Chapter 9

Despite the captain's sour mood, Avaline enjoyed the warm sunshine on her face and the fresh breeze. She had accepted Mr. Scott's offer to stroll on the deck with hesitation but soon discovered that he was witty and courteous and a rather charming young man.

"How did you end up as a sailor, Mr. Scott?" She avoided using the word pirate, which seemed to be a sore spot on board the Ranger .

"Please, call me Will. No need to be so formal." He sent her a playful grin. "My family had a small patch of land to sustain nine kids. My grandfather, father, and brothers work in the mines. Toiling in the dusty dark beneath the ground for a meager pay isn't for me, so I had little choice but to sign on and earn a living." His gaze traveled the horizon. "One day, we'll seize a splendid prize, and I'll dwell in wealth till the end of my days. Once fortune smiles upon me, I'll acquire vast estates in Virginia and cultivate tobacco that will multiply my riches."

"I see. And how did you meet Captain Hainsworth?" Avaline surveyed the deck with a wary eye, mindful of the crew's presence, but like in the galley this morning, she detected none of the hostility and profanity she had encountered the day before.

"I was on board a ship he captured. He offered me a golden wage to join the Ranger ."

Avaline's eyebrows rose. "An English ship?"

"Why, yes, only English ships."

Her eyes lifted to the quarterdeck as if drawn by an invisible force. Captain Hainsworth stood confidently next to his lieutenant, legs flexed as he braced against the rocking motion. A tingle chased along her spine, springing from her nape and spreading until it pooled warm and pulsing in her core.

"Miss?"

Her mind plunged from the quarterdeck down to the main deck at Mr. Scott's voice. "I'm sorry, what were you saying?" Her cheeks scorched.

"I was asking if you have been at sea before." The pirate bared a row of teeth white as the paws of Hawthorn Manor's cat.

"No, this voyage is my first time on board a ship. And yourself, how long have you sailed with Captain Hainsworth?"

"For a couple of years or thereabout. And five years before that on an Irish merchant ship."

"You like the sea, then, I gather?"

"Very much indeed, miss. The sea is where I feel free and alive."

Captain Hainsworth's husky voice carried down from the deck above.

"Elias! Tighten the backstay!"

Avaline's attention shifted to the rigging. The young sailor Captain Hainsworth had been tutoring moved with deliberate caution in the swaying shrouds, clutching one of the lines hanging from the mast.

The boy seemed young, no more than a lad, his thin body awkward and uncoordinated as opposed to the rest of the crew, yet the merciless captain forced him to work in the rigging.

What a brute.

When the boy descended from the shrouds, Avaline paused in her steps.

"That's Elias, our ship's boy," Mr. Scott informed.

"Hello, Elias." Avaline smiled at Elias, but inside, her belly knotted. She had been right. The boy was a child, with a messy mop of hair whiter than Mr. Scott's teeth. Blond lashes fringed a deep-set pair of hazel eyes with a dominant green hue. "I was watching you. You were doing a wonderful job."

"You think?" Elias's neck and cheeks flushed crimson.

"Absolutely. You were courageous and strong. How old are you?"

"Twelve, miss," he informed, then added: "In a couple of months."

Eleven years old and serving on a pirate ship. The knot in her stomach clenched harder. She took a deep breath and tried to sound casual. "Well, I'm sure you'll be a magnificent able seaman one day."

Elias straightened his spine. "I will be a fuckin' captain! Like Captain Hainsworth!"

Avaline blinked.

Oh. Dearest.

How grim was this boy's future when he admired no one but Captain Hainsworth and took after the language and behavior of his rough crew?

She forced out a smile, hoping it didn't quiver too much. "You can be anything you want."

"Elias, don't you have somewhere you need to be?" Hainsworth's harsh tone left no room for discussion. It was an order, not a question, and the boy dashed off. "Scott, return to your duties."

The captain's eyes resembled glaciers, piercing her with their frozen stare, exposing her soul to his cold scrutiny.

An absolute ruffian. An uncivilized savage.

And there was, without doubt, an English accent underneath that twangy American drawl. Did Captain Hainsworth hail from England?

"Pardon me. I need to take leave."

"Thank you for your time, Mr. Scott—er, Will."

Mr. Scott sent her a flirty smile. "Absolutely. I'll look forward to strolling the deck in your company tomorrow again."

Avaline swept some of her unruly locks behind her ear and made her way past the towering main mast, following the railing to the forecastle.

She stopped next to the anchor wheel, staring out at the ocean. The salt spray sprinkled her face with a gentle mist and clung to her hair. The lazy heaving of the waves soothed her nerves. Being at sea granted a sense of freedom, as Will had explained, of being part of the mighty ocean.

The Ranger was a sleek ship, not bulky and butting against the waves like the Chirton but gliding through the sea, a graceful dancer in tune with the cadence of the waves, like she was playing with them, unfazed by the dangerous forces lurking beneath.

She was mighty, just like the captain commanding her.

A prickling sensation tickled her spine like a ghost had blown on her bare skin; Hainsworth was watching her, his eyes burning into her back and scorching her nerves.

Avaline drifted into the reverie that had haunted her since Captain Hainsworth's cruel announcement: She was nothing but a pawn, a bargaining chip in his bloody game.

What twisted scheme of vengeance did he plot in his wicked mind? Would he barter her life for Francis's?

A sudden thought hit her, and her breath hitched.

What would happen to her if the captain didn't get his revenge? Undoubtedly, he would have wasted no time in killing her had that been his sole desire.

Right?

"Arr, what be this? A bonny wee lass who's escaped her coop."

She jumped when Morris, the insolent bully who had flung insults at her the day before, stepped out from the shadows of the forecastle.

Unlike the rest of the crew, who sported a variety of long and tangled manes, he kept his ginger hair in a bowl-shaped cut above his ears.

He stood a few inches shorter than she, but his arms were thick with power. His eyes flashed with an evil gleam as if he were ready to unleash his strength at any moment.

Panic surged through her veins, but a sharp whistle pierced the air. She whirled around and saw Captain Hainsworth jerk his head to the side, a clear order for Morris to leave her alone.

Morris leered at her and grunted. "Ye had a stroke o' fortune this time, lass, but he cannae keep an eye on ye forever."

He inched back, a sinister smirk twisting his upper lip, and his gaze lingered on her with lust and hunger.

A shiver ran down her spine, and she glanced over her shoulder toward the quarterdeck. Captain Hainsworth stood as before, his gaze following Morris as he returned to his duties. Despite her sound judgment, the captain's presence filled her with a sense of security, even though he posed a more significant threat to her than Morris.

She had been standing by the railing for a while, following the gentle sway of the ship when an alarmed cry rang out from the lofty perch of the crow's nest.

"Sail ho! Bearing two points off the starboard stern."

"Direction?" the lieutenant barked from the quarterdeck.

"She be headin' straight for us!"

Avaline locked gazes with Captain Hainsworth over the expanse of the deck.

Pray that the ship doesn't bear the English ensign.

Avaline scuttled across the main deck and retreated to the safety of the grand cabin.

Best not to be in Captain Hainsworth's vicinity should the pursuer materialize herself as an English ship.

Avaline ventured out of the grand cabin only for dinner at six bells, as required by Captain Hainsworth. She steeled herself for the inevitable encounter in the galley, but her precautions were all in vain. The captain was nowhere to be seen. Mr. Scott was the only familiar face, and while she appreciated his cheery company, she wolfed her meal and retreated to the grand cabin as quickly as she could.

With a glance at the unsophisticated padlock dangling from the wall and the poor substitute for the shattered door, she slipped into the captain's berth, leaving the door unlocked.

At least he had provided a new door. What had made him change his mind?

He was probably afraid his crew would endanger his ransom.

Avaline still hadn't fallen asleep when the clattering of boots warned her of the captain's arrival. She jolted upright in the berth, clutching the cover to her chest just as he burst through the door. Her lips parted on a puff of air. "W-what are you doing here?"

He swept a glance around the cabin, probably searching for anything amiss. He wouldn't find a single thing out of the ordinary. His maps were in order, save for the quills he had confiscated. Neither the windows nor the small mirror above the washbasin had been smashed into lethal weapons, and the candelabra remained on the table where he had left it.

The only thing out of order was a book with a frayed leather spine lying on the table. Clarissa .

He flashed her a fleeting glance, tinged with curiosity, yet swiftly concealed it behind his usual mask of animosity. "This is my cabin."

"And?"

The captain unfastened the two pistols hanging in his baldric and slipped off the leather shoulder belt, suspending it on the hook on the wall. "I'm going to sleep."

She blinked. Then blinked again. "What, here?"

He yanked off his sash and coat. "As I said, this is my cabin."

"But… Last night…"

He emptied the pitcher into the washbasin and doused his face with the cool water. "I didn't sleep last night." He patted himself dry with a cloth.

He was planning on sleeping in his cabin. He hadn't stayed away last night out of courtesy; he'd had duties that kept him away.

"But I want decency–"

"Decency?" He spun on his heels and approached the berth with threatening strides. She recoiled as if the distance could protect her. "You're off to wed Francis Ashcroft!"

"Yes?" What did Francis have to do with preserving her decency?

"There isn't a shred of decency left in Ashcroft."

"Of course, there is. He is a governor, trusted by King George."

Captain Hainsworth snorted and slid his solid body onto the berth beside her. Much to her dismay, an unexpected thrill sizzled through her, followed by a warm ache deep inside. She pressed herself up against the bulkhead, creating as much distance as possible between them, which was hardly any given his size.

Avaline's skin prickled and burned where his hard thigh touched hers, the warmth from his body seeping through the layers of bedding that wrapped her.

"I told you already." He grunted as he settled in. "I have no intention of laying a finger on you. You stir not a whit of interest in me, and I would sooner kiss a viper than Ashcroft's betrothed."

He draped an arm over his eyes as if to block out any reaction to his insult.

Avaline held her breath and strained every muscle to resist the sway of the ship and keep herself from tumbling into the American pirate.

He was a scoundrel, a rascal, and a rogue—and she was sharing a bed with him.

An ill-timed laughter bubbled in her chest. She bit the inside of her cheek and steadied her breath by sheer force of will.

Hainsworth drifted off to sleep in a matter of minutes, but by the time his breath steadied, her muscles ached with tension. She relaxed, one muscle at a time, and shifted to her back with painstaking care not to wake him.

His arm had slid off his face and rested on the pillow above his head. She saw the muscles rippling in his arm, even through the loose-fitted shirt. The moonlight cast a shadow over his profile, accentuating the strong nose and the chiseled cheekbones. His lips had parted, and he had lost the hard edge around his jaw.

He looked younger in his sleep. How old was he? Hardly even thirty years old, she assumed.

Avaline's eyes traced his face, down his throat to his chest. A dark tangle of hair shaded the gap between the untied laces of his shirt, like a storm cloud veiling the sun. Her gaze drifted lower, to the point where his shirt had risen and exposed a narrow band of taut skin above his breeches. She continued her exploration, tracing the soft trail of hair dipping beneath the waistband, to the powerful thighs and the prominent swell between his legs.

A flurry of tingles fluttered through her. An impulse made her jolt her eyes away from the captain's manhood and glance at his face, half expecting him to catch her with a sneer on his face, but he was still sleeping, chest rising and falling steadily.

A sudden wave rocked the ship and threw her off balance, tossing her onto Hainsworth's solid chest.

"Ugh!"

His muscles tensed under her weight, and he let out a gentle moan but remained asleep. His body felt warm and firm beneath her hand, and his heartbeat pulsed, slower and more controlled than hers.

Heat flooded her cheeks, but she didn't withdraw. A medley of sun-soaked brine enveloped her, mingling with a more earthy hint, a natural and raw scent that made her belly tingle.

She studied his face again: his long lashes, stubbled jaw, and relaxed lips. The tingle advanced into a curious flutter of horror and delight. How would it be to kiss him? He was nothing like the beardless village lads she had kissed behind old Father Connor's chapel.

He was a man. A very masculine man.

Avaline shook off her foolish thoughts. What was she doing, lying on top of a pirate captain, fancying kissing him? She jerked back and wrapped herself tight in the covers.

She had been captured by a ruthless pirate captain, or privateer as he preferred, who was chasing her future husband for revenge. She was the sole woman on board a pirate ship, and she had no clue what grim fate awaited her once he exacted his revenge.

And yet, lying next to him, gazing into the dark panels overhead and embraced by the heat from his body, she felt oddly safe as she let the swaying soothe her into a slumber.