Donovan’s Prize

By:

Alexandra Holbrook

Copyright 1998

Alexandra Holbrook

alexholbrook@earthlink.net

Prologue

Taut like a sail

Full of salty sea air

Almost choking out life

Its hold ever present

Day after day

Year after year

The memory always in the forefront

Forever aware of each movement

Planning and plotting the course

Waiting for the right moment

The right point in time

To show just cause for the hatred

All are pawns in the game

And the pawns must pay for

The sins of the father...

Prologue

April, 1748

    Bright sunlight glinted on the highly polished brass epaulets of Captain James Donovan’s uniform as his emerald green gaze scanned the distant horizon. This was a dark day for he and his crew. For one, he had just received word from a passing ship that his father, the Earl of Pembroke, had died some two weeks before and he would be required to resign his commission immediately to take over his duties as the new Earl.

    The other matter that darkened his brow was the filthy thief standing before him in chains. Arriving in his cabin after hearing the news of his father’s death, he found Harry Parks pulling coins from his private purse. He’d never trusted the ragamuffin from the start, but now he was bound and determined to see him reprimanded. Ensign Parks would be dishonourably discharged, given fifteen lashes and sent to Newgate Prison upon their arrival in London.

    First Mate Leland Huntington, the future Earl of Brighton and Captain Donovan’s best friend since boyhood, would be taking command of the ship until he, too, retired. Leland called the crew to attention and read the order to be carried out forthwith to Ensign Harry Parks, a sixteen-year-old boy who had joined on just a few months before. Leland hadn’t liked Parks from the first day he’d set foot on the ship and had tried to convince James to have him transferred to another detail, but to no avail. He’d known something like this would happen and almost relished delivering this brand of justice.

    Both Captain and First Mate watched with mixed emotions as the young man was stripped to the waist, tied spread eagle to the main mast and given his fifteen lashes. James never liked being judge, jury and executioner, but here on the high seas, there was no room for criminals. When the flogging had ceased, the boy was taken to the forecastle, his wounds salted and then locked in the brig until they docked in Portsmouth two days hence, after which he would be sent to London to serve his sentence. 

    With a heavy heart and mind, James made his way to his cabin. He’d loved his father dearly and would miss him. This afternoon’s hard task made him long for home and he honestly couldn’t wait to get there. Allowing his grief to overtake him, he wept silently, releasing the sadness that leadened his heart and left him empty.

    He knew his duty. He would have to marry and have an heir immediately. He was only twenty-eight, but he needed to guarantee the continuation of the Donovan line. This was the perfect opportunity to ask for Miss Charlotte Winstead. She was only a squire’s daughter, but she was exquisite and he had been captured by her wit on many occasions. 

    A loud knock on the door brought him out of his reverie and, brushing the tears from his eyes, he bade entrance. It was Leland. Apparently, Parks was requesting an audience, and since he was locked in the brig, they would have to go to him. 

    “Let’s get this over with,” he muttered, collecting his hat and following Leland to the small cell sitting snugly under the bow.

    “What is it, Parks? What do you want?” James demanded as he entered the tiny room. 

    Harry lay on his stomach on a narrow cot in one corner and glared his hatred at the two men standing in the doorway. “I’ll remember th’two o’ ye. Ye’ll pay fer wot ye’ve done to ‘Arry Parks. I’ll see ye suffer more pain than I e’er did at yer ‘ands. Lock up yer children and yer wives. Don’t forget me name er turn yer back on me. One day, ye’ll pay. Wait and see...”

    Harry turned his head dismissively to the wall and the two older men left the room. Leland could care less what happened to Parks. The boy was a snake and had tried to steal from his best friend. That was inexcusable. He would serve his time in Newgate and hopefully learn his lesson. 

    Parks’ declarations had left a sour taste in James’ mouth and he knew that the boy had been sincere. It worried him, but he had enough to deal with right now. Regardless, neither James nor Leland lost any sleep over it. 

    They should have...

August 1750   

    It was just before dawn and Harry Parks crawled under the death wagon as it made its way to the Triple Tree from the gates of Newgate Prison. He’d killed two men to make his escape this hot, sticky morning and he hoped to be far from London by noon. At eighteen, he was a cold, hardened criminal and the families of Donovan and Huntington would be the ones to suffer the consequences. 

He had a debt to settle on the two men who had ruined the last two years of his life. Serving his time, alone and physically mistreated, he’d found plenty of opportunity to plan his revenge. Causing them intense pain and suffering was the only way he would find retribution. First, he would destroy their families, and then he’d find a way to take their lives as well.   

His heart and mind set, he rode three miles outside of London, dropped to the dusty road and rolled into the bushes. With the stolen purses of the two dead guards, he bought a change of clothes and passage on the first ship bound for France.

    He’d heard through the prison grapevine that Captain James Donovan had married and had a newborn son. Happiness would soon be over for the new Earl and his bride and First Mate Leland Huntington would be the next to pay...

Part One

A bitter mistress

Undulating waves

Showing its rage

It’s beauty a facade

Dangerous with it’s depth

And dark mysteriousness

Its surface, the home

For the ships of men

Fighting for control

Taking all that is not theirs

These men are heartless

And the sea is cold

Chapter One

April 15, 1785

    Panic clutching at her breast, Claire ran blindly up the winding staircase and into the darkened attic of her small rented house, desperate to evade her so-called protector.  She’d always known that his tastes ran to the unusual.  She was accustomed to the occasional bruise, but lately he’d become blatantly perverse.  Tonight...he had frightened her.

    Her robe was torn and her back stung from the single lash of the black, leather strap he carried.  When he’d walked into her bedroom earlier, he was slapping it nonchalantly against his thigh.  She had seen him do that with his riding crop many times, but never before had he demanded that she lie quietly while he beat her with it.  Smiling cruelly, he seemed to take pleasure from her gasp of fear, managing to strike her once before she escaped.  After tonight, she would discontinue their association.  Fortunately, another titled gentleman had expressed a desire for her company and she would seek him out on the morrow...perhaps. 

    Huddling quietly behind a large trunk, she tried to still her trembling body and calm her laboured breathing.  The squeak of hinges and the thud of the heavy door striking the wall caused her to draw back farther into what little shelter the trunk could provide.  Noticing a bit of bright lace from her dressing gown poking out into the open, she quickly pulled it out of sight.

    “Claire...darling,” came the voice, smooth-as-silk, echoing in the darkness.  “I’m not going to hurt you, love.  Come out...please.”

    The vivid crack of the strap against his thigh reverberating around the long, narrow room immediately followed his statement.  She gasped softly and squeezed her eyes shut tightly, trying to make herself as small as possible.  The knot of fear lying in her chest began to grow as he searched the attic, slapping the heavy strap against various pieces of furniture in frustration.  For the first time in her nineteen years, she was truly afraid.

    She could hear him coming closer to her hiding place and she almost stopped breathing.  If he found her, there was no telling what he would do.  The fury in his voice as she ran from him earlier had frightened her even more than the prospect of being beaten.  Although she made no sound, it was as if he knew exactly where she was hiding all along.  He thrust one long arm behind the trunk and jerked her to her feet, hauling her slight form against his lean frame.  She fought him frantically, landing a solid slap to his left cheek before he trapped her hands behind her back. 

    Heart pounding and breathing ragged, she stared into the dark eyes of a complete stranger.  The same man who now held her in a cruel grip of iron had, in the not too distant past, made her ache with pleasure.  He brushed the leather strap almost lovingly down one soft cheek and she shivered with fear.

    “How did you know I like to be rough when I make love?  That little slap was quite exciting,” he murmured silkily, burying his face in her ebony tresses to inhale their perfume. 

    She bit her lower lip and choked back a sob as he brutally twisted her arm, the muscles screaming in pain, the bones protesting under the pressure.  “Please...don’t hurt me...” she begged in a ragged whisper.

    “But, why not?  True pleasure can’t be attained without a little pain, my dear.  Did your mother never tell you that?” he asked softly as he took her mouth in a bruising kiss.

    Claire tasted her own blood and tried vainly to escape, but her struggles ceased when she heard a sickening crunch as he almost gently broke her wrist.  She groaned as pain flooded her arm and she slumped against him in defeat.  If she survived this night, she would take her small savings and leave the country.  She couldn’t bear the thought of facing him, or this, ever again.

    He felt her go limp in his arms and her shoulders begin to shake with her tears.  A smile of triumph spread across his full mouth and he tenderly stroked her throbbing arm.  “Come...sweet,” he said huskily, “Let’s take care of that, shall we; then we can spend the rest of the evening in bed.”

    Claire looked in his eyes and a shudder of revulsion tripped down her spine.  She had seen his kind before, in the brothel in Paris where she had begun her rather dubious career.  He liked inflicting pain and the power it gave him over others.  He couldn’t receive pleasure without it. 

    Her eyes filling with tears, she bowed her head and said softly, “Yes...m...  m...master.”  It was her only hope.

    Laughter rumbled unpleasantly in his chest and he said, “Very good, Claire.  You learn quickly.  If you’re to be my slave, you should look the part.”

    He released her hands and, in one swift motion, stripped the torn garment from her back, baring her lush curves to his dark gaze.  Tying one end of the long, leather strap around her slender throat, he whispered warmly, “Lead the way, darling.  I fear I’m painfully aroused and can’t wait to take you.”

    With a heavy step, she took him to her bed...

**********

    Claire took one small trunk and no more than she could carry on board the ship bound for the Caribbean.  Her adopted sister had secured a position under indenture at a large plantation not far from the bustling seaport of Charlotte Amalie on St. Thomas, and hopefully she could join her there.  She’d managed to save almost three thousand pounds in the last year and she used it now.  Hopefully, he would never find her.

    The veiled hat and the long sleeves of her gown hid the worst of her injuries.  Her arm ached beneath the make-shift splint her lover had so thoughtfully fashioned for her before he bloodied her nose, blackened one eye and left painful, stinging welts criss-crossing the creamy expanse of her back.   She walked stiffly, her body bruised and sore from the horribly degrading things he had done to her.  A single tear slid painfully down her cheek as she walked up the gangway to the deck of the large merchant ship. 

    She didn’t bother to look back...

Chapter Two

June 15, 1785

    Beasts!  That’s what all men are...beasts.  Taylor McMahon didn’t notice the pleasant swaying of the ship beneath her or the beautiful crystal blue sky outside her small porthole as she sat locked in her cabin, sulking, working out fiendish plots to kill her fiancé. 

    “There’s always the alligator pits on the island at home,” she thought.  “No...it wouldn’t be fair to give the poor animals indigestion.”

    To hear her thoughts, you would never know that she was thoroughly infatuated with her future husband.  After all, he was the catch of the season and she’d landed him without so much as a flip of her fan.  He seemed to care for her, too, but right now he was being an incorrigible sod. 

    He wouldn’t let her walk on deck.  Mumbling something about the cut of her bodice, he carried her to her cabin and unceremoniously dumped her on her bunk.  His dark brown eyes glittering with exasperation, he placed a hard kiss on her tight mouth and slammed the door.  Laughter echoed loudly behind his retreating footsteps when she shrieked indignantly at the sound of the bolt sliding into the lock.

    William Harrison Davies II, Viscount Driscoll was a wealthy, aristocratic, devastatingly handsome, twenty-five year old rake with dark auburn hair, brown eyes and a whipcord physique that had more than one young lady stuttering like an idiot this season.  Under normal circumstances, Taylor would be fawning all over him, but the spoiled imp that dwelled within her was beginning to show.

    Barely standing five feet in height and looking to be much younger than her eighteen years, Taylor had a wealth of honey blonde curls that fell in constant disarray around her slender shoulders.  Long, sooty, gold-tipped lashes framed almond shaped eyes the colour of molten gold set in a small oval face with high cheekbones and a pert little chin.  Her nose was small and straight with a slight tilt at the tip set above a lush mouth with full, dusky lips always on the verge of a blinding smile.  Earthy and vivacious, she reminded most people of a wild, untamed cat.

    Taylor never really worried about her looks or her dress.  Then again she spent most of her life in a pair of breeches either on the back of a horse or mucking about the family stables with her prize-winning steeds.  Her body was slim and muscular from years in the saddle, but curvy enough so that there was no mistaking her sex, even in breeches.  Being thousands of miles from civilisation, her parents did little to tame their only child’s hoydenish behaviour, so she was been given free reign over the whole island...until last year.

    Her mother spent endless hours teaching her how to be a lady; how to walk, talk, which fork to use; not to mention the countless buttermilk balms to bleach the uncivilised golden tan from her now ivory skin. The two things her mother couldn’t change were the sun-kissed golden highlights in her honey-blonde hair and the good common sense her father blessed her with.      

    “She looks so young,” her mother, Madelaine, said quietly to her father just two days before she left for London.

    “I know, darling, but she’s eighteen and she needs to marry.  She’s our only child and we won’t be around forever,” he replied, sensible as always.

    Taylor missed her home, Pearl.  Her mother gave it that name as they approached the sprawling island on board their ship.  She said it looked like a large ivory pearl sitting in a vast box of blue velvet.  Her father, Charles McMahon, was granted the island by the crown when Taylor was six years old and they moved everything they owned to the vast untracked wilderness that was her beloved home.

    Memories of running barefoot over the sugary sand and riding Valkerye, her favourite mare, across the rolling hills above the main house made her homesick.  She missed traipsing around the fields and stables in her breeches and visiting with the villagers that worked her father’s fields, but more than anything, she missed swimming in the sea and lying on the sand on her private beach on the Eastern side of the island. 

    She managed to convince her father to let her bring Prince Theodore, one of her prize winning racing stallions, to London.  “I’ll need a horse to ride while I’m there, Papa,” she explained.

    “But proper young ladies in London society don’t ride wild race horses through Hyde Park on Sunday afternoons.  They ride very gentle mares and maybe a gelding occasionally.  Take Tangerine...” he argued.

    “But Papa, I’m the only one who can ride him and you know how restless he gets if he isn’t exercised regularly.  Perhaps I can find him a new breeding mare in Sussex.  ‘Tis almost eight months since he was bred last and I am sure there will be plenty of offers for him when it’s discovered he’s in England.  Pleasssse...” she begged and he crumbled under the soft golden stare so like her mother’s.

    He also wasn’t averse to making more money either.  His very precocious daughter had managed to build a sizeable fortune for herself, as well as fill his own accounts, by having a strange talent for breeding horses.  She just seemed to know which animals would produce the finest stock.  Four of Europe’s most sought after racing studs were from the McMahon stables and were all sired under his then twelve-year-old daughter’s direction.  A finer son a man could not have wanted.

    She also had her mother’s head for business, having attained a large dowry as well as nearly three million pounds in her own name by the tender age of eighteen.  All but eight of the thirty steeds in the stables were hers and six of the mares would foal any day.  He did have a devil of a time convincing her to spend a few thousand pounds on a new wardrobe, but convince her he did.

    “Now, Taylor, you know you can’t go to a ball in breeches.  You’ll need more than three gowns in London.  I know that your mother and I’ve been lax in raising you to be a proper young lady, but it’s important for you to show some etiquette during your stay.  Please, little one, be a typical young lady and buy out the shop,” he pleaded and she finally consented to visit the seamstress in Jamaica. 

    Unwilling to disappoint her father, she bought out every shop in Kingston...then sold eight horses to make up for the loss.  Hats, shoes, ribbons, laces, chemises, petticoats, nightrails, dressing gowns, corsets, silk stockings, cloaks, eighteen all-purpose gowns, four ball gowns and six riding habits were ordered and cut, then transported to Pearl for her final fittings.  The dressmaker nearly swooned with delight.  She also visited a tailor and ordered six new pair of riding breeches, six matching coats, three hats, a dozen shirts and two pair of black jockey boots for riding her racehorses. 

    Her mother wept tears of joy and her father was hard pressed to keep from locking her in her room.  The less than demure cut of her bodices was more than he was prepare for.  She was adorable as a child, but she was stunning as a woman.  To him, she would always be a twelve-year-old hoyden with braids riding around on racehorses.  The thought of any man coming near his daughter sent a shaft of pure rage through his heart.  He would miss his spoiled little darling.

    The strictures of London society were a bit trying to her free spirit, but her mother had insisted she try to abide within the boundaries set for all young debutantes.  Taylor would have rather eaten crushed glass than wear corsets, or dresses for that matter.  The idea of being a real girl was a bit annoying, but her parents insisted that a good marriage was necessary for a young lady of her station, so they bundled her off to her Aunt Miranda and London’s high society.  She’d been miserable the first few weeks.  It was cold, wet and the people had no sense of fun.  She tried to go for a walk alone on the banks of the River Thames once and Aunt Miranda promptly fainted.    

    She felt like a horse at auction when she arrived at her first ball.  The young men circled around her like a pack of hungry wolves, making her long for a riding crop.  She would have felt safer.  She was wined and dined, kissed and seduced, pawed and groped.  A few brought flowers and candies, treated her as if she were a simple minded twit, then withdrew immediately when confronted with the sharp side of her wit...not to mention her profound right hook.  Many came away with bloody noses and swollen lips...all in the first three weeks.

    Then she met William and things changed.  He’d taken one look at her and decided that marriage might not be such a bad proposition after all.  What drew him to her was her cool attitude concerning his looks and title.  Of course, the very brilliant string of marquis cut emeralds draped around her slender throat and adorning her thick, tawny mane helped with the idea of a financially comfortable future.  But she looked so young and he asked Miranda why anyone her age would be looking for a husband.

    “I’m eighteen,” Taylor had replied huffily, small hands braced on her hips. 

    “Really.  I’m so relieved.  I was afraid I was becoming something of a cradle robber.  Dance with me,” he had returned with a decidedly rakish grin.

    She smiled, took his hand and he twirled her around the dance floor until she was dizzy.  That was four and a half months ago and now they were on their way to her home where they were to be married around Christmas time. 

    It was beyond her how she‘d captured the heart of the man she was to marry.  When she first met him, she thought he was a bit too arrogant for his own good, but he had a wonderful sense of humour and they shared a mutual love for the sea.  William proposed four times before she finally said yes, and that was only after he nearly compromised her virtue in her aunt’s garden six weeks ago.  He’d promised her that he would marry her during their first dance. 

    She laughed and said, “With all the fish in this sea?  We shall see about that.”

    That dance was only the beginning.  He took her to the opera, numerous plays, dinner at his widowed father’s house and riding in the country. He laughed when she fought with her skirts and said, “I’m looking forward to seeing you in your natural habitat.  I imagine you’re quite fetching in a pair of breeches.” 

    He made sure that she didn’t have time with any other suitors and soon she began to like him as more than a friend.  It was William who made her realise that being a girl wasn’t a curse.  His first tentative kiss was a revelation and not knowing the games that other girls played, she kissed back.  Before she knew it, he was pulling away and begging her to marry him...the first time. 

    Giggling, she said simply, “No.”

    He stormed out of the house, his male pride insulted, swearing to never see her again.  Three dozen white roses and a note inviting her to the opera the following evening testified the sincerity of his oath.  Their friendship had blossomed over the next month and he continued to ask for her hand.  She continued to say no.

    He finally decided that the only way he would convince her to be his wife was to take advantage of her innocence.  Introducing her to the pleasures of the flesh would make her see reason.  So he had arrived one bright and sunny Saturday morning fully intending to seduce her out of her virtue.

    It can be dangerous to underestimate a woman, especially when she’s spent most of her life in the company of stable hands intent on teaching her how to defend herself.

    They set up a picnic in a small clearing at the back of her aunt’s garden under the shade of an old oak tree...alone.  He plied her with compliments and fed her fresh blueberries.  Once the food was cleared away, he began his seduction.  A few heated kisses and caresses dislodged her wits while his nimble fingers loosened the laces of her gown.  Taylor felt a cool draft against her skin, sat bolt upright, punched him dead in the nose, called him an “unprincipled, rutting letch” and sprinted for the house.  He followed, nose bleeding, cravat awry and a rather large telltale bulge in his trousers.

    When Miranda saw the torn dress and dishevelled hair on her niece as well as the bloody nose of the young viscount, she promptly and thoroughly fainted.  The announcement that the couple would marry in December at the lady’s family plantation in Jamaica was made within the week.  Now, they were on board a French merchant frigate bound for the Caribbean with her prized Prince Theodore and two new pregnant brood mares safe in the hold.

    William was getting what he wanted: Taylor as his wife, and her considerable fortune within his reach.  He was fond of the little minx and was sure that her slim, athletic body would bring him much pleasure, but the only reason he was marrying her was the pressure his father was exerting for an heir.  She was lovely, though.  Of course, he’d put a stop to her business dealings and take over the management of her stables.  No wife of his would run around in breeches…breeding horses, of all things.

**********

    Taylor paced the length of her cabin in long angry strides and whirled when the door opened to admit her aunt.  “Miranda, why won’t he let me walk on deck?  It’s so stuffy in here,” she asked with a whine.

    “He’s afraid these coarse sailors will hurt you, love.  That dress is quite revealing,” Miranda explained gently.

    Looking down at the lovely teal morning gown, Taylor realised that it was cut a bit low.  Her creamy bosom swelled up over the bodice, threatening to spill out into view as the tightly laced gown accentuated her narrow, hand-span waist and slender hips.

    “Although we both know I can take care of myself, should I change into something a little less showy?” she asked quietly.

    Smiling adoringly at the young woman whom she had come to think of as a daughter, Miranda answered, “Yes, it might make William less of a brute.  Here, let me help you.” 

    In less than ten minutes, she was dressed in a demure lavender silk day dress with a lace collar that hugged her slender throat.  Once on deck, she gained the attention of every pair of male eyes on board.  She was still breathtaking, but at least she was covered.  William never got over how lovely she was...and she, and her money, would soon belong to him.

    Taking her arm, he smiled and said, “I am sorry about my behaviour earlier.  I just can’t abide the thought of any man touching you.”

    Taylor rolled her eyes and said, “William, I don’t know any other men and no one would dare come near me.  At least not the way you glare at them if they even tip their hat.  Darling, I’m going to marry you, so cease your worry.”

    He flushed crimson when she reminded him of his gruff reactions to other men.  The truth was, he was terrified that someone was going to carry her off and he would never have her money or her body.  Being completely honest with himself, he had to admit it was the money, not the woman, which held his undivided attention.  But, then again, the idea of her petite form writhing beneath him was more than a little intoxicating.

    He’d marry her, get a few children from her, his father’s precious heirs, and then he’d resume his carefree existence.  Too bad the old bloke was so captivated by the little filly.  The man practically had their wedding invitations engraved upon her first visit to his home.  Why didn’t his father just marry her and get it over with?

    Little did he realise how short-lived his aspirations were.  Fate had made her choice for the little tigress and William wasn’t it.

Chapter Three

June 25, 1785

    Captain Bryce Donovan stood at the helm of his ship, the Black Flame, feet braced wide, hands firmly on the wheel, his emerald eyes constantly scanning the horizon in search of diversion.  Prey had been scarce of late and he was bored out of his skull.  His anxiety existed on many different levels: one, the lack of activity and two, the lack of womanly pleasures.  Six weeks was a long time to be without one’s mistress.

    Being a privateer for the Crown had its advantages.  Raiding fat merchant vessels from France and Spain to fill the King’s coffers, as well as his own, gave him a sense of purpose, as well as adventure.  His father, James Donovan, a well-respected earl and a Member of Parliament, wasn’t very happy with his second son’s choice of employment and reminded him of it frequently. 

    Cornering him in the study at Christmas, he tried desperately to talk his favourite son out of his dangerous choice of lifestyles.  “Pup, why do you insist on this reckless endeavour?  You know you don’t have to do this.  There’s always the navy and we’ve plenty of capital...”

    He interrupted his father’s tirade, green eyes flashing, and said stiffly, “The navy may have been good for you, but I’m not you.  It’s easier to be a privateer, where I have some control over the quality of my life, rather than to be pressed into the Navy.  At least I won’t get a flogging for the least little infraction.  I know we have plenty of money, but that and the estates go to Cameron.  I will not live my life by his leave.”

    The expression of pain in his father’s emerald eyes, so like his own, calmed his ire somewhat and he continued gently, “I understand your worry, but I have to do this.  I’ve been very successful the last three years and I intend to be even more successful in the future.  This is my life and prosperity we’re discussing.  I need my own identity.  Please understand.”   

“Well, I don’t understand,” his father began, “but it is your life.  You look healthy and happy, so as long as you come home regularly, and in one piece, who am I to complain.  I just hope one day, you’ll bring home a wife and start a family.”

    Bryce rolled his eyes and groaned.  “Father, it’s Cameron’s job to produce the heir, not mine.  I’m only thirty for heaven’s sake.  When I’m too old to move, then I’ll take a wife who’ll make my last days comfortable, but a family isn’t what I want or need right now.  Leanne takes care of my physical needs superbly and the last thing I need is a wife to nag me constantly.”

    James knew his son’s bull-headed refusals to marry would pass as soon as the right woman came along.  All they had to do was wait.  Little did he know how soon that would be.

    Bryce thought about his mistress, waiting in a lovely house in St. Croix.  Her long, ebony locks and big violet eyes stole into his mind and he smiled warmly.  One more raid and he’d head back to her tender affections.  Although she was a bit of a tyrant at times, her buxom beauty could ease his tensions wonderfully.

    Lost in his own musings, he nearly missed the billowing white sails of the low-riding merchantman a scant two miles off the starboard bow.  His mouth began to water and his palms itched as he noticed the French flag flapping jauntily in the afternoon breeze.

    Echoing his excitement came the call from the crow’s nest, “Ship ahoy!”

    A broad grin on his handsome face, he shouted, “Man your stations, men.  It seems we have a bit of sport this afternoon.”

    Whoops and shouts greeted his declaration amid the mad scramble for swords and cutlasses as Bryce brought the ship about to intercept the unsuspecting merchantman.  Mayhap there would even be a rich lord who would bring a nice, tidy ransom.  His well-trained crew trimmed the sails and, catching a warming breeze, they moved with all speed toward destiny.

**********

    Taylor had been strolling on deck, bored, watching the dips and loops of the seagulls when she heard the lookout call, “Ship ahoy!”

    “Thank heaven.  Perhaps we’ll have visitors and I’ll have someone to talk to,” she mumbled to herself as she spun around to see the sleek, two-masted schooner rapidly approaching. 

    The captain squinted at the steadily approaching vessel and noticed that there was no flag flying on it anywhere.  Eyes widening with panic, he launched the large frigate into battle mode and immediately demanded the retiring of all passengers to their cabins. 

    William was at Taylor’s side in an instant and quickly escorted his young fiancee to her cabin.  She felt her stomach tighten at the implication of pirates and kissed him quickly before double locking her door securely from the inside.  Although the heavy oaken portal afforded her and her aunt protection, she couldn’t help but feel that her entire existence was about to change irrevocably.    

**********

    Unfortunately, Taylor didn’t get below decks before her bright head and trim form was noticed by the devil behind the schooner’s wheel.  Bryce had seen her golden curls and petite figure swathed in emerald silk as she dashed across the planks and through a door beneath the helm.  If her face were as lovely as the rest of her, he’d have his ransom within a month and his body’s hungers sated this night.

    A humourless smile on his face and his sword gripped tightly in his hand, he turned the wheel over to his helmsman and prepared his crew for attack.  “Fire!” he shouted and the six eight inch cannons belched smoke one by one. 

    Three hit the masts, two splintered the railings and the sixth took out the wheel as the frigate’s crew braced for attack.  William found himself thrown across the deck and into a pile of rope as the two ships slammed together.  Everything happened so quickly that no one had a chance to prepare for the boarding party that swooped down without mercy.  He climbed out of the tangled mass of hemp and met the blazing green gaze of a powerfully built pirate with a very large cutlass swinging expertly in his right hand.  Picking up a discarded rapier lying on the deck, William met the challenge with something akin to fury. 

    “Where’s the little beauty you rushed to hide?” Bryce asked insolently.  “She’ll fetch a tidy sum from her family...after she warms my bed.”

    William flew into a blind rage.  No one was touching her money except him and he wasn’t too thrilled about this arrogant bastard putting his hands on her either.  His anger cost him and Bryce had him down on the deck, unconscious and helpless, in a few short strokes.

    Laughing smugly, Bryce spoke to the crumpled figure at his feet.  “Don’t worry, my friend.  She’ll be much more enjoyable after I have taken her to my bed.  You’ll appreciate my tutelage.”

    Spinning on his heel, he noticed that his well-trained crew was handling the situation admirably and he quickly made his way down to the passenger cabins in search of the object of his lust.  She wasn’t very hard to find. 

**********

    Taylor listened to the sounds of battle with unmitigated awe.  Now, this was an adventure.  Adrenaline pumped madly through her slender body and she bit her lip to restrain the giggle that bubbled dangerously close to the surface.  Miranda, who would have been scandalised if she hadn’t promptly fainted at the first sound of cannon fire, was now lying blissfully unconscious on her narrow bunk.  With her out of the way, Taylor could see what was going on.

    Opening the door to her cabin slowly, she tried to catch a peek of the battle on deck.  All she saw was the back of a tall, broad-shouldered man standing in the companionway.  Hearing a small squeak of rusty hinges, he turned quickly and met her startled golden gaze. 

    Bryce hungrily raked her diminutive form with his eyes, feeling his body quicken with desire.  The emerald silk clung lovingly to her slender curves, emphasising a narrow waist and full bosom.  He could almost taste her ivory skin and his mouth watered.  With a rakish smile, he took a step toward her and she froze.

    As he drew closer she regained her wits and, with a frightened yelp, slammed the door, her hands trembling as she attempted to slide the lock.  But he was too quick.  The heavy oaken planks bounced against the wall and he swooped upon her like a bird of prey.  She screamed as he tossed her thrashing body over his shoulder, momentarily ceasing her struggles as the wind was knocked out of her lungs. 

    Miranda came to when the door banged open and she shrieked when a tall, bronzed pirate strode purposefully into the small cabin and collected her young niece with terrifying speed.  He took up most of the room and exerted no strength in lifting the now cursing Taylor from the floor. 

    The devil turned, bowed gallantly and, with a teasing glint in his emerald eyes, said quickly, “One hundred thousand pounds delivered to the swamp on the north end of Hispaniola eight weeks from Saturday or I sell her into slavery.  There are sheikhs who would pay twice that for a concubine of this quality, unless I keep her for myself.”

    Taylor felt sick at his words and her small body began to shake with fear.  Dear God, what would happen to her?  She began to fight in earnest against the steel-like arm wrapped around her slender thighs, kicking his chest and scratching his back, hurling all kinds of horrible epithets on his head, as well as questioning his parentage, but to no avail.  He was simply too strong for her, but he did grunt a few times when her small slippered feet connected with his ribs.

    Miranda fainted again once the ransom demands had been made and he slammed the door, locking it from the outside.  Giving Taylor’s rounded bottom a hearty swat to get her attention, he said laughingly, “Calm your ravings, hellcat.  No real harm will come to you as long as you behave.  Your family will save your beautiful hide right quickly and you’ll be safe at home soon, but not until I have tasted your charms.”

    “If you think I’m going to allow your clumsy pawing of my person for the next eight weeks, you arrogant bastard, you’d better think twice,” she shrieked as he easily carried her up the stairs and across the deck to the narrow planks that bridged the gap between the two ships.

    A deep chuckle vibrated against her belly and he replied mockingly, “I’ve never had a woman call me clumsy before...nor complain about my caresses.  I’m curious to see how your opinion differs from everyone else’s.”

    He braced one foot on the nearest plank and handed her over to his first mate.  “Jericho, see that she’s unharmed while I oversee the cargo.  If anyone touches her, I’ll personally slit their throats.”

    She had the strangest suspicion that he was serious and she shuddered as a pair of strong hands deftly bound her small ones with thick rope.  A soft silken cloth was quickly tied around her mouth to discourage her cries.  She shivered involuntarily as a deep voice spoke with blunt tenderness in her ear, “Give me any trouble, petite belle, and I’ll break your arm.”

    It was all Taylor could do not to give in to the frightened tears that threatened to spill down her cheeks.  In less than forty-five minutes her whole life had been turned upside down.  She knew that rape awaited her, if not worse, and she wondered at whose hands her defilement would occur.  Whoever it was would come away missing a few pieces, she would see to it.

    The man holding her quickly turned her around and she stared into a pair of large black eyes set into a startlingly handsome face.  His skin was the colour of cafe-au-lait, darkened even more by endless days in the hot sun, his body deceptively small and wiry, but strong and agile.  With a gentle smile, he led her to the mizzenmast and tied her bound hands to one of many large hooks protruding from the dark wood.

    “Stay here, cheri, and you’ll be safe.  These men won’t be as gentle as I,” he threatened softly, caressing her cheek in earnest tenderness.

    She began to cry when she saw her beloved Prince Theodore and the two pregnant mares taken into the hold of the schooner.  What would happen to them?  Only one thought kept running through her terror-numbed mind while she fought fruitlessly with her bonds.  What had happened to William and why wasn’t he there to protect her?

**********

    Leaving the thrashing wildcat in the tender care of his first mate, Bryce strode intently toward the frigate’s hold.  He liked to oversee the loading of the cargo personally so he could pick and choose the most valuable items.  The first thing he would locate was the wardrobe of the little beauty.  He had a few pilfered gowns in the hold, but she was too small to make much use of them.  Wrapped up in his thoughts, he had forgotten the young man he had left unconscious on the deck earlier.

**********

    William lay motionless on the deck, watching with fury as the big pirate carried Taylor to the other ship.  Biding his time wasn’t easy.  He was waiting for the right moment to spring.  It finally came as the pirate walked by him and he seized the man’s boots, toppling him to the deck. 

    Bryce twisted, landing on his back and wasted no time in scrambling to his feet to meet this new challenge.  The young man who had tried in vain to rescue the young lady earlier was standing in front of him...in full fury.  What claim did he have on the wench, anyway?

    Smiling coldly, he asked the boy, “Who is she?  Your wife...fiancee?  Your mistress?  Either way, she’s mine now and I promise you, she’ll be well taken care of in the long, hot nights to come.”

    William tried to ignore the anger clenching his gut, but his youthful outrage got the better of him and, gracelessly, he launched himself at the smirking rogue.  Youth and anger conceded to experience and control and Bryce had him pinned face down to the deck in less than ten seconds. 

    “Will one of you take care of this boy?  He’s beginning to test my patience,” Bryce growled to his crew before he stalked away.   

    His eyes widened with pleasure as he walked into the hold and saw a beautiful bay Arabian/Thoroughbred stallion tied securely in a stall at the far end of the long room with two pregnant mares flanking him.  Whoever owned these animals had excellent taste in horseflesh.  Hopefully, the stallion’s papers could be located and the bloodlines verified.  He was keeping this one for himself.

    Calling for two volunteers, he approached the animals and stroked the silken muzzles of each one, familiarising them with his scent.  The restraints were severed and the horses removed to the schooner.  They would have to make room for them, perhaps even toss a few things overboard, but it would be worth it. 

    It was simple to find the proper trunks for his beautiful captive and those items were off loaded next.  He also found gold and silver as well as other trinkets that his disreputable crew would enjoy.  As he paused during his search, he heard the obvious crack of a whip and sprinted up the steps.

**********

    William fought against the many hands that jerked him to his feet, but still found himself quickly tied to the yardarm, his shirt stripped from his body and raucous laughter surrounding him as the sound of a whip cracking in the ocean breeze reverberated in his ears.  Before he knew what was going on, he felt the bite of the first lash and yelped in startled pain.

    Taylor watched in horror while the man she was to marry was stripped and whipped as any common criminal in front of a crowd of cheering spectators.  She could hear the crack of the long leather whip and jumped in sympathy with every lash.  His back was raw and bleeding as blow after blow was rained down upon his ragged skin.  With relief, the beating stopped as the captain walked onto the deck and effortlessly plucked the whip from the sailor’s hand.

    He bellowed in disgust.  “I said to take care of him, not kill him!  Why didn’t you simply tie him up?”

    “Sorry, Cap’n.  We wus jus funnin’,” the whip-wielder explained.

    “If ‘twas all in fun, then why the hell is he bleeding?” Bryce shouted angrily.

    Jericho appeared next to Bryce and said quietly, “Cargo secure, sir.”

    Giving the sailor one last furious look, Bryce said coldly, “I’ll deal with you later.”  The man visibly blanched and lowered his head, fearing what the captain would do.  He’d seen the punishments that could be dispensed at his captain’s hand and his stomach dropped.

    Effectively making the sailor regret his actions and worry over the uncertainty of his future longevity, Bryce turned to the crew.  “Well done, men.  This has proven to be a very profitable day’s work.  Leave the boy where he is.  Tonight we celebrate.”

    The men shouted and cheered as they followed Bryce back to their ship and cut the moorings, freeing the wounded vessel from their own.  There were no casualties, strict orders from the captain, but there were plenty of unconscious bodies on the deck.  Unfortunately, Taylor was the only woman on board with which to celebrate.

    The first sailor came toward her and she cringed in fear from his grimy hands as he sought to touch a golden curl lying on her breast.  Another man reached for her skirts and she quickly and viciously kicked his bare shin.  He danced away in pain, but there were many other hands that reached out to touch her.  She only had two feet and she needed one to stand on.

    “Enough,” came a stern but gentle voice behind her as the men reluctantly backed away.

    The captain moved to stand before her with a smile on his handsome face and she instinctively backed away, her escape halted abruptly by her bound state.  She had a feeling that his desires would not be swayed by a mere bruised shin.

    Bryce took a good look at the young lady he’d abducted and smiled warmly.  She was a treasure.  Barely reaching his breastbone, she was small and trim with lush curves and a cascade of tawny curls falling almost to her waist; her artfully woven coiffure having been destroyed in her struggles.  Her skin was creamy smooth, almost ivory, but not quite.  Her most beautiful asset was a pair of flashing golden eyes that glittered with molten fire at his careless appraisal.

    Taylor was examining her captor with mingled fear and admiration.  He stood well over six feet and was built like a stone wall.  A loose white shirt accentuated broad shoulders topping a deep chest that tapered to a narrow waist, slim hips and long, muscular legs beautifully displayed in buckskin breeches and black jockey boots.  Dark blonde hair fell well past his shoulders, but it was well groomed and suited him perfectly.  The face was strong with a high forehead, straight nose and full, sensuous mouth.  It was the clear, emerald green eyes that held her mesmerised.  He was ruggedly handsome...and huge.  She was terrified of him.

    Smiling a lazy, sensual smile that made her heart beat faster and her breathing quicken, he said almost brightly,  “Jericho...”   

    “Yes, sir,” came the gentle voice of the first mate.

    Bryce reached a hand forward and traced a long finger over her flushed cheek as he continued, “Take her to my cabin and make her comfortable.  A bath would relax her, perhaps.  If she refuses to bathe willingly, do it for her.” 

    She gasped in outrage and he smiled at her obvious distress. 

    “You’ll find two of her trunks there, but allow her free use of the other coffers.  Find her a gown more...revealing and allow her the use of my hairbrush.  This golden mane should not be treated so callously,” he added, tangling his fingers in the silken curls.

    She jerked free of his touch and glared at him mutinously, the topaz eyes blazing with retribution.  He tilted her chin upward and, leaning close to her, said softly, “You’d do well to consider me over the alternative.  The crew tends to be a bit rough with women.”

    Her eyes widened and he felt her shudder violently.  He added, “Have no fear, my sweet.  I’ll hand you to them only if you give me more trouble than you are worth.  Perhaps ‘twill only be Jericho who tastes your charms.  I believe he’s taken a fancy to you.”

    She stole a glance at the beautiful young man standing silently next to the captain and then dropped her head in silent surrender.  Her spirit was bruised and tired, but not dead.  The real fight would come later...when she was alone with the sinfully handsome rogue who tenderly caressed her cheek.

    Jericho pulled out his dirk and slit her bonds, freeing her hands.  Then he cut the strip of silk that covered her mouth and Bryce froze.  She was truly beautiful.  Her mouth was full and lush, even though it was a bit tight with anger at the moment, her lips a dark, dusky rose; moist and inviting; needing no rouge to accentuate their satiny curves.  He ached to taste them, but chose to wait until he had her alone.  She reminded him of a caged lioness and he hoped to God she wasn’t as young as she looked.  He had to know.

    “Are you even old enough to wear corsets?” he bated, hoping to anger her into telling the truth.  It worked.

    She glared at him with blazing golden eyes and said tightly, “Not that you’d care, but I’m eighteen these last eight months.  If I thought ‘twould save my disgrace, I’d lie, but I wager a man of your obvious repute could take a ten year old without a hint of shame.”

    His smile faded and his eyes hardened.  The cat has claws.  He took a step toward her and growled, “I’d hold my tongue, little beauty.  You’re about to bypass Jericho all together.  My crew hasn’t had a woman in six weeks and I’m very sure they could put you to good use.  Take her below.”

    He spun on his heel and walked away, leaving Taylor in the care of his first mate.  Jericho had remained silent during the exchange, but spoke soothingly as he lead her to the captain’s quarters, “Please, cheri, use caution when you bait him.  He’s tolerant to a point, but he means what he says.  If you don’t want to find yourself passed around to the men, watch your words.”

    Jericho LaMonde wasn’t a large man.  He stood an average five feet nine inches, but he was strong and intelligent.  Sharp, chiselled features made more dramatic with almond shaped eyes of the darkest obsidian and topped by a head full of thick, blue-black curls that fell well past his shoulders.  The gold hoop earring he wore would occasionally gleam in the sunlight through the ebony strands, giving him a rakish air.  A full, mobile mouth quick to smile and a soft, French accent had caused more than one proper young lady to melt in his arms.  Broad shoulders, a trim waist, long, thick, muscular legs complete with a panther-like grace instilled by years of hunting in the tropical jungles near his father’s home made him a force to be reckoned with in battle...as well as in bed.  Women adored him.

    Illegitimate by birth to a wealthy planter and his mulatto mistress, he was cherished as a child, but still unacknowledged.  He spent most of his childhood in Tortolla, but his father sent him to France for schooling at age ten where he received a fine education at the Sorbonne in Paris. 

    It was a chance meeting with Bryce in a tavern in Kingston, Jamaica that led him to privateering and a large fortune in his own name at one of the finest banks in London.  If he were to bring home a wife of substance and beauty to his father’s home, he may receive the approval he had longed for all of his life.     

    The tiny blonde at his side barely reached his shoulder and her small figure tempted his touch.  He’d held her in his arms and gazed into those golden eyes.  She was intelligent and passionate.  For the first time in his three years with Bryce, he was jealous.  They’d shared many women in their years together, including Leanne, but this lovely creature was not a toy to be passed around between friends. 

    If his instincts were right, the man that hung from the yardarm on the other ship was her intended, she was a wealthy planter’s daughter and she was most definitely a virgin.  If luck were with him, Bryce would tire of her, her fiancé would beg off and she would allow him to give her a home and family.  It galled him to think that he had to wait for his friend to ease his lusts, but she was worth it.

    “Come, petite belle.  I’ll have a bath readied for you.  It will make you feel better.  Then you can lie down to rest for a while.  Are you hungry?  Would you care for a small repast?” he asked.

    She stopped dead in her tracks.  “Why are you being so kind to me?” she asked suspiciously.

    He turned in the hallway and looked at her tenderly.  “I want you to be comfortable.  You’ve had quite a shock, petite, and I was attempting to ease your fears,” he said simply.

    She took a deep breath and sighed.  “I’m sorry.  Thank you.  It’s your employer that I’m worried about.  He frightens me.  I’ve never been afraid of anything in my life, until now.”

    He saw the topaz eyes soften to pools of molten gold as she relaxed in his presence.  It was important for her to realise what was expected of her so he opened the door to the cabin and, gesturing to a seat at the window, said, “Sit down, little one.  There are a few things you need to understand.”

    They entered a room dominated by a wide velvet draped bunk anchored to the wall on the port side with a wardrobe and a small washstand on the starboard.  In one corner there was a large brass tub and a narrow oak desk.  A dining table sat beneath a single diamond shaped window at the foot of the bunk with a window seat and a small porthole on the starboard.  It was to this seat that he escorted her.  Taking in her surroundings, she noticed that the room was surprisingly neat and clean, not at all what one would expect from a pirate.

    She sat down and he squatted in front of her.  “If you do as he asks, he’ll be much easier to deal with.” 

    Taylor started to speak and he held up a hand to stop her.  “Please, hear me, for your own sake.”

    She closed her mouth and he continued.  “He’s very gentle and generous with his women.  I know that you’re innocent and that you’re loathe to part with your maidenhood in such a fashion, but he’ll be easy with you and, from what I’ve heard from other women, bring you pleasure.”

    She blushed crimson and turned away, but he took her hand and pressed on.  “I have to be blunt with you.  He’ll have you tonight whether you give in or not.  I would hope that you’d allow him to take his time and his pleasure without a fight.”

    Glaring at him with unbridled fury, she replied heatedly, “If he wants the one thing I have that is truly mine to give, he’s going to have to work damn hard for it.  My virginity isn’t something that I dispense on regular basis and if he wants it, he’d better bloody well learn how to treat a lady with dignity and respect.”

    His mouth fell open.  Her passion was fierce and all consuming.  If he thought he wouldn’t lose valuable appendages, he’d take her now himself.  She was even more beautiful in full rage.

    “I’ve been stolen from my fiancé, threatened with broken bones, promised rape, a rather large ransom demanded from my family and you expect me to spread myself thankfully beneath him like one of his whores?  Are you mad?!” she demanded almost hysterically, her small fists clenched in her lap with barely suppressed violence.

    He attempted to soothe her ire by saying gently, “I can appreciate that, cheri, but the fact is he wants you.  Hell, I want you.”  She lowered her eyes and he smiled.

    Tilting her chin, he added, “Let me prepare you a bath.  You’ll feel better in a little while.”

    He stood to leave and she called out, “Jericho.”

    Turning around, he waited for her to speak.  “What’s going to happen to my horses?” she asked softly.

    “Your horses?  Those are your horses?” he asked in surprise.

    “Yes.  The mares are carrying and I’m terribly worried the attack may have hurt them.  What will he do with them?” she asked, deep concern in her voice.

    “He’ll probably keep them.  He loves horses.  It wouldn’t surprise me if he wanted to keep you, too,” he replied with a smile.

    She choked back a sob and whispered, “I so wanted to surrender my body to a man that I love, but if I have to give in to him to stay alive, then I will.  All I ask is tenderness and patience.  Will you tell him that, please?”

    Nodding slowly, he left the room and closed the door.  She lay down on the window seat and, giving in to the cold fear that gripped her soul, let hot tears stream unchecked down her face.

**********

    Bryce stood at the helm, whipping his crew at a brutal pace, wanting to be as far from the wounded frigate as quickly as possible.  He wanted to be at a safe distance from many things.  The last thing he needed was an untimely interruption during the deflowering of a very feisty virgin.  Truthfully, he despised virgins.  They usually expected marriage after a long night of passion and he didn’t want marriage.  There had only been one virgin in his past and her father nearly had him gelded.  He’d to leave his home in Wales until she married.

    This little wildcat was more than enough to fill his bed.  She may be small, but she would make him work hard for his pleasure.  He looked forward to the challenge.  Those golden eyes and that lithe body would tempt even the chastest of men.  His instincts told him that her nature was one of passion and heat.  He’d wager his entire ill-gotten fortune that she was a resident of one the smaller planter’s islands.  No proper English lady, in his experience, would make it through a kidnapping without fainting at least twice.  If she were as hot in his bed as she was out of it, he might just keep her.  Leanne and her tirades were beginning to wear thin.

    Jericho drew him out of his musings with a quiet, “Captain, might I have a word with you?”

    He looked at his first mate; one golden brow raised in question, “Such formality, Jericho.  What bothers you, my friend?”

    The younger man smiled and said, “I’m sorry, Bryce.  I’ve just left the little cat and she’s very upset.”

    Grinning shamelessly, Bryce answered, “Wouldn’t you be?”

    Jericho smiled ruefully and said, “I’d watch my words, friend.  She says she’ll come to you willingly, but that may be hard won.”  He paused and then continued cautiously, “Be easy with her.  If you play your cards right, she’ll be swayed to passion instead of anger.”

    “Are you suggesting that I could be insensitive to a woman?” Bryce asked sarcastically.

    Jericho gave Bryce a look that said, “Oh, please,” and he laughed.

    “Don’t worry, old friend.  I’m fully aware that she is less than ecstatic about the loss of her virginity.  Most maidens are, but I fully intend to show her what her body is capable of.  If that creamy skin is as soft as it looks and that waist as slender uncinched, you may end up with Leanne.  This little lioness is almost too much for any man,” Bryce said longingly.

    Jericho stiffened and said tightly, “I don’t want Leanne.  I prefer lions to vipers.”  He stalked off and left Bryce to stare after him in shock.

    So, his dearest friend was also drawn to the little beauty.  He hoped their friendship would survive her.  Bryce didn’t intend to give her up too soon or so easily.  She warmed his blood considerably.  He’d held her slight form in his arms, felt her soft skin...lost himself in those amber eyes.  Now, it was time for a taste.

**********

    Taylor sat in the big copper tub submerged in a steamy bath with a large cake of jasmine scented soap.  How did Jericho know it was her favourite?  He’d draped a large sheet over two ornate dressing screens he’d pilfered from the hold to give her privacy, placed two candles on a small table behind the tub for light and, once the laces of her dress were loosened, left her alone to bathe.  She could hear him moving about the room, presumably laying out clothing for her to wear.  After all, hadn’t the captain stated he wished to see her in something more revealing?

    He was actually stealing glances at the shadows of her body playing on the thin sheet in the candlelight.  The graceful curve of her arms and legs as she lifted them from the water made him ache to feel her against him.  He watched helplessly as she dipped her hair beneath the water and came up sleek and wet.  To remain here in such close proximity to her was sheer torture so finally; with a quiet groan, he left the room.

    She washed her hair, lathering it liberally with the jasmine soap and rinsing it thoroughly.  It wasn’t easy, but she managed to rake most of the tangles from her unruly curls before Jericho came back with her towels.  He draped them over the screens and said, “It’s time, little one.  He’ll be here in an hour.”

    A quiet, “Thank you,” met his ears and he added, “I‘ve left some clothes on the bed for you and a brush on the wash stand.  If you need anything else, knock twice on the door.  I’ll be waiting outside.”  He really wanted to stay, but Bryce would kill him.

    With that, he left the room and she stepped out of the tub.  She was used to her maid, Sarah, helping her to dress and dry her hair, but she had remained at Pearl while Taylor had gone to London to find a worthy husband.  Her heart sank.  After tonight, would William still want her?

    Of course he would.  He loved her...didn’t he?  She tried vainly to remember any time that he may have uttered those three little words.  None came to mind.  Why was he marrying her?

    She violently pushed those thoughts out of her mind while she dried her body.  Wrapping the towel around her, she stepped around the screen and gasped when she saw the brilliant royal purple silk gown lying on the bunk.  She may not be one for dresses, but she was female after all. 

    Holding it up to her body, she turned to find a full-length mirror on the wardrobe door and spied a damp golden nymph draped in vibrant purple silk staring back at her.  The dress was cut almost indecently low with silver embroidery across the tight bodice, baring her shoulders and the upper swells of her bosom.  The peaked waistline exploded into a voluminous skirt that was decorated with more silver piping surrounding diamonds sewn into the fabric.  It was breathtaking.

    She reverently lay the beautiful dress on the coverlet and noticed the other fripperies he’d laid out for her: a silk chemise, full petticoats and a corset.  There was a pair of matching silk slippers on the floor and she pushed at them with her toe, wishing they were hers under different circumstances.

    She put on the chemise for modesty sake and went in search of the hairbrush.  Sitting down on the window seat, she began to work the few remaining tangles from her long mane. 

    Once it was smooth and much dryer, she stepped into the lacy petticoats and tied them around her narrow waist.  The corset was unthinkable and she tossed it into the wardrobe.  It was bad enough she was being defiled; she refused to have it happen in a torture chamber.

    She dropped the dress over her head, letting it fall in silken waves over her slender body, and smoothed the heavy material over her ribs and hips.  There was no way she could reach the laces, so she put on the slippers and knocked twice on the solid oaken portal.

    Jericho’s heart stopped when he opened the door to find her standing there timidly in the rich purple dress.  He had chosen well.  The deep colour made her ivory skin glow like soft pearls and her eyes shifted from gold to bronze in the waning light. 

    His blood warmed, his body hardened and he cleared his throat, quelling the urge to carry her to the big, canopied bunk.  “Yes, cheri, what can I do for you?” he asked.

    “I’m sorry to bother you, but I can’t reach my laces,” she said softly and turned around, presenting her back.

    She pulled her heavy hair out of his way and waited quietly while he tightened the laces with shaking hands.  He was impressed to see that she needed no corsets to maintain her slender curves and violently resisted the impulse to drop a soft kiss on her pale shoulder. 

    Jealousy, hot and raw, for Bryce erupted in his body and seared his brain.  She deserved so much more than what awaited her in the hours to come.  He wished it were him that had captured the little cat.  He would court her, not rape her.

    Drawing away from her, he said softly, “You look lovely, petite.  He’ll be very happy.”

    Her head snapped up and she whirled on him in a flash of temper.  “I don’t give a damn what makes him happy!”

    Flinching, he said gently, “I’m well aware of that, but please, try to be receptive to him.  He’s quite taken with you and that can only help your cause.  If you give him a chance, he’ll give you pleasure.”  A bright blush spread across her cheeks and he smiled knowingly, “You’ve been wondering about this for a while, haven’t you?”

    Her face flamed even brighter.  “Whatever are you talking about?”

    “What goes on between a man and woman.  Would you like to talk about it?” he inquired gently.

    Her mouth fell open in shock and she stammered, “W...w...with you?  I...I...I d... don’t think...”

    He chuckled and said, “’Tis all right, cheri.  I promise I’ll explain it simply.”

    She straightened her spine and said, “I’ll have you know that I’ve been present at many a horse breeding and I know what the actual act entails.”

    His eyebrows shot up and he replied, “A horse breeding isn’t quite the same.”

    She blanched and murmured in a small voice, “No?”

    He shook his head and then asked curiously, “Why would a proper young English lady like you be at a horse breeding?”

    She smiled and said, “My horses have run all over Europe.  I happen to own a large racing stable.”

    He froze.  “I’ve been very rude.  What is your name, by the way?”

    She took a deep breath and said, “Taylor McMahon.”

    All the blood drained from his face and he mumbled, “Pardon me, cheri.  I must attend to dinner.”

    He turned to leave and she said, “Wait...I thought you were going to explain the differences between people and horses.”

    Now it was his turn to blush.  “Sit down, cheri.”

    Taylor perched on the edge of the window seat and he sat beside her, saying,  “The biggest difference is the time before the actual act.  People kiss, caress and speak words of love, whereas horses nip and bite.  We also make love face to face as a general rule.  It’s much more intimate.”

    She lowered her head and gave a small, “Oh.”

    He stood and said, “Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

    She could have sworn he bolted out of the room.    

**********

    Jericho went in search of Bryce and found him emerging from the galley, damp from a recent bath.  “We need to talk,” he said seriously.

    “Look, I know you fancy the brat, but really...” Bryce began irritably.

    “Are you familiar with the name Taylor McMahon?” Jericho asked quickly.

    “What horse enthusiast is not?  I own three stallions and two mares from his stables,” he replied.  “Why?”

    “The petite belle in your cabin is Taylor McMahon.  She is the horse breeder,” Jericho said in a harsh whisper.

    Stunned and very confused, Bryce said, “That’s impossible.  Taylor McMahon is a man, a prodigy in the husbandry field.  No proper English woman would dare...”

    Jericho shook his head and said emphatically, “My father went to purchase horses from McMahon and was told by Taylor’s father that his only child was on business in Jamaica and couldn’t be there to complete the sale in person.  As guardian, he’d be more than happy to handle it.  My father never actually met Taylor McMahon.  Why would any father want to handle the business affairs of a young man?  You know that life in the islands is much less restrictive for women than in London.”

    Shaking his head disbelievingly, Bryce muttered, “That means her father is Charles McMahon, the owner of Pearl, a vast sugar and tobacco plantation with a racing stable that rivals most Arabians in the Middle East.  If she’s the Taylor McMahon, then she has no need for her father’s money at all.  I’m a very lucky man.”

    Jericho said quickly, “I beg your pardon?”

    Bryce smiled at his friend and said, “Send dinner to my cabin immediately.  I need to become very close with our beautiful little horse breeder.”

Jericho watched in bemused silence as Bryce rubbed his hands together in anticipation and head straight for his cabin before he turned slowly to speak to the cook about dinner.