The Marooner Read online

  “Lady Sophia, what a stunning dress you wear, and Mr. Stryker, what a lovely surprise. Might I be one of the first to congratulate you on your wonderful news?” The pinch-faced Mrs. Oswald lied through her teeth, because she campaigned hard for her shrew of a daughter, and Leland could not be bothered to give her a dog’s rig for free. “And how are you enjoying the Barty’s little get-together?”

  “To be honest, I find such parties rather droll.” Adopting an exaggerated front, he resolved to meet the harpies on their level, to defend his woman. “And I must congratulate you on your incomparable sense of fashion, Mrs. Oswald, as I personally selected Lady Sophia’s dress, and she thought it too much.” Let the miserable hen swallow that, as he gazed at Sophia. “Do you see, my dear? I told you it was not too much.”

  “Oh, no.” Another crow cawed. “And the color accentuates her eyes.”

  “There.” He nodded once. “I believe my fiancée is too modest, which is but one reason I adore her. Now, if you will excuse us, I should like to partner Lady Sophia in a dance. And fret not, as I am sure we will soon be celebrating fortuitous announcements for all your unattached English roses.”

  With that, Leland steered Sophia toward the ballroom.

  “Now that was not nice.” She giggled.

  “Perhaps not, but it was more than deserved.” And his comments were tempered, for him, as it was hard to level pointed insults like a gentleman. “Feeling better?”

  “You know, in some respects, they are correct.” She averted her stare. “If you wish to withdraw your offer, I will understand and not think ill of you.”

  “Ah, but I will not understand.” In the massive chamber, music played, and he led her into the crowd of couples. “Thus, there is no chance of escape, my dear Sophia.”

  Oh, no. Not after that kiss.

  ~

  Just two days before her wedding, Sophia sat in the back parlor and awaited her fiancé’s arrival for a late afternoon tea, while Wilhelmine sketched a drawing and acted as chaperone. Nervous and excited, at once, she twiddled her fingers and jumped when the mantel clock chimed the hour and the butler appeared in the doorway.

  “Lady Sophia, a Mr. Leland Stryker to see you.” As usual, Boswell shouted, given his poor hearing. “I said, a Mr. Leland Stryker to see you.”

  “Thank you, Boswell.” With care, she pronounced the worlds clearly, so he could understand her. To Leland, she said, “Will you sit?”

  Of course, true to form, he took the place beside her, on the settee, when she indicated a chair perched at a safe distance, because she could take no chances with her bold fiancé.

  “To what do I owe the invitation?” In a break with propriety, Leland took her hand in his and pressed his lips to her knuckles. To her chagrin, he always lingered just a tad too long for common decency, and he ever so briefly touched his tongue to her skin, in a scandalous display of intimacy. “Although I was grateful to receive it.”

  “I thought we might take the opportunity to get to know each other better, prior to our nuptials.” As a proper hostess, she lifted a plate of shortbread. “Would you care for a refreshment?”

  “Indeed, I would.” To her confusion, he snapped his fingers. “Wilhelmine, come here.”

  “Yes, Mr. Stryker.” She dropped her drawing paper and pencil and skipped to the fore. “What can I do for you?”

  “Have you ever seen one of these?” From his pocket, he pulled a gold coin with strange markings.

  “No, sir.” Wilhelmine shook her head, as her gaze fixated on the piece. “May I hold it?”

  “Perhaps.” Leland arched a brow, and Sophia suspected his motives were less than honorable. “If I give it to you, you must promise to research its origins, and you cannot return until you do. If you fulfill my charge, the doubloon is yours.”

  “Oh, I will, Mr. Stryker.” As soon as the gold landed in Wilhelmine’s palm, she flew to the door, rushed into the hall, and slammed shut the oak panel, without so much as a backward glance—leaving Sophia alone with her wayward fiancé.

  “Wilhelmine, wait.” Sophia stood, but Leland lunged, caught her about the waist, and pulled her into his lap. “Mr. Stryker, unhand me.”

  “I will not.” His mischievous laugh gave her gooseflesh. “And we are to be married in two days, so what would it hurt to indulge in a little kiss?”

  And then he speared his fingers in her hair and seized her lips in a bruising assault that left her gasping for air and pining for more. Tempting. Beckoning. Inviting her to sample and explore all he could give her. For a moment, Leland paused, their noses mere inches apart, and he looked on her like a triumphant marauder, assessing his latest spoils of victory.

  Expectation blossomed, an artful enticement, shivering through her, evading her instincts and well-honed defenses. A new and exciting hunger grew in her belly, unfurling and spreading, fanning the flames of desire, until she relaxed and rode the crest of passion, as he bent and resumed his tantalizing invasion.

  His lips hardened, masterful in their command of her senses, as she focused on that delicate yet arresting point of contact, and he shuffled her in his grasp. And then she discovered why he demanded her attention so savagely, when his hand closed about her bare breast.

  The shock of the deed, skin-to-skin, elemental yet startling, held her captive, as his fingers groped and caressed her. Fire lanced through her, searing her veins, charging her nerves, and anticipation rose, as she ached for more, and he did not disappoint her.

  Breaking their kiss, much to her distress, she had not a chance to voice a protest, as he fastened his mouth over her taut nipple, and she emitted a strangled cry. The warmth of his lips, coupled with flirty flicks of his tongue, drove her to the edge of some beguiling precipice—until her father called out from the hall.

  Panic wrenched her to reality, just as Papa opened the door.

  It was then she discovered her bodice righted and secured, and her naughty fiancé, adopting an angelic pose, occupied the chair.

  “Good afternoon, Stryker.” Her father perched beside her, and she feared she might swoon. “Wilhelmine told me of your visit, and I thought I would join you for a cup of tea.”

  “Excellent.” Leland glanced at her and winked. “Sophia was just about to pour me a cup.”

  “Papa, I apologize for entertaining Mr. Stryker, alone, but Wilhelmine abandoned me, when she was supposed to act as chaperone.” Slowly, she regained her faculties, even as her blood burned for Leland.

  “In fact, she was so concerned, she was just about to summon you.” Leland held her stare and trailed his tongue across his bottom lip, and she gulped. “But I assured her that, given our nuptials take place in two days, there is no harm in partaking of such innocent pleasures.”

  Innocent?

  She almost choked.

  “Sophia, have you forgot your manners?” Papa slapped his thighs. “What about our tea? And pass me the plate of shortbread.”

  “Of course.” She did as he bade, and her hands trembled such that she spilt some of the steaming brew. “Oh, forgive me.”

  “What is wrong with you?” Her father sighed, in obvious exasperation. “Why do you shake? Are you ill? Should I summon a doctor, because we cannot have you sick on your wedding day?”

  “You know, she is a tad flushed.” Devil that he was, Leland smirked. “Perhaps she could benefit from a cool bath. Or she could loosen the stiff bodice of her gown, as it appears to be strangling her, or is that the fashion these days?”

  She wore the high-necked dress to guard against him, much good it did her.

  “That reminds me of something.” Papa snapped his fingers. “I have an appointment with my tailor, for the final fitting of my coat, for the nuptials, so I will leave you two to savor your repast.” He shoved an entire square of shortbread into his mouth, drained his cup empty, and strode toward the door. “As for a chaperone, I agree with Mr. Stryker’s assessment, given you two are all but wed, my dear.” With his hand on the knob, he paused. �
��Indeed, Mr. Stryker should stay for dinner, and I am certain you can entertain him until then.”

  Unaware of the dangerous creature that lurked in the back parlor, namely her fiancé, Papa closed her in with the beast. As soon as the latch clicked, Leland lurched from his seat, and she jumped to her feet and took shelter behind the settee.

  “Mr. Stryker, this is most unusual.” He veered to the left, and she dashed toward the overstuffed chair, near the windows. “We cannot engage in such questionable behavior until the vows are spoken, and even then I am not sure such conduct is acceptable.”

  “Sweet Sophia, trust me, once you are mine, there is much more I will teach you, in the ways of physical gratification.” Lowering his chin, he leaped and grasped for her, but she eluded capture. “Tell me something, what bothers you more, the fact that I did what I did or that you enjoyed it?”

  At his bold declaration, she halted near the hearth, because she could not deny the truth. As he neared, she stiffened her spine.

  “I am not sure.” Without thought, she touched her fingers to her lips and recalled what he made her feel. And, oh, what she felt. “I have never experienced anything like it.”

  “Come, now.” He narrowed his stare and snorted. “Has no man ever handled you?”

  “I am not even sure what that means.” And perhaps that was what frightened her. The unknown. “And I know not how to manage what I cannot even describe, as of this moment.” With a clenched fist pressed to her bosom, she licked her lips. “What did you do to me?”

  “I pleasured you.” How his blue eyes mesmerized her, as he moved toward her, to hug her about the waist. “I gave you a very small taste of passion. Had your father not interrupted us, I would have satisfied you.”

  “How?” Although she voiced the query, she was not certain she wanted to know the answer.

  “I would have released you.” As he skimmed her back with one hand, he cupped her cheek with the other and pressed on her a gentle whisper of a kiss. “I would have let you fly, but your father intruded before I could bring you to completion. However, there is nothing to fear in what you sampled.”

  “Are you sure?” Apprehensive yet curious, she desperately wanted to believe him. “Do you promise we did nothing wrong?”

  “I had no idea you were so innocent.” He frowned. “And you are terrified.”

  “Yes.” Clutching the lapels of his navy coat, she clung to him. “Can you not see I do not understand what you do to me, and I seem powerless to control my reaction? That, when I am with you, I hardly know myself?”

  “And that is a problem—how?” He inclined his head. “What is your concern?”

  “Because you are marrying me.” In that instant, she wrenched loose and moved to a safer spot by the window. “Given your apparent extensive knowledge of marital relations, what if I disappoint you? What if I am unable to appease you?”

  “Trust me, there is no chance of that.” When he rested palms to her shoulders, she flinched. “Relax, Sophia. I am not going to hurt you, and you cannot help but please me, because I want you, even now.”

  “Why?” That was the only response she needed, as she gazed at the fountain in the garden. “Why me, when you could claim any woman of my acquaintance.”

  “Because you are strong.” That did much to alleviate her anxiety, but she was not entirely convinced. “Because you can take care of yourself.”

  “How do you know of my fortitude?” His approbation did not quite appease her. “We had known each other not even a day, which strikes me as precious little time to make such a momentous, lifelong decision, when you offered for me. What did you know of my character that convinced you that I was your bride?”

  “While I will not deny I find you uncommonly attractive—no, you are beautiful, there is more to you than a pair of brown eyes that puts to shame the emeralds I gifted you.” He kissed the sensitive flesh behind her ear, and she gasped. “Rather, it was your sharp rebuke of Miss Barty and Miss Oswald that garnered my admiration.”

  “So you overhead the entire conversation, including their praise of you?” Was that why he spurned the two other ladies? When he trailed his lips along the curve of her neck, she closed her eyes. “Had I voiced similar interest, would you have shunned me?”

  “No.” From behind, he cupped her breasts, long fingers questing and stroking, her cambric day dress no real barrier to his touch, as he licked and suckled the skin along the edge of her jaw. “But you would never be so vulgar or so obvious. Rather, it was your defense of your situation that won me. When a man seeks a wife, he wants a woman capable of standing with him, working alongside him. They do not possess your courage of spirit, and they cannot compete with your resilience.” Then he pinched her turgid nipples, through the fabric, and she whispered his name. “But that is not the real reason I want you. Because you are blessed with that which cannot be taught, and a man knows it when he sees it, thus I would have paid three times what I gave your father, to claim you.”

  Before she could reply, he turned her to face him and favored her with another mind numbing, soul-stealing, full-frontal attack. Her ears pealed a carillon of warning, as he distracted her with a familiar tactic when she wanted to talk. Lifting her lids, she was startled to discover him watching her.

  Calm and self-assured, he moved on her, and she stared into his blue gaze. For a brief instant, what she glimpsed frightened her. Somewhere behind the polite façade and somewhat genteel demeanor, hidden amid the gentleman’s attire lurked something dark and sinister. Defying her attempts to seize upon some measure of recognition, a very real malevolence colored his expression, and she wished she had delayed accepting his proposal, because she still knew naught about his past. Given her father had spent a vast deal more than modest sum of the money, she found herself trapped in another prison.

  Only the gilded cage was of Sophia’s making.

  THE MAROONER

  CHAPTER THREE

  When Leland looked back on his life as a ruthless buccaneer, he never imagined standing before a long mirror, in a palatial bedchamber, located in an elegant country mansion, belonging to an English marquess, preparing to wed a gently-bred society virgin. Dressed like one of those perfumed peacocks he once terrorized on the seas, he stared at his reflection and smiled.

  Sir Ross Logan may have taken Leland Stryker from a life of piracy, but Logan could never take the pirate out of Leland Stryker, a fact his high-born bride would learn, soon enough. How he looked forward to his wedding night.

  “Leland, are you ready?” In the doorway, Barrington loomed and checked his timepiece. “Are you sure you would not prefer to sneak out the back? I can have a horse saddled, and you can make a dash for the coast.”

  “Not without Lady Sophia. Of course, if I could have her without the formalities, I would take her however I could get her.” He adjusted the bloody cravat, which threatened to choke him. “Tell me something. Do you ever get used to the pointless pomp and pageantry of your world, which is no more honest or less callous than that of our former trade?”

  “It is funny, is it not?” Barrington folded his arms, leaned against the wall, and shook his head. “Until the murder that occurred in my London residence, when I fled to Jamaica, this pomp and pageantry, as you call it, was all I knew. I had no experience with anything else. But since my return, I find it all rather silly. The only thing that sustained me through everything I endured was Florence, and I hope Sophia anchors you, in much the same fashion, as you embark on the next chapter of your life.”

  “I have no need of such support.” That was a lie, but Leland was not about to admit it. Yet, as he teetered on the brink of some invisible escarpment, considering a future he thought he never wanted, myriad possibilities enticed him with dreams he once believed were nothing more than a child’s fantasies. “To me, she serves but a single delicious purpose, which I intend to exercise to the fullest extent that her young, supple body can withstand my baser appetites. In short, want her warming my bun
k. That she is legally required to be there only sweetens the deal.”

  “There is a bit more to marriage and wives than that, my friend. And it will require a boatload of courage.” Barrington chuckled and studied the toe of his polished Hessian. “Yet, if you are willing to expend the effort, and take a leap of faith, I wager Lady Sophia will not disappoint you.”

  “Fine.” Leland tightened the leather thong that tamed his black hair and snickered. “Are we done?”

  “So you really intend to go through with it?” Barrington arched a brow and inclined his head. “Because I will have your word, as a fellow former pirate, that you will not hurt her. I have known Lady Sophia since she was born, and she is a kind, gentle woman. Trust me, you could not have done better.”

  “What do you take me for, some sort of villain?” Nothing could be further from the truth, as Leland had plans for his soon-to-be-bride, and none of them involved pain. As he walked into the hall, he buttoned his coat and envisioned her shy smile, when he suckled her bare breast. Nothing would stop him from marrying her, so he could finish what he started. “You may rest assured that my primary goal, as Sophia’s new husband, is to spend the first fortnight of our union between her thighs. If that makes me a reprobate, then I plead guilty, as charged.”

  “There is nothing wrong with that, as I did the same thing when I married Florence.” Barrington chucked Leland’s shoulder, as they approached the landing. “Just do not make me regret helping you.”

  “I will not, now, stop nagging me, because you are worse than an old woman.”

  After descending the stairs, they crossed the foyer, where Florence waited, and together they exited the house and strode straight to the parked coach. As the rig lurched forward, he gazed out the window and studied the passing landscape, because he was in no mood to talk.

  The months Leland spent on land, in search of a bride, were the most frustrating he could recall, and he wanted nothing more than to be aboard his ship, back on the ocean, and riding his new wife. Beyond that, he had a pickup date to honor for Crawford Mercantile, in Port Royal, before he sailed for Boston.