark blue eyes.
“I would say so,” Brooke said, after a moment of thinking. Her eyes glanced up at the sky, her index finger tapping her chin. She could not blatantly lie to her friend and tell her that Captain Colt was unattractive, and yet she did not want Fiona to know that she believed the pirate captain to be the most attractive man she had ever laid eyes upon. Fiona, while very appreciative of good looks no matter who had them, did not approve of the higher class being enamored by the lower class. “Although he did steal my heart,” she added.
“Your what?” Fiona asked, arching her brow.
“My jewel,” Brooke responded quickly. “My favorite necklace. That was all he took.”
“But you have a whole box filled with jewels!” Fiona pointed out. “Why that one jewel?”
“God knows,” Brooke replied, rolling her eyes and sighing with some exasperation. She took another sip of her tea, letting the sweetened flavor stain her senses. “I just hope he gives it back.”
“He’s a pirate,” Fiona told her friend as she poured herself another cup of tea. “There is no reason for him to return you your jewel unless he has some sort of affection for you, and pirates do not even know the meaning of said word.” She looked at Brooke in the eyes. “Unless you see him again, I doubt you will get your jewel back.” As Fiona spoke, Brooke stared across the large lawn, blankly, almost lifelessly. “Brooke?” she asked, a white teapot with blue floral designs resting delicately in her hand. Brooke snapped out of her thoughtful silence, and turned her head slightly so she looked up at Fiona. “More tea?”
--
After supper that evening, Brooke called upon Liz to draw her a hot bath. As she waited for the tub to be filled, she walked onto her balcony and looked out at the sky. The sun was disappearing underneath the sea, bursting into an array of colors. The murmur of the town below her steadily increased, as though they were announcing that night was here. Her eyes scanned the people that started to accumulate downtown, in rich vibrant colors that screamed, “Look at me!” There was a trail of colors that followed the sun underneath the sky, a sight so incredibly beautiful that a description of it could not be put into words. A slight breeze picked up, pricking Brooke’s delicate skin. Glancing back into her room, she hoped that her bath was almost ready.
She walked back into her room, her long fingers interlaced, and stopped at the foot of her bed. She turned so she was facing the bed, and stared at the painting that had captivated her years ago. The sea looked so angry then, yet still so beautiful. It showed that when man went against nature, it was a losing battle for nature always prevailed. It was striking to look upon the painting. To the naïve or arrogant observer, it was simply a painting, but to the wise sailor, he knew the anger the sea could conjure. He had experienced it first-hand, and even developed a respect for the changing water. Brooke, herself, had never experienced the sea as the painting portrayed it, nor had Brooke experienced the sea at all. She had never left Port Royal in all her twenty years; she had never stepped on a ship in her life. And yet, when her observant eyes swept over the endless ocean, she could do nothing but respect it, and every time she happened to look on the ocean, her curiosity could not help but be
piqued, and her desire to satiate her curiosity increased.
“Bath’s ready, mum,” Liz said quietly from behind Brooke, causing Brooke’s thought to disappear.
Brooke nodded her acknowledgement, but said nothing more on the matter, and neither did Liz. The servant excused herself, and Brooke nodded her approval, leaving Brooke to take her bath alone. Brooke was silently grateful for the temporary isolation; she needed time alone with her thoughts. Once she stepped into her bathing room, she slipped off her dress and hung it on the rack. She could see hot steam rising from the still water, all enclosed in a porcelain white tub.
Brooke grinned to herself; she loved hot baths.
A stand that rested next to the tub held all her necessary cleansing items, such as a soap, a rag, a brush (for no comb could go through her hair without some sort of trouble), and lotions that would successfully wash her hair.
Brooke started by washing her long hair, her thoughts wandering to the handsome stranger that she had encountered merely yesterday. He was probably already gone from Port Royal, sailing on his ship with a destination only he knew.
What a life that would be compared to the current one Brooke was living. Expect the unexpected, living life day by day, rarely planning for the future unless there was some benefit to do so. The currents of the sea could always change, the sun could always disappear. How excitingly dangerous life could be.
When Brooke finished, she stepped out of the tub and onto a towel that was one out of many that surrounded the tub so that water would not get anywhere, and it prevented Brooke from accidentally slipping. She grabbed a towel from the rack and dried herself off quite thoroughly. Afterwards, she placed the used towel neatly back on the rack, and slipped into her comfortable nightgown. Sighing with content, she grabbed the towel once again and, as she entered her room she proceeded to gently wring out the wetness of her damp hair.
“Fancy seeing you again, darling,” he said as he saw her figure walk gracefully into her room. His chocolate brown eyes traveled up and down her body, an appreciative smile on his face.
“Seeing as how I happen to reside here, it is really not that much of a surprise now, is it?” Brooke asked, her face passive and yet inside, her heart was beating incessantly. She continued to dry her hair, which was now brown due to the water that had previously consumed it.
Charlie watched her with his coal-rimmed eyes. “I suppose you’re right,” he mumbled through his long fingers, which were resting over his lips.
“Why are you here?” Brooke asked him as she folded the towel neatly in half, and hung it up on her changing screen. She would have slipped into his hidden trench coat had he not been present. “I doubt it is to return my necklace. Did you want your coat back?” She turned to face him finally, arching a brow and giving him a challenging stare.
Charlie shook his head, his unruly brown hair swaying along. “That was a gift in return for your generous gift,” he explained. “We are square.”
“Do you really believe that your worn, old trench coat even matches the value of my necklace?” Brooke asked, keeping her voice even, although the comparison of the two inanimate objects still slightly infuriated her.
“If you don’t want it, then give it back,” Charlie said with a smirk. The candlelight reflected off his two gold teeth and made it shine, even in the darkness.
Brooke glared at him. One part of her wanted to throw the trench coat in question at the arrogant fool, and yet another part of her, more sentimentally inclined, wanted to keep it. For some odd reason, the scent comforted her like no other, and she experienced a feeling of security, something she had never felt before and was not inclined to sacrifice just yet for the sake of her pride. Of course, she would never give him the satisfaction of telling him that.
“I must have misplaced it,” she said quickly, averting her eyes from him.
Charlie grinned at her, knowing she was not telling the truth, and swaggered over to her so he was currently less than a foot away. He rested the back of his fingers onto his hips and leaned his torso toward her so that his long, pointed nose was nearly brushing her small, upturned one.
“Liar,” he whispered, the tone of his voice causing her skin to prick more so than the slight sea breeze.
Brooke gulped, her face coloring due to the close proximity of her and Captain Charlie Colt, but more surprisingly to her, the way his voice made her feel. A sense of vulnerability crept up to surround her, but with that vulnerability came a very subtle feeling of want, a feeling she was acutely aware of and did not fully comprehend.
Charlie grinned at her reaction, enjoying the power that he had over this girl. Brooke, seeing his arrogant smirk, pushed her lips together and narrowed her eyes at him.
“Says you,” she snapped, crossing her arms over her chest.
“No,” he said, his smirk deepening. He extended both forefingers toward the ceiling, and then pointed both at Brooke, his gold teeth flickering along with the candlelight. “No, sweetheart, says you.” He paused, and then crossed his right foot over his left foot, his boots softly thumping as he slowly circled the young woman before him.
Charlie studied the girl, his chocolate eyes once again running up and down her body with obvious appreciation. Her wet hair tumbled down to her mid-back in waves, small droplets finding a home on Brooke’s off-white nightgown. This only caused the pirate captain’s brow to shoot up as he took in her discolored skin through the thin transparent trails the small droplets left. Her neck was long and sensual, a favorite part of a woman’s body for Charlie. The gown was rather loose and nearly screamed to the floor. It was formless, but cinched at the waist which emphasized the wearer’s bosom. She was rather short, he noticed, but for some peculiar reason, her legs were long. This not only baffled Charlie about the female’s anatomy, but intrigued him as well. He was a fan of a woman’s body no matter what, and while there were obvious parts he did favor in specific circumstances, his favorite part of a woman’s body was her back. And as of right now, there was no other back that he wanted to see more than Brooke Cunningham’s.
“Your eyes give you away,” he told her once he completed his circle around her. He grinned again when he saw that his words colored her cheeks.
Brooke was enraged that he seemed to be amused by how uncomfortable she was, and bit her lip to keep from yelling at him. She may be upset with the pirate captain, but she would keep her yelling under control so that he would not get caught.
“In this whole time you have been here I have not seen you look at my eyes,” she said through gritted teeth.
His teeth flashed as he smiled, which nearly caused Brooke to lose her firm composure. “Well, I cannot be blamed if something so beautiful drew my eyes elsewhere,” Charlie explained in a low murmur, his eyes finally looking into hers. They were green, he noticed, just like the color of the sea.
“Pretty words,” Brooke said, dropping her arms so they laid limply by her sides, “but even the prettiest song can lose its intended meaning if it is repeated constantly.”
Charlie curved his lips into an interested smile at Brooke’s words, his eyes never leaving hers. They were growing on him, her eyes were, and while she had an abundance of good physical attributes, her eyes were more striking to him than he initially anticipated.
“What makes you say I have uttered said words before?” Charlie asked her, quirking a brow and tilting his head to the side slightly. His eyes narrowed, not in suspicion, but in curiosity as he watched her, hoping for some sort of tell, a reaction to his words.
“I am not stupid,” Brooke told him, furrowing her brow. “It is an easy trade to master, the art of flattery, but also an easy trade to recognize if you’ve got your wits about you.”
“So if my trade be flattery, then what is yours?” he asked her. His tone was neutral, but there was a challenge that tainted his seemingly innocent question.
Brooke cocked her head to the side, realizing that now she had some sort of advantage, however slight i
t might be, and her lips curled into a smirk that mirrored Charlie’s previous one.
“My trade is the art of secrecy,” she said in a soft voice, her eyes sparkling with mischievousness.
“Is it now?” Charlie asked, his tone suggestive as well as interested. He took a step closer to her, daring to be less than an arm’s length from her. Again, she gulped, craning her neck so that she could look up at him. “And what sort of secrets does a merchant’s daughter hold?”
Brooke just looked up at him, breathing hard yet silent, and opened her mouth to speak, hoping that when she answered, her voice would not shake. “If I told you, they would not be secrets anymore,” she said, a taunting edge in her voice. Her eyes only added to the unspoken challenge.
“You can trust me, though,” Charlie said, leaning down and turning his head so that she could merely whisper in his ear before the wind took whatever she said and her secrets were exposed.
“If I did that,” she said, almost husky, into his ear, a tad uncomfortable at the closeness between the two, “then I wouldn’t be a master of my craft, now would I?”
Charlie pulled away, another one of his smirks upon his face. “I s’ppose you’re right,” he said. It was his cue to leave now, and he turned from her so that he was heading for the window. He lifted his left arm, and wiggled his long fingers in a manner of waving, and turned his head so that his sharp profile was visible and his chocolate eyes were seeking her out. “Ta for now, darling,” he told her, and before Brooke could respond, he was gone.
Brooke exhaled slowly, a breath she did not realize she was keeping within herself. He had visited her once again. She let out a surprised and yet happy smile slip onto her face as she just stared out the open window, wondering if he was coming back to see her once more. She would not admit it aloud, but she did want him to see her before he left to sail the sea. She sighed as she walked over to her desk and pulled the bottom right drawer open to reveal the worn, old trench coat. She put it on, inhaling the intoxicating scent, a content smile resting on her lips. With that, she slipped between her bed sheets, her eyelids heavy and eager to meet their opposite. Soon, Brooke was asleep, and the only thing moving in her still room was the flicker of the dying candle.
Corsets & Crossbones Page 5
