The Siren's Song Part 7

That didn't mean she had to know it.

"You don't want to swab up a sticky mess, do ya, mate?"

Henri groused, lowering his knife.

"Now I'm not suggesting you poison her food." Drake couldn't resist having a little fun with the la.s.s. Particularly if it meant she push closer to him. All he needed to do was spin around and her b.r.e.a.s.t.s would be pressed to his chest.

Henri considered the idea for a moment and then shook his head. "Wouldn't be right, ruinin' the supper like that."

He forced down a laugh at her sigh of relief.

"All right, Henri. I'll make sure the chit is returned to her cabin. Without leaving a trail of curses, of course. Go see to the supper."

"Aye, Capt'n." Henri peered around Drake to Gilly. "You'll trifle not with me again, will ya, la.s.s?"

"No, sir."

She let her hands fall away and instantly Drake missed their warmth.

What the devil was wrong with him? The Rissa had been in port not a fortnight ago. He couldn't be craving a woman's touch this bad so soon. Not just any woman, either. This woman. 'Twas not like him to want any particular pullet. What made her different?

Those coy eyes looking at him expectantly offered a fleeting answer.

He should see her to her cabin.

Ah, but she agreed to please him as he saw fit. At the moment, it pleased him to keep her close. His reason was an obvious pretense. 'Twas better to protect her from conniving wretches such as the likes of Abel. Later, he expected to be fully satisfied by her. Just how might be a strain on his already threadbare moral fiber.

"Fetch ahead, Miss McCoy. 'Tis time to start a fire."

Chapter Six.

Fire simmered upon the Rowena wreckage lighting up the twilight vista. Gilly marveled at the orange ridge riding atop the water. The rippling waves reflected the flames in thousands of tiny dancing torches. The s.h.i.+p protested her demise with frightful crackling and hissing. Mild southeasterly winds blew the smoke away but not the smarting smell of burnt tar and wood. The sea breathed fire, or so it seemed, as drifting wayward planking burned.

Gilly watched the s.h.i.+p burn with the same revere as the silent seamen around her. The glowing tinder exaggerated the tangible sadness upon their long faces. Livelihoods disintegrated with the gray smoke disappearing up into the night sky. To stand beside them at an old friend's funeral pyre would have been no different.

All except for Captain Drake.

He puckered his bottom lip and viewed the charring with impatience. With each glance she stole, his agitation grew.

"Do you not find this a great sadness?" Gilly asked. "The others, they are mourning the destruction of their s.h.i.+p. But you act annoyed. Why?"

"'Tis business."

"That is all this is to you, a business?"

He did not acknowledge her question.

"These men will lose work. Does that not bother you?"

"They'll find more."

"But won't they have lost wages?"

Again, he said nothing.

"And what about Captain Mott? His s.h.i.+p is destroyed. It isn't as if he could merely find another s.h.i.+p to captain, now is it? Surely the owner will hold him accountable. Do you not feel some sort of compa.s.sion for a fellow captain?"

"Are you quite through?"

"No."

He arched his eyebrows, slow and deliberate.

"Yes."

"Good."

He faced the burning s.h.i.+p. His silence drew on and Gilly decided something else weighed on the captain's mind. Something more calculating. Without breaking his gaze on the bonfire, he spoke.

"Let us return to my cabin. I am eager to see how well you satisfy your debt."

"As you wish, Captain, for I too am eager. You shall change this cheap opinion you have of me."

"We shall see."

He let her lead the way. A gentlemanly gesture? Doubtful. She knew he watched her backside. Didn't all men? She put an extra swing in her step, glad he couldn't see her mischievous smile. The familiar flutter in her stomach just before she performed twittered with relentless expectation.

Doing what she did best, singing and dancing to entertain a man. This would be easy.

Or so she thought.

Her confidence faltered once they entered his chambers and he locked the door for his private show. Trepidation sneaked in through the rear door of her mind. Surely he would find her voice pleasing. Wouldn't he?

The captain scooped a flagon off his desk, plopped down at the table and wasted not a moment to pull from the bottle.

"Well? What are you waiting for? Entertain me."

"Now? Without accompaniment?" He couldn't be serious. She needed music.

"This would not be a good time to play games with me, Miss McCoy. 'Tis been a lengthy day and I'm tired. There is no music."

'Twas a terrible shame not to have music. She could hide behind a melody-the overture would dissolve her nervousness. And suddenly, his scrutiny had her as timid as a rabbit in a fox den. She'd never felt this fitful. Not even before her first time singing in front of the church congregation as a child. At twenty, age cured her of that.

She must calm herself. Gilly gestured to his bottle. "May I?"

A smile bent at the corner of his lips. "Of course." He handed her the flagon.

No cup? He must enjoy feeding her his cra.s.s lack of decorum. What would he think if she guzzled on his bottle like...like...well, like a pirate? Cups. Cups. Where are the cups? She scanned the cabin and spotted a cup on a shelf.

Captain Drake blew out an impatient breath. Quite frankly, she, too, grew impatient. She drank from the bottle's neck, careful not to swallow too much too soon as before. The warmth hit the back of her throat, then the pit of her belly. A second quaff and a third and the edge disappeared. 'Twas good, because Captain Drake didn't look as if he would share more of his rum.

"Are you quite ready?" he asked.

She smiled. Was he?

She chose a sweeping song of a lovesick couple frolicking in a rose garden. The tune required a high, strong vocal range. The harmonies came from deep inside her, filling her lungs before caroling from her throat.

Gilly loved performing this song. It reminded her of elegant ladies on the arms of refined men, crystal goblets, flower-covered trellises and courtly orchestras. Perhaps she aspired to be respected by high society instead of looked down upon as merely entertainment for their festive affairs. A dream long gone.

Her song carried her away. She sang of the lovers with the pa.s.sion she envisioned the couple would have, whisking her arms open and twirling her wrists with emphasis. Near the end of the piece, she focused on Captain Drake. He enjoyed her ballad, surely. At some point during the song, he had removed his feet from the table and leaned forward resting his arms on his knees. His features had softened; the lines around his eyes were no longer deep with tension. Her confidence built with the bravado until she ended the song on a long rich note.

The captain sat in silence, retreated in thought, staring at her. Did she leave him speechless with her performance? Oh, dear. Perhaps he didn't enjoy her singing, after all. Perhaps she paled in comparison to songstresses he'd heard from his travels.

"Did you not like my selection? I'm terribly sorry." The captain frowned. She was right. He didn't like her song. Her confidence unraveled. "If only I had been accompanied by music, I might have pleased you. A flute, violin, even whistling."

Captain Drake shook off whatever thoughts consumed him and sat back in his chair. He replaced his unreadable mask with a tilt of his lip.

"Miss McCoy, you surprise me."

"Oh?" She hoped he meant it in praise.

"I expected a jaunty tavern ditty, not an operatic piece. Your voice is magnificent."

With a polite inclination of her head she said, "You're kind, sir."

He laughed. "Rarely. But I have misjudged you. Where'd you learn such a beautiful ballad?"

"After my father died, a lady in our church's congregation saw to my well-being by sending me to her aunt in Charleston. Miss. Brooks was the proprietor of a genteel school for young ladies. She taught girls how to be proper, learning to sing and dance. At sixteen, Ms. Brooks felt I was ready to be sent to social gatherings to entertain the societal ladies and gentlemen. Soon, I had become a favorite. Therefore, I had to be well versed in a great many songs."

"You said you worked at a tavern." He crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair. "Did you lie to me then or are you lying now?"

"No. I did work at a tavern." The captain did not need to be privy as to just how she ended up at the Peregrine.

"There is much you are not telling me, chit."

"My circ.u.mstance doesn't interfere with my ability to entertain you."

"No, I suppose not. Sing for me another one of these dulcet songs."

She performed four more melodies. Four more which garnered his full appreciation. She delighted in the way he absently fingered the rim of his bottle, the languid tilt of his head as he drank her in from head to toe. He not once smiled. But by the slow way he brought up the bottle to his lips and savored his liquor, she ventured to believe he thoroughly enjoyed her performance.

The look he wore she knew well, had seen it on many a spectator's face. Desire. Mesmerizing the crowd with what Miss Brooks called graceful zest was her special skill. She couldn't say it didn't thrill her. She was quite fond of the attention. But too much attention could be dangerous. Drunkards were known to become unruly and belligerent when turned away. Hyde tolerated none. No chap would get too close. She was his commodity, after all. He promised to protect her. He failed. All that attention she relished made it difficult to hide, and yet, when Abel recognized her, easy to escape.

Desire was a fickle mistress.

Did Captain Drake desire her? If she were honest with herself, she hoped he did. His rogue approach and devilish handsomeness were frightfully irresistible. She desired him. Oh yes, she desired him, desired him to wrap her in his brawny arms. If she were honest with herself, of course.

"Very lovely, Miss McCoy."

"Thank you, Captain Drake. Can I a.s.sume I have paid my pa.s.sage?"

"Not in full, my dear."

"Did you not enjoy my performance?"

"Very much. But I require more."

"Oh? Perhaps something with a little more spirit? I know a wonderful ditty about a haphazard sailor and a sea captain's daughter I think you'll like. I dance to all their silly antics. It's quite hilarious."

A flip of her skirt and Gilly twirled around, acting out a silly part of the tune. Captain Drake s.n.a.t.c.hed her wrist and, rather by surprise, she landed upon his lap.

"Nay. I was thinking of something more...intimate."

She caught her breath on his earthy musk, tainted with smoky cinder. Nose to nose she sat staring into his dark eyes which brazenly wandered over her face, pausing upon her lips before continuing its lascivious course. The soft feel of his worn tunic under her palms was a scant barrier against his solid chest. That scarred, yet magnificent, chest. Her heart skipped upon his steady rhythmic breathing.

Something hard pressed against the back of her thigh. She gulped. Her stomach fluttered and his gaze landed upon her lips again. d.a.m.n, but she needed another stiff drink of his rum.

His hand wound around the back of her neck and he crushed his lips to hers, kissing her hard and furious. She struggled against him, tried to push away. But only for a moment, and rather half-heartedly. There was no denying him. She opened for him, readily receiving him with equal zeal. She tasted rum, rich and delicious. He was delicious. Her thoughts scattered and she bunched her fingers into his s.h.i.+rt. She wanted more, so much more.

Didn't she? Oh my, she was kissing a complete stranger. That had to be bad, and scandalous if she were the proper lady she had once thought herself to be. He saved her life, she reasoned, and she was terribly attracted to him. Stopping herself was like trying to give up air. It was useless. She wanted this.

A twinge of betrayal stabbed her heart. Hyde was gone yet she had forsaken him for another man, disloyal to him when she should be mourning his death. With whatever Hyde had done, with whatever mess he had gotten her into, there had been no time for bereavement. She was shameful to have this strong allure to Captain Drake.

He let go of her wrist and found his way to her waist. Her head spun and teetered as he groped her hip and rubbed across her thigh. No. This couldn't go any farther. For goodness sakes, he's a pirate.

She pushed away from him. He moaned his disapproval and opened his eyes slowly, marking her with an uneasy stare for her refusal to continue this madness.

"I...um." She must clear her mind. Shake off the tendrils of carnal l.u.s.t snaking through her good judgment. "I had hoped you were a man of honorable decency in the company of a woman."

"Oh? What gave you that idea?"

"You have seen to my welfare far more than any pirate I have heard."

"Pirate?" He grinned. "The likes of a pirate is to poach what he will against those unwilling. From the way you kissed me, la.s.s, I'd say you were most accommodating. Your l.u.s.ty tongue and lack of fight makes you no more decent than I."

"How dare you!" Her face warmed with embarra.s.sment. 'Twas true, she succ.u.mbed to unchaste appet.i.te. With his touch, her body deserted her sensibilities. How was it that she craved him so? The truth angered her. "You have preyed upon me and took advantage where there was none given."

"Tell me you did not enjoy our kiss."

"No. I didn't." Oh, but she was a liar. She enjoyed it far too much. So much so she was certain she needed to repent.