The mirror captured the way his black eyes glittered in the dark. “Yes, yes, yes, I know, she is a spirited one, but we have stripped such spirit before and we shall do so again. We’ll clothe her in white and claim her, rip the innocence from her and…and…”
As he spoke to himself in the darkened coach, his mind pictured the fiery-haired Annalise broken and ravished beneath him. Pleading. Screaming. His hand moved to the bulge in his pants as he spun twisted, violent images within his mind’s eye. Her virgin’s blood against pale white thighs, purple bruises blooming upon alabaster flesh, the marks made by his teeth on her throat and teat. He fumbled to release his swollen flesh and moaned as his hand moved quicker. In his mind, one face replaced another. Faces of his past blended into that of his latest obsession.
His body found its release as he remembered the fair Duchess Lucinda, his unfortunate wife. The blood upon the bed linens, the odd angle of her neck, and the shake of his hands when his black rage subsided. Only then did he realize what his hands had done. He was a powerful man, and he would not allow the killing of a whore to change that. Especially the disgusting, lying slut he had the misfortune to wed. Wolfsan laughed. “More of a misfortune for her.”
Had it not been for the faithfulness and loyalty of his servant, Sheffield, he might have hung, or worse, been sentenced to rot in a stinking hole in the bowels of Newgate Prison. Of course, that level of loyalty came at an expensive price, but he was happy to pay.
“High time for a new duchess, and we’ve found her. The Duchess Annalise. Rolls off the tongue, does it not? She’ll soon see refusing us is futile.”
As the coach rolled up to his destination, light from a dozen lanterns flooded through the torn curtain. Wolfsan dropped the soiled handkerchief to the floor and adjusted his pants. He checked his image in the mirror once more and frowned. How odd he looked without his usual frippery. Gone was his wig and face powder.
Wolfsan ran a hand over his cropped scalp and dabbed at the corners of his unrouged mouth. Black was the color of this evening’s attire. “Unpleasant business this, but we must tidy up our messes with or without Sheffield.” He slipped the mirror into a pocket of his cloak and checked the position of the dagger.
Wolfsan exited the hired coach, walked up the wide stone steps, and easily passed the doorman. A rowdy group of young men tumbled out, laughing and making crude jibes at their disheveled companion. The house was loud and busy tonight. Perfect.
The ornate red door swung wide. Sights and sounds of the brothel engulfed him. Decorated whores of every description filled each corner of the room with their customers vying like slobbering dogs at a bowl of slop.
A heavyset, jeweled prostitute tugged at his arm. “And what can I do for you?” A yellowed fingernail traced the dark ruffle of his shirt.
Wolfsan eyed a set of fleshy breasts spilling over the top of her stained satin costume. He pulled out a leather sack, stuffed full of coins. The whore licked her thick lips.
“Tonight, I wish to enjoy the pleasures of your madam, Giselle.”
* * * *
Days later, Wolfsan paced his richly appointed study like a caged beast. Thick carpeting silenced the clipped steps of his high heels. “Well? Where is she?”
“We don’t know, Your Grace.” Two men stood with their backs to a set of tall gilded doors, twisting their hats in their hands. “No one’s seen Lady Gatherone or her maid.”
“They couldn’t have disappeared. You won’t see a fleck of my gold until they’re found. Is that clear?” He tugged on the ruffled lace at his throat.
One of the men elbowed the other. “Did spot a woman meeting the description of her maid staying at the tavern we visited last eve.”
The other shook his head. “She weren’t no servant. A lady she was. Dressed in finery. She wore that fancy locket.”
Wolfsan spun around. “A locket? Describe it to me.”
“’Bout the size of a hen’s egg. Had some pearls, I think.” He lifted one shoulder and looked to his companion who nodded in agreement.
“Did it have an ‘A’ engraved upon its face?”
“It could ’ave,” said one.
“I think it did,” said the other.
“Fools. That was the maid.” Wolfsan pursed his lips. “So, she’s trying to pass for society.” He turned to the men. “No doubt she stole the locket from her mistress and brought Lady Annalise to some harm. Track her down and bring her to me at once.”
“Your Grace, if she be a thief and a murderer, shouldn’t we take her to the authorities?”
“I am the authorities, you imbeciles.” Wolfsan pounded upon his desk. “Why are you wasting time? Go find that woman.”
The two men scrambled over one another to leave.
As soon as they were gone, Wolfsan began to pace again. The maid would be the one with the answers. He did not believe she’d done any harm to Annalise, but she knew where her mistress was; he was sure of it. Fortunately, he knew of the most delightful ways of getting information.
Wolfsan stopped before a tall mirror to admire himself. “This could be quite entertaining. Either way, the wench will be most useful. She’ll pay for making us look the fool.”
Annalise would be his if he had to wring the neck of her servant to find her. He envisioned his hands upon the maid’s neck, the thin chain of the locket beneath his fingers. An evil smile curved his lips. A delicious thrill surged through him. He laughed with his reflection.
Each killing came easier than the last. Wolfsan found a perverse amount of pride in that fact. A lesser man might find that disturbing, but not him. There was power in ending a life. Watching the struggle of his victims. Hearing their screams. Seeing their meager existence drain from them. Heady business.
He ran a fingertip over his kohl-darkened eyebrows. “We’ll see to it our lovely Annalise gets her locket back. She has an unnatural affection for her servant. The two behave more like close companions. Unacceptable, but we can use it to our advantage. Annalise will assume the chit is in trouble and come running to her rescue. We’ll be waiting for her with open arms.”
Wolfsan smoothed an errant hair on his tall wig and ran a hand down the embroidered peach silk of his coat. “Of course, we must punish her for running away from us. She needs to learn the proper respect. But nothing too severe. Mustn’t mar her beautiful face.
“We’ll train her to pleasure us. Reward her when she does well and discipline her should she displease us. What do we care if she never comes to love us? Mother never did. Love is for fools. The last Duke of Wentworth provided sure proof of that.
“But we shall create both the epitome of a highbred woman and learned whore who’ll do whatever we ask. Whenever we ask. We shall satisfy our appetites and still have a proper wife.”
Wolfsan reached out to the rouged lips of his reflection. “Yes, we’ll have Annalise Gatherone soon, and she will never slip from our grasp again.”
CHAPTER 6
Annalise lay awake, listening to the sounds of him sleeping. The man was relentless. He’d queried her for hours. She answered most of his questions, but he still laid claim to her father’s ring, locking it away and slipping the key into the pocket of his buff-colored breeches. That ring was the only thing standing between her and Alice living a life of poverty. It would tear at her heart to sell it, but once again, she was out of options.
Beyond being closer than sisters, Alice was also her responsibility. They were alone in this nightmare, and Anna would see they both came through it somehow. To do so, they needed money to begin their new lives in Port St. Maria.
A desperate determination surged through her. Anna hung onto it with both hands. She would get her ring back and find her way to Alice--or die trying.
Waiting, feigning sleep, she watched him work late into the night. He made a handsome picture in the yellowed glow of lantern light as he rolled up the wide sleeves of his shirt to work at his charts. Pulling his dark shining hair from its neat queue
and resting with his long, booted legs upon the edge of his desk, he started to drink his brandy, and then settled in to sleep, at last.
The sky had begun to lighten when Anna slipped from the bed, her bare feet silent on the polished floorboards. Her leg still pained her, but it could bear her weight. If she could just get to the wide leather belt holding his sword. She thought to steal one of his pistols, but knew nothing about firing a gun. The thing would probably go off and take the other half of her leg, and the noise of the shot would bring the crew down to take the rest of her. No, the sword she could handle, and she’d get the key from him if she had to slice off those fetching pants of his. Let’s see if he likes having his clothing stripped from him.
Her gaze never left Jaxon as she limped across the room. His broad chest rose and fell with each steady breath. Almost there. Annalise reached for the strap hanging upon a peg behind his desk. Jaxon shifted position and grumbled something. She froze. Her heart pounded, and she held her breath in fright. He never opened his eyes. His light snores confirmed he still slept.
She examined the thick-tooled leather belt. Two flint pistols fit into snug straps, and the flapped box must hold his shot. The scabbard for the sword hung off to one side. She tried to slip his cutlass out but ended up pulling the entire belt from its peg. The weight of it had her scrambling to catch it and keep the whole thing from crashing to the floor. She shot a nervous glance to Jaxon. He hadn’t moved.
Clutching his pistols to her chest, she prayed she didn’t accidently fire them. Anna walked on tiptoes to keep the sword from dragging across the floorboards. She crept back the way she’d come until she was out of reach of the good captain and seated on the edge of the bed.
A leather-wrapped grip on the cutlass was the color of dark burgundy. Blood? Slowly tugging the wide sword from its sheath, she exposed the steel. She didn’t need to test its edge to see it was razor sharp. The blade bore slash marks and scars where it had met other blades. Annalise couldn’t begin to image the brutal viciousness of a pirate battle. How many lives ended with this blade alone? She shuddered at the thought.
The pointed tip of the sword slipped from the scabbard and fell slicing through the front of her chemise before its weight stuck the tip into the floor with a thunk. She gasped. Not because the blade came dangerously close to removing some of her toes, but because a pair of ice-blue eyes watched her.
“Good morning, Annalise. Planning to sharpen my blade?” His voice rumbled low.
A tremor shuddered up her spine. She struggled to wrench the cutlass from the floor and lift the heavy blade. Anna held on with both hands and pointed the weapon at him.
“I-I want my ring, and…and I want you to do whatever you need to do to turn this boat in the direction of Port St. Maria.”
“You’ve ruined your chemise.” Jaxon raised an eyebrow as his gaze traveled the length of her, and back again.
The sword had cut a slit in her skirt, running halfway up her thigh. She might as well be naked. The tremor within her increased to a quake. Her teeth chattered until she clamped them shut and spoke through a clenched jaw. “I’ll take care of my lack of wardrobe later.”
He smiled. This was all a joke to him.
Her resolve began to slip. Did she honestly think this madness would work? I can’t back down, I’ve gone too far. “I want the key to your desk. Now, please. Or perhaps I’ll ruin a perfectly good pair of breeches, too.”
Jaxon stood. Annalise braced herself, but he didn’t make any move toward her. He held his arms out to his sides. “You know where I keep the key. Come and get it.”
“I’m not fool enough to do that.”
He cocked his head. “Nay, but you’re foolish enough to take a pirate’s sword.”
The condescension in his voice pricked at her. “And you’re foolish enough to let me.”
“Touché.” He grinned. “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, m’lady, but the ring is mine. I’ve told you. And this ship is sailing to Port Royal. There will be no changing course. Certainly not to Port St. Maria. So, you see, all this bravado is a waste of time.”
“I won’t give up.”
“You’ve already lost the battle.”
Her arms burned from the weight of the cutlass. Her injured leg shook under the strain. He was right. She didn’t stand a chance. The size of him. Her gaze ran from the narrow taper of his hips to the top of wide shoulders filling the linen shirt he wore. Open to the waist the muscles of his chest and abdomen showed his strength. There would be no getting by him. Two strides and he could kill her.
“I’m not afraid of you.” She’d never told a bigger lie.
“Well, then, you’re going to need some instruction. The cutlass can be a difficult weapon to handle.”
“A sword is a sword.” She shrugged one shoulder and adjusted her stance. I’m insulting his weapon? Her father warned her, pride would be her downfall one day. Today may just be that day.
“My cutlass is not a simple sword. See how wide the blade is? You could run at me and try to stab me, but the best way to kill me would be to swing the blade. You’re strong enough to cut through bone, right? Or you could just aim high and catch me here.” He tipped his head and pointed to a spot on the side of his neck. “Now, the wound would kill me, but not instantly, and blood would be everywhere. Besides, begging your pardon, you’re a bit too short to get the high arc you’d need for a swing like that.”
A slow tapping sounded at the door. Anna’s arms screamed with their effort. I’m dead. I cannot fight one let alone two. “Don’t open that.”
“If I don’t, Cookie will just come back, and I doubt if he’ll come alone.” Jaxon smiled and opened the door. Cookie walked in with a wooden trencher of bread, cheese, and what appeared to be a pitcher of ale. He slid the tray onto Jaxon’s desk.
“Mornin’, Capt’n.” He glanced at Annalise. “Good morn to ye as well, miss. Nice to see ye’re feelin’ better.”
“Anything you need to report, Cookie?” Jaxon’s stare never left hers.
“Nope. Everything’s right as rain.” He grinned a near-toothless grin. “Ye be needin’ anything else, Capt’n?”
“No, I think I’ve got all I need.” He crossed his arms over his chest.
“I’ll be leavin’ ye to break yer fast, then.” Cookie moved to leave.
“Wait.” Jaxon stopped him. Annalise’s heart skidded. “There is one other thing. The lady is in need of some clothing. She’s ruined her last stitch.”
“Aye, Capt’n, I ken see that.” Cookie looked her over. “I think I ken scrounge something in yer size, miss. Won’t be no fancified skirt, but it’ll cover yer arse.”
Jaxon chuckled. “Good man. Thank you.”
Cookie tugged at the front of the cloth covering his head as if tipping a cap, then left. Jaxon moved to the desk, pulled at a bit of bread and held it out to her.
“You must be hungry. Come and eat. If you’re planning to hold that cutlass on me all day, you’ll need your strength.”
She shook her head.
Jaxon sat on the corner of his desk and popped the bread into his mouth. “Your stomach’s not still flopping about like a dying fish, is it?”
Annalise swallowed as the familiar queasiness threatened again. She set her chin and fought it. “I’m not hungry.”
Another three taps sounded on the door. Jaxon frowned and went to open it. Cookie, again.
“Capt’n, don’t mean to interrupt yer fun, but a shout just came down from the nest. Sail off the port bow.”
“Flags?”
Cookie shook his head. “Not close ’nuff to see.”
“Tell Quinn to drop the Jack, and I’ll be joining you on deck in a minute.”
“Aye.”
Jaxon closed the door. One moment his back was to her, the next he struck like lightning. He growled as he caught her and pinned her to the wall. Two hands shoved her arms above her head. One held both wrists in a cru
shing grip as he plucked the cutlass from her and sent it clattering behind him. Using his free hand, he encircled her waist, locking her to him.
Annalise struggled to buck him off. He only tightened his hold and straddled her leg, making it impossible for her to move. The cut in her chemise pulled tight across her thigh, and the fine fabric tore. She fought to breathe.
An iced gaze bore into her, and he spoke to her through clenched teeth. “The next time you decide to draw a weapon on me, you’d best kill me.”
“I-I’m n-not afraid of you.”
“Then you’d be a fool,” he growled into her face.
The muscle in his jaw jumped as his powerful body surrounded her.
“I’m a fool then.” She gasped as his body crushed hers. “And I’ve got nothing left to lose. One shout from me and I’ll bring your entire crew down on both our heads.”
Anna tipped her head back and hoped she had enough air left to scream. Jaxon silenced her before she could make a sound. He covered her mouth with his in a hot, punishing kiss.
A fire surged through her as his lips claimed hers. Locked against him, he stole her last breath. Breasts pressed tight against his chest. Hips pinned beneath his as his thigh forced her legs wider. The power and heat of his body singed her skin. He stripped her of any strength she had left. She whimpered and gave way to the sensations of his mouth on hers, his body enveloping hers, his hands holding her hostage.
He moaned low in his throat as his hold shifted. His fingers pushed into her hair and held her head as he angled his mouth, and his tongue swept hers. Her legs failed as fear and survival gave way to a need so overpowering it threatened to destroy her.
CHAPTER 7
A strangled cry tore from her throat and she renewed her struggle against him. The sound of ripping cloth sent a fiery rush through his body. His mouth stopped punishing but still claimed hers as he released his hold on her wrists and slid his hand down to capture a fist full of soft hair. Jaxon’s arm about her waist held her fast against his growing heat as his tongue swept into her mouth. A whimper escaped her. It sounded of surrender--and fear. He eased his hold, and she shoved against his shoulders.
Within a Captain's Hold Page 4
