The Pirate's Debt (The Regent's Revenge Book 2) (11 page)

He leaned down, his dark hair hanging over his brow, staring at her strangely as he stroked her hair away from her cheek. Her mind reeled beneath his skilled seduction. Had he been taught how to ignite her passion by previous lovers, or did this heart-pounding, intimate dance between them come from an intuitive place? Her heart latched on to the latter. Yes, the attention he gave her must mean he loved her, too. After all she’d been through, surely he meant to profess his devotion.

She waited for words that never came. Her heart pitter-pattered in her chest as she glanced from the bunk to Markwick and back again. “I’m not sure—”

“We’ve got to get you out of these wet clothes.”

She gasped as if he’d thrown icy water over her face, and then glanced down at her body. Clothes? It was true her pelisse dragged along the floor, weighting down her shoulders, but . . . A shiver swept over her. She’d lost herself in his embrace. Until this moment, she hadn’t wanted his kisses to stop. But he had stopped kissing her, allowing her mind firmer ground to function properly.

Did he plan to take his seduction a step further? She was in love with him, foolishly susceptible to his nearness, how his touch undid her, but she wasn’t so far gone that she did not know when their passion had gone far enough.

“I’m going to unclasp your coat,” he said.

She swallowed, hard. “Is that wise?”

“It’s not only wise but necessary. If you don’t get warm and dry, you’ll catch your death.” He took her hands in his. “Trust me.”

“I do trust you.”

“Then allow me to help you.” Markwick lifted his long, lean fingers to her double-breasted pelisse and slowly began to undo the silk-covered buttons.

Her heart beating madly, Chloe’s breath caught as she watched him unfasten each one, fascinated, drawn to each movement his fingers made as if her next breath hinged on his success. She closed her eyes, imagining that Markwick was her husband, that this would be how he cared for her once they were married.

If only she could be locked inside Markwick’s cabin for eternity—a passage of time that would surely help her convince the earl that she truly loved him, to cast aside his pirate garb and return home. But she was a respectable girl. She’d be a fool to give in to such flights of fancy. No matter how passionate they were together, no matter how deliriously enjoyable their coupling would be. Life waited for no one. And hadn’t she already proven her love by sailing off to find him?

Concern hardened his features, and anticipation rippled down her spine. Her buttons now freed, he stood there, the taut, tangible bond between them tested beyond comprehension as he cast an intensifying spell over her and she waited, breath caught, for him to make the next move. Would he put a stop to any seduction he launched toward her? Could she deny him if he didn’t? It pained her to think about that as she tried to wriggle out of her pelisse sleeves. The garment, however, had a mind of its own. The wet silk clung to the fabric beneath, countering her attempts to remove it. Had she not expended what little energy she had left to indulge in Markwick’s kisses, she might have been able to manage on her own.

Suddenly overcome with lethargy, Chloe dropped her arms, accepting defeat. “I am going to need your help.”

That was all the motivation he needed. All too quickly, the garment lay at her feet, easily discarded. Once again she stood before him, vulnerable, confused, and with her heart pounding erratically in her hand, wondering how many layers of clothing would have to come off before he would take her into his arms once more.

A delicious shudder engulfed her as Markwick’s ravenous gaze traveled over her, examining what she wore beneath. He swallowed thickly. “We cannot stop here. With your permission, I’ll help you out of your gown.”

Her crazed heart beat ever faster. With a nod, she turned to offer him access to her fastenings. And true to his promise, he moved quickly to rid her of the heavy material until it, too, pooled at her feet.

Now she stood in nothing but her chemise and stays, which did little to keep her warm or shield her body from view. A trembling spasm she couldn’t control lanced through her as she turned around to face him. Embarrassed, she crossed her arms over her chest in a meek effort to cover herself.

Without saying a word, he scooped her into his arms and laid her under the coverlet. Her breath solidified in her throat as he tucked the sheets around her.

He caressed her cheek, chasing away her anxiety, then moved as if to leave her. Just before he abruptly turned away, she reached out to grab his wrist. “D-Don’t go,” she stammered.

Markwick froze, a tic working in his jaw.

Chloe struggled to understand the battle waging war inside him, eager to win his heart. “Stay, I beg of you.”

He turned back to her, his hawklike stare penetrating hers. A knot coiled in her stomach. Would he think her too wanton, reject her?

In answer to her unspoken question, he bent down to smooth hair out of her face, his touch kindling a blazing trail to her heart. “Chloe, what am I to do with you?”

A strange surge of affection emboldened her. “Love me.” She latched onto him with her other hand, desperate now. “That’s all I ask.”

He kissed her forehead before rising to stand, then closed the drapes hanging from the bunk, blocking her view of him.

Panic unlike any she’d ever known coursed through her. Tears escaped her eyes, rolling freely down her cheeks. She was all kinds of a fool sailing off to find the man of her dreams. Behaving like a ninnyhammer didn’t earn a man’s love. She’d harbored romantic feelings for Markwick for years, but he’d only just learned of it. Rome wasn’t built in a day, after all!

Forsaken, she turned to her side. Raw, primitive anguish mounted inside her as she listened to Markwick moving about the cabin. Wood grated against wood. Padded footsteps tapped a staccato beat on the floor. A swift rustling of heavy fabric warned her that he’d returned. Then the bed creaked and the mattress tilted from behind her. Suddenly, Markwick’s strong arms were enveloping her, pulling her against him, closer to his body than an unmarried woman should be.

She inhaled sharply as her entreaty fought against her racing heart. “What are you doing?” She stiffened, unable to staunch the desire his closeness ignited within her. She loved Markwick, but that didn’t mean she wanted him to bed her. Not like this. Not yet. The very idea of his nearness aroused a temptation to give herself to him, to prove how deeply she loved him, and the urge was hard to resist.

“Easy,” Markwick whispered softly. “This is the fastest way to chase away the chill. Our bodies will heat each other from within if you lie still and allow nature to do its brilliant work.”

Ever thinking of her comfort, Markwick was right. Tension slowly began to ease from her body, replaced by a desire for him to touch her in places that made her blush. Though, as much as she desired his comfort, his embrace, was it wise to tempt fate?

Alarm bells rang in her head as he pressed himself closer, the emboldened action making her acutely aware of the differences between their bodies. They were nearer than two people could possibly be without committing the sexual act that would bind them as one. Something about this seemed wrong—foreign—and yet equally right. He didn’t move, allowing the heat generated by their bodies to help her relax.

“This is wrong, isn’t it?” she whispered in the disquiet.

Laughter rumbled from Markwick’s chest. “It isn’t if it’ll save your life.”

“But you already saved my life.”

“You aren’t back in Exeter yet.” He leaned his face against her shoulder while he spoke, making her ache for him. “There are many kinds of danger, Chloe. The first are acts of violence between men. The second . . . well, I don’t think I have to explain that one, do I?”

“No,” she said, her voice faltering.

“I will not steal from you the only gift you can choose to give a man.”

She swallowed the lump still lingering in her throat. He cared. He must if he didn’t want to hurt her. “I give you my heart gladly. I would give more if—”

“And I would gladly take it. Unfortunately,” he said, “I have nothing left to give in return.”

Sherborne Mercury
ENDORSES
Trewman’s Exeter Flying Post
! CARNAGE and the BLACK REGENT ply the CHANNEL and will no doubt come to blows. CAUTION mounts!

~
Sherborne Mercury
, 6 August 1809

After Chloe succumbed to exhaustion, Markwick had lain awake for hours, listening to her soft breaths, counting their frequency as her shock wore off, comforting her when she relived the horror aboard the
Mohegan
and became fitful. He’d felt her forehead to make sure she hadn’t turned feverish and slowly became fascinated with the softness of her skin, the curves of her delightful body molded against his. Hunger had grown within him like yeast fermenting in bread, but he’d fought diligently against any inclination to test her untried passions.

What did it even matter? That was the question roving through his brain. When she finally arrived in Exeter and authorities asked her to explain how she’d survived the wreck, inquiries would be made. Her family would be notified. What would the Walsinghams do if they thought their daughter’s virtue had been taken? Marry her off to the first man that came along, that’s what.

The idea cut sharply through him. If he were any other man, he’d toss the notion over the side of the ship. But he wasn’t
that
man, and Chloe loved
him
. How could he subject her to a life of unhappiness married to a man selected to protect her virginal pride? He’d touched her, damn him. He’d lain with her. The facts far outweighed what gossipmongers could invent. And her branded scent of lemon and lavender clung to him as if she were standing right next to him now.

He’d left the comfort of Chloe’s exhausted body, dressed, and gone over the list Pye had created of the
Mohegan’s
surviving crew members. He’d interviewed each man, hoping to better understand the events leading up to the wreckage. He’d quickly learned this hadn’t been the
Mohegan’s
first encounter with wreckers. Her voyage had been tirelessly calculated, which was one of the reasons Captain Teague, who had been greatly admired by his crew, preferred to sail
to
Exeter rather than from it.

Now his head spun with an unbearable need to make Chloe
his
. What was happening to him?

I’m not the fiend my father was,
he reminded himself
.

No. He’d not force dishonor on any woman, no matter the circumstances. It wasn’t right to destroy someone else’s life, to bring another human being down into the muck with him. He was still the honorable man who’d set out to make things right. That truth would never change. But he was also the first-born—and only—son of the Marquess of Underwood, a name now deeply rooted in scandal. Not exactly the type of man Walsingham or his parents would want for Chloe.

Markwick had been happy before. For two long years, he’d lived honorably, doting on Prudence, teaching her everything he knew about ledgers, numbers, and protecting herself.

Look at him now. Where had honor gotten him?

Hell’s fury, he was a fool clinging to a system that only served to fail him and destroy whatever he touched.

Markwick walked the quarterdeck to the stern, examining the way the rising sun glinted off canvas that was thumping and popping on the three-masted rigging rising above his head. Ropes were stretched taut from their halyard blocks, creaking and groaning as the sheets billowed and snapped, knifing the
Fury
through the swells with a speed sure to dispel any unease residing inside him.

Except nothing untied the twisting in his gut.

This was too easy. Something wasn’t right. He wasn’t a nautical man, nor could he boast a seafaring sense of sight, but he was acutely aware that when things appeared too good to be true, they usually were.

“Sail ho!” one of his topmen hollered with alarm.

Markwick shielded his eyes from the sun’s brilliant glare, then raised his gaze aloft. “Where away?”

Evans pointed west by northwest. “She’s tacking. Sighted us off the stern, she has.”

Had they been scouted? “Can you make out her colors, Evans?”

“Be damned. It’s the
Windraker
, sir,” he answered.

“If Walsingham catches us, we’ll have more to worry about than wreckers.”

Hours east of the
Mohegan’s
destruction, the hindrance he’d soon encounter was no less impenetrable than the rocks that had destroyed the
Mohegan
. He’d run afoul of the one man who’d labored two long years to bring the Regent to justice and would do everything in his power to stop the
Fury
and put it out of business.

What could Markwick do? If Walsingham caught up to him, he couldn’t fire on his friend’s ship, on Chloe’s brother’s ship.

Now he wished for calmer moments in Chloe’s arms, the promise of being accepted no matter his rank, where he lived, the company he kept. But duty called, tearing him apart from the woman who’d opened the floodgates surrounding his heart, forcing him to set aside his personal desires and take up the Black Regent’s guise once more.

Pye stepped forward, stopping at Markwick’s side.

Markwick aimed his spyglass at the
Windraker
, redoubling his efforts as Owens’s prophetic words repeated themselves in his head:
I speak for all of us here when I say it would be more pleasin’ by far if we get a chance to serve a man capable of stopping the
Viper.
He lowered the telescope and handed it to Pye. Walsingham was that man.

Pye accepted the looking glass and aimed it at the other ship. “What do ye think Walsingham plans to do?”

“If he’s spotted us, the answer is easy. He’ll come at us, full sail.” Did Walsingham know about the
Viper
? Captain Carnage? Fate had helped him arrive in time to save Chloe. How long before their luck ran out?

“Abandon ship!”

Chloe and Jane raced to the railing, then pulled back when vaulting sea spray rained down on the deck. Men struggled through the fallen debris, dragging lifeless limbs, blood streaming from their bodies, begging for mercy.

“Abandon ship!” Captain Teague stood at the helm, coated in blood, his arm outstretched, his bony, gnarled finger pointing to a lantern-lit beach.

Chloe followed his arrowed finger to shore. There, just beyond the angry surf, the Mohegan’s crew swam, finding footholds, tired limbs reaching, splashing. But they weren’t safe. Men waded in the shallow surf, wielding bloody clubs high overhead.

Chloe opened her mouth to scream, but nothing came out. She clawed at her throat, desperate to warn the unsuspecting swimmers, frightened she’d face the same fate.

Sunlight illuminated the horrific scene, and she watched, terrified, as a man emerged from a wave, iridescent foam cloaking his shoulders. He inspected the carnage—blood-red surf, floating lifeless bodies, and then turned toward Chloe and said, “Your turn.”

“Markwick!”

Chloe bolted upright in bed. She opened her eyes and glanced around, then instinctively reached out for Markwick. But the mattress beside her was empty.

She blinked and raised her hand to her mouth, choking back tears.

“Oh, m’lady!” Jane exclaimed, her voice filled with concern as she rushed to her side and grasped her shoulders. “Do not cry. It’s just a dream. Just a dream, I assure ye.”

The problem was, none of it had been a dream, except for Markwick. “Where is he?” she asked, apprehension racing through her veins.

“Who, m’lady?”

“Markwick,” Chloe said before realizing her blunder and covering her mouth with her hand.

Jane’s eyes narrowed. “The earl cannot ride ’is steed to help ye now. Markwick is in Penzance, is ’e not?” When Chloe didn’t answer, Jane placed her hands on her hips. “Saints preserve us! No?”

Chloe shook her head.

“Then where? Who?” Jane stopped. Her eyes grew as big as saucers. “No! The Regent
is
Markwick?”

Chloe gave a weak nod. “You had to find out sometime or another and there is no time like the present. But before I explain why my dearest love is a pirate, I must know where he is.”

“Safe. Topside with ’is crew, I wager.”

Shock registered, and she began to shake as fearful images of her dream appeared in her mind again. “Jane, we must stop them. We cannot allow senseless killings like this to happen.”

“The Regent and ’is men?” Jane looked incredulous. “’Twas just a dream.”

“Yes . . .”
No.
Was she still dreaming? “Pinch me, Jane.”

This time, Jane didn’t argue.

“Ouch!” Chloe’s eyes fluttered open, and the brilliant light streaming through the open stern windows in Markwick’s cabin nearly blinded her.

“Forgive me for pinching ye too ’ard again, m’lady . . .”

Chloe nodded solemnly and counted her blessings. It
wasn’t
only a dream but a memory of what she’d truly seen and heard. And yet, the images were thankfully gone until the next time she closed her weary eyes.

“You’re getting quite good at ensuring I’m awake,” she told Jane.

“Well practice makes perfect, they say.”

Chloe couldn’t help but laugh at the mischievous smile breaking across Jane’s face. Thank goodness their ordeal hadn’t doused the young woman’s zest for amusement. She could always count on Jane’s positive attitude to assist her out of her melancholy.

She grabbed Jane’s arm. “Promise me you will not tell anyone Markwick’s secret.”

Jane nodded. “Of course, m’lady. Look ’ere,” she said, changing the subject. “I’ve brought ye some dry things to put on.”

She glanced down at her body, suddenly remembering why she’d slept in her stays. “Thank you.”

“The earl told me ye might not remember what ’appened last night. There was a danger ye’d turn feverish after all ye’d endured, and ’e instructed me to be ready with dry clothing when ye awoke.”

“How long has he been gone?” she asked, suddenly eager to see Markwick, to reassure herself that he was all right and thank him properly for saving her life.

Jane bit her lip. “I do not know. I’ve been watchin’ over ye ever since ’e left, though.”

Chloe reached out of the coverlet for Jane’s fingers, grasping them tightly. “You are too good for me, Jane, the way you watch over me with such great care. How terribly naive and reckless you must think me.”

“Nonsense. ’Tis my job to go wherever ye go.” Jane smiled, her straight teeth brightening her face. “I know my place rightly enough.”

“Who’s speaking nonsense now?” Chloe sat up and turned her legs to the side of the box bunk. She glanced about the cabin and gasped. Her clothing hung over various objects to dry. “You see? How kind and thoughtful you are. Thank you for tending to my wet things.”

Jane’s brows knit together. “I didn’t do that, m’lady.”

“Then who—” Her voice squeaked as reality sunk in.

Markwick?

Jane lifted Chloe’s gown and began to place it over her head. “It may smell of sea salt and musk, but it’s better than wearing nothing at all.”

“Wait,” she said, thinking of something better.

“For what? Ye will catch a chill, ye will. The sooner ye put on clothes, the better.”

“It would be better for both of us if I dressed as a man.”

“Better ’ow?” Jane said, knitting her brows together. “Or did ye forget you’re a lady?”

“A lady cannot protect herself in skirts,” she protested, slipping her legs over the edge of the bunk so she could stand. “There will be plenty of opportunity to behave like a lady when we make port. Now come. I saw Markwick get clothing out of that trunk. Let us find something to wear there that will enable us to move about more freely on the ship.”

Jane put her arm out to stop her. “Ye cannot be thinking what I think ye are thinking. It isn’t proper for a lady to wear trousers in public and in front of these men, no less. Ye must dress in the gown I saved for ye. Then I’ll have cook deliver victuals for us.”