Chapter 4

"I b-beg your pardon?"

With a sharp intake of breath, Captain Neville's gaze ripped away from the thicket of gleaming pistols and sharp cutlasses and locked with Adrian's.

"The woman you're carrying," Adrian said. His eyes traveled Captain Neville's frame. Both Neville and his mate had fastened every button on their coats, turning the garments into boiling straitjackets. The tip of Adrian's mouth twisted in a dismissive sneer. "I want her."

Captain Neville stood among the debris scattered across the deck, the front corners of his coat beating in the wind just like the flapping Jack at his bow. Adrian averted his gaze from the English colors and reined in the temper seething beneath the surface.

A tremor shook Neville's stiff body. "W-woman?" His eyes flickered. "I don't know what you are talking about. This is a merchant ship. We don't carry passengers."

Adrian swayed with the graceless movement of the Chirton , a rigid brig without a trace of modern finesse.

A clever disguise.

He refrained from pushing his wayward hair out of his face and scratching his chin. Only one thing twirled in his mind.

Miss Hawthorn.

"I warn you, Captain," Adrian snarled. "My patience is bordering zero. You have two minutes to summon her ondecks."

Miss Hawthorn.

A spinster with a father richer than Croesus. She must be horse-faced or crippled, a peerage woman traveling all the way to Barbados to get married.

Or she came with a scandal stewing in her belly.

"I-I don't understand." Neville stuttered. "I carry only–"

"I know what you carry, Captain Neville."

Neville jerked at the mention of his name, as did his first mate, whose skin color shifted from pale to ashen. "How did you know my name?"

A nervous shift passed through Neville's crew.

"I know who you are and what you carry, including Miss Hawthorn. Clever indeed, but nonetheless in vain when those consecrated in the plan don't understand the value of keeping their mouths shut. Now get the woman ondecks."

"I have no–"

Adrian anticipated the resistance from Neville, honorable as it might have been. His arm shot out and curled around the first mate's neck. Before the unlucky man could squeak out a reaction, Adrian pointed the sharp blade of his dagger to the man's bobbing throat.

Captain Neville's eyes widened. "You're nothing but a pirate. The navy will hang you for this!"

"That may be," Adrian agreed. "In the meantime, I want Miss Hawthorn, and if she doesn't stand before me in thirty seconds sharp, I will let my dagger sink into the most vulnerable part of your first mate's throat."

Adrian's fingers tightened around the small dagger, his slick voice a glaring contrast to his dark mood. The English might hang him in due time but damned if he wouldn't inflict some damage before he drew his last breath.

"This is utterly outrageous!" Captain Neville's voice trembled. "Killing innocent people–"

"There is no need to kill anybody."

All heads turned toward the confident female voice resounding over the rush of the waves, but Adrian didn't miss the trace of a shiver that vibrated beneath the courage. With a silent curse, he watched the Chirton's crew part as the sea had allegedly parted for Moses, letting Miss Hawthorn through.

"Holy wriggling saints."

Adrian was about to rebuke Scott for his audible appreciation when he caught eye of Miss Hawthorn and forgot his reprimand.

Dressed in a high-waisted white gown with a skirt so soft and sheer it hugged every curve of her body, Miss Hawthorn strode across the main deck with a slight tilt to her chin. The hair on Adrian's nape lifted, but as she approached, his gaze was drawn from the defying slant to the dark blue depths of her eyes as if they held the secrets of the ocean, shimmering and shifting with the twilight around them.

They assessed him carefully, and though filled with a swirling batter of fear and anger, he discerned a shine of intelligence like stars against the midnight sky. He promptly dismissed the invitation to dive deeper into her soul.

A delicate shawl covered most of the creamy skin her low neckline would otherwise have exposed, and a drawstring the same vibrant color as her eyes fluttered across her bosom in the draft.

No swollen evidence of any disgrace.

Absolutely none.

Adrian's jaws clenched as he lifted his eyes to Miss Hawthorn's face again. She wasn't as pale and feeble as he had expected. The typical porcelain skin of the upper class had a radiant tan, proof she spent time outdoors. Unlike the usual ringlets of the English nobility, voluminous waves fluttered in the breeze, silky strands of melted honey with stripes of wheat straw caressing her slender neck and shoulders.

Adrian pictured his hand curling around that neck, how easily he could snap it, but when his mind slipped into a fit of indiscipline and envisioned his lips brushing the delicate skin, he swore under his breath.

Perhaps she wasn't the horse-faced old spinster he had expected, but she was nonetheless the epitome of the snooty English gentry.

"I have done as you wished," Miss Hawthorn pointed out. "Now, I expect you to keep your word. Please let Mr. Jones go."

She paused next to Captain Neville, and her eyes glided over Adrian's stance. Guarded and reserved, they betrayed a curiosity he hadn't expected. Above them, a tiny crease knitted a pair of perfectly arched brows.

Adrian let go of the first mate, who scrambled to safety behind Captain Neville, and stuffed the dagger back in his boot. "Miss Hawthorn."

"Who are you?" She jutted her chin out a tad, but her eyes made a quick inspection of his crew behind him.

"Captain Hainsworth. Of the Ranger ."

She threw a sidelong look at the ship looming over the Chirton, and he didn't miss the tiny shiver fluttering through her. "And pray, what do you want?"

For a fleeting moment, his eyes dwelled on the captivating peaks of her upper lip. "You."

Her eyebrows lifted. "Excuse me?"

A wail from the hatch drowned Adrian's response.

"I beg your pardon!" An elderly maid emerged from belowdecks, eyes like overgrown oysters. "My mistress is most certainly not coming with you. She'll be ravished and killed!"

The maid ended her rant in a flurry of skirts, shawls, and drawstrings next to Miss Hawthorn. Her eyes darted from Adrian to the crew behind him and widened, if possible, even more. She obviously feared for her life but still defended her protegee with ferociousness, almost like a mother protecting her daughter.

Highly unusual.

"Rest assured, ma'am, she won't be ravished." Adrian swept a disinterested gaze down Miss Hawthorn's frame, and the corners of his mouth lifted into a dismissive sneer. "She doesn't have a constitution to my liking. Too gaunt and mundane."

A faint reddening rose in Miss Hawthorn's cheeks.

"How dare you?" Captain Neville stepped forward, but Adrian diverted his attention from Miss Hawthorn to Thomas.

"Make sure the Chirton's crew wholeheartedly supports the woman's change of vessel."

"I don't think you quite understood, Captain Hainsworth." Miss Hawthorn swept a disdainful look at him. "I will not come with you."

He forced himself to keep a level voice. "I don't think you quite understood, Miss Hawthorn. I didn't ask. I informed you about your change of plans."

"This is piracy on the high seas," the chaperone squealed. "Captain Neville, do something!"

Neville took another step forward, but Adrian's stern look gave him second thoughts.

"Please follow me." Adrian gestured with his head over his shoulder, expecting Miss Hawthorn to follow him.

"No."

"No?" He drew closer with a smooth danger, like a wolf on the prowl for its prey. "Miss, your only choice is whether to walk or be carried. Either way, you'll find yourself on board the Ranger quicker than a shooting star."

"Threatening again, Captain Hainsworth?"

"Dear Lord," the maid wailed, chewing at her knuckles. "We are all going to die." She latched onto Neville's arm. "This is the end of us! I never should have agreed to this journey."

"You must at least tell me why," Miss Hawthorn demanded—a demand that grated Adrian's nerves and pulled the plug on his patience.

"I must nothing, and you're in no position to throw demands. Come with me."

"Never."

"Very well," he muttered.

He closed the gap between them and latched onto her hips in one swift motion, preempting any reaction from her. She crashed, stomach-first, into his shoulder as though he had slung a sack of grain over it. The blow must have kicked the wind out of her because, for a moment, she gasped for air.

The vibrations in her chest reverberated to him, and her breasts pressed against his back as she struggled to catch her breath.

"Let me down," she gulped.

Her thighs were warm and soft against his chest, inviting him to caress her female curves, but he refused the pleasure of exploring her softness.

What he could not escape was her scent—an alluring blend of flowery sweetness that enveloped him, threatening to dismantle his resolve.

"You filthy pirate!" Her fingers clawed at his waist, but he grasped her hand.

"This is outrageous." Captain Neville's voice quivered as he repeated his opinion, but he could do nothing.

"My gracious God. Oh Lord, oh Lord!" the chaperone screamed.

"Lieutenant, take care of the maid," Adrian commanded over his shoulder as he moved toward the railing.

"No! Don't you dare touch Molly."

From the corner of his eye, he saw Thomas scoop up the maid in his brawny arms as if she were a kitten. An earsplitting shriek pierced the air.

"Let her go!" Miss Hawthorn hissed, but her words drowned in the shrill wailing from the maid wriggling in Thomas's arms.

"We are all going to die! We are all going to die. Lord in Heaven! We are all going to meet a most dreadful fate!"

"For fuck's sake," Adrian growled. "Lieutenant! On second thoughts, the maid will remain on board the Chirton ."

"Captain?" Thomas's bushy eyebrows lifted, and he gave Scott, who stood next to him, a bewildered look, but Adrian ignored them.

Much more of that wailing, and he would toss the woman overboard.

"I said, let me down!" Miss Hawthorn wriggled and dealt a stinging blow to his stomach with her knee.

He muttered a curse and struck her bottom with a sharp smack of his palm. "Keep still!"

Miss Hawthorn stilled, but only for a blessed moment. "Let go of me, you primitive pirate bastard!"

She hammered his back with her clenched fists as he climbed onto the Chirton's railing . She was fighting for her life, not begging for it as he had expected. A shadowy semblance of protectiveness surged through him, but he repressed it before it could establish itself.

The frothing sea heaved beneath them, the waves rising along the hull as if trying to reach them. One wrong step, and they would both plunge headfirst into the churning Atlantic Ocean.

Adrian braced himself for the jump, feeling every twitch and tremble of her muscles. His back arched, and his legs flexed, ready to spring.

"Dear Lord!"

"Lie still," he warned and tightened his grip around her thighs.

Her struggling waned, and she clawed onto him, her nails digging into his waist again. A violent tremor coursed through her tensed body, and her breathing came out in a whimper.

"Huh…!"

Adrian pushed off the railing with a powerful thrust and landed on the Ranger with a soft thump.

"Cut her loose."