A Captive of Chance (8 page)

The moment her body fell slack from the effort of her release, he plunged in as deep as he dared. Feeling an extreme rush as he felt his cum coat her hidden pink flesh, Chance buried his face against her damp neck and breathed deep, needing a moment.

Reaching up, he released the belt buckle and carried Belle’s limp frame to his bed. Belle kept her eyes closed, groaning and moving to her side the moment her sore and tender skin felt the cool bed linens. Without thought for his actions, without dwelling on how he had never done so for any other woman or captive, Chance reached into a drawer and pulled out a healing salve he had procured off a Chinese sloop they raided a few months ago.

After bathing her with a cloth dipped in cool water, Chance carefully rubbed the healing salve over her breasts and bottom, even the soft skin between her thighs. Standing over her, he realized she had fallen asleep.

Brushing back a thick black curl, he gave her a kiss on the cheek before quietly leaving the cabin… making sure to lock the door.

* * *

Chance joined his men down in the galley. Drake was supervising the division of the spoils from their last strike.

“That little spitfire is literally worth her weight in gold,” observed Drake. “Her dowry trunk was filled to the brim with gold, jewels, even some silver.

Chance nodded only half listening.

“There was also an impressive amount of seaweed and hair bobs, but I gave it all to the mermaids and dolphins,” said Drake sardonically.

“Hmm…” responded a distracted Chance. “Fine job, Drake.”

“Chance!” admonished his closest friend. “You are not attending a word I’ve spoken!”

“Sorry, friend, you are right. You have my full attention.”

“The haul was great. We got twenty barrels of fine American tobacco. Countless reams of silk and damask. Provisions from their store as well as your captive’s dowry chest.”

“Very good. Break into one of the tobacco barrels and give each man a ration along with their usual ration of rum. Leave the rest for us to sell when we get to port.”

“And the dowry chest?” asked Drake.

“The usual with allowances made for our additional good fortune,” said Chance, clapping his friend on the shoulder.

As the captain, Chance would receive a third of the haul with the remainder being split among the crew depending on rank. Chance was scrupulously fair for a pirate, at least to his men. He would ensure his and Drake’s portion accounted for them both receiving the added booty of women from the haul. The rest they would sell at port and divide up the spoils.

He watched as their cook, Ol’ Salt, came shuffling in. Ol’ Salt had been with him since he first sailed. After losing the use of his left leg during one of their skirmishes, Chance had made him cook rather than put him ashore. The old man’s face, weather-beaten from decades of salt spray and unrelenting sun, broke into a huge grin. ‘Thought you’d never ask, Captain,’ he had said then. Chance smiled at the memory. Turns out Ol’ Salt knew his way around a boiling pot.

“Eat up you scurvy lot!” groused Ol’ Salt as he slammed a pot of salt pork stew on the rough-hewn table. A cabin boy followed closely behind with a platter of biscuits and stewed vegetables.

“Vegetables!” said Chance with a raised eyebrow.

“Ah, your Lucky moniker served us well. The ship must have stopped for fresh provisions and were foolish enough to spend good coin on vegetables!” commented an amused Drake.

“I got a tray for your lady friends,” said Ol’ Salt as he passed Drake and the captain. Despite his fierce appearance, he always had a soft spot for a gentle maiden. “There’s fresh butter for their biscuits.”

“Why, Ol’ Salt, you old softy!” teased Chance.

“Nothing about it,” grumbled the old man. “Be foolish to waste good churned cream on this lot. Might as well give it to the women.”

Drake and Chance smiled, not the least bit fooled.

Reaching into a nearby crate, Drake grabbed a bottle of rum with one hand and the tray the cook extended with the other. “Well, there’s no point talking with you two hairy beasts when Gregor and I have a pair of lovely thighs to get between,” he chuckled, walking away with his small feast.

Chance tossed his head back and laughed. Grabbing the other tray from Ol’ Salt, he chose instead to grab some red wine before heading back to his cabin. Smiling as he wondered what state he would find his little spitfire in. Temperate or in a temper, either way she would be entertaining, he thought with a grin as he whistled a bawdy shanty on his way down the passageway.

Chapter Six

His Move

Chance entered his darkened cabin and immediately ducked… just in case. It was a needless gesture. Belle was still fast asleep in his bed. Brushing aside the feeling of contentment at seeing her sweet form tangled among his bed linens, Chance crossed to the table and laid down the tray and wine bottle.

Belle felt a warm hand on her waist.

“
Vete Quiero dormir
,” she murmured before turning on to her stomach, giving Chance a view of her pert backside, which still bore the mark of his punishment.

Giving her a playful swat on her bottom, Chance said smugly, “I can see your desire to lounge about in my bed, hoping for more of my cock,
ma petite
, but you really should eat something before we have another go at it.”

With an indignant shriek, Belle flew out of the bed, only to quickly realize she was still bare as the day she was born. Grabbing the linen, she hastily wrapped it around her body and then over her shoulders as best she could.

Chance just laughed as he gestured to the table.

“Your knight errant has brought his fair maiden a feast!” he said with a theatric gesture.

“You are hardly a white knight, sir,” she responded sharply.

“And you are no longer a maiden,” he said with a strange gentle look in his eye that only served to confuse Belle further.

Deciding it was not worth the fight, Belle raised an indifferent shoulder and crept closer to the table, drawn by the savory scent and inviting steam wafting above the dishes.

“Come. Sit. I shall serve us both,” offered Chance, who was in a very content mood.

“Could I have something to put on?” asked Belle shyly.

“And rob me of the lovely visage of your ample bosom? No, my Belle.”

Acquiescing, Belle sat at the table and watched from lowered lashes as he spooned great heaps of the tantalizing stew into her bowl. Hunger out ruling decorum, Belle picked up her spoon and sampled the savory dish before Chance had even taken a seat. She had swallowed several large spoonfuls before remembering herself.

Sitting back, she apologized for her unladylike behavior. She may be the captive of a pirate, but that was no excuse to act like a heathen at the supper table!

“If you do not continue to attack that stew with the same amount of relish, I will bend you over my knee,” replied Chance with mock severity. It was a beautiful sight to watch a woman enjoy her food, particularly this woman. The way her small mouth closed over the spoon. Her appreciative moans each time the flavorful stew slid down her throat. The pale pink flush that spread across her caramel skin as the warm food replenished her.

Belle was aware of his scrutiny, repeatedly adjusting the linen to cover her shoulders as much as possible. At least it gave her something to focus on. The last thing she wanted to do was look at the man eating his own portion of stew with gusto across from her. It really was not fair that so handsome and well-spoken a man should be a pirate!

In her opinion, people should resemble their natures, but there again, she ran into trouble with Chance. There was no question he was selfish, ruthless and arrogant. Everything she assumed a pirate would be. Yet, she could not say he was blood-thirsty or overly cruel, which she had also assumed would be the nature of a pirate. It did not escape her attention that he let the crew of the ship she was traveling on continue with their journey unharmed. It was obvious he was rather charming.

True he had taken her captive, but was her fate now worse than it had been before? She was on her way to a joyless marriage with a seventy year old man. While Chance had yet to mention asking for a ransom, Belle assumed he would demand one from her father. She would insist it covered her companion, Marina, as well. It would be only a matter of weeks before she could return to her beloved island home. Given her now soiled state, her father would not be able to force her into another marriage.

There were of course the punishments. Belle blushed at the recollection. Shaking her head no, she refused to think about the punishments or her body’s embarrassing reaction to them.

“You have been quite pensive and are now shaking your head no. Is the stew not to your liking?” asked Chance. He had been having a pleasant time reading the play of emotion as one after the other crossed her comely face.

Her blush deepened at even the possibility he could have guessed the direction of her wayward thoughts. “The stew is very fine,” she responded softly. “Can I ask what has become of Marina?” she beseeched, wanting to take advantage of his unusually still mood.

“At this moment, I believe she is enjoying some very fine rum and two of my finest men,” he pleasantly replied.

“But you can’t mean… you don’t mean to say…” Belle could not finish.

Chance leaned over the table to stare directly into her shocked eyes. “Your sweet, innocent companion is apparently more sassy than sweet and very much not an innocent even before my men got to her.”

There were virtually no, what society would call, respectable women on the tiny island in the Azores from where she hailed who were willing to take the sea voyage from sunny warm shores to cold, dank England. So her father had to be content with a respectable
looking
one. As such, Belle was hardly shocked she was not a maiden, but the idea of her bedding
two
pirates was beyond what she could comprehend. Belle could barely handle the one!

Chance pushed their plates aside and poured them both a draft of wine. “No more talk of your companion. Let us have a game. Do you play chess?”

“Why yes, I do.”

“Try not to look so shocked that a pirate does as well,” he said as he rose to get the board, tweaking her cheek as he passed. Belle took a long sip of wine to steady her nerves. Yes, it was obvious the man was charming!

Setting up the board between them, he said with a twinkle in his eye, “Let me explain the rules of pirate chess.”

“Pirate chess?”

“Yes, every time you forfeit a piece, you must also forfeit coin.”

“But I have no coin, you have taken it all.”

“Hmmm… well that is a dilemma,” he said, seeming to stroke his chin in deep thought. “Well, we will just have to come up with something else for you to forfeit.”

Belle held her breath in expectation of what he would ask, not daring to admit what she secretly hoped.

After a dramatic pause, Chance said, “You shall forfeit a few inches of skin.”

“What!”

“Yes, that is it,” exclaimed Chance, warming up to the idea. “You shall raise… or lower… that troublesome linen that is covering up your delectable body from my sight.”

“And what shall be your forfeit?”

“What does
mon petit trésor
want?” His voice a seductive purr.

“Answers.”

Now it was Chance’s turn to look perplexed.

“You must answer my questions,” clarified Belle.

“We have ourselves a game!” he declared. “Ladies first.”

She was the white pieces, of course. Belle boldly moved her knight forward. Chance followed suit with his own dark knight. After several moves, her white pawn was the first to fall.

“Forfeit!” said Chance with a wink.

With a saucy smirk, Belle raised the linen a few inches… above her ankle. She laughed outright at his boyish pout of disappointment. Her king then promptly captured his pawn.

“Forfeit!” she exclaimed, clapping her hands.

“Ask away!”

Belle knew what she wanted to ask but lost her nerve and instead queried, “What is your real name?” While her whole situation was disconcerting in the extreme, it was especially so to learn you do not know the true name of the man who just bedded you.

Chance gave her an amused, knowing look. There was no hiding the intent off her expressive face. He knew that was not really the question she wanted to ask him. “Chance is the name I answer to for a select few, but that also is not my real name.”

“
¿Qué diablos es ésto?
” she blurted out. Her desire to know his name overriding any shyness or reserve.

Rising in one fluid motion, Chance dropped into a perfect, courtly bow before taking her small hand in his powerful one and gently kissing the soft skin. “Captain Jacques Tavernier “Le Chanceux” at your service, Miss Esmerelda Leonor Isabelle Catalina de Recalde el Rojo,” he said with a sly wink.

Belle blushed prettily and lowered her lashes not wanting him to see how pleased she was to learn he remembered her full name. Although at first, despising it, she had come to like the name Belle, especially how he always seemed to use it as an endearment rather than just her name.

To break the sudden tension, she asked, “So Chance?”

“After several good turns with hauls filled with booty and goods, I got the moniker “Le Chanceux”, The Lucky. My first mate and closest thing to a brother thought it was amusing and started to call me Chance as a consequence. He is the only one permitted. The rest of my crew call me Captain.”

The wine was having an effect on Belle. Her blue eyes shining like cobalt, she boldly asked him, “And what should I call you?”

Chance leaned in close, whispering against her lips, “You, my Belle, can call me whatever you want.”

To Belle’s embarrassment, her lips followed his as he pulled away to take his seat.

They continued to play, Belle playing aggressively. Moving her bishop and king to advantage, but unfortunately she was not shrewd enough. Chance’s knight captured her own.