Pirate's Promise

by Smith, Bobbi

  Suzanne sighed at the thought. Not only was Shark brilliant at what he did, but he was also an excellent lover. A small, satisfied smile curved her kiss-swollen lips. Shark certainly knew how to stir her to shamelessness. Yet, even as she savored the memory of the delight of his touch, the image of another man intruded on her thoughts . . . Adam Trent. . . .

  A perplexed frown replaced the smile as she visualized the tall, dark, handsome man who'd been courting her. At the thought of the dynamic Adam Trent, she found herself wondering what it would be like to have him in her bed and how it would feel to hold him tightly within her.

  Shark's overpowering nearness suddenly left Suzanne feeling stifled. Moving away from the bed, she went to sit at her dressing table to brush out her hair. As she slowly drew the brush through the heavy golden mane, she was oblivious to Shark's glowering presence in her bed. In her mind, she was back at the ball that had been held at the Whitneys' home in New Orleans the previous weekend. It had been a magical night. She had spent almost the entire evening with Adam, dancing and talking. Toward the end of the evening they'd managed to elude her real escort for the night and disappear into the secluded gardens for a long moment alone. It had been heavenly. His kisses had left her breathless and aching for more.

  Something about the rich planter from Charleston excited and intrigued Suzanne. She sensed he was different from all the other men she'd ever known. Certainly she knew that she had wanted him that night more than she'd ever wanted another man. It had been after their explosive embrace that she'd begun to think seriously about marriage for the first time in her life. The thought of spending the rest of her days and nights with Adam left her breathless in anticipation, and she vowed to figure out a way to get him to the altar.

  "Come here, Suzanne. We've little enough time together, and I have no desire to waste any of it," Shark commanded, interrupting her reverie. He was annoyed by her withdrawal from him.

  Suzanne glanced up to meet his black-eyed gaze in the mirror before her. "No.," she replied simply, comparing him mentally to Adam and, despite the sensual hold he had on her senses, finding him wanting.

  "No?" Used to having his every order blindly obeyed, Shark chuckled in disbelief as he got up and started across the room toward her. "I told you to come to me. Shall I drag you back to the bed?"

  All at once, Suzanne found his caveman tactics boring. She couldn't imagine Adam ever treating her this way. She was sure he would be perfect, even in the bedroom.

  "No one tells me what to do, Shark. I choose when and with whom I make love. You would do well to remember that," she told him haughtily.

  "Oh, I'll remember that all right," he murmured as he came to stand behind her. There was no tenderness in his touch as he encircled her throat with his hands and squeezed in an almost threatening gesture. "But you should remember that without me your fortunes would be lost. You need me, Suzanne."

  "I don't need anyone." She gave him a scathing look in the mirror.

  "You need me. It's my business that keeps this plantation of yours running."

  "That's only money," she scoffed. "There are men who've died for me, you know."

  "They were fools," he derided, believing that any man who'd sacrifice himself for a woman was an idiot and deserved to be dead. "A dead man's no good to you, Suzanne. Can a dead man share your bed? Can a dead man bring you gold?"

  She was wearing the crescent necklace he'd given her months before, so to emphasize his point he grasped the chain and pulled it tight. The golden chain bit into her tender flesh. "You do love what I give you, don't you, Suzanne?"

  Suzanne stiffened in protest. She didn't want to respond to him and tried desperately to resist, but when he moved his hands lower to cup her breasts and tease the taut peaks, she felt a hungry heat flush through her again. There was something about Shark . . . something about his touch that always set a fire in her blood.

  "Yes, yes . . . oh yes!" she gasped as she watched their reflections in the mirror.

  Shark knelt and drew her back tightly against him, allowing her to feel the rising strength of his need. He, too, stared at the mirror images of them, but soon his need for her was too powerful to deny. Pulling her from the chair and onto the floor, he took her quickly. His mouth settled hungrily over hers to silence any last protest she might have made, but she made no protest. Already her desire equaled his. Already she was moving restlessly against him. All thoughts of Adam Trent were temporarily banished from Suzanne's mind as she returned Shark's passion with abandon. She was a woman who lived for the moment, and the moment was now . . .

  Chapter Four

  "Engaged again!" Beau nearly choked on his beer at the news. He slammed his tankard down and stared aghast at Adam across the secluded table they shared at the Samson Saloon near the riverfront in New Orleans. "Are you crazy!"

  Adam gave his friend a measured look as he drank slowly from his glass of bourbon. Though it was still early in the day, he felt in need of its reinforcing strength.

  "There have been times during the past five months when I thought I was going crazy, but this is not one of them," he replied with cool precision.

  "But what about Elise?" Beau demanded in a hushed, yet aggressively outraged voice.

  Thoughts of Elise in her trancelike state seared through Adam, and a jolt of emotional agony shook him.

  "Just why the hell do you think I'm doing all of this?" he came back sharply, draining the rest of his drink in one deep swallow.

  "I don't understand," Beau admitted, confused. "How could your marrying another woman possibly help Elise?"

  "I didn't say anything about marriage, Beau," he pointed out.

  Beau's expression suddenly brightened. "You're on to something?"

  "I think so," Adam began to explain as he signaled the barmaid to come and bring the bottle. Directing her to leave the bourbon, he poured himself a full draft of the potent liquor. "There's a young woman here in town named Suzanne Labadie —"

  "You think she might be the one?" He jumped ahead of Adam's explanation.

  "It's possible. The plantation she owns upriver supposedly provides her only means of support. For two of the last three years, though, the crops have failed, and yet she still manages to live in a very expensive style. I made some inquiries —discreet, of course —but I couldn't uncover anything conclusive. All I could find out was that she's not in debt to any of the banks, and she hasn't mortgaged any of her land. I thought if I got a little closer to her . . ."

  "She won't suspect anything, will she? I mean, since you're not really in love with her . . .?"

  "No, she doesn't suspect a thing, and she's not going to. As far as Suzanne Labadie is concerned, and the rest of the town for that matter, I'm a planter from Charleston who's in town on a combined pleasure and slave-buying trip."

  "I knew it was a good plan when you suggested it. I only hope it works."

  "It has to work, Beau. God knows we haven't had any success trying to find Shark any other way."

  They both fell silent for a moment then as they thought of the frustration of the past months.

  "How's Becky doing?" Beau inquired.

  "Fine, now. You know how nervous she was in the beginning about all the deception, but she's handled it really well.

  "That's good," he said, remembering how Becky had insisted on accompanying Adam on his trip to New Orleans after she'd learned of his scheme. She'd been determined not to stay behind in Charleston, never knowing what was happening.

  "I decided not to confide in her about Suzanne," Adam confided. "For right now, it's better if we're the only ones who know of my suspicions and my plans."

  "And Elise?" Beau wanted to know. Since Odile had died in the attack, Adam was the closest thing Elise had to family. He took his obligation to her very seriously, despite the fact that there was probably no hope for a future for them together.

  "The doctor in Charleston was right. Elise had no trouble adapting to the change in environment," he answer
ed. "I rented a house in the American section and hired a private, live-in nurse. I engaged Dr. David Williams, the specialist the doctor back home recommended, and he's been seeing Elise regularly"

  "Did you tell the Whitneys about her?"

  "No. No one knows about Elise's presence here, and I want to keep it that way. Becky and I made sure that she was comfortably settled in with the nurse before we even went on to the Whitneys. As far as they know, we're here on business with some time for pleasure. So far, no one's doubted it."

  "Has the new doctor been able to help her at all?"

  "I visited Elise the day before yesterday," Adam began, his expression growing strained as he thought of the painful visit. "There's been no change."

  Elise had been sitting in a chair, staring out the window in her bedroom. Adam had carried on a one-sided conversation with her, speaking of nonsensical, personal things, but she had seemed completely unaware of his presence. When he'd left her, he'd been more upset than ever.

  "I'm sorry, Adam. I know how difficult this must be for you."

  For just an instant all of Adam's anguish was mirrored in his dark eyes. But he quickly recovered and shuttered the emotion from view.

  "It's been so long, Beau . . . At first, I had hope. Then I thought the change of scenery might help her, but now I'm starting to believe all those doctors' damning predictions. I'm beginning to think that she'll never get better."

  "I wish there was something more I could do," he offered.

  "There's nothing," Adam stated grimly, taking another drink of bourbon. "I'm going to see her again this afternoon."

  "Why in God's name do you keep torturing yourself?"

  Adam was taken by surprise by his friend's question. "Beau . . . damn it, man! Don't you understand? It's my fault! All my fault! If only I could have —"

  Before he could say more, Beau cut him brutally off. "If only you could have what, Adam?" he demanded furiously. He had watched Adam torment himself with guilt ever since the attack. No longer was his friend easygoing and happy. During the past months he'd become increasingly bitter, frustrated, and angry. Beau knew it was time to try to convince him of his own innocence. "If only you could have died? You're lucky you're still breathing! Hell," he swore vividly as he remembered the dangers they'd faced and the odds against them, "we both are!"

  "I should have done something more . . . tried to make a run for it . . . something . . ." he argued.

  "You can't change what happened, Adam, and second-guessing only makes it worse."

  "I don't know, Beau. Sometimes the rage I'm holding back within me is so great I thing I'm losing my mind." Adam rubbed his forehead in a tense gesture. "I've got to find Shark. I've got to hunt him down like the animal he is and pay him back for all the misery and death he caused." He raised his fevered gaze to meet Beau's. I have to, even if it's the last thing I ever do!"

  Adam descended from the hired coach in front of the sedate home he'd rented for Elise.

  "You want me to wait?" the driver asked.

  "No, there's no need," he answered as he paid him in full.

  Even after the conveyance had moved away, Adam remained standing in front of the house, staring up at it expressionlessly. Elise was here . . . He knew he should be glad to see her, but his heart was heavy in his chest. This lack of feeling filled him with even more guilt, as he convinced himself that he was betraying the love he and Elise had shared. Miserable, Adam mounted the stairs and knocked on the door.

  "Mr. Trent, come in." Nurse Halliday pushed the door wide to allow her employer to enter. "Dr. Williams is still here. He's with Miss Clayton right now."

  "Good," Adam said as he walked into the parlor. "I was hoping to have a chance to speak with him."

  "As soon as he's finished, I'll send him to you."

  "Thank you."

  "Would you care for some refreshment?"

  "No. That'll be all for now."

  "Fine, sir."

  Alone, lost in a haze of misery and frustration that threatened to overwhelm him, Adam began to pace the room.

  "Mr. Trent . . . Nurse Halliday told me you were waiting to speak with me." David Williams paused just outside the parlor door.

  Adam looked up to see the physician standing there. "Yes, Dr. Williams, please join me." He gestured for him to come in and take a seat.

  "Thank you." Of average height and weight, there seemed nothing out of the ordinary about the dark-haired Williams. It was only when you met his aquamarine gaze squarely that the true depths of his strength of character were revealed. He did not accomplish things in life through brute force, but through the force of his dynamic personality. David judged people instantly by what he read in their eyes and seldom in his thirty-five years had he been wrong. He had known from the beginning that Adam Trent was troubled man, tortured by his own personal demons of the past, but he knew that the planter wanted no advice from him. He had been hired to try to help his fiancée and that was what he was going to do.

  "Elise . . ." Adam spoke hesitantly. He wanted to know if she was better, yet he was fearful of hearing only bad news.

  "I've made no progress yet, Mr. Trent," he informed him. "The trauma she suffered was so catastrophic to her sense of well-being that she has no desire to return to reality. It's my understanding that in this type of case, where there's evidence of psychomotor retardation, the patient has managed to find peace somewhere in the innermost regions of his or her mind. It's a soothing contentment that cocoons them and allows then to deny all pain."

  "So Elise is lost in a dream world?"

  "Lost is not the word. She's chosen to be there. Where's she's existing in her mind, she's insulated and protected. Hidden there, she does not have to cope with the agony and humiliation that reality has trust upon her."

  "But doesn't she realize that it's over, that she's safe again?" Adam had difficulty understanding.

  David sensed his confusion and wished there was more he could say to comfort him. The trouble was that no one understood the workings of the human mind and spirit. Even after years of intense study, he still did not know the exact method that would draw his patient out of her self-imposed, mute exile.

  "In her mind it may never be over, Mr. Trent." At Adam's stricken look, he continued, "All I can do is keep trying to break through to her."

  "But you've been seeing her for almost a month and there's been no change."

  "I wish I could offer you a guarantee, but I can't. With your permission, though, I'll continue to try everything I know to help her."

  "Of course, Dr. Williams. I've been told by many that you're one of the best in handling these cases. As long as there's hope, I'll never give up trying."

  "Good. I'll carry on with my daily sessions as we've agreed."

  "Whatever you think best, Doctor."

  When the physician had gone, Nurse Halliday returned to speak with Adam. "Miss Clayton is in her room if you'd like to visit her, Mr. Trent."

  Adam nodded solemnly and started slowly up the stairs. He paused briefly before her partially closed bedroom door and then knocked softly. He waited hoping for a response, but when none came, he pushed it wide and entered.

  "Elise?" He saw her sitting in a high-backed wingchair by the window staring out at the sun-caressed garden below. "Elise, darling, it's me . . . Adam."

  He came to stand before her. She didn't acknowledge his presence in any way, but continued to look out the window, her face blank, her once-dancing eyes dull and lifeless. When Elise didn't respond, Adam knelt in front of her and took her hands in his.

  "Elise."

  Adam wanted to plead with her to return to him, but the words wouldn't come. He waited there for long minutes before leaning forward to press a tender kiss upon her cheek, but even that action brought no answering response. Disconsolate, he got to his feet and strode quickly from the room.

  Giving Nurse Halliday only a departing nod, Adam escaped the torture chamber the house had become. A sense of wretchedness g
ripped him as he fled. In dire need of some time alone, he signaled a passing conveyance and directed the driver to take him to the saloon-gambling house known as Hewlett's Exchange. He would have a few drinks and try to relax for a while before heading back to the Whitneys'. Adam knew that Becky would be waiting with an endless barrage of questions about Elise's condition and his meeting with Beau, and he was in no mood to discuss anything.

  A short time later, he was downing a stiff shot of Hewlett's best whiskey in the upstairs bar of the establishment. The potent liquor burned as it went down, and Adam welcomed its heat.

  "Sir, care to join us in a friendly game of poker?" a gray-haired, distinguished-looking man called out from where he sat with two others at a nearby table.

  The distraction of a low-stakes card game appealed to Adam, and after refilling his near-empty glass, he joined them.

  "I'm Jacques Chenier. This is Paul Michel and Antoine Ducharme," Jacques made the introductions.

  Adam shook hands all around as he introduced himself, and he studied his opponents with casual interest as he sat down. Paul Michel was a thin, nervous man with bright blue eyes that darted constantly about the room. The dark-haired Antoine Ducharme, on the other hand, was not a particularly big man, but he was heavyset and rather untidy in his dress. He was already well into his cups, and Adam wondered if he should even be playing.

  As the game began none of the men seemed to be particularly avid in their gambling, and Adam was glad, for it would make the game that much more enjoyable if no one took their losses too seriously. Play continued for over an hour. In the beginning, they were well-matched and the hands were challenging. The pots that were won and lost were not exceedingly large, and no one player lost any more than the rest. Then, as Antoine Ducharme continued to drink excessively, his awareness began to slip and his playing became sloppy. Again and again he bet on poor hands, and again and again he lost.