“I am very honored,” Charlie said, looking up at Lord Sutherland, who was offering him an inked quill, “that you chose to promote me, sir, a mere captain. However, due to my values, I must refuse this offer, but I am happy to remain in my current position.”
Lord Sutherland, known for his unfaltering demeanor, could not help but drop his mouth in surprise at this blunt refusal at this prized opportunity. The surprise erased itself from his face just as fast as it was plastered on, and his jaw muscles tightened.
“May I ask why, Captain Colt?” Lord Sutherland asked between his teeth. Apparently formalities were a requirement between them now, Charlie noticed.
“I do not believe in the selling, the transporting, or the buying of slaves,” Charlie replied, his stare never faltering. His dark eyes narrowed; the usual playful twinkle disappeared from his kohl-rimmed eyes.
Lord Sutherland met Charlie’s stare with his own and was silent for a moment. Then, without a word, he nodded at both of his men. “It pains me that you say that,” he said, as the men came up from behind Charlie, “but I did have a slight suspicion you might refuse me.” Each man grabbed one of Charlie’s arms, which then prompted Charlie to struggle against them. “Come now, Charlie, I am Lord Sutherland of the East India Company! Why would you think you could refuse me?” Charlie was still struggling as Lord Sutherland lowered his voice, articulating every word. “Now, I will ask you again; sign the contract guaranteeing your promotion, or be terminated from your current position.”
Charlie furrowed his brow, his face shading over. The fire crackled again, but this time, he did not flinch. “No,” he said curtly.
Lord Sutherland sighed with obvious impatience. “Morals and business do not go together, Charlie,” Lord Sutherland said. “To be a good businessman, one must suspend their moral beliefs for intelligent beliefs that will get the job done, that will earn the most profit, that will terminate the scoundrels that sail the seven seas under their own colors. That is what we do, Captain Colt; that is what this Company does.” He walked over to the fireplace, his hands once again behind his back. He curled his fingers around the oddly shaped fire poker, picking it up and peering at it. It was then that Charlie noticed why it was so oddly shaped; at the end of the poker, a legible ‘P’ was at the end of it. “You are either with the Company,” he said, turning to Charlie so that the fire poker was between both of their faces. Charlie gulped as he stared the red-hot end of the poker. “Or you are not,” Sutherland finished, meeting Charlie’s stare with a dangerous look in his cold, steely eyes.
Charlie bit his tongue to keep from biting his lip. He glanced up at the nearly orange ‘P’ and then back at the man before him. He knew that fire poker. He had seen Lord Sutherland use it on anyone who disobeyed him before which would then result in them being branded forever as a pirate. Then, they would be discharged, but instead of trying to get into another honorable business, the ‘P’ on their arm would prohibit them from doing so. Because of this, they usually turned pirate themselves. And now, Charlie realized he was about to be put in the same position as he only saw before. Would he be willing to be branded based on his moral beliefs, or would he force himself to transport, to buy and sell the slaves to keep his reputation in high esteem? To be an outlaw or a businessman…?
“Which is it, Captain Colt?” Lord Sutherland asked.
“Unless you are incapable of hearing, I believe I said that I refuse your promotion,” Charlie said. His tone was cocky, his demeanor, foolish, but Charlie refused to reveal any type of weakness.
Lord Sutherland sighed, pursing his lips in disappointment. He nodded to his man holding Charlie on his right. Without warning to Charlie, the man forced Charlie’s arm out and rolled up his sleeve so that Charlie’s bare forearm was in plain view. Charlie began to struggle again, but it was no use. Lord Sutherland slowly began to lower the fire poker, the anticipation building up in Charlie nearly as painful as the coming burn. When the poker touched Charlie’s bare arm, he could not contain a growl of pain. The metal seeped into his skin, and the pain was so unbearable that he almost fainted because of it. It lasted much longer than needed, but after the initial contact, Charlie gritted his teeth and bore it. He watched the poker on his skin, and as the ‘P’ seeped into him, he felt a transformation take place. Just like the many men before him who endured this excruciating pain, Charlie began to see piracy as a more desired living if branding was a form of punishment and a person was considered a good. How stupid he had been to work for Lord Sutherland. How foolish, how blind he had been. But what was done was done.
Lord Sutherland lifted the poker off of Charlie’s skin, but neither man let the disgraced captain go. “Tell your lieutenant to get the Midnight Sea ready for termination,” Lord Sutherland said as he placed the fire poker back into the fireplace. “For the time being, place him in the brig. I want to make sure he sees his beloved ship sink down to Davy Jones’s locker.”
As Charlie was taken away, his mind exploded with silent rage. His ship, his ship for nearly seven years, was about to be destroyed, his good reputation was about to be tainted, and he was forever branded as a pirate. It was then that Captain Charlie Colt was a changed man. If people were going to believe that he was a pirate, then he would not only become a pirate, but be the best damned pirate that sailed the seven seas. He would get a ship, a new ship, and a crew with only one goal in mind; revenge. Of course, there would be much pillaging and plundering to satisfy his crew’s sense of greed, pleasure, and adventure, and while he might dip into these activities from time to time, his main focus would be revenge on Lord Sutherland of the East India Company. If Lord Sutherland wanted to destroy his only love, then Charlie would gladly open Hell up himself just so the devil could pull in Sutherland for an eternity of pain that a branding could only fraction.
What goes around comes around, Charlie thought to himself, and I will make sure that Lord Sutherland gets more than he deserves in that department.
1
Brooke Cunningham sighed as her maid finished the last touches on her hair. It was hard to breathe in her dress, a rose-colored number with a corset which squeezed her already slim waist even smaller, and pushing her breasts higher than she thought was even humanly possible. The skirt flared at her hips and went just past her ankles. Instead of heels, she opted for pure, white stockings and matching pink flats.
“I hate pink,” she said as she frowned at herself in the mirror.
“But you look so good in it!” her maid, Liz, exclaimed. “It’s a wonder you ain’t married, mum.”
Brooke rolled her eyes. “That is what my father tells me,” she murmured, folding her hands neatly in her lap.
“Oh, well, he just means you’re beautiful and smart so there should be no reason you’re not married,” the maid explained as she reached over Brooke to grab some powder.
“No powder for tonight, Liz,” Brooke told her maid, crinkling her small nose in distaste.
“Are you sure, mum? Freckles ain’t fashionable, you know,” she said as if Brooke had not been told that since she was a young child. Liz opened the powder, despite her mistress’s protest. She grabbed a brush and dipped it into the powder, proceeding to get it ready to use on Brooke’s face.
“Liz, I said no,” Brooke reiterated in a tight voice. She was even a bit surprised at Liz’s blatant disobedience. “I do not care anymore if freckles are fashionable or not; I want no powder!” She looked at herself in the mirror, a small smile on her face, her eyes mischievous. “I happen to like my freckles anyways.”
Liz closed the powder and put it away. “Whatever you say, mum,” she said, her voice low. “Your father just requests that you look your best for tonight; a potential suitor—a wealthy merchant!—has arranged to have supper here in less than an hour! Do you really want no powder on your face?”
“No more suitors!” Brooke exclaimed, throwing her hands up. “I am tired of putting on a mask and pretending to be somebody I am not. I just want to be a
ccepted for who I am underneath the powder, the corsets, and the ridiculously uncomfortable shoes. I want a potential husband to like that I am not pale, that I do have freckles, and that I am not as small as these dresses make me be!”
“Did I tie your corset too tight?” Liz asked, kneeling down to look at the silk ribbon that laced through the tightening mechanism. “You’re speaking nonsense, mum! You know to gain a respectable suitor means that you have to sacrifice a piece of who you are!”
“If all these respectable suitors cannot accept me for who I am then maybe disrespectable suitors will be better suited for me,” Brooke said with a wicked smile. She knew that would cause Liz to rant, which was always quite amusing to the twenty-year-old.
“Like pirates?!” Liz screeched. Her eyes widened in terror and her mouth hung open, obviously appalled at such a notion. “Like rogues and thieves and scallywags?”
“Precisely,” Brooke replied.
Brooke’s statement caused Liz to drop the powder, causing small, white particles to fly everywhere; on the desk, on the carpet, on Brooke and Liz both. Brooke started laughing while Liz shrieked and tried to wipe the powder off of herself, which only caused it to sink deeper into her clothes.
“You can’t go down there looking like that!” she exclaimed when she saw the giggling girl covered in the powder.
Liz ran into the bathing room, adjacent to the room they were currently in, and grabbed a towel. She wet it so that the towel was damp, and ran back into Brooke’s room. However, Liz’s attempt to clean the girl was all in vain for the powder had already sunk in the dress and could not be removed unless it had a proper washing.
“Well, at least the stockings are white so the powder will blend,” Brooke said with a laugh. She could not keep the smile off her face if she tried. It was all too perfect. She was covered in powder. There was no way she would be presented to the wealthy merchant looking like this, although she was tempted to go down and introduce herself to him in her present condition. Her father would surely have a heart attack. She almost started laughing again at the thought.
“I don’t know what has gotten into you, mum!” Liz exclaimed, tears brimming her eyes due to the fact that she had no idea what to do now. “Talking about pirate suitors and laughing at your ruined dress! I can’t…I’m getting your father. Hopefully, he’ll be able to talk some sense into you.”
The mention of her father caused Brooke’s smile to falter. She did not want him to come up and start lecturing her about her duty to him and whatnot. She sighed, and leaned back in her chair, waiting for him to come bounding up the stairs. He was always yelling at her whenever she did something wrong. Ever since her mother passed away, he had always been angrier, and he usually took it out on her. Brooke managed to learn how to deal with his temper as she grew older. It was especially difficult when he started blaming her for looking too much like her mother or acting too much like her mother, as though it was her fault. She wanted to escape from her confining home. She wanted to explore, to find her own suitors; ones that she approved of, not the ones her father approved of.
Within a moment, her father burst into Brooke’s room, regally dressed, as he was when wealthy visitors visited. He looked angry; Liz had probably told him of her troublesome manners right before these wealthy visitors actually presented themselves. He just wanted her to marry wealthy so not only would he be taken care of, but she would as well. When she had sons, they would be educated by the best tutors and take over his very successful trading business. He hoped that tonight would be unlike every other night, and Brooke might actually act cordial to the guests, but it would seem his hopes went unheard. He noticed his daughter was hiding a grin behind her hand, her very expensive dress was covered in powder, and there was no attempt at getting any of it out. To top it off, Liz had just informed him that she would rather be romanced by a pirate than a merchant. To say he was upset would be an understatement.
“Brooke Anne Cunningham!” he exclaimed, causing Brooke to roll her eyes. It seemed that every other day he was angry at her for some reason, and had to remind her of her full name. “What is this I hear about you wanting a pirate over a merchant? And why are you still in that dress and not getting ready?”
“Which question would you like me to answer first, Father?” Brooke muttered, the amusement at her current predicament dissipating into the air.
“None,” her father snapped, looking at the room with his nose crinkled in utter distaste. “Just get presentable, Brooke. No more of your antics, now. We should be expecting our company soon.” Without another word, he turned and left, leaving Liz alone with Brooke.
“I can get ready on my own, Liz,” Brooke said, doing her best to keep her voice from quivering. She looked at the floor beneath her. She wanted to be alone now, and Liz’s company was the last she desired at present.
“Maybe I should just make sure you get ready, mum,” Liz replied, her tone mirroring her mistress’s.
“Thank you, Liz, but no thank you,” Brooke said, standing up and sauntering back into her bedroom and going over to her wardrobe. She opened the dark oak doors and pretended to ponder at her large selection of clothing until she heard her door close shut, signaling Liz’s silent departure.
Brooke sighed, closing her eyes and breathing deeply, just letting a moment of silence pass her by. She had to contain her anger in some way, and although she would rather scream at both her father and Liz, she had to endure them. She grabbed a dress without much thought to it and walked over to the corner of her room, where her dressing screen was located. She hung the dress over it. Instead of getting dressed immediately, she walked over to her open window, and out onto the balcony, just looking out at the setting sun over the sparkling sea. She wished she was on the sea, on a ship, anywhere but where she was. She breathed in the salty air, and that managed to put a smile on her face. The reason she kept her bedroom window open was so she could always smell the sea. With a desperate sigh, she trudged over to her dressing screen, trying to get into the mindset of meeting another bloody suitor.
Everything was set. Everyone was in place. Heath was definitely dressed the part, and since Charlie knew Master Cunningham personally, he knew what the elder man would like in a merchant as a potential suitor for his daughter. He had not seen the Cunninghams since his last transaction with the man; the transaction that promoted him, and yet ruined him at the same time. While it was not Cunningham’s fault for Charlie’s fallen reputation, Charlie never really liked the bloke and knew that he was quite rich. Seeing how his crew was in the area, and keeping in mind how restless they were for some treasure, he and Heath devised this scheme in two days’ time: Heath would play the part of the wealthy merchant, distracting both Master Cunningham and his daughter, while he and the crew would be positioned at different entrances, hiding away from guards, and secluding themselves from sight. Once ten minutes passed, they would enter the mansion and capture the wealth, finishing before Heath was finished with his meal.
Charlie tapped his boot impatiently as he looked up at the night sky. He just wanted to get this over and done with so that they could leave and get back to what Charlie had been waiting to do for the past ten years. He did not need the wealth; he got by, but if he did not please his crew, they would most likely mutiny, and even with Heath’s loyalty, the two would be no match for his twenty-seven men.
A soft caw pierced the silent air, matching that of a sea gull’s. It was the signal. Charlie quickly jumped up to grab a tree branch, preparing to enter the open window of a second-story room. Biting his lip to keep from grunting aloud, he threw his leg over the branch, and squeezing his stomach, managed to pull himself up. Glancing in the room as much as he possibly could, he stepped over the railing and onto the balcony. There was light coming from the room, and yet as he stepped inside it, he saw no one occupying it. A large, four-poster bed was in the middle of the room, and right across from that was a large desk with a vanity mirror in front of it. He looked down a na
rrow hall, and managed to see another small desk, but this one had white powder surrounding it. It was not until he saw the painting hanging over the bed did he realize that this room belonged to the young Brooke Cunningham, Master Cunningham’s only child. It was the same painting from ten years ago; the small ship in the big sea facing a terrible storm.
A noise made his body tense, and his right hand dropped to the hilt of his cutlass, ready to pull it out to defend himself at any moment. However, instead of a potential threat, he saw the silhouette of a young woman, changing behind a dressing wall. He could not look away, as he watched her slender body step into a dress. She pulled it up, grunting, and watched with a delighted smirk as she tried to fit her luscious curves into the tight dress. If this was indeed Miss Cunningham’s room then she must have grown up.
When the young woman walked out from behind her dressing screen, Charlie’s eyes were still captured, save now he could see her. She was rather short, a head shorter than he was, and her dark gold hair was twisted in a labyrinth that rested on top of her head. Her eyes were the same color as the sea and sparkled as such. Her lips were full and luscious, and her shoulders were feminine and slender. The dress she was wearing accentuated her important curves, but the concoction that kept her goods in place seemed to be rather suffocating. His eyes drifted up and down her body, and then up once more when he noticed a fingerprint of white dust caressing her upturned nose. He smiled in amusement.
“And what, may I ask, sir, is so funny?” she asked him, placing a hand on her hip and arching a brow. She looked at him, a challenge, her head arched perfectly to the side. Her eyes squinted then, as though she was trying to view him more clearly. “Do I know you?” she asked him, opening her eyes back to their normal state and looking him in his eyes.
To Marry A Marauder Page 2
