The Prize (10 page)

And what was her fate
to be?

She was seized with
fear. Her first thought was that she might be raped.

She knew what the act
entailed. She'd seen horses bred, she'd seen slaves naked as children, and she
could imagine the gruesome act. She shivered and realized the water was ankle
deep.

80                            

Then she stiffened.
The gunfire and sound of swords had stopped. The decks above were eerily silent
now. Good God, could the battle already be over? Could his men so quickly
subdue the American ship?
Virginia
estimated the
Americana
held about a hundred sailors. The deathly
silence continued.

If he hadn't seen
her, maybe he would loot the ship and sail straight back to the hellish place
he had come from.

But what would he
do if he had seen her attempt to shoot him?

Virginia
realized she was trembling, but
she told herself it was from the frigidly cold water, which was almost calf
deep.

Would he kill her?

She told herself that
murdering an innocent eighteen-year-old woman made no sense, although if one
were a ruthless, mercenary pirate, she supposed that attacking a trading ship
that was carrying cotton, rice and other merchandise was rational, indeed. So
maybe there was hope.

For once,
Virginia
gloried in the fact that she was
so skinny she was often mistaken for someone about fourteen, and that her face
was too small, too pale, her hair utterly unruly. Thank God she did not look
like Sarah Lewis.

Virginia
froze.

Footsteps sounded directly
above and to the right of her head.
Virginia
began to shake. Someone was traversing the hold where the sailors slept, just
as she had in order to find her hiding place. Trembling again, unable to stop
it, she glanced at the hatch she had come through. Her eyes had adjusted to
the darkness, but still there was nothing she could see on the other side where
the ladder from the upper deck was.

Wood creaked.

Virginia
closed her eyes. After all the
days she had been

at sea,
Virginia
had become accustomed to the
sounds of the ship—its moans and groans, the soft sigh and slap of the sea. She
did not have to debate to know that this sound was not a natural one and that
someone was coming down that ladder.

Sweat trickled
between her breasts.

She gripped the pistol
more tightly, holding it in the folds of her skirts.

He
was coming down that ladder, she
simply knew it.

On the other side of
the hatch, light flickered from a candle.

Virginia
blinked, sweat now blurring her
vision, and made out a white form on the other side of the hatch, holding up
the candle, turning slowly and thoroughly assessing the space there. She
couldn't breathe and she feared suffocation.

He stepped through
the hatch.

Virginia
didn't move because she could
not. He held up the candle, saw her instantly and their gazes locked.

Virginia
could not look away. This man
was the ruthless monster responsible for numerous deaths; she was not prepared
for the sight of him. He had the face of a Greek god come down from
Mount
Olympus
—dangerously,
disturbingly handsome—high planes, hard angles, piercing silver eyes. But
that face—the face of an angel—was carved in granite—and it was the face of a
sea devil instead.

He was also far
taller than she had assumed—she knew her head would just reach his chest—and
broad-shouldered, his hips lean. His legs, while impossibly muscular from the
days he spent riding the sea, were encased in bloody britches. Blood covered
his white linen shirt as well. He wore a sheathed sword, a dagger was in his
belt, but otherwise, she saw no other weapon.

Virginia
bit her lip, finally breathing,
the sound loud and harsh in the small space they now shared. She did not have

to know anything else
about this man to know that he was cruel and ruthless and incapable of kindness
or mercy.

He broke the tense
silence. "Come here."

She remained standing
beside a number of piled-up crates. She wasn't sure she could obey even if she
wished to—she wasn't sure that she could move.
Virginia
finally understood Mrs. Davis's paralyzing
fear.

"I am not going
to hurt you. Come out."

His tone was one of
authority—she sensed he was never disobeyed.
Virginia
continued to stare into his cold eyes— she
was incapable of looking away—as if hypnotized. He looked angry. She saw it
now, because he was glancing at all 'of her—her mouth, her hair, her small
waist, her sodden skirts—and his eyes were turning stormy gray, his jaw was
flexed, his temples ticking visibly. It was very clear he did not care for the
sight of her.

She took another huge
breath, seeking courage, her hand holding the pistol behind her back, in the
folds of her navy-blue skirts.
Virginia
wet her lips. "What—what do
you want?"

"I want you to
come here, as I never give an order twice, and this is the third time."
Impatience edged his voice.

Virginia
realized there was no choice.
But stubbornly, childishly, she wanted reassurance from the least reassuring
human being she had ever had the misfortune to meet. "What are you going
to do with me?" she asked hoarsely.

"I am taking you
to my ship," he said flatly.

He was going to
abuse her
—
rape
her.
Virginia
willed herself to stop shaking,
but the trembling refused to cease. "You have just attacked an innocent
ship," she managed to say hoarsely. "But I am a young, defenseless
woman, and I ask mercy of you now."

His mouth curved into
a smile at once mirthless and merciless. "You will not be harmed,"
he said.

She started.
"What?"

"Does that
disappoint you?" he asked.

She stared, stunned,
trying to determine whether to believe him or not. Then she realized she should
not believe him, because he was a murderer, which meant he must be a liar as
well. "I am not going to your ship of my own free will," she heard
herself say.

His eyes widened in
real surprise. "I beg your pardon?"

She tried to back up,
but there was nowhere to go, and the wood crates dug into her back and her hand
as it held the pistol.

Suddenly he laughed.
The sound was raw, as if laughter was hard for him. "You dare to disobey
me, the captain of this ship?"

"You are
not—" she began, and bit her lip, hard.
Do shut up,
she told
herself.

His smile was hard,
his eyes colder than a block of ice. "I beg to differ with you. I am the
captain of the
Americana
,
as I have seized her and she has surrendered
to me." And then he started for her. "I also have no patience. We
have a fine nor'easter," he said, as if that explained everything.

Virginia
didn't move, planning to strike
him over the head with the pistol when he reached her side. But he was so tall,
she would never succeed in wielding that blow. She glanced between his legs and
decided to strike him there.

The space was so
small in the hold that two of his hard strides closed the distance between
them.
Virginia
's heart was banging so rapidly
in her chest that it hurt. She stiffened as he reached for her, and as his
large hand closed over her left arm, she swung the pistol at him.

He had the reflexes
of a wild beast. He leapt aside, the butt of the gun grazing one rock-hard
thigh, which it actually bounced off. His grip tightened on her arm and she cried
out.

"That,
mademoiselle,
was distinctly unladylike."

Tears filled her gaze
in a rush.

"But should I
expect more from a vixen who thinks to shoot me?" he demanded.

She blinked and
looked into pale, opaque eyes.
So he knew.
The adage was that the eyes
were a window to the soul. If that was so, this man was soulless. "What
are you going to do with me?" she whispered roughly.

"I told you. You
will be transferred aboard my ship." He removed the pistol from her grip,
tossing it aside. He gestured at the ladder in the other hold, never releasing
her arm.

Virginia
didn't move. "Why? I'm not
pretty."

He started, then his
gaze narrowed with comprehension. "Why? Because you shall be my
guest,
Miss Hughes."

She gasped at the
sound of her name and real fear flooded within her. An instant later, her
shrewd wit saved her—he had surely just learned her name from the captain or
his crew. "My guest? Or your victim?" she whispered.

"God, you are
defiant for such a little wench!" He moved her forward and her feet had no
choice but to rise and fall, the one after the other. Her sodden skirts quickly
tangled, making it hard to keep her balance. "Can you climb the ladder or
do I have to throw you over my shoulder?" he asked.

But she had no
intention of being manhandled by him until there was no other choice. Still,
she heard herself say, "Captain, sir! I am on my way to
London
—my business is most urgent—you must let me
continue on!"

He reached for her,
clearly intending to hoist her into his arms, obviously devoid of any more vestiges
of patience.

Virginia
whirled, grabbed the ladder,
gripped her skirts and scrambled upward. But she heard no movement behind her
and suddenly she had an awful notion. On one of the top rungs, she paused and
glanced down.

He was studying her
calves and ankles, fully revealed in

                               
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her frilly
pantalettes. There was an odd look in his eyes and it made her heart skip
wildly in fear.

His gaze lifted.
"I haven't seen a woman in pantalettes in years."

Her color increased
and a cruel comment made by Sarah Lewis when she had been in school in
Richmond
flashed through her mind: "
Virginia
, I hate to be the one to tell
you, but those things are not in fashion anymore!"

The heat in her
cheeks increased. She realized he had begun to climb up and she scrambled out
of the hatch and into the hold where the ship's crew slept.

She gagged as she
hurried through, acutely aware of her captor an inch behind her, giving her no
chance to escape. But she would have to escape, and soon, wouldn't she? It was
that or become reduced to being his whore.

Another ladder faced
them.
Virginia
did not want to climb up first.
The pirate lightly pressed her forward. "Go up, Miss Hughes."

She dared to face
him. "It is clear you are no gentleman, sir, but keep your eyes to
yourself."

An incredulous look
crossed his face, followed by amusement, and for one moment,
Virginia
expected him to chuckle.
"Miss Hughes, I am not interested in your charms "

"Good," she
snapped, as her temper suddenly reared. "Then you can leave me on this
ship and let me continue on my way while you rape someone else."

He stared at her for
a long, tense moment. "I told you that you would be my guest."

"And I am to
believe a murderer?"

His jaw flexed.
"You may believe as you will, but I am not in the habit of raping my
guests. Frankly, I am not in the habit of rape at all. Go up the ladder."

"Then why?"
she asked, confused.

"I am very tired
of your insolence, Miss Hughes."

Virginia
saw that here, at least, was the
unfettered truth. She hoisted her skirts and scrambled up, and this time she
made certain she did not look back.

Above, clouds were
scudding in the blue sky and the stench of death was everywhere.
Virginia
choked upon seeing five corpses
of American sailors laid out neatly in a row, clearly about to be tossed out to
sea. One of them was dear Captain Horatio. She fought genuine tears. He had
been more than kind to her—he had, in an odd way, reminded her of her own
father.

The rest of the
American crew was shackled. Then she saw Mr. and Mrs. Davis, holding each
other. She turned abruptly, suddenly furious.

"What will you
do with Mr. and Mrs. Davis? Are they to be your
guests,
as well?"
Her tone was filled with loathing and sarcasm.