Angelina's Secret

by Diane Merill Wigginton

  “I see you finally decided to bless me with your presence,” he purred in my ear as he began to come awake.

  Attempting to remove myself from his viselike grip, my squirming only made matters worse. “Honestly, I didn’t know you had returned or that you were asleep,” I cried as panic was setting in.

  “So you wished to find me awake. Well, give me a minute and I will see what I can do about that.” A tired smile began to form on his rakish lips.

  “No, wait. There has been a mistake.” I pushed at his hand as it started its exploration of my breasts.

  “The only mistake was my leaving you alone last night to go up on deck,” he said in a gravelly, passion-filled voice that was like quicksand to my senses.

  My protests were lost as he wrapped his large hands through my hair and around my neck, pulling me to his sensuous lips, kissing me so passionately that all hope of escape was lost in an instant, along with my words of protest.

  Leaning up on his elbow, he laid me back on the pillow as my eyes searched his face.

  I began to explore more completely the contours of his scars. I touched him tentatively at first then more boldly as my confidence grew.

  The feel of his solid form as his muscles moved under my hands sent a thrilling sensation through me. I knew it was wrong, but something about him made it impossible for me to resist. The sudden quickening of desire was foreign, and I was unable to fathom to what end it would all lead. The only thing I knew for sure was my mind had given up thinking for the moment.

  “Angelina, you are an angel,” he whispered feverishly against my throat as he trailed impassioned kisses downward, unhooking the bodice of my slip and slipping his hand beneath the thin material to retrieve his prize.

  My breathing now coming in ragged pants as I fought to find my sanity that was slipping away as I was consumed by him.

  His lips worked their magic while his mouth ravaged my flesh. I moaned deep in my throat, wrapping my fingers through his hair, encouraging him on.

  Looking up I found his tempest-filled eyes penetrating me to my marrow as he studied my face. “I beg you release me from the spell you have cast over me,” I rasped while trying to catch my breath.

  Groaning as if he were in pain, he raked his hand through his raven hair. “Oh, Angel, how you make me burn with desire for you, and I fear that it is not I who has cast the spell, but you have bewitched me with some dark magic you possess,” he rasped as his French accent became thicker.

  I turned my head slightly to the side to hide the tears stinging my eyes as distress and humiliation began to set in again. Disentangling myself from his grasp, I sat up and moved away, turning my back to him to hide my disgrace. Quickly working to right my disheveled appearance, I fastened my bodice and walked to the window. The chill in the room helped to cool the hot flush that had crept its way to my face.

  “I was unable to find the gown I was wearing yesterday,” I said over my shoulder while trying to keep my voice level and impassionate. Wrapping my arms about myself to stop the shaking that had begun, I waited for his reply.

  I had not heard him get up, but when I turned to see why he didn’t answer, he was standing behind me with a quilt in hand. Wrapping the quilt around my shoulders, he turned me around and tilted my chin up to meet his gaze. We stood like that for a few minutes not speaking. Not moving, just looking at one another; then leaning down slowly, he kissed my cheek so gently. Then he brushed a stray hair from my face with the back of his hand.

  “Ma belle Ange. My beautiful angel,” he said with such tenderness before turning to walk across the room, unashamed of his nudity as he opened the cabin door.

  “Boy, bring me the lady’s clothes!” he bellowed out the door. Shutting it behind him with a bang, he walked to the cabinet and pulled out a pair of black trousers and slipped them on. I marveled at the ease with which he moved about unashamed of his nakedness. Then he reached in again to retrieve a shirt, slipping it over his head.

  A knock on the door interrupted my curious voyeuristic view, and I turned as he walked to the door to retrieve my dress. I heard him saying something to the young man, but my mind was somewhere else, and I had no idea what they discussed.

  Laying my dress over a chair and returning to finish dressing in silence, the tension was palpable. He headed for the door but turned back around a moment as if he meant to tell me something and then thought better of it. Opening the door, he stepped out slowly and closed it almost reverently.

  Sometime later, I heard a knock on the door and I called out, “Come in.” The young cabin boy came in bearing a tray with porridge, toast and tea on it. Setting it on the table, he turned to leave, but I stopped him.

  “Please, could you be so kind as to tell me if the captain will be joining me?” I asked while standing at the window.

  “No, my lady, he is on deck and will be there awhile,” he said, never making eye contact. Turning, he left, shutting the door behind him. I heard a click like the tumbles of a door being locked, but that couldn’t be right.

  Running to the door, I tried to open it only to realize I had been locked in. I thought to myself that it was curious, but decided that I would attempt to enjoy breakfast and make myself busy while waiting for the captain’s return.

  I finished my meal, made the bed, washed my face, straightened the room, and still no captain. The sun was now high in the sky, and I was getting more frustrated with each passing hour. Frustration soon turned to anger as the day wore on.

  I had paced the floor for another twenty minutes or so when real anger struck. Going to the door, I called out. “Boy, can you hear me? I need to see the captain. Please let me out.” I attempted to sound calm and reserved.

  Not getting a response, and not caring if I made a fool of myself, I began to pound on the door now, screaming at the door and kicking it at the same time. “Let me out of here right now, you wharf rat! You bunch of cowards! Answer me, you little duffer! I am warning you to unlock this door this instant or I will bloody well make someone pay!” Still I got no response from the other side.

  Looking around for inanimate objects I could get my hands on, candle sticks and pitchers were all hurled at the locked door. I imagined the captain’s face. Running out of things that were readily at hand, I started pulling cabinets open.

  “Ha-ha, this would do,” I said to myself as I came across the captain’s coveted Irish whiskey.

  I was winding up, preparing to throw it when the door suddenly opened, and the true target of my discontent entered. A primal scream of anger and frustration came from my mouth as I hurled the bottle straight at his head.

  Scrambling to get out of the way of the flying object, the captain dodged to his right. Unfortunately for him, I had better aim than he anticipated, and the bottle grazed his shoulder, crashing into the doorjamb and shattered into a million shards raining liquid everywhere.

  Dissatisfied with my aim, I turned to locate another object to throw. Finding the washbasin, I had used earlier, I dumped the water on the floor just as his strong arm clamped around my waist. Lifting me off the ground in one fluid motion, he plucked the bowl from my hand, setting it safely out of reach.

  He began cursing in his native tongue. Fortunately for him, I didn’t understand it all. My French was somewhat rusty, but I got the gist of his anger.

  Throwing me roughly down on the bed, he glowered at me with eyes ablaze with anger, now void of any amusement. Still muttering curses at me in French, he pulled his fingers through his windblown hair.

  “Have you lost your mind? What is the meaning of all this, you little hellion?” he growled at me through clenched teeth while attempting to get his anger under control.

  “I warned the little duffer there would be hell to pay if he didn’t unlock the door,” I screamed at him.

  “What did you say?” he asked, glaring at me with an unspoken threat between us.

  “You heard what I said. I didn’t stutter,” I said with my eyes blazing and
my tone just as threatening.

  He began pacing again, muttering under his breath.

  “Why have I been locked in this room all day? I demand you let me out of here to see my uncle!” I yelled at him, coming up on my knees.

  Scoffing at me, he lunged toward me, coming short of my face by a mere six inches.

  “What makes you think you give the orders around here?” he said, pinning me with his storm-filled eyes.

  Coming even closer to his face, I stopped within an inch from his nose. “What in my demeanor makes you think I am afraid of you?” I said with bravado.

  Attempting to stare me down for what felt like an eternity, he suddenly pulled back, walked to the door and opened it. “Boy, get in here and clean up this mess,” he roared. Then turning back to me his anger broiling, he clenched and unclenched his hand. Tension hung in the air.

  As he paced back and forth for a few minutes I could almost see his mind at work as he walked to the window and staring out to sea. “Are you a gambler, Miss Stewart?”

  “What are you talking about?” I asked in total confusion.

  “It’s a simple question, Lady Stewart. Are you a gambler? Do you believe in games of chance to determine your future?” he said as he turned from the window and stood in front of me. His startling blue eyes piercing through me. I could not make sense of what he was asking of me.

  “I have never been a gambler before, and I am not sure just what a game of chance has to do with my future,” I said with an incredulous tone.

  “I have a proposition for you, Lady Stewart,” he said in a tone that would suggest a friendly alliance being made.

  “What say we play a little game of chance? If you are the winner, you and your crew are free to sail away without harm. You also get to keep your cargo and ship.”

  “And if I lose?” I asked, the question hanging in the air.

  “If I should win this little game of chance, your crew is safely put to shore and I get the ship, the cargo, and you,” he said with a hint of a dare in his voice as a devilish smile played on his lips.

  Now I began to pace back and forth weighing my options.

  “Well?” he challenged, raising an eyebrow brashly.

  That damnable eyebrow, I thought to myself.

  “The decision cannot be that hard to make. So what do you say? Do we have ourselves a little wager?” he taunted, pressing me for an answer while rubbing his hands together. “I will even let you choose. We could play a game of piquet or simply cut cards aces high. Best five out of seven draws wins. So, what do you say?”

  “Just give me a minute. It’s a big decision with inherent pitfalls as far as I can see.” Now feeling somewhat uncomfortable under the scrutiny of his intense stare, I began to chew on the corner of my bottom lip.

  What’s the worst that could happen? I asked myself. Well, I could end up the companion of a pirate for the rest of my natural-born life, that’s what. Or, I could be off on my merry way with ship in tow and my somewhat spotless virtue intact. What to do, what to do? Again, pacing, I felt like a caged animal my mind was whirling, and I was unsure of which option to pick.

  “I have to speak with my uncle,” I said, hoping that he could advise me of my chances.

  “I am afraid that the decision is yours alone to make. Your uncle can be of no help now,’’ he said as he took a seat in the chair closest to the window and watched me deliberate with myself.

  I used to play cards with my brother Jonathan, but I was never any good at piquet. He tried teaching me the subtleties of the game, but it required so much memory and strategizing it often gave me a headache. Chances are, he has the game down pat, and I would lose. If I were to take him up on it, my only chance would be to draw the best cards.

  Another fifteen minutes went by as I weighed the pros and cons of this game of chance.

  “Fine, I’ll do it. But what is to keep you from cheating or going back on your word if I win?” I challenged.

  “You severely wound me with your mistrust, Lady Stewart,” he said, dramatically bringing his hand to his chest as if I pierced him to his very heart, black as it may be.

  “It is a legitimate question. After all, I have a lot to lose should I be on the wrong end of this deal,” I told him in all seriousness.

  “I guess it is all a matter of perspective, my dear,” he said as he gave me a wolfish smile that alluded to the pleasures that could be had for the taking.

  A blush touched my cheeks and resolve stiffened my spine as I made my decision.

  “Fine, you are on! Best five out of seven, aces high, and I will shuffle first.” I was feeling lucky today. At least I prayed the gods were on my side.

  Retrieving cards from a drawer, he handed them to me, and I examined them. Determining that they were fairly new, I began to shuffle. An expression of appreciation played across his face. I had learned from Jonathan how to shuffle like the dealers at the London parlors.

  Placing the deck in the middle of the table, I allowed him to go first. Reaching over he cut the deck and lifted his card up. He drew a queen. I went next and drew a three of clubs.

  I kept telling myself that it was only the first match. Placing my card back down, he proceeded to pick up the deck and show me how shuffling was really done. My stomach sunk, and I felt sick. His skills far exceeded mine in that respect. Now it was my turn to draw. Cutting the deck, I pulled out a ten of hearts. Then he drew out a five of diamonds. Now we were even with five more draws to go.

  Next, the pirate captain drew an ace of hearts, and I drew a queen of spades. I shuffled again and drew out a king of diamonds, and he drew a nine card. I breathed a sigh of relief, even again.

  I shuffled again. This time he drew first pulling a two of clubs, and I drew a jack of hearts, and I was up by one.

  The tension grew as I drew a card close to the bottom. I turned the card over to reveal a seven of spades, and my heart dropped because I just knew I would lose this one.

  Reaching for the deck of cards, he never broke eye contact with me. Picking a card from the middle, he lifted it to show me without looking at it himself. He had drawn the six of hearts and my breath caught in my chest as I could hardly believe that I was up by two now.

  “Yes!” I blurted out, and I couldn’t help but smile.

  The official count was now four to two, and all I needed was one more win, and I would be free.

  My deal, which I hoped would be the last. Shuffling the deck, I felt apprehensively confident. Laying the cards in the middle of the table between us, he cut the deck and pulled out a king of diamonds, and my confidence vanished.

  Holding my hands together under the table to stop the shaking, I breathed deeply to steady my nerves. Reaching out to cut the deck, I hesitated and said a little prayer to heaven above. I couldn’t breathe, and my head felt dizzy now. Rolling my hand over to reveal the card I had drawn, breath escaped from my lungs in one enormous gasp as my card was the king of hearts, making this round a tie.

  I wanted to cry out in frustration but refused to let him see my feelings.

  Taking the deck, he shuffled with precision and confidence, this time placing the cards down in the middle of the table. I reached for the pile of cards and rested my hand on the deck. I looked at him for a few seconds trying to read him, but he had masked his emotions. I drew from the middle, turning my hand over to reveal the eight of diamonds. Feeling the full force of disappointment, I was sure it was written all over my face as I placed my card back on the deck.

  I noticed that he was studying me intently. I could not read his eyes for they held a look I had not seen before. Peering at me intently, he reached over to cut the deck as his eyes never left mine. Lifting up the cards so that I would be the one to see his card first, I had to look twice because I could not believe my eyes. He had drawn the six of clubs.

  I looked at his face. His expression never changed. Not waiting for me to say anything, he simply placed the deck back on top of the pile as if he knew that it
was a losing draw. “Congratulations,” he said.

  Slightly confused by his reaction, I wondered what would happen next.

  “When can I see my uncle?” I asked with a mixture of joy and something else that I couldn’t quite put my finger on. It wasn’t that I had not enjoyed my time aboard the pirate ship. It’s that I was not cut out to be someone’s prisoner and did not enjoy the confinement and loss of my free will.

  He walked out the door and secured it behind him without saying a word. I sat there for a minute, wondering exactly what just happened. If I had just won, why did he lock me in again?

  I should have known I couldn’t trust a pirate.

  I walked to the door and tried to pull it open to no avail. Then I gave it a good swift kick out of sheer frustration and immediately started hopping about on one foot which I had hurt on the solid wood door.

  I was about to start screaming insults at the door again when it suddenly swung open.

  “We are ready now,” he announced.

  “Ready for what?” I asked while holding my injured foot.

  Grabbing my hand, he proceeded to pull me behind him as I hopped on one foot yelling for him to slow down.

  Standing on the deck of the privateers ship near the railing I could see the Lady Clarisse. She had fared well through the storm, and the two ships had rendezvoused just as the captain had instructed.

  Looking about the ship for the first time, I noticed all the pirates had their faces covered and their backs turned to me.

  I thought it strange but didn’t have long to ponder it.

  Only one pirate remained aboard the Lady Clarisse.

  As we stepped closer to the railing, I could see two ropes that connected the ships together.

  Realization dawned like a bad dream, and I instantly knew exactly how I was to get back to my ship.

  Trying to break free of his strong grip, he had anticipated my reluctance and accurately gauged my fear. Taking hold of my shoulders, he forced me to look at him.