Ann Lethbridge - Captured for the Captain's Pleasure

His steps echoed in the hold as he strode across the floor, his shadow looming on the curved hull like the carved gryphon over his bed. He entered the circle of light, his expression impatient and his eyes watchful.

Selina shrank back, staring at him as if he had two heads. ‘Alice, isn’t that…?’

‘The man who signed on as our cook. Yes.’ She glared at him. ‘I am not ready to leave yet, sir.’

‘Lady Selina,’ he said with a flash of a charming smile and a bow, ‘I don’t believe we have been formally introduced. I’m Lionhawk, Captain of the Gryphon .’

A simple introduction delivered with the charm of a wolf who’d found his dinner.

Selina shifted closer to Alice, seemingly unable to take her gaze from the dark face of her gaoler.

Lionhawk bared his teeth all the more. ‘Come into the light, Lady Selina. Let’s take a proper look at you.’

‘Alice!’ Selina’s voice rose to a squeak.

Alice mentally groaned. This lion or hawk or evil dragon, whatever he called himself, needed a lesson in how to treat a lady. She patted Selina on the shoulder. ‘Ignore him. He’s just trying to bedevil me.’ She glanced back at Richard and a trickle of fear ran through her stomach. ‘I would like to speak to the doctor.’

‘Not tonight, you won’t.’ Lionhawk’s voice had the implacable quality of a man expecting obedience. ‘My crew are celebrating their victory. Bones won’t be in any shape to look at anyone tonight and he tells me your brother will be all right until morning. Come along before I carry you out.’

Dash it all. Whoever this doctor was, he had no business leaving an injured man unconscious. The man she had seen climbing into the bo’sun’s chair had looked far from competent. No wonder he hadn’t seen to opening the hatch. And if he was drunk, as his captain suggested, she preferred her own ministrations. The sooner she answered Lionhawk’s questions, the sooner she could return to her brother.

Selina flung herself into Alice’s arms, tears running like diamonds down her cheeks. Somehow Selina managed to look like a goddess when she wept. ‘Alice, what is to become of us?’

That was a line out of a play for Lionhawk’s benefit. A quest for sympathy. Wasted on this man. Thankfully, beneath the weeping goddess, Selina was made of sterner stuff. Stern enough to walk out on her chaperon and jump aboard Alice’s ship without so much as a by your leave.

Easing from Selina’s grip, Alice lifted her friend’s chin with a fingertip, capturing her watery gaze in her own. ‘Do pull yourself together.’ She lowered her voice to a whisper meant only for her friend’s ears. ‘Trust me. I’ll come back soon. In the meantime, I’m relying on you to help care for Richard and Mr Anderson.’

Selina straightened her shoulders. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said softly. ‘I didn’t mean to make things more difficult. I will do my best.’ She glanced quickly at Lionhawk, her eyes sharp. ‘Alice, mark my words. Be very careful of that man.’

‘Come along, Miss Fulton,’ Lionhawk said, the sardonic line of his lips cruel in its indifference. Then he smiled, all charm again. ‘Unless you would both like to join me in my cabin.’

Alice glared at him. ‘One of us is all you need to answer your questions.’ Somehow during the course of the evening she’d convince Lionhawk to let her raid his medical supplies. A poultice set to Richard’s temple might be the best thing to bring him back to his senses.

Blast the man. By now he’d probably guessed she’d do anything to keep her brother safe. Selina was right—she would have to be very careful. Or very clever.

With one last glance at her brother, she headed out of the door.

Lionhawk closed it, pocketed the key and took her arm. Up on deck, he guided her towards his cabin. ‘I’d introduce you to my crew,’ he murmured, ‘but they are in a rollicking mood. Not good company for a lady such as yourself.’

From the prow came the sound of a flute and deep men’s voices raised in drunken harmony. ‘I’ll accept your judgement in that regard.’

Just how safe were the prisoners with such a crew? Thank God Lionhawk held the key.

She sucked in a breath. Did that mean she actually trusted the fellow to keep his captives safe? Trusting anyone on this ship would be like trusting a rabid dog. It would be like a green girl with stars in her eyes trusting Andrew. No longer was she green and the stars had long ago faded.

Lionhawk opened his cabin door. ‘Supper awaits.’

Supper? A good idea. Men became easier to handle on a full stomach. She stepped inside.

A lantern hung from the central beam. Candlesticks glimmered on the desk. A low table had been placed in front of the window laid with a tray of bread, cheeses and cold meats along with a decanter of red wine and two filigreed goblets.

She took the chair he pulled out. He seated himself on the other side. ‘It’s all there is, I’m afraid.’

Alice waved an airy hand, à la Selina. ‘It is all I need.’ She picked up the bread knife.

Swiftly, he leaned across and removed the knife from her grip. ‘I wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself.’

He carved the half-cottage loaf into thick slices and leaned back, retaining the knife as if he thought she might have at him. Unfortunately, killing him would likely not improve her situation.

And what could he possibly have in mind that he would think she might become so desperate? More questions? Or more kisses? A skitter went through her stomach that wasn’t exactly unpleasant.

A sensation best guarded against.

‘Eat,’ he said.

Glad to see her hands did not tremble too much, she filled her plate with bread and cheese. ‘It is a while since I dined alfresco,’ she said lightly. ‘A picnic,’ she added.

He stretched his booted feet out in front of him and frowned at her. ‘I know what alfresco means. Normally, I’d provide a hot meal. There was no cooking fire today.’

‘Open fires and gunpowder are not a good mix,’ she agreed. ‘I’m pleased to see you care about the safety of your men. It would hardly do for their ship to burn while they run down innocent merchantmen.’

A glint of amusement flashed in his eyes. ‘Innocent is not a term I would use, and nor would you,’ he remarked in dry tones.

Now what did he mean by that? She picked up a piece of bread. Even buttered, it tasted little better than ashes. Fear did that to a person, ruined the appetite. She added a slice of cheese. A marginal improvement. If she washed it down with wine, it might cure the trembles in her stomach.

Perhaps not. She’d need all her wits to survive the coming interview.

‘More?’ he asked softly, waving the knife at the bread.

She shook her head, noticing he had eaten nothing while consuming at least half the wine in the decanter. Perhaps he, too, was nervous, though she could scarcely credit it.

Simpson arrived to clear away the tray. Alice watched the knife’s departure with a flicker of regret. It might have come in handy. She flashed hot, then cold. Hopefully such drastic measures wouldn’t be necessary.

Lionhawk refilled his glass and cast her a charming smile. A breath caught in her throat at the threat that smile contained. ‘Now then, Miss Fulton. It is time to answer my questions.’

Somehow she managed not to flee for the door. She fought to keep her face blandly enquiring.

As handsome as sin, as dark as Satan, he lounged carelessly in his ornate chair, legs outstretched, glass held loosely in his hand. Masculine power at ease to a fault, but ready to spring if she made one false move.

A heavy-lidded gaze cut her way. Seductive. Threatening. He frightened and fascinated all at once. Against all reason, she found him impossibly attractive, the way one might find a lion or tiger attractive. Beautiful, sleek and dangerous.