Oh God, how could Ned do this to her? “Then my body is exchange for a gambling debt?”
“It would appear, so.” He kissed her nose, a big grin creasing his face. “I could of course, kidnap you, and steal you away on my ship.”
Torn between truth and Ned’s lies, she doubted not her buccaneer to be telling the absolute truth. “As much as I would love to be kidnapped by you, no matter the cause of Ned’s debt, I cannot stand by and see him sent to prison nor transported to one of the colonies, but I have no means other than betrothal to Moorby to secure Penhavean for Ned’s heirs.”
“Emerald, do you trust me? Trust me enough to believe in what I am about to propose?”
If she could remain in his arms forever, his eyes looking into hers, she wished the answer could be yes, though well aware such could never happen. “I trust you, and perhaps foolish in doing so.”
“Listen, and listen good.” His lips touched hers, tender light, but momentary. “Whatever happens in the next three weeks, do every thing within your power to delay official announcement of your betrothal to Moorby.” His lips came to hers, a kiss potent in deliverance, breath knocked out of her. Yet, in letting slip her lips from his, he was nonetheless in full sail. “Trust me, I can help in this matter, but I need three weeks grace, at least three weeks.”
“How, how can you, a buccaneer, see me safe from Moorby’s intentions, and what of Ned?”
“I have connections in high places, and Ned too will benefit.”
“If this is so, then I will be forever in your debt.”
He chuckled. “That you will, my lady, and I perchance able to secure payment in kind.”
She blushed, for the flush to her cheeks was nothing less than hot-tide of desire, though her tone cutting to allay true feelings. “Then you would be no better than Moorby.”
He laughed, a hearty laugh. “I had in mind, meat, good wholesome beef fresh from pasture.”
“Oh, I quite thought . . .”
A kiss to silence her was enacted upon so swift and intoxicating than the last it afforded twice the thrill. She fought his every attempt to persuade her lips to part and succumb to plunder of tongue. His eyes warned of mischief, his whispered voice teasing the senses. “You think me a rogue, I may as well act the part.” She had not expected him to roll over and crush her beneath him, nor kiss with such passion it compelled her to surrender, and fully give as much as take. With skin of neck left lusting his tongue, flesh of upper breast tingling with desire beneath his lips, she delighted in his touch.
“Am I not to be stopped,” he enquired, a fleeting kiss to cleft of breasts, “nor chastised by your sharp tongue?”
“I fear you take advantage,” her reply, heart all a flutter, “and I at your mercy.” Was this how it would be to lie abed with a man, to feel something inside so wilful and wonderful and pleasure seeking that it could not be controlled? “I trust you will be considerate and most tender in having your way with me, albeit I your captive.”
A strange breeze suddenly whipped up sand and dust, and waves slapped the shoreline. “You cannot mean . . .” He glanced skyward, neither aware a storm had brewed whilst she entranced by her buccaneer and he intent on stirring her senses. “We cannot stay here, there’s no shelter.” He rolled away from her, grabbed his belongings and scrambled to his feet. Hand outstretched, his tone became most urgent, “Come with me, now, to the ship, before a deluge soaks you to the skin.”
“I cannot go aboard with you. I must return home, or servants will be sent to find me. Ned might even come himself, for he knows I love walking by the creek.”
“Then we must get you to the bridge by boat.”
They were not alone in their haste, for as he hauled her hand-in-hand toward the rocky outcrop a rowboat came into view from behind the grey mass, its bulk hauled by seamen to the water. Once the boat afloat they began clambering aboard, and in seeing their captain a lady alongside they waited before pushing off and away.
Her buccaneer yelled, “Upstream Bryant, as fast as able,” his voice thrown back at them by turbulence of wind and rush of incoming tidal swell. The young man heard every word or lip-read, for he leapt to his feet and stepped past men to stand in the bow. Her captain threw his belongings aboard, handed his sword to one of his men, and further said, “There’s a bridge beyond the bend, so head starboard to steps,” and before she knew it he had her in his arms wading through water, her on board and him clambering behind her.
Huddled between her captain’s knees she clung to them, his chest against her shoulders his arms about her loose but comforting. Bryant she assumed to be a young officer, for he stood in the bow not a backward glance at four oarsmen, his balance remarkable, his voice thrown forward on the wind. “Come on, backs into it men. My Port, Pull . . . My Port, Pull.” She watched the oars to left side of boat cutting the waves, the oars to right barely skimming the water, then Bryant countered with, “All down, and heave, heave.” The oarsmen settled to steady rhythm, the boat moving fast with the tide, Bryant’s voice continued dipping and rising in rhythmic response. “Heave, ho. Heave ho.”
The oarsman nearest to her smirked and winked and addressed his captain in deep sea-dog timbre, “Goodly voice, Cap’n, has our young officer.”
“Lieutenant Bryant, to you, Mackerfield.”
“Sir,” Mackerfield’s response, his body weight heaving backwards then sliding forward with ease of skill and arms laden with muscle.
It seemed rather odd that a buccaneer captain should be so formal about terms of address. Obviously his naval past lingered and his ship tight run in naval tradition. It would be improper to ask questions in the presence of his men, and come the morrow, out of pure curiosity, Emerald Lady Penhavean would if possible delve a little into his seeming formal stance toward his crew.
“Almost there, Emerald,” whispered through her hair, her captain’s bearded chin brushing her cheek. “With luck you should make the house before the storm lets loose a torrent.”
The boat now fast approached the bridge, Lieutenant Bryant’s voice softer as though all on board were aware of unseen danger. “To starboard, men, and easy with it or yon bridge will kiss I and cast us all in the drink.”
Sniggers arose from the crewmen; oars submerged fighting the pull of the tide as it rushed upstream beneath the arches of the bridge. With the steps coming ever closer, Lieutenant Bryant crouched, snatched at a rope and leapt from boat to a step, his feet soon submerged in swirling waters. Similarly a crewman near to her captain, too, leapt ashore rope in hand. Between the pair they hauled the boat closer to the steps. With oars raised on landward side her captain slid over the side of the boat, his feet below the waterline, and she then lifted safe above turbulent flow.
“Tomorrow, same time?” she whispered, as he deposited her safe on dry upper step.
“Tomorrow,” his reply, a smile and fleeting kiss to her hand.
She fled, not wanting to get soaked to the skin, not wanting to see him rowed away from her. What had she done in letting her heart rule her head? He had no name, her buccaneer, and what of his plan for her to stall Moorby on announcing their betrothal? And what connection in high place had he spoken of? And why would this person even consider saving Ned from disgrace of unpaid gambling debts?
With first spots of rain felt on face, she was glad the house was now reached. She flung the door wide, but several trunks and two pairs of manly boots standing in the hall caused her heart to plummet. They had visitors, or a visitor. Pray God it was not Moorby.
Chapter Four
~
It was fair to admit Moorby had kept her amused with gossip from Penzance, but his paunch, podgy jowls, and slobbering lips utterly repulsive. His hand offered in escort to the dining hall felt uncommon large and beastlike with hair. She could not, did not want to imagine herself abed and in his arms his wife.
To her chagrin Moorby proved to be the perfect gentleman, his attentions upon her throughout dinner extreme polite, and al
most caring in concern for her loss. Ned, though, turned severe in countenance at her rebelliousness in mention of Tobias, but why should she keep quiet about it. Never mind his guilt over Tobias, and Moorby’s visit. She was no fool, and would not have him treat her as such.
Having had prior engagement at a nearby friend’s country estate, Ned had supposedly encountered Moorby there and had seen fit to invite the man over to Penhavean Hall, both then to escort her to London. It was quite obvious Ned and Moorby had planned for this day, and she then compromised into spending time with the man now her intended.
With the two men settled in the library for the past couple of hours and the door still shut, it was right to assume business was yet to be concluded. No doubt her reluctance to accept the earl’s hand in marriage unless certain criteria could be met had probably raised an eyebrow or two, but would he agree to a legal document drawn as proof of his honour to rid Ned of outstanding debts?
The instant the doors to the library were flung wide she sensed Moorby had agreed to her terms, for he swept toward her with silver-topped cane in hand and performed a sweeping bow. His periwig slipped forward a little, yet he pushed it back seeming not the least embarrassed. “Delightful lady, you drive a hard wager, if I say so myself.” She stifled a giggle, the wig now at slight tilt. Unable to resist the urge to straighten it, she leapt to her feet and did just that. The earl’s face turned to that of amused delight. “Well I do declare the lady hath the motherly touch about her already,” he said, his attention redirected to Ned. “What say you, your lordship?”
Ned’s scowl was most unexpected and she could not make him out for he seemed less than pleased by the exchange in the library. What had happened? Why did Ned appear so gloomy? Fair brooding for want of better description. “Ned?”
“Yes, dear fellow, what ails you in this time of celebration?” quizzed the earl, and much to her vexation his sweaty palm clasped her fingers tight as a clamp and raised it to spittle moist lips. “You are content with our arrangement, my lady, are you not?”
Ned drew breath as though about to speak. He then exhaled, swayed a little, and she knew him to be drink sodden, and incapable of comprehending much said in the blue room, so it was likely what had transpired in the library was vague a best? Had he done as asked remained her greatest worry, or had Moorby encouraged him to consume more wine than good for him?
“I assume my brother has made clear our terms on my accepting your offer of betrothal?”
The earl chuckled, stepped closer. “If not, would I be so presumptuous in kissing your hand?” His movement alarmed her, for he was too close, and hot breath upon her face imparted powerful essence of ruby port. His cane, too, lodged against the back of a chaise implied her in danger. “And now, my little Emerald, what say you to a kiss?”
For a man of bodily substance he was deft with arm about her waist quick sharp, and no escape from his fat wet lips. She squirmed, but he held her fast, and forced backwards by his protruding belly the earl leaned over her, her head cupped in hand. “Come now, Emerald, have I not saved your brother from ruin, and now deserving of reward?”
Mouth open to vent her spleen in revulsion at his action, it was suddenly filled with a mighty tongue, whose power of dominance and penetration allowed no breath to her lungs. Light-headedness overcame her, and if not for Ned slumping to the floor the earl might have caused her to fall vagary to the faints. He drew back a little his eye cast in Ned’s direction, and she sought breath in gulps as the earl chirped in cocky manner, “Fool, what a fool for a brother you have, my little Emerald?”
“Fool yes,” her reply, terrible afraid of her fate now that her brother lay dead drunk upon the floor. “And I fool ever to agree to this arranged marriage between you and I.”
“Now sweet Emerald,” he said, sweated hand cupping her chin, “I can have you here and now, you do realise that, do you not?” Forced to step backwards, she felt the chaise against her calves and feared the worst. “Come sweet girl, give me something to keep me warm in the times we must remain apart.”
“For sake of propriety, I think not.” Scorn at his affectionate tone made clear, she furthered, “Is my agreement to marriage not enough? Must you manhandle me before a penny paid of Ned’s debts?”
“But of course, dear girl.” His body weight forced her to collapse on the chaise, and atop her he was deft with expert hand in raising her skirts. “A sample of what I am to purchase is all I ask.”
“Purchase?”
“I shall own you as I shall own this house,” he declared, mouth to her plumped breasts, tongue strafing bare flesh.
Hands thrust to his shoulders she tried to rid herself of his vile paunch crushing her beneath him. “I am not a piece of furniture nor a portrait to adorn your wall.”
He merely mumbled, “That too, my pretty one, when I am of mind to let you out of my bed long enough to sit for a portraitist.”
If it was her buccaneer atop her she would be delighted, all her senses on fire. This despicable molesting beast, no, she would not, could not surrender herself to him. She must try, must try to escape his clutches. “You cannot do this, I . . .”
“Oh but I can, and will.“ He said, a shuddering breath drawn, his eyes savouring his own spittle upon her wetted flesh. “Ah, my little Emerald, such soft skin you have.”
How long, how long must she endure this groping of knee, of upper leg before the earl was satisfied? If only, if only she could reach the nearby candelabra she could end this torture with a blow to his shoulder. Several blows if necessary, anything to quell his lust. So engrossed was he in taking pleasure in exploration, he might not notice her outstretched hand.
Oh no, not to touch her there, surely? Please not there, but he did. Outraged at his fingers delving between her legs she wriggled in futile attempt to ecap. She pummelled his shoulders, but he carried on regardless. It was all so hopeless, her every effort to dislodge him ignored, his nose snuffling flesh, his mouth kissing, his tongue licking the cleft between her breasts. It all felt so vile and shocked rigid she could not think, let alone form words to express her revulsion.
The earl’s fingers ever explorative groped the tenderness of her, and sense of delight etched upon his fat face was absolutely unbearable. She closed her eyes, shut the earl out and visualised her buccaneer, and it all seemed less painful that way. She succumbed to blue-grey eyes, letting the smell of her captain consume her in mind. It was as though he was atop her, and touch of fingers now gentle in caress was most pleasing. Sensations never encountered before over-whelmed her. What pleasure it would be to have her buccaneer’s fingers slipping inside of her teasing the senses, such bliss such trembling bliss.
“Now, sweet Emerald,” said the earl, her dreams instantly shattered. “Wet as a dawn meadow, and I of mind to sample the dew.”
She had not realised his lordship had shifted back a little, her skirts now about her waist. “This is wrong, all wrong,” she screamed. The earl un-deterred by her outburst, his weight again bearing down on her, his mouth came about her neck in the manner of pig at a trough, and she shouted, “Ned, Ned,” her last plea for help.
Useless brother. Hateful brother. She would not endure this assault, and reached for the candelabra on the table to the side of the chaise. It was just beyond her reach and the earl sensed resistance.
“Come now, Emerald, impatient I am to sample your charms. Be still, and let us be done with your silly nonsense. Am I not a caring lover?”
“You are nothing of the kind. You are forcing yourself upon me.”
“Then surrender to me, and I shall pleasure you to extremes before taking my dues.”
“I cannot, cannot agree to your demands.”
“You have little choice, dear girl. Do my bidding and enjoy the experience, or accept the consequence of pained resistance.”
All hope of rescue lost, to struggle seemed futile. She turned away, unable to bear the earl’s lecherous face hovering so close to hers, his attentions less
aggressive and fingers gentle in touch. Soon feelings she could not comprehend stirred within, kisses soft upon her neck something she had to learn to accept. But how could his touch cause her body to betray her so? The earl’s intense fondling caress caused breath to falter, her pulse to race and heart to beat so fast she quite imagined she would faint. Untold pleasure never experienced before overcame her and she surrendered to it, to his lordship’s touch. It lasted all but a few seconds, for the earl ceased administering attentions upon her, his face a tapestry of satisfied molester. Dare she hope him sufficient gratified?
Alas, there was somewhat urgent movement of his hand to his crotch, his voice sinister in deliverance of detailed intention. “Now, my pretty Emerald, I shall have a bit of a prod in your sweetness to be sure you are as chaste as snow.”
Although fear engulfed her, she had every intention of saving herself from this awful fate now almost upon her. The candelabra, the candelabra, she must reach it this time, but must not give hint of her intention.
“See my fine cock,” he said, brandishing it aloft to be sure she glimpsed it, despite her unwillingness to engage considered eye to its manly proportions. “Relax dear girl, for if you resist, pain not joy shall be yours.”
She would rather die than have him take her virginity in this ungodly manner as though she was a mere whore in a doxy house. “You are the most despicable man I have had the misfortune to meet,” she declared, heart at the gallop wishing someone, anyone, even a servant might enter the room. “I am not your bride, as yet, and of mind never to be such.”
He laughed, cocky in extreme, his piggy eyes gloating and saliva on beastly lips as he came down to her. She felt a hand to her crotch, a knee to her left leg and then to right forcing both her legs to either side of the chaise. She arced her back and instantly realised her mistake, for her action aided a finger to slip inside of her with ease, his amusement apparent. “Keen, my lady, to embrace me, eh?”
Her Favoured Captain Page 3
