"Stop!" she finally demanded, beating at his back. She pulled on great handfuls of his white linen shirt as if that would prevent him from taking her away, but it didn't. He strode to the companionway, now the complete victor, and she knew there was nothing within her power to stop him.
She hadn't counted on help, however. They were almost to the hatch when suddenly she heard a familiar voice. She lifted her head and through the tangle of her hair she saw Flossie Lindstrom rushing toward them from the weather deck, her deadly pagoda-shaped parasol aimed directly at Vashon.
"Unhand her this instant, Vashon! Whatever are you thinking of!"
Surprised, Vashon barely had enough time to see his attacker before he took a hefty jab in the ribs with the end of the parasol. He grasped Aurora only harder, and though she suddenly resumed her struggling, he gave no quarter.
"Get her!" he barked at the captain who was still standing in his cabin's threshold, his jaw slack from disbelief. Reluctantly, Captain Corbeil moved forward to try to stop the widow and received several knocks on the head for his trouble. He finally wrestled the lethal parasol out of Flossie's hand, but still the widow would not give up.
"What is the meaning of this, Isaac?" Flossie demanded, her normally pink cheeks red from anger. "What are you both up to that you would allow Aurora to be abused this way?"
"Take that hazardous busybody to my cabin," Vashon ordered ominously, his patience at an end. "And take that," he pointed to the black parasol that the captain held in his hand, "and see that it is thrown overboard." With Aurora still helplessly slung over his shoulder, his face took on a look of utter exasperation, then he disappeared down the hatch.
Dismayed, Flossie turned to the captain. She looked about to rebuke him once more, but she then saw the pistol he held so expertly in his hand. Isaac's expression was stern and troubled and completely without compromise. Grimly he motioned for her to go down the hatch. With a look of utter betrayal on her face, Flossie picked up her skirts and rebelliously comported her generous figure down the companionway.
Chapter Eight
"You won't get away with this, Vashon," Flossie informed him as Isaac bound her, hand and foot, to a chair. She looked almost comical, her full black-swathed figure being subjected to the puny confines of a rope. "I have people in St. George's! They'll find you!" she threatened.
Vashon stood by the door coolly watching the proceedings. Overhead they heard the footsteps as the ship was prepared for sail. Looking confident of a quick departure, Vashon gave the widow a derisive snort. "I've eluded better men than your milk-fed relations, madam."
"Aurora and I were expected at the inn. When I don't return, all of Bermuda will be out looking for you!"
"And how will they know enough to look for me? Most of the passengers on this ship saw you disembark.' The only thing anyone will know for sure is that you left the inn and were never heard from again. They'll think you slipped from the docks and drowned."
"No! They know the Seabravery left early, and when Aurora's friends come looking for her, they'll piece everything together and know that we were kidnapped!"
Vashon began to laugh. Flossie appeared as if she would go into apoplexy at any moment.
"Is this true, little wren?" Vashon looked to Aurora.
She stood against the wall, her hands bound around the black japanned bedpost of Vashon's bed.
"Will all the fine peacocks of London come scouring the seas for you?" He lifted one black eyebrow.
As their gazes met, Aurora's expression remained cast in marble. She refused to show any fear. Yet they were truly in a desperate situation. There wasn't a soul in the world that would come looking for her. Aurora had nobody, absolutely nobody to miss her. Vashon was right, but she'd be damned if she'd confirm it.
"My fiancé will come," she informed him. "And he'll know something happened to me when I don't return his letters. He'll seek out Lady Perkins, and then he'll know whom to look for." She shot Vashon a venomous look, then turned away as if he were beneath her contempt.
Vashon's eyes narrowed. A cynical smile graced his lips. "There was no indication of a fiancé when we inquired into your situation. Who is this man? An illusion, I think. If you were engaged to be married, why were you so eager to be off to Jamaica and your new position? No, I think you're making that up, Aurore, and I tell you now, lying, especially from you, is not going to be looked upon kindly on this ship."
"It's the truth," she said calmly, refusing to show her fury. "John Phipps asked me to be his wife. When he inherited the Home, he had every intention of marrying me."
"Then what stopped him?"
The question hung in the air like a net ready to fall. Aurora fumbled for an answer.
"John needed to sort out some problems. After the previous owner's death, he felt the Home needed to be run differently. I left so that he could get things in order. He'll be after you as soon as—"
Her words died as Vashon walked up to her. She flinched when he caressed her cheek, now burning in outrage.
"This man let you sail clear to Jamaica so that he could more easily settle his business problems? I think not." His gaze swept her figure, then lingered where her dress fell from her shoulders and hung tantalizingly at her bosom. Unable to help herself, Aurora clutched the bedpost as if it would shield her from him.
"Aurora, let me tell you a secret," he finished. "No man is that patient . . . or that stupid."
"I'm not making this up! John Phipps will be after you, and with the Royal Navy, too!"
"So be it. But if I'd cowered every time someone threatened me with the Royal Navy, I'd never rise from my bed in the morning." He took a deep breath. "Now, ladies," he said to both of them, "Isaac and I must get this ship out of port before another catastrophe occurs. When we're out to sea, you'll be released and attended to by Benny. If all goes well and Aurora cooperates, then you'll be let go at the next port. That will be San Juan. . . .
"However, if Aurora does not cooperate"—Vashon gave her a penetrating look—"then you'll both be taken to my island, and you'll stay there until she does."
"Where is this island?" Flossie demanded.
"Le Mirage de la Mer is aptly named. It's truly the mirage of the sea, and no one has yet to map it. So my telling you where it is will do you no good."
Flossie sighed in despair, then turned her rath upon Isaac, who was standing above her. "How could you do this to me? I thought—I thought—" she sputtered, then composed herself. "A curse on you, do you understand me? I thought you were a gentleman."
"Flossie," Isaac said, his voice full of annoyance, "when you left the ship, why did you reboard? Why didn't you just stay out of this? I told you I'd try to visit —what were you doing here? Were you looking for me?"
"Certainly not!" she spouted. "I was searching for Aurora. We were going to have refreshments at the inn, and when she didn't arrive, I worried that she might have somehow gotten lost. Never in my wildest nightmares did I suspect you were kidnapping her. Oooooh, and I trusted you! I even asked you to tea in my cabin during this voyage! Whatever was wrong with me?"
With that statement annoying him further, Isaac strode to the door. Vashon gave both women a warning stare, then he too left the cabin.
When the men were gone, Flossie immediately turned to Aurora. "Oh, love, did that—that—villain hurt you? I must tell you I was never so shocked in my life to see him flinging you over his shoulder. Are you sure you're all right?"
Aurora gave her a wry smile and said, "My dress and my sensibilities are damaged, but nothing more. I'm so sorry you came back. How I wish, like Captain Corbeil, you were out of this."
"What does he want? I'll admit that I've heard pirates love beautiful captives, but this seems so planned, so premeditated. And Isaac! I cannot believe he'd do something this shocking without a good reason—to just take a young beauty and—"
"Vashon doesn't want me. He wants information, information I fear I do not possess
." Aurora frowned and sat on the edge of Vashon's huge bed. "But maybe a lie will appease him, and he'll release us."
"Love, if there's one thing about Vashon that's certain it's that he does not look like a man easy to placate. No, I'm not at all sure lying is the answer. When you're caught, as you surely will be, it will go hard on you."
"Then I'll find another way to free us," Aurora announced, grasping at every possibility. "Eventually we've got to pull into port. When we do, I'll escape and bring help."
"As desperate as that sounds, my dear, that may be our only chance." Flossie gave her a concerned look. "But let's just pray our next port isn't Le Mirage de la Mer. With a name like that, the place must be impossible to find, let alone escape from."
"I'm afraid it does appear that way," Aurora answered bleakly, just as the ship lurched away from the dock.
Aurora stared out the thick, leaded ports that spanned the stern of the ship. Worry darkened her eyes. Flossie had long since been freed from her chair and escorted back to her former cabin by Isaac, but Aurora remained tied to Vashon's richly draped bed, still captive within the Babylonian splendor of his cabin. Benny, with Koonga well in tow, had come and brought a pot of tea, but he'd been under orders that only Vashon could free her, so she had mutely stood by, her hands still bound to the bedpost, while he set up her refreshment on a nearby teapoy.
Now all she waited for was the pirate. He didn't disappoint her. In a matter of minutes after Benny left, she heard Vashon's commanding footsteps in the passage. The cabin door swung open and she was finally alone with her nemesis.
In silence he entered and closed the door. He gave her a penetrating glance, then calmly went to a chest and retrieved a fresh linen shirt. As she watched him change, she noted with some satisfaction the ugly rent in the garment he had on. She also saw the slight gash on his side, right where the muscle of his torso gripped his ribs. The wound still trickled a bit of blood. Flossie's parasol had certainly met its mark.
Her satisfaction was fleeting, however, especially when he turned his naked back to her and presented her with the dragon. The taut, well-defined muscles of his shoulders rippled beneath the beast as he pulled on his shirt. His long black queue partially hid the serpent's eyes, but when they did spy out at her, they filled her with a raw, overwhelming terror. This man was like no other she'd ever had to deal with. The only thing she knew for sure about him was that he was dangerous.
"If I'm to be held prisoner on this ship, I should like to return to my own cabin," she announced, desperately trying to keep her voice even.
Upon her unexpected statement, he turned and met her gaze. A smirk appeared on his fine lips. "We'll have a long talk, Aurore, then I'll see how to proceed."
"If it's my cooperation you seek, you'll not gain it this way." She gave a tug on her bound hands, then abruptly looked away, as if he were no longer worthy of her attention.
Her snub seemed to irritate him. He went to her and took a lock of her hair that was on the far side of her face. He got her attention back when he slowly pulled the curl across her mouth. She was forced to turn and face him, or risk a painful tug.
"Let me make things perfectly clear," he whispered down at her, his eyes brilliant with annoyance. "It's not I who has to win youf cooperation; it's the reverse. If you want your hands untied, you will earn the privilege. If you desire your own cabin, you will earn that as well.
"Lastly, let me tell you this: If all goes well, I promise you every luxury on this ship will be yours for the asking. If things don't go well . . ." His insolent gaze raked once down her figure. That one gesture was more of a threat than all his words.
She fought back her rising hysteria. She was no match for this man. By the looks of him, his entire life must have been one of rape and pillage and murder. No doubt he took anything or anybody he wanted to have, then gloried in his conquests. How could she fight him? What weapon did she have to use against him? Physically, she was less than half his size; the top of her head barely skimmed his shoulder. Her strength was puny compared to his. He was obviously a man of great power, one who had fought many an ignoble battle. Beside him she was insignificant, a little brown wren fluttering against the jaws of a lion.
But one part of her was not insignificant. Her will could fight him even if her body could not. Many thought her retiring and unspirited. John certainly had. But deep down she had always believed that was not so, and that was how she'd summoned the courage to leave the Home when she had. She'd always thought that if given the chance she would have just as much spirit as the heroines in her novels John so disapproved of. It was now the time to prove it, even if just to herself.
She looked up at Vashon and saw the glint in his eyes. He was pleased to see her so terrified. If she became hysterical, he'd doubtless be overcome by wicked glee. Suddenly her anger boiled over. Right then and there, beneath this vile pirate's heavy-lidded stare, she swore to make her will the equal of his. Or die trying.
"I should like my hands untied," she commanded in her most brittle voice.
He dropped her tress and leisurely brushed the remaining red-gold strands off her moist mouth. He seemed to enjoy the task, for he took an abominable amount of time doing it. Her lips seemed to burn with his every touch.
She stared at him, her eyes snapping with anger.
Finally he taunted, "Why don't you try saying 'please'? That always puts me in an amenable mood."
She turned away. Even in her lowly station in life, she had never had to endure such humiliation. Begging this wretched villain to untie her was beyond the pale.
"You won't say it, Aurora?"
She still refused to look at him. It would choke her to have to say "please" to this barbarian.
He laughed. "All right then, stay there. I can't wait to see your face when I undress for bed. If you blush so easily when I'm without a shirt, you should have a nice fit of vapors when you see my choice of bedclothes."
Her gaze darted to his.
"Still unsure?" His hand hedonistically rubbed the dark hairs on his chest that were exposed by his untied shirt.
"I won't be bullied. Not by you. Not by anyone."
"Well, well, we're going to fight, are we?" he observed. "Then why don't I take a little nap now and we can test those missish nerves?"
Without pause he pulled off his fresh shirt. Her eyes widened at what he seemed about to do, but still she held her ground. She calmed herself by remembering that she'd seen his bare chest before. This worked, even when he sat on a nearby chair and pulled off his boots. But when he bent to release the first button of his trousers, her panic overwhelmed her. She turned her head away. It was all she could do not to squeeze her eyes shut.
"Come now, Aurore, that's not much of a fight."
She heard a garment fall to the ground. With a rustle of fabric, the garment was kicked aside. Was he now naked and standing just a few feet behind her? The thought left her face as white as a sheet.
"What have you to say, Miss Dayne?" he taunted. "One word and you'll be untied."
She shuddered. Still she held her ground. She just wished she had the courage to look at him.
"Are we refusing to cooperate?"
She turned her head further away and twisted the bindings on her hands. What would he do to force her to comply with his wishes? She didn't know, but she was determined to stay where she was. Forever if necessary.
"All right. We can't go on like this forever . . ."
Suddenly she heard him run. His bare feet pounded on the floorboards as he took a flying leap at the bed. He landed squarely on the mattress. A scream escaped her lips. Unable to stop herself, her gaze flew to his well-muscled form. To her chagrin, she watched him toss back his head and laugh until tears welled in the corners of his eyes.
His pants were still very much on. She looked over to where he had stood and saw the waistcoat he had dropped on the floor. He had made her look a fool. At the moment she was too astonished at his trick
ery to even be angry.
But quickly she felt him grasp her wrists. She tried to pull away, but he had knelt at the end of the bed and was slowly pushing her hands down the bedpost. When she was forced to lower herself, he took her hair in a gentle knot and pulled her head just inches from his. With a very somber expression on his face, he warned, "You're all too easy to frighten, little wren. A twelve-year-old boy could do a good job of it." He forced her even closer. "But I'm not a twelve-year-old boy. And I know how to truly frighten little women like you. So I suggest that we drop these games and you cooperate . . . or you'll see how frightening I really am."
She tried to turn away, but his hand held her hair too tightly. She meant to hold out, but all at once a strange expression flitted across his handsome features. He suddenly looked hungry and covetous—as if she in her innocence possessed some kind of treat he'd never tasted before.
Fear as tangible as the blood in her veins pumped wildly through her body. He wanted her. As John Phipps had wanted her. But Vashon's manipulations were much more dark and sinister than John Phipps's had been, for this man could make her desire him in return, and, unwillingly, she already felt herself responding. Her belly grew taut and her nether regions melted and pulsed. He reached for her, and though they weren't even touching, his mouth seemed to pull at hers. She was all too aware of the dangers he presented. With one kiss he meant to punish her, free her, and enslave her all at the same time. His lips just opened for the kiss, and she buckled.
"Please" she choked out, despising him as she had never despised anyone.
His eyes flew open. One jet black eyebrow lifted derisively. He looked thoroughly displeased, as if he'd been more looking forward to her punishment than to her co-operatien. " 'Please untie my hands,' " he prompted, goading her in his annoyance.
"Please—untie—my—hands—" she stiffly repeated.
It worked. Her bindings were off in seconds. Finally free, she stumbled back from him and groped for the door handle. Yet she found her hands too numb and clumsy to open it. She began to rub some life back into them, but before she could manage, he stopped her.
Till Dawn Tames the Night Page 10
