Lifting an eyebrow, Talon let out a bitter laugh. “Are you saying she’s better with someone like me?”
“Why are you so desperate to rid yourself of a beautiful woman you obviously care about, one that cares deeply for you?”
Shaking his head, Talon huffed a sigh. “You can’t possibly understand, Captain.”
“You think not?”
Threading his fingers through his hair, Talon looked away. “I’m not a Spaniard, I’m Romani.” Like Talia, Rousseau’s brow furrowed in confusion. “A Gypsy.”
Rousseau shrugged. “And?”
Blinking, Talon rubbed his chin. Surely, this old pirate had heard of Gypsies. “We aren’t very well thought of by most—especially in London and Paris.”
Rousseau’s boisterous laugh punctured the night air. “And buccaneers are?” He clapped Talon on the back. “My Patrice is from a well-to-do Creole family outside of New Orleans. Her Papa hated me. Did it stop me—or her? My feisty wife stowed away aboard my ship in the cargo hold before I sailed for Martinique. It caused quite a scandal for her father. But he relented.”
“It isn’t the same,” Talon bit out. “My people have strict rules. In fact, my father is arranging my marriage for when I return.”
“Is that what you want?”
Talon harrumphed. “It doesn’t matter. Defying his wishes would mean being shunned by my family. We live by a code of honor that no gadjo can understand.”
Scratching his beard, the old man pushed his hat up with a sigh. “I’m not sure what you called me, but I don’t see the problem here. Haven’t you already dishonored yourself and Talia?”
Talon tampered the urge to be sick as he leaned against the rail. “You’re right. I’ve shamed her.”
“The heart’s wishes cannot be controlled.”
“It might not seem reasonable to an outsider, but taking something that wasn’t mine? It’s killing me, sir.”
Rousseau chuckled. “Love cannot kill you. It may give you grief from time to time, but killing you? Non.”
Talon shook his head. “What am I going to do?”
“Do you love her?” Talon squinted at the horizon, offering nothing. Rousseau gripped his shoulder. “Be truthful with yourself, mon ami. You can’t live a lie your entire life. It isn’t healthy. Besides, you could do a lot worse than Talia Montrose.”
Misery gripped Talon as he returned his gaze to the sea. The man was right. His Uncle Mica was living proof. He’d loved another, yet he’d sacrificed happiness and chosen the Romani way.
And he died from heartbreak.
“Fortunately, you have plenty of time to decide your fate,” Rousseau said. “It is a long journey to New Orleans.”
Indeed.
Talon offered the man his hand. “Thank you, Captain. You’re very wise.”
Tipping his hat, Rousseau smiled. “Any time, mon ami. Bonne Nuit.”
As Rousseau descended the stairs to the lower decks, Talon stared at the water. Sage advice notwithstanding, he had no idea what his true feelings were for Talia. Evidently, the woman had a hold on his heart, but he was afraid to let her have it completely.
And what of his family? He could never talk to his own father about such things. Yet this salty pirate was lecturing him about being true to himself. Would he ever find his way?
A warm breeze blew softly against his face. The sweet smell of exotic flowers and coconut filled his nostrils as Talia’s silhouette wavered near the bow. Talon chuckled. “You don’t have to lurk in the shadows, love.”
She stepped into the light, nibbling on her bottom lip as a crimson stain crept across her cheeks. She was hastily dressed in a long night shift that was obviously too big for her and a pair of satin slippers. Despite the ridiculous enormity of the garment, the blush of her rosy nipples peeked through the soft fabric.
Hunger overthrew piety as his gaze roamed over her. Pleading for his body to behave, he swallowed. “Madame Rousseau must be a rather robust woman.”
Talia held her arms out, and the billowy gown blew in the breeze like a tent. Her eyes sparkled with amusement. “Oui. Patrice has a rather large bosom, among other things.” Joining him, she leaned against the rail. “I need to explain about Alex.”
Prickles rankled Talon’s nerves, effectively destroying whatever animalistic reaction he’d had to her. With his jaw set in a firm line, he held up his hand. “No need, Miss Montrose. As your guard, I promised to see you safely to your home. Your relationship with Mr. Lafitte isn’t my affair.”
Her eyes shot sparks as she blew out a breath. “There is nothing going on. Alex is like a brother to me. I’ve known him since I was eight. I met him on the pier in Martinique when my father first took me to the island.”
“It isn’t my concern,” Talon reiterated stubbornly.
Talia stamped her foot, anger etched in her delicate features. “Zut alors, you’re an infuriating man. Alex is the only one who knows what’s happening with Ricardo. We need his help.”
Talon stared at her intently. His heart stuttered. Darker shades of green sparked in her emerald gaze. Her cheekbones lifted as her jaw clenched. His cock hardened.
Brushing a hand across her cheek, he gave her a crooked smile. “Your eyes change color when you’re angry, did you know?”
Talia kicked him in the shins. As he grunted, she poked a finger in his chest. “You deserve that, Talon Barberry. Your seductive voice won’t work this time. You deserve to be cast out and lonely for the rest of your life for enticing me to fall in love with you. I hope you rot somewhere in England. Obviously, you don’t want me, and I don’t need you.”
As she stormed down the deck, Talon cut her off, grabbing her around her waist and hauling her to his chest. Without allowing her room to breathe, he crushed his mouth against hers. Weaving her fingers through his hair, she melted against him.
His manhood throbbed. He slid his hands beneath her gown and brushed her pebbled nipples. As his tongue laved a path down her neck to the opening of the dress, she whimpered.
“Talon... please.”
Breaking the kiss, he pressed her up against the rail and gazed deeply into her eyes. Rousseau was right. He had to be truthful with himself. He loved this woman more than he’d loved any other.
But he couldn’t say it. He feared those words more than any danger he’d encountered. The last time he’d shared his feelings, his betrothed had shredded his heart.
His pulse accelerated. “What is it you want from me?”
Talia’s lips parted, her eyes searching his as she arched her hips to meet his hardened shaft. “I want you.”
As the waves crashed noisily against the hull of the ship, the watch called out the time from the bow. A flush crept up Talon’s neck, and he pulled back, suddenly aware they weren’t alone.
Following his gaze, she grabbed his hand with an alluring smile. “Come with me.”
Talon trailed her to her cabin without putting up a fight. Evidently, his heartstrings were owned by this wily puppeteer.
At the door, she invited him in, but he shook his head. “Isn’t the captain sleeping in the next room?”
Talia rolled her eyes. “Jean-Jacques isn’t stupid. He knows what is going on with us. How do you think he met his wife?” She placed her soft hands on his unshaven cheeks. “Please, Talon. I need you to love me.” Wrapping her arms around his neck, she brought her lips to his.
Groaning, he opened his mouth, savoring her honeyed warmth. He couldn’t resist her any longer. While she was asking him for more than just physical love, he wasn’t sure he could ever make a commitment to her. But her seductive voice and tender kisses drew him in.
If I’m going to die on this voyage, better it be like this.
Sweeping her into his arms, he carried her to the bed. He deepened the kiss, trailing off to nip a path gently down her neck. He laid her back and ripped the horrid shift from her lithe body. “Much better.”
Kneeling between her legs, he took her breasts in his hand
s, kissing each milky-white mound as she quivered against him. Her underclothes were a lacy thing that fit rather well, but he rid her of those too. He needed to feel her. He wanted to caress her body and make love to her like he did every night in his dreams.
He ran his hands across her silky skin, reveling in her softness. Lying beside her, he skated his fingers down her torso and circled the rim of her sodden folds. Pressing into her, he caressed her dewy core.
She gasped and arched toward him. Palming his hard shaft through his breeches, she rubbed her wet rosebud against his hand. “Oui, Talon, I need you. Dieu, more than life...”
As her verdant gaze smoldered with unadulterated love, he could hardly contain himself. Right then, he knew he could never let this woman go.
His lips devoured hers. Quickly shedding his clothes, he covered her body with his and slid his aching cock into her warmth with a moan. She moved her hips in perfect rhythm, grasping his shoulders to force him deeper.
Making love to Talia was more intoxicating than Taylor’s rum. They cleansed themselves of the pent-up angst from the last few days. He savored each thrust, driving himself further into her velvety core. As she raked her hands down his back, crying out her pleasure, their sweet song began its crescendo. A few moments later, he soared after her.
Physically spent, he laid embedded within her, never wanting to leave. She snuggled against his chest. Touching her face, he swept her damp hair out of her eyes. She gazed at him, so trusting... so innocent. “You’re the most beautiful woman in the world, Talia Montrose.”
Tears brimmed at her eyelashes as she ran a finger over his lips. “I love you, Talon Barberry.” Closing her eyes, she fell asleep in his arms.
Gathering her close, he buried his face in her hair. For the first time in his life, he felt complete. He never wanted to leave her warmth and loving protection. His heart needed hers.
Forever.
Chapter 22
Basse-Terre, Guadeloupe
“I TOLD YOU WE’D MAKE it, didn’t I Marcus?”
Talon squinted in the midday sun as they disembarked at the wharf in Basse-Terre. Fortunately, his transformation from Gypsy to Spaniard was a blessing in disguise. DuPont would never recognize him without his long hair and straggly beard. Dressed in Lord Taylor’s clothes and a big white chapeau, Talon could easily pass as a gentleman planter rather than a nomadic adventurer.
“Yes, sah.” Marcus carried his heavy bag, much to Talon’s chagrin. Due to their current situation, the boy had insisted on keeping up appearances.
“I don’t see why I have to dress like a gamin. DuPont has never seen me.”
Talia walked beside them with her lips drawn up into a sullen pout. As she adjusted the wide-brimmed hat over her face, Talon chuckled. At Rousseau’s insistence, she had donned one of Patrice’s ill-fitting gowns and secured it around her body with a smelly piece of jute. The once lithe and graceful woman was now humbly disguised as an unkempt vagabond.
Talon pressed a kiss to her nose. “Aye, but he knows Lafitte. It’s just until we get situated at the inn. Chances are nobody will see us. This seems like a fairly busy place.”
Indeed, immense crowds mingled in the streets. He could hardly walk through the masses without someone bumping into him.
Talon knitted his brows together as a sense of déjà vu overtook him. For every white man there must have been three coloreds, most of them displaying the bands of Edouard’s revolutionaries. “What in the world is going on? This looks like the streets of Paris.”
“The French recently reacquired Guadeloupe from the British.” Lafitte sighed. “I wish they’d make up their mind. From day to day, nobody really knows who’s governing.”
Talia shook her head. “Let’s find out. Excusez-moi, Mademoiselle.” She stopped a Black woman with a white tignon wound about her head.
After a few minutes of conversing in French, the woman threw her fist in the air with a very distinct, “Liberté, Egalité, Fraternité!”
Talia pressed a few coins in her hand and sidled up next to Talon. “Apparently, the slaves have rebelled against their owners and burned their master’s plantations to the ground.”
Tingles sifted across Talon’s neck. He lifted a brow. “Just as DuPont predicted.”
“Oui.” They followed the woman as she ran from shop to shop along the wharf waving a French flag and shouting in triumph. Talia shook her head. “Dieu, what have we run into?”
“Just try not to attract attention,” Talon said. Lengthening his stride, he pushed through the crowd.
“Lafitte! Tu est ici?”
Alex whipped his head up. With a charming smile, he answered the man quickly in French and waved jovially.
Talon pulled his hat from atop his head and smacked Alex with it. “What the hell was that? Didn’t I just say—”
Alex harrumphed. “If I ignore the man, he’s likely to get suspicious, oui?”
Talon glanced around. “What if he knows DuPont? Think before you act, you git. You’re putting us all in jeopardy.”
Linking her arm in Talon’s, Talia budged him forward. “Don’t worry, mon cher. We’ll make it.”
“Don’t go too far, lad. I’m not losing you again.” Placing a protective hand on Marcus’ head, Talon kept the boy close.
Forcing their way through the congested thoroughfare, they turned down a side street with fewer people littering the gravelly path. There were few shops. The buildings were decrepit, paint chipping off the bricks and wood. Open plantation style shutters dangled from most of them.
The muscles at the back of Talon’s neck twitched as his gaze went from door to door. It was like strolling through the London Underground.
I hope to God Lafitte knows what he’s doing.
Alex stopped at a two-story building crowded between a bakery and a little café and held the door open. “Voilà, the Brownstone Inn.” Talon’s eyebrow shot up, and Alex sighed. “This is the safest option we have. It’s off the main thoroughfare, and nobody frequents it like the Beaumont on La Rue Premiere.”
Giving the dingy establishment a once over, Talon muttered, “It’s clean, I hope?”
“Oui. The owner has a fantastic maid—very tidy. I’ve stayed here numerous times and never had bedbugs.”
“Splendid,” Talon said dryly. The large picture window at the front of the inn was open, and the warm September breeze ruffled his hair. The wooden floors sparkled in the sun.
Indeed, the inside looked spotless. He ran his finger over one of the many round wooden tables that were placed about the room, nodding in approval. “Perhaps you aren’t as stupid as I thought, Lafitte. We can stay here.”
Alex uttered a curse under his breath and led them toward the long, stone counter running the length of the far wall. An ornate wooden mirror sparkled above it with bottles of different liquors lining the shelves.
Nobody stood at the counter. Lifting a small hand bell, Alex rang it twice. A matronly lady with a round bottom emerged from the kitchen.
Wiping her hands upon her white apron, she greeted Alex congenially. “Master Lafitte! So happy to see you back in Guadeloupe. You need your usual?” The woman’s thick Cockney accent boomed off the tin ceiling as she beckoned to a young mulatto woman that had just come down the stairs
Alex’s eyes widened as he slid a glance at Talia and coughed. “Merci, Madame Arnold, not today. We need three rooms for the night.”
“Will you be dining with us?”
“It depends.” Removing his hat, the rogue leaned on the bar with a rakish smile. “Do you still have the same cook?”
The old woman laughed. “Aye, Mrs. Corning is still here. I can prolly fix you up with desert if you’d like, deary.” She winked.
A gasp left Talia’s lips, and Talon smirked as Alex refused hastily. “We’re leaving quite early tomorrow. Perhaps the next time.”
Nodding, the woman guided them up the wooden staircase to the rooms above the bar. “Clean sheets and chamber pots in ea
ch. We have a bath house if the Miss would like to freshen up.”
Talia clapped in delight. “Oui! I would like that very much.”
“I’ll have one of our girls fill the tub.”
As the woman hurried off, Talon wrapped his arms around Talia’s shoulders and kissed her neck. “Clean yourself up, Mademoiselle. I’d like to share a romantic evening with you.” Her long eyelashes fluttered against her cheek as he pecked her hand. Tonight, he had every intention of showing her a wondrous evening. “Marcus, shall we find our room?”
“Yes, sah.”
Before he unlocked his door, Alex took him aside. “Rousseau will be loaded and ready to leave by morning. Stay out of sight and we’ll make it through Guadeloupe quickly.”
Talon arched an eyebrow. “What of DuPont?”
Placing his hat on his head, Alex pulled at the corners with a smirk. “Not to worry, Monsieur. I’ll handle it.”
“THIS IS OUTRAGEOUS. I demand to see Colonel DuPont now.”
Clenching his fists, Alex paced the governor-general’s office on the main thoroughfare, ready to strike the foppish man in front of him. Dressed in silk pantaloons and a double-breasted silver coat, the Anglais couldn’t have weighed more than ten stone.
Pressing his lips together, the man sighed. “I will see if he’s taking visitors, sir.”
As the man scurried off, Alex clenched his jaw, anxiously awaiting the elusive Colonel DuPont. After spending the greater part of the last two days developing a scheme to collect information about L’Archambeau’s plans, he was more than ready to finish this mission.
For the life of him, he couldn’t figure out why the man needed Talia for this mission. Perez had said she was the bait. But Talia had no interest in her family homestead. Let DuPont deal with Montrose. Alex cared more about Talia’s safety than her father’s.
Alex raked his fingers through his hair. Non, he more than cared for her. He loved her. And he’d be damned if anyone hurt her or her kin.
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