The Pirate's Bride Page 8

  Making up his mind, Andre spoke out of the side of his mouth, “Well, back me on this one.” He swaggered over to Sophie’s side as she leaned into one of the brig’s officers. On impulse, he grabbed her arm and swung her toward him and farther away from the prisoners. Holding her thus, he planted a loud, open-mouthed kiss on her startled lips.

  Before she could react, he released her mouth, though not her arm, and bowed to the captives. “I apologize for my exuberance, messieurs and mada—," a quick look told him there were no women prisoners. “Oh. It is only messieurs. Well then, gentlemen, you will understand my eagerness if I tell have not seen wife in nigh on three days and am very excited to be reunited with her." He gave one hip thrust emphasize his point, bringing embarrassed laughter from everyone on deck as well as an angry glare from Sophie.

  His grip on her arm did not lessen as he pulled his pistol from his belt. “So if you please, messieurs, empty your pockets quickly so that you may be on way, and I can move to more pressing business.

  With the now affable captives complying by removing their valuables, Andre leaned into Sophie. She squirmed when she felt his hard length along her backside. He grinned at her discomfort and dropped his arm to her waist. With his mouth at her ear he whispered, “I only spoke the truth, mon amour. Don’t make it worse."

  As she stilled, he nodded to her crew who had collected the swag and then addressed the victims. “We now bid you adieu, fine gentlemen. When you recount this story, make sure to tell everyone the Captains Dubois were courteous and cordial as they lifted your valuables. ‘Ta." He swung about, dragging sophie past limey other pirates straight across board connecting her ship to brigantine.

  Once back on the Phoenix, she ground to a halt. “Stop manhandling me. Who do you think you are—?”

  With a jerk of her arm, he hissed, “Unless you want to put on a show for your crew, save it until we get in your cabin. Now, be a dear and try to act captainly by giving your perfectly capable first mate his orders to sail behind the Princess. Now.”

  Aggravated as he was, Andre still took time to notice how appealing Sophie looked under her feathered hat, blue eyes shooting daggers at him, face pink with anger. Of course, his body reacted to her nearness. Those enticing curves pressed up against his manhood sent him seeking her softness. He wasn’t embarrassed, though he knew she’d been shocked to feel his arousal. It had been a natural male reaction, and he was going to have it again if he didn’t stop thinking about her in that way.

  She capitulated on a sniff, storming toward her cabin while telling her crew to “Bear away.” Andre followed in her wake. As he passed her first mate, Limey touched his sleeve.

  “Don’t be too rough on her. She’s just inexperienced.”

  Seriously? This eighteen-year-old youth was calling his young captain inexperienced? In addition, telling him, the most feared pirate of the Spanish Main, what to do? Squaring his shoulders, he stared down the boy and snapped, “I am not going to hurt your captain. But I will attempt to yell some sense into that bird brain of hers.”

  Limey gave a short nod. “Then that’s alright. She needs someone to yell at her, and I’m her first mate. I can only advise.” Andre started forward once more. Like he needed that upstart’s permission.

  Catching the captain’s door before it swung shut in his face, he shoved it open and narrowly missed being slammed in the skull with a flying candlestick. Only his quick reflexes spared him a knot on his head.

  Sophie was just winding up. He saw her reach for the candlestick’s mate and ducked low to snatch it from her fingers. She spat, “Salaud. You meddling bastard. How dare come onto my ship and take over? You overstepped your bounds, you...you..."

  “Husband is the word you’re searching for, and that makes it within my boundaries. You seem to forget, you have no rights. You sail on this ocean because I see fit to let you, but with that display of overt ineptitude, I may just beach your ship and your crew. What were you thinking, getting into those people’s faces? They’re already angry you’re taking their valuables. Don’t you think they might try to retaliate? Mon dieu, imbécile."

  They stood toe to toe. He may have disarmed her, thank God, he had, but she hadn’t stopped spitting like a riled cat. “There is no need for everyone to be so worried about my proximity to captives. Le Commandant said my footwork was fast and balletic, as are my reflexes. Oh—”

  In that split second after she bragged, Andre reached out and spun her body up tight against his, her back to his front. He pulled out his small knife and held it to her throat, while his other arm remained a tight band about her waist. Her nearness caused another erection.

  “Fantastic reflexes, eh, ma chérie?” he whispered through the hair at her neck. “If I were one of your prisoners you’d be dead, throat sliced open like a gasping fish. Crew would now milling about while ran amuck, and who knows else die? All because you chose to put yourself in danger by disregarding common sense. You may be quick-footed, but you’re also slow-witted."

  With his head perched on her shoulder, nose inhaling deep her unique scent, he felt himself harden even more. He realized he desired his young “wife” even more than he had on their wedding night. This Sophie was much more attractive to him than that cautious miss. This one was an independent woman who fought for what she wanted. He found that feistiness intoxicating. Being with her would never be dull.

  With that thought in his mind and the bulge in his breeches, he sheathed his knife with a flick of his wrist. Replacing it at his waist, he turned her around so that their faces were only inches apart.

  Time froze as their gazes met. His dropped to her mouth, and he gave in to temptation, taking her soft lips in a fiery explosion of a kiss.

  She whimpered as his mouth closed over hers. He began nibbling on her lower lip, drawing it into his mouth and then loosening the suction. As he’d expected, her mouth startled open. He dove his tongue into that warm cavern, swept the insides, tangled with hers, teasing them both.

  Sainte Mère de Dieu, her mouth was like nectar and his tongue the bee, drawn repeatedly to taste honeyed interior of that moist hollow. Each thrust became an imitation what lower body wanted do her, in her. he fought urge press rigid part him against realized somehow fevered brain she not yet ready for a physical relationship.

  He cupped her face with his calloused hands, stroked his thumb pads over her cheekbones as he drank from her lips once more. Angling his head, he left those trembling rose petals to drop delicate pecks all along her jaw line. Once there, he nibbled right up to her perfectly shaped shell of an earlobe and proceeded to suck the delicacy, eliciting more whimpers straight from her throat.

  Then he skimmed along her jaw, returned to those pink, swollen lips that addicted him with their taste. He scraped his teeth along their plushness, then soothed with a touch of tongue. merde, she had to be as on fire as he, what with all the whimpering she made under his seductive attack.

  Odd though, those whimpers sounded distressed, and her hands weren’t pulling him closer. They were pushing at his shoulders, shoving actually, and the noises coming from within her hitched as if on the verge of tears.

  He dropped his hands to his sides, raising heavy lids in time to see her back away, nearly trip over her desk chair in her eagerness to put distance between them. She withdrew against her bunk, gasping for air, chest rising and falling so rapidly he thought she might faint.

  The pupils in her eyes had dilated and she’d crossed her arms in front of her body. He wondered if she even saw him anymore. She seemed to have tunneled into her mind, and he was confused, as if he was missing a crucial piece of a puzzle.

  “Sophie?” He began, her hiss cutting him short.

  “No, I can’t do it. I thought I could, but I can’t. It will be like before. I won’t let you do it. I won’t let you put that...in me.” She glanced at his crotch.

  He looked down and mentally shrugged. Breeches left little to the imagination where men were concerned, but her word
s chilled him. That and the fact that she didn’t seem to be talking to him anymore, that she wasn’t even in this room, but somewhere in her past.

  “Sophie?” He tried again, putting out a tentative hand toward her as she stared straight into his eyes and pulled her sword on him.

  “I won’t let you rape me.”

  Those horrible words clicked all the puzzle pieces into place. Everything that had transpired between them made perfect sense now. Sophie had never slept with a man as he’d accused her of doing. She’d been violated at some point in her past. A nasty taste filled his mouth, especially when he realized he’d done almost the same on their wedding night.

  Oh, he hadn’t forced her, but had she ever really had a choice? He’d entered her, found her maidenhead gone, and said vile words he could never take back, words she probably believed to be true anyway since rape had a way of tearing up a woman’s self-esteem.

  Was that why her father had threatened his father? To ensure his daughter had protection in the form of marriage to the son of Le Commandant? The marriage he’d had annulled in a fit of rage? And what of his father? Had he known about her rape, and finagled his son’s cooperation? All possibilities.

  It also explained her desire to become a pirate. She could protect herself now. Hell, she’d probably been ecstatic when he’d taken off for the Orient. She’d had ten months without answering to anyone, to be her own boss. His father had afforded her that opportunity. Aye, it probably would be a good idea to consult his Papa when they returned to La Nouvelle-Orléans.

  However, right now he needed to concentrate on disarming her of her weapon, the second one she’d pulled on him since his return. If they ever got past this development he’d have to make sure all weapons were absent from the boudoir. mon dieu, what would she do if he didn’t satisfy her in bed? the thought bear contemplating.

  Her sword arm trembled, drawing his attention. The tip of her rapier bobbed. That was a good sign. She wasn’t bloodthirsty, simply protecting herself. He cleared his throat, gentled his tone. “Sophie? It’s me, Andre Dubois. I’m not the person who raped you. You can lower your weapon. I won’t attack you.” Her eyes focused on him as if seeing him for the first time. Merde, she’d been far away for a few moments there.

  Blinking and standing straighter, she shook her head and snapped, “I know that. I’m not crazy. I’m also not helpless anymore. If I don’t want you in...in me, that’s my choice. I never wanted to be wedded, and I certainly don’t want to be bedded.”

  Merde, merde, merde. Tread softly, since of course, now all he wanted was her, wife or no, but she wanted no part him. He took a deep breath. “Then it will be up to me to change your mind, mon amour. You can set the pace, bien?"

  Ah, he’d confused her. He could see it in her eyes, the way she cocked her head. She was disconcerted, and somewhat curious. She’d expected him to get angry, to bluster and threaten. Instead, he’d accepted her terms. Good. Not all was lost. He met her narrowed gaze with what he hoped was kindness, not intimidation.

  “I’m damaged goods, mon mari. Why would you want to stay with me? You certainly did not on our wedding night." Her voice dripped scorn.

  He looked down, remembering his anger and disappointment at his discovery of her loss of innocence. He recalled how that evening she’d glowed like an angel in white satin and candlelight. He’d desired her so much then, he who’d never wanted to be shackled to one woman. Perhaps that’s why he’d reacted like a crazy man and stormed away, why he’d sought out the priest. He’d finally accepted their marriage, only to find out she’d duped him. Though, she hadn’t, had she?

  At last, he looked up. Noticed her sword now pointed at the cabin floor. “I made assumptions that night because no one told me different, eh? As for being damaged, name someone in our world who isn’t? I can accept your past, ma femme à moi, now that I know it."

  He held his breath, knew he should bring up that damning paper he kept in his possession, the one that would release her from ever having to have relations with a man again. He couldn’t. Not yet. Call him evil, call him immoral, but he couldn’t let Sophie go away thinking all men—meaning himself—would treat her the way she’d been treated. She needed to leave their marriage with all the facts about lovemaking, and he needed to make love with her, at least once.

  “Why?”

  Why indeed? He chose to be obtuse in order to remove the image of their naked bodies intertwined. “Why what?”

  Frowning, she sheathed her sword, missed his blown out breath of relief. “Why do you want to stay with me? Why do you want to be...to be considerate? No matter how you act, you’ll never be my first. My first was a crime, because he took something from me that I can never freely give. So, why?”

  She stood tall and brave before him, long, dark braid over one shoulder, lithe body encased in men’s clothes that still couldn’t hide her feminine form, and she had the temerity to wonder why he wanted to stay with her? Sacrebleu.

  Should he tell her he wanted to introduce her to the proper lovemaking between a man and a woman? The ecstasy of fingers ghosting over satiny skin, the power of pliant lips touched to the nape of the neck, the rising passion when two bodies became one? That in that way he could be her first? Her last?

  Was love motivating him? He cast that thought aside. He never fell in love. His only true love was the sea, and his ship. They were the only constants in his life. For the first time in his existence he wanted to care for someone, wanted to heal her pain, which puzzled the hell out of him.

  Shoving those curiosities aside, he attempted an explanation. “You are my wife. Your father and my father wanted this, and I think we could make a good team. Let’s see where it goes, chérie. I will never force you. I’ve never had to force a woman. He puffed out his chest with that revelation but she moved toward the door, opened it wide as sign was not impressed. Her words cinched assumption.

  “I’m sure you haven’t. However, marriage was never my plan. It was my father’s. I prefer my freedom, to be in control of my own destiny. I don’t think even you can deliver all that with a few thrusts of your hips.”

  She flushed during her coarse intimation. He smirked as he passed close by her, heartened by the fact that she did not shrink from him. “Never underestimate the power of seduction, mon amour. Adieu for now.

  The door shut quietly behind him.

  Once out on deck, squinting his eyes in the bright sunlight and thankful for the kohl he lined them with daily, he sought out Sophie’s first mate. Limey stood at the helm, staring at the horizon. He turned at the sound of Andre’s approach, but faced forward without uttering a word. Andre stopped beside him, yet still the youth did not speak. Andre sighed, and broached his suspicions. “You already knew of her past, did you not?”

  Still no eye contact, just slight adjustments of the wheel with large, capable hands. “Aye. But it was her story to tell, or not tell.”

  Andre nodded. “Have you bed her?”

  Limey swung toward him, mouth dropping open in astonishment.

  Andre shrugged. “I need to know if she has recovered from her attack or if I am starting from square one.”

  Looking forward once more Limey replied, “You are starting from square one. I’m her first mate, not her paramour. She still harbors raw feelings that I don’t know will ever fade, but I’m there for her. I’ll always be there for her.” This time he faced Andre. “Will you?” he challenged.

  “Touché.” Andre looked up into the tall youth’s face. He saw a young man who fancied himself in love with his captain. Andre’s annulled wife. He shrugged, confident in his wooing abilities. “Only time will tell, mon ami but it is good to know someone as trustworthy you on this ship with her until we reach La Nouvelle-Orléans.

  With that veiled warning floating between them, he requested Limey to catch up to the Princess so he could return to his own ship.

  Chapter Nine

  “My father’s house is not that far from yours, really,”
Andre explained a few days later as he and Sophie entered the Vieux Carré in early evening on their way to his father’s residence. Humidity hung in the air like the Spanish moss in the nearby swamps, creating a sheen of perspiration on Sophie’s forehead. Andre looked somewhat more comfortable in his open-necked, billowy shirt, though his skin glistened in the light from the streetlights. Sophie already missed the cool breeze off the ocean.

  Having left their ships in the hands of their first mates, Sophie and Andre made their way past numerous drinking establishments and brothels. Tinny music and raucous laughter spilled out into the street where they walked, sending her closer to him. If he noticed, he gave no sign.

  Now she answered, averting her eyes from the brothels they passed, remembering Tortuga and all its rampant deviant behaviors. “I already know where your father’s house is.”

  He shot her a lopsided grin. “I forgot. When you were planning on stealing my territory you trained in my ancestral home, with me own father.”

  His easy acceptance of her attempted usurpation of his territory put her off balance. She’d expected anger, retaliation. Not this gentle, humorous reminder of her treachery. She couldn’t read him.

  He touched her sleeve, pointed down Canal Street. “Let me show you a place I enjoyed visiting when I was young, younger than your Limey. It probably hasn’t changed, and I know you never went there.”

  She opened her mouth to disagree when she heard the sound of drums and chanting. They came to the street’s end, a large, dirt covered area. Tall torches stuck in the ground at intervals, the flames casting shadows on the occupants, illuminated it.

  Filling this open space were more Negroes than she could count, African slaves or free men forming a semi-circle around what appeared to be many dancers and musicians, men and women dressed in native costume. Some were playing flute-like instruments. Others used their hands to pound out rhythmic beats on drums. The women wore brightly colored dresses draped about their sinuous bodies, with turbans or wraps upon their heads, and the men wore breeches, and nothing else. Sophie stared.