Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
Then shun, oh! shun that wretched state
And all the fawning flatterers hate:
Value yourselves, and men despise
You must be proud if you’ll be wise.
— MARY, LADY CHUDLEIGH, ENGLISH POET, “TO THE LADIES”
Sara was stunned into immobility. His lips, far too soft for a pirate’s, moved over hers with gentle persuasion. His breath mingled with hers, surprisingly sweet. Then he ran his tongue over the seam of her lips, and she jerked back in shock. The scoundrel had actually had the audacity to kiss her!
“What’s wrong, Lady Sara?” His voice was husky, his eyes dark and knowing. Lifting his hand to cup her cheek, he touched the pad of his thumb to her lower lip. “Haven’t you ever been kissed before?”
A traitorous shiver rippled through her as he stroked her lip with his thumb. She tried to concentrate on being appalled by his actions, but it was hard to think when he was touching her. “Of course I’ve been kissed before.”
He raised one eyebrow as if he didn’t believe her. “Whoever he was, he failed to convince you of your desirability.” His callused thumb traced her upper lip. “Who was it? Some knock-kneed suitor barely out of the schoolroom? A foppish lordling?”
He was laughing at her, the wretch! She shot him a withering glance. “It was an English cavalry officer, if you must know.” She brought her hand up between them to shove him away.
But he caught it and carried it to the back of his neck, holding it there as he looked down at her with gleaming eyes. “No fop perhaps, but not man enough to keep you in England. And not adept at kissing, unless I miss my guess. Though perhaps you need more of a basis for comparison.”
Before she could stop him, his mouth came down on hers once more, forceful, possessive, unyielding.
This time, there was no trace of gentleness in the lips that ravaged hers.
He took her mouth as if it was his right, the way a pirate should.
She grasped his hair, meaning to pull his head away from her, but at that moment the ship rolled, throwing him hard against her, plastering his taut thighs and lean belly against her so intimately she gasped.
In that instant when her lips were parted, he thrust his tongue into her mouth.
And to her immense horror, she found it …
rather thrilling. Shockingly thrilling. She froze, letting him explore her mouth, and when he drove his tongue in and out in a strangely compelling rhythm, she forgot where she was, who she was.
Instead of pulling his hair, she curled her fingers into the springy strands to clutch his head closer.
Her eyelids drifted shut as he slanted his mouth over hers more firmly, taking possession of it the way he’d taken possession of the Chastity.
Colonel Taylor’s kisses had been cautious, hesitant, as if he hadn’t wanted to frighten his prey. Heaven help her, but she liked Captain Horn’s boldness. The heated strokes of his tongue … his fingers splayed in the small of her back, drawing her closer … closer … Oh, what was he doing to her?
The kiss went on forever, growing rougher and more demanding the longer it continued. Then his hands began to roam, down her hips and up her ribs in widening strokes until his thumb brushed the underside of her breast.
Wrenching her mouth from his, she said, “You mustn’t touch me like that.”
His breath came in ragged gasps as he stared down at her. “Why mustn’t I?”
“Because it isn’t proper!”
Amusement glinted in his eyes. He shoved back a lock of his hair that had fallen over his forehead during their tumultuous kiss. “Don’t you ever do anything improper, Lady Sara?”
Lady Sara. That was why he was doing this, wasn’t it?
He wanted to humiliate her with kisses because her brother was an earl.
It was as much a maneuvering tactic as Colonel Taylor’s kisses had been, and that realization sobered her.
“I am not Lady Sara. There is no such creature.” She turned her face from his. “I’m Miss Willis, that’s all.”
“No, not Miss Willis.” Clasping her chin, he forced her to look at him. “Miss Willis is too prudish a name for a woman with your passions.”
“I don’t have passions,” she protested. “I don’t like—”
He kissed her again, hard and deep, with the force of a man too long at sea. His thumb stroked her throat, then came to rest against the pulse that quickened with each new foray of his tongue.
She tried to fight him. Truly, she did. Fisting her hands against his chest, she tried to thrust him away, but so feeble was her attempt that it had no effect.
Grasping her wrists, he forced her hands down to his waist and pressed them there until her fingers opened and her hands flattened against him.
Then he released her wrists, but only to pull her closer, melding his body to hers.
All thought of moving … speaking … breathing left her.
There was only this man with his rough hands on her, making her feel like a woman instead of a reformer or an earl’s stepsister.
He smelled of the sea and tasted of rum, a not unpleasant combination.
His breathing, rapid and uneven, joined hers as he kissed her hungrily.
This was something so beyond her experience that she let herself be swept up in it for the sheer enjoyment.
Then he gripped her hips and forced her against his loins, so close she could feel the hard bulge beneath his breeches.
She stiffened. Her mother had been forthright in telling her how men and women made love, so she knew that the hard bulge was evidence of his arousal.
Good heavens, she mustn’t let him do this!
With a strangled cry, she shoved him away, managing to squeeze from between him and the door before he could stop her. Her lips burned from the force of his kisses and her heart thundered, but she ignored both as she rushed to the other end of the room, safely behind his desk.
Her cheeks glowed crimson as she watched him turn slowly to face her, his eyes glittering like twin shards of blue glass. She couldn’t believe she’d let that beast put his hands on her. It wouldn’t happen again. She wouldn’t let it.
With a scowl, he stalked to the desk and leaned forward to plant his fists on it.
A fearsome desire still glinted in his eyes, and his breath came heavy and hard.
“You see, Sara, you do have passions. You can cling to your propriety all you want, but you and I both know you’re not so proper as you pretend. ”
“I’m more proper than you could ever be.”
“Thank God for that,” he muttered.
That he’d turned her insult into a compliment infuriated her. “Yes, you enjoy being a bully, don’t you? You enjoy lording it over women and children. You’re as bad as those English nobles you hate, who oppress their tenants and treat their women as chattel!”
The minute the words were out of her mouth, she regretted them, for his eyes darkened to an icy slate as he cast her a look of disgust. “You know nothing about me. When was the last time you experienced oppression, Lady Sara? When was the last time you had to scrabble for a piece of bread or endure the fists of a—”
He broke off, thrusting himself away from the desk with his jaw clenched so tightly that the scar across his cheek whitened.
He took a couple of deep breaths before he spoke again.
“Your women and my men belong together. They understand each other. It’s only you who don’t understand, who can’t see I’m offering those convicts more than they’d get anywhere else—a home and the chance to have a husband and a family. And yes, a choice—”
“To be shackled now or later? What kind of choice is that?”
“Enough of this quibbling! Do you accept my offer as it stands, one week for the women to choose husbands? Or must I do this the way I’d originally intended, by letting the men take whom they will to marry?”
“What about—”
“Yes or no, Sara. That’s how it is to be. If problems arise, I will take care of them with no help from you. Is that understood?”
“Perfectly.” It was easier for her to deal with him when he was angry than when he was kissing the life out of her.
Angry men she could understand. “You’re a petty tyrant, and what you say goes.
” She sniffed. “Fine. We’ll take the week you offer.
But don’t blame me if everything doesn’t go as well as you planned. ”
His eyes blazed. “Everything will go exactly as I plan, I assure you.”
The devilish self-confidence in his voice was so irritating!
He simply refused to accept that there might be holes in his plan.
Well, let him sort it out at the end of the week.
He’d soon see he couldn’t just pair people up as if they were cattle to be bred.
And when everything fell apart, she would laugh at him! Just see if she wouldn’t.
Straightening her shoulders, she fixed him with a haughty glance. “May I go now, Captain Horn?”
“Gideon. You’ll call me Gideon.”
She couldn’t ignore the intimacy his statement suggested. “I won’t do any such thing. Just because you kissed me doesn’t mean—”
“That kiss was a mistake. It won’t happen again.” His eyes flashed, cold and impersonal as sapphires. “But we bloodthirsty pirates don’t stand on ceremony, so call me Gideon.” He strode to the door and opened it. “Now you may go.”
She didn’t know whether to be insulted or relieved that he obviously despised kissing her. Of course I’m relieved. I don’t want that scoundrel’s hands on me again.
Gathering all her dignity about her, she rounded the desk and started for the door. Her cap lay on the floor a few feet away and she stopped to pick it up.
“Leave it there,” he ordered. “You look better with your hair down. Don’t put it up again.
” When she gaped at him, wondering at his sudden interest in her hair after he’d seemed to want to be rid of her as quickly as possible, he added, “You’ll have a better chance at catching a good husband with your hair down. ”