Defying a Pirate Page 7

  “Not subjugation, elevation.”

  “Elevation?” she said with a snort. “You really have a low opinion of women. I batter my eyes at you and I am elevated?”

  “That is not what I meant,” he said with wry amusement. His voice was disturbingly close; she could hear the deep timbre of it as he spoke. “Elevation as an equal. At the end of the day, is that not what men spend their lives searching for—an equal? And I am presenting you as mine—with pride.”

  Gemma couldn’t help but turn those words over in her head. On its own, without the context, his statement sounded almost romantic, like something a woman waited a long time to hear. But she could not forget that this was something he devised—a pretense. She didn’t really know what to say as she struggled not to get distracted by beliefs he obviously referred to.

  “How could there possibly be an equal relationship between two people when one is holding the other against their will?”

  “As I’ve said before, they’re pirates; they’re not that concerned with the details. Besides, shouldn’t a man do what he must to secure the woman who belongs next to him?”

  Gemma ignored the question; the answer was obviously no, wasn’t it? She didn’t want to explore that issue either.

  He stepped away from her and she turned to watch him as he went to attend to the placement of the sails in response to a slight shift in the wind. Watching him, she wondered what it was he sought in a woman. He had been very honest from the start—this was a pretense; he was not seeking his equal and if he was, she was pretty sure he didn’t see her as such.

  Turning away, she looked out at the sea. She had to focus on what she needed, to get back to London as quickly as possible. Nothing else mattered, or should matter.

  Gemma gained strength; her appetite returned even as the food got stodgier. It was definitely getting warmer and it wasn’t just in her head; her body was regaining the ability to regulate its own temperature better. And she no longer lost all her energy by simply walking.

  She didn’t mind the midday meal now; when the Cook would come in with the meal, then leave to inform James. She actually started to feel the need for more company as this voyage went on and she only really had one option—someone whose moods weren’t entirely predictable. Sometimes he would be relaxed and teasing, and other times he would be cold and distant. One of the men had angered him one day and the conversation had been sparse as a result.

  He wasn’t wearing his heavy leather coat during the days now. The weather was warm enough that he would wear just his plain linen shirt, which made him seem a little less forbidding.

  “Are we getting close to our destination?” she asked. “Where exactly are we going?”

  “Martinique.”

  “That’s French.”

  “Loosely. Parts of it. The French turn a blind eye to some of their inhabitants as long as their main economic activities are not interfered with. And the Royal Navy tread very carefully against the French; relations are too tense between England and France to go trudging through their territory—and that serves us quite well. The French are quietly welcoming of anyone who wants to plunder British ships.”

  “But the Caribbean is getting harder to sail?”

  “It is true that the Royal Navy is expanding their reach, making things more difficult, but there are also more of them and they are consequently getting more careless.”

  Gemma finished her meal and went to put things back on the tray. He would be returning to the quarterdeck for the afternoon. They seemed to have developed a routine of sorts.

  Stepping back from the table, her path was blocked unexpectedly. He was there and she hadn’t noticed that he’d moved behind her. He whipped her around and pulled her into a searing kiss. She felt his demanding lips on hers, seeking entry into her mouth. It was so unexpected, she hadn’t anticipated it. His tongue darted into her mouth tempting her with sweet sensations and warm promise as she felt her body flatten to his solid form. Heat flared inside her and her whole body felt like it was vibrating with some inner sense that was not affected by the untoward nature of what was happening. This kiss was quite unwelcome—mostly.

  The curious burning pressure in her didn’t relent even when he stepped away from her. She watched him in her stunned state when he stepped to her side and grabbed a piece of fruit from the tray.

  “You stole a kiss,” she stated. Her lips were bruised with the pressure of the kiss that he’d since withdrawn.

  “I do tend to steal things. I thought you understood that about me.”

  “We have a bet.”

  “And you have not given me your chastity yet,” he said with a smile. If his kiss had promise, the look he gave her now had even more so.

  “You cannot just go and kiss me.”

  “Why not?”

  “It’s...rude.”

  “Rude? How can a kiss be rude?”

  “Stealing is rude.”

  “I suppose we have then found one more of my numerous faults,” he said as he strode to the door.

  Gemma watched after him. She felt hot in this airless little cabin. He’d just grabbed her and kissed her and there was nothing she could do about it. She still felt the ghost of his lips on hers, felt his body along hers. This would not do. He couldn’t just go around and steal kisses from her, mainly for the reason that they undid her so. She felt passion in those kisses, something she’d always wanted to experience. She just didn’t want to feel them with him. He had no right in making her feel that way. How was she going to get on if he just stole kisses all the time? She carried on the protestations in her head for quite a while.

  The problem was that he unleashed some kind of longing in her—something that wanted that kiss, wanted what he was offering. She wanted to know where these feeling went, which was probably the foolish curiosity that had led many girls into trouble. She felt its call and her body ached with a dull want that settled low in her stomach.

  She couldn’t help the most unwelcome of images bouncing around her head. The way his sheet would ride down low on his stomach in the mornings as he slept, revealing his chest and trim stomach. She knew he would be warm if she touched him. She wanted to, but she didn’t dare. He would know and she would be in a world of trouble. She could not invite further exploration between them, especially now that she was starting to suspect that there was a point where she would not stop. And he would certainly not stop to preserve her chastity.

  She’d never realized she would actually be in a position where stopping herself would be hard; would require effort. She had never strictly been interested in exploring men’s bodies. It had just never seemed like something she’d particularly craved for, but it was different now. Somehow he’d awakened a craving in her with his inappropriate kisses. Admittedly the first one, she had initiated, but it hadn’t turned out as she’d expected. She’d never anticipated she would be standing here marvelling at his form. She had to get a grip on herself.

  He was doing this for money, she repeated to herself. He’d said so himself—she had incentivized him to seduce her and that was what he was doing. She had to stop being affected by it. Her dowry was the ticket to her future and she could not categorically be waylaid by mere kisses or whatever else he promised.

  Chapter 12

  When he slept was the only time she felt comfortable looking at him. And it wasn’t as if he made it hard, he was there for her to see—not covered as a man should be. She thought resentfully of his insistence to disregard all the rules. Her presence here was a consequence of his flagrant disregard for everything that was proper and decent. But the worst was her own reaction to his kisses. And he dared steal a kiss.

  What right did he have to tempt her? He had imposed on her, stolen her away and jeopardized her whole life. What right did he have?

  He woke shortly after. Just a small movement at first, then he rubbed his face before stretching out—engaging all the muscles in his body as he stretched in the bed. Closing her eyes, Ge
mma pretended to be asleep. She could feel him turn his head to look at her then get out of the bed.

  He dressed while Gemma prepared for another tedious day stuck in the cabin. He would at some point come to fetch her so she could spend some time on deck, else she would be stuck in here doing nothing. She’d gone through all his possessions already, so there was nothing new to explore there.

  Her anger didn’t leave all day and her boredom only made it worse—knowing that it partially had to do with the fact that they were too far away from England to turn back. She’d known that he wasn’t planning on taking her back, but she still held it against him when the possibility of it passed.

  The Cook came with the midday meal and Gemma signified it was only a matter of time before James the Pirate appeared.

  “What is the matter with you?” James asked when he entered the room a short time later.

  “An awkward question, is it not? Considering the situation, is it not more pertinent to ask what is not the matter?”

  He walked over to the place where he kept his bottles of whiskey and poured himself a glass. She hated how aware she was of his presence. It was impossible to ignore him—even when he was up on the quarterdeck, she would hear his steps and his voice when the wind was right.

  He didn’t say anything, just gazed at her before walking over to the table and taking his seat. She hated that she heated and blushed when he looked on her. She should not feel this way, especially about someone like him.

  “I won’t bother asking what has offended your delicate sensibilities,” he said and speared a piece of meat to bring over to his plate.

  Gemma rolled her eyes. She didn’t eat; she could eat later as the tray was left until evening and she wasn’t in the mood to do so now. Instead she watched him.

  “We must be getting closer to the destination,” she said after a while.

  “We are getting closer to Caribbean waters. Not there yet, but soon.”

  “So there will be higher chances of seeing other ships.”

  “The chance of encounters is much higher.”

  “And will you raid the ships we come across?”

  “Depends.”

  “Well, I hope you meet nothing but the Royal Navy. It truly would be the best outcome—one I would promote if I have any influence over it.”

  He moved so quickly, Gemma didn’t have time to react; she could only flinch at the rapid movement. She felt herself lifted up in the air and then slammed against the table—the impact of it at her back, stunning her.

  “So callous about leading my men to the gallows, aren’t you?” he said menacingly. She brought her hands up to fight the powerful hand that was holding her chest down on the table, but had no influence whatsoever. “If you ever do anything that will jeopardize my safety or that of my crew, I swear to God, I will make you suffer.” His voice was cool ice underscoring the threat in his words.

  “Shall I give you a better understanding?” he continued and began pulling up her skirt. Gemma started frantically to fight him off, but her attempts were useless. He had her legs bare now and had managed to get her into a position where her legs were around his waist. Gemma felt sheer horror at the unfolding events. “Don’t be overly secure that a thousand pounds will protect you, it is not that great an incentive. And don’t doubt that I would, because it would be my pleasure.”

  “Please don’t,” was all Gemma could manage. Things had shifted so quickly, she didn’t know what else to do. She could barely function through her own shock. It was more than obvious that she had no strength to fight him off. There was no kindness in his eyes and she knew he was completely capable of his threat. This was a part of him that she hadn’t quite seen and it scared her. She’d just had her introduction to the true pirate and what he’d shown of himself before was something else.

  He pressed his hand down on her chest again and pushed himself back away from her. Scrambling to get her skirt down, Gemma tried to form a barrier of protection from him even if the point he’d just made was that she had none. He’d made his point effectively.

  “Don’t act against me, Gemma. Things will end very badly for you if you do.”

  He left Gemma sitting on the table, clutching the material of her dress to her chest. Tears were prickling the back of her eyes. The episode had reiterated how truly horrible her situation was and how precarious her safety. It only underscored that it was his good behavior and his adherence to their wager that had kept her safe so far.

  Jack stepped up on the quarterdeck and swore. He’d lost his temper with the girl. She made light of their position and he’d resented her callousness in wishing to assist the enemy in apprehending him. He knew she had little understanding of what she was saying. He would bet his fortune that she’d never seen a hanging, and had no comprehension of the nasty business of trial and execution at the hands of the Queen’s ranks.

  “You look like a storm cloud,” Smithie, his quartermaster said.

  “Not now, Smithie,” he said darkly.

  “The little chit giving you trouble? It’s not surprising; her kind don’t take to being stolen out of their beds.”

  “I don’t need a lecture.” He’d always thought it was uncanny how much Smithie understood of things, even things he wasn’t privy too. He didn’t look like it, but old Smithie with his bad joints and deteriorating health, always knew which way the wind blew.

  “Perhaps you deserve all the trouble that girl is causing you,” Smithie croaked, then coughed bitterly. He hobbled away leaving Jack to his thoughts.

  He swore. The girl was ruining his peace of mind and now he’d scared her. It wasn’t his own death that he feared, but the responsibility for his men’s deaths. They had women and children depending on them—none of which would fare well if their husbands or fathers died. It was a burden that weighed heavily on him, particularly now that the Navy were increasing their number in these waters.

  Intellectually, he knew it was only a matter of time. Some day their luck would run out and he dreaded that day more than anything. But there was nothing he could do about it other than to be smarter than the men who were chasing him. At the same time, his men wanted bigger prey, larger conquests and looked to him to provide them with the victories that rewarded this profession and the risks involved.

  Also, for some indeterminable reason, he felt disappointed in the girl. He couldn’t quite understand it, but he was disappointed that she would treat his fate so casually. He’d promised to get her back to London when it was over, but she seemingly didn’t want to wait for him to make good on that promise. Perhaps she thought his promises stood for nothing, and he’d just proven her right by telling her that their little wager meant nothing when it came down to it. A thousand pounds was no sum to scoff at, but equally, he had amassed a fortune and the truth was that he probably wouldn’t miss it. He certainly wouldn’t die for it.

  The girl was back in the corner when he returned to the cabin that evening. They were back where they started with her cowering in the corner. He cursed silently while taking off his coat and throwing it over a chair.

  “I’m sorry,” he said and watched her, but she didn’t move. She was so innocent; she’d likely never been subjected to such treatment. Things in her life were all proper and courteous. She really wasn’t well-suited for existing in his world. Women in his world were hard, they’d grown so by harsh treatment and the rough environment they existed in—sometimes thrived in. “The wager stands,” he tried to assure her.

  She still didn’t move. He sat down and ate. “And you’re not sleeping on the floor,” he said to the quiet of the room. Now that his temper had cooled, he actually missed the banter; he’d grown used to it. The silence now reminded him of the silence in this room when she’d been sick, when he’d worried. Now there wasn’t an illness that was the cause of the problem—he’d created this all on his own.

  He didn’t know what he could say to assure her. He decided to finish the night quickly and extinguis
hed the lantern illuminating the room. What point was there in extending the awkwardness?

  Undressing before laying down on the bed, he waited in the darkness. He didn’t know what he would do if she didn’t join him. He didn’t want to threaten her further. Closing his eyes to the darkness, he heard her soft steps to the bed and felt the blankets lift as her gentle weight came down on the bed robes. She wasn’t too wary of him to be near him—which was good. He felt himself relax.

  Chapter 13

  James behaved perfectly the next few days, to the point where Gemma had to wonder about the duality of his character. Although knowing it shouldn’t, his good behavior made her feel more secure. The problem was that she wasn’t entirely sure if he was pretending. In a sense, it was disconcerting that he could mimic good behavior so readily, because she liked to believe that good behavior was only possible when the underlying character was respectable. If someone like him can hide behind good behavior, then what do all the men she knew and depended on back home hide behind their good behavior? It was a disturbing thought.

  James came into the cabin unexpectedly one morning, the meal yet not served.

  “We are going on shore,” he said. “Get ready.”

  “We’ve reached our destination?” Gemma hadn’t expected that—he hadn’t prepared her.

  “No, but we’ve reached land and we need to refill the water tanks, and maybe gather some of the island’s bounty.”

  Following him on deck, Gemma was met with the view of a green island ahead, with gentle hills covered in vegetation, separated from the sea with bright stretches of sand. She couldn’t quite tell how large it was. She could see no signs of civilization anywhere.

  “No-one lives here?” Gemma asked.

  “No, it’s quite remote, but it has fresh water springs, so it is a good place to restock.”