Authors: Leslie Dicken

Tags: #Romance

Beauty Tempts the Beast (31 page)

BOOK: Beauty Tempts the Beast

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That cold, empty silence again. A sob caught in her throat.

“Was there anything in it?” she asked, not bothering to wipe the tear tracing the rim of her nose. “Our summer here, all those long walks and even longer conversations? When you kissed me that night, did it mean anything to you?”

When he did not answer, she took three paces in his direction. “I know how proud you must be of those enigmatic silences, but I believe I deserve an answer.” She stood between his icy silence and the heated aura of the fire. Scorched on one side, bitterly cold on the other—like a slice of toast someone had forgotten to turn.

“What sort of answer would you like to hear?”

“An honest one.”

“Are you certain? It’s my experience that young ladies vastly prefer fictions. Little stories, like Portia’s gothic novel.”

“I am as fond of a good tale as anyone,” she replied, “but in this instance, I wish to know the truth.”

“So you say. Let us try an experiment, shall we?” He rose from his chair and sauntered toward her, his expression one of jaded languor. His every movement a negotiation between aristocratic grace and sheer brute strength.

Power
. He radiated power in every form—physical, intellectual, sensual—and he knew it. He knew that she sensed it.

The fire was unbearably warm now. Blistering, really. Sweat beaded at her hairline, but Cecily would not retreat.

“I could tell you,” he said darkly, seductively, “that I kissed you that night because I was desperate with love for you, overcome with passion, and that the color of my ardor has only deepened with time and separation. And that when I lay on a battlefield bleeding my guts out, surrounded by meaningless death and destruction, I remembered that kiss and was able to believe that there was something of innocence and beauty in this world, and it was you.” He took her hand and brought it to his lips. Almost. Warm breath caressed her fingertips. “Do you like that answer?”

She gave a breathless nod. She was a fool; she couldn’t help it.

“You see?” He kissed her fingers. “Young ladies prefer fictions.”

“You are a cad.” Cecily wrenched her hand away and balled it into a fist. “An arrogant, insufferable cad.”

“Yes, yes. Now we come to the truth. Shall I give you an honest answer, then? That I kissed you that night for no other reason than that you looked uncommonly pretty and fresh, and though I doubted my ability to vanquish Napoleon, it was some balm to my pride to conquer you, to feel you tremble under my touch? And that now I return from war, to find everything changed, myself most of all. I scarcely recognize my surroundings, except…” He cupped her chin in his hand and lightly framed her jaw between his thumb and forefinger. “Except Cecily Hale still looks at me with stars in her eyes, the same as she ever did. And when I touch her, she still trembles.”

Oh. She
was
trembling. He swept his thumb across her cheek, and even her hair shivered.

“And suddenly…” His voice cracked. Some unrehearsed emotion pitched his dispassionate drawl into a warm, expressive whisper. “Suddenly, I find myself determined to keep this one thing constant in my universe. Forever.”

She swallowed hard. “Do you intend to propose to me?”

“I don’t think so, no.” He caressed her cheek again. “I’ve no reason to.”

“No reason?” Had she thought her humiliation complete? No, it seemed to be only beginning.

“I’ll get my wish, Cecy, whether I propose to you or not. You can marry Denny, and I’ll still catch you stealing those starry looks at me across drawing rooms, ten years from now. You can share a bed with him, but I’ll still haunt your dreams. Perhaps once a year on your birthday—or perhaps on mine—I’ll contrive to brush a single fingertip oh-so-lightly between your shoulder blades, just to savor that delicious tremor.” He demonstrated, and she hated her body for responding just as he’d predicted.

An ironic smile crooked his lips. “You see? You can marry anyone or no one. But you’ll always be mine.”

“I will not,” she choked out, pulling away. “I will put you out of my mind forever. You are not so very handsome, you know, for all that.”

“No, I’m not,” he said, chuckling. “And there’s the wonder of it. It’s nothing to do with me, and everything to do with you. I know you, Cecily. You may try to put me out of your mind. You may even succeed. But you’ve built a home for me in your heart, and you’re too generous a soul to cast me out now.”

She shook her head. “I—”

“Don’t.” With a sudden, powerful movement, he grasped her waist and brought her to him, holding her tight against his chest. “Don’t cast me out.”

Love can blow even a true pirate off course.

Eden’s Pass

Finn Eden will do anything to escape a life of slavery on a Barbados sugar plantation. Even risk her life disguised as a cabin boy aboard a pirate ship, putting up with the drunken captain’s slovenly habits.

Then her patience nets her an unexpected opportunity: A ship of her own. Half the profits. And freedom.

Too bad the captain conveniently left out a small detail; there’s a price on his head.

Captain Inigo Sebastiano is a ruthless pirate with a years-long score to settle with the man who raped and murdered his wife. The truce he’s struck with the fiery Finn is uneasy in more ways than one, but his unsettling reaction to his new cabin “boy” is explained when he uncovers her true identity. Ever the gentleman pirate, he’ll help his lovely new bedmate keep her secret. For now. When the time is right, it’s a secret he’ll use to his advantage.

But the spitfire in his bed rekindles something in his heart he thought had died. As Inigo closes in on his quarry, he begins to wonder if Finn’s freedom—and her trust—is a sacrifice he’s willing to make.

Warning: this book may lead to fantasies containing gorgeous pirates with sexy accents.

Enjoy the following excerpt for
Eden’s Pass:

She was drawing the sheets up over the bed when footsteps sounded out in the corridor. Her chores were unfinished, as there were still clothes piled on the table, and a collection of wrinkled stockings on the floor beside the bed, but she was not worried. It would take but a second for her to scoop them up and deposit them in the large basket on the floor beside the armoire.

The door swung open and Iñigo stepped into the room. His eyes were dark as they met hers, but that didn’t trouble her. Surely he’d not erupt over a few scattered clothes, would he? It seemed silly to her, to grow upset because his cabin was a bit on the messy side, but some people were rather fussy about such things. Mayhap he was one of them.

She stood there, waiting for him to upbraid her, but he said nothing about the somewhat haphazard state of his cabin and still-rumpled bed. In fact, he said nothing at all. Instead, his eyes continued to darken as he moved to the window to peer through it, staring out at the water.

“Is something the matter?” she asked, turning around to see him staring out at the water. His arms were folded across his chest, his back and shoulders stiff, almost rigid, as he continued staring out, searching the sea behind the
María.

“We have company.” His voice was a low, humorless growl.

Her ears perked up, and her belly fluttered at the same time. “Company, you say? I was looking out that window but moments ago and I saw nothing.”

He gestured toward the open space. “Come, then. See for yourself, Finn.”

She moved to stand beside him, peeking out the same window. Squeezing between him and the wall, she fought to ignore the musky, masculine scent teasing her nose. Instead, she concentrated on where there had been nothing but foamy, white-capped ocean earlier, now a lone ship loomed, and it grew larger by the minute. She squinted into the distance, wondering if it was the same ship she’d seen the day before. “I cannot see a flag.”

“She is not flying one.” He twisted to face her, resting his elbow on the ledge below the window. “But I’ve an idea whom it might be.”

This
was a surprise and she couldn’t keep it from her voice as she glanced up at him. “You do?”

He nodded. “It’s none other than the
Magdalena.
”

Finn gaped at him. “Are you certain?”

“I am.”

She turned back to the window, a ripple of apprehension trickling through her. The
Magdalena
was known and feared by most who sailed the Caribbean waters. She was captained by Edward Kittles, a privateer under England’s protection. Beauregard would sneer and mock the English captain, but the one time the
Smiling Jack
crossed paths with the
Magdalena
, Beauregard couldn’t turn tail quick enough.

Kittles’s reputation was the stuff of legends and even she—a lowly cabin boy—had heard of the Englishman’s cruel streak, his brutal treatment of both his crew and his prisoners alike. Her mouth went dry and her palms clammy.

Glancing back at Iñigo, it was to see a muscle leap in his jaw and his eyes glint with what appeared to be a murderous rage. Wondering what could cause such rage, she asked, “And what happens now?”

“My dear boy—” he turned toward her, outwardly calm, save for his glinting eyes, “—surely you did not just ask me that inane question. What think you happens?”

“You will face them.” It was not a question. They would engage the newcomer in battle. A flutter of apprehension, mingled with excitement, rippled her belly. It was a risky question, but one she
had
to ask.

“Will you allow me my steel?”

Iñigo's surprise was clear as his eyed widened. “Allow you your steel?”

She nodded, anticipation already bubbling through her veins, her hands almost trembling from it.

There was nothing she’d ever wanted as passionately, though she tried not to let on. “You said yourself I would be an asset to your crew.”

“And you’ve been in my company a mere week, Finn. Think you I am so mad as to allow you your weapon?”

Finn turned back to the window, her eyes drawn back to the growing ketch with the mottled gray-blue sails. “Captain, you have nothing to fear from me. I am in your service through no wish of my own, but it isn’t as though you snatched me from a life of leisure, of a higher station, and forced me into servitude.

Know you this, I
will
be an asset, should it come to battle. You need only trust me. Know this, you need fear nothing from me.”

“And think you I fear you at all?”

She snorted. “Of course not. But I am offering to assist you. You said yourself that several of your men were wounded in the battle with the
Smiling Jack
. I am more than a mere cabin boy. I know you don’t believe me, but Beauregard saw fit to release his ship to me eventually and even you yourself saw what I am capable of, did you not?”

“Aye. I did. But—”

“Nay,” Finn shook her head, holding up a hand. “Nay, there is no
but
, Captain. I offer you my assistance. We both know I am amply skilled with my steel. You would be a fool to not make use of me.”

More than anything, she wanted to be involved, wanted to feel her steel in her hands once more. She wanted to prove to Iñigo she was every bit as capable as any one of his men. Mayhap then he’d return her steel for good. Mayhap then— “Finn?”

“Captain,” she whispered, no shame, no embarrassment, only steely resolve and determination.

“Allow me this and I’ll not ask for another thing the rest of my time onboard this ship.”

She didn’t care if she begged, didn’t care that it made her seem weak. Her steel was almost in her hands. It was apparent in the indecision in his eyes, in the way he sighed before slowly tipping his head.

“Very well, Finn. I will allow it. But,” he added ominously, “know you this—should you decide to try to raise your blade to me, I will make damn certain my men understand they are to cut you down at once.”

“Of course,” she replied, excitement and blood-chilling fear swirling through her, making her hands, her arms, her entire body tremble with anticipation.

“You must give me your word, Finn.”

“I give you my word, Captain.”

“Very well. Come along, Finn.” He glanced up toward the ceiling. “
Dios mío
, do not let me regret this.”