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  “I think if she could get her hand on a gun she’d shoot me right dead. But no matter. The little minx will eventually realize she’s stuck with us no matter what she tries. Until Sir Hester pays up at least.”

  Stephen adjusted the wheel and raised his face to the sun. What a fabulous day this was turning out to be. Below his very feet, he had his blunt, feisty as ever and safely stowed in his cabin, while before him, his crew worked hard and were sailing for England.

  Not his first choice, Scotland would suit him better, but he’d not had the pleasure to call it his ancestral country home. Thanks to his great-grandfather having lost everything on a turn of a card, or so the old tale went. Time to accept his situation and make the best of his life.

  “What will you do if her father refuses to pay you what he owes? We’ve never killed before and some of the men are raising concerns over your actions, Captain.”

  Stephen frowned. The last thing he’d wished to do was upset his crew, but after months of broken promises of payment, he’d had to act. He couldn’t be seen as weak. All of his crew would be in danger if such a rumor leaked out across the oceans. And it had only taken one look of the chit and he’d known what he would do…

  “You have my word I’ll not kill her, but I will ruin her should payment not be forthwith. I’ll make it well known it was me who’d kept her onboard my ship for months…unchaperoned. By tarnishing her reputation, I diminish her father’s good name with it.”

  His man shuffled his feet looking paler than normal. Stephen’s patience faltered.

  “Captain, you’re not going to rape her? We may be smugglers, pirates perhaps who don’t always confirm to the laws of man, but none of us are so unsavory. We have wives, families to care for.” He cleared his throat. “None of us wish to swing at the end of a noose for this chit.”

  “And you will not. That I can promise you. Her father will pay and that will be the end of it.”

  “I hope so, Captain.”

  Stephen handed him the wheel and walked about the deck for a time thinking over his men’s concerns. Should Sir Hester refuse to pay, his life on the sea would continue for a few more years yet. It wasn’t in his plan. The small castle he’d bought and paid for in Scotland required extensive repairs and the funds owed were going to ensure that happened. For the first time in his life, his mother would live in the station to which she should’ve been born. Not in a fisherman’s cottage in Cornwall. His great-grandfather’s recklessness with blunt had secured their fate and he’d done all that he could to make his mother’s life as comfortable as possible while she waited for him to become a self-made man.

  But it wasn’t enough. He wanted what was taken from him by no fault of his own. He had gentleman blood in his veins, and god damn it, he’d die with the life of one if it was the last thing he did.

  Chapter Two

  The kidnapping pirate had forgotten about her.

  For three days he’d left her to wander his cabin, spend every hour enclosed in a space she’d walked around a million times. At least the captain had thought to give her some essentials for her stay. Like a privacy screen, a jug and bowl for bathing and two gowns, even if they were three seasons old, at least they were clean. She’d been able to open a small window to allow the fresh sea air to enter, too small to crawl through unfortunately, but what she really desired was sunlight. And lots of it.

  The scrape of her breakfast tray being placed on the floor before her door made her stomach rumble. Today, instead of the ruffian cook she was used to greeting with disdain, this morning the captain himself brought her breakfast.

  Good. Maybe she could tip it on his head.

  “Your breakfast.” He placed it on his desk and stood, legs apart and arms crossed over his chest. A chest barely hidden beneath the half-open shirt he wore. Skin touched by the sun peeked out at her, tempting her to feel the contoured lines that made up his body.

  Arabella shook herself from imagining what he’d feel like. She didn’t want to touch him, or be anywhere near the pirate if she could help it. “I suppose I should thank you, but I won’t. What do you want?”

  His lips quirked before he chuckled, showing his straight, lovely teeth. She cursed. “You can thank me in other ways.”

  “Really, and what do you suggest I do?” Arabella poured herself a cup of tea and took a sip. The beverage went some way in dispelling her bad mood, but not by much. How dare he want thanks from her? She didn’t ask to be here, he was holding her captive. It was his duty to keep her from starving.

  “After you have broken your fast you’re required on deck.”

  “What?” The tea splashed over her hand and she put the cup down with a clatter. “You’re letting me outside? How long are you allowing me this treat? Please tell me it’s a day at least.”

  “That will depend on you. I will see you outside shortly.”

  Arabella smiled. Sunlight. Oh how she’d missed it and now if she behaved herself she could spend a whole day lazing around on deck enjoying it. She tried to think if she’d seen a chair she could procure while out there so to enjoy the marvelous ocean.

  She quickly finished her breakfast, tidied her appearance as best she could considering she was wearing day’s old clothing and headed up on deck. When she stepped out into the corridor, Arabella was pleased to note no one stood guard to stop her.

  The brightness of the sun after days of being stuck indoors made her squint. Men stopped what they were doing and stared, some looking less savory than others. She glared at them, lifted her nose and walked toward the bow and the magnificent view that opened out before her.

  Footsteps sounded behind and she turned. The captain strode toward her. Awareness shivered down her spine at the determined glint she read in his eyes. His hungry gaze raked over her and she swallowed. Hard. “Thank you for letting me on deck.” Arabella looked about. “Is there a chair or stool about that I may use for the day?”

  His deep rumbling laugh caused her stomach to twist.

  “What’s so funny?” she asked, annoyed.

  “Beside the fact you expect to sit on deck and lounge about while my men work hard for their captain. Nothing at all entertaining about that.” The words dripped sarcasm.

  “You’re not my captain, which I’m sure I need not remind you. You kidnapped me, remember?”

  “Aye, I kidnapped you and for good reason, but now you need to work. I don’t accept laziness from my crew and that goes for the women whose family is in debited to me. You must work for your upkeep, room and food.” He pulled a wooden pole from behind his back with an array of cotton tassels on one end. Arabella frowned at the apparatus having never seen anything similar in her life.

  “What is that?” She stepped back, the hard wooden railing pushing against her spine.

  “This is a mop and that bucket on the ground over there is what you’re going to use to wash my deck. All of it.”

  Arabella stared at the bucket filled with soapy water. “I will not. I think you’re forgetting who I am.”

  “And who is that?” he asked, an amused grin on his face.

  “I’m a lady and ladies do not clean pirate’s ships.” Arabella’s temper rose with the continual laughing expression on his face. She clenched her hand to stop herself from slapping his cheek.

  He passed her the so-called mop ignoring her protests entirely. Arabella snatched it out of his hands. “I’m not cleaning your boat.”

  “It’s a ship. And yes, you are.”

  “Really.” She faced the sea then pitched the cleaning apparatus overboard. That she’d denied him the pleasure of seeing her mop his deck like some scullery maid filled her with pride. She turned to him and smiled. “Oh dear, I seem to have dropped it.”

  He stared at her, his expression seemingly one of surprise and then contemplation. “There is a punishment for disobeying a captain’s order.” His tone was low, deadly and all amusement vanished from his face.

  Arabella’s stomach clenched. The wor
d punishment didn’t sound at all like something she wanted to experience. Did it involve physical abuse? Would he give her to his crew for enjoyment? Would he touch her himself? The thought sent panic spiraling through her limbs making them weak. “What are you going to do to me?”

  He called out to one of his deckhands, the man scrambling over as quickly as he could to his captain. “Go to the galley and grab another mop. Miss Hester has misplaced the one kept up here.”

  “Yes, Captain,” the young man said, before hurrying away.

  “I dislike you immensely.” She took in the size of the ship and the amount of wood she was supposed to clean. It was an impossible duty for her to fulfill and something about the captain’s smirk told her he knew exactly what she was thinking. How could he do this to a woman who’d never cleaned in her life. If she did it wrong, which was highly likely, would he make her do it again? It wasn’t to be borne.

  Not wanting to spike his ire any more today less he throw her back in his room, as soon as the replacement apparatus was handed to her, she set out to finish the job. If by chance this mop went overboard by the end of the cleaning it was not her fault. Accidents happen…

  Hours passed, the captain the entire time never far away, watching her every move, the heat of his gaze making her skin prickle more than the sun on her skin. The muscles in her arms burned with overuse and sweat dripped between places sweat should never drip. In no way had she ever been made to work so hard in her life. Should society see her now, hair limp about her face, her dress ruined by grime, her fingers bruised and bleeding, she would never be allowed back in the glittering ballrooms of the ton.

  Not that that would tax her too much. Society had never drawn her like so many other ladies of her class. There was no adventure, no chance of a grand love just waiting for her across a supper room table. Her life, just as her father wished it to be, was full of order and conformity. And her betrothed was exactly like him. She scrubbed harder against the wood, her life like the ocean before her, a never-ending swirl of boring. Although she had to admit the ocean wasn’t always so calm and peaceful.

  When she’d met Lord Frederick Montague, a viscount with large holdings in Somerset, for the first time her life seemed complete. He would love her immediately, be gallant and kiss her senseless.

  He did not.

  Instead, he’d looked at her like she’d sported some beastly bug on her face, sniffed and continued to talk to the gentleman beside him at the dinner table as if she didn’t exist. And for the few weeks he’d graced their life in Valletta she hadn’t been his priority. Lord Montague had gone about his days making sure to stay well away from her and ensuring no more than a good morning and good night was spoken. To just image her betrothed coming to save her was absurd.

  He was ridiculous and there was nothing she could do about it. She scrubbed the deck harder. The contract was signed and her father overjoyed. And as much as Arabella loved her papa and wished to make him happy, something told her the moment she married Lord Montague she would never be so again.

  Arabella huffed out a breath. Visiting Malta had had its advantages and her time there had enabled her heart to heal a little after losing her dear mama. Although the society was large enough to house fabulous balls and entertainments during the Season, it also left a lot of time to fill. Over the weeks of their stay she’d become friends with a daughter from a local family who graced the same social sphere. Nina, or Miss Rowsley had often attended the nightly parties with her and helped her sneak out a time or two to mask balls that they were forbidden to attend.

  She would miss her friend dearly and she knew who to blame for that.

  She stopped to have a break, and her attention was pulled to where the captain stood steering the ship. His muscled arms flexed with their task, his upper body bared to the elements and bronzed by the sun.

  The urge to lick her lips like a droplet of him was sitting there fought with her self-control. She didn’t like this man any more than she liked her betrothed. Although, she had to admit, at least the captain spoke to her. It was more than Lord Montague had ever done.

  She studied him for a moment. Reveled in the power his presence exhibited. A queer flutter took flight in her belly and for the first time in her life, Arabella wondered what it would be like to lay with a man.

  The thought pulled an array of others with it. Like how many women had he seduced. Did he have a special woman waiting for him somewhere? Did he find Arabella attractive or only a means to an end?

  Their gazes locked and her mouth dried. His intense stare sizzled the space separating them and under no circumstance could she shift her attention elsewhere. From the short distance between them he took in her every feature. His inspection left little to the imagination. Heat bloomed up her neck and she turned to look out over the ocean.

  He was a rogue through and through and one that with just one look could make her forget who she was and what he’d done to her.

  Worse, Arabella had a feeling he could also make her forget the society in which she was born with just one touch.

  Chapter Three

  She was tied up again.

  Arabella sighed. It seemed throwing the captain’s second mop and bucket overboard had pushed the man too far. But never would she allow him to make her do such a menial task again. Her arms still ached, a fact that wasn’t helped with them being tied behind her back.

  The sun had long gone down and her stomach rumbled, reminding her of the late hour. She was being punished. Dinner had not been forthcoming and the thought of missing out brought tears to her eyes. Would he feed her at all tonight?

  Gosh she hoped so.

  She glanced over his desk and spied the apple sitting on a tray. Not being able to reach for it made her stomach cramp even more. The captain would pay for this abuse.

  Wiggling her bonds was of little use and so she sat and waited for when he decided to turn up. If ever. Laughter and loud jests sounded from the deck above. Someone played a pipe instrument of some sort that made these sea fearing men dance, if the loud steps were anything to go by.

  It was obvious that in their enjoyment they’d forgotten about her. Were content to let her starve to death.

  The door opened and she almost sighed in relief, but the severe set of the captain’s face soon stopped all mirth. His eyes were sleepy, a day’s growth of beard marked his strong jaw. Arabella swallowed the trepidation that took flight in her gut. He was foxed. Her attention snapped to his bared torso and the corded muscles that flexed with each breath.

  She should look away with disdain. She was a lady, a woman of impeccable breeding. How dare he make her want to take that final step on her discoveries of men and have him show her all there was to experience. That was what her betrothed was for.

  Arabella’s mouth gaped as her gaze followed the taut V of muscle that disappeared into his breeches. She started at her own thoughts, which were anything but innocent. One night when she and Nina had snuck out, they had heard music while passing the mews. They stopped and spied on the servants and what they’d seen there had opened her eyes to what men and women did when alone. Of what the male body looked like in the throes of passion.

  She bit her bottom lip, imagining exactly what this captain would look like in such a position.

  Arabella started at her own thoughts. What was she doing thinking in such a way? This man had kidnapped her. Made her work like a servant. Forgot to feed her. He’d be lucky if she didn’t spit in his face. “I do believe you’ve forgotten something.”

  He raised his brow and contemplated her with a glance that she didn’t even want to surmise over. “What would that be?”

  His deep baritone, slightly slurred with liqueur had an odd twang to it. Similar to those who hailed from Scotland. Arabella frowned. Where was he from before sailing the high seas?

  “My dinner. If you haven’t noticed in your drunken state, it’s near the middle of the night and I’m starving. Now turn about and go fetch me some.�
�� He laughed. A great holler that irked even more than being starved. He found this amusing? “I’m not joking, Captain Blackmore.”

  He rubbed his eyes and beckoned to a man she hadn’t seen standing behind him in the shadows. Her mouth watered as the smell of chicken broth and a plate of vegetables and bread was placed before her. Never had food been all-consuming and never had she been more desperate to eat it.

  The lout didn’t move to release her bonds. Was he planning on teasing her with the meal all night? The thought of such punishment almost brought tears to her eyes. “Unless you’re going to feed me yourself, you had better untie me.”

  “Interesting concept and one I’m only too willing to try.” He pulled up a chair before her and picked up the bread. The dough smelt newly cooked and delicious. He tore a little bit off and held it before her lips. Arabella met his gaze over the top of his fingers. It wasn’t just food he was offering, but a taste of sin. Something told her, should she take a bite, her life would never be the same.

  Her heart pounded as she leaned forward and took the food from his fingers.

  * * *

  Stephen inwardly groaned as her sweet lips opened and she took the piece of bread into her mouth. Thoughts of other things going into the orifice bombarded his mind and his cock twitched. He’d planned on staying away. Of letting her starve for one night.

  The woman was trouble and more annoying than he thought she was going to be. The fact she had thrown two mops and a bucket overboard irritated and amused him at the same time. Who did that type of tomfoolery?

  He hadn’t expected it from a woman of her breeding and yet he liked her spirit.

  From all reports, she should be frightened of him. Submissive and demure. Instead, he’d been dealt a harridan who hadn’t reached old age. She chewed and closed her eyes, seemingly enjoying the repast. A twinge of guilt pricked his conscience. He’d never been one to starve anyone, least of all a woman, but there was something about this minx that rubbed him the wrong way. Or worse, rubbed him entirely the right way.