Captains Quarters
A sample chapter from this enchanting new high seas romance!
Ah, that voice. It was as enchanting and mysterious as the sea and
posed twice the danger.
“So I’ve been told,” Alexander replied, feeling the pulse at the base
of his neck quicken. It was as much the quick wit, the fearless, untamable
tongue of this she-devil, as the honeyed tone of her voice that drove him
to the edge. But he couldn’t ignore her forever. She was here. He had
always known that the day would come.
Ever so slowly, he turned to face her.
He felt older, aged in those six years by the loss of his father. Not
the most fatherly figure, Maurice Wellesley had left Alexander in a
mountain of financial disarray, and he’d spent the first year as head of the
estate sorting receipts from butcher paper and news columns.
But if he were worse for the absence, the lady before him was by far
the better for it.
Mary Clementina Phillipa was the second daughter of Lord
Peregrine Jonathan Wald of the Picayune Estate. Of course, she no longer
went by Mary. Alexander had been there the very day she had changed
her name. Now she was Marianna DuPonte, no truth to her identity, no
estate, no lordly father. She was a sea queen: part-time rum trader, part-
time buccaneer, fulltime troublemaker.
The young woman with the rebellious spirit and sensational ideas,
the lass Alexander had met as a stowaway on a transport ship set for the
Americas, was gone. Where short, golden ringlets had once bounced, now
a lion’s mane of untamable, fiery curls framed her face. The softness of her
cheeks was gone, replaced by smooth, elegant lines, a curved jaw, and
high cheekbones. Her lips were a deep, sinful red, the kind of color that
men dreamed of tasting.
“We had a deal, Alexander,” she said.
When she spoke, her lower lip jutted slightly from the frame of her
mouth. Her silky voice coated his whole body in a fog of desire. For years,
he had longed for her, aching for the plush silk of her generous breasts,
impatient for the curve of her hips under his fingers.
“I suppose I underestimated you.” Alexander stood and leaned
against the sturdy wood of the captain’s desk. “And now I’m to accept my
punishment for the error.”
Marianna’s eyebrow shot up, but she said nothing.
His gaze bore into her caramel eyes. “Shall we set up the chess
board?”
* * * * *
Marianna DuPonte—captain of the El Salvador, international rum
trader, reformed lady of the London ton, and savviest swordswoman on
the coast—was terrified. She had spent six long years tracking down the
Duke of Fife, practicing every chess combination known to the Seven Seas.
But now that she had had him, she felt as though she were an actress
who’d misplaced her script. A small part of her had always known it
would be like this. Chase something so long, it becomes surreal, an
unreachable goal. Yet they’d long ago struck a deal, and the time had
come for him to make good on it.
Alexander arranged the small ivory and ebony pieces before them,
stroking each figure with delicate, almost intimate care. Marianna
remembered that motion from when he had taught her, remembered how
it had sent a thrill of lust through her body. Even now, she pictured him
fingering the tight points of her nipples with such lazy intimacy, such
slow yet powerful caresses.
The scene was so familiar, so incredibly content, that for a moment
Marianna felt as though no time had passed at all. She could have just as
easily been in his private chambers on the Golden Spaniard six years back.
She had been only seventeen, an escapee and hideaway, found by the
elusive nobleman as she hid between barrels of port. He had protected her
on the strange ship full of strange men so far from home. Protected her
and guided her too. The journey would have been long and difficult for a
lady; she had denounced the society life by then, but the voyage had been
harrowing nonetheless. Alexander had been her friend on that trip,
distracting her with the game. Before long, her mind had become
enraptured by the black and white checkerboard, her deepest dreams
haunted by castles falling and knights riding into the distance.
Then she’d gone and ruined everything. She’d been so young and
terrified of the world, of her future, that she’d made a mistake that had
cost her the one friend she had. Some six weeks into their trip, she had
walked into his room, dropped her dressing gown, and demanded that he
have his way with her. Ah, what a fool she had been. He hadn’t wanted
her, not that night or any of the nights after. He’d sighed, picked up her
robe from the floor, and turned his head. She had cried that night,
Marianna remembered with an internal grimace. Alexander had been kind
but distant as she had confided in him. She’d spoken of her fear of never
marrying, of dying untouched. He’d told her to find him when she could
beat him at chess. She would be older, wiser, and less impulsive. If she
still wanted it, he had told her, he would lie with her then.
Those words had been her call to action.
In the years that followed, it had ceased to be an issue of intimacy.
She had learned to quench her desires as any vagabond of the Spanish
Main was wont to do, satisfying her cravings as they came. She hadn’t
behaved in a way befitting her sex in a long time, not when it came to
profession and not when it came to lovemaking.
She had tracked the Duke of Fife for another reason. It had nothing
to do with childhood innocence or the fear she had once felt about starting
a new life. She had come to salvage her pride.
* * * * *