To Marry A Marauder

by Heather C. Myers

  “Do you realize, miss, that there is a brush of powder on your nose?” he asked her, his hands hanging loosely at his back. It was odd to him how she had yet to raise alarm at his uninvited presence in her bedroom, although she did recognize him somewhat, despite the passing years.

  His eyes watched with desire as she sauntered over to her desk, bending over to get a good look at her face in the mirror. Charlie smirked to himself; now every important curve was accounted for. Brooke wiggled her nose as she tried to wipe away the pesky specks. Her attempt was in vain, however, and she stood, flattening the wrinkles in her dress.

  “If you will excuse me—” she began to say but was interrupted by her familiar visitor.

  “Allow me, madame,” Charlie said, stepping forward so that his body was an inch from hers. He took his thumb and licked it, then placed it delicately on Brooke’s nose, successfully wiping away the accumulated dust.

  “I thank you for wiping your saliva on my nose,” Brooke remarked, turning to face Charlie, and crossed her hands firmly over her chest, “although I am afraid to inform you that my name is not madame, or miss, as some people like to call me.”

  “May I inquire as to what it is, then?” Charlie asked, his eyes dancing in hers.

  “My name is Brooke Cunningham,” Brooke said, introducing herself. “You may address me as such, despite the fact that my father has worn out my name.”

  “Brooke… Ah yes, now I remember,” Charlie said, watching the young woman before him. She had, indeed, grown, into something more than he ever expected her to. “I like that name.”

  Brooke smiled. “As long as you like it, then,” she said, and then narrowed her eyes at the stranger before her. “In return, may you tell me who you are then, sir?”

  “Seeing as you are neither madame or miss, I am happy to inform you that I am not sir, but Charlie Colt, at your service,” he said, and bowed, although he did keep his eyes on the lady before him.

  Brooke’s eyes seemed to sparkle in recognition. “I do know you,” she said, “or did, if we are being technical. Is it true? Respectable Charlie Colt turned to piracy?” she asked him, stepping forward so that the two were closer than necessary once again.

  “I see my reputation precedes me,” Charlie replied with an arrogant smile.

  “Or lack of one,” retorted Brooke, her eyes challenging him.

  “Your opinion, dearie,” Charlie said with a lazy grin. “People admire me, you know. Kids want to be me, ladies want to be with me. Men usually tend to be on both ends of the spectrum, if you catch my drift. I am quite the Holy Grail if I do say so myself.” He leaned down so his long, pointed nose was nearly touching hers. “Are you afraid of me?” he asked in a low tone.

  “Should I be?” Brooke asked in the same voice, her eyes looking up at him imploringly. “Answer me this, Mister Colt: what are you doing here, in my home, specifically in my room?”

  “Now, Brooke, sweetheart, I have told you I am not sir and assumed that you would realize I am not Mister either,” Charlie said, standing up straight, and speaking regularly. “However, if you would like to give me some sort of title, then Captain shall suffice.” He turned from her to walk over to her bed, looking at the picture as he did ten years ago. “To answer your question, darling, the reason I am currently in your room is to pillage it and acquire the wealth it holds. Each member of my crew is in your home doing what I should be doing, save for the fact that instead of distracting you, you seem to have distracted me.” He paused, looking at her seriously, letting his words sink in. “What is currently happening, my dear, is that my first mate, Heath, is sitting over supper with your father, distracting him. They are probably waiting for your presence, which means a maid will knock upon your door rather soon, but at half past the hour, the majority of your father’s wealth will be secured by my crew.”

  “And then you will disappear, making more of a name for yourself?” Brooke asked, quirking a brow as she walked over to her bed, looking on her painting as well.

  “That would be in my best interest if not even a woman alone is afraid of me,” he replied, throwing a glance at her.

  “I am just an exception, I am sure,” Brooke said politely.

  “I do digress, however; women are never afraid of me,” Charlie said with a smooth grin.

  A knock on the door caused Brooke to jump and Charlie to lazily sweep a look at the door. Brooke glanced at Charlie, and then went over to the door. She looked at Charlie again, whose mouth was currently hanging open at the thought of Brooke turning him over after their interesting conversation. Grinning at him wickedly, she leaned her head on the cool oak and answered the maid’s knock.

  “Your father is waiting for you, Miss Cunningham,” Liz said, impatient.

  Brooke could not help but roll her eyes. Of course, her father would send Liz, the woman Brooke could not stand.

  “I am almost ready, Liz,” Brooke forced herself to say in a rather cheery tone. “And before you ask, no, I do not need any help.” Brooke then stood upright and sauntered back over to Charlie. “I think I just saved you, Captain Colt, from an untimely death,” she quipped.

  “Which means, then, I owe you my life, sweetheart,” Charlie replied. He stood next to her, and the pair continued to study the painting.

  “I will hold you to it, you know,” Brooke said, looking up at him with a smirk. “Do not sail too far away.”

  “I don’t intend to,” Charlie replied, his voice low, turning to study the sharp profile of the young girl before him. “And now what are we supposed to do with the time on our hands?”

  “I thought you had to pillage my room looking for my father’s wealth?” she asked him skeptically, turning to meet his eyes.

  “I do intend to pillage, my dear, but I have changed my mind on the wealth,” he quipped.

  “Oh?” Brooke asked, raising her brow in wonder. “And what wealth will you now be pillaging?”

  “It’s not a question of what,” Charlie said, bending down so his lips were right next to her ear, “but, rather, whom.”

  “Are you flirting with me, Captain Colt?” Brooke asked him, a skeptical glint in his eyes.

  “Actually, my dear, yes I am,” Charlie replied, “and unless my eyes deceive me—which they sometimes do—I would say that you are flirting with me as well.”

  “Well, I should like to keep in practice,” Brooke said, shrugging. “Suitors do not usually flirt with me.”

  “I am no suitor,” Charlie stated, motioning to himself. “I am a mere gentleman having a conversation with a young woman.” He smiled devilishly at her, two gold teeth twinkling. Other than that, his teeth were surprisingly white and straight.

  “Pretty words, Captain Colt, but I do not think words can mask your obvious ties to piracy,” Brooke said, walking over to him and looking at his plain clothing. “Although, I am sure, like everything, there is an exception. It is possible that you could be a gentle man.”

  Charlie raised his brow, a smile gliding upon his chiseled face. “Actually, darling, I am anything but,” he said, causing her to blush. She was quite confident with flirting but never had a man been so blunt with a sexual innuendo. Charlie leaned down towards her so that his lips were brushing her ear once again. “And just so you know, sweetheart, my words are not the only pretty things in this room.”

  “I am sure you are referring to yourself?” she teased as he pulled away and stood upright.

  “No, actually, but I am glad you think me so,” he answered, his eyes dancing with hers in amusement. “Although I would say that I am more ruggedly handsome than pretty.”

  She let out a contagious giggle, and he could not help but deepen his smile. Brooke covered her mouth with her hand and stole a glance at the man before her. He was a changed man compared to when she first met him. His eyes seemed to now be glazed over with wisdom and his face seemed to have gotten more mature. His body still looked the same, even after ten years, she couldn’t help but be more attracted to him
now than when she was younger, when she did not understand her attraction to an older man. But now she could see that even though he was a pirate, someone so incredibly low in the caste system, while in turn, she was so high, she was drawn to him. Whether it was his dark eyes, his breath-taking smile, or his low voice, she could not deny there was something dangerous about him. Of course, she would never admit this aloud for he was correct in his terms of not being a suitor; he was simply a passing stranger who happened to remind her of how it felt to be flirted with by a handsome man.

  Her smile dimmed, however. Brooke knew she could not be up in her room much longer before her father came up to drag her downstairs.

  “Well, I best be going,” she said to him, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible. “My jewels are in the chest.” She motioned to the foot of the bed where a lovely oak chest was. “I ask that you leave the rubies and emeralds, though. My grandmother gave them to me before she passed away, and they are worth more to me in sentiment than material value. I should not like to part with them.”

  Brooke went over to her mirror to touch up her hair and her face. Charlie watched her, wanting to say something, anything, to keep her from leaving, and going down the stairs. Once she was done, she turned to him and forced a humble smile on her face.

  “It was an honor to meet you, Captain Colt,” she said. She waited for him to return her compliment, but he just stared at her without saying a word. She turned, and walked out the door, shutting it softly behind her.

  Charlie was now alone in Brooke’s room, with not a clue what to do. He knew she had been waiting for him to give her some kind of adieu, some kind of closure, but he refused to do so. To do so would be acknowledging the fact that they would not be meeting again.

  He walked to her chest and opened it, going through handkerchiefs, a painting, and a couple of pairs of stockings before reaching a relatively large box. He pulled it out and opened it. It was full of many different, colorful jewels. Pausing, he thought deeply about what he wanted to do at this point. He could take all the jewels, including those of sentimental value, or he could take none. He could take the jewels Brooke permitted him to take, or he could take the ones she told him not to take. At that moment, his eyes caught sight of a beautiful emerald necklace; the emerald was small, in the shape of the heart, and hung from a silver chain. He would take this jewel and nothing more. Slipping it securely in his pocket, he made his way to the open window and disappeared into the night.

  2

  Captain Colt met the majority of his crew at the local downtown scrag, which happened to be quite welcoming to pirates, despite the island’s disapproval of such rogues. The scrag was called The Bloody Mistake, a small building that was, while humble on the outside, usually crowded and rowdy on the inside. Men of a respectable nature would never be caught dead at this place, and therefore, its customers usually came and left as they pleased, without a sliver of fear of getting caught. For the more ambitious customers, there were offered rooms, whether someone wished to prolong their visitation or needed a few hours to sleep off their drink. There was a third option if a customer should choose it: if they decided to dabble in the colorful pleasure many women advertised, they could rent a room as well, but whether or not they chose to stay the full night, they had to pay for it. Unless, of course, the customer happened to be Captain Charlie Colt.

  When Charlie was a captain with the East India Company, he would come to The Bloody Mistake for drinks and pleasure, despite his proper reputation. He overlooked the fact that many pirates dwelled there in the first place, and even sympathized with them. They were merely sailors walking a fine line between legality and illegality, with more freedom than Charlie could imagine at the time. And now he was one of them, a pirate captain that was dangerously dancing on that thin line himself. Because he did not turn in one pirate nor the owner of the bar for giving business to pirates, he received a charitable discount if he chose to use a room. And the charming Captain Colt almost always did.

  Currently, he was sitting at a secluded back table, with a bright woman on his lap and another woman rubbing his back. His crew was all drinking, and they were surrounded by whores hoping to bed one of them that night. They were still waiting for the arrival of Heath and two other men who had accompanied Heath, acting as though they were his workers.

  “What did you acquire, Capt’n?” a man asked, obviously drunk and wanting an excuse to speak of his exploits but not wanting to do so first.

  “I ’appened to choose his daughter’s room,” he said after taking a long sip of rum. The whore on his lap caressed his chest lightly, and the captain smiled a deviant smile. “Although quite the obvious treasure there, nothing else was worth any actual value.”

  “Says ye,” the man said with a wink, and then went into a long, slurred story about how he managed to get into a safe and steal jewels, money, and even some valuable paintings.

  It was at the end of the man’s story that Heath and his two companions entered the scrag, an arrogant smile on the young man’s face.

  “And how was your supper?” Charlie asked, ignoring the two whores and focusing solely on Heath.

  “It was dull, to be honest, but the food was exquisite,” Heath replied as he took a seat across from Charlie. His tone changed when he continued. “Although when his daughter arrived, albeit quite tardy, the supper picked up. She was a sight for sore eyes, especially compared to these strumpets, aye?” He glanced darkly at a whore who was about to make her way over to him.

  Charlie tilted his head to the side slightly. A very odd feeling came over him, and he could not help but furrow his brow. “Brooke Cunningham?” he asked, hoping his tone was not as sharp as it sounded. “Surely she is not exactly how you describe her?” Charlie had seen her, though, and not even Heath’s words managed to do her justice.

  “She is,” Heath said, his blue eyes shining devilishly. “Witty, too. Never would have guessed, to be honest with you. Her father invited me to a dinner tomorrow, but if I’m not mistaken, she was not too excited about it. Her father is desperate to marry her and promises that she is chaste. I, however, only plan to rid her of her maidenhood.” For some reason, Charlie could not help but feel slightly angry at the young man; his kohl-rimmed eyes narrowed at Heath, and his jaw was set.

  “Surely some woman here can satisfy your desire?” Charlie asked him, motioning at the small web of women who had surrounded their table. “They are quite practiced in their art and rarely—if never—leave a man unsatisfied.”

  Heath wrinkled his nose in disgust and waved his hand dismissively, leaning back in his chair. “Practiced is not what I am looking for,” he murmured. “I can get that whenever I want.”

  Charlie inhaled, pushing the whore off of his lap so that he could lean toward Heath. The whore gave Charlie a dirty look, but he ignored her and continued to look at his first mate. “Has the notion entered your head that perhaps you are more drawn to the claiming of a lady’s maidenhood than of our own Miss Cunningham?” he asked, a bit forceful than necessary.

  “I s’ppose you are right,” Heath said, looking back at Charlie, “but since I see no maidens here, I am still left unsatisfied.”

  “We are on a large island, Heath!” Charlie exclaimed. “And you, son, are quite the charmer, and, if I do say so myself, relatively attractive. Any woman, chaste or unchaste, would jump at the chance to satiate your thirst.”

  “Is there a particular reason why you should not want me to claim Miss Cunningham?” Heath asked, arching a suspicious brow.

  Charlie, however, plastered on an innocent smile on his face. “No, of course not,” he said, looking at him and speaking with charm. It seemed to work wonder on the women. “I have seen Miss Cunningham with my own two eyes. While she is admittedly somewhat attractive, what I hear you telling me is that you are looking for a maiden, correct?” At Heath’s nod, he continued. “Well, while Miss Cunningham is indeed chaste, her eyes, while they sparkle innocence, are cascaded with myst
eriousness. Her lips are full, her freckles quite distinguished, and her bosom is much too full.”

  “I rather like her full bosom,” Heath said, rubbing his chin with his fingers.

  “As you should,” Charlie said, his eyes a shade darker than usual, “but while she is chaste, she does not look chaste, and when you are looking down at her, do you not want to look at chasteness?” He let his question sink into Heath, and quickly added, “And…I figure we have already stolen a significant amount of wealth. It would be rather greedy of you to steal his daughter as well?”

  “I s’ppose you’re right,” Heath repeated after a moment, standing up at that point. “I’m off to get me a pint. I need a drink. I shall be back.” He took his leave, a couple of men following him to the bar.

  A familiar head of hair caught Charlie’s eye at that moment but suddenly disappeared behind a man’s towering body. Charlie narrowed his eyes and stood, murmuring to himself, “Now what are you doing here?”

  Once dinner was over, Brooke excused herself and headed up to her room. Her father did not have a chance to scold her on her tardiness, nor did he lecture her on her uncharacteristically quiet demeanor. Brooke was usually very charming, even to suitors she did not particularly find interesting or handsome. Heath was unquestionably handsome, but not too interesting, and while he was very formidable, her mind was clouded by her chance encounter with the dashing Captain Charlie Colt. The man baffled her more than anything, but he charmed her as well, and as she quickly yet gracefully walked up the stairs that led her to her room, a small piece of her hoped that maybe he was still in her room.

  Brooke opened the door, but her instinct was right; no one was there except the soft howling of the wind coming through her open windows. She rushed over to the banister, hoping to catch a glimpse of his retreating figure, but again she was disappointed. He had not even told her goodbye.