The Captain of All Pleasures (9 page)

As Nicole moved through the rest of the ship, she found that his clipper was in impeccable condition, his sailors' quarters immaculate, and everywhere from his cabin to the forecastle was marked by cleanliness. His ship was just as ordered as her father's obsessively well maintained vessel. Which really made her want to hate Sutherland.

She trailed a lazy finger on the wall as she made her way into the storage area. She decided she had to be drunk, because she grew distracted, dreamy even, as she thought about Sutherland. What would a captain like him feed his crew? He'd probably spend extra money to get them good rations.

She wouldn't know what kind of semiperishables he'd outfit the ship with since they wouldn't be loaded until the last minute, but she did see with a downcast shake of her head a generous stock of spirits. If Nicole didn't know he was in a race, she'd think he was trading the stuff. Not that she could talk, she thought as she bumped lightly into the wall.

Then, with eyes gone wide and a quick intake of breath, she spied a cluster of thick iron water casks in the corner of the hold. She experienced immediate jealousy. Her father still used wooden casks, and frustration gripped her from knowing that Sutherland's crew would have much fresher drinking water than her own. She walked over to inspect the layer of condensing silver barrels and knocked on the closest one, enjoying the sharp, metallic sound.

He had so many advantages over them. But that would make the win that much sweeter, she assured herself as she turned—and collided with Sutherland's unyielding chest.

“Going somewhere?” he ground out, as he gripped her arm and hauled her out of the storage hold. Slamming the door behind him, he raked his eyes over her. “What the hell were you doing down there? And do not think of lying to me!”

Think…think! How long had he been standing there? “I lost my way back from the head,” she replied in a credibly even tone.

“Am I supposed to believe that?” He squeezed her arm.

“Of course,” she lied. To distract him, she asked in a tight voice, “Who was that woman?”

He scowled. “Someone I hope never to see again,” he said absently. “Now, what—”

“But why?” Nicole pressed. “She's so beautiful.”

“Not,” he replied in a clipped tone, “if you look her in the eye.”

“I see.” She didn't really.

Exhaling loudly, he placed a palm above her against the wall. “What am I going to do with you?”

“I wasn't doing anything wrong,” she pleaded. “I got lost trying to get back to the salon.” She could see he didn't believe her.

When he searched her face, she met his gaze. She must be drunk, because now when she looked in his eyes, she could see they were flecked with blue and were…mesmerizing. So intent, so dark that she wanted to kiss his eyelids and then the harsh line between his brows before moving down to those chiseled lips.

He must have recognized what she was thinking, because she could see his expression race from anger to something else entirely. In that deep, gravelly voice, he murmured, as if in resignation, “Damn you,” and then without any notice bent down and covered her lips in a brutal kiss.

This wasn't what she'd come here for. She would stop kissing him. Now.
Ah, hell
. She couldn't come up with a single reason why she shouldn't enjoy him for this one last night. She was amazed that this big man, all hard planes and sculpted muscle, couldn't seem to keep his hands off her.

She wasn't about to let this chance slip by, she thought as she boldly grabbed his collar to bring him closer. Her grandmother would marry her off to some old lord, and she'd most likely never know this feeling again. In all her life, she'd never been so forcefully attracted to another as she was to him.

Realizing that it was now or never, she leaned into him, pressing her body against his as she tentatively brushed his tongue with her own. First lapping at him, then twining against his. He squeezed her hips, not quite painfully, and groaned, a low, rumbling sound that sent fire spilling through her body. His powerful reaction assured her that she should continue.

She'd learned from their first night together that if she pressed up against the front of his trousers, he kissed her more deeply. She arched toward him, her belly goading against his manhood. He moved his hands from her hips to her backside and lifted her until she was on her toes, her body more aligned against his. When her hips instinctively moved against him, he groaned again against her neck, flicking his tongue over her, flooding her with heat in that part of her he mercilessly thrust against.

Then an idea seized her, an idea so shocking…She hastily ran her hands down his chest, and lower. She would put her hands on him, where she was most successful in making him kiss her deeper.

Instead of being pleased as she'd hoped, he sounded distinctly pained when he grabbed her wrists. “Do you want me to spill my seed right here?”

 

Her passion-filled response dazed Derek. He imagined that she was just going through the motions to make him forget where she'd been, because of course she'd lied. He was angry that she'd spied on him; yet that didn't stop him from desiring her.

But he didn't want her to be with him for any reason other than her wanting him as well. Ruthlessly he shoved aside his misgivings and returned his lips to the fiery girl in his arms. He couldn't remember ever feeling so much from a kiss. Why were they burning together? Was it because he was sober, or because the little wench was matching his own surprisingly strong ardor, wrapping her arms around him and pressing her high, firm breasts into his chest?

She answered his teasing tongue by again opening for him and tasting him, as though licking him up. It made him wild. He might lose control with her, might hurt her with his big body. He set her away from him.

“God, what are you doing to me?” he rasped. He couldn't understand this little enigma, but when he looked at her face, with her swollen lips and her dilated pupils, he became determined that he would make her truly want him tonight, regardless of all the circumstances surrounding them. He bent down to put his arm under her knees and carried her to his cabin, kicking the door shut behind him.

When he dropped her on the bed, she sat up on her elbows to reach him, which only pushed her hardened nipples against the soft cloth of her blouse. He pressed her away from him down on the bed.
“Cease that now.”

But she didn't. When he yanked off his shirt, she went to her knees, her fingers sweeping over his skin, making the muscles beneath tighten and flex. She kneaded his shoulders and pulled herself up to place her warm lips on his chest. His head shot back. He couldn't prevent it, but he wanted to see her; he lowered his gaze…. She appeared to have truly forgotten herself in a feverish urgency. And, God, he wanted her to—hell, he needed her to forget herself—he was losing control with each second. He thought with a sudden coldness that he'd soon know if she wanted him as much as he did her.

He pushed her down on the bed and, laying one hand on her chest between her breasts, pulled off her boots with the other. Her trousers came next. He sensed a sudden hesitation as he continued undressing her, and gave her a harsh smile. “Scared I'll know if you're only feigning desire?”

Her face clouded with confusion. “Y-you could feign this?”

With a curse, he wondered at the truth in her words, words that made his blood boil to sink himself inside her.

“Take off your shirt,” he commanded, and again she hesitated before removing it. What in the hell was she thinking, after what she'd been doing to him? Did she think—Then it came to him, along with a fury. Probably playing the virgin, he realized with disgust. Damn women and their perpetual games. As if a woman who whimpered and undulated her body against his like this, a woman who had been just inches away from sliding her hands down the front of his trousers, could be a virgin.

He should throw her out on her ear. When he saw her perfectly rounded breasts, tipped with light pink, he couldn't. Not until after he'd tasted her.

He sat down beside her on the bed, pulling off his own boots and trousers; her gaze fastened on his swollen cock, and her eyes widened in fascination. He watched the girl studying his body, acting as if she'd never seen an aroused man. The thought of her, a wanton, pretending to be innocent…goddamn it!

He'd make her remember what she was.

He slid his hand to her breasts, palming them urgently. Her eyes went wild as she gasped, but he ignored her reaction and bent his head down. He pushed the small mounds together so he had only to turn his face one way or the other to find a nipple pouting against his lips. He licked and suckled, her skin becoming wet from him. She writhed, arching her body toward his, then threaded her fingers through his hair to fasten his mouth to her breast.

She was driving him mad. He'd never responded this way to a woman before. For some reason he'd have to consider later, her own response to him mattered—mattered more than anything else.

Oddly anxious, he grazed his hand down her belly. When he halted just above the juncture at her thighs, her whole body began quivering. Even her small breasts, still gleaming from his ministrations, moved with her shaking.

He eased his fingers down to her soft folds.

Moist. Hot. He nudged her legs apart and kneeled between them, pushing her knees up. When he had her open to him, he slid a finger in slowly, edging inside. Her whole body tensed. Had he hurt her? But his finger glistened when he pulled it from her. He pushed in once more, and her head thrashed to the side as she moaned. Out…in…she began to meet his hand. His lips curled in anticipation. She was so tight.

Again and again, he drove his finger into her, fondling inside, no more able to deny that searing, hungry sheath than he could quit breathing. With each give and take, her panting breaths and little cries came more quickly. Her pale arms fell back over her head, and her legs stretched wider. She already neared her peak.

He pressed a second finger into her, spreading her, and watched, fascinated, as he pushed upward with his hand. She moaned low in her throat and shot up in the bed, legs splayed, back arched. Exquisite.

Her body gripped him hard, and as she broke over the edge her eyes flashed open with a look of disbelief and wonder.

It was a look that mirrored his own, because there, obvious to his touch, was her unbreached maidenhood.

 

Nicole had just come down from the most incredible encounter she'd ever experienced in her life. She wanted to savor it, to lock it away in her heart. She felt soft and languid for the first time in months. She wanted to enjoy the easing of the constant tension she battled, but that became difficult when Sutherland closed in on her with an expression that sped from bafflement to a cold fury.

“An explanation, girl.”

She supposed his tone should have alarmed her, but she felt drugged. All she wanted to do was pet him and thank him and, well, reciprocate somehow. In fascination, she brought her fingers up to tease the hair on his chest, and smiled at his sharp hiss of breath when she unwittingly caressed his nipple. She'd have to remember that.

His eyes turned chilling as he roughly grabbed her wrists.
“Enough
. Is this some sort of trap?”

“T-trap?” she stammered, finally forcing herself to sit up.

His gaze roamed over her breasts, and he abruptly released her. “Cover yourself.”

She dragged the sheet to her chin. She would end this now, tell him everything so he could guard himself against whoever was behind the sabotage. And then she would leave. She was deciding where to start when his next comment stopped her cold.

“A virgin seductress. You wouldn't whore something as valuable as your virginity just to get your father out of jail.”

She flinched from his words but even more so when a look of dawning comprehension came over his face and with it an increasing rage. “Is that why you were so willing—because you were trying to bag an earl?” he asked menacingly, his features twisted.

Bag an earl? What the devil? Did he think she meant to trap him in marriage? She would never do something so callous. She'd known most of her life that if she did marry, it would be a miserable union to someone her grandmother chose for her.

It appeared that her silence infuriated him even more because he grabbed her shoulders. “I will ask this once and you
will
answer me,” he bit out. “What—” A muffled thud interrupted his words.

Nicole's head snapped up. She saw her own bewildered expression reflected in his eyes before they glinted in pain and then slowly eased closed.

J
esus, Chancey, you killed him!” Nicole cried as she wrapped the sheet more securely around her. Flying over to Sutherland's motionless form where he'd dropped on the floor, she protectively gathered his head in her lap.

“Why then should ye care?” Chancey asked, his hands tight around the billy club he'd used to pound the back of Sutherland's head.

“Of course I'd care,” she managed in a strangled whisper, as she cautiously checked his head and listened to his breathing—luckily, strong and steady. “I wouldn't want him to die…. I wouldn't want anyone to die,” she amended when a look of rage twisted Chancey's face. “This is not as it looks,” she said, wishing her traitorous face wasn't flushed red with embarrassment.

He rapped the club on his open palm. “Oh, so ye mean to tell me I find ye naked in the bed o' the most notorious rake in London, but it's not how it looks?” He turned to Sutherland with an ominous glare. “Then tell me what
did
happen so I'll be knowin' which way to properly kill the bastard.”

“No!” She threw herself over him. “I came here and eventually I, well…
I
seduced
him.”

“Is that so?” He snorted, clearly disbelieving, but at least he'd let go of the club, letting it hang from a strap on his wrist.

Nicole needed time to devise a way to get the furious Chancey away from the unconscious man. “I, uh, need to dress.” Abruptly he turned his back. Changing the direction of the conversation, she asked, “How did you know where I was? How did you get past his guards?”

“I had a bad feelin' about ye, so I stopped by the ship to check. It didn't take a bloody genius to figger out where ye been. His guards, well, they went the way o' their cap'n,” he finished in a sneering voice.

“Oh,” was all she could manage. She laid the sheet over Sutherland's torso and legs and hastily threw her shirt over her head.

“Hurry yerself. More o' his crewmen'll be back soon, and I'll be needin' time for doin' what I'm after.”

“Now, you just wait,” she ordered as she grabbed a pillow and gently laid Sutherland's head on it. She really began to fear for him. “Listen to me. It's the truth—I initiated this. I wouldn't lie. Have I ever lied to you?” she demanded of Chancey's back. “Have I ever been anything but completely honest with you?”

“Aye, when ye vowed to me ye'd stay in school for once. Or when ye told me Cook had been eatin' his own tarts. And then tonight—when ye sent me off to look into a dead end,” he countered, his disappointment palpable.

“That…that was an important lead. If for no other reason than to get more information on Tallywood,
your
main suspect,” she said stiffly as she bent down to finish dressing.

He let out a harsh bark of laughter at that. Truly her answer sounded weak to her own ears. It was bad, what she'd done. She'd sent Chancey out to investigate unwittingly something so nefarious as Tallywood's midnight bridge party.

“Fine, fine,” she conceded crossly. “But you must believe me on this.”

As she began stomping into her boots, Chancey turned and looked at her quizzically. “I might be admittin' that we can't lay all the blame at Sutherland's door. Ye're comely and ye came to him unchaperoned after slinkin' around the docks at night. Blighter probably thought that ye were fair game.”

Nicole stood and met his eyes, unflinching. “I wanted this to happen, Chancey. And I don't regret it.” She didn't—in her mind, Sutherland had given her a gift. Even with his harsh words and anger, she wouldn't trade her time in his bed for anything.

At length, Chancey released an exasperated sigh. “I'll let him live for now, but”—he raised a hand to cut off her next words—“only because ye'll be marryin' him.”

 

Marrying me?
Derek thought as he came to. He struggled to bite back a curse as continuous waves of stabbing pressure circled his head. His eyes opened into narrow slits as he stifled a hiss of pain, knowing that if he made a sound the giant cur with the club would just put him back out.

When he had some success in focusing his eyes, he squinted over at the arguing pair. The man was turned from him, so all Derek could see was his immensely broad back. But considering his size, he had to be the one who'd accompanied Nicole to the jail. Derek was a big man himself, but that mammoth probably had two stone more bulk on him.

And Nicole…the relatively tiny Nicole openly challenged him, shaking her head furiously at his command that she marry Derek.

“He compromised ye. Even yer father would feel forced to see ye marry him, Nic.”

“Sutherland? Think about what you're saying,” she said incredulously. “Besides, Father doesn't have to find out.”

“Ye know I'll be tellin' him, lass.”

The girl's face turned ashen, and the big man's shoulders slumped in response. At once, he marched across the cabin and bent down awkwardly to pat her head with one of his huge paws. Derek had a hard time hearing what they said when their heads were bent together. Finally, the man stood up.

“So ye were able to go all over this ship?”

All over?

“Yes.”

“And?”

“And I did what I came to do. You can cross Sutherland off your list.”

What bloody list?

“I can't be happy with what ye've done here tonight, but at least ye've accomplished somethin',” the man said before exhaling loudly. “We can salvage the rest. We need to go and get more o' our men before the sod's crew gets back. If we have to force him to marry ye, then that we will.”

Derek guessed that the big man knew the battle was just beginning because he quickly added, “I'll argue with ye on the way. But, Nic—come hell or high water, ye'll marry this scoundrel for what he did to ye.”

Why was she shaking her head determinedly, telling the giant that she damn well wouldn't marry him? Nicole's reaction astounded Derek; he had difficulty keeping his eyes hooded when she glanced over at him on the floor. She was in such a dudgeon that he doubted she'd notice he'd awakened anyway. He doubted she'd notice if he jumped up and danced a jig. The chit was
fuming
at the thought of marriage to him.

As if he would ever marry a girl like her.
But, damn it, what's so bad about marrying me?
Many women had set their caps on him, praying he'd honor them with a proposal, and some, he thought darkly, had schemed to manipulate him into marriage.

But not her. This little bit of fluff quaked with anger. That simply couldn't be right. It went against all reasoning. If his head didn't hurt so badly, he could sort through all this and make some sense of her behavior.

“Chancey,” she said in a low voice, “for the last time, I am not marrying him. He is a wastrel, a drunk, a—a—despoiler of women. Would you see me chained to
that”
—as if repelled, she flicked her hand in his direction—“for the rest of my life?”

Ah-ha, Chancey is his na—Wait! What the hell did she just say?
Derek could feel anger pumping through him. He was not a wastrel nor a drunk. And he'd certainly never despoiled a woman. But a small part of him admitted that if he hadn't been knocked out, he would've started with her.

Still he couldn't believe what she'd said. Did that explain the look she'd given him that night in the Mermaid? Was that how she regarded him? As a drunk?

He experienced an unwelcome tinge of embarrassment, and the feeling was raw and new and most definitely unwanted. Bloody hell. He could barely suppress the urge to get up and shake her until she took back her words.

Instead, he secretly watched as she marched up to the grizzled salt with shoulders back and eyes flashing. Derek thought she looked regal when she said, “Chancey, you must leave with me right now. You know I've recently made promises that do not include him. We will leave him be,” she finished warningly.

The man hesitated; then, shaking his head, he stalked to the other side of the cabin. He had to lean down to make it through the doorway. Just as they started out, he grumbled something about how she should have been sent back sooner.

Derek began to rise, but seeing blackness waver before his eyes, he dropped back down to the cabin floor in furious impotence. He might not be in any shape to go after them tonight, but it didn't matter. He would make them pay for this.

He would have her if it killed him, and he would teach that girl not to think of him as a—what ridiculous name had she called him? A despoiler of women. By God, she would beg for him.

In his anger, he strained to rise yet again, but he lay as weak as a babe. His head would not stop pounding, and his racing thoughts, although they never left the girl, were chaotic and confused….

Light footsteps sounded, and he shuttered his eyes. Nicole.

But her return did nothing to help clear his confusion. In fact, he became certain he was imagining it when she swept back inside and softly drew a blanket over him. There could be no doubt he dreamed when, tenderly kissing his aching head, she whispered into his hair, “Thank you for tonight,” before she leapt up and vanished.

 

Sixty hours. The Great Circle Race began in sixty hours, and Derek hadn't the slightest idea where Nicole had disappeared to. He'd already made up his mind when he and his crewmen couldn't locate her that he would bloody well remain in port. He'd be damned if he would wait seven months to have this situation resolved.

On his order, his men had searched every place of lodging near the water when they couldn't find her on or near the
Bella Nicola
. They'd torn apart the wharf looking for her, offered substantial rewards all over the city, but every lead stalled.

He pinched the bridge of his nose and looked down at his desk. He couldn't say he was becoming obsessed with her, because she'd already caught him in her snares. Leaning back in his chair, he again allowed his mind to revisit that night. Although he'd believed she sought to trap him into marriage, she'd definitely disproved that idea with her adamant refusals of him. And everything before that had been incredible.

Damn it, he didn't need to relive the night. As always, the memory of her abandon and the swift power of her climax aroused him to a painful degree. Even after he'd been clubbed, her kiss had been sweet and worth the pain. She'd
thanked
him. Then disappeared.

It was too much. He'd start to believe he'd made up the whole encounter if not that even now he could smell her scent and taste her on his lips. Barring the abrupt end, he wanted it to happen again.

He understood why he'd been hit, but that didn't make him any less angry about the clubbing he and his guards had gotten on his own ship. Not to mention the rest of that hazy night. He needed to know what list she'd referred to and why she'd been all over his ship. Nicole, the daughter of his worst enemy, having free rein was a disaster in anyone's books. Much less Nicole with an agenda. He had to find her and question her.

He'd left her in the salon with no doubt that she'd stay there. He couldn't remember anyone ever disobeying him deliberately. Yet the little chit probably set off the minute he reached the gangway where Lydia had slapped at one of his guards to get aboard and hysterically demand even more money.

Until Lydia had shown up, he'd been so busy brooding over Nicole that he hadn't had time to think of that witch in days, even though she'd haunted him for years….

A knock at his door pulled him from his musings.

He called out permission to enter and was surprised to find his younger brother standing in the doorway. Or rather, ducking under it. How had Derek not seen how big Grant had grown over the last four years? Grant had always been tall, but at twenty-eight, he'd completely filled out his rangy form.

Though Grant had blue eyes where Derek's were gray, and his face wasn't marred by hard living and resentment like Derek's, overall their physical differences were slight. Their personalities, however, couldn't have been more dissimilar. Where Derek appeared proud to be an irresponsible rake, given to hedonism, Grant had become a pillar of the community and had grown to be as intensely reserved as their father, the earl, had been. Still, he could remember when Grant was younger he'd been a prankster with a ready humor and a knack for finding trouble.

“Good morning, Derek.” Grant sat down in the chair facing the desk, and Derek could swear he saw power and purpose thrumming through his sibling. In response, Derek sank further back in his chair and propped his scuffed boots up on the desk.

He'd always cared about his brother, but Derek was still ill at ease that Grant had seen him so low the other night. He skipped a greeting. “What is it now, Grant?”

Grant looked around the well-appointed room before he took a deep breath. “Well, I wanted to speak to you before you sailed, but you left the house the other morning before I woke.”