Bound
by
Love
by
April Dawn
Breathless Press
Calgary, Alberta
www.breathlesspress.com
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or
persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Bound by Love
Copyright© 2010 April Dawn
Published by Breathless Press at Smashwords
ISBN: 978-1-926771-26-7
Cover Artist: Justyn Perry
Editor: Laura Kepner
All
rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced
electronically or in print without written permission, except in the
case of brief quotations
embodied in reviews.
Breathless Press
www.breathlesspress.com
To
my readers.
For having the courage to give a new author a chance.
Part One
Who could refrain, that had a heart to love,
And in that heart, courage to make love known?
— William Shakespeare, Macbeth, Act II Scene III
England, 1771
Chapter One
Clarissa Adderley crossed her arms over her chest and stomped her foot like a small child throwing a tantrum. She wouldn’t be forced into marrying anyone, especially not the disgusting, sweaty old man her father had chosen. Shuddering, she remembered his kiss on her hand. The moment his tongue touched her finger while her father stood by, unaware. The look in the man’s eyes sickened her so that she had to excuse herself to keep from being ill.
“No. I will not marry him!”
She stood with her father in his study after Arthur Drummond, the Earl of Seacrest, had left.
“You will marry him!”
The red vein on his forehead popped out as it always did when he was angry. “Chloe,” he began, speaking her nickname in a tone that he reserved for times when he wished her to do something unpleasant. “Lord Seacrest is an exceedingly influential man here in England, and your marriage will be very helpful to this household. He is highly regarded and has old money, which he will share gladly with family. Don’t you see there is no choice if we are to remain in this house?”
Her father, Charles Adderley, had rich tastes, but abhorred working. They lived off his extremely large inheritance for the first seventeen years of her life, but the money had started to run out. He’d been trying for more than two years since then to find her a rich suitor, though only a man he chose. Now he was selling most of her mother’s heirlooms to continue living in the style he wished. Even now, his freshly powdered wig and golden cane were the height of fashion. According to several of the gentlemen who had come to dine with them since her coming out—most old and lecherous suitors for her hand—her father smoked the finest tobacco and drank the finest liquor.
Chloe had been trying to explain the sort of man the earl was, but her father had continually refused to let her speak against him. He could be quite obstinate when he wished to. Her angry glare scanned the nearly empty room and landed on her father’s gaudy new cane.
“You could sell one of your fine gold and gem encrusted canes. How about a few less trips to the coffee house? You strut around here like a peacock while you sell all of Mother’s things.”
She scarcely saw his hand when pain burst through her skull. Falling back to the floor, she clutched her swelling jaw. Her father grabbed her by her hair, dragged her up the stairs to her room, and shoved her inside.
“You will marry who I say, when I say. You understand?”
Her maid, Hannah, ran up the stairs and into the room apparently having heard the commotion.
“Hannah,” her father yelled, his face as red as a beet. “You leave her be. She shall get no food or comfort tonight.” Turning to Chloe, he bellowed, “Not until she comes to her senses!”
The door closed, and she heard the key slide into the lock. She threw herself on the ornate canopy bed and cried herself to sleep.
The next morning, she woke to find a small cloth filled with nuts and berries pushed under her door, which she knew Hannah must have put there for her. The kind woman had been her maid as long as she could remember. Chloe’s mother died when she was young, and Hannah, despite being so close to her in age, became her second mother.
Chloe knew that Hannah loved her like a mother loves her daughter, but she could do nothing to save Chloe from her father when he got in his moods. The first time her father had hit her and locked her in her room, she was there for close to two days. Hannah convinced the stable hand, Robert, to climb the trellis with a satchel full of food so that she would not be hungry. She smiled at the bittersweet memory. Now, it was usual for her father to become angry and lock her in. They even had a code for the things she needed.
Since the money had run out, her father had become more and more violent. He’d never struck her in the face before. More often than not, he pulled hair or hit her body. He was always concerned about visible bruises that might mar her beauty and lose valuable suitors.
She rubbed her swelling jaw as if she needed to prove to herself that it had actually happened. Popping a sweet berry in her mouth, she cringed. It hurt to chew, but she was famished.
She knew he would not come back for her for days, and he hardly ever brought her meals when he locked her in. Isolation and starvation were her main punishments when she defied him.
Three days had gone by, and she was dismayed that her father did not come to her room. She’d begun to wonder if he ever would when the door opened. Hannah and Robert entered, carrying a tub and buckets of fresh, hot water. Hannah slipped her a warm smile, without a doubt meant to comfort. After they filled the bath, they left to fetch more water for her basin.
Chloe’s father stood outside the door as they went about their business, a strange gleam shining in his eyes. When the basin was filled, her father spoke to Robert and Hannah, his eyes never leaving Chloe.
“You may leave us.”
Robert left, but Hannah started to speak. Her father silenced Hannah with a harsh glare.
“You may leave us. You are to bring my dinner to my study tonight. If you wish to speak, you may do so then.”
A strange moment passed between them, but Chloe couldn’t determine what it meant. Her father smiled and Hannah’s eyes widened, then she whirled around and hurried after Robert.
After they left the room, her father advanced, and she straightened, not wanting to retreat.
“You will bathe. Your fiancé will be here this very day to discuss your betrothal, and you will behave.”
“Father, I will not—”
“You will do as you are told, or you’ll not leave this room and you’ll not eat.”
He left, locking the door behind him.
She stared at the closed door. The nerve of him! Her father acted as if she were one of her mother’s heirlooms. This was the 1770s, yet men still bought and sold their daughters. Well, not her! If only she were born in another part of the world. A place where women were not considered chattel, where they were honored for their knowledge, not shunned for it, and where fathers did not try to bribe their daughters with the first warm bath allowed them in days.
He wanted to play games—she could play too. She stomped over to the tub, looking at the comforting water. The steam was so inviting. She touched the warm, silky surface with her finger; she would not give in...
But she would bathe.
Chloe stood as her father came to her room a while later with Hannah and Robert. He ordered them to take the tub, then turned back to her, scanning the light brown muslin gown that she’d donned. Her fingers slipped over the fabric of the long skirts, causing a small strand of dark brown silk to ripple across the bottom…
“You look fetching, my daughter. You will capture the earl’s heart before he leaves here this day.”
She found herself disturbed by the light in his eyes, though she did not know why. “I have no intent to capture his heart, nor do I wish to leave this room. I simply bathed because you allowed me water. I still will not marry that man. I will not change my mind no matter the consequence.”
Her father stormed to where she stood, pressing her against the poster of the bed, and raised his fist. When she did not flinch, he stuck his finger one inch from her nose and yelled. “We shall see, Clarissa... You’ll not leave this room until you agree to marry him. There will be no more food, nor shall you receive any additional water. You’ll change your tune in a few days, when there is no water to drink.”
He smirked at Chloe before he left, locking the door behind him.
Her father refused to unlock the door until she agreed with his terms. He was not a man to back down when challenged.
She would not give in! The way that the awful old man had stared at her. She shivered at the thought of him—his tongue on her fingers. Impulsively, she wiped the back of her hand on her skirts, trying to rid her memory of it.
Stepping to the basin, she filled the bowl and put her hands into the cool water. She drank some and used the rest to wash her face. Gazing out the window at the horizon, she wondered what secrets it held. Then it came to her. She would sneak out and go to live with her grandmother in Italy, just until her father came to his senses.
She’d been there a few times as a young girl. Her last visit had been on her eighth birthday, just before her mother died. She remembered that her grandmother lived in Naples, in a three-story house with vast gardens and winged cherubs painted on the ceilings. Chloe hoped that it wouldn’t be difficult to find her. Naples was a big place. Her name was Beatrice Leonardo, but Chloe had always called her Nannabe.
Nannabe was very kind to her; she always had a treat and a charming smile. Grandfather died long ago when his horse threw him, and she never remarried because she’d loved him too much. Since his death, no man had run her house—she had done it herself. If anyone would understand Chloe’s feelings, it would be Nannabe.
She brought out the basic necessities she would need for the trip and the few things of value she managed to hide from her father: her mother’s bejeweled hairbrush, three fancy combs, and a coin purse containing a small sum. Then she took the money from the coin purse and shoved it in the front of her chemise, next to her heart. The rest she wrapped in the skirts of two dresses. She was bundling them neatly when she heard a noise at the door and hastily shoved them under her bed. If her father came in to once again pose his ultimatum, he would find her valuables. She would have nothing to sell to pay for the travel, and worse yet, he would take her mother’s brush.
Her fondest memories of her mother were of the days they sat in her room in front of the elegant mirror dusted with diamonds. Mother often told her stories and silly jokes while she brushed her beautiful raven-colored hair. Then she would tell Chloe to sit and do the same, praising her loveliness. Her father sold most everything of value, but he hadn’t been able to find the brush.
Chloe mirrored her mother’s deep black hair and violet eyes, a rare and lovely combination. However, her skin was white like milk, whereas her mother had been dark and obviously Italian. The thoughts of her mother misted her eyes as she heard another noise at the door.
Guessing it to be Hannah, because the door had not yet opened, she went to it. A cloth filled with berries slid in from underneath. She put her mouth close to the crack beneath the door and whispered “Hannah? Is that you?”
“It’s me, Chloe. Are you all right?”
She could hear the care and concern in her voice. Swallowing hard, she prayed Hannah would understand what she must do tonight.
“Do you light the candles in the garden this eve?”
This was their code that told Hannah to bring a basket of food to the garden, which she would under usual circumstances hoist into her room, but this time Chloe meant to meet her in the garden.
“Yes, sweet, just after nightfall.”
She sat back, thinking of the night ahead and knew Hannah would understand. Maybe she wouldn’t like it, but she would understand and help. Chloe hurried back to the elegant cherrywood wardrobe to complete her packing. Her heart was glad to be free, and yet she was melancholy at the thought of leaving her home.
Chloe watched the sun nearing the horizon. She changed into a plain gray dress, perfect for traveling, though not the height of style. Piling her hair high on her head, she hoped it would help her appear older. She pressed some of the berries Hannah brought to her lips and cheeks to give her the appearance of color. Surveying her form, she noted her slim hips and small bust, forced to appear larger by the whalebone bodice that pushed in her already slender waist. She looked like a school marm with her hair pulled so tight.
Chloe decided she would go to find a passenger ship in the dock and try to trade the money and silver hairpins for passage. There would without doubt be a ship leaving soon. The thought was more of a fervent hope, because she knew if there were no ships, her father might come for her before she could leave. She would tell the captain she was a governess going to meet her charge so it would not seem as inappropriate that she did not have a chaperone. The ship’s captain would certainly ask that she confine herself to her room, but she would be aboard and that was the important part.
Facing the window, she looked out at the spectacular rainbow in the sky. Plymouth always appeared so healthy and clean after it rained. She gazed at the hedge maze just beyond the garden. While playing there as a child, she would get lost for hours, enjoying the quiet and serenity. Throwing tea parties with Hannah and several dolls in its center had been one of her favorite pastimes. Some days the maid would just sit with her in the garden telling her stories of true love and knights fighting dragons. Hannah had stopped telling those stories a little after Chloe’s mother died.
A tear ran down her cheek at the thought of leaving the good-hearted woman whom she loved so much and the only home she had ever known. She told herself it was for the best, and her father would come around to the earl’s true nature soon enough as he had with all the others.
The sun disappeared behind the hills and darkness covered the ground like thick ink in the moonless night. Finally, Hannah came into the garden carrying a satchel in one hand and a candle in the other. Praying without a sound that all would be well, Chloe started down the trellis trying to keep her skirts out of the way.
Hannah came into the garden, gaping up at the window where Chloe stood. Never had she seen Charles Adderley, the Viscount of Winterbrook, so angry as when he’d left Chloe’s room that day. At least not since...
Poor Chloe, the child always took the brunt of his anger. Chloe had been locked in many times, and Hannah always made sure to bring her food and water so that she would remain healthy, but she worried that the master would catch her. He’d become a cruel man after Violet’s untimely death.
Chloe climbed out the window and began to descend the wooden latticework. Hannah ran over to help her lower herself to the ground.
“Chloe, you’re going to break your neck if you climb down the trellis like that,” she scolded in a whisper.
“That will be the last time, Hannah.” She paused to straighten her skirts. “I’m leaving.” She smiled and took the satchel Hannah had filled full of berries, nuts, and bread.
The words hit Hannah like a runaway horse. Leaving... Was she mad? She couldn’t leave. Where would she go? How would she protect Chloe if she left?
“You better not be doing something improper, or I’ll not help you.” Hannah tried to hide her fear behind a stern facade.
“I am going to live with my grandmother in Italy. I cannot stay here any longer. Father becomes worse by the day, and now he wishes me to marry that great bag of wind, Lord Seacrest. Sarah said the man had to pay an exorbitant sum of money to his last bride’s family after he hurt her badly, causing her to die. Now he wants to wed me. Well I cannot and shall not do it.”
Hannah gawked at her with disbelief and began to question her. Chloe told her the plan with such confidence that she couldn’t seem to think of a flaw. She always could make Hannah see things her way. On many occasions as a child, Chloe convinced her to remove the punishments she required. Chloe had a silver tongue that unfortunately, didn’t work on her father. He’d changed and most likely would never revert, though Hannah often wondered if the man he had once been had truly existed.
When Chloe was done, she nodded slowly and said, “All right, if you’ve made up your mind I’ll just get my things, and we’ll be on our way.”
As she began to turn, Chloe stopped her.
“I need you to stay here, Hannah. When I reach my grandmother’s I will send word to Robert, and you can both come to live with us.”
“Clarissa Anne Adderley, you can’t go without a chaperone, it is improper and unsafe. I insist on coming with you if you are to go.”
Chloe sighed. “Hannah, if Father wakes to find you missing he may come to question me about where you’ve gone off to. I need you to stay so that I will have time to get away. Please, Hannah, you must help me. If you stay, Father may not come to my room for days, but if you are gone... I will be safe. I will go straight to the docks and get on the ship. I promise.”
Hannah had a promise to keep as well. Staring at the ground, she fingered her skirts thoughtfully. She didn’t want to stay without her, but Chloe was right. If she stayed, she could give her more time, but how could she let this poor thing go out into the night without any help? Hating to make the decision, she knew she must allow her to leave.
She smiled at Chloe.
“You be careful now. I’ll send Robert to take you to the docks and see that you’re safe.”
Chapter Two
Chloe smiled at Hannah. She was a sweet woman and positively lovely. The maid had been quite young when she’d become Chloe’s nursemaid—only eight years her senior. Her hair the beautiful color of the noonday sun and sky blue eyes sat on fields of freckles. When she smiled, it lit up her eyes like twin candles, which could shine through any gloom. Small of frame, with ample hips and bosom, Hannah emanated a fresh, sweet scent, perhaps of carnations. She seemed very much the opposite of Chloe.
Tucking a midnight colored tendril back into her bun, Chloe surveyed her own slender build. Her smaller breasts and hips were not impressive. Her face, free from the freckles and dimples of the other, and her lighter complexion, made her full rosy lips stand out against her skin. They were like night and day, both rich in fragrance and beauty, but in very different ways.
She took one last look at her father’s estate. She would miss it and her father as well. Even though he had never been demonstrative with his affection, and the anguish of her mother’s death had changed him so, she still remembered the man who would play games with her mother and her. The man who would accompany them on shopping trips, carrying the packages when the servants were too laden with them, then would pretend as if they were going to fall, stepping back and forth as if trying to balance them all. They would laugh so hard at his silly play that they would just about cry.
A smile touched her lips even as tears filled her eyes, but she blinked them back. She must leave, she knew, if only for a short while. Chloe looked more like her mother each day. It was hard for her father, who had found it quite difficult to be around her since her mother’s death. Her father would see reason, with a little distance.
Together she and Hannah went to find Robert. He had just finished with the horses for the day when they approached. His leaf green eyes lit up when he saw them, which made Chloe smile. Robert always seemed so happy with Hannah and she around him. They smiled at each other quickly, and Hannah blushed and glanced away. Chloe wanted to giggle when they acted like this. He strode to where they stood and bowed with a formal kiss to Hannah’s hand. Chloe stifled a laugh when she blushed again. They made quite a handsome couple; his red hair an attractive sight next to her blonde hair. He stood almost a head taller than Hannah, and tending the horses made him strong and broad, whereas she was small and soft.
“What can I, a lowly stable hand, do for the two most radiant beauties in the land?” he asked with a soft Irish lilt.
“I need you to escort Chloe to the docks, Robert.”
She marked the surprise and concern on his rugged sun-darkened features as Hannah told him the story of what her father had said. His muscles tensed under his shirt as if they would explode. When they explained what they planned to do, he took Hannah aside.
Chloe watched them discuss it in the corner of the barn. She smiled when she heard Robert’s accent thicken. Hannah said his accent thickened whenever he was angry… Or amorous. After some time, she leaned over and kissed him tenderly on the cheek. Chloe knew they had won the argument.
The docks were very close to the house so she decided to walk rather than ready the carriage that Robert had just dismantled for the evening. He tried to get her to take it but she wouldn’t hear of it and threatened to leave without him.
“It will be late when you return, and I’ll not be the one to make you repeat your nightly chores.”
When he nodded, she put her arms around Hannah’s shoulders and said her good-byes. Tears welled in her eyes, but she blinked them back and saw that Hannah did the same.
Hannah looked at her and said in a despairing tone, “Godspeed, sweeting.”
Chloe tried to appear as brave and sure. “I will send word soon as I can. I promise.”
She went to Robert’s side, waving one more farewell as they left.
Robert was silent as he escorted her to the docks. He disapproved, but she had to go. The arguing was done. When they were in sight of a big passenger ship, she faced him.
“You should head back, I will go the rest of the way myself.”
“I’ll take you to the plank and watch you board.”
“No,” she said in a tone that told him she wouldn’t bend.
“It is late enough that it shall be morning when you get back if you don’t go now. You need your rest, and I can see the guard on the deck. I’ll be fine.”
He began to protest, to tell her he should stay on, but realized that he could not argue with this spirited young woman. She was as stubborn as his dearest Hannah.
He inspected the docks for possible trouble. He could see no one on them except for the guard at the top of the superb passenger ship’s gangplank. The man had a small lantern, which lit up most of the plank and some of the deck. The ship loomed, enormous and would be, he was sure, a safe place for her. They were close enough that she would be safe walking the rest of the way as long as she held her candle so that the guard could see her.
“You take care of yourself, lass, and we’ll see you at your Nannabe’s house.”
He gave her a quick hug and lit the extra candle he had brought for her. He smiled in a reassuring way and swung around to head back to the house and Hannah’s sweet embrace.
Chloe stepped swiftly toward the passenger ship, intent on boarding with all haste and getting a room for the night. She stepped around some barrels that were surely to be loaded onto a nearby ship and heard a voice beside her.
“Well see here, boys. What’re you doin’ out here all by yourself, girlie? Don’t you know sea folks is dangerous?”
He hooted—a hard laugh that made her want to run. She tried to ignore him and walk faster, because she wasn’t far from the tall ship and safety.
He reached out to her and caught her wrist, yanking her to him as he put a filthy hand over her mouth. The quick movement made her hair fall around her shoulders as the ribbons and pins burst free. Her candle dropped and extinguished, and the bag flew from her hand. It hit the barrels and landed on the ground nearby. All of a sudden, she found herself alone in the dark with these three blackguards.
“Don’t go fightin’ now. We just want a coin or two to ease our night.”
She fought back the bile as he pressed her to his fetid body. Looking from the two men who were with him to the spot where the guard stood only moments ago, she considered screaming. If she could get his attention, she might be saved.
Her heart sank in her chest when she realized that she couldn’t see him anymore. Her mind raced. Robert wouldn’t see her should he glance back, because the barrel blocked the way, and it was so very dark. The candle might have saved her, but it could not be found.
“Where’s her bag? I can’t find it,” came a call from one of the other two. The man who held her pressed her closer to him. His stench overwhelmed her.
“Where’s your money, girlie? Is it in the bag, or did you hide it in your dress? Help me look, boys.”
He let go of her hand and grabbed roughly at her breast, pinching and tugging so hard that she cried out against his hand. She tried to pry his hand away, but he was too strong. Her eyes had just begun to adjust to the dark when she realized the other two men were walking around to the front of her to grab her legs.
In that moment, she knew there was no one to save her, and she would fight until she had no strength left. She’d never been in a situation that called for her to be physically violent before… Never even fought back against her father’s abuse… But if she followed her instincts, she might be able to do some damage.
Chloe lashed out, kicking the man who tried to grab her right leg. He fell back slightly and covered his eye, cursing. The man on the left managed to grab her leg and jerked her off her feet. The attacker behind her sat his knees on her arms to keep her still.
This was her own fault. She should have let Robert accompany her all the way to the ship.
Rough hands tugged at her skirts and groped painfully at her sore breasts and waist. Fingernails scraped her thighs, and a small trickle of blood ran from one of the deeper cuts. She was about to be robbed and perhaps ravaged by three sweaty, repulsive men whom she couldn’t see clearly, and it was all her fault.
The man behind her found the money she had stashed in her bodice and whooped in glee.
“I got her money. Let’s go afore we’re seen.”
The man that sat on her stood, releasing her arms.
One of the men groaned and began to speak as though what he said was very important to this group of mangy men.
“That whore kicked me in my eye. I say we take her. I’m gonna make her pay.” He raged as he shoved her skirts up. She kicked at the man holding her leg, but he just grabbed her other leg so that he held one slim white ankle in each hand. He held her legs wide for the assailant who now slid between them.
“I don’t want to be rapin’ women. We got the money, now let’s be off,” said the man who had just moved off her arms.
The smell of sweat, salt, and fish filled her nostrils and made her want to retch.
“If I don’t get her, then I’m gonna want more money for my pains.”
The man between her legs moved his hand toward her as he spoke. Humiliation flowed through her like a deluge of water from a broken tub. The obsidian black of night was so complete she couldn’t see his face clearly, but she knew he wanted revenge. She bit at the man who leaned over her as she pummeled his chest and face with her hands.
Having never before fought back bodily, she wasn’t sure where to strike that would cause pain. Society dictated that it was improper for a lady to fight, but if these rancid, detestable creatures were going to touch her... Wrenching her foot free, she kicked the man who knelt holding her. The wild arc of her foot swinging upward connected with his body at the apex of his slightly spread legs. The strike was not hard, but still he toppled onto her, clutching his wound and a fierce growl came from him.
She could see that her kick had hurt him terribly, and he planned to hurt her just as bad, if not worse. Her fear or perhaps her anger gave her a strength she did not normally possess. She pulled herself free of the strong hands of the antagonist that held her.
Captain Darion Bannon sat on the deck looking at the stars and plotting the course they would take. He loved the sea… The smell of salt in the air, the sound of the waves, the constant risks. Why, even now they were at risk: if anyone knew who he was he would be hanged. Of course, he had standing arrangements in case he was ever caught, but the threat still lingered. He stood, glancing up at the British flag, which waved above him, and laughed. When he had received his special orders, he had been given a flag for every port. Until time came for the Son’s of Liberty to fly the official flag, a very special one flew: the one they used when they intended to relieve the king of some of his booty: the fearsome flag of the Red Devil. His crew and he were beginning to make a name for themselves.
He reached up to sweep the black hair from his forehead as he headed for the dock, and his hand came to rest on the scar that ran through his left eyebrow. It was no wonder he was gaining such notoriety. The scar, along with his deep ebony hair, gave him a menacing glare. His cinnamon colored eyes, though often called beautiful, were filled with a dangerous light. There was also the troubling fact that when crossed, he had an even more dangerous disposition.
He’d just turned his gaze back to the stars when he heard something. A muffled sound came from the darkness beyond, and then a man cursed. He squinted at a stack of barrels, from behind which the sound came and stepped toward them. As he rounded the corner, he couldn’t tell exactly what was happening. At first, he noticed someone crouched on the ground, then realized there were several people. A slender woman struggled under them. He drew his guns as a man screamed and slammed his fist into the woman’s face with a force that would have flattened a grown man.
“That stupid whore. She’s gonna pay!” The man growled.
“I don’t think that would be wise,” Captain Bannon said firmly. “You see, I’m a rather good shot.”
There was no need to threaten the men again. The moment they heard a voice, they released their unconscious captive and ran, leaving the oblivious woman in a heap.
Darion had no idea what to do with her. He couldn’t just leave her here. They would just come back, and she would be defenseless. He must take her with him to ensure her safety.
Picking up the unconscious woman, he started toward his ship. Poor little whore had probably gotten mad when they refused to pay. Well, she must to make due with the next port because they would sail at dawn. With the blow she received, she doubtless wouldn’t be conscious yet. At least there would be some entertainment for the voyage, and she would earn some money.
Chapter Three
Chloe awoke with an awful pain throbbing in her jaw. Rubbing her swollen cheek gingerly, she hoped that her jaw wasn’t broken. She stretched under the covers a little when she suddenly realized she wore nothing beneath them. Her eyes opened, and the memories revisited her.
The men, the dark, the hands...
She ached all over, and long scratches covered her legs. Someone had cleaned and dressed her wounds. Looking around the room, she expected to see one of the men, but she was alone. A rippling sensation told her she must be on a ship. Those horrible men had taken her to their ship. Her head spun from the speed with which things were changing and the blow she’d taken. Standing, she wrapped the sheet around herself, and all at once, the need to sit down overwhelmed her again. The tossing of the ship to and fro made her nauseated.
Glancing around, she hoped to find her clothes nearby. When she didn’t see them, she went to the small window to peer out at the dock. She cried out when she realized they had sailed and land was nowhere in sight. If only she’d just married Lord Seacrest she wouldn’t be in this mess.
Tears welled in her eyes. She would never see Hannah or Robert again. A small sob shuddered through her as she recalled the moment she said goodbye to them. She would miss them both, and they would never know what had become of her. She would
even miss her father. He wasn’t a bad man, just determined to make their lives the best they could be. And he only hit her when he was very angry, or sad about her mother’s death.
She knew she would in all likelihood be killed, or used until they no longer wanted her. Perhaps she would be sold into slavery. Her heart felt as if it would beat out of her chest. She would not let them. Eyes scanning the room, she searched for something to protect herself with. They might come back at any moment.
Surprise filled her as she noted the cleanliness of the room. Such brutal men would be expected to fill a room like this with bloody souvenirs from all the men they had no doubt killed. Instead, it was rather empty with just a few furnishings scattered about. There were two doors to the room, and after checking both, she discovered them locked securely. The soft bed sat in the middle as if the whole room revolved around it, like a great wooden altar on which virgins were sacrificed. A massive trunk sat at the foot of the bed. The wonderful craftsmanship amazed her. It was intricately carved with sweeping waves and birds in flight.
A small table in the corner held a bowl and pitcher. A common mirror and a cup for shaving were the only items with no hint of luxury. She was unable to find the razor or knife he must use to shave, so she continued her search without delay. A desk sat in the corner of the room. It had several small drawers down the side and one long drawer across the top. Two heavy wooden chairs sat next to the desk.
She searched through the desk and found a small knife in the bottom drawer. Taking it, she ran a finger along the edge. It was sharp. Sharp enough to kill anyone who tried to come to her...
Or, herself if necessary.
The weapon was superb. Angels were intricately carved into the ivory handle, which connected to a small blade that appeared to have a rainbow running through it. She stood, admiring the beauty of the angel-handled knife she might later kill herself with. The irony left a bitter taste in her mouth.
Hearing the sound of heavy boots drawing near to the door, Chloe ran to the bed. Quickly, she covered herself with the blanket and thrust the blade into the folds. She closed her eyes as she heard the soft clicking of a key entering the lock as though it were telling the story of her doom. Her ragged breathing seemed too loud. She held her breath.
She heard someone come in, and the door locked again. She continued to be patient, her pulse went wild, but she remained still. Finally footsteps came toward her, and a hand touched her face softly.
Now or never!
Chloe slid the knife out of the covers as quick as she could. The covers fell away from her breasts, exposing them to the cold air. The peaks went rigid, and a blush covered her skin. Ignoring this fact as best she could, she thrust the tip of the blade against his throat.
Gasping as she met the eyes of the man in front of her, Chloe peered into two dark pits that were sucking her in. Her eyes left his and glanced over the rest of him. He was not what she had expected.
She thought that she would be faced with a repulsive, putrid seaman with dirty hair and a long beard, perhaps even an eye patch. She was alarmed at his clean clothes and rugged, yet handsome appearance. A scar above his eye gave the impression he wasn’t someone to toy with. He was clean-shaven and appeared to be freshly scrubbed. A very masculine smell emanated from him, like salt, leather and sweat. It made her want to put her nose to his skin and breathe deep.
She chided herself inwardly for the wicked thought. Trying not to show the fear and excitement racing through her, she took a breath. She amazed herself as she held the knife steadily in her hands.
“Release me right now or I shall slice your throat, you cad. I’ll not accept your hands on me again.”
“You sure are a feisty little trollop.” He perused her with an infuriating smirk. “Put down the knife. I intend to pay when I have need of your services.”
She tried to appear confident, ignoring his words. “Give me my clothes, take me to the dock, and let me go, or I’ll kill you!”
Her unflinching eyes stared into his. Heart pounding as though it would erupt from her chest and flee from the room, she tried to breathe steadily. Her hand shook slightly with the dread that coursed through her veins. She was not certain what scared her more, that she was at his mercy, or that she found the thought exhilarating.
He ogled her exposed breasts. “I rather like you like this.” He smirked.
How dare he stare at her in this indecent manner. Chloe glanced down for a second to jerk the sheet up around herself, realizing her mistake at once. He grabbed her hand and twisted. The knife slipped from her grasp.
Wrenching her other hand back, he held them behind her, forcing her breasts into his chest. The friction of her nipples against the rough material of his shirt sent waves of pleasure through her. She struggled to get away, not just from the man, but from the feelings. They confused her and drew her mind from her struggles.
He pulled her up with him as he stood, the hard length of him pressing against her softness. The blanket fell away, exposing the rest of her ivory body. She strained to keep her legs together in an attempt to protect her vulnerability.
He towered over her; the top of her head came well below his chin. Stronger also, much stronger than he seemed. His lankiness was a facade, for the muscles bulged under his shirt as he held her in a vice-like grip. Dragging her with him as though she were a rag doll, he shook his head resolutely.
“You want to play a game, harlot? Good, we’ll play.”
“I’m no —”
“I’ll listen to none of your nonsense, harlot. If this is the way you want to play that is fine, but we do it in silence. I will not share you with my men yet. You are mine, until I am done with you.”
“But I—”
“Quiet. Or I will gag you.”
She kicked his knee as he jerked her forward with him and tried with all her strength to push herself away. He ignored her flailing so she leaned forward to bite him, sinking her teeth into his upper arm hard as she could. His thick coat seemed to stop any pain she might have caused because he didn’t look as if he noticed.
“Let me give you some words of warning. Your loveliness is pleasing, but this vicious game will leave you scarred if you play it with my men.”
He brought her to the desk, opening the drawer. She moved her face to the side when he leaned forward to grab a handkerchief in the desk behind her. The feel of his breath fanning her neck sent a shiver down her spine.
Her body responded as if she were a wanton harlot, it was no surprise that he thought it of her. Heat spread in the pit of her stomach as his scent and the feel of him overwhelmed her senses. She wanted to scream, to get away from his strong, warm flesh. Clenching her jaw and ignoring he pain that shot through it, she still did not scream. She knew it would bring him help and her more trouble. He held her, even as she pushed weakly at his chest he did not move. Leaning in to kiss her, he seized her chin so she could not twist away as his mouth came down on hers.
She expected the kiss to be brutal and cruel, and she stiffened against it. Her eyes flew up in surprise as his lips touched hers gently, tenderly. Shock took her breath as his lips began to build a bonfire in the core of her. Sinking into the kiss, she forgot for a moment to struggle. Her mind soared as his tongue darted into her mouth. Never had a man kissed her like this before. He held her chin as his tongue explored her mouth thoroughly. Her knees sagged a little, and she fell against his solid, muscular chest. His hand slipped from her chin, flowed across her like water and slid around her waist. The movement broke the spell she was under, and she pulled away from him. She gazed into his eyes, which seemed to twinkle at the center as if he were laughing at her. Ashamed of her reaction to his kiss, she tried to bite him. This time she stood on her toes attempting to reach his neck. She came up short and buried her teeth into his shoulder. Again, the coat protected him from the sharp sting.
“I see you are anxious to get started, but I must insist you use this.” He shoved the handkerchief toward her mouth, but she quickly closed it. “I like my whores feisty, but not that feisty.”
“I am—” The gag moved toward her mouth fast, but she closed it for good this time.
She continued to kick him as he tossed her onto the bed. The look in his eyes alarmed her. It seemed as if his eyes were trying to swallow her, the same ravenous way that a hungry man would swallow a meal. She could not tear her eyes from his as they traveled the length of her at a snail’s pace, pausing in all the valleys and peaks. The desire in his eyes scared her so that she jumped into action. Moving swiftly, she tried to scramble off the bed. She had been hoping to catch him off guard, but he caught her leg and jerked her back.
“Doesn’t the game ever end for you? I told you that I intend to pay.” He reached into his pocket with his free hand and tugged a small fortune from it, throwing it onto the table next to the bed.
He actually thought her a common strumpet. Oh God, maybe she had already been sold and this man was to be her first customer! She clenched her teeth, hoping to keep herself quiet and avoid the gag.
She had heard such stories when she would receive a visit from her friend. Sarah would drag her from the table, and they would run to the center of the hedge maze. They sat for hours, giggling about men, and exchange gossip they heard old women of society spreading. Sometimes Sarah would tell her horrible tales of the people who went to the British-Americas and were accosted by Indians or taken prisoner. She told her of the Arab sheiks who took women for their harem and of men and women abducted and sold as slaves to be used for the pleasure of their masters.
The thought made her quake. She would not make it easy for him, but instead do everything in her power to be free. The stories might not be true, but she did not wish to find out this way.
Her arms were pressed above her, so she whipped her leg out and tried to kick him.
“All right, if that is the way you really like it.” He shook his head.
She struggled as he threw his heavy leg over both of hers to keep them immobile as he grabbed the knife from the bed where it landed.
Oh God. He was going to kill her.
She scooted on the bed, not knowing how to get away. One leg slipped loose, and she attacked him with the strongest kicks she could manage. The knife dropped onto the table where he tossed it with his free hand, causing Chloe to expel her breath in relief.
Her skin burned, as he spread her legs before him. She tried to curl herself into a sitting position but her strength was almost gone. It seemed she had spent every waking moment fighting one scoundrel after another. She hadn’t eaten enough food to support this kind of never-ending battle.
His other hand began to explore the path his eyes had taken only moments before. His damnably persuasive hand caressed her neck, gently rubbing along her swollen cheek. Fingers moving lower, he blazed a trail of fire down her skin to the soft swell of her breast. His fingertips circled her hardening nipple as if they were marking a bull’s-eye. Then his mouth swept down to claim the center like a marksman’s arrow. A rush of pleasure swept through her as his lips brushed the tender, swelling peak. The surprise of her reaction seemed like a slap in the face. Her body reacted to his like the wanton strumpet he claimed her to be, and she was helpless to stop it.
She felt a tingling begin between her legs and closed her eyes, trying to block out the sensation of his mouth on her nipple. His hand closed over her other breast, and she thought about how perfectly it fit against the soft flesh. Her face heating further, she wondered where the wicked thoughts were coming from.
He moved to the other nipple, his hand sliding over her, caressing her stomach. As his fingernails lightly scratched her skin, a moan came from deep in her throat. Her skin melted from the heat of his touch as he continued down her curves. The muscles of her stomach rippled under his caress. The minute his hand was low enough, she took her final shot and used the last of her strength to thrust him off her. Unfortunately, her captor pushed her back to the bed as if she were no more than a disobedient child.
She lay back, exhausted on the sheet as he revisited her tingling breast. No longer did she have the strength to fight him. She would not cry. He could take her body, but not her dignity.
She ignored the pleasure and prayed for the strength to follow through on her promise to herself. His fingers interlaced with hers as he used his arm to hold hers above her head. The other hand once again worked its way lower, until it found the thick patch of hair at the apex of her thighs. The moment his hand moved to touch her, there came a knock at the door.
“Go away,” he growled.
A voice called from the other side of the door. “Captain we got a bit of a problem. A ship is on the horizon, and she ain’t running no flag.”
The captain... A tear escaped her tightly closed eyelid, and she felt immense gratitude that he was staring at the door. Sarah had told her a story once of pirates stealing women from other ships and making them slaves. The captain would ravage and beat her. When he completed his deed, he would give her to the crew to use until they tired of her. She would be kept in a hole with the rats until they docked, and then they would throw her to the sharks or sell her to a brothel. Then she remembered his words to her. I will not share you with my men yet. You are mine, until I am finished with you. She trembled at the thought of a hundred foul-smelling, lascivious pirates having their way with her, one after the other.
“I’ll be back soon.” The captain got up with an angry snarl.
She watched him, eyes wide, as he grabbed the knife and was gone. The door locked tightly behind him. She tried to open the door, but to no avail. Every muscle in her was so tired that she could hardly stand any longer. After what seemed like hours of trying to think of anything she could do to improve her position, Chloe lay on her side in the bed. Realizing the hopelessness of the situation, she at last let herself cry. Once all her energy and tears were drained away, sleep mercifully came to claim her.
Chapter Four
Darion hated to leave in the middle of their game, and his loins ached with need. Those unfortunate men on the dock. It seemed he had interrupted their sport, when this violence seemed to be her way. It wasn’t his kind of game, and as a rule he had no taste for it, but the sumptuous young thing infatuated him. He remembered bringing her into his cabin under the cover of night. Her hair flowed like a waterfall down his arm, and her skin was flawless. Lust for her had overpowered him, more than ever when he had undressed her and cleaned her wounds, but he would not pleasure himself with an unconscious woman. When he set her on the bed, he thought he might have been wrong, maybe she wasn’t a whore.
Then he’d seen the healing bruise on her cheek. It was obviously a few days old, and her dress, though attractive, was not the newest style in London. In the course of his duties, he often took ships near France that carried weapons, and on occasion, some women’s clothes, and he hadn’t seen that style of ready-made dress in a long while.
Still, he was no expert in women’s clothes, save taking them off. There had also been rips and stains on the dress, but he couldn’t tell if they were old or new. Not to mention the fact that she traveled alone, with no trunks or bags. What woman would come onto a dock in the late evening with no chaperone and no trunks? The answer seemed simple: a strumpet out looking for a few coins.
As he stepped onto the deck, the wind hit his face, the smell of the salty breeze invigorating him. He saw Duncan Leavy, his first mate, standing at the wheel and walked to him. His stride was sure, as if he were born on the ocean, a part of it.
“Good evening, Captain. How is the lady?”
He gave Duncan a disapproving glare. He had told Duncan about the woman this morning and ordered him not to tell the men of her presence yet.
“If you inquire of her so loudly again, she will stay with me the whole voyage. I do not need the men at my door until I’m done with her.”
His friend stared at him a moment as if to speak, but seemed to decide against it. Duncan had been his mate for a long time now and knew of his temper when provoked. Still, laughter filled Duncan’s eyes at Darion’s lowered brows.
“Where is the ship you spoke of?” Darion searched the horizon, spying a vessel in the distance.
Darion did not wish to run a flag until the other ship did. The right flag must be flown, in order to avoid conflict, and he wanted to get back to the sensual little wench in his cabin. He could see her in his mind: her hair tousled from their wrestling, her full red lips swollen from his kisses, her unusual eyes full of passion and challenge. Desire gripped him stronger for her than it had for any other woman.
The ship came closer by the minute, and he prayed they would run a flag soon, or he would be forced to run the Red Devil flag and besiege the ship. It seemed to be a very small merchant ship, so his concern wasn’t capture, just the sweet lady in his room. His thoughts turned to her again as he remembered her breasts moving up and down slowly as she slept. Her smooth skin, the color of milk, complemented the beautiful black hair that flowed down her back like a river in the moonlight. Her lovely violet eyes, so full of defiance and desire. She was a mystery to him, a delicate ebon mystery he wanted to unravel.
He gazed back at the ship with relief; they were running a British flag.
“Run the British flag, and keep clear of them, we don’t want any delays.”
“Aye, Darion, should I have dinner sent in when it’s ready?”
He glanced at his friend and first mate and laughed.
“I think we will be far too busy for that.”
Chloe awoke to feel the bed move, and a man lay down next to her. She could smell the captain’s masculine scent. At first, she thought she could feign sleep, but his fingers roamed her form. He played with her hair, rubbing its dusky length between his finger and thumb. Then his hands began to travel. He touched her throat, his fingertips playing across her pulse. She knew he must have felt it quicken. His fingers slipped lower, running across the bones at the base of her neck, tracing them outward. Still lower, they brushed the sides of her breasts. Her nipples hardened in anticipation.
She held her breath, waiting for his mouth to claim the turgid peaks as it had before. His fingertips ran lightly around her breasts, then over the tops of her nipples. She sucked in air at the delightful sensations his hands induced. A need began to build somewhere inside her, but she wasn’t sure what it represented.
Perhaps she could just continue to feign sleep and allow the wonderful stimulation of her senses to develop into what it would. How easy it would be to lie there and think of nothing but enjoying his caress. Suddenly she realized she was acting like a harlot again. Her body was swearing fealty to him and ignoring her own wishes. What was it about this man that made her forget herself?
“No!”
She launched her foot, catching him so unprepared that he tumbled off the bed. He jumped up in a second, his eyes churning like dark storm clouds as fury welled. Then, cursing quietly, he landed upon her. She kicked him, trying to knock him off again, but this time he was ready. He caught her leg and hooked his own over it to hold it down. Kneeling between her spread legs, he grappled with his breeches and cursed at her. She pushed at his chest and bucked her hips striving to throw him off balance again, but he would not be detoured. He wrenched her arms above her, holding them in one of his to cease her struggles. His manhood sprang forward like a charging bull as he released it. Terror filled her at the sight of it. Never before had she seen a man in this way. His manhood was immense and rigid with thick veins running its length. She tried to scramble away, but her leg remained trapped under his, her arms held in his hand.