Page 8 of The Pirate’s Stolen Bride (Cavalier Cove)

CHAPTER EIGHT

CAUGHT IN THE ACT

H arriet paced the small room.

Should she leave?

Should she crawl back into the bed and try to sleep?

Having eaten and bathed, she felt much better, though pacing the room left her feeling weak and fatigued. Another night of rest would help. Restlessly she explored the room while being as quiet as possible. She found her washed dress and undergarments hanging in a rickety wardrobe. Her sturdy, freshly polished half-boots sat beneath it.

He’d brought her ashore at considerable risk to his own life, had her clothes cleaned, her boots repaired, and watched over her while she slept through her fever.

He’d waved off her cruelty when she tried to apologize, which had led her to reveal far more of herself than she’d intended to.

Perhaps Rémy was kinder than she had initially given him credit for.

He was still flippant and impulsive in his actions but he was not the monster she’d initially believed him to be. Upon closer acquaintance, he struck her as the kind of man who presented a glib facade to all the world.

There was no point in lying to herself. Now that her belly was full and she’d had time to adjust to her situation, she was desperately curious about her captor.

He had a few possessions scattered around the room. A coin purse lay on a shelf of the wardrobe. She could pocket it and run. She didn’t touch it. The knitted vest he’d worn aboard the ship was tucked into the shelf below. She picked it up and inhaled its scent, then set it back where she’d found it.

His much-larger boots lay haphazardly on the floor. She righted them and took a seat in the rocking chair. The pirate rolled onto his back, flinging one arm across her side of the double bed.

At least he didn’t snore.

Despite the fire in the grate, a shiver chased up her arms and down her neck, past the high collar of her borrowed wrapper. This spring had been the coldest anyone could remember. Some claimed that a volcano eruption halfway around the world from England had caused the chill. Harriet didn’t quite believe it. But if it was true, what an awe-inspiring event.

The world was full of such wonders, and unlike her, Rémy got to experience them.

In a way, he’d given her a gift. He’d sprung the door of her gilded cage wide open, and like a bird suddenly presented with an open sky, she was confused by her unexpected freedom.

She barely knew him, but Rémy had forced her to admit that she didn’t care much for Lord Lucarran’s company. She wanted the things she believed he could give her: a family and security. But there had never been a single moment where her heart fluttered at the thought of marrying him, the way it did whenever she looked at Rémy.

That didn’t mean she admired or respected him. He was still a scoundrel. But maybe he wasn’t as bad as she’d originally thought.

Now that she knew more about Lucarran’s reputation, she could no longer willfully overlook his character flaws, assuming what Rémy said was true. She couldn’t deny that she’d overheard several offhand comments in London about the way he treated his tenants. At the time, she’d brushed them off as the usual snobbery toward Irish lords.

Uncle Monty was occasionally rude, but he wasn’t cruel. Perhaps that was why she hadn’t picked up on Lucarran’s true nature. She trusted Uncle Monty’s judgment over her own. There hadn’t been any animals around to give her a sense of his character either.

She sighed. Her fantasy of a secure home and family of her own were just that: a fantasy.

A soft knock called her to the door. The maid’s expression softened when saw Rémy asleep. “Your husband was very worried for you,” she said.

“He was?”

She nodded solemnly. Her gaze flicked briefly again to Rémy. A surge of unfamiliar emotion took Harriet off-guard.

Jealousy.

The maid clearly admired the pirate, and Harriet didn’t like that one bit. Nor did she wish to examine the reason why too closely.

“He hardly left your side the whole time. Poor Mr. Davies nigh wore himself out caring for you.” She winked. “You’re a lucky lady to have such a devoted husband.”

Harriet blinked. Rémy…her husband? The idea did uncomfortable things to her insides. Her stomach fluttered. Her heart soared. Lord Lucarran never made her feel this way. But she had made a promise. One she could not break…or could she?

When the maid was gone, she took the opportunity to study the sleeping pirate. She hadn’t had much of a chance to really look without getting into an instant clash of wills.

His brow was relatively unlined. She guessed him to be a few years older than herself, but no older than thirty. While there were weatherbeaten signs of a life lived on the water, they only enhanced his naturally sensual features.

He’d collapsed into bed with his shirt halfway unbuttoned and his trousers on. She dared to follow the V of exposed skin as far as her eyes could go, past the rises of his pectoral muscles, revealing a hint of corded muscle in his abdomen.

While she had never seen him undressed, Lord Lucarran’s straining waistcoat buttons and thin shoulders could not disguise his paunch. Naked, he would resemble a frog standing on its hind legs.

Who was she trying to fool? Despite everything, her captor was objectively attractive. She was lying to herself if she pretended she was immune.

With a huff, she lay down on the empty side of the double bed. Just as he’d done on the tiny captain’s bed, her rangy fake husband took up too much space. She tried to hug the edge of the bed, but it was so much warmer if she curled up beside him…

Rémy didn’t recall following a strumpet to bed, but this wouldn’t be the first time he’d awoken with a woman curled against his side—but it was the first time it didn’t send him rolling to the floor, pulling on his clothes, and running away.

Instead, he draped one arm over her waist and tucked her in closer. She barely stirred. This was very nice. Why hadn’t he ever allowed himself the luxury of sleeping with a woman before?

Right. They were usually married, to other men.

Vaguely, in the back of his mind, a sense of self-preservation told him to get up and move. He couldn’t remember why. There was a pursuer out there somewhere, but with the rain pattering against the windowpane, it hardly seemed likely they’d be discovered.

This woman was safe. What a deliciously novel sensation.

His cock twitched with interest.

She was soft and warm and smelled faintly of violets. There was an innocent undertone to her. He couldn’t quite have described it in any language, other than it reminded him of a cool breeze off the ocean on a sunny afternoon, carrying a tang of salt and stirring his senses. Calling to him.

Without thinking, he rolled the woman to her back and pressed a kiss to her lips. She made an odd motion, jerking away before settling back with a sigh, as if she wasn’t quite awake yet and barely registered what was happening. That made two of them.

His cock lengthened and thickened. That part of him was not waiting for full consciousness before pressing the advantage, and dragging the rest of him along with it. The lady was in his bed, after all, which meant she had welcomed this attention before…

When he kissed her a second time, she responded with a shuddery sigh and tangled her slender fingers in his hair. That was more like it. He rocked his hips forward, letting her feel precisely what he wanted, and trailed lazy kisses down the column of her throat. He slid his palm up her ribs to find the globe of her breast and squeezed lightly.

Nice tits, whoever she was.

She made a sound, which he interpreted as a wordless plea. It certainly wasn’t a protest. The woman arched into his touch when he pinched her peaked nipple through the thin fabric of her night rail. Each breathless gasp pulled him as taut as a rigging line.

He yanked the ribbon at her chest free and shoved the cambric aside to get to her breast. The low moan that gusted out of her was pure, sweet heaven. His cock kicked against the prison of his trousers.

Why had he slept in his clothes?

A warning alarm went off in the back of his skull. But her grip on his hair tightened, and he shut it out, too desperate for the taste of her skin. He worked his hand under the hem of her nightdress and up to her hip, intent upon giving this responsive and needy woman everything she demanded—until a sudden pounding at the door made her freeze.

With some reluctance, he released the nipple he was sucking on with an audible pop.

“Get off me,” she seethed. “We’re caught! They cannot see me like this.”

With surprising strength, she pushed him away. Rémy missed the edge of the bed and went sprawling onto the floor—not cock-first, fortunately, but he cupped his genitals protectively in case and managed to land painfully on his shoulder instead.

“Mr. and Mrs. Davies, there is a gentleman here to see you.”

The lady’s eyes flew wide. Harriet. That was her name. Rémy suddenly remembered everything. She might taste like heaven and feel like sin, but she was an innocent—and they were in a great deal of trouble.