by Jamie Carie
“He said he knows my uncle.”
Dorian set his chin on the top of Kendra’s head for a brief moment. “Yes, well I’ve learned some things about your aunt and uncle since our return.” He placed his thumb underneath her chin and tilted her face up. His voice was more serious than she’d ever heard him. “Your uncle has had dealings with Saunderson in the past. They are not honest men, Kendra.”
Kendra nodded. She had wondered how her aunt and uncle made a living, knowing their farming efforts were sad indeed. “I don’t believe my relatives would harm me.”
“Maybe not, but I don’t like it. Be careful of Saunderson. Considering the kind of women he keeps company with, it is doubtful he believes you to be uninterested.”
Kendra gasped. “Are you saying he forces kisses on women and they like it?”
Dorian shot her a speculative glance and appeared to be smoothing down a smile. “Some women like a direct approach.”
The conversation about his vast experience with the fair sex rushed back to Kendra. She took a step back and then another. “I suppose you know all about that. Mayhap I should guard myself from you too.”
Dorian took a step closer, just as Martin had, but this time jolts of excitement raced through her instead of fear. “That would be wise indeed, Kendra.” His voice was like warm silk gliding over her heated skin.
She reminded herself that she would not be like those other women, throwing themselves at him. And she would most certainly not be like Angelene. She would continue to pray and await God’s will for her life with patience and . . . long-suffering . . . and . . . the image of Ruth lying at Boaz’s feet flashed through her mind, causing her to frown. The Bible did have some peculiar stories in it. She would have to study that one again in light of this new knowledge of men. Nevertheless, she would uphold her high morals just as her father would wish. She lifted a hand to stop Dorian. “Don’t prove yourself no better than that horrid man.”
Dorian’s mouth quirked up in a crooked smile as his eyes flashed mischief at her. “You dare compare me to him?” He grasped her upper arms in a tender, tight hold. “Next, you’ll be calling me names again, black-hearted pirate names.”
Kendra shivered under the force of his hands and not because of the chill in the air. He did look like a pirate, a reformed gentleman pirate with his long, dark hair and dark blue waistcoat with a stark white cravat and shirt glowing under the light of the moon.
He leaned in and pulled her toward him. His hands rose to rest on her shoulders, his thumbs a butterfly touch against her flushed cheeks as his breath moved in and out above her hair. She stood still in his trap—unable to move, unable to think, unable to breathe.
An aching hungriness grew in her chest. She was no better than the rest of them—poor, besotted women indeed. She would give anything if he would only kiss her.
She let her head fall back and closed her eyes, letting the moonlight reveal his victory. She waited for what seemed an eternity and then let out a held breath as his warm lips brushed against each closed eyelid. The kisses trailed to her ear, sending waves of bliss through her body. She took a shuddering breath as his lips made a trail of heat down her throat. Her senses swirled together, her mind spun down a dizzying path to where she did not know or care.
He was a pirate after all.
Oh, not the kind that took loot from another ship, reveling in the spoils of jewels and golden coins. No, he was the pirate of her heart, taking what she was terrified to give and heaven only knew what he would do with it now that he held it in his hands.
Dorian groaned as he finally took her willing lips. He heard both their ragged breath and knew he would have to stop, pull back, and protect her innocence. But something was happening, something strange and not welcome. His independence, his life as a sea captain and the freedom he’d reveled in, all swept away with the intensity of her response. If he didn’t stop, and soon, he would have to make her his wife.
The choice hung between them like the strongest silken thread, connected by their lips. With all the strength he possessed he pulled away and gazed at the flushed splendor of her face. He groaned deep in his throat as the violet-hued eyes opened to reveal a smoldering she couldn’t know was there, couldn’t realize the effect she was having on him, could she? Her lips were swollen from his kiss, her hair fallen down in wild disarray. She was the picture of seduction and it took all of his strength to step back.
“Why did you stop?” she whispered in a husky voice.
Was she really so innocent? “I think you had better go inside. Quickly.”
Kendra took a step back and with a deep breath, a shocked breath, as if she were just coming back into the land of the living, she lifted her hands to her cheeks. “Oh! What are we doing?”
With a feminine squeak of a sound, she turned and rushed toward the light and safety.
Chapter Fourteen
The low fire was the only light in his bedchamber as Dorian walked in and shut the door behind him with a small click. He walked over to a chair beside the fire, rubbing the back of his neck. A trickle of sweat ran down the side of his face. He squeezed his eyes closed, trying not to think, and then removed his coat and tossed it over the back of another chair. Sitting down, elbows braced on his knees, he blew out a long breath and buried his face into his hands.
What was he doing? Playing with her like that?
Images of people and places he hadn’t thought of in years paraded across his memory. Captaining his own ship had turned out even more satisfying than he’d dreamed. He enjoyed every aspect of his life—making deals for goods that other men couldn’t seem to get their hands on; courting contacts and business associates with a natural charm that made easy friends of everyone; the surge of his heart pumping when life on the high seas turned dangerous, when it demanded nerves of steel, decisive leadership, and the thrill of overcoming odds time after time after time.
She’d called him a pirate and in a way, it was true. He looted pockets using calculated charm instead of sabers, plundered relationships to achieve his goals, and even turned off the internal voice which whispered he’d gone too far when he accepted a midnight offer from a beautiful woman with greed on her mind. He’d been living a charmed life and he hadn’t dreamed that anything or anyone would ever change that.
Kendra’s face flashed behind his closed eyes as he pressed his fingers against his face. What had she done to him? Like a cannonball being fired at his middle she’d exploded into his perfectly happy life and blown it to bits. It didn’t make sense. It was as if he stood on the edge of a steep cliff unable to stand against the cyclone coming right at him. There didn’t seem to be any stopping this fast-fall obsession.
A pair of violet-hued eyes had quite simply ruined him.
With a short, hard exhale of breath he stood and removed all but his drawers. The fire barely made enough light to see the bed but he was too exhausted to light a candle. He edged around to the side, turned back the edge of the coverlet, and slid into bed. His elbow slammed into something solid, something soft. He sprang back. Something was in his bed! No, not something . . . someone!
It moved toward him as he leapt from the bed and grasped his pistol from the bedside table. As soon as he had it pointed at the bed he heard a low chuckle. Prickles of unease ran up and down his back and then outrage burst through him as Angelene’s dark head poked out from the covers.
“You.”
“Hello, Dorian.” A bare shoulder showed above the top of the coverlet.
“Angelene, what do you think you are doing here?” He knew the answer—it was hammering at his head in a tap, tap, tapping way but the shock had yet to wear off. Trap! This was a trap—his body and brain screamed at him to run.
“I would think that would be obvious,” she purred. She started to sit up, covers clutched fetchingly to her chest. “Tell me you don’t want me here.”
Dorian swallowed hard and looked away. “Angelene, please, get dressed and get out.”
> She chuckled with throaty certainty. “Come now. I always get what I want and I want you. I will make you very, very happy, Dorian.”
Dorian looked back at her, incredulous. “I have tried to be polite. I have tried to spare your feelings, but I see that my efforts have been wasted. If you do not leave, immediately, I will. I would save your reputation if possible. Angelene, think what you are doing.”
“Oh, I have thought of nothing else.” Her gaze was like a searing iron with her brand on it across his chest. With a big inhale, Angelene threw back her head and let out a bloodcurdling scream. Dorian dove for his pants and yanked them on. A moment later the door burst open as Angelene’s father and two other guests who were staying in rooms down the hall, rushed into the room. Her father’s face turned ashen as he took in the sight that met his eyes.
“What in blazes!” His gaze swung to Angelene as she clutched the coverlet to her throat. “Daddy,” she screeched, “he seduced me!” She began to cry, real tears streaming down her face.
Dorian stood motionless in the trap that was tightening around his throat. He was finding it hard to breathe. “Mr. Monteiro, I assure you that I was not seducing your daughter. I’m sorry to say it, but I found her in my room waiting for me.” He wasn’t sure how to go on. As much as he disliked her, he despaired of seeing her chances of ever making an honorable marriage disappear like a puff of smoke.
Angelene burst into a fresh round of tears at his words. “Forgive me, Daddy,” she cried. “You saw how he danced with me earlier and then, and then, he kissed me in the garden. Before I knew what was happening, I was coaxed in here.” She peeked up at her father, tears still bright in her wide, blinking eyes.
Monteiro started to rush Dorian but one of the other houseguests held him back while the other, a young gentleman who couldn’t keep his gaze off Angelene, closed the door and made shushing sounds to them all.
“He’ll pay for this, my dear. I promise you that,” Monteiro hissed with an outraged glare toward Dorian. “We will leave and you will get dressed. Be quick about it. I am taking you home.” Turning to Dorian, he shook off the restraining hands and stood as tall as his frame would allow. Shaking with anger he stated. “I will discuss this matter with your father, sir. You shall be called to account for your despicable actions.”
Dorian said nothing to that. He was a grown man and his father would never interfere in his life unless asked to. Dorian watched as they all quit the room. He gave Angelene one last look, a look of pity, before following them out.
Angelene looked as she always did when about to win the desires of her heart.
Angelene looked smug.
Kendra closed her eyes, a dreamy smile on her lips, and leaned out the open window of her bedchamber, breathing in the cool night air. Had there ever been a more perfect evening?
Dear God, he’s the one, isn’t he?
Her smile grew into a soft laugh as happiness expanded inside her chest, filling her with an almost painful joy. She wanted to remember his kiss, but she was saving that. First she had to remember every smile, every touch, being in his arms while they danced, even that ghastly man had turned out part of her fairytale. All fairytales needed a villain and the way Dorian had rushed to her rescue, so brave and so strong! She inhaled and then let out a big sigh.
American pirate captains were very nice indeed.
A sudden rustling sound from across the yard jerked her attention to the outdoors. She poked her head further out the window looking from side to side and then, as two large figures came around the side of the house, she pulled back inside the darkness. She straightened, skirting around to the side of the window, and pressed her back against the wall. Leaning ever so slightly toward the open window she was just able to make out a voice.
“So, where’s my money, my friend?”
It was Uncle Franklin’s voice. Who was he talking to out in the middle of the yard at a time like this? Kendra leaned a little more toward the window, her ear coming around the frame, but still kept her back pressed to the wall so that she couldn’t be seen.
A low chuckle, one that sounded strangely familiar, answered her uncle. Wait. Was that the sound of coins jingling? “You’ve won at last, Franklin. Your description of her was, ah, not exaggerated. You’ve truly foiled me. Well done.”
Uncle Franklin laughed with a hearty sound Kendra had never heard from him before. He must have realized how loud it was as he cut the bark off and took to whispering. “She is something, isn’t she? But that’s not even the half of it. She’s so . . . pleasant. Yes, yes, that’s the word. She’s brought sunshine into this house and I should hate to see her go and the gloom reappear I assure you, but then it must be so if we are to have what we want, eh? Why, she made me a rhubarb pie yesterday, slaved over the thing for hours I’m told to get it just right, just because she heard it was my favorite. I shall miss her!” He sounded louder and magnanimous. “She’ll make a fine wife, that she will. Make a man happy, I say.”
Oh dear. She had made a rhubarb pie yesterday. They were talking about her!
“Yes, well, I fear I’ve misstepped on making a good first impression.”
“Heh.” Her uncle’s voice growled. “You were just over eager. Understandable. Quite understandable. Let’s have you out to dinner. You’ll make a better impression here at home with us than standing in a crowded ballroom vying with all the other men for her attention. She was belle of the ball. I couldn’t keep track of how many she danced with.”
“One in particular is worrisome.”
“Yes, that Dorian Colburn. Something will have to be done about him.”
The voices paused.
Kendra’s mind reeled with everything she had heard, but the greatest, strongest thought was the knowledge that they might harm Dorian. Peeking around the window frame, she saw the face of the man speaking to her uncle. Her heart sped up as the moonlight cast a shadowy pall on his sharp, angled face. It was him. The man who had forced a kiss on her. She shuddered.
Why was Uncle Franklin talking to him like they were some sort of partners? And why was Uncle Franklin acting like he was plotting something? What was this bet they had? It didn’t make sense. Her relatives had been kind to her of late and she had thought, hoped, and prayed that she was being accepted into their family. She bit her lower lip while hot pinpricks of tears scalded behind her eyes. Her nose swelled and she sniffed—a loud interruption in the dark quiet. Oh, no! They’d heard her! Her hand rose to her mouth as she shrank back from the window.
Lord have mercy, what if they saw her?
With legs that trembled and a painful throbbing against her temples she rushed to her bed, eased under the covers, and turned on her side toward the wall. Don’t let them come to the window. Please, God, keep me safe, keep me safe, keep me safe.
Her heart was roaring in her ears so that she wondered if she could hear anything should they come to her window to investigate. Taking short breaths, she squeezed her eyes shut and concentrated on calming down. Uncle Franklin wouldn’t hurt her, she was sure of that, wasn’t she? But it sounded like he wanted that horrid man to court her. Oh, stop thinking like that. Trust in the Lord, remember? He had promised to be her Father now that she was an orphan and she was going to hold Him to that promise!
Finally, after several minutes of silence, she started to breathe evenly again. A few more minutes and she mustered up the courage to turn her head and look toward the window. Nothing was there but a wide breadth of moonlight spilling through the half-open curtains. Big, deep breath. Thank You, Lord.
More moments of silence went by and then she took a deep breath and by slow degrees turned over and slid out of bed.
She would not be sleeping with the window open this night.
Dorian was fully clothed and pacing the length of his room when he received his father’s summons. As he walked into the library, he saw the other occupant in the room, his stern face accusing him. Clayton stood up and motioned for Dorian to take the seat op
posite Don Monteiro. “Mr. Monteiro has told me what he walked in on tonight, son.” Clayton sighed. “Dorian, I’m sure there is some kind of . . . explanation—” He stopped and leaned against his braced hands splayed on either side of the desk.
“Father,” Dorian asked in a voice that was deadly soft, “do you think I’m such a fool that I would invite a woman into my bedroom? And in your house? I may have been foolish in the past, reckless even, and I will admit to the folly of naming my ship after her and no doubt giving her false hopes, but I did not invite her into my room. I am not that big a fool.”
Clayton nodded, his features relaxed. He turned to Monteiro. “You know your daughter, sir. In all honesty, what do you think happened?”
Monteiro’s face turned a telling shade of red as he sputtered, “My daughter is ruined, that’s what I think. And foolish or not, your son is going to marry Angelene posthaste.”
Dorian shook his head and stared at Angelene’s father with pity in his eyes. “I’m sorry, sir. Sorry if I, in any way, encouraged her. Sorry she lost her mother at a young age and hasn’t had a mother’s guidance in such matters. I’m sorry you’ve given her everything she ever wanted and that she has become this . . . this spoiled woman. Because, truth be known, she is beautiful on the outside and miserable on the inside. Truth be known, she has been hurtling toward this moment for a very long time and you know it. You’ve been dreading it, haven’t you?”
In the deathly silence of his words, Dorian walked over and poured Don Monteiro a drink. He took it to him, his steps steady and sure. The look in his eyes matched his steps, a mix of compassion and truth. It was like an inborn weapon, this ability to show truth and direct it in such a way that people recoiled and capitulated. He felt sorry to wield it, especially to a father who had probably done the best he could, but his back was in the proverbial corner and he fought with the instincts of the trapped. Dorian thrust the drink out to the man—a talented man, a man who was revered in his place as a shipbuilder, a man that had never known how to be a father. Dorian held the glinting crystal out with a steady hand and in a firm voice encouraged, “No one will know what she’s done, I promise. Just take her home and let this quietly subside.”
