The Marooner (Pirates of the Coast Book 3) Page 11

  Just then, two females beckoned.

  “Jean Marc.”

  “Cager.”

  A concerted siege commenced, as both men charged the door.

  “Get out of my way.” Jean Marc shoved Cager.

  “I was here first.” Cager pushed back his friend.

  “This is my house.” Jean Marc jabbed with an elbow.

  “I live here, too.” Cager hunkered low and swept aside Jean Marc.

  One after the other, they ran from the study, and the thundering heard shattered the quiet, as they trounced the stairs.

  Yet, Leland remained in his chair.

  Frustrated, he stood, strode into the corridor, collected his greatcoat from the hall tree, and stormed out the front door. Outside, a chill wind cut through his outerwear, and he welcomed the jolt. Glancing left and then right, he crossed the road and navigated the sidewalk.

  Strolling the streets like a caged beast, he all but ran from the house on Beacon Hill, until he lost his way. Yet, everywhere he looked, he saw Sophia.

  In the window of a bakery, in the light of a glowing wall lantern, in the stars overhead, and in the breeze that kissed his cheeks. Myriad reflections tormented his conscience, and he struggled to make peace with his past and his future, but one thing rooted at the forefront of his thoughts, despite his efforts to silence her, and she waited for him, even then.

  “What am I doing?” At the corner, he flagged a hired hack. “Twenty-two Beacon Street, and hurry.”

  As the rig rocked along the narrow roads, Leland engaged in behavior he had never before attempted. He prayed he was not too late.

  When the coach came to a stop, he jumped from the squabs, tossed a bag of coins at the driver, and sprinted up the entry stairs.

  In the foyer, all was quiet, and he doffed his greatcoat.

  Taking the grand staircase, two steps at a time, he soared to the second floor and turned left. Standing before the room he shared with Sophia, he paused with his hand on the knob. Inhaling a deep, calming breath, his set wide the oak panel, eased inside the dimly lit sitting room, closed the door, and engaged the bolt.

  A muffled sniff snared his attention, and he located his wife, sitting in a chair near the fireplace. When she stood and faced him, he glimpsed a sight so astonishing in its beauty that he fired his seed in his breeches.

  Leaning against a high back chair for support, he groaned, as gut-wrenching spasms tore through him, and his ears rang.

  With a countenance of confusion, his bride neared. “Did you just—”

  “Aye, I did.” As his vision returned, he rubbed his eyes, if only to assure himself that he was not dreaming. “What are you wearing?”

  Garbed in some black lace creation, which fit her torso like a glove, and boasted two layers of ruffles, one that stopped just below her breasts, as if to present the decadent, ruche-tipped mounds for his delectation, and another row that rested at her hips, she pouted.

  “I purchased this, today, at La Femme Séduisante, because I wanted to please you.” It was then he noted the tears glistening in the candlelight, and he cursed himself a fool. “Where have you been? I called and called, but you never came to me. Do you no longer want me, now that we are on land, and you have others from which to choose?” Then her demeanor changed, and she shook her fist. “If you have taken another woman—well, you try it and see what happens.”

  “My god, you are beautiful.” He could not help but laugh when confronted by her high dudgeon, and he flicked his fingers, as he ached to touch her. “Come here.”

  “No.” To his benefit, she gave him her back, and he admired her shapely arse, so deliciously emphasized by her salacious attire. “I am going to bed. There is marzipan and cherry compote, if you are hungry. I had thought to feed you, but you do not deserve such devotion, after leaving me here, alone.”

  “I apologize, Sophia.” Hell, he would crawl on his knees for forgiveness. “I went for a walk, nothing more. And you may still dote on me, as I adore you.”

  “I do not believe you.” She started, when he caught her in his arms. “Let me go, you ill-mannered goat.”

  “Not a chance.” Jean Marc, bless him, had been right, and Leland wasted no time in availing himself of the wise council. “Because I want you. Indeed, I want no other woman than you.”

  “Liar.” As he shuffled her to face him, she turned aside her head, and he trailed his tongue along the curve of her neck. “Leland, please, unhand me, as you made your preferences known, when I planned so many delights for us, and you spoiled everything.”

  Then, to his infinite regret, she broke, and her ensuing despair brought him so very low.

  “Sweetheart, please, do not cry.” Cupping her chin, he brought her turbulent gaze to his. “You believe I rejected you, when nothing could be further from the truth, as the fault is mine.”

  “I have tried so hard to make you happy, but it is no use.” She sniffed. “From every angle, you construct a wall to shut me out, and I cannot bear it, as I am your wife.”

  That simple statement meant something to her, far more than it meant to him, until that very instant. When he stood in the chapel, she signified naught more than a warm body in his bed. Not so, anymore, and it was time she knew it.

  “Of course, you are my wife, and that you will remain, because I will have no other.” Spearing his fingers in the hair at her nape, he held her firmly in his embrace. “And you are wrong in your conclusions, because everything I do is for you.” When she bit her bottom lip, he tapped her nose. “Why do you think I let you redecorate my cabin? Why do you think I let you order about my crew? Why do you think I took you into the tops and shared my most intimate secrets with you? And why on earth do you think I took one glance at you, in your new finery, and shot my seed?”

  She shrugged.

  “Because I care for you, so very much.”

  With the cry of a banshee, his heretofore-reserved society bride launched a lustful assault that stole his breath and so much more. Given the force of her less than elegant but arresting attempt at seduction, he stumbled backwards and landed on the chaise, and she straddled him.

  In minutes, she ripped off his coat, waistcoat, and shirt, and when she reached for the placket of his breeches, he grabbed her wrists. “Hold hard, darling, because I do not want you like this.”

  “Did I do something wrong?” she asked, in a small voice.

  “No.” Swift and sure, he lifted her, stood, and carried her to the bed, where he deposited her to the down mattress. “You did everything right, but I need to make love to you, and I would have you know you are the center of my world. That cannot happen if you ride me.”

  “Oh?” Again, she favored him with the pout that never failed to charm him. “But I wanted to seduce you.”

  “You can do so another night.” After shedding his breeches, he crawled over his bride and then gave her his weight. Immediately, she wrapped her legs about his hips, positioning herself perfectly for his delicate invasion. “Hold me, sweetheart, and keep your eyes on mine.”

  Framing his face, she did as he bade, and he probed her wet flesh. Slowly, painfully slowly, he slipped inside her, and the relief in her countenance almost brought him to tears. As he initiated the exquisite dance, he dropped his guard and revealed his true self.

  Passion blossomed inasmuch as a gentle spring rain, cascading over them. Desire woke, unfurled, and enveloped them in its gossamer web, as he bared his soul to the one person with the power to destroy him. Yet, she did not reject him.

  Rather, Sophia pulled him close and kissed him, even as she maintained his gaze, and then she lauded his efforts with an achingly endearing moan of unmistakable pleasure. “Oh, Leland. I care for you, too.”

  ~

  Christmastide dawned on a cloudy, foggy, and cold day at sea, yet it was nonetheless special, given it was Sophia’s first holiday with Leland, and she planned all manner of surprises to woo her cherished pirate. Asleep in her arms, their bodies still joined af
ter an early morning round of lovemaking, her husband posed a temptation she could not resist, in light of everything they shared since departing Boston, and never had she been so happy.

  As she brushed a lock of black hair from his beautiful face, he opened his eyes. “Hello, my naughty wife.”

  “Hello, yourself, my equally improper husband.” After withdrawing from her, he rolled onto his back, stretched, and yawned. “I plead guilty, but I submit I am not entirely to blame, because I cannot resist you when you treat me to such an incomparable sight as you in your risqué attire. Just how much did you purchase from La Femme Séduisante?”

  On the floor, the scattered remnants of the red lace garment, more an afterthought but substantial enough to inspire him to plunder, evidenced their torrid coupling, which lasted well into the wee hours. But that was the plan.

  “Well, I thought I procured an amount sufficient to see us through the voyage to London, where I will replenish my stock, but at the rate you are destroying them, I suspect my inventory is inadequate to the task.”

  “Ah, but then you must come to me naked as the day you were born, and you know I adore you sans clothing.” He swooped, placed a kiss on each pert nipple, and then smacked her bottom. “Now, let us commence with our Christmastide celebration, as I have a gift for you.”

  “You do?” From the foot of their bunk, she grabbed her robe, shrugged into it, and belted it about her waist, while he remained nude. “Because I have a surprise for you.”

  “Something told me you would not forget me.” He smiled his boyish smile, and her heart melted, because the change in his appearance reflected a new start for them, uninhibited by the torments of the past. “Which is why I ventured forth, the day before we departed Boston.”

  In unison, they marched to their respective lockers, and she drew his present just as he produced hers. Together, they squared off as two adversaries, each determined to give more than they took, and then they burst into laughter, a habit more prevalent as they sailed.

  “Open yours.” She handed him the brown paper wrapped parcel.

  “You first.” He mirrored her movements.

  Rocking on her heels, she could not contain her excitement, as she lifted the lid on a blue velvet box. Inside, on a bed of white satin, sat a parure of diamonds.

  “Oh, Leland, it is stunning.” She toyed with the gems. “Now, it is your turn.”

  “All right.” As a child, he ripped into the gift and then met her gaze. She knew, then and there, he understood the significance.

  From the box, he retrieved the long, thin leather cord, from which hung a silver, heart-shaped pendant that bore a single engraving: Sophia’s. Without hesitation, he donned the necklace, and then she found herself beset upon by a rapacious marauder, and she loved every minute of it.

  After several heated, groping, desperately ravenous kisses, he retreated, much to her dismay. “Put on the diamonds, sweetheart, as I have longed to see you in them.”

  “Your wish is my command.” At the long mirror, Sophia donned the sparkling earrings, necklace, bracelet, ring, and tiara. Bedecked in his offering, she stepped back, untied and stripped off the robe. “Well?”

  “Breathtaking.” Leland pulled a chair from the table and sat. Fondling his now stout erection, he inclined his head. “The expensive baubles are nice, too. I would have you—”

  “Starboard bow, ahoy.”

  At the crew summons, her husband jolted alert and leaped from the seat.

  Fumbling through his belongings, he garbed himself in his familiar black breeches, a white shirt, a brown coat, and a pair of Hessians. From his desk drawer, he pulled a pistol, which he tucked in his waistband. Pausing before the long mirror, he tied his hair with the customary leather thong, and then he faced her.

  “Get dressed, and do not tarry.” Something in his expression frightened her, and he bared his teeth. “Lock the door behind me, and do not answer to anyone but me. Do you understand?”

  “Yes.” Trembling, she shrugged into a chemise and tugged on her house, as shouts of alarm echoed overhead.

  The telltale report of cannon fire startled her, as she pulled a burgundy wool gown over her shoulders. As she tried to tie her laces, the Cry Havoc reverberated with an ear-shattering blast, followed in rapid succession by a series of violent shudders.

  Fearing for Leland, she glanced at the door, but she remembered his instructions, and she refused to disobey him. But when all manner of audible shuffling and chaos broke out, she crouched behind the desk and prayed for his safety.

  And then there was silence.

  At the door, someone pounded, but Leland did not call to her.

  The hammering increased by a fevered pitch, but still she remained quiet, as an unknown man beckoned. Finally, the bolt yielded, and she screamed.

  A soldier, bearing the signature red regimentals of the British Army, rushed the cabin, and she backed to the stern windows. When he spied her, he lowered his weapon. “Are you a prisoner, ma’am? What is your name?”

  “Where is my husband?” To her shock, the soldier assailed her, and she tried but failed to wrench free. “Unhand me, as I am a lady, and His Majesty will hear of your treatment.”

  “Sure he will, my lady.” The scoundrel hauled her into the corridor. “Now, you can come with me nicely, or I can drag you by the hair on your head. The choice is yours.”

  By the time they reached the waist, Sophia had rained a hailstorm of protest on the blackguard, but he refused to relent. But the sad sight that met her arrival stole the wind from her sails, and she sobbed. “Leland.”

  “It is all right, Sophia.” Poised at the head of his crew, which had been huddled together, under armed guard, her husband gazed on her and frowned. “They will not harm you, as we have surrendered.”

  “What have you to surrender?” It was then she noticed a mountain of a man, with blond hair and a malevolent grin. “Who are you? What gives you the right to fire on the ship of a respectable merchant?”

  Leland cautioned her with an upraised palm. “Sophia, please—”

  “No.” She waved a clenched fist. “I would have reparations for this grievous injustice, as we did nothing wrong, and they have no cause.”

  “Captain Jason Collingwood, of His Majesty’s Navy, Lady Sophia, if that is your real name.” The mountain arched a brow. “Given a recent, unprovoked attack on a passenger vessel, I have plenty of cause, and I would know of your connections, given I have ample reason to doubt your husband, if he is truly your spouse.”

  “How dare you question me.” Positioning herself to protect Leland, she squared her shoulders. “I am Lady Sophia Grace Radcliff Stryker, eldest daughter of the Earl of Ferrers, and wife of Leland Stryker, captain of the Cry Havoc, a legitimate trade vessel contracted to the Crawford Mercantile of America.”

  “This is a pirate ship, under the command of a wanted criminal, and your so-called husband is hereby arrested, to be remanded into the custody of the appropriate authorities, for trial, forthwith.” Captain Collingwood snapped his fingers. “If you are who you claim, then I shall deliver you into the care of your father, per the agreement I made with Marooner. Now, take her below, and lock her in her cabin.”

  “Wait.” Leland took her hand in his. “Look at me, Sophia. Do not be afraid, as he promised to see you safely returned to your father, in Derbyshire, in exchange for my surrender.”

  “What?” She swallowed hard at the prospect. “You gave yourself up without a fight?” When he nodded, she emitted a sob. “Why would you do such a thing?”

  “Because he sails a man-o'-war and outguns us. Believe me, we had no chance and no other option.” He traced the curve of her jaw and kissed her forehead. “I could not risk your life, not for anything in the world, so I made a bargain with the devil, that you might survive.”

  “But, what of you?” In that moment, her heart fractured. “What is to become of us?”

  “I know not.” Again, he kissed her, and she tasted a farew
ell on his lips. “Whatever happens, I love you. Never doubt that.”

  “Enough.” Captain Collingwood signaled the soldiers. “Take them below and clap them in irons.”

  “Leland, no.” As a guard hauled her toward the companion ladder, she reached for her man, yet they were rudely parted. “Leland.”

  Stumbling, she fell to the gun deck, and the villain thrust her none-too-gently forward. But the resounding lurch shook her in more ways than one, and hope glimmered, thus she cooperated.

  Back in the cabin she shared with the love of her life, she ran to the desk and yanked open the bottom drawer. Salvation reigned supreme, as she spread the document on the blotter and gave vent to a cry of triumph, because she would save her husband.

  THE MAROONER

  CHAPTER TEN

  Days passed in painful torment, as Leland, locked in irons, marked the sun’s path on the boards, where the rays cast light filtered through the grating at the waist. Agonizing over the fate of his bride, he tried but failed to shut out the boastful reports from the guards, who claimed Sophia had been passed about as a plaything for the sailors and soldiers, alike. Yet the mind could play terrible tricks on a desperate man.

  And he was desperate.

  “Are you all right, Cap’n?” Smitty peered from beyond a half-wall, where most of the crew was confined. “Are you injured?”

  “Not as you would imagine.” Summoning cherished visions of his sweet lady, Leland rested against the bulkhead and cursed himself for taking her to wife. For carrying her to sea. For putting her in a position of danger. “I am sorry about what happened.”

  “No one blames you, Cap’n.” Smitty compressed his lips. “We all agreed to yield to protect Mrs. Stryker, and we are prepared to face the consequences.”

  “I appreciate that.” Leland wondered if Captain Collingwood would honor the bargain. “If possible, I will assume responsibility for our crimes and take whatever punishment is meted out, that I might spare you.”

  “We know that, which is why we follow you, Cap’n.” Smitty glanced heavenward. “We have stopped.”