Never Trust a Pirate (31 page)

She shook her head, so fiercely he worried that she might hurt herself.

“I’m going to regret this,” he said with a sigh, reaching for her gag. “If you start screaming I’ll simply gag you again. So behave yourself.” He slipped the gag free from her mouth, and he could see it took all her formidable strength to keep from shrieking.

“I have to get off this boat,” she managed to choke out after a long, desperate struggle. Her voice was raspy, maybe from muffled screams; he could clearly see the fear coursing through her.

“Ship,” he corrected absently. “And you’re not going anywhere.”

“You don’t understand. I can’t be on a boat… ship. I can’t be on water.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. This ship is as solid as any I’ve ever sailed on. There’s no danger.”

“I can’t,” she repeated breathlessly. “Please. I’ll do anything. Just get me off this thing.”

He looked down at her. “Tell me your name and I’ll consider it.” It was cruel of him, particularly since he was looking at the bruise on her chin. His blow actually hadn’t left that much of a mark—Dorrit’s backhand across her face was a much more telling bruise, as were the places where his fingers had pressed into her neck. Her beautiful, non-twiglike neck, he reminded himself with distant amusement.

She was glaring at him with absolute hatred, something that might disturb him if he didn’t understand what lay beneath it far better than she did. “Mary Greaves,” she spat. “Now let me go or I’ll have the police after you.”

The ship lurched, then smoothed out, and he knew by the feel of it that they’d left the harbor. Any experienced sailor would recognize the signs, but the daughter of Russell Shipping had never been on a ship before, a fact that astonished him. He couldn’t very well task her with it, though, without giving away that he already knew her name.

“I’m afraid the police are most likely busy trying to solve the death of Mr. Dorrit and his accomplice to worry about you. If they’d found your body it would be a different matter, but I did, in fact, rescue you. Saved your life, and I have yet to hear a word of thanks from your dulcet voice.”

“If you don’t let me off this boat you’ll hear screaming from this dulcet voice.”

“If you start screaming I’ll throw you overboard.”

“Fine,” she snapped. “I’ll swim to shore.”

He shook his head. “I’d say we’re too far out by now, and the night wind is picking up. Even a strong swimmer would have a hard time against the tides, and you’d be encumbered by all those clothes. If you tried it naked you’d probably freeze to death in ten minutes—the waters are cold off Plymouth this time of year. I’d say you’re not going anywhere but where the ship—not boat—takes us, at least for the time being.”

She grew very still, her eyes impossibly wide and her entire body vibrating with fear. “We’ve set sail?” Her voice was little more than a croak.

“We’ve set sail,” he verified. “Someone was intent on killing you back there, either Rufus Brown or someone else, and the only way to make certain you’re safe is to take you out of the reach of casual marauders. Why don’t you like to sail?”

“I
don’t
sail,” she corrected him fiercely. “I know I’m going to drown. I nearly did when I was a child and the little dinghy my father gave us capsized, trapping me underneath. I haven’t been in a boat since, and I don’t intend to…”

“This has nothing to do with your intentions, my sweet, it was decided for you. And I’m not going to let anything happen to you or this ship.” Her fear made no sense to him, but he knew it was nothing she could be reasoned out of.

She was trapped, and she knew it, and he watched in fascination as she exerted sheer will over her trembling body. The shaking slowly ceased, and she turned her back on him, her hands and ankles still trussed with the ropes from Dorrit’s companion. “I’m going to throw up,” she muttered.

It was a possibility, but she was showing no signs of mal de mer, just impotent fury. “I’ll bring you a basin,” he replied. “Do I dare untie you, or will you try to strangle me with your ropes?”

“I’ll kill you the first chance I get,” she said grimly, and he wanted to laugh. That would have been a grave mistake—she was holding on to her self-possession with the desperate grip of a drowning woman, and it wasn’t wise to anger her further.

“Then I’ll leave you as you are. Try to sleep—it’s a long time until morning. I’ll bring you something to eat when I come to bed and I’ll untie you then. You’re less likely to get seasick if you have a little in your stomach.”

That was enough to make her flounce around again, staring at him with new horror. “You’re not sleeping here.” It was a statement, not a question.

“It’s my cabin,” he said mildly. “Where else would I sleep?”

“Not with me!”

“Your chastity is safe,” he said, and saw the flush mount to her cheeks briefly. So the rumors were true and she had given herself to her faithless lover. So much the better. He didn’t have to worry about hurting her—all he had to do was give her pleasure, and he was very good at giving pleasure. “Tell me your name and I’ll untie you and give you your own cabin.”

She didn’t even hesitate. “Mary Greaves.”

In that case, she’d literally made her own bed for the night. He was simply going to have to up the stakes.

He locked the door behind him as he headed for the galley. The sea was smooth, just a light wind filling the sails as they headed south
toward France, and he reveled in the rightness of it. Billy was out of his mind, talking about love, for God’s sake. Luca knew nothing of love, and he preferred it that way. Women were for pleasure, not for a lifetime, not for a wanderer like he was. A woman terrified of setting foot on the deck of a ship with a man who couldn’t breathe when he wasn’t near the water was no possible match…

Not that he was thinking of matches. He simply needed her to admit to who she was. He needed that sign of trust from her, and until he had it he wasn’t giving her a thing. Once she told him then maybe he’d drop her off somewhere safe with enough money to get her home again. After all, Russell had been good to him up until almost the very end, and he owed him the safety of his daughter. She was just an annoyance to deal with and then dispose of. If he managed to get between her legs before that, so much the better, but in the end it didn’t matter. One woman was the same as the next.

He slammed his fist into the wood planked wall in sudden frustration. Who the hell was he trying to fool? Himself? That was an idiot’s trick. He could lie to anyone, deny anything, but when he couldn’t face his own truth it was time to worry.

So Billy knew him well enough to be partly right. He was a bit too… interested in Maddy Russell. In fact, he was almost obsessed with her. During the trip back from London she was all he could think of, her stubborn mouth, her fierce eyes, the soft, lovely curves of her body beneath all those ugly layers. So he wanted her. There was nothing wrong with that—she was a beautiful woman. He should be more disturbed if he didn’t want her.

Except. He couldn’t picture being without her. Before he slept with a woman he always had an exit strategy. He knew the ones who could be bought off with jewels, the ones who needed to be convinced they were too good for him, as in Gwendolyn’s case. Of course, he hadn’t even managed to bed his fiancée, mainly because he’d never really wanted to. She was a classic blond beauty, and she’d always
left him cold. At least she’d now consider herself well-rid of such a ruffian, and it hadn’t cost him a thing.

He had no idea what Maddy’s price would be, any more than he could imagine sending her away. It was simply because he hadn’t had her yet, he told himself. The longer the anticipation, the greater the reward. A week or so in the confines of his quarters and he’d grow tired of her very quickly.

She’d probably make the fool mistake of thinking she was in love with him. Women were like that—they didn’t know how to enjoy their bodies just for the fun of it, and in order to assuage their consciences they had to tell themselves they were “in love.”

He didn’t believe in it, at least, not for him. He’d seen it occasionally, and always wondered at its strength and elasticity. No matter how far Billy roamed, Duncan was always waiting for him. Russell had mourned his wife for his entire widowhood, and Luca’s gypsy grandmother and grandfather had seemed blissfully happy.

But love wasn’t for anyone like him. He was a gyppo half-breed, and there were many doors closed to him, many societies shut off. He didn’t mind the troubles he’d gone through, but he’d be damned if he’d submit his wife or his children to that kind of vicious, casual cruelty.

And God, what was he doing thinking about marriage? Another ridiculous supposition. Except that he’d stolen her from her house, even if it was technically his, just as his family had done for centuries, and she lay in his bed now, mutinous and angry and just ready for him to walk over and change her mind.

He should tell Billy to turn the ship northeast, sail up to Victoria Dock in London, and dump her there. She was possibly the most dangerous female he’d ever met—the most dangerous to his piece of mind, to his carefully ordered way of life. His gypsy blood had nothing to do with his life, except to mark him as one of the unwanted. So why couldn’t he stop thinking that he’d ended up stealing his bride after all?

The galley was deserted, and Luca began searching through the stores for food for Maddy. She’d probably throw the tray at his head, but it was worth a try.

“What are you doing?” Billy appeared in the entryway. “Mooning over the lass?”

Luca made an extremely rude suggestion. “Why are you down here?”

“I’m looking for you. I left Jeffries at the helm—he’ll be good enough for the time being.”

Luca leaned back against the wooden table that was bolted to the deck. “What do you want? If you feel like punching me it might be a good idea. Might knock some sense into me.”

“Ah, don’t tempt me.” Billy grinned. “Your romantic troubles aren’t at the forefront of my worries right now. There’s a storm brewing.”

“I saw no sign of it.”

“You’re too busy thinking with your John Thomas instead of your brain. It’s a few days out, and I’m thinking we can avoid it if we head west for a bit.”

“Do what you have to do.” Billy had always had a sixth sense about the weather, something Luca envied. Then again, he always knew trouble when it was on the horizon, giving them the choice to dive in or avoid a brawl. So why hadn’t he recognized trouble in the form of Madeleine Russell?

Ah, but he had. And he’d ignored it.

“What’s that you got there?” Billy demanded. “Bread, cheese, wine? You thinking food will do it? I thought she had a problem with sailing. You don’t want to waste good food on a tricky stomach.”

“It’s not her stomach that’s the problem, it’s her mind.”

“I could have told you that,” Billy shot back.

Luca managed a reluctant grin. “She’s afraid of sailing.”

“Russell’s daughter?” Billy didn’t bother to hide his amazement. “Is she a changeling or what? I heard she used to hang around his office all the time and visit the docks with him.”

“She did. She just never got on a ship.”

“Well, you’re already broadening her horizons,” Billy said with a heartless laugh. “Give her enough of that wine and you’ll broaden them some more.”

“Go to hell, Billy. I’m sending in one of the cooks. Maddy would probably try to kill me.”

“Maddy, is it now?” Billy shook his head. “Well, who can blame the girl if she wants you dead? Many’s the time even I wanted you dead. You need to forget about her. Come on out on deck and I’ll see if I can finally teach you the signs.”

“There aren’t any signs, Billy,” Luca growled. “You’ve got a fortune-teller’s magic powers when it comes to weather, and if I haven’t learned in fifteen years I’m not going to start now.”

“Just get it over with and you can get your mind back on business.”

“I’ll get it over with when I can dump her on solid land, as far away from Plymouth and all its ports as I can get.” He picked up the tray from the table and started past Billy. “Get around that storm and get us somewhere safe.”

“Aye aye, cap’n,” Billy said, grinning.

Maddy hurt. Everything in her body hurt—the ropes around her wrists weren’t tight enough to cause pain but she’d struggled so long she had rope burns. Her feet ached from kicking the wall, her neck felt as if someone had crushed it, and her throat was raw from screaming behind the gag. At least he’d left her alone in here, but it was a mixed blessing. It gave her too much time to think.

Her face was tender, her chin hurt, and she couldn’t remember why. The stranger had knocked her across the face—that explained her painful cheekbone, but why did her jaw…?

He’d hit her! That goddamned, bloody, no good whoreson of a bastard had hit her, knocking her unconscious so he could carry her off. For a moment she bordered on apoplectic rage. It was one thing when a hired killer slapped you—that was at least expected. But when the man who rescued you socked you then enough was enough. She was going to kill him.

On top of that colossal insult he’d brought her onboard a ship, refusing to release her despite her pleas, and the gentle rise and fall of the deck beneath them was still sending shards of terror through her.