Page 10 of A Pirate’s Pleasure (Cameron Family #2)

VII

T hey did not ride far. Skye had just dug her fingers into the stallion’s mane when she saw tall stone walls rising above her. The wind swept by them and the sandy earth churned as they came upon a set of wrought-iron gates, opened in expectation of the master’s return, or so it seemed.

The horse unerringly turned and brought them through a courtyard to a high rising porte cochere. The Hawk reined in, setting Skye upon the ground. He touched his plumed hat. “Milady, my house is yours,” he said simply.

Smiling, he turned the horse around. He led the animal around the side of the house. Skye watched him go, and then paused, staring about herself in ironic dismay. No one was near her; she was neither chained nor confined. But she had probably never been more of a prisoner, for there was absolutely nowhere to go. The Silver Hawk had chosen his base of operations well. The island was surrounded by coral atolls and shoals, deadly to the unwary sailor. His harbor was protected by the deep, natural U shape of his island. The channel was protected by the towers with their massive guns. It would take an army to come in here and clean out his rogue’s den. And for a prisoner, there was very simply nowhere at all to go. The island was his. The people who lived upon it were his.

And she was his, she reminded herself. Worthless—or not worth any great sum, or so he had said. But still, his prize, and as such, he had fought for her, and he had kept her. And he had brought her here.

She shivered suddenly. Not because it was cold, and not because she feared him, but because she was afraid to be there, upon the island with him. She knew not why.

She turned about and followed the handsome brick path to the door of the imposing structure. She shouldn’t be afraid. This was where she would wait for her father or her fiancé to rescue her. The Hawk would surely grant her some privacy here. It was a huge domicile.

She lifted her hand to knock, but the door opened before she could and to her surprise the Silver Hawk stood within the door frame. She frowned and he quickly arched a brow. “I left Samuel in his paddock, milady. You did take your sweet time to enter.”

“Samuel?” she murmured. “Not the Silver Wind? Not the Hawk’s Messenger, or some such. You named your horse Samuel?”

“Sam for short. He much prefers the abbreviation.” He reached out and caught her hand, drawing her into his fortress. The entryway was in shadows, but she could see his eyes, smoke gray now, and haunting. “I’m sorry if I disappoint you, but I’m afraid that I was just a lad when Sam was born, and therefore I named him quickly. He’s twenty-three now, and I’d not disturb his tranquillity with a change of name to suit my fancy.”

“Twenty-three?” Skye said. The huge, sleek animal looked to be a young horse. “He has aged well.”

The Hawk smiled slowly, and to her great distress, Skye felt her heart quiver as he drew her close. “I take very good care of all living creatures within my domain, milady. Alas, I tried take good care of you, but you are forever fighting my efforts.”

“Perhaps, sir, it is because I am not your property to be cared for. I am neither pet, nor beast of burden, nor—yours.”

A smile touched his lip. “Well spoken, milady, but then that is part of your appeal.”

“Ah! But still a woman, and worth only so much!”

“Your worth is still debatable,” he said. The words were simple and light, but the silence that followed them was not, for she felt both the warmth of his hands and the heat of his appraisal, and it seemed that a lingering question hung upon the air. She flushed and pulled from his grip, spinning to see the entryway.

It was grand. It was huge, with doors leading to rooms on either side. The walls and ceiling were paneled, and then lined handsomely with weapons of warfare, cutlasses, rapiers, scores of hunting rifles and muskets and brown Besses.

“Impressive,” she muttered.

“Every man and woman on the island knows where to come in case of attack.”

“And every one of them shall die with you?”

He shrugged. “They are here by choice. I force no one to live here.”

“You have forced me.”

“You, milady, are visiting, and naught more. Come along. I shall show you the rest of the house.”

He took her hand into his own. To the right was a library with a guest bed, to the left was the butler’s pantry—complete with butler. The man stood so silently awaiting their arrival that Skye gasped to see him living, alive and well. He was tall and strong of build, white-haired and immensely dignified. “Mr. Soames,” the Hawk said in introduction, and Mr. Soames bowed to her very gravely. “What you need, he will give you.”

“With the greatest pleasure, milady,” Soames said, and bowed.

He might have graced the finest English manor! Skye thought, and she wondered how on God’s good earth such a man had come to work in a pirate kingdom.

“All the pleasures of home,” she murmured softly.

“What was that, Lady Kinsdale?” the Hawk said. She was certain that he winked to the butler, and that the butler winked in return. It was all a joke perhaps.

No, it was not joke. The cannons upon the protective towers were no joke. The skill of the Hawk was hardly amusing to the men he had robbed of ships and plunder.

Soames excused himself and closed the door upon his domain. The Hawk was staring at her. “Well?”

“Quite remarkable.”

“The house itself is remarkable, don’t you agree? But not so difficult to construct as you might imagine. Brick makes wonderful ballast. I was able to have this all brought within the span of a few years.” He walked her along the hall and paused, pushing open a set of doors. A long, claw-footed mahogany table stretched before them. It would seat at least twenty people, she thought. “The formal dining room.”

“For those ‘state’ occasions?” she taunted.

“For negotiations,” he corrected. “Your very worth might well be negotiated right here, milady.”

“With whom do you negotiate?”

“No man fears to come here if he is invited, Lady Kinsdale. Your fiancé is well aware of the truth of those words. There is no safer haven upon the seas than this.”

He drew her out and closed the doors. Pointing toward the rear of the house, he told her, “The ballroom, milady. And occasionally we do have balls.”

He barely let her see the long room before he was whirling her around again and pulling her toward the stairway. It was big and broad with a velvet runner. A manservant polishing the banister bobbed to her and saluted the Hawk. “Sir, ’tis good to see you home, sir!”

“Mr. Tallingsworth, Lady Kinsdale. He, too, will be delighted to see to your every comfort.”

“Yes, milady,” Mr. Tallingsworth said.

She nodded skeptically and the Hawk continued to lead her upward. The second floor, too, seemed to stretch endlessly. He did not attempt to show her the length of it, but rather paused to the right side of the stairway, pushing open a door.

It was his room, she knew instantly. The dominant furniture within it was a huge four-poster bed in a dark walnut. Full-length windows lay open to the breeze coming off of the sea, making the room cool despite the heat of the day. There was a huge desk on the other side of the windows, and there were chairs and a daybed in front of a marble-manteled fireplace. In the center of the room was a fine cherrywood dining table, far more intimate than the large table downstairs.

“Your personal domain?” she inquired. She knew that he was watching her as she studied his room.

“Umm. Through here,” he said, and he took her hand, leading her to the back of the room. He opened a doorway there and they entered a second chamber, not much smaller than the first. But whereas the larger room had been beyond a doubt decorated for a man, this room was softer. It might have been decorated to resemble a lady’s chamber at Versailles. The delicate, white furniture appeared to be of French design. The drapes at the windows were sheer and trimmed with gold thread, and a gilded mirror hung over the fireplace. There was a card table and a huge wingback chair before the long windows, and the dressing table came complete with a set of silver combs and brushes. The chamber looked almost like a bride’s room.

“I’m to stay in the room next to yours?” she said. She was not afraid of the situation. At least she did not think that she was afraid. She had spent nearly a week aboard ship in the arms of the man and he had not, in any serious way, brought harm to her.

Indeed, he had come to her time after time, a bastion against the terrors of the night. She might well miss the security and warmth of his arms.…

Never! she assured herself hastily. Never…

He smiled. “The door locks.”

She cocked her head, meeting his eyes with a cynical smile. “And will I be able to lock you out, Captain Hawk?”

He did not answer right away, but took her hand within his. His fingers stroked it and his lips touched the back of it in the lightest caress. “Milady, locks lie within the heart or soul, and not upon the material earth.”

He released her. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ve things to attend to. I shall join you for supper, but it will be a late repast, I am afraid. Your belongings will be brought to you.”

He paused because she was smiling. He arched a brow. “What is it, Lady Kinsdale, that you find so amusing?”

“You.”

He stiffened. “Oh? And why is that?”

“Your manner, sir. You have dragged me about like a deer carcass at times, and now you are unerringly polite.”

“One never knows—does she?” he said lightly.

Shivers danced along her spine as his eyes met hers. No, she never knew. He kept her off balance at every moment. He made her furious, he made her afraid, and then he would whisper to her or touch her and give her sweet comfort. This week he had become her very life, and every other moment before he had swept upon her from the sea paled and faded before him. But it was true; she never knew. She never, never knew. What would the evening bring? Laughter or fury. Would he treat her like fine porcelain, would he drag her mercilessly into his arms…?

She backed away from him. He said no more, but turned and left her, going back through his own room. The door closed.

Skye sat upon the bed and trembled. How long would she be kept here in this prison? She was not cast into any dungeon, not beset with hardship.

This was far, far worse.…

She leaped to her feet and hurried to the door that connected her room to his.

Apparently the door locked both ways, for she had been locked out of his chamber. Curious, she hurried to the hallway door. To her surprise, that door swung open to her touch. She stepped out, and then back in.

What was it of his that he did not want her to find? She wondered. She wandered to the windows and pondered the question.

She was a captive, she thought, in a most curious place.

He did not return for supper that night. Her trunks were delivered to her, all of them, and she saw that nothing of hers had been molested. Her jewels were still among her belongings, along with the finest of her gowns—velvets and brocades, gold-threaded linens, silks and satins, all were there. They were delivered by Mr. Tallingsworth and another man, under the direction of Mr. Soames. Later, Robert Arrowsmith came to see her, informing her that the Hawk would not return, much to his regret. Mr. Soames would see that supper was delivered to her room.

Skye thanked Robert Arrowsmith, keeping her eyes lowered. She was alarmed to discover that it was much to her regret, too, that the Hawk would not be returning.

Robert had been given careful orders, she thought. He walked about the room lighting lanterns until all was aglow. She thanked him quietly, and he left her.

She slept well that night.

In the morning she awoke to the sounds of laughter. Carefully opening her eyes, she gasped in astonishment. The pretty Irish lasses, Tara and Bess, were standing before her, and looking none the worse for wear.

“Bess! Tara!” she cried, pushing up in amazement.

Tara plopped a tray upon her lap. “Aye, Lady Kinsdale!” A shimmer of tears touched her eyes. “We’re so grateful to ye, lady! Ye stepped in ta save us, ya know.”

Skye blinked. “I didn’t save you from anything! We’re captives of a pirate. They dragged—”

“They dragged us into the second mate’s cabin, and treated us with more kindness than many a mistress I’ve known,” Tara said. Skye stared at the girl. She was very young, barely sixteen, but she spoke with a startling wisdom.

Skye’s eyes narrowed. “You were not…you were not bothered in any way?”

Tara shook her head. “Not at all. Oh, we were deeply afraid when the commotion began at that other island! I thought that someone would come to burst down the doors! But nothing bad happened to us, and then we were brought here!”

“And it is paradise!” Bess cried.

Nibbling upon a piece of bread, Skye eyed her suspiciously. Her brow arched. “And how do you know that this is…paradise?”

Tara stared at Bess and shrugged. “Why, we’ve seen much of it, milady. Near the dock there’s a few fine houses and stores and the like. Any seaman who chooses to do so may build himself a home. There’s a freshwater lagoon inland, and deep into the cove there are soft sand beaches protected by rocks and shoals and the water is the most beautiful color you’d ever want to see, milady!”

“Oh?” Skye murmured.

Tara flushed crimson. “There’s a man. A Mr. Roundtree, milady. He took us riding there in his little pony trap when we arrived.”

“A man?” Skye said. “Oh, Tara. A pirate!”

Tara shrugged, then lowered her head in shame. She looked at Skye then with a sheepish smile. “Milady, there’s even a chapel here! And a minister from the Church of England.”

Skye swallowed some coffee then offered the tray back to Bessie. “I see. And when Mr. Roundtree was finished showing you this paradise, he took you to church services?”

Bessie flushed radiantly this time. “Well, no, but Lady Kinsdale, he did point out the chapel to us.”

“A pirate’s priest,” Skye muttered. “What next?”

What next indeed?

Having given back her breakfast tray, she pattered to the pitcher and bowl left upon a small stand and washed her face, appreciating the coolness of the water against her flushed skin. While she toweled her skin she decided to test her freedom. She turned back to the girls. “Bessie, would you find my riding habit? I should like to view this—paradise.”

Bessie and Tara obligingly set to work. It was fun to have them back. They chattered nonstop, and even if their chatter was all about Mr. Roundtree and his friend, Simon Greene, it brightened her spirits tremendously. That the girls were alive did not surprise her, for she knew that the Silver Hawk was not a bloodthirsty murdering pirate.

That they were happy as larks did startle her, however, for she could not forget those first moments when the Hawk had wrested the ship from One-Eyed Jack, claimed her for himself—and cast the girls to their fate among his men.

The Hawk was, indeed, a most exceptional man.

Dressed handsomely in a riding suit of brown velvet, Skye left Tara and Bessie. Her skirt was full and sweeping with yards of fabric, while the jacket much resembled a man’s frock coat. She ran down the stairway, seeing no one, and when she came into the front hall, she heard voices. There was a group of men in the dining room, she realized. She headed for the doorway, but before she could peek in, Mr. Soames appeared, closing the door behind himself. “Good morning, Lady Kinsdale,” he said.

“Good morning, Mr. Soames.”

“Was your breakfast satisfactory, milady?”

“It was perfect, Mr. Soames.” She smiled. There was something about the way that he guarded his master’s door that reminded her that this was no English manor. “I would like to ride, Mr. Soames. Would that be possible?”

“But, of course, milady. We wish to afford you whatever pleasures you desire. Come with me, please, I will take you to Senor Rivas. He is the horsemaster here at Bone Cay, and will be your delighted servant.”

They left the house by the rear and came instantly to the stables, whereby Skye learned how the Hawk had made it back to the house so quickly the night before.

They entered into the shadows, but Skye quickly saw that there were at least twenty stalls, and that the stables were kept as neatly as the Hawk kept his ship. A tall, lean, dark-haired man stepped forward. He was Senor Rivas, and Mr. Soames quickly left her in his care. Skye realized that she was waiting for someone to leap out and stop her, to tell her that it was an absurd joke and she was insane to think that she might have the freedom to ride. But no one appeared and Senor Rivas drew a dapple gray mare from a stall and saddled and bridled her. He led her from the stables and to a block so that Skye might mount easily, then he stepped away. “Good day, Lady Kinsdale. Enjoy your ride.”

His soft Spanish accent again reminded her that this was the New World, and that she was in a most uncivilized part of it at that. Spaniards and Englishmen mixed easily enough here now, for Spaniards and Englishmen had become pirates together, preying upon one another. The wars might be over now, but piracy was not.

Certain pirates were flourishing!

Skye turned the mare toward the docks and rode back the way that she had come. Barefoot children upon the sandy streets greeted her with bobs and curtsies. Small craft lay moored by the docks, too, and fishermen dragged in nets full of fish. Near the Silver Hawk’s sleek dark pirate ship Skye paused. Some of the crew remained upon her, repairing rents in sails, unloading cargo, scrubbing down decks, running new lines. She watched for several moments. Men saluted her, but none of them spoke to her, and none questioned her. She turned the mare about at last, and in a fit of aggravation, set her to galloping.

She raced with the wind past the fine brick walls and the pirate’s house. The land was nearly flat; sand and scrub fell away beneath her, and then the foliage began to thicken and it seemed that the trail began to rise over a mountainous terrain. At length, she reined in. She heard a rush of water, and she wandered further along a pine path and then came upon a startling and glorious sight. A deep blue pool lay before her with the water splashing over pebbles and rocks, and falling from a cliff high above in dazzling spurts of silver foam.

Skye dismounted from her horse and walked along the water’s edge on the clean, hard-packed sand. She did not sit, but stared over the water. Flowers surrounded the small pool with a burst of color, which followed the route where the water trickled into a brook and disappeared into the trees. It was, she thought, a startling paradise.

Standing there, Skye at last looked across the water to the shore beyond. Her hand flew to her mouth and a gasp escaped her. He was there, the Hawk, upon his white horse, watching her from the foliage. He had not been hiding; he merely sat so still atop the snow-white stallion that she had not seen him in the profusion of color.

He lifted a hand to her and urged his mount forward. The white stallion stepped into the cool water without hesitation. The water rose higher and higher, past the stallion’s flanks, and still he proceeded without fear. Like his master, the stallion moved purposefully. The water began to fall away, and the magnificent creature rose out from it, bearing the Hawk ever closer to her. She looked at the man. He was wearing a loose white shirt, black breeches, and his boots. His hat lay low over his eyes, the plume dancing, shadowing his eyes and whatever secrets lay within his heart. He looked like a true rogue, reckless, careless, ever the adventurer.

He came toward her, and she did not move, but held her position upon the shore. Still in the shallow water, he dismounted several feet from her. He was silent, watching her. She heard the soft music of the water as it cascaded from the cliffs and danced below in the sunlight. The breeze was light and soft and cool, and just whispered a tropical cadence as it rustled through the flowers and foliage.

For the longest moment, for eternity, Skye felt that her eyes were caught by his, and that his soul laid claim to her own. Locks lay upon the heart, he had told her. Not upon the material earth. Perhaps it was true. Perhaps there was no way to guard herself from the man.

He stepped back suddenly, casting a foot upon a rock, crossing his arms over his chest. “Good morning, milady,” he said, his rakish gaze sweeping the length of her and breaking the curious spell. “How do you find this place?”

“A prison, sir, for all its beauty.”

“I see,” he murmured. “Well, perhaps I have not had the time to show it to you properly. This is a place of most exquisite beauty. And unique, although much of the island of Jamaica is similar.”

“Why is this island so unique?”

“Why? Ah, Lady Kinsdale, this island is mine. That in itself makes it unique.”

He caught her arm, drawing her forward. “This water is fresh, not brackish. We never want for pure sweet water to drink. See the cliff and the flowers, and the radiant burst of color. This is soft here, while not a mile away lies the tempest of the ocean. Storms rage here, wild and free, embroiling the ocean. Yet the reefs protect us, for only an accomplished sailor would dare to risk my shores!”

He stood beside her, his arm touching hers, and she felt keenly how very much alone they were, the delicate rhythms of the moving water and the whispering wind their only company beside that of the waiting horses. He smelled of cleanliness, of soap, and of polished leather, and beneath it all, she felt a haunting pulse, the essence of the man, calling upon something within her that had little to do with life as she knew it. In a place like this, it was easy to forget the boundaries she had always known.

Easy to forget innocence.

She pulled away from him, crying out hoarsely. “Why are you always here? Always near me! I came to ride alone, and you are here! I never turn that you are not there, endlessly, always, there! Leave me be! I cannot abide you! Don’t be polite, don’t be courteous! You are a pirate, sir, and I despise you!”

She flung around in such fury that she startled the mare. Skye set about to leap upon her, but the creature snorted and reared, frightened. Her hooves rose high, scraping the air. Skye watched in fascinated horror as they danced above her.

“Skye! Damn you!”

He was upon her in an instant, bearing her swiftly up and out of the way. The speed and the force with which he moved sent them both flying down to the soft sand.

The mare’s hooves struck the earth, just inches away. Sand blew past them. Skye strained to sit up, but he was over her, his eyes on fire, his arms holding her tightly. Muscles clenched and unclenched within his face and throat and shoulders, and he railed against her. “Why, lady, are you always such a fool! You would cast yourself into any danger in order to get away from me! So you would not have me courteous, for I am a pirate still. Then, madame, let me play that pirate, and be damned with it all!”

“Bastard, let me up!” she cried. “You should have—”

“Aye, I should have! I should have given you free to One-Eyed Jack, and I should have let Logan take you and be damned with you then. Blackbeard could have been plagued with you as his prize, and I damned well should have let the horse mar your beauty forever, that you might haunt no other man with your glory and your fire. But you would have a pirate, lady, a rapist, a rogue, and never a gentleman. Then let’s have it, for, lady, I am done skirting the thorns of your temper!”

She opened her mouth to scream and gasp in terror, for she had never seen him so angry. No sound left her, for his mouth ground hard upon hers with a punishing power. His tongue ravished her lips and teeth, forcing them apart. She gave way to breathe, and then felt the startling warmth as he filled her with the heat and lightning and intimacy of his kiss. She longed to fight, to twist. She had no power to do so. His fingers curled within hers, his weight bore her down upon the earth, and the passion and the savagery of his assault were stunning. She lay there and felt the ground, and it seemed to tremble beneath her. She heard the soft sound of the water, but it was no melody within her ears, it was a rush, a flow, a cascade. It mingled with the searing flow of her blood. She did not fight…she felt his lips, and the hardness of his body. She felt the sun, and the taste of the man, and the tempest of him.

And felt that tempest sweep into her being.

His hands were upon her, stroking the length of her, fire through fabric. They touched the bare flesh of her thighs, and she gasped, unable to breathe, for his lips burned their fiery path against her throat. They fell to the rise of her breasts, and still she did nothing but stare at the sky above her, beset by soft, flowing clouds. She felt the sun, but the sun had lost its heat, for fire burned deep, deep inside of her. It came where his lips seared her, where his fingers stroked her flesh, where the very hardness of his body drove her down to the earth.

His fingers tore upon the ribbons at her bodice, and the fabric gave way. Her breasts spilled above the bone of her corset and his lips found that tender flesh as his hand cupped the mound to the hungry desire of his teeth and tongue. A molten, demanding tug raked upon her nipple, and then it was laved by his tongue. The sweet, blinding sensation ripped into her like cannonshot, firing throughout her body. His beard teased her bare flesh with ever-greater intimacy.

“No!” she cried out suddenly, but he had seized her mouth again. She struggled, but fell limp as languor overcame her. The very earth continued to tremble. Perhaps it was not the earth. The trembling came from deep within her, a beat, a pulse, a sweet yearning need to know more.…

She was not a prisoner. Her hands were free and they were upon his shoulders, and it did not occur to her that he was a pirate, only a man, and a man who had shielded her against all enemies. Muscle rippled beneath her fingers, and in this strange paradise with the water rippling around them and the tropical breeze a tender touch upon them, he was all that she had ever desired in the deep secret shadows of her heart. The scent of him filled her; the force of his passion swept her into netherworlds where nothing mattered at all except for the sleek animal grace of him, and of his touch.

Suddenly he wrenched away. He stumbled to his feet. His back to her, he looked up at the sky. “God damn you!” he raged at her. He jerked around, caught her hands, and pulled her to her feet. “What would you have of me?” he shouted.

She jerked away from his touch, horrified that it was he, and not her own protest, that had put a stop to what they’d been doing. “I wish that you would leave me be! I wish that I could be away from this place!” she cried, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. She could not erase the feel of his lips. She felt his eyes upon her, burning still, and she realized that her bodice was askew, her breasts bared and spilling forth. She blushed deeply, but she did not lower her head and fought for whatever control she possessed. Still her hands trembled as she brought her fingers to her laces. He tore his eyes from her breasts and looked directly into hers. “You will be gone soon enough, I swear it!” he told her heatedly.

She turned from him, running toward the offending mare. The frightened beast skittered away. An oath burst forth from him. “Don’t ever run from me, you little fool. You would never manage it, and in each of your attempts you are hurt or cause havoc!” He caught hold of the mare’s reins and brought her around. He reached for Skye’s waist.

“I can manage, leave me be!”

“You cannot manage.”

He set her firmly upon the horse. She picked up the reins and stared down at him. “I think, Captain Silver Hawk, that you are running from me.”

His eyes narrowed. “Lady Kinsdale, I will never run from you, I swear it. I’ve tried to leave you be, as you so ardently wish. And even when you singe my soul with the heat of your flame, I do back away. Don’t try me again, lady. In this battle I tell you, the gentleman is surely giving way to the rogue within me, and if next tempted, the pirate will prevail.”

Hot shivers ran down her spine. She jerked the reins from his hand, nudged the mare, and turned to race away from the lagoon, and from the haunting, bitter laughter that played upon the air in her wake.

Skye returned to the stable in a tempestuous mood. She left the mare to Senor Rivas, and walked hurriedly into the house, ignoring Mr. Soames, who came to greet her by the stairway. She raced up to her room and slammed the door hard, then sent the bolts hammering into place at that door, and at the door that connected her room to the Hawk’s. She paced the room in deep agitation, then glanced at the connecting door again. The lock wouldn’t mean a thing to him if he wanted to reach her. A lock? Why the man fought battles upon the sea and had seized her very ship! What was a lock to such a man.…

A lock lay within the heart, or within the soul, or so he had told her. No man could hold the key to such a lock, unless it was given to him, and freely so. And this the Silver Hawk seemed to know, and know well.

She stiffened suddenly, aware of a door slamming below. The Hawk had returned, too, and it seemed that he, too, was not in the best of humor. His shouting could be heard throughout the house.

Skye raced to the hallway door. She could not make out the crisp words, only that it was his voice, deep and vibrant, commanding. She heard his footsteps upon the stairs, and then the door to his room opened and slammed, and she stood dead still, her hand cast to her throat. He would come to her then. He would ignore the door that lay between them, he would come to her in anger, seize her.…

Seconds ticked by. The door slammed again. The Hawk was gone. She breathed a deep sigh of relief and cast herself across the bed, then stared up at the canopy. Surely, he had business to attend to. And he had broken away, not she.…

She flamed with humiliation. He wanted her gone. This would not go on much longer. Perhaps, say what he might, he had his own sense of honor. She was his cousin’s betrothed, despite the fact that that cousin be distant, and born on the right side of the sheets.

Betrothed…

She had no wish to meet such a man! Not when her lips remained swollen and her flesh burned from another’s touch.

She sat up, pressing her temple between her palms. God help her, she did not know herself anymore.

She leaped from the bed and threw open the door to the hallway. Mr. Soames had said that he was there to serve her. Well, she wanted to be served. “Mr. Soames!” she called down the stairs.

“Milady!” Within seconds the elderly gentleman had climbed the stairs to reach her. “I’d have some brandy, if I may, please,” she told him.

He arched a brow in surprise that she should ask for spirits, but quickly lowered his brow again. “Yes, milady,” he said, and was quickly gone. She paced again as she awaited his return. He arrived with brandy and a single crystal glass upon a silver tray. She thanked him, and waited for him to leave.

“The Hawk will have supper with you, milady. He will knock for you at eight.”

“Will he? You must tell the Hawk that I do not care to have supper with him,” she said.

“But, milady—”

“You have heard me, Mr. Soames, and you have said that you will attend to my every wish. Well, I wish you to tell your master that I will not have supper with him.”

“Yes, milady.”

With no further display of emotion or opinion, Mr. Soames bowed to her and left her side.

She liked the brandy. It soothed her spirits and eased the tempest in her soul. She stared broodingly out the windows at the startling blue beauty of the island. Bone Cay. Such an ugly name for such a striking piece of paradise.

The day grew warm and she opened the windows to feel the breezes. She cast aside her jacket and tried to cease her endless pacing. What would his reaction be? He had come back in a state of anger to demand that she attend him for a meal. Would he accept her refusal with a casual shrug?

The afternoon was waning, but her spirits slowly rose and her confidence returned in direct proportion to the brandy she consumed. He would not break the lock; it would be against his very peculiar code of honor.

Feeling hot and sticky as sunset neared, she called down to Mr. Soames again. He ran back up the stairs. She asked him sweetly if she might have a bath. He stared at her blankly, and she knew that sending a half-dozen servants with a tub and water would be a hardship on him as head of the household staff at this particular hour of the afternoon. She wasn’t terribly sorry. She didn’t care to be there. If they didn’t care to have her there, then they would hurry to see that she left. The Hawk had said that she would be gone soon. He had said it with a vengeance. Surely, Mr. Soames would help see to it that he kept that vow!

“I should like it very quickly, Mr. Soames!” she told him as innocently as she could.

“I shall do my best, milady.”

“Perhaps you could send my own young lasses along, and spare your own staff.”

“That won’t be possible, milady.”

“And why is that?”

“Well, they’re at the fish market, milady.”

“The fish market?”

“They wished to stay busy, and you had given them no word that you might require their service.…” His words trailed away. He had given the girls leave to go, she realized. She smiled. She had no rights here—except those given her by the Hawk, and it was the Hawk she longed to annoy.

“Whenever you can manage, Mr. Soames,” she said very sweetly.

She was quickly obliged. Very little time had passed before Senor Rivas and one of his young grooms dragged up a brass tub, and then a stream of servants—household and estate men, so it seemed—arrived with water. She thanked them all charmingly. Mr. Soames himself came with towels and rose scents and a thick sponge. “If you require anything else…”

“Not a thing. Just my privacy,” she said.

“Yes, milady.” He bowed his way out. Skye stared after the closed door, suddenly sorry for making the elderly man miserable. His master had already screamed at him, and now poor Soames had the sorry task of telling the Hawk that his female prisoner had no intention of obeying his commands for the evening.

Her guilt faded away as she cast her clothing off in disarray. She had consumed way too much brandy, and she knew it. She didn’t care. It had eased her torment, it had made her almost cheerful. Content and relaxed, she crawled into the tub. She coiled her hair on top of her head and lazily rubbed the sweet-smelling rose-scented soap over her body. She smiled. There were benefits to being the hostage of a prosperous pirate. He did supply the finest in luxury accommodations, fresh from Paris.

She set aside her sponge and soap and leaned back, basking in the warmth of the water. With one eye barely open, she saw that the sun was setting, sinking into the horizon beyond the windows. The colors of the coming night were breathtaking, strident red, shocking gold, so very bright, so very deep.

She allowed her eyes to close. It was so easy, so gentle, to be there. The water was warm, near tender in its touch. Her head was so delightfully at ease.…

She was aware of shadows upon the rippling bathwater, then she was aware of nothing at all. Then she thought that she dreamed, for she heard a fierce pounding, and it was as if her name was being called from a distance.

There was a sound of thunder, stark, strident. Skye bolted up just in time to hear wood crackle and split, and to hear the Hawk slamming into her room, the door falling flat to the floor. He stared at her, his hands on his hips, his eyes on fire.

She parted her lips and tried to speak. He sounded as if he was strangling.

“My God! I thought you were dead!”

“You said I might lock the door—”

“Did you hear me! I thought that you were dead! I knocked, I shouted!”

“I—”

She slipped within the tub, nearly going under. He exploded with a furious oath, and she heard a new thunder. It was the sound of his footsteps, falling upon the floor. Then his hands were upon her, wrenching her up, and into his arms.

She soaked him. Water sluiced from her body to his own, and dripped onto the floor. He paid no attention to it, but stared at her sharply. Alarm swept through her, as shocking as his hands upon her.

She struggled against him. “I did not care to come to dinner!” she cried.

“But I commanded that you should.”

“I do not dine with thieves, with gentlemen rogues. Your manner does not save you from the truth! I will not sit to eat with a courteous—”

“Sea slime? Gentleman rogue, milady?” his eyes, flashing fire, fell upon hers. “This night, lady, I am no gentleman rogue, and a rogue at the very least. You wish a pirate, you expect one—”

“Put me down, Hawk!” she cried, her panic growing. The soft brandy blur was deserting her. She was naked, and his touch upon her bare flesh was an excruciating sensation. She was in his arms, and he was vibrant, burning with the heat of anger. He was a flame that seemed to consume everything, her will, her heart. She had to escape him, to stand outside that flame. She did not so deeply fear his anger; she feared the tempest within him that so seduced and beguiled her.

She pressed fully against his silk-clad chest. “Now! I demand it!”

He shook his head slowly. “You do not like to be treated with courtesy, not by a pirate, so you say. Well, take heed then, lady. This night you have the pirate, the demon, the monster, the rogue. And trust well, lady, that this night, the rogue will have you. If you have thought to cry for mercy, now is the time to do so, milady.”