Page 11 of The Pirate’s Stolen Bride (Cavalier Cove)
CHAPTER ELEVEN
BANG, BANG ON THE DOOR
R émy tasted of the sea on a sunny day. Harriet moaned. She couldn’t get enough of the feeling of him. He collapsed against the wall with one forearm clutching his shirt hem to his stomach and the other gently tangled in her hair.
Harriet focused on learning what made his stomach contract in ripples of muscle. He liked it when she dragged her tongue along the underside of his cock. He groaned when she sucked on the ruddy head. She repeated these motions until he dipped one finger beneath her chin and gently eased her off.
“Keep doing that, chérie, and you might not appreciate the consequences.” He pulled her up by the elbows and turned her to face away from him. “Let’s get this off you.”
He unfastened the few remaining buttons on her dress and somehow managed to untie the haphazard knot of her lacings. She hadn’t taken the time to tie her stays properly during their unexpected departure from the inn. Rémy took down his mostly dry greatcoat and laid it before the fire with her mostly dry petticoats on top of it, forming a makeshift bed.
“See? We can make do.”
He chuckled. “You are remarkably self-sufficient for a well-bred lady.”
“Hardly,” she scoffed. “I’m not the one who carried flint and steel.”
“Darling, you have all the fire you need right…” He trailed his index finger down her sternum and tapped right where her heart thrummed beneath bone. “Here.”
She leaned in to catch his lips with hers, tasting the echo of herself on him. Rémy scooped her into his lap. She tugged at his shirt, wanting to know what his skin felt like on hers. He let her take it and toss it aside.
Only the thin linen of her chemise and his unfastened trousers remained as a barrier between their naked bodies. He rolled her to her back and lay between her thighs, positioning himself at her entrance.
“You are certain?”
She nodded. “Rémy, I can’t go back to my old life even if I wanted to, which I don’t. They will never accept me being ruined thusly. The noblest thing you can do for me now is to marry me.”
“I am not a noble man. I don’t want you out of a sense of obligation, chérie. I want all your passion—” He sank into her. Harriet tensed at the intrusion. “Your laughter.” He withdrew, prompting a pathetic whine to tear from the back of her throat. “Your strength.”
He thrust into her again, deeper than she thought possible, filling her so completely she couldn’t believe she was a separate person. He became part of her. His breath was her own. His arms caged and contained her. He was her captor, her savior, her?—
No, she wasn’t ready to go there yet. Not even in her own mind.
“I cannot offer you a home, mon cher. Nothing but the wind in your hair and this,” he moaned, “every night.”
“We’ll follow the tides of fate,” she panted as the wave within her rose. His weight pressed her into the ground. “Forge our own path. Together.”
She wanted that. She wanted him. That day in the Cock and Bull Tavern he’d seen something in her she’d never had the courage to express before. She’d been a wallflower out of duty. She’d needed to be stolen away from her old life before she could recognize her true self. Not a rule-follower. A rule-breaker.
“Forever,” she whispered, clutching him to her, and broke. Shattered down to her bones. She was a small boat on a rough sea, and his body was her only landmark in the storm.
After the final pulse ebbed, he sank down, his weight pressing her deliciously into the layers of fabric.
“See? We didn’t need a bed,” she teased.
“You still deserved one.” He brushed a kiss to her temple.
The fire had consumed most of its fuel and was dying into ash. The clouds had dissipated. While the day remained cool with a breeze coming off the sea, the sun’s appearance brightened Harriet’s mood considerably.
“What should we do now that we’ve decided I’m not returning to Cavalier Cove?”
“How would you like to visit France? I know a priest who will bless an unorthodox union.”
“Despite me not being French? Or Catholic?”
Rémy rolled onto his back and tucked her against his side, pillowing her head on his shoulder. Harriet pulled her chemise across them for a makeshift blanket.
“This man is of the opinion that it is better to be married in the eyes of God than to live in sin. If that means violating a few rules, he doesn’t mind. ‘Let God be the judge’ is his motto.”
She giggled and laid her palm on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart. The tender moment was interrupted by her gurgling stomach. Rémy kissed her forehead.
“In the meantime, chérie, get dressed. Now that the weather has cleared, we’ll walk to the nearest village for a decent meal and then make our way to the Spectre , then onward to France.”
“What about my belongings?” she asked, tugging her chemise over her head and thrusting her arms through the sleeves. “I need my clothes. Fresh stockings.” She wiggled her finger through a hole in the ones she’d been wearing, acquired during their trek through a field to reach the hillside path.
“I shall buy you new ones tomorrow.” He drew her in for a kiss. “It only takes the Spectre about fourteen hours to make the crossing if the weather is fair. She is sleek and fast, which is how we have been able to outrun the Waterguard’s boats.”
“Here I thought England had the best Navy in the world,” Harriet mused wryly. She gave Rémy her back in a silent request to button her dress.
“The Spectre is large enough to carry a good quantity of product and fast enough to evade the Waterguard’s boats.” He grimaced. “Except for one incident, when they did manage to corner my cousin Thierry. He fired upon them and sank their ship, thus earning a bounty upon the Spectre and her captain. Who, since he has retired from smuggling to open a shop, is now me.”
Harriet mulled this information as she laced her boots. “Was anyone hurt?”
“No lives were lost. There was another ship nearby that rescued all aboard. Thierry scurried off into the night and that was the end of it, as far as he was concerned.”
“I imagine there is quite a price on your head.”
She was marrying a pirate. One who’d sunk a ship. Reality intruded upon all her hazy daydreams of a life of happiness with Rémy. Where could they go and not be hunted for a crime he didn’t commit?
Nowhere in England, that was certain. Ireland, possibly. Wouldn’t that be ironic.
More likely they would go to France. Harriet hadn’t considered that in choosing to be with Rémy, she would have to leave her own life behind. No more Uncle Monty looking after her. No more visits from her mother, however awkward they were. The thought of never seeing her family again bothered her.
She would have children with Rémy. They would have a family together, full of laughter and love. Where they would live was something of a question mark, but they would figure it out.
How will he support you if you are with child? came an irritatingly rational voice in the back of her mind. With the proceeds from smuggling? Uncle Monty will never give him your dowry.
“There is a sizable reward for any information leading to my apprehension,” he said wryly, bringing her back to the present. He yanked his hair out from the collar of his coat, which was worse for wear after being used as a blanket.
What if you fall pregnant from this and he’s arrested? What will you do then?
She really had not thought this through. She buttoned her spencer with shaking hands. Rémy strode over to her and kissed her forehead.
“Don’t worry, mon trésor, I have cultivated friendships throughout Cornwall. The Riders do not endear themselves to the locals. They are arrogant and demanding, but dislike having to pay for services they want. No one here will turn me in and risk the wrath of their neighbors.”
“It certainly won’t be me claiming the prize,” she said vehemently.
“I trust that you won’t turn me in.” Now that they were both fully dressed, he offered her his arm. “Shall we continue our journey?”
Smiling, Harriet tucked her hand into his elbow. This would work out. Uncle Monty was stubborn, but he believed in fairness as a general principle. He would come around. They could survive without her dowry for a while, then use her inheritance to buy a sweet little cottage.
That sounded much more appealing than having to be the lady of a huge manor. Or having to navigate social politics in London every Season. All they needed was a few hours of luck to make their escape.
Rémy reached for the handle of the sagging door. Shock whipped through Harriet like a cold storm when the wood flew back before he could touch it, revealing two scowling men. One she didn’t recognize.
The other was her Uncle Monty.