Chapter 3

 

Diana, Tristan, James, and Peter gathered at the library table, door closed. Diana presumed Tristan had herded the others in here, rather than tending the animals as he’d planned, because he wanted to discuss what to do about Royce.

It wasn’t as though Royce could travel easily from here to Mozambique or England where he belonged. Even with the Lady Lark at Tristan’s disposal, he, James, and Peter had a price on their heads for piracy they’d had no choice in. They didn’t dare journey farther than the surrounding islands hidden from civilization. And the hangman’s noose.

Currently, Royce’s only option was to remain here as they did.

Tristan and James poured over charts unfurled across the table, their conversation low and at times animated. They discussed weather, currents, and other matters she didn’t understand.

Peter didn’t either, given his puzzled gaze. However, he nodded at everything they said, behaving as a knowledgeable mariner would even though he’d only been at sea for two years. First as a cabin boy, then an apprentice pirate before she’d rescued him from Tristan. Admittedly, she’d been wrong to want Tristan hanged and Peter returned to England. For that misstep, her brother had railed at her, insisting he was a man, while behaving more like a silly boy. As he had today, poking fun at her on the beach.

She was going to have a word with him concerning his rude behavior. First, though, she needed to know why Tristan had called this conference. “Is the door shut because you men fear Royce will hear you?”

Tristan rested his finger on the map and looked up. “No. He should be in bed swooning again or close to it, unless James and Peter forgot to put him there.”

James stretched and grimaced. “My sore back says he’s where he should be. How about you, Peter?”

“Mine hurts worse than yours.” He mimicked how James kneaded his shoulders.

Diana resisted rolling her eyes. “Then why the closed door, lowered voices, and these charts?” Each bore incomprehensible swirls and notations. “Tristan, are you worried the islanders will see this or overhear what you say?”

“The latter, then repeating what we discuss. Innocently, of course.”

“To Royce?”

“Who else?”

Goosebumps rose on her arms despite the steamy weather. “You don’t believe he’s who he says he is?”

“Right now, we’re merely checking to see where his ship went down.”

“Do you intend to go to the site and search for treasure?”

“I hadn’t thought of it, but that’s not a bad idea.”

“Excellent, I would say.” James pushed his hair off his shoulders. “We might find something we can use.”

They weren’t telling the whole truth. None could hold her gaze for long. “Why else would you need to know where his ship sank?”

Tristan exchanged a glance with the others. “Should we tell her?”

James shrugged. Peter shook his head.

She crossed her arms. “Am I only in here so you can make light of everything I say?”

“Of course not.” Tristan slung his arm across her shoulders and shook her gently. “That’s an added delight.”

She elbowed him.

He rested his forehead against hers. “You’re in here because you’re my wife and I want no secrets between us, all right?”

She stroked the spot she’d jabbed. “Then explain, please.”

“See this?” Tristan swept his finger over the swirls nearest her. “These are ocean currents. They tell us where Royce’s ship had to have gone down for him to reach our shore.”

James tapped another paper. “Once you consider wind patterns on the surface.”

“And weather variations.” Tristan pulled a sheaf closer. His writing filled the pages. “These are my observations over the years of fair and foul conditions and everything in between. By putting the information together, we can determine how likely it is that Royce would have landed on our beach rather than another island or at the bottom of the ocean.”

Her uneasiness returned. “Are you saying he got here another way than what he said?” She feared asking why he’d do that.

“Merely double checking things.” He patted her knee. “From what I can tell, his ship went down here.” He touched the chart. “James thinks here.” Tristan inched his finger north. “In either event, the current would have swept him to this island.”

“That’s never happened before, has it?”

“First time for everything.”

“Then you believe his tale?”

He rubbed his chin. “I didn’t say that. I’ve yet to question him fully, which I intend to do as soon as he’s able to stay awake long enough.”

Diana wished that were now. “Do you think the islanders will find anything? How long will it take them to check the land and return here?”

“Hours probably, even with them on horseback. The storm caused considerable damage, flooding paths, leaving debris they’ll find difficult to traverse. Right now, all we can do is wait.”

“While you’re armed.” None had put aside their weapons as they usually did in the mansion.

Tristan kissed her palm. “Everything will be all right and we’ll have our answers as soon as our guest is well enough to speak.”

* * * *

Unwilling to leave Royce, Simone rested in a chair at his side. At first, he pretended to sleep but gradually fell into a deep stupor. During the night, strangled cries burst from him, awakening her. He thrashed and moaned, his nightmare horrific, perhaps the moment he’d lost Edward to the storm.

He woke with a gasp and shivered violently. Sweat bathed his face and chest, dampening the sheet. Fresh blood rolled from beneath his bandage.

She lit another oil lamp and mixed a new poultice.

“What did I say while I slept?” He clutched her wrist as he had on the beach, his eyes wild. “Tell me.”

“You only moaned, nothing else.” She removed his bandage and the leaves. “Is your pain worse?”

He’d bitten his lip so hard blood dirtied it. Clear liquid and a partial scab covered his gash, the skin swollen but not infected, the bleeding a mere trickle.

He released her and fell back. “I’m fine.”

“The sheet is wet. I can change it once I wrap new linen on your wound.”

“No. You should go to your own room and sleep. Adamo should leave too.”

“He did hours ago. Philippe took his place.”

“Who takes your place?”

“No one. Keep still while I tend your leg.”

He rested his arm over his face.

When she finished treating him, Simone doused the lamps, casting the room in shadows. Moonbeams washed away color and turned the outside a faint gray. Quietly, she regained her seat, not wanting to disturb.

Royce pushed up, eyes glittering in the scant light, his gaze on her, searching rather than irritated or unkind.

Her longing returned. She took his hand.

He sank to the pillows and cradled her fingers. “Since Philippe’s out there, making certain I don’t do anything wrong, why won’t you leave?”

“I’d rather be here.”

“In an uncomfortable chair?”

Even if she’d had to sit on the floor, she didn’t mind being with him. She sensed he knew that, but wanted to ease his worry about her. “The storm destroyed my home and many others where my people live. I have no place else to stay but here.”

“I had no idea. I’m sorry.”

“Others have it worse. In time, the men will build another house for me.”

He loosened his hold. “Did your people find anything…other survivors or more of the shipwreck?”

“No. Only what was on the beach with you.”

He released her hand. “What of Edward’s pets?”

She buried her fingers in her silk cloth. “Peter saw to the creatures. Three chickens and one bird died before he could do anything to save them. The rest are well.”

“I should take a look at them.”

“Later. Not now. You need to rest.”

His stomach growled.

She stood. “And eat.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Your belly says otherwise.”

“I’d like more wine.”

“Water is best to help you heal.” Earlier, Gavra had brought a pitcher in, delivering it and Simone’s meal with a new frown. Simone filled a cup and helped him sit. “Drink this. When you finish, I want you to have two more at least.”

He guzzled the liquid, quickly downing three additional cups, then ran his hand over his mouth.

“Now for bread and broth. Perhaps some meat.”

He cuffed her wrist. “I’ll eat in the morning. I’m too tired for anything now except sleep. You should be too after sitting in that chair all day. The bed’s big enough for both of us. You can use the other side. I promise not to hurt you.”

Coming to harm didn’t worry her. She craved intimacy between them. The worse thing would be if he never touched her as a man should. “I have no need for your word. I trust you.”

His grip tightened, then fell away. “You shouldn’t.”

“Why?”

“You don’t know me. I’m a bloody stranger. For the love of God, what in the hell is the matter with you?”

She went cold, then hot. “I can never be perfect like an Englishwoman. I will always be a simple islander.”

“What are you talking about? You’re as fine as or finer than any Englishwoman.”

She knelt beside him, ashamed she’d doubted his good heart. “I have never met any man as wonderful as you.”

“You don’t mean that. You’re too honest and trusting. The world isn’t filled with good people.”

“It is on this island.”

He shoved his hair back. “Pirates have raided here. Remember you telling me so? What makes you think it won’t happen again? Or that everything will always remain as you want, rather than something ghastly happening?”

“Why are you angry with me? What have I done?”

His features slackened. He hung his head. “Nothing. Forgive me. I had no right to rail at you. I should leave. I can sleep on the floor or in the hall so you can have the bed.”

“You will not.”

He got up anyway. She did too and shoved him on the mattress. He sat hard. The frame creaked.

“Simone, what’s going on in there?”

She looked over at Philippe. “Nothing.”

He glanced past her to Royce. “What are you doing?”

“Tending his bloody wound. What else? I could use your help to remove the pus and to smear the poultice on.”

Philippe’s mouth turned down. “I would only make him worse. He could die. Go on, do what you must.” He backed up quickly and sagged against a trunk, moonlight drizzling on him through thin clouds and leaves.

Simone leaned into Royce, her knee touching his, her nipple against his shoulder.

He swallowed. The ridge in his throat bobbed.

She kept her voice low. “Do as I say, unless you want me to shoot you.”

“You mean Phillipe, don’t you?”

Royce’s skin warmed her as nothing else could. “No. Me. Lie down and stay there, unless you want to keep me from sleeping because I have to change your bandage again.”

“Sorry.” He stretched out, motionless as the dead. “Share the mattress with me. Please. We’ll never touch.” He arranged the pillows to his side, then went stiff. “See? This will separate us and keep you from concern.”

His cock was so hard it lay on his belly, the crown pointing at his chin.

He covered himself.

To slap his hands away would be a joy. Slipping his meaty shaft between her lips, then tasting his balls was the only nourishment she needed. She might have given into her urge if not for Philippe outside and Royce refusing desire. He wanted her carnally but his proper English ways prevented him from acting on his passion.

His restraint would kill them, his breathing ragged, the same as hers.

Frustrated, she dragged to the other side and settled on the mattress.

Royce had already turned away, his back to her, his injured leg tucked beneath the other despite her warning to take care.

* * * *

Come morning, Simone piled rice bread, bananas, bacon, and cheese on a tray, poured milk into a pitcher, and gathered several napkins under Gavra’s watchful gaze.

Gavra leaned against the kitchen table, lengthy enough to serve twenty. The equally spacious room smelled wonderful. Bread baked, food sizzled and fried. Pepper, ginger, and cinnamon scented the air. “Do you plan to wait on the Englishman the entire time he stays here?”

“Not this morning.” Simone pushed the tray to Gavra. “Today, you serve him breakfast. If he prefers tea rather than milk, please make some for him.”

“Why me and not you?”

“I have other things to keep me busy.”

She filled a pitcher with water and left it in an unoccupied bedchamber, then hurried outside. In the courtyard, sun rained light through gauzy clouds. The broken trees and branches were gone, looms and potter’s wheels set up where they should be. She smiled at the boisterous children and slipped past an opening in the walls to gather more healing leaves.

With her bag full, she picked white flowers Tristan called jasmine. Their intoxicating sweetness delighted her.

She washed in the chamber and rubbed the blossoms over her damp skin, transferring their perfume to her neck, wrists, beneath her arms and breasts, and between her legs. Wearing her soiled and torn cloth wouldn’t do. She chose one in deep green, the shade similar to Royce’s eyes, and tied the knot quickly to hide her scar. Several strokes with a brush made her hair shine.

In the hall, Diana approached, her eyes widening. “Bonjour. Ah, comment belle vous regardez.” How lovely you look.

“Merci. You do too. Capitaine is a lucky man to have such a fine woman at his side for all time.”

Diana nodded slowly and offered a hesitant smile.

For once, Simone was grateful Diana wasn’t skilled in French. Her shortcomings with the language made it easy to escape whatever questions she had about Royce and what happened in his chamber.

Quietly, Simone slipped inside the room. Philippe wasn’t outside, nor was Adamo. Either Tristan had said a watch wasn’t necessary any longer or the current guard had fallen asleep on the forest floor.

Bacon hung from Royce’s mouth. He regarded Simone’s breasts, new cloth, and brushed hair. His shaft blossomed. He didn’t cover it.

She padded to him, pulse racing. His bed-mussed hair showed her how he’d look once he enjoyed her. She fought her urge to smooth back the strands. “Bonjour.”

He made a noise that sounded aroused.

Her heart beat faster. “Finish your bacon, please. While you eat, I should change the sheet.”

He chewed quickly, swallowed, and lifted his face, his lips nearly grazing her nipple.

She couldn’t imagine anything more pleasant than his mouth on her. “You can sit in the chair while I tend the bed. Let me help you to it.” She slipped her arm around his middle.

He favored his uninjured leg, brow furrowing, breath coming hard and fast.

She stroked his bandaged thigh. “Does it hurt?”

“Bloody right it does.”

He pressed her against the wall, imprisoning her wrists, his length molded to hers, cock snug to her mound. “You’re driving me mad. I can’t take any more of this. I won’t.”

He slanted his mouth over hers.

She surrendered willingly, joyously, accepting his tongue, melting into him.

His savage growl told her all she needed to know. He desired her.

She’d never been more alive.

His touch branded her soul, claiming it, marking her forever. She twisted free from his hold and wreathed her arms around his shoulders, her fingers buried in his silken hair to keep him near.

Their greedy and wild kiss turned tender and slow.

She ground her hips into his, needing to be closer.

He held her so tightly nothing could come between them. Boldly, he cupped her breast and thumbed her nipple.

Pleasure sped from every direction, filling her.

Forever wouldn’t have been long enough to enjoy him. He tasted salty from the bacon and glorious from a flavor that was his alone. His bristly cheeks rasped hers, the mild sting encouraging her to yield further. She longed to wake up each morning to him and this.

They only had now.

Whatever the future brought, Simone refused to dwell on loss. She’d willingly belong to him for a moment rather than have no time at all. In two or three months, she’d say good-bye. Not today.

A fist pounded on the door.

She flinched.

Royce tore his mouth free and limped to the footboard, too far away from her.

“Simone.” James knocked. “Are you in there?”

“Oui.”

“Is Royce awake?”

“Yes, I’m up.”

“Good. Tristan wants to see you as soon as you dress. I brought a clean shirt and breeches for you.”

Simone put out her hand, stopping Royce from crossing the room. “Stay where you are. Rest your leg.” She smoothed her hair and opened the door.

James handed the clothes over. “Once Royce is dressed, I’ll escort him to the dining room.”

“He needs to finish his food first. I have to put a new poultice and bandage on him.”

“No rush.” He crossed his arms and leaned against the opposite wall. “I’ll wait.”

She slammed the door.

Royce washed at the basin. Water clung to his long lashes and chest hair. He scratched his throat.

“I should shave you.”

“Tristan’s not going to wait for that. I have to get dressed.”

“Not before I change your bandage.”

“It’s fine. Do you have a towel?”

She clasped the clothes to her breasts and kept her voice low. “I enjoyed our kiss, did you?”

He glanced around, then dried his face on the bedsheet. “What happened shouldn’t have.”

“Why not? I want you and you want me.”

“Give me the clothes.”

She twisted, keeping them from him. “Are you worried that someday you’ll leave? I know you will. We can enjoy each other until then.”

“No.”

Her stomach cramped. “Why not?”

“There’s no point, no future. You deserve better than me.” He pulled the clothes from her. “I’d appreciate if you’d make more poultices while I’m gone. Leave them and the bandages. I’ll take care of my wound from now on.”

Tears stung her eyes. “You hate me so much you no longer want me to touch you? After one kiss?”

He turned away, dressed, and hobbled from the room.

* * * *

If Royce could have run, he would have. Each time he put weight on his injured leg, white-hot pain shot to his teeth, keeping him at a great-grandfather’s pace. Having James at his side and armed didn’t help. The moment Royce dared shuffle away, James would shoot him.

Tristan couldn’t want this meeting to exchange pleasantries. Something had happened and it hadn’t been good.

Unfortunately, James kept his peace and Royce had no stomach to ask questions. Kissing Simone had been madness enough. An insane act he couldn’t shake.

Lust sluiced through him, refusing to depart, weakening his knees. She’d smelled better than paradise could, her flowery scent captivating, her underlying musk far better, while her ungodly softness and heat…

He craved more, everything she had to give, them naked and joined on the bed, floor, ground.

Until Bishop sold her to the highest bidder or destroyed Royce’s sisters and mother because he hadn’t accomplished his mission.

He clenched his jaw.

“Here we are.” James led the way into a dining area, the mahogany table large enough to accommodate thirty.

Diana and Tristan sat at the far end near bowls heaped with grapes, bananas, pineapples, and rice bread. Trays bore sizzling fish and bacon.

Two pistols rested between the couple, one for each.

“Good morning.” Tristan gestured Royce to a chair near him. Sun poured through tall windows and an opening in the roof, the rays glinting on the table and weapons. “Allow me to introduce my wife, Diana.”

She inclined her head slightly. A stray tress glided across her creamy cheek tinted a soft rose, the same as her silk gown.

Seeing her at a distance hadn’t prepared Royce for her exquisite features and coloring. No wonder Bishop wanted her. “A pleasure to meet you.”

“That’s James of course.” Tristan gestured to him. “Our friend.”

“Yes, we’ve already met.”

“That’s right.” Tristan regarded Royce. “He and Peter carried you to the chamber because you kept swooning. Do you know who I am? Did Simone tell you?”

“Only your first name and that you’re a captain or were a captain.”

“I’m a pirate with a price on my head.” He smiled. “Make of that what you will. Would you care for tea?”

Royce wanted wine or spirits to calm his sprinting pulse. Forced civility charged the air, menace bristling beneath it. The fare he’d had in the chamber might be his last meal if this talk didn’t go as he hoped. “If it’s no bother.”

“Not at all.” Tristan looked over. “Gavra, s’il vous plait, un peu de thé.”

She carried a silver tea service, shot Royce a withering look, and filled his cup.

At least she wasn’t armed except for her foul attitude. He tried a smile. “Merci.”

She bumped James’s arm and left.

James pulled out his chair on the other side, next to Diana. Both stared.

Tristan broke his bread. “How’s the leg?”

Royce’s heart proved the greater worry, beating so fiercely he had trouble speaking and standing, his legs watery. He sank to his seat. “Hurts, but it stopped bleeding.”

“Good. I trust you find our accommodations adequate.”

Tristan lived better than many nobles Royce knew. “Did you build this house?”

“My husband killed the pirate who owned it.” Diana touched his hand. “Didn’t you, love?”

“Indeed I did. Sadly, a necessity as he planned to kill me first.”

James placed his pistol on the table, muzzle pointed at Royce, and smiled. “That wouldn’t do.”

“No.” Tristan leaned back. “I value safety. I’m sure you agree, Royce.”

He nodded.

“Good. What’s the name of your ship that sank?”

He couldn’t think. “The ship?”

“That’s what I asked.”

“It wasn’t mine.” He sipped his tea. Scalding. He suppressed a wince. “It was called Sea Sprite.”

“Never heard of it.” Tristan glanced at James. “Have you?”

“No.”

Tristen faced him. “Are you certain that’s the name?”

Bishop had sworn he owned the vessel. Royce wasn’t a neophyte at deception, especially against a worthy opponent like Tristan. “I’m quite sure. Why? Did the logbook from another ship or other materials wash ashore? Was there a second tragedy?”

“Did the Sea Sprite belong to Benedict Bishop?”

The hairs on Royce’s neck rose. “I have no idea. The vessel was either his, Jenkins, Gaspar, or any others who provide transport. My greatest concern was booking passage on a ship that would take me where I needed to go.”

“What did you say the name of your company is?”

He hadn’t, unless he’d spoken in his sleep about the beast who’d put his mother and sisters at risk. Perspiration rolled down Royce’s back. “I do business under my own name. I’m a merchant who serves as a broker for others, dealing with them rather than the public. The man I worked for this time is Quentin Wister.” A boyhood friend who didn’t travel in the same circles as Tristan. Those in Parliament were more Quentin’s style. “I merely roam the world and make deals to bring him and others the finest merchandise for their customers.”

“How fortunate for Mr. Wister.” Tristan’s neutral expression gave nothing away. “What exactly do you deal in?”

Royce recited the information he’d committed to memory before coming here.

“No slaves?”

His throat constricted. “Mr. Wister has no market for them.”

Diana’s teacup clinked against the saucer. “How well do you know Bishop?”

“Not at all. I do know of him, though. Most everyone in business does. Why do you ask?”

“I loathe the devil.”

Royce feigned surprise. “Why?”

“He tried to trap me once but will never do so again. I have unfinished business with him or anyone who dares try to harm my husband, our children, and my brother. If Bishop were ever foolish enough to come here or send an agent, I would shoot him and that man on the spot. No regret. Then I would go after their families. Hurt mine, and theirs will not live.”

Determination flared in her eyes.

Tristan kissed her thumb. “Diana was magnificent against the pirates who attacked here. She outwitted them, ensuring their capture. Peter wanted them hanged. We don’t do that here. Of course, I would make an exception for Bishop.”

“And his agent,” she said.

Tristan smiled softly at her. “Quite right. For them, we would have no compassion. Lucky you haven’t anything to do with this foul business, Royce.” Tristan’s easy manner faded, replaced by hard distrust. “You don’t, do you?”

His blood ran cold. “No. I can assure you, I do not.”

“Then you’ll live to see another day.”