“Deception is always uncovered, love…one way or the other,” he told her. “In time, all lies are revealed.”
She gasped as he swiftly stripped off his shirt and advanced toward her. His eyes smoldered with mingled desire and rage.
“No, no…only wait!” she begged. “Please…I-I…”
He paused, his brows arching in an expression of daring. “Shall I put James Kelley to the task of fashioning a cat-o’-nine-tails for himself?” he asked.
“No! No! Only…only give me a moment,” she said. “I-I only need time.”
“I have allowed you plenty of time, woman!” he growled. “Since the moment I pulled you off that bloody Screaming Witch, I’ve given you time.” His massive chest rose and fell with the labored breathing of fury. “Do you know what your fate would have been if Bully Booth had succeeded in taking you?” he asked. “Do you have any flicker of a notion of what they would have done?”
Cristabel was confused, for it seemed his rage was only increasing. She could not guess why; he had defeated her after all. Why then was he yet so enraged?
“And how would you have defended yourself against him? Against his crew?” he asked. He shook his head. “You could not have. You would have been lost…ravaged…then killed.”
“I am perhaps not so weak as you think,” she ventured. “I-I have kept you at bay this long, have I not?”
He shook his head. “You have kept me from nothing, love. I thought you might bring me riches. That is why you remained aboard the Merry Wench…untouched. However, now…now…”
“Now I yet know things. Perhaps more, for I did not suspect Richard. And now that I do—”
“I will not be swayed by your promises of traitors and secrets, vixen,” he interrupted. “I have kept from you long enough. Furthermore, I will not be collecting a pretty sum for your ransom. Therefore, I must collect something from you for my efforts and patience.”
“But you are a patriot…not a pirate,” she said, desperate to dissuade him.
“I am a privateer, love,” he corrected. “And most of us are not so distant of cousins from pirates.”
Chapter Nine
As Navarrone stepped toward her, Cristabel put up a hand in a gesture he should not aggress. Oh, how he prayed she would fight him off. He had no intention of truly ravaging her—only meant to terrorize her into owning more wisdom, into keeping out of harm’s path in the future. Yet he would play the lustful pirate a moment longer, if only to know that she would not actually sacrifice herself for James Kelley’s sake. Still, it was an honorable gesture, and he further admired her for her strength and selflessness.
“Only wait,” she begged, stepping farther back from him. “Is there nothing else you will accept?”
“Nothing,” he said.
“Wh-what of the ring? Richard’s ring to me? It is worth a small fortune, is it not?” she asked, desperate.
“You forget…I returned it to him,” he reminded her. “As proof of your morbid end.”
She shook her head. “I do not believe you actually mean to—”
“I do mean to,” he interrupted—though he thought he saw as much hope in her eyes that he would not take her as there dwelt in his heart that she would not allow him to. “And will you fight me as you tried to fight Bully Booth?” he asked. “You did try to fight him, did you not?”
“Of course!” she answered, her indignation rising. “I fought with all I had in me.”
“And yet he captured you—took you aboard the Screaming Witch—and all for the sake you did not know how to defend yourself from him. Am I correct?”
She frowned. “I fought him,” she said. “I struggled. I beat at his chest with my fists, but his strength was too great for me.”
Navarrone shook his head—thought of Vienne, knowing she had not been strong—could not have defended herself even as well as Cristabel Albay might have.
“A woman must know how to hurt a man,” he said. “There are ways to defeat him. Perhaps the chance is small…yet the chance is greater if she knows what to do.”
Cristabel’s frown deepened. What was he about? His threats had turned to near warnings—tutoring of sorts. Had he changed his mind about ravaging her? Cristabel owned an odd sense of offense in musing it.
Navarrone’s eyes began to glow with an intensity that was near to mesmerizing then. Anger was in him, yes, but there was such an expression of determination in his countenance suddenly that Cristabel was awed to wonderment.
“Defend yourself, girl!” Navarrone growled. “A pirate aggresses…and what do you do?” he asked, striding toward her. “His intentions are vile. Your virtue and your life are at stake. What do you do in defense of them?”
Cristabel’s quick wit told her he was indeed challenging her—not that she could avoid being ravished by him but rather that she should endeavor to keep him from it. Reaching toward her, he attempted to take hold of her throat with one hand—but she ducked and dashed aside, successfully evading him.
“You’re quick,” he said, nodding with admiration. “But you cannot evade him forever. What will you do when he takes hold of you?”
“I’ll worry about that when he takes hold of me…if he is able to take hold of me,” she said as he lunged for her. Again she moved aside, and his hand missed grabbing her arm.
“Oh, he is able, love. Well able,” Navarrone growled. “Perhaps he is only toying with you…like a cat toys with a mouse before devouring it.”
Cristabel gasped as Navarrone did indeed easily catch hold of her arm.
“What now, love?” he asked, his eyes still smoldering with anger.
“I escape,” she said, trying to yank her arm from his grasp. Yet he was too strong, and she could not free it. She pulled at his fingers with her free hand, trying to pry them from her arm, but to no avail.
“And if you cannot?” he asked, still holding her arm.
Cristabel attempted to use her weight to free herself—sunk to her knees, pulling on her own arm. Yet still he held tight to her.
“I can,” she argued, standing once more. Placing one foot to his thigh to leverage herself, she again tried to pull her arm free of his grasp.
“And if he has both your arms restrained?” he asked, taking hold of her other arm, sliding his powerful grip to her wrists. Before Cristabel could draw breath once more, Navarrone pushed her back against the cabin wall, pinning her wrists at either side of her head. “What now, love?”
Gritting her teeth with indignation, Cristabel allowed her own eyes to narrow.
“A knee to his…” she began. She gasped, however, when she felt his body press against hers, further trapping her against the wall, rendering her unable to lift her knee to meet with the place on his body that might have offered him enough discomfort to free her.
“Ah ah ah,” he said, shaking his head in a manner of scolding. “Not there, love.” A grin of mischief tugged at the right corner of his mouth. “We’re only sparring, after all. You wouldn’t want to damage something of me you might come to regret later, now would you, love?”
“Oh! You’re disgusting!” she exclaimed.
“Am I?” he asked. “Then escape me…lest you be spoiled for some petal-soft politician you may wish to call husband in the future.”
She resented his sarcasm—was greatly disturbed by the fact his nearness to her, his touch, was wildly invigorating, overwhelming to her senses, both physical and otherwise. She knew she could not evade him; he was too powerful, too strong and capable. She could not evade him, no. Yet she could, perhaps, best him at wits.
“What if I do not wish to escape you?” she asked. “What if I wished to be ravaged by the pirate Captain Navarrone?”
“Oh, you wish me to ravage you, is that it, love?” he asked. An amused smile spread across his handsome face, purely enchanting Cristabel for a moment. He chuckled. “All this…all this evasion and escape you’ve been attempting was what…a lure? Feminine chicanery meant to tempt me?”
“Ah yes, I see it now,” he began. His breath was warm on her face and somehow caused her mouth to water. “You are the proverbial debutant—restricted and controlled by wealthy parents, forced into a loveless betrothal, void of any carnal desire or passion. Thus, you wish to know the wanton lust of a pirate—feel his hands on your skin…know the sense of his mouth met with yours.”
Cristabel swallowed the lump of nervous exhilaration gathering in her throat. “P-perhaps,” she breathed. Already his hands were on her skin—at her wrists—and even that aggressive, brutal touch delighted her somehow.
She was astonished when Navarrone laughed. “Enough flirting, love. Now evade me. Escape. You have tried to match your wits to mine…and failed. Now, think hard. I have dominant strength, yes. Yet pirates can be made to feel pain, even injured, allowing you a moment in which you might escape. Think. How can you hurt me?”
Cristabel grimaced as he moved her arms—lowered them—still holding to her wrists. She began to struggle and managed to strip one wrist from his grasp. Instantly she tried to slap him, but he easily caught her hand in his.
“Good!” he said, smiling at her. “Yet a slap will do nothing. Pirates experience more painful events manning the helm during a coastal rain.” He took her hand, placing her palm to his right cheek so that her thumb lingered just below his eye. “Here is where you place your hand, and then do not scratch…but press your thumb with as much force as you can muster into the socket of the eye.”
“What?” Cristabel gasped.
Closing his eye, Navarrone placed her thumb over his eye. “Do not dare to injure me, of course. But were I another pirate about to despoil you, you would push as hard as you were able…causing me pain by way of my eye. Gouging it out would be best.”
Quickly she pulled her hand from his face, horrified at his suggestion.
He caught her hand once more. “There, as quick as that, you lost your chance of escape.” She struggled as he bound her arms at her back, tightly clasping her wrists in one hand as his other went to her throat. “You must strike quick, for you cannot waste such an opportunity, love,” he said, “for you may only be given one. And once it is gone, it is gone…and you are then at his mercy.” His hand at her neck caused goose flesh to prickle her arms—caused her breathing to quicken. His thumb pressed her chin, traveled downward in a soft caress to linger at the hollow of her throat. “Here is another place of weakness,” he said. “Should you have a hand at his throat, drive a finger through his flesh, and he will—”
“Stop it!” she exclaimed. “Stop! I could never do such a thing! I could never gouge out an eye or…or tear the flesh at a man’s throat!”
Navarrone frowned. “Yes, you could,” he growled. There was an odd desperation in him she did not understand. “For the sake of your virtue and your life…you could! Tell me you could!” There was more to his tutoring than his anger—more than the fact she had been caught in dressing like a pirate and accompanying him to the secret assembly with the governor. She was certain of it.
Cristabel frowned as she studied his expression. There was anger, fury in his eyes. Still, there was something else—anguish, despair, pain?
“I could not,” she whispered.
“You could. Just as I could attempt to ravage you here and now…you could keep me from it if you tried,” he growled.
“Perhaps I do not want to keep you from it,” she said.
His eyes narrowed. “Do not mock me, love,” he warned. “I am a pirate, and I own a pirate’s ways.”
“You are a privateer…and if you wanted to harm me, you would have done so already.” She paused—an odd, painful disappointment pinching her heart. “I’m still worth more to you for the knowledge of traitors I own…than I am as simply a woman with which to…to amuse yourself.”
His eyes narrowed, smoldering with emotion. “Perhaps I’ll amuse myself, as you term it…as well as benefit from your worth in other regards.”
His handsome face was level with hers. She could feel his breath on her cheek. He was so wildly attractive—like some mythical man who owned a power over women that could not be eluded. She studied his dark eyes, the long lashes that shaded them. She studied his nose and strong chin, his perfectly manicured facial hair, his lips. Her mouth flooded with the warm moisture of desire, and she could no longer resist his incomparable allure. Impulsively she leaned forward, pressing her lips to his in a brief but ardent kiss. The sense of his lips against hers snatched the breath from her bosom! A tingling bliss traveled through her limbs, and she felt as if her stomach were filled with some sweet, balmy air rising up within her to heat her entire being!
She drew back from him, ashamed at her own weakness and wanton desire. Navarrone did not move but kept her hands pinned at her back with one of his, his other lingering at her throat. She could see his jaw tightening, clenching and unclenching with restrained rage or some other sensation.
Quickly he released her, turned, and strode across the room toward the cabin door. Cristabel’s emotions vacillated between pride in triumph and disappointment that he was leaving her company. Her disappointment was fleeting, however—for as swiftly as he had left her, he turned and was upon her once more.
His hands at her waist, Captain Navarrone pushed her back against the cabin wall. He was breathless, his broad, bronzed chest rising and falling with the labored breathing of anger—or desire. He took her face between his strong hands—allowed his thumbs to trace her lips a moment.
“Ravaged, is it?” he growled. “Then so be it.”
Cristabel gasped—melted into enchanting, breathless quivers as his mouth ground against hers. He offered no tender beginning, no tentative kiss in testing her acceptance or refusal of his attentions. Rather he took her mouth with his in a driven, heated, demanding kiss that caused her thoughts to scramble, left her uncertain as to how to respond.
“Succumb to me, Cristabel,” he mumbled against her mouth. “It is as easy as waking to a sunrise, love.”
He kissed her again, with less brutality perhaps but with pure as much sensuous allure.
“Submit, my ripe little pomegranate,” he breathed. “You cannot tempt a pirate the likes of Navarrone the Blue Blade and not expect to pay the price.” He kissed her—softly—playfully. “Come now, Cristabel Albay. I endeavored to teach you to evade me. Let me now endeavor to teach you to kiss me.”
“I know how to kiss you,” Cristabel whispered, breathless and blanketed in goose flesh.
“Do you, love?” he teased.
“Yes,” she breathed, allowing her hands to grip his muscular forearms as her knees began to weaken.
“Then prove it,” he mumbled.
He released her face, dropping his hands to his side and straightening his intimidating posture to his full height. He was taunting her—challenging her—and did not think she had the courage to spar with him. Yet she was Cristabel Albay—Cristabel Albay who had weathered kidnapping, who had escaped the pirate Bully Booth. She had killed a man, dressed as a man, and lingered in the presence of traitors. Surely Navarrone the Blue Blade did not think her determination to survive would be so easily vanquished. Yet it was not her instincts of survival that had led her to kissing him—but her pure desire to know what it was to feel his lips against hers.
Still, she could not be found out. Judging that he may be obstinate in her efforts to prove herself to him, she glanced around the room in search of something to better heighten herself. The crate that had once contained a bottle of rum and a tin of Marie Blanchard Biscuits stood against one wall. Quickly, she pulled it to a position directly before the pirate Navarrone, turned it over, and stepped up onto it.
Folding his muscular arms across his broad chest, Navarrone’s eyes narrowed with daring.
“I am not afraid of you, pirate,” Cristabel said. She had uttered a lie, but only in pa
rt, for she did assuredly know one thing: if the pirate Captain Navarrone the Blue Blade had truly meant to harm her, he would have done so already. Furthermore, her mouth was watering for want of kissing him again. She surmised there must indeed be some terrible, reckless creature lurking in her if she were to know such desire. Yet her pride was at stake, as well as her craving to kiss him.
“I am not afraid of you,” she repeated, reaching forth to capture his squared, strong jaw between her hands. She allowed her thumbs to gently trace the line of his well-groomed mustache—from its center, down over the corners of his mouth, to rest finally at the goatee at his chin.
“You should be, love,” he mumbled, and she trembled as her hands followed their own will, to slide over his cheeks and into the soft, dark length of his hair.
She would waste no more moments on consideration, else the courage she fought so bravely to retain would be lost.
Leaning forward, Cristabel pressed her lips to Navarrone’s. She had not been kissed so many times before. Yet she had spent many hours in secret observation of her stepfather’s servants engaging in the playful, sometimes impassioned exchange of kisses—in the woods, near the river, or in various stables and barns. This, combined with the euphoric example of alluring, ambrosial kisses Captain Navarrone had only recently applied to her mouth, offered Cristabel ample instruction on how to proceed—or at least she assumed it did.
Again she dared to kiss him—to tenderly press her lips to his—and her heart leapt when she sensed his tentative response. He unfolded his arms from across his chest, and when she felt his hands come to rest at her waist, Cristabel Albay was undone! Instantly, her arms encircled Navarrone’s neck as she kissed him once more. Her lightly parted lips met his, and a sudden fire ignited within her as he pulled her body against his, wrapping powerful arms around her waist. His warm, moist mouth captured hers as he then became the captain of not only the Merry Wench but also their savory exchange of desire. Again and again he kissed her—mingled the flavor of his mouth with her own in a rhythmic, impassioned cadence that mirrored the breaking waves of the sea.
The Pirate Ruse Page 14
