Authors: Jennifer Blake
Sweet Piracy (31 page)
“Don’t cry,” said a voice in her ear. “You can always come back someday.”
“Rochefort!” She nearly strangled on an indrawn breath. Fumbling for her handkerchief, she said, “I’m not crying, it’s only the wind in my eyes. I — I didn’t know you were going to be on board.”
“If you had you would not have come?” he queried.
“I didn’t say that.”
“You did not have to. I know very well that the last thing you want is a prolonged sojourn in my company.”
“How — how can you say that when not so long ago I spent an entire day as a passenger in your phaeton?”
“Of necessity, not choice. I learned my lesson once and for all that day.”
Putting away a rather damp handkerchief, Caroline considered him as he lounged beside her at the railing. In deference, she supposed, to the summer heat already beginning to build, he wore no coat, only a shirt open to the waist without studs or cravat. The sleeves were rolled well above his elbows and he was hatless, allowing the wind to ruffle his fine dark hair at will. He wore no sash, carried no pistol, but with his breeches tucked into high-topped boots, he was much as he had been when she first saw him.
“Reverted to being a privateer, have you?” she said in an effort to dispel the constraint she felt.
“In more ways than one,” he agreed without taking his eyes from her face.
“I thought you were leaving for France and the life of a titled gentleman?”
“That was my intention.”
“Then — you are also on your way home, after you leave me in Natchez?”
“Not precisely.”
Caroline looked away, disturbed by his noncommittal answer plus something more she could not quite define. Her gaze rested on the shoreline slipping past them. Abruptly she straightened. “Oh, but we are going the wrong way. We are going downstream!”
“Yes, I know.”
“But Natchez is—” She trailed away as she realized how ridiculous it was to point out directions to him. “You — you did know that I am going to my uncle at Natchez?”
“I know that was where you said you wished to go.”
“Then why aren’t you taking me there?” she said, holding to a reasonable tone with an effort.
“I have no business there, and neither do you,” he answered politely.
“Would you like to tell me where we are going?” she demanded.
“To New Orleans, of course, and then onward aboard the
Black Eagle
, out into the open sea, wherever you wish to roam.”
“It being a fine day for a sail, I presume?”
“No indeed. What I have in mind will take weeks, months even.”
She stared at him incredulously. “You must be mad!”
“Must I? I thought I was showing great presence of mind.”
“I can’t just — just go away with you on this ship!” she said in tones of strongest indignation.
“Well it’s not what I would prefer myself — you will recall, perhaps, that I have asked you on two separate occasions to be my wife. However, you informed me yourself there was no need for me to make the offer or to sacrifice my freedom.”
“That was not what I meant at all, and well you know it!”
“You mean, my love, that you do want to be my wife?” he asked, smiling down at her in a manner designed to destroy her composure.
“No, I did not mean that either.”
“Don’t you know what you mean? In that case, I believe I must claim the right to know what is best; I will marry you in New Orleans, and then we may be comfortable together.”
“You cannot know what is best for me!” she declared.
“Perhaps not, but I know full well what is best for me.”
Her eyes wide, she searched his face. “Would — would it be best for you?”
“Without doubt, as I have known any time this past nine months and more, since the day I faced you in the cabin of that British merchantman. My first impulse was to abduct you then and there and sail away with you in the
Black Eagle
. Who knows, if you had not protected yourself so ably I might have done just that. It is certain to have been an easier way of making you mine than the one I chose.”
“You mean—?”
“I mean it was no coincidence that the Marquis de Rochefort, changed somewhat in style and appearance, came to be your near neighbor.”
“You cannot be saying you went to so much trouble and expense for my sake,” she whispered.
“For none other, my heart.”
“And then I betrayed you, accused you falsely—”
He smiled down at her with affection. “I was well served, was I not? But I was also glad that you had penetrated my disguise. It was an excellent indication that you remembered the privateer.”
“But why did you let me defame your name? Why could you not have told me you were in truth the Marquis de Rochefort?”
“I thought the masquerade was at an end, that you could never—?” He looked away, for the first time at a loss for words. “I grasped at the first thing that occurred to me to hold you. In so doing, I misjudged you to a greater extent than you had misjudged me. You were right to call my suggestion a bribe. That is exactly what it was. By offering it to you I forfeited the right to explain and expect your understanding.”
“You allowed everyone to think the worst of you without making the least effort to prevent it. You even—”
“I even thumbed my nose in their faces, did I not?
Voyons
, my heart, if you believed me to be an imposter, what did I care what others thought? I sent for Madame Fontaine and her friends, a matter that needs some explanation.”
“Not for my sake,” Caroline began, but he stopped her with a gesture.
“Then for mine,” he said with a smile and a slight inclination of his head. “The lady has been well known to me for some years. Of mediocre talent and a vast distaste for what might be called proper behavior, she has a warm heart quick to respond to those who need her. It was she who, with the help of my man, saw to it that I survived the gunshot wound you gave me. It was also she who helped me trace you through the Delacroix family to Beau Repos. When she came to Felicity, it was with the understanding that I needed companionship, nothing more. At times her affection for me led her to resent anyone who did not appreciate my charms as they should, and I apologize for anything she may have said to offend you. But she was a good friend to me. When she saw her presence was doing me more harm than good, she decided to leave — over my protests, I might add.”
Caroline bit her lip. “I don’t quite see why—”
“Why I am telling you this? Because I wish there to be no chance of more misunderstandings between us.”
“How can you say that when you are abducting me?” she cried.
“Not at all, my darling love. For this to be an abduction you would have to be unwilling. This is an elopement.”
“I cannot remember saying anything that would give you the impression that I am willing,” she said, stubbornly refusing to look at him.
“No,” he agreed cheerfully. “It was Tante Zizi who did that. She told me how you came to discover who I am and how upset you were. She seemed to think you had revealed yourself as not indifferent to me. She told me also of your ridiculous idea that I would not believe you loved me for myself. Did I not offer you marriage for money and title once only to have you throw it in my face? When I broached the idea of an abduction to her, she thought it an inspired suggestion, though she was not at all certain you would object, except as a matter of form—”
“A matter of form?” Caroline echoed. “Insufferable!”
He paid no attention. “And of course, if you don’t object this becomes an elopement, as I said.”
“And if I do object, what then? Must I go?” she demanded.
He straightened, his face suddenly serious. “If you do, Caroline, if you can look me in the face and tell me you are, in truth, unwilling, then I give you my word that I will take you wherever you wish to go, and I will leave you there in peace, never to trouble you again. Only tell me now, for this is the last chance there will be.”
It was shocking how unwelcome was the prospect of freedom. She raised her wide eyes to his and what she found mirrored there stopped the breath in her throat.
“Could we not compromise, my lord, and call it a willing abduction?” she asked, a smile beginning to tilt the lovely curves of her mouth.
He caught her to him, holding her close. “We could,” he said against her hair, “if you can remember to call me Jean instead of my lord.” His lips came down on hers in a burning kiss that left her mouth bruised, her ribs sore, and her limbs weak. Raising his head a fraction, he said, “Well?”
“I will try, my lord,” she promised, her gray eyes sparkling, “if you will engage to remind me occasionally.”
“I will engage never to allow you to forget.” He lowered his head once more.
“My lord, the ship’s crew is watching! My lord — Jean!”
Since publishing her first book at age twenty-seven,
New York Times
bestselling and award-winning author Jennifer Blake has gone on to write over sixty-five historical and contemporary novels in multiple genres. She brings the story-telling power and seductive passion of the South to her stories, reflecting her eighth-generation Louisiana heritage. Jennifer lives with her husband in northern Louisiana.
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CONTEMPORARY ROMANCE
THE ITALIAN BILLIONAIRES COLLECTION
Book 1 in Jennifer’s new contemporary romance series, first published in 2012, is an Amazon Top 100 bestseller.
