Chapter 25

The majestic volcano loomed toward the sky as the Ranger approached Martinique. A veil of white clouds looked trapped by the rugged peak, unable to break free from its spell. Beneath the cone shape, a contrasting quilt of different green shades covered the gentle slopes.

Adrian's gaze swept the shore, scouring for any hint of movement.

"What do you reckon?" Thomas asked beside him.

"Looks abandoned," Adrian determined and traced the shoreline yet again.

"I'd be more comfortable docking farther north," Thomas continued.

"That'll take us too near to Saint-Pierre, and it will cost us another two to three hours to reach Fort Royal by foot. I want us out of here as quickly as possible."

"Aye." Thomas spat into the clear water.

"Thomas." Adrian tucked away his spyglass. "If we're not back by morning, I want you to get Molly and sail the women to Charleston. I don't want Miss Hawthorn to end up in Ashcroft's hands." Adrian hadn't revealed her true standing to the crew. They didn't need to know. "Bestow upon her a fortune ample enough to start a new life anywhere she wants. Make sure there is enough should she be…" He paused for a beat and cleared his throat. "We've… shared moments of intimacy."

"Christ." Thomas sighed.

"Give the rest to my family. Then you take down Ashcroft by any means that suit your fancy."

"Ain't feeling good about leaving you here," Thomas grunted.

"It is a lengthy vigil to await the return of a dead body."

Thomas muttered a curse and spat again. "I ain't taking a liking to this at all."

"Prepare the crew and set up the watches. We'll be dropping anchor in an hour or two. The helm is yours."

Adrian descended to the main deck, jumped through the hatch, and steered for the grand cabin. His mood plunged when he saw Scott perched on the ledge beneath the larboard side quarter windows next to Avaline, gazing at the island as they drew nearer.

In the fleeting moment before they registered his arrival, Adrian noticed their proximity, the way Scott's knee grazed hers, and how he inclined his head toward her as he gestured toward the island.

Adrian's mouth pressed thin, and his hand clenched around the iron lever of the door.

"Captain." Scott sprang up from his seat and took a step away from Avaline. "We were just–"

"Report to Lieutenant Barley immediately," Adrian clipped.

Scott retreated so quickly that he nearly tripped over his own feet.

Avaline sent Adrian a chiding look. "Did you have to be so ill-mannered?"

"Yes," he deadpanned and coiled an arm around her waist. He drew her near, relishing how she yielded to his form like a feather to the wind. Her hair was unbound, shining like molten gold in the warm sunlight. He glided his fingers through her silky locks, felt the softness, and took in the floral whiff surrounding her. "He wants you."

She twined her arms around his neck and grazed a nail along his nape. His cock pricked to attention.

"You're being jealous," she pointed out, in case he wasn't aware.

"You're mine."

A smile spread across her face, lighting up her features and spilling into her sparkling eyes. Adrian cursed under his breath and willed his mind to stay focused instead of chasing the passionate memory of last night. And the night before. And the one before that.

He failed spectacularly.

Leaning in, he caught her lips in a dwelling kiss. He savored the tang of lemon juice and fresh fruit and her—that sweetness he craved when he had been away from her for a few hours.

He had captured her to force Ashcroft to his knees and vindicate the Hainsworth name. He shouldn't use her for his pleasure, but his crotch tightened at the mere thought of her, let alone the sight and scent of her. And her touch.

And her taste.

Dangerous.

He couldn't afford to make mistakes. His and his crew's lives were at stake, and the stakes had risen as of late.

And still, he couldn't let her lips go.

Not only that, but Avaline also believed him. If he'd had anything to offer her… but he didn't. He was wanted by the British and earned his life as a privateer for President Jefferson—hardly a favorable combination when courting an earl's daughter.

He lifted the hem of her shirt and pulled it off, baring her breasts to his roving gaze. He scraped his scruffy chin across her bosom, soothing the sting with his lips, and she sucked in the air between her teeth. His hand traced her spine, the subtle tickle coaxing her to jut toward him. He stood, his mouth stretching in a lazy grin.

Holding his gaze, she slipped her hands beneath his shirt and raked her nails over his chest, chuckling with smugness when he let out a groan in response. His coat and shirt disappeared, tossed in a careless heap on the floor, and then his hands were back, clawing at the rope of her breeches.

Her hands traced lower until her fingertips faltered at his waistband. He picked up her hesitation and let go of her pants. With two fingers hooked beneath his waistband, she lifted her eyes. Her thrilled gaze ignited glowing sparks that swirled between his legs.

"You know what lies beneath." He spoke in a low and husky voice. "You can do anything you want."

Biting at her lower lip, she pulled at the ropes of his breeches, springing the cock that rose thick and proud from his lap. He inhaled sharply, and when she curled a soft hand around his shaft, he was unable to restrain a guttural groan from deep inside his chest.

She ran her fingers along his length, her hesitant but delicious touch making him twitch and harden further in her hand.

"Damn, Ava…" he groaned.

Encouraged by his reaction, she continued her exquisite torture until he felt like exploding. His hand locked around her wrist. "No more," he gritted.

Her eyes flew to his. "Did I do something wrong?"

"No, sweetness, not in the least. I liked it very much, but I will spend myself right away if you continue teasing me with those sweet little hands."

He untied her breeches and pushed them down before she could react. Then he swirled her around and nudged her into his chair, lifting her legs onto the armrests and kneeling between her splayed limbs.

"Adrian!"

She was utterly exposed, at his mercy, but even in her vulnerability, a spark of exhilaration ignited her eyes.

"Perfect." He went down on her, kissing, nibbling, and sucking the soft skin along the inside of her thighs until she shivered beneath his demanding but evasive mouth.

"Adrian, please!" she complained.

He gave her what she wanted and kissed a wet path to her core, flicking his tongue at the nub between her legs like the lazy lapping of ripples at the beach.

"Yes!"

Her eyes clamped shut, her body stiffened, and with a skillfully aimed flick of his tongue, he flung her over the edge. Her scream echoed through the cabin as she exploded against his mouth.

Adrian scooped her up from the chair and laid her on the berth. His cock throbbed like a caged bird, desperate to unfurl its wings and soar to freedom.

He thrust inside her, letting out a strained puff of air as he hit the bottom of her slick warmth. Her innocent hands exploring his cock had weakened his self-control to a brittle next-to-nothing, and he didn't have much restraint left when he started moving inside her.

He felt the prickling in his spine, the tingles deep inside his crotch.

He gripped her thigh to hold her in place or to hold on to something—whatever. His groin tensed, and his vision blurred as the hunger drove him forward, building the pressure until he couldn't hold it anymore. He slid a hand between their bodies and pressed at her center spot, thrust into her again, once… twice… three times. Her body writhed beneath his, and she drew a fierce breath. Her walls clenched around him, and she cried out when ecstasy shivered through her a second time. His cock swelled inside her, his body went numb, his brain shut off, and then he spasmed his seed into her with a feral grunt.

He collapsed on top of her, his limbs limp and shaky, like a leaf drained of sap. He savored the sensation of her hot and sticky body pressed against his as he regained control of his pounding heart.

Twice more, he brought her to ecstasy before he had to let her go.

"Welcome to Martinique," he murmured.

She scoffed, but a smile tugged at her lips. Adrian snickered and pulled on a pair of long breeches.

"It looks beautiful." She gazed at the green-clad mountain. "Has that volcano erupted lately?"

"About a decade ago."

She turned to the window again and studied the highest peak on the island. "I assume the French are friendly toward Americans?"

"I have always had a good relationship with the French Governor." Adrian pulled on a fresh shirt, wishing he could say that with more confidence. "He knows I'm plaguing the British, and he benefits from that."

"Then why the additional watches all of a sudden?"

He stilled for a beat, sending her a guarded look. "I'm living with a noose around my neck, and the moment they catch me, they'll tighten it, no mercy shown. It's simply a precaution. The Chirton has reached Barbados by now. Ashcroft knows now that I'm behind his unfortunate state of affairs, and mark my words; he will leave no stone unturned to see me hang."

"What–" The rattling of the dropping anchor cut off her words. She sat up, wrapping the blanket around her bosom. "What will you do in Fort Royal?" she asked when the anchor landed on the bottom with a scrape.

"I'll sell the spoils from the Essex and try to find somebody colluding with Ashcroft who can give me the evidence I need."

The Chirton's arrival in Bridgetown would have landed Ashcroft a double blow: not only was his betrothed gone, delaying the release of her dowry, but this time Adrian had let reveal his identity, so Ashcroft knew who had been raiding his spoils and dealing them to the French under his very nose.

Ashcroft's rage was probably boiling over, but so was his fear. He knew now that Adrian was out for blood and that he had unleashed a relentless enemy upon himself, which endangered not only Adrian and his crew but also Avaline, the hapless soul who had sailed straight into this deadly game.

Cornered, Ashcroft could resort to anything. Nothing was beyond his means.

Adrian fastened his belt and sash, shrugged on his frock coat, and stepped into his boots. He tightened the baldric across his torso and armed himself with two pistols, several daggers, a cutlass on one hip, and his sword on the other.

He walked over to the berth and curled a hand around Avaline's neck, tilting her chin with his thumb. Her eyes glowed, and her lips were plump and rosy after his invasion.

"Stay on the Ranger . Lieutenant Barley has his orders. He will take care of you."

"How long will you be gone?"

"We'll be back come morning." He gave her a soft kiss, savoring her delicious taste.

Adrian rallied his team, and they rowed toward the shore where the rocky volcano cone caught the last of the sun's rays. They hacked through the forest, a tangled maze of scrubs, thickets, and trees with rubbery vines that hung like snakes from the branches above. By the time they reached Fort Royal, sweat trickled down Adrian's back and temples like raindrops despite the evening chill.

They dashed down the hillside, hidden by the night's dark embrace, giving the fort a wide berth as they sneaked into the town through a side alley. The stench of smoke, dirt, and human waste hit Adrian's nose like an enemy punch to the guts as they stole along the unpaved street. Wooden shacks and huts lined the dusty passage. Chatter, laughter, and the occasional yell resonated between the structures. The men stuck to the shadows, careful not to draw attention from the French soldiers.

The L'Aigle d'Or, a tavern with a thatched roof, wedged between two taller stone houses. Grimy windows flanked the door on either side, crowned with uneven wooden ledges that frowned at the passersby like angry brows. Above the door, lit by a torch, a signboard with a faded white eagle in flight announced the name of Guillaume's tavern.

"Kinsley, Smith, and Davis, stay outside," Adrian ordered. "If you see anything amiss, you let us know discreetly."

"Aye, Capt'n."

Adrian sidestepped a drunken sailor sprawled on the ground and entered the shabby alehouse with a handful of his men. The interior was as murky and damp as a storage hold and packed with tankard-swigging riffraff. Adrian searched the crowded room for any sign of soldiers but found none. The air carried a pungent blend of rum, sweat, and grime mixed with the aroma of an unidentifiable stew.

"Spread out and keep your ears open," Adrian commanded and walked over to the counter.

"Capitaine 'Ainsworth!" Guillaume tilted his bearded chin in a greeting, but a subsequent sweeping glance of the tavern made the fine hairs at Adrian's nape stand on end. "I wasn't expecting to see you 'ere."

"I'm here to sell my spoils." Adrian seated himself on a stool at the far end of the counter, placing his back against the wall. "Spanish wine and rum."

Guillaume knew the true nature of Adrian's Spanish wine and rum and would pass the word on to the right people.

"Hé!" somebody shouted further down the counter and hollered an order in French.

Guillaume grabbed a brown bottle, filled two tankards, and shoved them across the counter to his customer. "T'is is a dangerous place, 'Ainsworth. Soldiers are looking for you."

Goosebumps erupted down his arms. "What for?"

"The English woman. Governor Bertrand is enraged."

Adrian scanned the room again, paying attention to the furtive looks darting his way. His brows furrowed. "What does Bertrand care about an English woman?"

"War is brewing. The British are stocking up on soldiers and weapons on Diamond Rock. Bertrand doesn't want more problems than he has."

Bertrand had never cared about Diamond Rock.

A useless rock in the middle of the ocean , he had called it.

There must be something else behind his sudden interest in an English woman.

Ashcroft's betrothed.

The truth hit Adrian like a gunshot to his chest. Bertrand was Ashcroft's contact with the French. Not even Adrian had fantasy enough to formulate such a scheme.

Bertrand wasn't interested in Adrian. He was interested in Avaline. Ashcroft fed British weapons to Bertrand, so Bertrand couldn't afford Adrian to strain the relationship with Ashcroft.

Adrian had become a threat to Bertrand.

"Whatever you t'ink you're doing, you better leave," Guillaume warned. "If you stay 'ere, you'll see the noose quicker than you can take a piss."

"Appreciate the information, Guillaume."

They had to return to the ship. He didn't need Guillaume to point out the danger he and Avaline were in. She had become an unwitting pawn in a game with consequences surpassing his wildest imagination, being chased by both the British Navy and the French Navy.

Adrian motioned for his men to follow and retreated outside.

"We need to get back," Adrian muttered when Kinsley fell in beside him. "We are wanted by the French."

"Fuck," Kinsley grumbled. "What for?"

"Ashcroft is selling weapons through the French Governor, and now I have threatened their business by capturing Miss Hawthorn."

"Capt'n!" One of his mates dashed through the alley from the larger cobblestoned street downhill, a piece of paper fluttering in his hand. "There is a reward on your head."

Adrian took the yellowish leaflet from his mate.

Wanted for piracy, murder, and kidnap.

5,000 pieces of eight.

"Fuckin' hell!" Adrian swore. "We better make ourselves scarce–"

"Capitaine Hainsworth!"

A squad of French soldiers rounded the corner from the main street.

"Dammit!" Adrian hissed. They had two choices: to fight or to flee. The fort was a stronghold with over two thousand soldiers, who would soon be hot on their tracks, knowing Avaline was on board the Ranger —unless they had already captured her.

His insides froze. "Run!"