The Pirate Lord (24 page)

Eyes blazing, he clenched his hands into fists at his sides. “You would choose not to marry at all rather than marry me? Even after what we shared last night, you think me not good enough to marry?”

“It’s not that, Gideon!” But when he stared at her, clearly waiting for an explanation, she found herself at a loss for one. She certainly couldn’t tell him the truth—that she expected to be rescued from the island soon. “It’s…it’s…I’m just not ready yet. Marriage is so very final. If given the choice, I wouldn’t marry on so short an acquaintance.”

“How forward-thinking of you,” he bit out. “Giving your virginity to a man isn’t final, but marrying him is.” He stared at her another long moment, his eyes bleak and angry. Then he stiffened. “Very well. You won’t have to ‘marry on so short an acquaintance.’ I certainly won’t force you to.”

Scooping up his shirt, he headed toward the door.

“Wait! What do you mean? What are you saying?”

Without a word, he stepped outside the door and picked up a bundle of clothes, then tossed them inside the cabin. “Here. These are clothes I had them bring you from Sao Nicolau. Get dressed. I expect to see you on
deck in half an hour.” And before she could ask him anything else, he was gone.

She stared at the closed door, a disturbing emptiness settling in her chest. What had she done? What was he up to now? She should never have given in to him last night. This was a disaster, a complete disaster! And how in the name of God was she to get herself out of it?

Gideon stood on top the quarterdeck a half hour later, his face grim as he scanned the crowd in search of Sara. Where was she? She had to be here for this.

If he was going to make this sacrifice, he wanted her to witness it. After all, he was only doing it for her and her precious women. God knows nobody else would be pleased by his pronouncement. His men would howl in outrage.

But he didn’t care. He’d made his choice, and he fully intended to see it to the end, even if it meant angering his men. Besides, what he was doing would help their situation, no matter what they thought.

It would certainly help his. It might be the only thing that would.

He surveyed the crowd again. It looked very different from the last time he’d stood on the quarterdeck to address the men and women. True, the mood was just as somber as it had been then, thanks to last night’s fire. But the fire had also drawn all of them closer. The women were more easy with the men, and the men more considerate. Some of the men and women had already paired off, and the sight of that pleased him. Sara might not approve, but at least his plan was working.

Suddenly the object of his thoughts emerged from beneath the quarterdeck, glancing up at him with an expression of dread. His pulse quickened at the sight of her, like that of a blasted cabin boy with his first woman. She was wearing the white embroidered native blouse and flowing plum skirt he’d had the men buy for her. She looked wonderful in it, her hair loose and free about
her shoulders and the wind blowing the thin cotton to cling to her legs, leaving little to the imagination.

Bedding her should have put an end to this unreasonable desire for her. But it hadn’t. It had only made it worse. He wanted her again, this very minute. The irony of it was enough to make him choke. After all those years of sneering at English noblewomen, to be craving one now was a real blow to his pride.

But he’d never been foolish enough to let his pride keep him from pursuing what he wanted, and he wanted Sara…in his house and in his bed. He’d chosen his wife. Now all he had to do was make her choose him.

Wrenching his gaze from her, he faced the group. It was time to take the first step in his plan for doing just that.

“Good morning. I’m glad to say that we all seemed to have survived the fire intact. No one was lost.” He leaned forward to plant his hands on the rail. “We did lose all the dwellings last night, but I don’t intend to let that stop us. Someone—” Here he broke off, his gaze flickering briefly to Sara before returning to the crowd. “Someone made me see that Atlantis is worth fighting for.” There was a murmur of approval among his men, echoed to a smaller extent by the women.

“Now that the rest of the men have returned from Sao Nicolau,” he went on, “we have most of the materials we require for rebuilding. What they haven’t brought, we can probably get on the island.”

He squared his shoulders. Now came the hard part. “Miss Willis has said that the women would be willing to help us rebuild. So I’ve decided to offer them a compensation of sorts for their help.” He paused. “I’m giving them another month to choose their husbands.”

First there was a startled silence. Then a low rumbling began among his men, and their faces grew dark and disapproving. Barnaby looked at him as if he were mad, though Silas seemed surprisingly calm.

Gideon held up his hand for silence. “I know some of the women have already found potential husbands, and if they wish to go ahead and marry, they may do so. But as for the rest of the women, we’ll be busy rebuilding, and it’s only fair that they not be forced to deal with the additional complications of married life while they’re helping us.”

At last he dared to look at Sara. Her mouth gaped open. Ann rushed to her side, her face wreathed in smiles, but Sara just stared at him. To his surprise, there was no hint of triumph on her face. Just a shock that slowly changed to gratefulness.

He tore his gaze from her. She had nothing to be grateful for, though she didn’t know it. One way or the other, she would be his. He was probably mad to want to marry her, given his past. But it was the only way to have her. Already she felt guilty over what they’d done together. He’d seen it in her eyes this morning. The only way to get rid of that kind of guilt in a woman was to marry her.

“We’ll all be sleeping aboard the ship now,” he continued, “unless some of you want to pitch tents or spend your evenings lying on the beach under the stars. Otherwise everything is the same as before. The men will treat the women with respect and honor their wishes. Is this agreeable to all?”

He fell silent, waiting for the storm of protest to begin. But except for a few token complaints, the men seemed to have accepted his announcement. Perhaps they, too, had seen the wisdom of it. Some of them might even be having trouble with their own women. Perhaps they all needed more time to reach an agreement.

“Barnaby will be in charge of making assignments concerning the rebuilding, and Silas will oversee the unloading of the sloop. As for the women, I’ll consult with Miss Willis on how they can help. That’s all. You’re dismissed.”

As he climbed down the steps to the deck, he looked
for Sara, but she was surrounded by women asking her questions. Then he spotted Barnaby making for him, a scowl on his face. Gideon waited for his first mate to reach him.

“What in bloody hell is going on with you?” Barnaby said, with more than his usual impertinence. “First you agree to send half the men off for supplies, and now you postpone the weddings. I say we just marry the women and get the bloody thing over with, then think about building houses!”

“Yes, and we both know the extent of your experience with women,” Gideon retorted. “You bed them and toss them aside. Well, you can treat mistresses that way, Barnaby, but you can’t do that with wives.”

“And since when do you know how to treat a wife? When was the last time you had even a mistress for more than a month?”

“It’s true, I know.” Gideon looked past Barnaby to where Sara stood, her hair shining in the morning sun like ribbons of fire. “But that’s something I intend to remedy.”

Barnaby followed his gaze with a scowl. “I knew it. It’s that woman again. She’s gotten to you.” When Gideon didn’t answer, Barnaby added, “Is that who you plan to marry? Do you truly think that stiff-necked prude will choose you?”

Gideon suppressed a smile at Barnaby’s none-too-apt description of Sara. “Given time, she’ll choose me. You can be certain of that.”

“Ah, so that’s what this is all about. You’re giving yourself time to court ‘milady.’ I suppose that means the rest of us can forget about her.”

He shot Barnaby an assessing glance. “Didn’t you just dismiss her as a ‘stiff-necked prude’?”

“Some men
like
prudes, you know.”

Gideon saw red. “Not if I can help it. You let the men know that Sara Willis is mine. None of them are allowed to even kiss her cheek, understand?”

Barnaby held up his hands in surrender. “Of course, Captain, of course. Don’t worry. Nobody is fool enough to try to steal your woman.”

Your woman
. He liked the sound of that. “Good. And now, if you’ll excuse me, I wish to have a word with ‘my woman.’”

With that, he left Barnaby’s side and strolled over to where Sara stood speaking with Louisa.

“Louisa, would you leave us, please?” he said, when the two women turned to look at him. “I need to speak to Sara alone.”

“Certainly,” Louisa muttered, though he noticed that she kept her eyes on him as she moved just out of earshot.

He scowled at her until she hastened off down the deck. Then he turned his attention to Sara. “That woman never lets you out of her sight. What is she, your protector?”

“She just worries about me, that’s all.”

“Well, she needn’t worry about you anymore. I’m looking out for you now.”

A soft smile transformed Sara’s face. “Yes, I can see that. Truly, Gideon, it was so kind of you to give us more time. You won’t regret it. It will be better for everyone. You’ll see.”

He stared at her intently. “For you, too?”

She blushed. “Yes, of course.” She glanced away, touching her fingers to the locket she always wore. “There’s something I must discuss with you, Gideon. I…that is…what happened last night…I don’t think it should be repeated.”

“You mean, the fire?” he asked, deliberately being obtuse. He couldn’t believe she was saying this to him, especially after his grand gesture!

Her gaze shot back to his. “You know quite well I’m not talking about the fire. I mean, us sharing a bed. It’s not proper for—”

“It’s a little late to be concerned about proprieties, don’t you think?”

“Perhaps. But I…still think we shouldn’t…repeat last night.” When he cast her a look of complete incredulity, she hastened to add, “If we’re to consider marrying, then we need to know each other better, and I don’t mean in bed. I-I can’t think straight when you’re making love to me—”

“Good.”

“It’s
not
good. Marriage is a lifetime decision. I want to make it with a clear mind.”

“I can clear your mind,” he growled and reached for her.

But she shrank back from him. “No! That’s exactly what I mean. You want to make me forget about everything but you. Then I’ll find myself married to you and wondering how it happened. I don’t want that; I want to know what I’m doing when I agree to marry you.”

Confound the woman. Why must she always be
thinking
about everything? Why couldn’t she be like other women, content to let a man sweep her off her feet?

He stopped short. That was exactly what his mother had done—and what a disaster that had been. No, Gideon didn’t want history to repeat itself. He wanted Sara not to have any regrets once she agreed to marry him.

Still, he’d be damned if that meant not touching her or kissing her or having her in his bed. He’d give her plenty of time to think…but that didn’t mean they couldn’t enjoy each other occasionally in the meantime. He just had to make her realize that she wanted him as much as he wanted her. And there was only one way to do that.

“All right, Sara. We can get to know each other. We can rebuild Atlantis and talk and never once touch, if that’s what you wish.” At her startled look, he lowered his tone. “I don’t think that’s really what you wish. But I’m willing to let you find that out for yourself.”

He paused, giving her time to think about what he’d
said. When he continued, his voice was the merest whisper. “Let me warn you, however. When you change your mind—and you will—it’ll be your turn to come to me. Because the next time we make love, you’ll have to be the one to ask.”

Then summoning all the strength of will he possessed, he turned his back and walked away.

S
ara made it through the first week surprisingly well. During the day, there was so much work to do, and so many quarrels among the women over who was to do what, that she scarcely had time to breathe. Water had to be hauled and the men fed. Grass had to be cut and dried for thatch, and mattresses had to be sewn from the canvas cloth the men had brought from Sao Nicolau.

Still, she saw Gideon often enough to remind her of their one night together. He sought her out for her opinions on how the houses should be laid out. Whenever he needed something of the women, he came to her first, and they spent a great many hours debating the best way to allocate their meager resources.

She found excuses to seek him out as well. Much as she chastised herself for it, she liked watching him work, his muscles glistening with sweat under the warm sun. He took to eating his luncheon with her beneath the trees, offering her the bananas she’d come to like
and hunks of pork freshly roasted on Silas’s makeshift spits. Sometimes his fingers brushed hers accidentally when they were sharing the meal, but otherwise he kept his hands to himself.

That should have made things easier. It didn’t. At night, she lay awake in her cabin, thinking about him in his huge bed just across the saloon from her. Sometimes she closed her eyes and imagined him running his fingers over her shoulders, her breasts, her hips. Sometimes she furthered the fantasy by touching herself, and that was the worst of all…to know he could make her behave so wickedly.

The second week was harder. By then, after much jostling and quarreling, everyone had fallen into a routine. Each had taken the jobs that best suited them, and were diligently working to put Atlantis back together. That meant less time for discussing things with Gideon and fewer excuses for seeking him out. What’s more, he sometimes didn’t stop for lunch, although he ate with her when he did.

Yet she was aware of him no matter where she was, even when he was laying out the buildings or supervising the cutting down of trees. She found excuses to see him, then made excuses to herself for the flimsiness of her excuses. She found herself touching him casually…his arm or his shoulder or his elbow. She didn’t mean to, of course. It just happened. And whenever it did, he went very still, fixing her with a hungry gaze that always made her jerk her hand away.

He began bringing her gifts in the evening—a scented soap, some satin for a bonnet, a sculpted shard of bright orange coral that he’d found while he and the men were spearing fish. He never once gave her anything that she might think was stolen, and that warmed her, for he must have plenty of jewels he could offer.

Then he’d linger to walk the decks with her, speaking of his hopes for the island. Despite her determination not to let his words affect her, they did. How could she
not be affected by his dreams for a society where men and women could work and live free of the cruelties of unfeeling governments? Where punishments fit the crimes, and people like Ann weren’t deprived of what they needed most?

The worst part of the night came then—when he walked her to the door of her cabin. She always half-hoped he would kiss her and was disappointed when he didn’t. Once in bed, her imagination would take over where reality left off. Long gone were her thoughts of his hands on her body. Now she dreamed of feeling his mouth on her. It would start with her reliving their kisses, but it always progressed to fantasies of his mouth kissing her breasts and belly and even her most private place.

It was dreadfully scandalous and made her so ashamed. Sometimes she even awakened to find herself touching her own body in wanton ways she’d never dreamed existed. She burned at night. She burned during the day. But Gideon, curse the man, seemed as determined not to touch her as ever.

By the end of the third week, however, that had changed. Gideon began to touch her when she least expected it. He would casually reach up to smooth back her hair from her eyes or take her arm to lead her down the gangplank in the morning. When they ate together, which was now almost every meal, he seemed to delight in “accidentally” brushing her breasts as he leaned over to reach something, or taking a seat so close beside her that their legs touched whenever they moved.

If she’d had any sense at all, she would have pointed out how he was cheating on his promise not to touch her. But she’d long ago lost all sense. She lived for those furtive touches. She took unreasonable pleasure in the gifts he brought her and the way he deferred to her judgment on certain matters.

Even worse, her nighttime imaginings had progressed to unabashed memories of his making love to her. She
no longer tried to suppress her fantasies, but gave free rein to them. And her hands—her treacherous, wicked hands—had become truly uncontrollable.

Unfortunately, they didn’t satisfy the clawing need growing in the pit of her belly, the need to have him kiss her and stroke her and yes, make love to her again.

It was those thoughts that engrossed her on the last morning of the third week. It was early, not even dawn yet, and she’d left everyone else sleeping on the ship. Needing a place to think, she wandered down the beach toward the stream.

A few rules had been established for the little colony, and one of them concerned bathing. Since the water in the stream was too cold for bathing in the early morning, the women were allotted the early afternoon hours for bathing and the men the late afternoon hours, after they’d finished their dirty work for the day. The system had allowed the women the privacy they craved, especially those women who hadn’t yet decided on husbands.

So when Sara came upon the stream, she was surprised to find Gideon standing naked in the middle of it, bathing in the chilly water. Quickly she ducked behind a tree to keep him from seeing her.

She couldn’t believe it. Did he come here every morning? And why, when the water was so much warmer later in the day?

She should leave him to bathe alone, she told herself sternly. But her erotic nighttime dreams were still too fresh. She couldn’t bear to leave just yet. With a furtive glance down the sloping ground to the beach to make sure no one had seen her, she peeked back around the tree at Gideon.

The stream was so shallow that the water came only to his knees. He had his back to her as he scooped water up and sluiced it over his body. He looked magnificent…his dark hair dripping down over his broad back etched with scars, firm buttocks that flexed with his
every movement, and hairy legs slightly parted to help him keep his balance on the pebbly stream bed.

Heat spread up from her loins to her breasts to her face as she watched him. What would he do if she simply stepped out from behind the tree and into his arms? No, she couldn’t do that. She mustn’t.

Suddenly he turned around, though he didn’t see her. She quickly suppressed a gasp. Good heavens. He was fully aroused. He was mumbling something and scowling as he scrubbed his chest with a soapy rag.

Then, to her complete horror, he laid his hand on his member and began to stroke it. She told herself to leave at once, but her feet stayed rooted to the forest floor. She was utterly fascinated. So
that
was how he managed to keep himself aloof from her when she practically panted to have him in her bed.

But if that were the case, why was he scowling? Why were his movements almost violent, as if he couldn’t stroke himself hard or fast enough? Perhaps it was the same for him as it was for her. Touching herself had been as futile as throwing water on those fiery huts had been. Not enough. Never enough.

Suddenly, he looked up and saw her. His eyes locked with hers, full of heat and need and hunger. For a moment, she stood there transfixed, her mouth open and her feet incapable of movement.

Then she panicked. With a cry of shame, she lifted her skirts and took off at a run, as hard and as far as her legs would carry her.

As she stumbled down the beach, she chastised herself furiously. She should never have gone to the stream. She should certainly never have watched him bathe or…or touch himself. The minute she’d seen what he was doing, she should have sneaked away. Now that he knew she’d been watching him, he was sure to guess her dreadful secret—that she wanted him as much as he wanted her.

With a choked cry she raced up the
Satyr’
s gangplank
and past the drowsy, curious gazes of the pirates who slept on the deck. Glancing behind her, she half-feared she would see him following her. But thankfully he was nowhere to be seen.

Nonetheless, it was only when she reached her cabin and latched the door closed, that she felt safe. And even then, it was several minutes before she could still her thundering heart and stop listening for the sound of his boots treading the planks outside her door.

The rest of the day, she avoided him. She couldn’t face him after what she’d witnessed. It was unthinkable. She busied herself on the ship, helping the women drag the bedrolls up from the hold to the top deck for airing. But she couldn’t stop her thoughts…and the erotic images that plagued her.

What was wrong with her? How was it that the man hardly ever touched her, yet she thought of him every waking moment? It wasn’t fair.

By late afternoon, frustrated beyond endurance, she sought out Louisa, hoping that the woman’s tart tongue would lash some sense into her. Louisa wasn’t fond of Gideon. She would remind Sara of all his faults, and that was just what Sara needed.

When she went in search of Louisa in the ship’s galley, however, she found Silas instead. As she walked in, he was lifting a huge mound of bread dough onto the floured surface of the table.

“Louisa—” he began, then broke off when he looked up and saw it was her. “Ah, Sara, you’ll do, I suppose,” he said in his usual gruff manner. “Come knead this bread. I have to make sure the meat don’t burn.”

“Where’s Louisa?”

He shrugged. “Who knows where that woman’s gone off to? She’ll be back soon, I wager, but this dough must be kneaded now. Trust Louisa to disappear when I need her.”

His grumbling didn’t fool Sara. The man was utterly in love with Louisa. Indeed, the two of them had be
come completely inseparable in the last two weeks. They’d already asked Gideon, as a ship’s captain, to perform their marriage ceremony and were as engrossed in each other as any newly married couple she’d ever seen. It made her almost envious.

“Come now, girl, help me with this bread,” Silas repeated, waving her toward the table.

“I don’t know how to knead bread.” At home, the servants did such things. But on Atlantis, where there were no servants, she’d learned a great many skills she’d never had use for before.

Today, however, she wasn’t in the mood to learn anything…except how to get Gideon out of her thoughts.

“Kneadin’ bread is simple enough,” Silas said, ignoring her protest. He pushed down on the ball of dough until it flattened, then folded it over and repeated the motion. “You see?”

“But I’ll ruin it.”

“Balderdash.” Grabbing her by the arm with floury fingers, he drew her to the table. “You can’t ruin it. The more you punch it, the better ’tis. The harder you handle it, the higher it’ll rise. Take me word for it. It’ll take anythin’ you give it.”

She eyed the dough skeptically, but did as she’d seen him do, timidly at first, then with more confidence. The dough was so resilient and springy, it did seem as if she couldn’t hurt it. And he
had
said it would take anything she could give it.

As she continued the kneading motion, her thoughts wandered back to Gideon. What was she to do about him? How could she get past this frustration she felt every time she was near him? This wasn’t supposed to happen to respectable ladies. Men lusted after women, of course, but only fallen women lusted after men in return. Or so she’d been taught. She was beginning to think that everything she’d been taught was suspect.

Otherwise, how could she have found such enjoyment
in the arms of a pirate? And she’d certainly done that; she couldn’t deny it.

Now, what was she supposed to do about it? He’d said she would have to ask him to touch her. She couldn’t imagine doing so. Why, he might not even care about her anymore. Maybe he’d decided a noblewoman wasn’t worth his time. The very thought of that made her go cold with fear.

She stabbed the dough furiously with her fists. It didn’t matter what he thought one way or the other. She’d be returning to London without him. It was inevitable.

Silas’s voice interrupted her thoughts. “Hold up, lass. I know I said you couldn’t hurt it by punchin’ it, but I didn’t say to kill it.”

She realized she’d been punching the bread silly, and swallowed hard. “I’m sorry…I…my mind was wandering.”

He took the bread from her, rolled it in some lard, then placed it in a bread pan. “Aye, wanderin’ in troublesome places, I’ll wager. What has you in such a dither?”

She cast him a wary glance. “Nothing…important.”

He returned to ladling gravy over the meat. “It’s our good captain, ain’t it? He’s been troublin’ you again.”

“Yes…well, no. Not the way you think.” When he cast her a searching glance, she turned her back to him and fiddled with the latch to the pantry. “He…he’s been the soul of courtesy.”

“And that bothers you?”

“No, of course not. It’s just that…I don’t know what to make of it. Sometimes I think he dislikes me very much. Other times…he…”

Other times, he makes love to me with passion and caring
. But she could hardly tell Silas that, could she?

“Depend on it, the man don’t dislike you,” Silas said in a calm voice. “Gideon just finds it hard to trust any woman. Especially one of your kind.”

There was that horrible phrase again—
your kind
. She whirled around to face Silas. “Why does he hate ‘my kind’ so? Which one of ‘my kind’ ever hurt him?”

He set down the gravy ladle and stared at her a moment, stroking his beard thoughtfully. “If I tell you what I know, will you keep it to yourself?”

Her curiosity roused, she nodded vigorously.

He gestured to a chair. “Then you’d best sit down, lass. It’s a hard tale, and a long one. But if anyone should hear it, it’s you.”