The Rogue Pirate’s Bride (21 page)

“I could have sunk him, but I didn’t.
Merde
. I didn’t need the whole of the British Navy after me. I spanked him and limped away to lick my wounds, which were fortunately few. I didn’t intend to kill Bowers. One of the men told me later he’d seen the captain go down, and the next time we were in port, I heard he’d died. It wasn’t my intention to kill him, but neither do I apologize.” He released her now and stood. She sunk down onto her heels. He’d been holding her up, and she felt weak.

“He asked for a fight, and I gave him one.”

She nodded, stared at the oak floors beneath her. It wasn’t the story she’d been told, but considering that story had been related by a sailor from the
Valor
—the losing ship—she could see why it had been altered. No one would want to highlight mistakes the lost Captain Bowers had made. Especially not to his grieving fiancée. Much better to paint him as a hero and Cutlass as a villain.

But perhaps no one was hero or villain. Perhaps both men had done what their natures dictated. Bastien emerged the victor.

“You loved him.” Bastien was turned away from her, staring out the dark windows at the endless ocean. “For that I’m sorry—sorry I killed someone you loved.”

Her head jerked up, and she stared at his back. The tenor of his voice, the way he said it—she wanted to tell him she loved him. She wanted to tell him no one, not Timothy, no man had ever touched her, body or soul, as he had. But he had not said he loved her…

She rose, went to him, and wrapped her arms around him. He was solid, his body warm and hard against hers. She pressed her cheek to his back, inhaled, and smelled sea salt and tobacco.

“Yes,” she whispered. “I’ll marry you.”

She felt him stiffen, realized he was surprised. He hadn’t expected her to agree. But when he turned to take her in his arms, his face showed nothing but confidence. “We’ll marry in France.”

“Brest?” she said with a raised brow. “It would be appropriate.”

“Brest then. I’ve already told Mr. Khan to set a course. We’ll sail directly. If the winds are favorable, we should reach the harbor in a few weeks.”

“If my father doesn’t find us first.”

He looked at her long and hard. “And if he does? What then?”

She knew what he was asking, knew he wanted to know whom she would choose. But she didn’t know the answer. If it came to a battle between the two men, the two ships, she could not bear to lose either.

So instead of answering, she wrapped a hand around his hair and tugged his face to hers. The kiss was hard and meant to distract. She felt his initial resistance, felt it melt away as his arms came around her.

***

It was enough, Bastien told himself as he buried his face in Raeven’s long, dark hair. Having her with him now, holding her, feeling her warm body press eagerly against his. It was enough for now.

Her loyalties were divided. Understandably so. But what she did not realize, or perhaps did not want to acknowledge, was at some point she would have to make a choice between father and husband. Between navy admiral and privateer. Between duty and love.

Or at least passion. There was love between them, though neither wanted to acknowledge it. He suspected she feared the fragile emotion as much as he did. What neither feared was passion, and that bloomed effortlessly between them.

She had kissed him, long and hard, but he quickly wrested control from her. She didn’t give it easily. She grasped his hands and tugged his shirt over his chest, kissing his chest and licking her way to the waistband of his breeches.

Just when things were about to get interesting, he pulled her up, yanked her own shirt over her head. Rather, it was his shirt, and he was disappointed to see she’d bound her breasts. She reached for his waistband, but he captured her wrists in one of his hands and reached for her bindings with the other. “I want you naked,” he growled.

“I want you naked first,” she countered. She tried to snatch her hands away, but he held fast, grasped the knot of her bindings with his free hands, and yanked it loose. He spun her around, and the fabric fell away. When it fell to the floor, he took her in his arms again. Her warm, soft flesh pressed against his bare chest.

She looked over her shoulder toward the door. “Perhaps we should lock it.”

“There’s no lock,” he murmured, taking one of her rosy nipples in his mouth.
Bon Dieu
, he loved the taste of her. He could not seem to get enough.

“Mmm…” She arched her back, offered the other breast. “But what if the crew should… oh, yes… I mean, the crew… if they…”

“It’s a small ship, Raeven,” he murmured against her, cupping her now and tasting her. “I think the men know what’s going on, and if they value their lives, they won’t interrupt. Now wriggle your hips so I can slide these breeches off.” His hands slid down the curve of her bare hips. “Why don’t you wear a dress once in a while? Then I could just toss you on the table and lift your skirts.”

“That’s too easy.” She stepped out of the breeches, gloriously naked before him. “But you can still toss me on the table.”

He lifted her without a word and did just that. With the swipe of a hand, he cleared the dishes away—Salviati would have something to say about that, but Bastien would worry about it later—and set her down. She sat up, reached for his breeches, but he pushed her back on her elbows, took a long moment to enjoy the sight of her, then kissed her.

Every inch of her.

He knew her body now, knew what she enjoyed—what made her laugh, what made her moan, what made her buck and claw and cry out. And when he was finished, he did it all again. But somehow she managed to take control long enough to divest him of his boots and breeches. And when she touched him, he couldn’t stop a growl of pleasure. She clamped her legs around his waist, and he sank into her warmth.

He had intended to take her hard and fast, but once inside her, he slowed, savored and enjoyed. In couplings with other women, he had always sought release—not that he didn’t make sure they enjoyed the experience, but he made love because he enjoyed the end result.

But with Raeven, time seemed to stand still. It wasn’t simply about his release or hers. It was about them, together, the connection between bodies and—he looked into her eyes—hearts. She felt it too. She hadn’t been a virgin with him, and he wondered if it was as different for her as it was for him.

“Mon coeur
,” he whispered as he moved inside her. “
Mon amour
.” He’d never said those words before, barely realized he was saying them now. But at that moment, at every moment since the first time he’d held her, she’d been his heart. His love. How could he not love her? She fit him. It was as though she’d been made for him, and he for her.

“Bastien,” she whispered against his neck and arched against him. And he could contain himself no longer. With a groan, he went over the edge, holding her tightly, taking her with him.

He gathered her into his arms, held her tightly, and Raeven wished they’d waited until they were back in his—their—cabin so she could lie against him, rest her head on his chest and listen to his heart.

That’s what he’d called her.
My heart
.
My love
. Had he realized he’d said those things, or did he say them to every woman?

No, he’d never said them to her before. He’d called her many pretty endearments in French and English and even Spanish, but he’d never called her his love.

She took a deep breath, bolstering her courage. If she didn’t tell him now, it might be days before she gathered her courage again. And who knew if they had that much time. She’d never expected to lose Percy or Timothy. “Bastien,” she began, hating the way his name stuck in her throat. She sounded like such a
girl
.

“Hmm?” He’d pulled her into his lap and was rubbing his hands along her bare back, keeping her warm. In a moment, he’d put her down, suggest they dress, and her chance would be lost. She needed to say it now, while his face was buried in her neck and she didn’t have to look him directly in the eye.

Lord, she was such a coward.

“Bastien, I-I wanted to tell you… I mean, I wanted you to know…” She could feel him smiling. Irritating man! “I think I…” No. That was no way to say it. She should sound confident. Sure. He hadn’t said,
I
think
you’re my heart.

“I’m listening.” He pulled away, looked into her eyes.

Damn it! Now she was going to have to say it while he was looking at her. She felt heat creep into her cheeks. She took another deep breath and made herself say it. “I love you.” She stood up, paced away from him. “There. I said it.”

He didn’t answer right away, and she risked a glance over her shoulder. He was smiling. But then she was walking around naked. Of course he was smiling.

“Come here,
mon coeur
.”

She felt the tightening in her heart ease. She hadn’t misheard him then. She went to him, happy when his arms came around her. He kissed her neck. “Raeven—”

“Cap’n!”

She recognized Ridley’s voice outside the cabin door. Bastien stiffened immediately, released her, and reached for his breeches. “What is it, Mr. Ridley?”

“We spotted something. Want you to come take a look.”

She hastily pulled on his shirt as he strode to the door and yanked it open. She was half naked, but to his credit, Ridley’s eyes never wavered from his captain’s face.

“Why haven’t we beat to quarters?”

Now Ridley’s eyes strayed, just for a moment, to lock with hers. “Oh, God,” she breathed. She bent, fumbled with the breeches and pulled them on. Her hands were shaking, her body was shaking, and her heart was pounding so hard she thought the whole ship could hear it.

“Are you certain?” Bastien asked. “It’s the
Regal
?
”

“I doan know the ship well. Can’t tell from this distance. But it be a British man-of-war. Dat much I knows.”

“I’ll go look,” Raeven said, pushing past Bastien. “I’ll know instantly.”

Ridley moved out of the way, and she rushed up the nearest ladderway, stumbled her way to the poop deck. Mr. Khan was there, and without a word, he handed her the lead.

She put it to her eye, scanned the horizon, and her breath hitched in her throat. With shaking hands, she lowered the spyglass. Bastien took it from her. She hadn’t even heard him come up behind her.

He didn’t say a word, but she knew he recognized the vessel as the
Regal
. It was still miles away and would take a day, possibly more, to catch them. The
Shadow
was fast and sleek, and the wind was in their favor. But that would not matter. It might take weeks, it might take years, but her father was nothing if not dogged. Now he had found them, he would pursue them to the ends of the earth or the ends of time—whichever came first.

Bastien was looking at her, the question in his eyes clear. What did she want him to do?

She bit her lip, knew they could continue running. They could run for months or years. But eventually her father would catch them. Eventually Bastien would tire of running, turn and fight, and she might be holding his hand in the infirmary when he took his last breath.

She looked at Mr. Khan, at Ridley, at the other men. She did not want to be responsible for their deaths. She did not want to see them in Mr. Leveque’s infirmary, their blood staining the sand on the floor.

She looked at Bastien, and she wanted to wrap her arms around him, close her eyes, and pretend the
Regal
was still some distant problem they might encounter. But even as she met his gaze, their plans for a wedding in Brest, the search for his family, their life together began to sink to the bottom of the ocean floor.

His cobalt eyes were steady, the question burning in them.

“Signal them,” she said, coldly, decisively. “When he’s close enough, I’ll make sure he sees me. He won’t fire if he sees me.”

Bastien held up a hand, and the men stepped back. He took Raeven’s arm, steered her to the taffrail. “We can run. I’ve outrun a man-of-war before. I have the wind, so with a little luck…”

She shook her head. “And how long will you run? Weeks? Months? Years? He won’t stop, Bastien. He’ll keep coming after you—after us. Think of your men. How long will they tolerate running from a man-of-war when they could hand me over and resume more profitable ventures? Give it one week, maybe two, and you’re looking at a mutiny.”

He looked away, but she knew he agreed with her. She wished she wasn’t right this time. She wished they might have made it to Brest.

“When my father catches us, I won’t go aboard without conditions. For my safe passage, I’ll make him promise to let you and your ship go.”

Bastien gave a bark of laughter. “And do you think once you’re aboard he’ll keep his word?”

“Yes. He’s a man of his word. If he makes a promise, he’ll do it. He may not like it, and he may come after you another time, but…” She looked down. “I’ll try to dissuade him. I’ll protect you.”

Bastien’s finger notched her chin up, and she looked into his eyes. He was smiling. “I can take care of myself. You, on the other hand…” He shook his head. “I don’t want to let you go.”

Her breath caught in her lungs. For a long moment, she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t do anything but stand on the deck of the ship with him.

The pain in her chest intensified until she had to all but close her eyes against it. She wished with all of her being, with everything she was, she had more time with Bastien. Another day, another week. She would take another moment if that was all she’d been given. She wanted to curse her father for finding them so quickly, but she knew he searched only out of love.

She was in love, too, and the temptation to flee her father was strong. But the little time she and Bastien would gain together was not worth the consequences. She thought of Percy, and she knew for once she couldn’t be selfish.

“Maybe we’ll meet again.” Her voice sounded weak, breathy.

He nodded, but she could see he wasn’t convinced. “This is what you want?” He gestured to the
Regal
, just a distant speck on the horizon at the moment but growing larger.

“Signal them,” she said.

He turned away from her, all formality and business now. “Mr. Khan, set a course to intercept the HMS
Regal
. Jack”—he gestured to one of the deckhands—“run up the colors. Mr. Ridley, when we’re close enough, hoist the signal for parley. Miss Russell will make herself visible on deck. Hands to your stations and beat to quarters. I want you ready for battle.” He glanced at Raeven. “I’ve dealt with the British Navy before. I’m sure your father’s a man of his word, but I don’t want to take chances.”

Raeven knew it would be several hours yet before the
Regal
reached them. She spent the time in Bastien’s cabin, mostly pacing but also rehearsing the words she would say to her father. She had to ensure he would allow the
Shadow
to go on her way, and she was not at all certain she could do so.

Half a dozen times, she heard a sound and turned to the door, expecting to see Bastien saunter in. She wanted him to come, wanted him to take her in his arms one last time, kiss her and touch her until she was too dizzy to think of anything but the feel of him pressed against her.

But he didn’t come, and as the hours ticked by, she knew he would not.

Finally, she went on deck. She still wore Bastien’s breeches and shirt, but she’d left her hair down, made sure it would whip in the wind. She stood on the bow, watching as the
Regal
drew closer. Her father approached cautiously, even after she saw Mr. Ridley himself hoist the signal for parley.

She stood tall, holding her head up as the
Regal
drew nearer. She could not see her father or make out anyone on the decks, but she knew their spyglasses were trained on the
Shadow
. She knew they could see her.

“Now’s the time we all hold our breath,” Bastien said beside her.

She glanced at him, trying to memorize his features. At some point, he’d found time to change clothing. He knew how to dress the part of the pirate. He wore shiny black boots up to his knees, tight black breeches, a cutlass at his waist, a pistol tucked in his waistband, and a stark white shirt dripping with lace and open at the throat. His long black hair had been pulled back in a simple queue, and the style accented his strong cheekbones, straight, proud nose, generous mouth, and the impossible blue of his eyes. Hard eyes now, all business as he watched the
Regal’
s
approach. “Close with him amidships,” he ordered. “Gunners be ready.”

“He’s not going to fire with me standing in plain view,” she said and hoped she was right.

Of course she was right, but she held her breath, seeing the
Regal
’s gun ports were open and the men at their stations. All was ready on the
Shadow
as well.

One wrong word, one wrong move, and the whole situation would explode.

Finally, the two ships came alongside one another. Raeven couldn’t stop a smile when she saw her father on the deck. She moved to the quarterdeck so she might be opposite him. The admiral didn’t smile back at her, and even at this distance, she could see he looked older, tired.

She raised a hand, and he nodded. But his eyes were cold as they looked past her and studied Captain Cutlass.

“Your flag indicates you want to parley,” he called. “If this is some trick to lure me close so you can attack, I’ll warn you we are fully armed and ready.”

“It’s no trick, Father,” Raeven called before Bastien could answer. “The
Shadow
wants a peaceful exchange of words and terms.”

Her father didn’t blink. “Terms for what?” he yelled back.

“My return.”

The admiral shook his head. “No terms. Send her over now, and we’ll consider not killing the whole lot of you.”

“I can’t do that, Admiral,” Bastien said, his voice carrying across the two ships. “If you want her back, you’ll have to negotiate. Otherwise, she stays with me.” He wrapped an arm about her waist and pulled her possessively against him. Raeven knew it was no affectionate gesture but a move calculated to anger her father.

It worked. The admiral’s face turned as red as the horizon at sunset, and he whirled to converse with his lieutenants. After several minutes of discussion, the admiral stomped back and called, “Cutlass, you and one of your crew have my permission to board the
Regal
. You will not be harmed and are guaranteed safe passage back.”

Bastien still had his arm about Raeven, and she felt the anger course through him. “Thinks I’m that much of a fool, does he?” he muttered in French. “I don’t think so,” he called. “Your ship has more guns, more men, more firepower. I might have outrun you, but the time for that is past.
You
and one of your lieutenants have permission to come aboard the
Shadow.
I guarantee you safe passage back.”

The Admiral scowled. “And if I refuse?”

Bastien shrugged as though it mattered not to him. But he stroked Raeven’s hair possessively. “She’s your daughter.”

Another conversation between the admiral and his lieutenants ensued, and finally he called, “Agreed. Have your men throw down a ladder.”

Raeven watched as the men went about their tasks, and her father and his first lieutenant moved away from the deck rail to converse. On board the
Regal
, the men began to lower her father’s gig.
She turned to Bastien. “I want to be included in the discussions.”

His eyes never left his crew members. “Of course you do.”

She put her hands on her hips. “Are you going to argue with me?”

“No.” He raised a hand, and Ridley stepped forward. “Take her to my cabin. Lock the door and post a man outside. Then ready the ward—”

“What?” Raeven screamed. “You do not honestly propose to lock me up while you and my father discuss
my
future. You cannot honestly believe—let me go!” Ridley had her about the waist and was pulling her toward the nearest ladderway. “I’m not going to be locked up! Cutlass!
Bastien
, you bastard!”

Ridley lifted her, hoisted her over his shoulder, and lumbered down the ladderway. Once they were below deck, she stopped fighting. She knew she wasn’t going to win, and Ridley was simply following orders.

“You can put me down,” she ordered. “I won’t fight.”

Ridley did so, but he kept one hand firmly on her arm. Raeven balled her fists and seethed. How like a man to pretend to listen to her advice, pretend to respect her opinion, and when the crucial moment came, send her away.

They reached the captain’s cabin, and Ridley deposited her inside, closed the door, and locked it. A few moments later, she heard him speaking to the guard outside. There were plenty of windows in the cabin, but all faced the stern, and the two boats were floating side by side. Still, she stared out at the blue sky and the churning waters and wondered whether her father had come on board and what was being discussed in the wardroom.