Chapter Nine

The third game was not going well. Alice felt her back teeth grind and tried to relax her jaw. Tried to keep her mind clear and her gaze fixed on the play. Tried not to panic.

He’d said he was rusty. But he hadn’t said that he’d once been more than a casual player. With each minute, his strategy gained a subtlety that challenged her to the depths of her knowledge.

The squares in the board wavered and blurred. With her queen in check, if she didn’t find a way out of the conundrum he’d set, she’d be forced to concede.

She could not lose. Her dowry was one thing, but the ransom would put Father in the poor house. Debtors’ prison loomed large, or worse, if Lionhawk made good on his threats. Richard didn’t deserve either fate.

Fear had her stomach so tight she felt sick.

In her head, she rearranged her last remaining pieces this way and that, each time ending in failure.

Gambling. Was she mad? It never worked. She’d seen men lose their fortunes time and again and scorned their idiocy. Now here she was in exactly the same straits.

There had to be something this man wanted. Something he would take instead of gold. Men like Lionhawk understood trade as long as they got the best of the bargain.

She had nothing left.

Andrew had tricked her from the only thing men admire in a woman. Purity.

No gentleman wanted another man’s leavings. A wanton. Used goods. She knew all the words. Andrew had flung them in her face when she had rejected his suit.

But a man like Lionhawk, a man who’d been at sea for months, might not care for such niceties.

She’d have to tell him just what he was getting. He’d probably laugh at such a poor offer.

She went hot, then cold. She couldn’t do it. She clenched her hands in her lap and stared at the board. Did she have another choice?

If he agreed, there was no returning to her old life. No pretending to be a virtuous spinster. No good works at the hospital. She’d be publicly ruined. No brushing this dirt under the carpet. A persona non grata.

On the other hand, what she’d experienced with Andrew hadn’t been unpleasant. Indeed, she’d thoroughly enjoyed herself, until she realised he’d used her passion against her, plotted with his brother to make sure she couldn’t change her mind about the wedding.

Well, she had. And that left her on the shelf.

Lionhawk desired her. She could see it in the depths of his ocean-coloured eyes, feel it in the heat of his body dashing against her skin each time he drew close, sense it in her aching core. As long as she didn’t think too much about later, provided she left her pride at the door, she could follow her nature. She swallowed and raised her gaze to meet his.

He leaned forwards. ‘Finish the game, Alice.’

When had he started calling her Alice? After the kiss, she supposed. She arched a brow. ‘Are you so anxious to lose?’

He grinned. ‘Still fighting? Good for you. But it is time to pay the piper. One more move and the game is mine.’

‘Don’t be so cocksure, sir,’ she said, lingering over the words as if to taste them on her tongue. ‘Why not up the stakes?’

He cast her a perplexed look. ‘What are you about?’

‘Making the game more interesting?’

‘It is quite interesting enough for me.’

He wasn’t going to bite.

‘I don’t want to spend weeks in Algiers waiting for my father to raise your ransom. And nor does Lady Selina. You talked of resuming a life in England, but believe me, Lord Albright will see you hang if you treat his daughter with such disrespect.’

‘Are you saying I should trust your father for the money? Let him owe me?’

Her heart picked up speed, drumming against her ribs like the hooves of a runaway horse on hard-packed earth. She couldn’t swallow, her mouth felt so dry. She took a deep breath and forced the words past her teeth. ‘You can certainly trust Lord Albright to pay his part of the ransom.’ She lowered her voice. ‘I, on the other hand, would sooner find a different way to pay off the price on my head. One we could both enjoy.’

She put down her glass, reached across the table and ran the back of her hand along the beard-soft line of his jaw. ‘There is more between us than mere conversation, Michael. Why waste it?’

A glint of emotion she could not read flashed in his eyes. Triumph? It hardly seemed likely.

‘It’s a high price for something I can have for free,’ he said.

‘Not from me.’

The words hung between them, stark and ugly.

He let go a long breath. ‘I see.’

He said it as though she’d made some great revelation. Which she had in a way. Heat stole up her cheeks, despite her effort to appear unconcerned. She smiled. ‘I’m glad you understand. But let me be clear. If you win this game, you own half of Fulton’s Shipping, and you will have your money, but I will use my influence with Lord Albright to ensure you never set foot in England.’

He recoiled, his expression dumbfounded. At least she had the element of surprise.

‘I realise you will lose money if you accept my proposition, but I will do everything in my power to help smooth your path into society when you arrive in London. I swear it. As will Lady Selina, if I ask her.’

Her hands convulsed in her lap. She stilled them. No backing down. No weakness. She curved her lips in a woman-of-the-world knowing smile. ‘Is it a bargain?’

He looked unconvinced, even bemused.

She forced her point home. ‘Be assured, with the right introductions, perhaps you will find a rich wife.’ She let her gaze run over his person in the same manner he had looked at her. ‘You shouldn’t have too much difficulty attracting a wealthy female.’

His eyes danced then. ‘A rich wife and a mistress to boot.’ He cocked his head on one side. ‘Can you guarantee my acceptance in society?’

‘With Lord Albright in our pocket, I can. As long as no one learns of our arrangement.’

He lifted his coffee and took a deep swallow. ‘I have to say you are the most devious-minded woman I have ever met. If you were a businessman, I would fear for every penny in my pocket.’

Was he laughing at her? She wished she could read his reaction. Trying to feel like Cleopatra instead of plain Alice Fulton, she batted her eyelashes and cast him a seductive sideways glance. ‘Admit it. You are tempted.’

‘I’m tempted by your offer of an introduction to society.’

So much for seduction. But then she was at a disadvantage. You didn’t need to practise flirtation while you were the richest woman this side of the grave. She forced herself to look on the bright side. She had found something he wanted, even if it wasn’t her. She ignored a pang of disappointment. It was no different to Andrew wanting her fortune. For him, a position in society, as well as Fulton’s Shipping was not a bad bargain in exchange for keeping her father out of prison.

‘A wise choice,’ she said. ‘In the long run, it will do you far more good than a bag full of gold.’ She arched a brow. ‘Do we have a bargain?’

He brushed a finger over his lips, his gaze thoughtful. ‘My ransom money in exchange for an introduction to society and a few nights with you. Is it worth it?’

She held still, tried not to let the mortification show on her face, or the eagerness of her body’s response at the thought of him in her bed while he looked her up and down. Heat flared in his eyes. He tried to hide it with a cynical smile. ‘Why would I be interested in an untried mistress?’

‘Untried, sir? Did I play my role too well?’

The words hung in the air like a lady’s undergarments on the line on washing day. Available for all to see should they desire.

Michael couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing.

Not innocent. Blood sang in his veins. The erection he’d been fighting all evening hardened to rock. Damn her. She was lying.

And yet passion was as natural to her as breathing. He’d sensed it from the first. But experienced she was not. She kissed with the enthusiasm of a maid, her body flaring to life under his hands, her pulse beating in her lovely throat, her body melting, but a skilled courtesan would have had him buried to the hilt long ago.

Blood rushed from his brain and thundered in his loins at an image of her slight, naked body beneath him. He fought to retain some semblance of rational thought.

Not an innocent? He almost smiled, she looked so prim as she awaited his answer.

‘The game is not yet finished,’ he said.

‘If you will agree to my offer, I will concede.’

‘Because you know you can’t win.’

She raised a brow. ‘There is always a chance…’

He glanced down at the board. There wasn’t.

She was as good as offering herself to him without reservation.

Or he could let her win and attack Fulton on another front. But if Alice and her brother spoke true, Fulton loved his children and their downfall would cause the bastard to suffer as Michael and Jaimie had suffered.

The perfect revenge.

But he would not take her unless she was truly willing. ‘You say you are experienced. Prove it.’

A delectable wash of colour stained her face, her gaze searched his. ‘How?’

Conscienceless beast. ‘Seduce me.’

She swallowed and slowly rose. She walked around the table, her steps hesitant, but her gaze fixed firmly on his mouth. Fascinated, he watched her lips part, her small bosom rise and fall. The tip of her tongue moistened her lips. The anticipation of what she might do next caused his heart to beat harder, his blood to heat, and his erection to strain against his breeches.

Then he looked into her eyes and saw the shame. Shame at the thought of bedding a crude rough bastard like him. He felt anger at Fulton rise like bile in his throat, burning and sour.

Tell her no, a small voice whispered.

His body protested. He held both urges in check. He would do nothing to help her down this path. It would be her choice.

She placed her hands flat on his chest. Did she feel the thunder of his pulse through the layers of cloth with that feather-light touch?

When he made no move, she raised herself up on her toes, brought one hand to his nape and drew him down to her mouth. For a moment or two he felt the puff of her quick little breaths on his lips.

He wanted to enfold her in his arms, crush her hard against his body, demand, plunder, and ravish, like the cur her father had made him.

His lip curled in self-disgust and he willed his body into perfect stillness, let the hot dark urges slip away on a slow exhalation.

Prove it, Alice. Make me believe. Good God. Was that hope or a prayer?

The pull of small hands on his nape brought his mouth level with hers. Her lithe back stretched and arched. A touch of lips. Whisper soft. A flicker of tongue against the seam of his mouth, over in less time than it took to blink.

So gentle. So blasted maidenly.

She kissed the corner of his mouth, his bottom lip, the other corner, a parade of little touches, and licks and nibbles. Achingly sweet. Unbelievably seductive.

His lips burned to take command. Begged for firmer, more masterful contact, while hers teased and darted like butterflies, never settling anywhere for more than a second.

A soft purr emerged from her throat. The sweetest sound he’d ever heard. It hit his groin like a lightning bolt. Hot. Searing.

He fought the lust.

She sucked on his bottom lip.

Reason raced away like a rip-tide in full flood. He clung to it by a thread.

Her tongue swept his mouth, her fingers speared into his hair, caressing his scalp as her tongue danced away from his. Before he could think about what he was doing, his hands were on her shoulders, drawing her close, dragging her on to his lap, while his tongue followed hers into the sweet warmth of her mouth.

She suckled, holding his tongue captive, while she pressed her body hard against his length, her breasts flattened against his chest, her buttocks cushioning his erection.

Every breath he took was filled with her scent. Every inch of his skin felt nothing but her body, her warmth, the beat of her pulse. She filled his world. The here and the now. And he never wanted it to stop.

Slowly she eased away. ‘Take me, Michael,’ she whispered.

His body shook with the effort of remaining still. Never had he desired a woman with such bone-deep intensity. Answering heat blazed in her gaze. A dangerous combustible fire that transcended mere physical longings and spoke to something deeper, far more elemental.

He was an instrument of justice and she was the perfect tool. A weapon forged in the fires of lust for his use, no matter how it burned in his hand.

‘Alice,’ he murmured, the name tasting sweet on his tongue, ‘be very sure.’

Her shoulders straightened and courage shone in her face, but no matter how she denied her innocence, he saw shame in the forest green and browns of her eyes, and the taut skin over her cheekbones. Deep inside, like a buried blade, he knew she had decided to sacrifice herself to save her father from paying the ransom. The question was, why?

‘I am sure,’ she whispered.

‘Then there is one last detail required.’

A rapid little swallow disturbed the muscles of her throat. He ached for that tiny gesture of nerves. ‘A contract,’ she said, nodding her understanding.

‘Yes,’ he agreed.

He strode for the door.

Trembling, Alice watched him let in the dark from outside.

He stepped out into the night and whistled. Simpson arrived at the double.

Alice couldn’t hear what he said to his steward, only the deep rumble of his voice, but she couldn’t help but wonder why he didn’t just take a piece of paper from his desk.

Beyond the door more voices joined the conversation. Arguing. Perhaps his crew didn’t want to give up their share of the ransom. Pirates ran their ships by vote. She didn’t know if privateers operated that way, too. Would they mutiny? Or change his mind?

The voices were still muttering when the door opened and Michael returned. ‘What is happening?’

He didn’t answer.

Simpson scuttled in after him with another sailor. They shoved the table against the bulkhead, clearing the centre of the room. The dishes, cups and glasses were whisked away.

A grim-faced Wishart entered with a tussled, sleepy Mr Bones. Eyes bleary from sleep behind his spectacles, his thin hair sticking up, the doctor carried a large black book under his arm. A Bible, she saw when he placed it on the table and riffled through the pages.

Was this how they recorded their agreements? Would he have her swear on it?

Solemnly Michael and Wishart moved to one side of Bones, standing shoulder to shoulder.

‘Simpson, bring Miss Fulton over here,’ Michael said curtly.

With a twinkle in his eyes, Simpson took her arm and walked her to stand beside Michael and then stepped back.

This was the oddest contract agreement she’d ever seen. Not that it would stand up in court whatever form it took. Not signed by a woman.

Bones picked up the Bible.

‘Make it quick,’ Michael said.

‘Will you, Lionhawk, er, Michael Preston, take…?’ He paused and looked at Alice.

What? Mouth open, she stared at him.

‘Your name,’ Michael muttered. ‘Give him your name.’

‘Alice…’ Simpson prompted helpfully.

‘Alice Primrose,’ she said.

‘Primrose?’ Michael gave her an amused glance.

‘Take Alice Primrose Fulton as your lawful wedded wife as long as you both shall live?’

‘I will.’ Michael’s voice rang out clear and firm.

A wedding ceremony? She tugged on his arm ‘What on earth are you doing?’

‘It’s a dowry, Alice. It comes with a bride.’

‘No,’ she said. ‘I never meant that and you know it.’

Bones tapped the book. ‘You can’t force her, Cap’n.’

Michael’s face darkened. ‘Give us a minute.’ He took her by the upper arm and dragged her to the window. With his back to the room, her arm firmly in his grasp, he leaned close to her ear. ‘Do you want me to tell your brother you intended to prostitute yourself?’

His fierce expression said he would do it. It seemed her pirate had ethics. A moral code that didn’t include ruining respectable females. Or was it something more? She would keep her honour, her respectability. What did he have to gain? ‘Why?’

‘You said you’d introduce me to society,’ Lionhawk said in low, harsh tones, clearly angered by her hesitation. ‘What better way than as your husband?’

Her husband. The thought made her foolish heart tumble. She felt dizzy, and breathless, and reckless with longing. But longing was a liar.

He gave her arm a little shake. ‘Where is your courage, Alice?’

Courage. Was that all it took?

Why was she hesitating? He was clearly a wealthy man who could put Fulton’s back on its feet, the whole purpose for her wager in the first place. Balancing the position of mistress against that of wife barely made sense. And yet she hesitated.

Dare she trust him? Probably not. As long as she kept that in mind in their dealings, then his offer was far better than she had any right to expect after her attempt at seduction.

She squared her shoulders. ‘All right.’

If she hadn’t known better, she might have mistaken the breath he exhaled as a sigh of relief. It was probably just frustration.

Tucking her hand under his arm, he drew her back to stand in front of Bones, who raised a brow. Michael gave him a nod. The seedy man looked at Alice and repeated the all-important question.

She glanced up at Michael. He gave her an encouraging smile.

Something inside her seemed to click into place, like a lock sliding home. It seemed…right.

‘I will,’ she said and her voice sounded strong.

‘I now pronounce you man and wife,’ Bones announced. He beamed.

She blinked. She was married. To the man at her side. A man she barely knew, but who made her heart beat faster, and her pulse race. In the past those wicked feelings had been her downfall. She’d do well to keep them in check, to remember this was a marriage of convenience. A bargain struck purely for financial gain.

‘Congratulations,’ Wishart said. ‘I think.’ He grasped Michael’s hand and slapped him on the shoulder. ‘I hope you don’t live to regret this night’s work, my friend.’

‘So do I,’ Michael muttered. ‘That’s it. You can leave.’

A chill ran down Alice’s spine. Was he already having second thoughts?

The grinning Simpson, the tired-looking Bones and the grim-faced Wishart filed out. They were alone.

Her head felt suddenly light, dizzy with surprise. She was married.

‘I think you are supposed to kiss the bride,’ she said.

‘Blast,’ he said, looking uncertain. ‘I was supposed to do that in front of them, wasn’t I?’ he scowled. ‘This is the first wedding I’ve attended.’

Her insides softened at his obvious attempt to hide his chagrin. ‘Better late than never.’

Before she ended the last syllable, his mouth was affixed to hers.

He kissed her well and he kissed her thoroughly and it was only when he stopped that her senses returned.

‘Now,’ he said, his chest rising and falling almost as fast as her own, ‘where were we?’

‘The wedding night?’ she murmured.

He laughed, kissed her again, his fingers fumbling with the fastenings down the back of her gown, while his tongue swept her mouth and his lips worked their magic.

Married. To this gorgeous, if somewhat frightening, man who wreaked havoc with her senses. Delicious rippling pleasure shimmered beneath her skin and fluttered deep inside. Trembling with urgent desire, she turned to give him easier access to her back.

Blast it. She should be cool, unaffected, not panting with desire. This was merely the sealing of their bargain. Did she have no control at all?

Tomorrow. She’d resist him tomorrow. Tonight she’d pretend they were lovers.

His fingers freed her hair and the buttons of her dress.

He slipped her gown from her shoulders and pushed it down around her waist and went to work on her stays. In no time at all, he cast them aside, ran his hands over her back, swept her hair aside and was kissing her nape with a reverence that sent shivers down her spine.

Now he would see what sort of bargain he’d made.

Would he be disappointed in her boyish figure and lack of curves when he realised her stays were designed to fool the eye into thinking she had more on offer? Men preferred lush curves to bony ribs, unless they came with a nice plump pocket. She winced. He was going to be disappointed in both.

Resisting the temptation to cross her arms over her breasts, she turned and faced him. He groaned low in his throat and she followed his gaze to her tightly budded nipples beneath the fine lawn of her chemise.

Shameless. Heat blazed across her cheeks.

‘Lovely,’ he whispered.

Effortlessly, he swept her up and in three swift strides carried her to the bed. She felt like a doll in his strong arms. Vulnerable, yet safe. An odd, unsettling combination.

Gently, he laid her down. In one swift motion, he pulled her gown free of her hips and legs, then stretched out alongside. Cradling her neck on one strong forearm, he gazed into her face, searching her expression. For what? Permission?

It seemed that underneath all the arrogance, her pirate was an honourable man. She smiled and he bent his head and took her lips in a searing kiss.

Warmth rippled under her sensitised skin. She wanted to feel him against her. She arched into him. Pressed her hips against his, ran her hand through his hair, down his shoulder, over his back.

Her tongue tangled with his, dipped into the wine-sweet cavity of his mouth. He sucked on it.

Sweet agony. Payment in kind. She moaned.

He drew back, his eyes slumberous. ‘What a surprise you are,’ he murmured. ‘A perfect treasure trove.’

He trailed a path of dizzying kisses down her jaw, nuzzled her neck, his lips traced her collarbone until she thought she would go mad with the exquisite, unbearable, building tension.

Through her chemise, his thumb grazed the underside of her breast. His touch sent a shock of little thrills to her core. Delicious. Intriguing. Like nothing she’d ever felt before.

Panting, she combed her fingers through his hair, caressing, encouraging.

He kissed the rise of her bosom. His tongue flicked across her nipple and it tightened in pleasure at his attention through fabric rough against her sensitive flesh.

He drew her nipple into his mouth and suckled.

Desire hit hard and fast, like a lightning bolt. Her body clenched, then flooded with heat. She moaned. A chuckle rumbled in his chest and he slid a hand over her stomach, down her thigh, small gentle circles, moving closer to her centre, moment by moment. Teasing when she ached.

And then his hand, warm and heavy, cupped between her thighs. A burst of pleasure made her gasp.

His hot, wet mouth left her nipple. It tightened with the sudden chill as he licked his way across the valley to plunder her other breast with delightful, taunting effect.

She tilted her hips and ground against his hand, seeking increased pleasure.

‘Patience, princess,’ he murmured, laughter in his voice. He sat up on the side of the bed, ripped off his loosely tied cravat and worked at the buttons at his throat.

At some point, she must have pulled his ribbon loose because his hair hung dark around his face, brushing his shoulders. It wasn’t as black as his beard. It was dark mahogany with sun-kissed streaks of honey.

Married. The thought sparkled like a diamond, too bright to look at too closely. Long ago she’d given up thoughts of marriage and children, devoting herself to Father and her work at the hospital. And now, to be married to such a handsome virile man under such odd circumstances, seemed fantastical. He’d tried to destroy everything she loved with his plundering ways. She should be treating this as a duty, not a pleasure. She should be angry because he’d given her no choice.

She didn’t know if she wanted to weep or laugh, she felt so confused.

He unbuttoned the neck of his shirt, revealing dark sworls of hair in the opening. Her stomach rolled lazily. Her insides tightened.

Lord help her, she couldn’t resist him.

Her doubts would have to wait until morning, because right now the wanton part of her had taken control.

She tugged the fabric from his waistband, eager to see more of his magnificent form.

He slipped from her grasp, leaping up from the bed. She followed his progress around the room, snuffing the candles one by one, filling the room with the scent of warm tallow and shadows.

The oil lantern hanging from the centre beam was the last to flicker out, leaving the room dark and warm.

Slowly her eyes adjusted. Above her head the round face of the moon peered through the skylight. The sheets glowed white, while the gryphon grew in stature and menace. It all had a rather Gothic feel.

The maid and the pirate. It would make a wonderful title for a Minerva novel.

Only they were husband and wife. A blush stole up her body as the darkest shadow in the room loomed over the bed. She prayed that it wouldn’t end in disaster.