by Anne Stuart
For a moment she was free, but she was so shocked that what her former maid had described to her had actually worked that she didn’t move fast enough, and then another of them caught her, spinning her around and shoving her up against the side of a building, her face pushed against the crumbling brickwork as she felt someone fumble with her skirts.
“I think you’d better get your hands off her, boys.”
The voice came from out of nowhere, and for a moment Maddy thought she’d dreamt it. Except that those crushing hands had immediately released her, and she pushed away from the brick wall, trying to catch her breath as she pulled her bonnet more tightly on her head.
“We weren’t doing no harm,” the talkative one wheedled. “You know that any woman comes around here is fair game. Only working girls walk these streets, and I’ll grant you she’s a lot prettier than most of them, but she ain’t no better off. Some of them likes a bit of a fight.”
“I don’t think she did.”
Taking a deep, calming breath, Maddy turned to face her rescuer, and for a moment everything froze within her.
She hadn’t known a man could be beautiful. She was used to pale Englishmen—this man was bronzed by the sun, with long, curling black hair, high cheekbones, and faintly slanted eyes. He wasn’t looking at her, he was concentrating on the miscreants, and when she was finally able to break the odd spell he’d cast over her she turned to look at them as well, now that it was safe.
The big man was struggling to his feet, groaning loudly, and the old man was fumbling with his breeches, presumably refastening them. She shuddered, just faintly, but it caught the stranger’s attention. “You should know better than to walk alone in this area,” he said coolly. He had a lovely deep voice with an odd accent that she couldn’t quite identify. She could recognize a bit of the London streets, mixed with half a dozen other accents that made his voice indescribable.
He wasn’t struck dumb with her beauty, a shock. In fact, he’d barely glanced at her, and what he’d seen didn’t appear to impress him. It was a novel experience, and she wasn’t sure she enjoyed it, particularly when faced with someone who could, in another life, have that same effect on her. “I got lost,” she said, with no note of apology in her voice. “You would think a girl could walk through town without being molested, but then, I’m new here. I hadn’t realized the scum of the earth lived in this city.” She realized belatedly that she’d forgotten to use the accent she’d planned on. It didn’t matter now, but she mustn’t forget once she got to the captain’s household.
“Real uppity, ain’t she?” the old one said. “She needs to be taught a lesson.”
The stranger’s slightly tilted dark eyes crinkled in amusement. “I don’t think she needs the kind of lesson you had in mind. Stupidity isn’t a crime, rape is.”
Maddy bristled. “I am not stupid, I simply don’t know this wretched town. One can walk in London without being subjected to such vile behavior. Had I known Devonport was so depraved I would have looked for work elsewhere.”
“Where do you work?” the stranger demanded, and she gave him a suspicious glance.
“I work for a milliner,” she lied glibly. “And I’m already late. If you’ve finished discussing my stupidity then I’ll be off.”
“In what direction?” His voice was lazy.
Rats. She hadn’t thought that far ahead. “I’m looking for North Water Street.”
“And you were heading south,” he observed.
It didn’t matter how bewitching he was, he was thoroughly annoying. But she’d lost everything—her father, her comfortable living, the houses in London and Somerset. She at least still had her pride, and she had manners. “Thank you very much,” she said stiffly. “I appreciate the rescue.” She paused. “But I could have fought them off myself.” The knee trick had worked so effectively that the big man was still hunched over, moaning slightly to his privates. She could have used it on the other two and then run for it.
“Oh, really?” he drawled.
She didn’t want to look at him, but she kept her gaze at his shoulder. He was dressed in plain clothes of good quality—breeches, a white shirt, a dark blue superfine jacket that was loosely tailored, and no cravat whatsoever. She noticed a glint of gold beneath his black curls and recognized a hooped earring. She shouldn’t have been so shocked—of course he was a sailor, with that bronzed skin and lean, wiry body, though he was definitely taller than most. “I don’t need help from someone who’s doubtless no better than the others. I’ve been warned about sailors on leave. Now if you’ll excuse me,” she said in icy tones. It wasn’t the wisest thing to say, she realized, but she was furious, both with them and with herself. He was right—she’d been an idiot to get lost in this part of town. She should have paid closer attention to Mr. Fulton’s directions.
“You gonna let her get away with that?” the talkative one said, outraged.
The man had been leaning against the brick wall, watching everything with casual interest. He straightened then, and for the first time she felt the full force of his attention. It was a disturbing feeling. “If you were warned you should have listened. But then, we’ve already established your stupidity.”
At least she had the wit to bite back her instinctive retort. She glared at him instead. “I think I’ll go now.”
“I think not.” He caught her arm, his strong hand surprisingly hard on her upper arm as he pulled her around. She lost her footing, and fell against him, or maybe he’d dragged her there, but suddenly she was plastered up against a warm, male body, her eyes at the level of his bare neck and gold hoop. “I think you need a taste of what you just escaped. That way you’ll learn your lesson.” To her shock he put his hand behind her neck, tilting her head up, and his mouth came down on hers.
It was hard against her lips, and to her astonishment he used his long fingers to push her jaw apart, enough for his tongue to thrust into her mouth, and she held still, motionless with shock.
It was disgusting. Foul. He tasted of fresh coffee and cinnamon, and she considered biting him. What was he doing to her? Whatever it was, it was wrong. And yet… how very odd… it was strangely enticing. She could feel the anger and outrage in her body begin to soften, and she tried to summon her fury back. It had disappeared. She heard fuzzy noises in the distance, and she realized it was the hooting of the men who’d attacked her.
He lifted his head, looking down at her out of hooded, dark eyes. “Open your mouth, my little idiot, and kiss me back.”
She opened her mouth to tell him to go to the devil when he covered hers once more, holding her tight against his body as he continued with his shocking kiss, something she’d never experienced before. His tongue touched hers, coaxed, and for some reason she let hers drift against his, as he deepened the kiss, and she wondered idly if she was going to swoon.
That wouldn’t be a good idea, not with the three sailors making loud sounds of approval. But lord, she’d been wrong about this kind of kissing. It was too intimate, too intense, too seductive. It made her want more, and for a moment she pictured his hands on her breasts, his hands pulling up her skirts and taking her in public up against a brick wall. She wanted to dissolve into the absolute splendor of his mouth, and she moaned in pleasure.
A moment later she was released, and she fell back, putting a hand on the side of the building for surreptitious support. Her rescuer had turned from her to the three men. “She’d be a waste of time, boys. She kisses like a virgin. You’re better off paying for some companionship.” He tossed them a handful of coins, and even the hulking one caught them deftly.
“Thank you, cap’n,” they said cheerfully, backing away as if they hadn’t been about to commit rape and kidnapping. “You knew we meant no harm. Just having a bit of fun, that’s all.”
“Next time find someone willing.”
They ran off, and Maddy had finally managed to stand on her own two feet as anger washed through her, stiffening her. “You reward them for
trying to rape me?” she demanded icily.
The man shrugged. “At least they’ll be too busy to bother you again. And they’ll have a much better time.”
She was so furious she could barely speak. “How lovely of you,” she said in a biting voice. “And now I suppose you’re going to insist on accompanying me to my destination.”
“No.” He glanced down the empty alleyway. “In truth I was more concerned about those boys getting in trouble with the law than your precious hide. Water Street’s just two streets away—follow the smell of the sea and you’ll find it. And turn right if you’re looking for North Water Street.” To her complete astonishment he started walking away, as if they’d had nothing but a casual encounter and not the searing kiss that she could still feel, still taste.
She wanted to throw something at him. He’d called her stupid, something she couldn’t abide, and then he’d kissed her in that disgusting manner, as if she were some cheap doxy. Except in the end the kiss hadn’t been disgusting at all, it had been… astonishing.
She reached up her gloved hand and rubbed her mouth, trying to scrub the feel of him, the taste of him, away. It didn’t work—it only seemed to deepen the brand. She watched him go, his tall body striding through the alleyway as if he owned it, when he suddenly stopped, turning back to look at her.
His dark eyes seemed to bore into hers, and she felt her heart catch in her throat, a strange sensation washing over her skin as she stood motionless.
“Fuck it,” he said succinctly, shocking her with the forbidden curse. He crossed the distance between them in a few long strides, and before she realized it he’d caught her up in his arms again, pushing her back into the shadows.
She ought to be afraid. He was a stranger, this place was deserted, and he could do what the others had threatened. Rape by a Greek god was still rape.
But he wasn’t going to rape her. He wasn’t going to hurt her. He kissed her again, hard at first, as if imprinting his claim on her, and then more slowly, brushing his mouth against hers, softly, back and forth, and she knew her lips were trembling beneath his. Her words were her best weapon, but they were locked in her throat as she felt his tongue, his outrageous, shocking tongue intrude into her mouth and the sensations moved through her body like fire. She knew she should protest, shove him away, use her knee again, give vent to the outrage that should have filled her. But she couldn’t lift her knee when she was already standing on her toes, trying to get closer to him, when her arms had somehow found their way around his neck, her breasts pressed against the rough cloth of his coat. She felt his hand slide down her back, cupping her bum, pressing her hips against his.
She knew what that stiff ridge of flesh was, and it surprised her. How could he respond that fiercely to just a kiss, when it had taken Tarkington…
He lifted his head, and then flicked her chin with his long fingers. “Pay attention to the man who’s kissing you,” he said in a low voice. And his mouth descended again.
Oh, God. She’d never imagined it could be like this, the burning hunger that was racing through her body, making her knees weak, and she wanted to sink into him, dissolve into a molten puddle of forbidden longing.
He released her so abruptly she almost lost her footing. “That’s more like it,” he said, staring down at her from enigmatic eyes. “You’d better get going before I totally lose my mind. And watch yourself. Next time I won’t be around to rescue you.” And damned if the man didn’t start whistling cheerfully as he strode away, forgetting about her entirely.
She stood very still. She was at a loss for words for perhaps the first time in her life, and then a clear, sharp, cleansing fury exploded within her. Spinning on her heel, she stalked away, following his directions, muttering imprecations beneath her breath, including the forbidden one he’d dared to use in her presence.
“Fuck it,” she said succinctly, and then she picked up her discarded valise and she was out in the sunshine, feeling strangely better than she had in months.
CHAPTER THREE
THAT LITTLE ENCOUNTER, LUCA thought, had improved his mood tremendously. Who would have thought he’d run across such a tempting firecracker in the back alleys of Devonport? Too bad she was probably a virgin—they were always too much trouble. He kept away from the dockside girls—there were too many diseases floating around. When he needed a little distraction he used to visit a certain married woman, but he’d broken it off several weeks ago when he’d become engaged to Gwendolyn, and now, suddenly, he was thinking about sex.
Not that he wasn’t entirely capable of doing without anything but his own hand for months on end, during the long voyages. But something about that girl, about the way she clung to him at the last minute, about her attempt to kiss him back, had aroused more than just his curiosity.
He hoped she found her place of employment without running into any more trouble. Though he couldn’t remember any milliner’s shop on North Water Street. That was a residential area, including his own house. Which meant she’d be walking by occasionally. Even if he managed to talk her into bed—and there was really no “if” about it—his fiancée would be a problem. No, now wasn’t the time to pursue a bit of crumpet on the side, as Billy would put it. Though her mouth had been delicious.
Maybe Billy was right—Gwendolyn could be more trouble than she was worth. Yes, he wanted children, and he wanted a well-run household and a willing woman in his bed at night. But even though he fully intended to ignore most of the demands of marriage, there were bound to be inconveniences, like this current one, when he wanted nothing more than to follow the pert young miss to her place of employment and continue bickering with her. And then kissing her again.
Life was full of bad bargains. He’d made this one. If the lovely milliner was going to come into his life again he’d wait for it to happen. Otherwise he had better things to do. The smartest thing he could do was put her out of his mind.
He’d reached the quayside, and the girl was long gone. He looked out at the harbor, the sparkling blue sky, the nip of wind as it tossed the leaves on the trees. It was a perfect day for sailing, and he was stuck on land because of old man Russell’s larceny, just as his new ship was stuck in London while solicitors wrangled over who actually owned her.
Apparently Russell had left a will, and he’d bequeathed the Maddy Rose to its namesake, his middle daughter, Madeleine Rose. Normally that would be of no consequence given that any assets of a thief were confiscated, but apparently the damned girl’s name was on the legal papers, and one solicitor thought she needed to be found to sign off on it before he could take ownership.
And so he was stuck in limbo, with only a small ketch and a skiff to distract him. No wonder he was in a dangerous mood.
He really shouldn’t blame old man Russell, Luca thought, breathing in the salty air. Luca had spent the first twelve years of his life stealing anything he could get his nimble hands on, and he still would, if the treasure was worth snatching. Who was he to pass judgment on another thief?
But this thief had stolen from him, and that was a different matter entirely. He’d trusted the old man, even when he’d showed up full of crazy accusations. Eustace Russell had died that very night, his carriage tumbling off the side of a cliff, and Luca had always wondered if some fever of the brain had afflicted the normally levelheaded man. But he’d been heading away from the port, dying somewhere in the vast expanse of Dartmoor, which didn’t make it seem as if he was trying to escape.
It was no longer his concern, except for the missing signature to complete his ownership of the Maddy Rose. Until that happened he was temporarily landlocked, waiting for the solicitors to finish arguing among themselves, when he wanted nothing more to be out there away from responsibilities and nagging voices…
He stopped himself midthought. Being in command of a ship and God knew how many souls was hardly free of responsibility, and he’d never in his life listened to a nagging voice. Never heard one—no one had cared enough to pr
ate on and on at him about things he found absolutely uninteresting, like the arrangement of a cravat or social conventions, the sort of thing Gwendolyn set such store by. Maybe Billy was right. Getting married to a woman like that could prove very tiresome.
Ah, but she was a gorgeous piece, like fine porcelain. He could dance to her tune gracefully enough, until they were married and bedded. Once she had a child or two to fill with such nonsense she’d leave off of him. And there was the sea. He didn’t have to be home with her any longer than he wanted—he could tolerate marriage to almost anyone in those circumstances, and Gwendolyn would do.
So why did he feel so restless? This was what he’d decided upon. A proper wife to go with his proper life, a gypsy street rat and pickpocket pulling himself out of the gutter to almost laughable heights. Gwendolyn was great-niece to a duke—his common, half-Rom blood would mingle with that of aristocracy. And he’d still be free to disappear on the ocean, with the sea breeze in his hair and the slap of salt spray against his skin, and Gwendolyn probably wouldn’t notice. Oh, she was drawn to him, wanted him like a shiny new toy, but he suspected once it came down to the marriage bed she’d be happy enough to do without. The few kisses she’d allowed had been cold and close-mouthed, and he didn’t think a parson’s blessing was going to warm her. No, he’d find his pleasure elsewhere once he gave her enough children, and if she found out she’d pretend not to know.
So why wasn’t he celebrating his good fortune? The problem with the Maddy Rose would be easily fixed, particularly since his solicitor was his future father-in-law. It was a little late to be changing his mind, about the ship, about his upcoming nuptials. Gwendolyn wouldn’t be a problem, simply because he didn’t care enough to let her be one. And he wanted children. He liked them—the cheeky little buggers.
So why did his mind keep going back to the milliner with her flashing, dark blue eyes, soft mouth, and fierce temper? His course was charted. He couldn’t afford distractions, even one as tempting as the hatmaker.
