The Rogue’s Prize (4 page)

place in every way but one?

“It’s customary to answer a

question before asking one,” he parried.

He stood, his body a lithe predatory

element she would be smart not to

ignore. He moved closer, his eye never

wavering from hers. Under his close

scrutiny, she was vaguely aware of the

struggling crew overhead, of the rocking

of the ship beneath her, and the four

walls of the cabin closing in. She was

aware of his smell — musk, smoke, and

wood, not like the grease, sulfur, and

filth of the other men. The closer he

ambled, the bigger, more daunting he

became. Eventually, she had to crane her

neck to look up into his face.

“What’s your name?” he asked

again.

Constance felt compelled to answer

but her lips failed to comply. He was too

close. He did not fit into the mold of her

mother’s attackers, men she vividly

remembered through a child’s eyes —

dirty, toothless, and vile. This man, this

blackguard, was dark where Lieutenant

Guffald was light. He was menacing and

willful, where her father exemplified

dignity and social breeding. Constance

shivered and pulled the wrap he’d given

her closer together. Fearing the next few

minutes, hours, she longed for her

mother’s strength. She was a lady, the

daughter of a proud nobleman, a man

who happened to be destitute but not by

his own design. She’d been sheltered

from cruelty, protected from diabolical

men, until her father had been forced to

make a deal with Lord Burton — until

now. She could not give her real name.

If it ever became known, the disgrace

would be irreparable to her father’s

already tarnished image. But what

answer could she give to appease this

man’s curiosity? And if she lied, and he

discovered her ruse, what then?

“I expect a reply,” he stated.

Daring to hope she could buy

herself more time, to find a way to

escape her mother’s same agonizing fate,

Constance held her tongue.

“There is no place for you to go,”

he said, an irritating grin spreading over

his face.

She was trapped. For the first time

in her life, Constance wondered why she

hadn’t married for money. In her

stupidity, in her selfishness, she, the

mouse, had escaped the buzzard only to

get snatched by the hawk.

Constance scanned the length of the

rogue’s cock-sure stance, hands fisted at

his hips, powerful legs braced apart as if

he was one with the ship. He licked his

lips. Against her will, she watched his

tongue linger at the corner of his mouth.

He
was no gentleman, but neither was

Lord Burton, a notable member of the

ton, a man with a reputation built on

false

decency.

Appearances,

she

reminded herself, could be deceiving. If

that was true, could this man be anything

different than what he appeared to be —

her executioner?

“Come now. You’re no mute.

Speak up!”

“Very well, then. What kind of man

preys upon a defenseless woman?” she

asked.

“Defenseless? What do you call

that tin pan you planted on Saracen’s

head?” he mocked.

“Evening the odds.” So the pirate

they’d carried away was called Saracen.

She mentally noted it. If she made it off

the ship alive, she intended to have each

and every one of these derelicts hunted

down and prosecuted.

Fire sparked in his eye. “You’re

quick witted,” he said. “I’d laugh, if I

didn’t know foolishness could get you

killed.”

Her lower lip trembled.

“Nod if you understand. Tell me

you will heed my advice.”

“I’ll do no such thing,” she

countered, “until you give me your word

you won’t harm either of us.”

“Why would I do that?”

Her heart skipped a beat. His

question could be taken two ways. Had

he no intention of harming them or no

intention to acquiesce to her request?

Her voice quivered uncontrollably.

“Only a disreputable man would ask that

question.”

“Disreputable?” Laughter bubbled

up from his chest. “I’d be dead if I

wasn’t.”

Don’t trust a pirate, Constance.

“What’s your name, blossom?” he

asked, his voice taking on a more

serious tone. “I must know who you are

before I take you to my captain.”

Captain? Yes, he’d mentioned his

captain earlier. Her heart pounded with

renewed fright. What would become of

her if she had to face an even darker

foe? The stakes had suddenly risen.

He leaned closer, close enough to

affect the nerve-endings on the surface of

her skin with each breath. Close enough

for her to see muscles twitch in his

scruffy jaw. He angled his head and

studied her. “Tell me your name. I

cannot help you until I know the truth.”

Constance straightened her spine

and lied. “I am Elizabeth Duncan,

Admiral Duncan’s daughter. If you lay a

hand on me, the Royal Navy will see to

it that you hang from an iron cage at

Tilbury Point until you rot. How

disreputable will you be with a noose

around your neck?”

The

cocksure

devil

scowled.

“Admiral Duncan’s daughter, eh?”

She raised her chin a notch. “Yes.”

A smirk drew up the corners of his

mouth. His breath was amiable as he

leaned in closer to speak. “Liar!

Admiral Duncan is dead and his

daughters are beyond their prime.”

Shock raced through her system.

He’d called her bluff. But how did a

pirate know intimate details of Admiral

Duncan’s

life,

or

have

personal

information about his daughters? Unless

…

“Do I need to point out that lying to

me or anyone else on this vessel will get

you killed? Now,” he said between

clenched teeth, “the truth. What are you

doing on this ship?”

He hovered over her lips. Her

lungs fought for air. What was he

capable of? She did not trust him. She

could
never
trust a pirate!

“I … I’m traveling to Spain,” she

babbled uncontrollably when her nerves

gave way.

“Why?” he demanded.

“To visit my aunt.”

“For what purpose?” he pressed.

A man like him would never

understand. Constance took a deep

breath. “’Tis a family issue.”

“You’re obviously a woman of

good breeding. What could possibly be

so bad that you would risk sailing to

Spain for it?”

The purpose of her journey was

none of his affair. “You’re a pirate.

What could
you
possibly know about a

woman with
my
breeding?”

Her barb apparently found its mark.

He grimaced. “You’re quite the prize.”

He stared long and hard and then

flashed a boyish grin, exposing teeth

surprisingly white and straight against

his battle drawn face. “Since you insist

on being stubborn, I’m at a loss as to

what to do with you.”

He stepped back and beat his thigh

with a leather glove, the staccato

ominous in the small confines of the

room. Had the time finally come for

violence? His steely gaze assured her

she’d receive no leniency. And rightfully

so. He was everything she’d been

brought up to hate: greedy, violent, and

unpredictable.

“Is it war you want?” His gaze

flicked toward the door as if sensing her

urge to run.

“I

want

my

freedom,”

she

confessed.

“Freedom comes with a price,” he

said. “Freedom has to be earned.” He

crossed the space between them and

grabbed her chin, tilting her face right,

then left. “You remind me of someone.”

Constance bit her lower lip to keep

it from quivering, and winced, forgetting

that she’d split it falling from her bunk.

His eye narrowed in on her discomfort,

and for a moment, she thought

compassion flickered in his gaze. She

licked her lip, tasting blood.

“One of your strumpets, no doubt.”

She regretted the words as soon as she’d

said them.

“They would be more imaginative,”

he said, quirking his brow.

Was he mocking her? “Do your

worst, you despicable lout!” she spat.

“Aye, you have a harlot’s tongue in

that virginal body of yours. What else

have you got in there?” he said, reaching

for her waist.

“You’ll rot in hell before I behave

like a harlot for you.”

He

chuckled.

“Promises,

promises.” He was nearer than a man

ought to be. So close, she could feel the

rise and fall of his chest against the thin

material covering her breasts.

“Why are you so determined to

conceal your identity? I assure you, you

have nothing to fear.”

“Liar,” she sobbed.

“To believe otherwise will cause

you unnecessary pain.” The demon was

gone. This man seemed almost —

human.

“Let me go,” she pleaded.

“Why would I do that?” he asked.

“You’re insane!”

“More like a man of purpose.”

“You’re a pirate! Not a real man!”

He rewarded her with a scowl.

“How would you know the difference?”

The look in his eye dared her to insult

him again. He cupped her face, forcing

her to look up into his powerful stare.

“A bigger world than you know exists.

In a moment, you’ll be forced to

embrace it, whether you’re ready or not.

Believe me, you’ll think twice before

opening that delectable mouth of yours

again.”

“You’re a monster,” she cried.

“You

aren’t

listening.

It’s

dangerous to tempt anyone aboard the

Striker
and that is where you’re bound.

Angering one of the crew could very

well get you killed — or worse.”

He was warning her. Did that mean

he meant to protect her? “What is it you

are trying to say?”

His gaze flicked to the doorway.

He hailed a man stationed there and

ordered him topside. When the man

disappeared, he produced a rope and

promptly tied her hands together. “I do

not count myself among those who

would take an unwilling woman. If you

are who I suspect you to be, you’ll listen

to my every word and follow my every

command.”

“How can I trust you?” she asked.

A cough sounded from the doorway

and the interruption deferred his answer.

“Frink wants the lady topside.”

“Captain Frink?” The words fled

her mouth before she could stop them.

“Yes,” he said, his voice like a nail

in an empty coffin.

She squeezed her eyes shut and

tried to block out the horrific memories

of burying an empty casket. Her stomach

recoiled and her body stiffened as she

lost all hope for pardonable ransom. If

Frink were at the helm of the pirate

vessel,
Striker
, she would find no small

amount of compassion.

Constance gazed up into the rogue’s

face. Could she trust him? Did she have

any other choice?

“The captain’s waitin’. You know

he doesn’t like to be kept waitin’,

bos’un,” the man at the doorway said.

“Neither do I,” the devil replied.

CHAPTER TWO

Constance didn’t want to die.

The grip on her hands slackened as

the brigand led her to the center of the

cabin. Fear of what awaited above deck

pierced her heart, stiffening her limbs.

What would become of her at Captain

Frink’s dispatch? Closing her eyes,

knowing she would have to face her

mother’s murderer again, she inhaled

one last calming breath as she was

pushed forward.

“Killing you does not fit into my

plans,” the one-eyed rogue said, his hot

breath teasing the flesh at her neck.

“What plans?” She feared the

answer. Pirates always had devious

plans.