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Captured for the Captain's Pleasure
Ann Lethbridge
Indulge your fantasies of delicious Regency Rakes, fierce Viking warriors and rugged Highlanders. Be swept away into a world of intense passion, lavish settings and romance that burns brightly through the centuriesPredator by name, passionate by nature! Captain Michael Hawkhurst relishes his fearsome reputation, for he lives only to wreak revenge on the Fulton family, who so cruelly destroyed his own. Spirited Alice Fulton knows a ship is no place for a lady, but she is determined to save her father’s business…When fate delivers him Fulton’s virginal daughter as his captive, Michael faces a dilemma – should he live up to his scandalous name and find revenge with sweet Alice, or will his honourable side win out – and win the girl…?
‘I was going to say that if either of us is pretty, it is you.’
Once more she’d surprised him. He couldn’t hold back his smile. ‘Men are not pretty.’
Alice shrugged. ‘Are they not? You are one of a kind. A darkly handsome man who exudes danger. The ladies of the ton would faint at your feet.’
‘Yet you deny your own prettiness when it is quite obvious to me?’
‘I’m a realist, Captain, and you’ve been on board ship for many months, no doubt.’
Her contempt for his compliment irritated like a sharp piece of gravel inside a stocking.
‘Let me tell you what I see. I see a Madonna’s calm face and eyes shadowed by secrets. I see a sun-kissed complexion and copper glints in silky hair. Intelligence sits on your brow. Your lips tempt mine.’ He paused. ‘I sense hot blood running beneath alabaster skin.’
She gasped, her eyes widening in maidenly horror.
He caught her shoulders, gazed into brown eyes pierced by emerald-green.
Longing hit him in the chest.
Her face tipped up and he cupped her cheeks in his hands. Before he could stop himself, he tasted her pliant velvet mouth…
Author’s Note
For all that he was a rogue, I couldn’t help liking Long John Silver when I read Treasure Island as a child. For ages now I’ve wanted to write a pirate story, but by the Regency pirates were, as they say, history. Privateers, however, were a whole other breed. Men who were given licence or letters of marque by governments to prey on enemy ships, they generally made life difficult for the opposing side. Many of them became extremely wealthy in the process, and legally too.
So I hope you enjoy this not-quite-a-pirate story. I think you will find that Michael meets his match in Alice. And, while she doesn’t think she has a romantic bone in her body, there is just something about a rogue…
I love to hear from readers, so if you would like to drop me a line you can find me at ann@ann.lethbridge. gmail.com, and if you would like to know more about me and my books visit http://www.annlethbridge.com
Captured for the Captain’s Pleasure
Ann Lethbridge
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Ann Lethbridge has been reading Regency novels for as long as she can remember. She always imagined herself as Lizzie Bennet, or one of Georgette Heyer’s heroines, and would often recreate the stories in her head with different outcomes or scenes. When she sat down to write her own novel, it was no wonder that she returned to her first love: the Regency.
Ann grew up roaming England with her military father. Her family lived in many towns and villages across the country, from the Outer Hebrides to Hampshire. She spent memorable family holidays in the West Country and in Dover, where her father was born. She now lives in Canada, with her husband, two beautiful daughters, and a Maltese terrier named Teaser, who spends his days on a chair beside the computer, making sure she doesn’t slack off.
Ann visits Britain every year, to undertake research and also to visit family members who are very understanding about her need to poke around old buildings and visit every antiquity within a hundred miles. If you would like to know more about Ann and her research, or to contact her, visit her website at www.annlethbridge.com. She loves to hear from readers.
Previous novels by this author:
THE RAKE’S INHERITED COURTESAN
WICKED RAKE, DEFIANT MISTRESS
and in Mills & Boon® Historical Undone eBooks:
THE RAKE’S INTIMATE ENCOUNTER
I dedicate this book to my dad, who was known all his life as Peter, though it was not his given name. He introduced me to the writings of Georgette Heyer when I was very young, for which I can’t thank him enough. He always encouraged me to reach for the stars, no matter how hard the journey. I would like to thank Joanne Grant and her team at Harlequin Mills & Boon for making this a better book, my agent Scott Eagan, and my fabulous critique partners, Maureen, Molly, Sinead, Mary, Jude and Teresa, who show unfailing patience with every rewrite.
Chapter One
Off Lisbon—June 1814
Repairing a gash in a man’s brawny forearm on a ship’s deck bore not the slightest resemblance to mending a rip in a petticoat, Alice Fulton decided. She dabbed at the dried blood around the wound with a cloth moistened in seawater.
The prospect of causing pain gave it a wholly different aspect. The ship’s pitch and yaw added a further challenge. Fortunately, clear skies and a light breeze kept the motion to a minimum and the awning above their heads protected them from the midday heat.
Roped in as an unwilling assistant, her fellow passenger and best friend, Lady Selina Albright, stared grimly out to sea as if her life depended on it.
Perched in front of her on a barrel, with a three-inch gash in his sun-bronzed skin, her patient, Perkin, seemed remarkably unperturbed. But then she hadn’t told the sullen fellow staring at the planks at his feet that this was the first wound she’d actually stitched herself. No sense in scaring him.
Not that much would scare this strapping sailor. Even with his head respectfully lowered and his bearded face hidden by the tangle of dark-brown hair falling around his shoulders, he had a swagger.
‘When did you do this?’ she asked.
‘The night afore I came aboard,’ he muttered, not looking up. ‘I told you, miss, it ain’t nothing. I’ll take care of it.’
She’d caught him bandaging it one-handed when she passed the galley. On this merchant ship, the cook doubled as surgeon and he could hardly sew himself. ‘It needs sutures.’
He glanced up, giving her a brief impression of a face younger than she’d first thought and handsome in a harsh, unkempt sort of way. His cheeks above the black-bearded jaw had been tanned to the colour of light mahogany. Deep creases radiated from the corners of eyes the strangest shade of turquoise rimmed with grey. Right now they held a distinctly resentful gleam. Or even anger? He lowered his head before she could be sure.
A feeling of unease disturbed her normally calm stomach. He’d been making her nervous since he had joined their ship in Lisbon, replacing their original cook who had disappeared amid the stews on the wharf. They’d certainly lost in the exchange. What Perkin knew about cooking he must have learned from a tanner. She stared at the large, strong, well-shaped hand resting on a formidably muscled thigh. At least his fingernails were clean.
No matter how bad his food or his attitude, this wound needed sewing.
‘Ugh.’ Selina gave a delicate shudder. ‘You should let the sailmaker do it as Captain Dareth ordered,’ she said in her naturally breathy voice.
Perkin nodded agreement, his strange eyes warming as they roved over Selina’s lush figure.
Alice wanted to hit him.
Why, she couldn’t imagine. There wasn’t a man alive whose eyes wouldn’t warm when they fell on Selina’s dark flamboyance, whereas Alice’s immature figure, nondescript brown hair and hazel eyes, rarely warranted a second look. Which suited Alice down to the ground.
‘Hodges won’t be off watch for hours,’ she muttered, threading her needle. ‘The longer the wound remains open the less likely it will heal.’ And besides this might be her only chance to make use of her knowledge.
‘Are you certain you know how?’ Selina’s voice quavered.
Certain? She stared at the bloody gash. In theory, yes. Practice was an altogether different proposition.
‘This fascination of yours for surgery is positively macabre.’ Selina gave another of her carefully honed shudders.
At least her friend wasn’t calling her interest unladylike, as Father did. He’d always blamed it on the months she’d spent on the long round trip to India with nothing to do but follow the surgeon around. At nine, she’d been half in love with the ship’s doctor. Her interest in medicine had survived the years. Love was a whole other story.
‘Be ready to hand me the scissors. And don’t look. I don’t want you fainting.’ Lord, she didn’t want to faint herself.
She lined up her needle.
Prickles darted down her back. Sweat trickled cold between her breasts and clung to her palms. The needle seemed to slither in her grasp like a maggot in a ship’s biscuit.
Now or never, Alice. She inhaled a deep breath. The ship rolled. She staggered.
Perkin put out a hand. Caught her wrist. ‘Steady, miss.’
His palm was warm, strong, calloused. A touch that burned. His eyes flashed concern. He released her swiftly as if he too had felt the sudden burst of heat.
Ridiculous.
She braced against the roll of the ship, absorbed the motion with her knees as she’d been doing for days. She swallowed to relieve the dryness in her throat. ‘Ready, Perkin?’
He grunted.
Pulse racing, she pressed the needle into the bronzed skin. It dimpled. Her hand shook.
‘If yer goin’ to do it, give it a good hard jab,’ Perkin muttered in a growl.
Right. Alice stabbed. The needle punctured the skin. The man didn’t flinch, but she knew from a hitch in his breath she’d caused pain.
‘Forgive me,’ she murmured.
Surprise glimmered in his blue eyes, before he looked away.
She pushed through the other side of the gash, pulled up and knotted. Mr Bellweather would have been proud. Good. And no blood. ‘Scissors, please.’
They appeared in front of her, dangling at the end of lacy gloved fingers.
She snipped the thread and returned the scissors to Selina’s outstretched palm.
Alice let her breath go, felt her heart steady, and stabbed again. ‘Four stitches should do it,’ she murmured.
Head averted, Perkin started whistling ‘Spanish Ladies’ under his breath as if he hadn’t a care in the world. She had to admire his fortitude after hearing many a man whine like a puppy when faced with a stitch or two. His calmness instilled her with courage and in no time at all there were four nice neat knots along the puckered skin.
‘Bandage, Selina, please.’
The bandage appeared under her nose.
Ceasing his whistle, Perkin inspected his arm, his expression hidden by the mass of black hair. ‘Thank ye.’ The tone sounded grudging.
She ignored his sullenness and smiled. ‘I think it will be all right.’ They wouldn’t know for a day or two if the gash would heal properly. If it didn’t, if she’d made things worse…Her stomach clenched. Don’t think that. She’d done a good job. Carefully she wrapped the bandage around a sun-weathered, sinewy forearm strong enough to haul up a mainsail by itself, if needed. She tied the strip of cloth off. ‘I will look at it later today.’
‘Nah, miss. I’ll look a’ter it.’
Disappointed, but unsurprised by his reticence, Alice nodded. ‘As you wish. Please take more care next time you gut a fish.’
That startling gaze whipped up to her face. Not angry this time, more puzzled. ‘Aye, aye, miss.’ He rolled down his shirtsleeve, covering up all those lovely muscles.
Oh, Lord. Had she really just thought a common sailor’s arm lovely? Was she turning into one of those eccentric spinsters who peered at males sideways and made up stories in their heads?
‘That’s that, then.’ She rinsed her hands in the bowl and handed it to Perkin, along with the cloth she had used. He took them without a word and headed below.
A sense of disappointment invaded her chest. She made a wry grimace. What had she expected from such a surly man? Effusive thanks? She wiped her face and the back of her neck with her handkerchief. He was probably horrified at the thought of a lady lowering herself to touch him. Men of all classes were odd in that regard.
‘Alice?’ Selina said, a strange note in her voice. ‘What are they looking at?’ She pointed to the bulwark where all of the ship’s officers were clustered at the starboard rail with their spyglasses directed astern. Between the master and his second officer, her brother Richard’s fifteen-year-old gangly body looked distinctly out of place. Like the others, he was watching a ship drawing down on them. Its present course would bring it exceedingly close to the Conchita. Hairs rose on the back of her neck. Her stomach gave a roll in direct opposition to the movement of the ship. ‘Oh, no.’
‘What is it?’ Selina asked, her face anxious, her bright green eyes wide.
It couldn’t be. Not on this voyage, when they’d taken the utmost precautions. ‘It’s probably a ship looking for news,’ she said, heading to the rail. Everyone sought news these days, with rumours of peace circulating the docks.
‘Wait,’ Selina called. ‘Your parasol. You know how you burn.’
With a huff of impatience, Alice turned back to retrieve the lacy object from her friend. She smiled her thanks, took Selina’s arm and joined Mr Anderson, her father’s factotum, at the rail.
‘What ship is it?’ Alice asked.
Mr Anderson grimaced. ‘Can’t see from this angle, Miss Fulton. She’s flying the Union Jack.’
Alice breathed a sigh of relief. Thomas Anderson chewed on his bottom lip. ‘I think you and Lady Selina should go below.’
‘Why?’ Selina asked, her wide-eyed gaze turning to the middle-aged man who immediately turned pink. He’d been blushing every time she so much as glanced his way since they had left port. Not that Selina gave him the slightest encouragement. She simply took admiration as her due. Alice suppressed her irritation. She was past being interested in men of any sort.
Captain Dareth lowered his glass. ‘Let’s see if we can outrun her.’
The tense low mutter added pressure to Alice’s already taut chest. She kept silent as the second officer rushed off shouting orders for more sail. The captain didn’t need additional worries.
Richard, obviously brimming with excitement, turned to the master. ‘She’s fast for a brig.’
‘She is that,’ Captain Dareth said.
‘A privateer, do you think?’ Richard ask, his adolescent voice cracking with excitement.
Alice gasped. A run-in with a privateer was the worst possible scenario. With England at war with France and her allies, as well as America, too many nations had given out letters of marque. The legal document allowed greedy captains with fast ships to take as prizes any enemy merchantmen trying to slip through the blockade. They were little better than pirates, but they had the law on their side.
Until now, Fulton’s Shipping had prided itself on following international law to the letter, but the situation had become intolerable, with ships being routinely stopped. She glanced up at their Spanish flag with a wince. Perhaps after all it had not been such a good idea to hide their national identity. If only they hadn’t been quite so desperate to make sure this cargo reached England safely.
‘Is it a privateer?’ she asked.
The captain jerked his head around as if he’d only just noticed her presence. ‘Miss Fulton, I really must ask you to go below. And you, too, Lady Selina. Mr Anderson, please escort the ladies.’
‘Do you think it is a privateer, Captain Dareth?’ Alice asked firmly, aware of the heightened clamour of her heart.
The captain’s gaze shifted above her shoulder, then travelled up the mainmast to the sails being unfurled by his crew. ‘I don’t know, Miss Fulton. There were rumours in Lisbon.’
