Chapter 12
“Wherein the past appears and mocks the living.”
Lars watched Miss Morton as he strolled with her around the deck. His men greeted them with a mixture of good-natured ribaldry and lewd comments, and he noted her reaction to each.
“Was the Captain’s bed warm enough for ye?” Jay shouted at her across the deck, his sly, rat-like eyes glinting in the bright sunshine. “For if it ain’t, I’m at yer service, Miss, should you want a lithesome bed warmer tonight?” he’d added with a leer and a grotesque movement of his thin hips.
Lars smiled as Henri held the man’s gaze, unblinking, and then looked him up and down, slowly and with contempt. She looked all the world as though she was assessing a horse and had found it to be a broken-down nag instead of the pure blood as advertised.
“I’d rather the cold embrace of the ocean than suffer your attentions, sir, and I will thank you to keep your disgusting comments to yourself.”
There was little or no expression in her voice. She sounded bored and totally unimpressed, and the men had roared with laughter, leaving Jay looking rather unsettled.
Lars had been struck with ... what he wondered?
Pride, he realised with a start. She was alone, friendless and in the hands of men she would no doubt expect the very worst from, but she didn’t cower and slink away to hide.
She came out with those sharp claws and her tawny eyes flashing with fire and held her ground.
The disquieting realisation that he admired her settled in his chest, and it wasn’t a comfortable feeling.
He didn’t want to admire anything but her beauty and the way she would look naked in his bed.
Though if they didn’t get to warmer waters soon he’d have to settle for feeling his way under a mound of blankets.
A pity but beggars couldn’t be choosers.
He drew her away from the men and urged her forward until they were standing on the quarter deck.
“What’s that?” she asked, breaking him out of the pleasant images that he’d begun to consider, as to what exactly she did look like under all those layers.
In an effort to stop his thoughts turning in more disquieting circles, he looked to where she was pointing and saw to his annoyance that the sloop was making good time.
“Mousy!” he yelled and held his hand out for the spy glass as the big man joined him.
He held the glass to his eye and focused it and felt a wave of cold flow over him so intense he knew they must have seen him shiver.
“What?” Mousy demanded. “What is it?”
He couldn’t respond. There was ice in his gut and his mind ran in circles. Mousy snatched the glass from his hand and looked to see what the problem was but just frowned.
“The Revenge?” he said, a question in his voice. “That ain’t no Navy ship and it ain’t the Water Guard. That’s a merchant vessel.”
Lars nodded. Yes, it was.
It belonged to a vastly prosperous merchant company, and he knew who owned it.
A ship made for speed, to move things fast, not in bulk and to his knowledge the company had never actively hunted down pirates.
He doubted that had changed. So why? Why would a merchant vessel be on his tail? Why this vessel?
He felt like his mind was wading through treacle as he tried to make sense of it and failed.
He turned to see Henri studying him. Those tawny eyes were watching him, frank and open, and curious.
He ran a hand through his hair, aware that Mousy was looking at him with concern but . .. he just couldn’t ... think.
“Take evasive action,” he said, watching the ship’s progression through the water as though he was watching a sand clock, watching the grains slide away his remaining time. He looked away and turned to Mousy. “And whatever you do, do not engage.”
Mousy looked at him in shock, his mouth falling open in surprise.
“But ... but Cap’n ...”
“But nothing!” he shouted, suddenly furious. “You have your orders.”
Lars turned on his heel and walked away, back to his cabin, slamming the door behind him.
He paced, trying to clear his head but nothing made any sense.
Snatching up a bottle he pulled the cork with his teeth and drank deeply before sitting at his desk.
He placed the bottle between his feet and stared down at it, his head in his hands.
Was this how he would end? Were the fates so cruel that they would do this to him to satisfy their love of irony?
He looked up as the door opened, fully intending to yell at whoever it was to get the hell out, but his gaze fell upon the anxious figure of Miss Morton. She closed the door and hurried towards him, and to his surprise sank to her knees beside his chair.
“What is it?” she asked.
He frowned, looking at her and feeling even more that the fates were toying with him. Why would she care? Why were her words so soft, and why the devil was she looking at him with such concern?
“Don’t worry, Miss Morton,” he said, wondering why his voice sounded so dead, he lived yet surely? “I won’t let any harm come to you, this is likely an answer to your prayers.”
He jolted as a soft, warm hand covered his. “But not yours I think?”
He laughed and pulled his hand away though he wanted nothing more than to grasp it in his and take her to the bed. It would likely be the last thing he did after all.
“Are you afraid?” she asked.
He looked at her sharply. Was she implying that he was a coward?
He’d never run from a fight in his life.
He’d gained his reputation as a charismatic lover and charmer perhaps, but he’d not lived this long in a brutal world by being afraid of a fight.
But it wasn’t accusation he saw in her eyes, it was compassion.
“I’m not afraid,” he replied, his voice hard.
“Then why did you look like you’d seen a ghost when you saw that ship?”
A mirthless bark of laughter escaped his lips. “Perhaps I had.”
He reached down and grasped the bottle at his feet, drinking deeply once more, but to his annoyance she snatched it away from him, stuffed the cork back in and shoved it in the nearest desk drawer.
“If you are to find a way out of whatever predicament you seem to be in, I think you need a clear head. Don’t you?” she demanded.
Lars stared at her. Those warm brown eyes were on him with such fierce determination as though she’d decided to save him again and she was damn well going to do it.
“What do you care?” he asked, refusing to believe what he saw there.
“I’m not going to escape this one. I can’t outrun them, and we didn’t have time to provision properly, so they can just sit on our tail until we starve to death, or the men decide to give me up in return for their freedom, and I have a fair idea which they’ll choose. ”
“But then why don’t you fight?” she demanded, and he was quite taken aback by the ferocity behind her words. “Aren’t you the Rogue? The stories I read about that man lead me to believe he would never run from a fight!”
“I cannot fire upon The Revenge!” he shouted in frustration and then buried his head in his hands.
He deserved this, he realised, he knew he did.
But how the devil was he going to get out of this mess?
He couldn’t allow The Revenge to blow his men out of the water, and if he didn’t take control of the situation and lead them to engage the vessel, they would appoint another captain who would.
And he couldn’t allow that either. No harm would come to The Revenge, he wouldn’t let that happen, not now.
He started as the gentle slide of a hand stroked his hair. It was soothing, calming, and he took a breath as she repeated the motion.
“Who is on that ship?” she asked, her voice quiet.
He glanced up to see those beautiful eyes looking at him as though she really did care, as though she would save him if she could.
He felt his heart squeeze in his chest. Well, the fates were really getting their money’s worth today, he thought with a bitter smile.
Now they send him a woman like this when there was damn all he could do about it.
“The past,” he whispered. “The past is on that ship, and I cannot do it any more damage than I already have.”
She frowned and held out her hand, holding it to his face, her thumb caressing his cheek bone. “You are in quite a fix, aren’t you, pirate?”
Despite himself, he laughed. “You could say that.” Not daring to move any further for fear she would remove her hand, he stilled. He didn’t want her to stop touching him.
Lawrence wanted to sit here and look at those pretty eyes and feel her hand, warm against his cheek. He wanted to pretend that great black spectre on the horizon was nothing more than a storm cloud that would pass by if he was patient. If he kept looking into her eyes.
“Is there anything I can do?” she asked.
Kiss me.
The words were in his head in an instant and he knew she must see it in his eyes, but he wouldn’t say it.
He didn’t feel he could. Not now. If he was going to die, whether he was consigned to the depths of the ocean or taken to hang, he would do one good thing before he died.
He wouldn’t take anything more from this woman than had already been taken.
But then, she moved forward and pressed her lips against his.