Virgin Star (6 page)

In this dream he watched from his ship's bow, tossing coins in the air, as O’Connell, Clives, and Wilson shouted from his side. He couldn't understand what they were saying. He only knew the desperation to save Joy and Ram arid their two boys more precious than any other life, and a mounting terror as the coins kept landing facedown.

"Kill first! Wonder later!"

The amber gaze watching him narrowed, before she realized the man was dreaming.

A dream changed, altered, grew, with the sudden feel of a slight weight riding him. Hot and always filled with lust in the mornings, Seanessy’s dream faded, changing with images of Molly's red hair, her plump figure riding him as his hands curved around her heavy voluptuous breasts.

He opened his eyes.

Only to see this was not Molly. His disappointment felt swift and powerful as he woke to see thick and crinkled gold hair tumbling over a nightshirt, framing a flushed face and brillant amber eyes. Absolutely dazzling eyes, he saw. Paper-thin, raven-black brows arched over the shining pools, the color startling against the gold-blond hair: He felt the slim thighs a hair's breadth from his skin. Heat grew in that mercilessly thin space where they almost touched.

"Child, I like my women wanting, but comely as you are, you look too young and definitely too frail." He sighed and relaxed into the pillows, closing his eyes again, trying to remember who she was. "I'd likely rip you in two."

This made no sense to her, and her brow creased with confusion. Seanessy's mind was coining fully awake, but he still could not remember where he had seen the girl before. He opened his eyes again and demanded, "Who the devil are you anyway?"

“
Your worst nightmare, blackguard," she responded, pressing the dagger to his skin. "Do not move. I will happily slit your throat."

He could barely see the blade but he felt its cold sting. The girl's voice held a curious blend of accents, English and some unidentifiable lilt. He abruptly placed her in memory. "Why it’s you!" He looked at her angrily. "I knew you would be trouble." He wondered out loud as he looked about the room again, "Where is Tilly?"

This made no sense. "Tilly?" -

"You have at least met her? Well, curse the good woman to hell and back—"

The knife pierced his skin. "I am not interested in this Tilly. I do not think you grasp my eagerness to use your weapon. Shall I show you, blackguard?"

His hazel eyes narrowed with annoyance. "So you want to play with danger, do you?" Seanessy seized the offending hand in a hard grip. "Well, listen up, child: you have mounted me naked as I slept and though, normally," he said as his gaze dropped to a tempting peak of breast beneath the thin cotton of his shirt, "I wouldn't be interested in sinking my flesh into a battered bag of thin bones, you're a bit more than passing fair, child; I suspect you'd do in a pinch."

She first was confused, a confusion quickly overcome by shock. Why, he talked of rutting! With her!

Color shot to her cheeks and all of it evidence of fury. More when he added, "And the pinch of it is, child, this waking heat in my loins and an otherwise empty bed."

"You dare threaten me with rutting!"

"Rutting?" He almost laughed. "Pigs rut, child, I—"

She never let him finish, for she never warned twice. A swift jerk of her arm between his thumb and forefinger freed her wrist in an instant as her other clenched fist shot straight and swift and strong, landing a goodly blow at his throat. His neck collapsed painfully and he choked, sitting up to cough.

"What the blazes!"

The girl was trained in the Oriental art.

Seanessy's face changed with his astonishment. More as she leaned over to calmly set the dagger down on the bed. She did not need a knife to kill him. Had she wanted to, the blow at his throat could have been his end; he too knew the move well.

"I do not need a weapon, I need some answers and you will give—"

He never let her finish. He snapped his arm up to his side. Instantly her hand shot out with a quick slice that, had he not anticipated it, would have cracked bone. As it was, a slight jerk made her hit air, while a twist brought her arm behind her back with force, and before she could adjust to his speed, his free hand had struck her at the elbow. She gasped as her arm bent back. His strength knocked her forward to lay on his chest with her arms trapped and held tightly behind her, and knowing the impossibly long legs were far more deadly than her arms, he wrapped his legs around them, pinning them firmly to the bed, her body to his.

Never had Seanessy enjoyed anyone's surprise more.

She could not breathe, then she was breathing too fast. She tried to control it, but this was not possible with the shocking sensation of being held so tightly against his strong body. Hot waves of shock emanated from every place their bodies touched, pulsating most from the vulnerable apex between her legs where she felt his hardness. Her breasts pressed against his chest. A hot congestion grew there, and breathlessly she lifted her head to meet his laughing hazel eyes, realizing their mouths were but inches apart.

"Your Oriental masters should have told you that as pretty as these tricks are, they are no match for a good London street fighter. Though really, child, my mind is as anxious as my body to learn what you will do now."

Her stomach turned queer somersaults as she felt his hard throbbing heat between her legs, somersaults that melted into an alarming hot gush.

A deep husky groan rose up, and to her innocent ears, it sounded like the growl of a wild beast. She tried to hide her fear, her training demanded this, but it appeared in the color rising on her cheeks.

Color he mistook for passion. "Aye, there's the pinch of it again." His tone changed completely. "Actually, it's rather surprising to me, too. I'd never suspect you could incite much more than my aggravation. You're really too young...” And he could feel, “How slim you are!" Regaining his composure, he added, "But being a generous sort, if you just lift up about an inch, I might be kind enough to return the pleasure.” He watched as something strange entered her eyes. Suddenly he realized it was fear. "Of course, the alternative is begging for my mercy. And put some sincerity into it."

A neat row of small gritted teeth concealed a fierce and swift panic as she spat, "I beg for no man's mercy!"

With her arms and legs trapped and with a small pained cry, she threw her head back and smashed her forehead into his nose. An abrupt, deep grunt sounded as he released her arms and legs. Instantly she rolled in a circle off the bed, landing catlike on the floor.

Breathless and dizzy, she listened to original and very colorful curses, mixed with warm amusement, ending at last in, "I deserve no better, I suppose, for not throttling you from the start." He chuckled again and reached out to pick up an apple from the fruit bowl. Looking her over he asked, "Really, I'm curious. I never heard of any woman being accepted for the training. Where did you learn it?"

She made no response. Her eyes widened as he pulled himself up, easing his back against the headboard before returning his gaze to her. Large white teeth bit into the succulent fruit. All the while, she waited, poised and tense and ready to defend her life against his next attack.

"I was in the Japan Isles," he said, thinking to ease her distress first, before he hung Tilly over a pit of snapping gators for allowing this. What time was it anyway? He looked past her to the mechanical clock on the hearth. Kyler already had ten men watching the bastard at the Connaught. Cherry Joe and Knolls would have gotten the dynamite by the tenth bell. They'd set the explosion on the duke's ship, the White Pearl, for the twelfth bell, so as to leave no doubt of timing. They'd give his French duke the rest of the afternoon to think about it. He'd exchange introductions later this evening.

His trigger finger ached even now with eagerness.

Kill first, wonder later, and curse the bloody consciousness that sparked doubt! If he didn't shoot the duke, then according to Wilson, in order to get O'Connell his seat in Parliament and four years of shipping free of all British tariffs, he'd have to spend the next several months in the South China Seas until he somehow managed to blow up this mountain-high supply of opium.

Odds were he'd probably kill the duke first. Never mind the precious parliamentary seat, 'twill be for you, Joy, for you. He still had trouble imagining a man so stupid, so utterly mad as to threaten the life of Joy. Joy! Of all the women in the world! He knew maybe a thousand men who would kill anybody for looking sideways at the girl; himself and Ram included.

There were still many hours to wait. He forced his thoughts back to the immediate circumstances, trying to keep in mind the girl's fear.

"Yes. Well. A number of years ago the boys and I—my crew," he explained casually as if they now sat chatting over tea and cakes, motioning with the apple as he spoke, "were sailing the Orient, the Japans specifically, exploring possible trade opportunities and routes. We sailed into a tiny port at a remote fishing village for some repairs and whatnot. On one of its sandy beaches we saw a group of men performing a strange dance, each man synchronized with the next and the whole thing remarkable for how very slowly it transpired. As if time itself had ceased. Always curious, I inquired as to the nature of the queer dance form. I was told the men were monks of an old temple housed nearby, that they practiced tai chi, the ancient Oriental art of defense.

"Needless to say, the boys and I found considerable humor in the very idea of a defense relating to the strange slow dance. Against the protests of my interpreter, I approached the man leading the dance. A man named Hiroko. I asked for a demonstration of its application to fighting. He refused. He said the ancient art had no application to fighting; it was used only for defense, and besides, he rather doubted an Englishman, any Englishman, being a lowly uncivilized barbarian who did not own the sense or consideration to bathe, could benefit from a demonstration of the ancient art. At length we agreed on a payment and Hiroko, half my size and weight, gave me a demonstration of the strange dance's rather startling application to fighting. I returned to consciousness the next day

"Again Hiroko refused my request for instruction. Not for all the jewels in the Kyoto, he said, as productive a use of his time 'as tossing cups of water into the ocean.' The ancient art was taught from boyhood, the training had far more to do with the mind than the body, and I, being a barbarian, could certainly never benefit. Finally, a price was set. I stayed six months with that man, and teach me he did." With feeling he added, "I think I learned more in that six months than many men learn in the whole of their lifetime. For instance, child: I know you did not learn the Oriental tricks in an English seminary for girls."

Her eyes held his for a long moment before looking away, surveying the surroundings for something, anything familiar. A mind-numbing weariness washed over her; she fought it back. The depth of her confusion scared her; she didn't know anything but that she had to escape.

She had to run.

He studied the girl: bare feet spread and arms slightly raised, looking more ridiculous than Blackbeard in a nightshirt and cap. She rubbed the palm of her hand against her forehead, a gesture of distress. Rather extreme distress. He saw her fear now, and the sight of its magnitude brought an awareness of the herculean effort she put to hiding it. Perhaps they should ring for breakfast. The brat could certainly use a decent meal.

"So where were you in the Orient?"

She did not understand the question, yet alone his changed manner. Where was she in the Orient? Malacca, but—

She shook her head, hesitantly as if trying to clear the incoherent jumble in her mind. All she knew was that someone was trying to kill her.

There was only one person with her and he could do it.

She turned to flee.

"Oh, for God's sake,” he swore softly as he came off the bed and pretended to lunge for her. Anticipating the strike of the hard sole of her raised foot, he was not disappointed. He caught the small foot, aiding its flight into the air. She dropped backside to the ground, but used the defeat to roll backward, legs over head until she was upright again, though crouched, her toes holding her weight, her hands lightly touching the cold floor.

"You're very good, child. I am impressed."

She took one look, her eyes widened dramatically to accommodate the magnificence and wonder of his unclad state, the erect and engorged manhood—he was quite naked!—far more threatening than the bit of amusement and much larger flash of irritation in his hazel eyes. For a long moment, she was utterly transfixed by him, it, that part, the novelty of its transformation, a previously unimagined horror.

"You suffer a deformity!" A grotesque deformity, she saw, swallowing her fear with effort."Like a demon, you are!"