THE BLACK LION

PIRATE’S PARADISE BOOK 1

VICTORIA VALE
The Black Lion (Pirate’s Paradise Book 1)
Copyright © 2020 by Victoria Vale

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 CONTENTS

Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Epilogue

More by Victoria Vale

About the Author
PROLOGUE
FALMOUTH, TRELAWNY JAM AICA

1789

T he blazing orange sun cast its rays over the deserted

patch of beach along the coast of Falmouth. Undulating
palms swayed with the stirring of balmy air, hiding the pair
who ran and played in the sand from the world. Beyond the
overgrowth of forest lay the oppressiveness of life as they
knew it; but here, they were alone and happy. The world was
theirs, and they were free.
Arabella Baines giggled as she ducked under the arm
stretched toward her, giving a coy smile to the man chasing
her along the shore. On dry land, mounds of muslin and silk
lay strewn in patches of snowy white and powder blue. Her
sister would turn her nose up and hu at the sight of
Arabella wearing only her shift, stays, and a single petticoat,
her feet bare and sand-speckled, curls falling loose of their
coi ure. The man romping along the sand with her was
similarly underdressed, his coat, waistcoat, stock, shoes, and
stockings abandoned.
Upon returning home, she would turn herself back into
the perfect picture of a lady. Out here, however, she was not
the daughter of one of the island’s largest plantation owners.
Away from the eyes of others, she was an ocean goddess, a
bird free to fly where she pleased, a feather blown on the
wind.
Stumbling over a mound of sand, Arabella pitched
forward but was caught up by a pair of hands at her waist.
She fell against a firm male body, his warmth seeping
through her clothes and exacerbating the humidity of the air.
 “Caught you,” he rumbled in her ear before sweeping her
o her feet.
Arabella’s squeals and laughs echoed over the water as he
turned and tumbled them onto the sand, rolling to lay atop
her. His bulk blotted out the sun, its rays framing him like a
halo as he loomed over her, chest heaving with heavy breath
and a wide smile lighting up his face.
Andrew Reeves was the most beautiful man she had ever
lain eyes on. Tall and broad in the chest and shoulders, he
was sturdily built from years of manual labor. The afternoon
light glinted o brown skin baked to deep umber by the sun.
He reminded her of a lion sunning itself on the sand, all
golden skin and eyes, and a wide, plush mouth. His damp
hair had been brushed into soft waves and clubbed into a
queue when they first arrived on the beach, but now rebelled
into a form more akin to lamb’s wool.
Biting her lip, she gazed up at him, caressing his stubble-
roughened jaw with one hand. “What are you going to do
with me?”
Long, dark lashes lowered over his eyes, and he dipped
his head to capture her mouth with a groan. His kiss was
fiery, desperate with longing and need. Arabella answered
him with equal ardor, her skin flushing hot and the tips of
her breasts going to sti points as he pressed her into the
sand. Bending her knee, she allowed his hips to fall into the
cradle of her pelvis, whimpering at the feel of the hard organ
between his legs. Andrew’s fingers tangled in her hair as he
stroked her tongue with his, deep sounds of desire
emanating from his throat.
The kiss ended as abruptly as it had begun when he tore
his lips from hers with a ragged sigh.
“Drew?”
Dropping his head against her shoulder, he took a slow,
measured breath before replying. “Bella, we can’t. We’ve
waited this long … what’s another year or so?”
He rolled, landing at her side with a sigh. The sound was
heavy with the frustration. To hear him say it might be
another year before they could wed made her heart sink.
“Will it take so long? Surely, Father—”
“Has refused me for the third time,” he interjected with a
grimace. “If I cannot meet his approval, we’ll simply have to
wait for you to come of age. I just need a little more time.”
Turning on her side to face him, she rested a hand on
Drew’s chest, stroking bare skin through the opening left by
his loosened buttons, the coarse rasp of dark hairs tickling
her fingertips.
“Of course I will wait, as long as it takes. There is nothing
more I want than to be your wife.”
It was their hope to be allowed to wed once Drew had
earned the funds to purchase shares in his uncle’s shipping
company. With the security of owning part of a business, he
would be ready to approach her father with an o er of
marriage. He had refused Drew three times now, insisting he
would not give his daughter over to a landless, penniless
carpenter’s apprentice no matter how much he claimed to
love her. So, Drew had made it his mission to change his
circumstances.
“Your father is right to want a secure future for you,” he
insisted.
“My dowry is more than enough to provide such a future.
He’s simply being unreasonable.”
Drew chuckled, the sun creating prisms of gold in his
hazel eyes. “It isn’t unreasonable. He wants to keep the
fortune hunters at bay by ensuring the man who weds you
has something to o er. It is no more than I would want for
my own daughter, if I had one.”
“Someday you will have daughters of your own, and sons
too,” she vowed. “I will give you as many of them as you
like.”
He laid his hand over hers, pressing it tighter against his
chest. Its cadence was steady and sure as he held her gaze,
using his other hand to stroke her cheek and leaving behind
a streak of sand.
“You deserve the best of everything life has to o er, my
Bella. I intend to give you the world.”
“You are my world.”
He was on her again, lips seeking, hands roaming to the
flesh constricted and pushed up by her stays. The usual flux
of desire flared between them, and Arabella arched into him,
silently begging for his hands on her, for what small
pleasures they could share without the benefit of marriage.
Drew had been adamant about saving the most irrevocable of
intimacies until after they had wed. Though, he made that
vow before knowing how long they would have to wait.
Neither of them had counted on her father’s continued
resistance because Drew was incapable of o ering her the
life she was accustomed to. It didn’t matter to Archibald
Abbot that she loved Drew, and had since girlhood. He didn’t
care that as the half-caste daughter of a slave, her options
for marriage were slim enough as it was. Her father insisted
that having been bred as any other highborn lady in
Falmouth, she could do better than a carpenter’s apprentice.
He had introduced her to several men of means, the sons of
his friends and business contacts, but Arabella had shunned
them all. She was determined to hold out until Archibald
either relented, or she grew to her majority and no longer
needed his permission to wed. She refused to consider a
future in which she didn’t become Mrs. Arabella Reeves.

T HE HOURS PASSED them by in a haze of slow, drugging kisses

and heated caresses. As the sun began to dip toward the
horizon, Drew and Arabella had no choice but to rinse their
hands and feet as best they could, then help one another
dress. Their stolen moments were fewer and farther between
these days. Drew was much in demand as a carpenter, the
plethora of ships coming and going from port requiring parts
for repairs and barrels for storage.
They trekked through the wild overgrowth of jungle
toward Greenhill Plantation, hands joined and comfortable
silence stretching between them. Arabella’s skin still tingled
from the aftermath of Drew’s attentions, her nipples tight
and heat lingering between her legs. How she longed for the
day they no longer needed to run o and hide to be together,
when Drew would come home to her at the end of each day.
She squeezed his hand with a happy sigh, and he glanced
down at her, mouth cocking in a half-smile as if he shared
her thoughts.
The crunch and rustle of underbrush drew Arabella’s
attention to the man heading toward them from the
direction of the house. His strides were long, his face
pinched into a mask of worry as he came into view, then
seemingly relieved at the sight of them.
William Throckmorton shared a father with Drew, though
his mother had been the lady of the house while Drew’s had
been a mulatto slave. Despite this, they were uncannily
similar in appearance. The hazel eyes rich with golden
prisms and tiny flecks of green. The strong features giving
them the same prominent cheekbones and sharp jaw. The
width of their mouths was similar, though Drew’s lips were
decidedly fuller. Even their voices were alike, deep and a bit
gravelly, though William’s refined accent and succinct
manner of speech proved just one other thing marking the
di erences between him and Drew.
“There you are,” Will said, shoulders sagging. “Bella, I
was just visiting with your father and brother and overheard
a servant mention that no one had seen you since breakfast. I
thought I’d come warn you that someone will come looking
if you don’t return soon.”
Bella o ered him a smile, feeling no shame that he’d
nearly caught them in a compromising position. The
Throckmorton brothers had been friends to her since
childhood, her father’s lands bordering their father’s
plantation. While she had been raised in luxurious
surroundings and catered to in the same manner as William,
Arabella had always been closer to Drew. Both born of slave
women and the men who had taken them as mistresses, they
shouldered a common burden. Set free due to the
consciences of their fathers and o ered lives far better than
others with their brown skin and African features, they
might be considered fortunate, privileged even. Particularly
Arabella, who had been moved into her father’s grand
mansion following the death of his lawful wife. No lady of
the house had been there to stop him from bringing his black
mistress and mulatto bastard into his home, or to protest
Arabella being taught to read and write by one of the best
tutors on the island, as well as being instructed in ladylike
comportment, various ballroom dances, art, literature,
French, and Latin.
Drew was the only person she knew who understood what
it was like to not be wholly English or wholly African, and
have no defined place in the world. They had felt it as
children, even if they hadn’t understood it as they did now.
Though William treated Drew as a beloved brother and
Arabella like a little lady, the clear di erences between them
had become clearer with time. She and Drew clung to one
another, united in the di erences setting them apart from
most of the island’s inhabitants, who stood clearly to one
side of an invisible line bisecting two very di erent worlds.
 Drew knew what it was like to live in Arabella’s skin, to
see the world through her eyes. Even while the two of them
had grown closer, the nature of their relationship changing
from friendly to romantic, William had always been there—a
brother to Drew and a dear friend to Arabella.
“Thank you, Will. If anyone asks—”
“I found you out for a walk on the beach by yourself, and
o ered to escort you back to the house,” Will replied,
flashing her a soft smile. “Worry not, Bella. If you are ever
caught, it will not be because of me.”
“A man couldn’t ask for a better brother,” Drew said,
releasing her hand to clap Will on the shoulder. “How are
you, Will? I haven’t seen you in a while.”
Will fell in step with them as they continued along the
rough path through the trees. “Estate a airs have kept me
busy. Father left for England a fortnight ago and we don’t
expect him back for several months.”
Drew’s mouth tightened at the corners, and their trio
lapsed into an awkward silence. Will’s involvement with the
plantation he would someday inherit was almost never
discussed between them, as the lands he stood to gain would
come with hundreds of slaves—people who very much
resembled Drew and Bella, their mothers, the families they
had been separated from by their elevation in status.
Clearing his throat, Will smiled again, only this time it
didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Anyway, I am actually free this
evening. Care to join me at the Bull’s Head for dinner and
drinks?”
Drew squeezed his brother’s shoulder and gave him a
little jostle. “I’d love to. If you see Bella home, I’ll meet you
there in … say, two hours?”
“That will do.”
“Am I not to be invited?” Bella quipped. She giggled at
the outraged expressions on both their faces. The Bull’s
Head was a male domain, and the only women who ever set
foot inside were barmaids and lightskirts.
Will uttered a foul oath under his breath, and Drew
narrowed his eyes at her.
“Do you want to start a riot? Because that’s what will
happen if any of the men in that place so much as look at you
askance—which they are certain to do.”
“Out of the question,” Will agreed.
With another laugh, she wriggled her way between the
two men and looped her arms around their waists. “Oh, but I
should be perfectly safe with two big, strong men there to
protect me, shan’t I? Or … I’ve got it! I could dress in
breeches and pose as a man for the night. With a little
binding and the right waistcoat—”
“Bella,” Drew growled.
Will’s neck flushed scarlet as he gave her a sidelong
glance, his eyes dipping toward her bodice. “I think we can
all agree that no waistcoat is going to conceal … those. You
do love courting trouble, Bella.”
Tickling Will’s ribs and producing a grunted laugh, she
then turned and pressed her lips against Drew’s shoulder.
“I’m only joking. Calm down, both of you. Though, I do
find it endearing that you’re both so protective. My knights
in shining armor.”
“Always,” Drew replied.
The massive structure of the Abbot family home showed
through the palms in the distance, so she released her hold
on the two men. They paused, Drew turning to face them
both.
“I’ll part ways with you here. Will, I’ll see you shortly.
Bella …”
He took hold of her hands and pulled her into him for one
last kiss. She went up on tiptoe to meet Drew, something
within her rebelling at the idea of being parted from him.
Who knew when they might see one another again? Will
remained silent as they whispered their farewells.
“I love you,” Drew murmured, smoothing one of her
loose, corkscrew curls through his fingers. “My Bella.”
“And I, you.”
Then, Drew was gone, disappearing toward where he’d
tethered his horse.
Will o ered his arm with a grim expression. “Shall we?”
They continued toward the house, Will keeping his gaze
riveted to their surroundings while Arabella studied her
friend with a furrowed brow. His forearm was tense beneath
her hand, jaw wound tight and worry lines bracketing his
mouth.
“Is everything all right, Will?”
His expression softened as he cut his gaze at her, and he
patted her hand. “Of course. I just … I do not wish to upset
you.”
“It will upset me for you to keep secrets. Would you have
me worry about you?”
“It is I who worries … for you and Drew.”
She came up short, forcing him to halt and face her.
“What do you mean?”
He braced his hands on his hips and issued a sigh. The
waning sun glinted o his dark brown hair with an orange
glow, the long strands caught back by ribbon.
“You brother told me Drew called on Mr. Abbot yesterday
afternoon.”
“He did,” Arabella said cautiously, uncertain why Will
had broached this subject. “He spoke with father about a
potential marriage between us.”
“And was rejected, yet again.”
Arabella shrugged, though disappointment roiled through
her at the reminder. “Father is simply being protective. Once
he’s been made to see that Drew is more than capable of
taking care of me—”
“Bella, you cannot be so naïve. I’m sorry, I do not wish to
be harsh, but surely you understand Mr. Abbot has plans for
your future.”
She scowled. “What sort of plans could he possibly have
for me? He has his legitimate daughter through which he can
gain more power, prestige, and money.”
Reaching up to stroke her cheek, he gave her a true smile
this time. “You sell yourself short, my dear. You are a lady in
every way, and beautiful as well. Mr. Abbot can see this and
will seek to make the most advantageous marriage possible. I
love my brother, and I know how the two of you feel about
each other. I certainly cannot tell you not to love him, or tell
him not to do everything he can to secure a match. I just … I
don’t want to see either of you hurt if your father has his
way in the end.”
Arabella returned Will’s smile, taking his hand and giving
it a squeeze. “You are a good friend, and I do understand
your concern. But I won’t be forced into an unwanted
marriage. Drew will not give up until father sees things our
way, or I become old enough to wed without his permission.
Either way, we be together. I have faith in us.”
“Your unending optimism is one of the things I love most
about you, Bella. Forgive me, I meant no harm.”
“I know you didn’t. Of the three of us, you’ve always been
the most reasonable and pragmatic. We need that balance
sometimes. Thank you.”
She went on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. He clutched her arms
and bent his head to accept the chaste peck.
“Anything for you, Bella,” he murmured.
Will then tucked her hand back in the crook of his arm,
expression placid as he led her across the lawn toward the
home she had grown up in. With a resigned sigh, she
prepared herself to step back into a role she loathed, a place
she’d never quite felt she belonged in.
Just one more year, she told herself.
When measured against the rest of her life, it seemed like
a paltry amount of time. For Drew, she would wait as long as
it took.

T WO YEARS LATER …
The warm waters of the ocean washed over Arabella as
she knelt on the shore, shaking like a leaf in the wind. She
was chilled to the bone, as if her heart had turned into a ball
of ice pumping arctic waters through her veins. She hardly
registered the height of the tide as it swept over her. The
gentle waves that had lapped at her skirts that afternoon
now crashed high enough to splash her bodice, sending tiny
crystalline droplets through the air and scattering over her
neck and face. She wished the waters would rise high and
strong enough to drag her into the depths of the cruel sea.
Had it only been two years since she’d stood here with
Drew, whispering her hopes and dreams for the future—a
future in which he would be her husband the father of her
children?
This morning, the moment had felt like only yesterday,
but that was before she’d received the devastating news of
his death. Arabella had only to close her eyes to remember
the last time they were together, the details burned into her
memory like an indelible brand.
“I don’t need your father’s permission or the words of a priest
for you to be mine,” he said. “In my heart, you belong to me in
every way that matters. No one can take that from us.”
“Yes, Drew. I am yours and could never belong to another. I
need no outside force to approve or make our love more real.”
 Opening his palm, Drew met her gaze while unsheathing the
stiletto he always carried in his belt. Arabella gasped when he
dragged it across his palm, but he didn’t so much as flinch as a
thin slash appeared through the skin and blood welled within.
“Now you,” he murmured, his voice low but heavy with
meaning and purpose.
She understood what he asked for without explanation, and
suddenly Arabella wanted this too badly to worry over fleeting
pain. A moment of oneness, a ritual grounding them in the
moment and to one another, was more important than the
possibility of a leftover scar.
O ering her hand, Arabella kept her gaze on Drew’s face
rather than the place where his sharp blade slid across her palm.
The brief sting faded to a dull annoyance as he pressed his palm to
hers, his fingers tight against the delicate bones of her hand.
Arabella gripped him back, trembling with the weight of the
moment as he looked deep into her eyes and spoke the words that
would bind them together for eternity.
“Blood of my blood, flesh of my flesh … I am yours and you are
mine. Only death can part us now, Bella. No matter who or what
may try to come between us, know that I will not allow it. If I can
draw breath, there is no force in this world that can keep me from
you.”
She had pressed her cut and bleeding palm against Drew’s
and repeated the words binding them together for life. It
hadn’t mattered that their little ritual could be considered
pagan and sacrilegious, that their union was no real
marriage and it meant nothing to anyone but them. Arabella
wouldn’t have cared, for that night she and Drew had been
the only two people in the world. If it was real and true to
them, what did it matter what anyone else thought?
Now, he was gone, leaving her to grapple with the loss of
her hopes and dreams. There would be nothing for her but
this yawning pit of grief and abandonment that had opened
within her. Arabella wished it would consume her,
obliterating her very existence in the same way the
treacherous sea had wiped Drew’s away.
“Oh, Drew. How can I be expected to live without you?”
Reaching into her bodice, she took hold of the wooden
talisman she kept tucked out of sight. The surface of the
circular pendant had been carved with the face of a lion in
startling detail—a luxurious mane surrounding a majestic
face, complete with a snarling mouth and sharp, pointed
teeth. Drew had made it himself, taking painstaking care
with the delicate carving tools—so di erent from the
instruments he employed when making barrels and pieces of
furniture. It didn’t matter whether a task required the brute
force of his back and shoulders, or the finesse of his slender,
dexterous fingers, Drew had worked magic and miracles with
wood. When he finished whittling the piece, she had begged
him for it—a part of Drew to always carry on her person.
“Why a lion?” she asked him when first laying eyes on the
piece.
Drew o ered her his vibrant smile, smoothing his thumb over
the mane of the carved beast. “Lions fiercely protect what they
love. They do it with pride and unflinching courage. I saw one in a
traveling menagerie at Port Royal once. I pitied the beast for the
cage it was forced to inhabit, but as he paced and prowled, I
watched him and realized … despite the iron bars, he hadn’t lost
the majesty of his bearing, nor the pride that made him hold his
head high. Then, he looked me right in the eye, as if we were the
only two creatures in the world.”
“That must have been frightening!”
“It was. But it was also … special, I suppose. I cannot describe
it. I felt as if he wanted me to know I had no need to pity him. He
was still strong, still brave, still the king of beasts. Mankind could
trap him in a cage and strip him of everything it means to be what
he was … but they couldn’t take away the fact that he was a lion.
They could never strip him of his regal dignity, or the strength
within. The moment the cage was opened, he would be free once
more … an unstoppable force of nature.”
“What a lovely sentiment. I love it even more now, knowing
what the lion symbolizes for you. I shall treasure it always.”
He had smiled and placed the talisman into her palm,
against the thin, faded scar left behind from their private
ritual. From that day on, Arabella was never without the
wooden disk.
Every morning, she tucked it into the space between her
shift and her skin, the tight cinch of her stays keeping it
pressed against her sternum. With every breath, Arabella
could feel it, and with every beat of her heart she was
reminded that she belonged to Drew, body and soul.
Only now, she belonged to a dead man, a ghost. Arabella
would never hear the deep, rumbling tones of his voice, feel
the touch of his callused hands or the tight bands of his
strong arms around her. She would never become his wife or
bear his children.
Closing her fist around the talisman, she gritted her teeth
around a sob, the sound akin to that of some wounded
animal. How fitting, for that was how she felt—like a felled
beast torn open from gullet to groin and left drowning in
agony and blood.
A warm, firm hand fell on her shoulder, and the stroke of
a thumb along the back of her neck had her going sti .
Swiveling on the man who had intruded upon her solitude,
Arabella parted her lips to give him what for. But, when her
gaze collided with a familiar one, the fight went out of her.
She came swiftly to her feet but then stumbled, and William
caught her up.
“Will,” she mewled into his coat, shoulders shaking as
sobs overtook her again. “Please tell me it isn’t true … tell
me he isn’t dead?”
 His hand touched her back, rubbing in a slow, circular
motion meant to soothe. All it did was remind her that she’d
never again feel the touch she most craved.
“I am so sorry, Bella, but it’s true. He is gone.”
Her knees gave out, the weight of her soaked skirts
dragging them both to the sand. Will went down on one
knee, keeping a tight hold on her as she wept into his
shirtfront. She squeezed her eyes shut to keep from looking
at him, for he resembled Drew far too much.
He had been such a faithful friend, sticking close by her
side after the fateful night Drew had been taken from them
and pressed into naval service. Will blamed himself for not
being there to protect his younger brother, but Arabella had
done her best to assuage that guilt. It was no one’s fault that
England’s Royal Navy allowed impressment of unwilling
men into service.
They had begun to lean on one another, hoping and
praying that Drew would eventually be allowed to return to
Falmouth. Only, it would seem their prayers had been all for
naught. There would be no homecoming or a reunion with
the man who was so dear to them both.
The HMS Hannibal—the ship upon which Drew had served
these past two years—had been lost as sea with all hands.
Not a single body had been retrieved from the watery depths.
“The hour grows late,” Will murmured. “Let me see you
home before you catch a chill.”
The soft breeze of the early evening had begun to
quicken, the air cooling as the sun disappeared on the
horizon. Still, Arabella couldn’t bring herself to move.
“Leave me alone. Let me die here by the sea, near him.”
It didn’t matter that Drew’s ship had gone down half a
world away. All the oceans met somewhere.
And so my soul shall find yours, Drew, she thought.
Somewhere over the water, we shall meet again.
 “Is that what you want?” Will admonished, fishing a
handkerchief from up his sleeve and using it to dry her
cheeks. “Will you further drive the dagger into my heart by
allowing yourself to die? Will you leave me alone in the world
without my brother, and without the dearest friend I have
left?”
Staring into his eyes, Arabella felt like the most selfish
creature in the world. William’s mother had only been able
to bear one son, and his father’s mistress gave him the only
sibling he possessed. It hadn’t mattered to him where Drew
came from, or how his presence in Falmouth enraged his
mother to no end. He was, perhaps, the only person in the
world who could claim to love Drew as much as Arabella.
They had both su ered a devastating loss this day.
“Forgive me,” she replied, allowing him to help her to her
feet. “I cannot imagine how this must hurt you, Will.”
The ocean sucked at their feet, dousing shoes and
stockings. Will kept a tight hold on her, not allowing the tide
to drag her out to sea by her sodden skirts.
“We have only each other now. We must carry on, and we
must have hope.”
She closed her eyes against another onslaught of tears.
“When he was taken by that press-gang and forced into
service, you told me to have hope. When we received the rare
letter from him about the harsh conditions and horrid
treatment by his o cers, you told me to pray for him and
not allow my hope to die. He would come home someday,
you said. Your father would find a way, or his ship would
eventually make its way back. I had hope then, but no more,
Will, none at all. How can I when Drew … he is …”
She choked on the word, unable to say it aloud. It was
di cult enough to think it.
“We must carry on,” William insisted, giving her a little
shake. “It is what he would have wanted … for us to find
comfort in each other and live. How much do you think it
would hurt him to know you were willing to throw your life
away, to lay down and die?”
Drew cannot feel anything, she wanted to argue. He is dead.
But he had a point. Drew had loved them both. He would
never want them to spend the rest of their lives bemoaning
his loss. Of course, she couldn’t even think of moving on
now, with the news of his death still so fresh. But, in time,
perhaps Arabella would find the courage to do it. Her mother
had been a woman of great strength, enduring the hardships
and complexities of a life such as hers with grace and
dignity. She had taught Arabella how to navigate a
complicated world that didn’t seem to have a true place for
her, and to do it with her head held high. Leonora Baines was
gone now, but she had given Arabella everything she needed
to carry on without her.
“You’re right,” she said, laying a hand over Will’s, which
rested on her cheek. “We will get through this together,
won’t we?”
He gave her a smile, but his lips trembled as if he did his
best not to cry. He remained strong for her, one hand tight at
her waist, the other soft and gentle at her jaw.
“Yes,” he whispered. “Together. I do love you, Arabella.
And now you are all I have left in the world.”
“Thank you for coming here to find me, and for being
here. I … I am so grateful for you.”
She hugged him tight, taking comfort in his nearness and
warmth, and the crisp smell of his starched linen mingling
with that of bay rum. It wasn’t the distinct cedarwood,
bergamot, and clove that always clung to Drew, but it
brought her succor all the same.
“You’ll never have to be alone, Bella,” he whispered
against the crown of her head. “I’m here … I’m not going
anywhere.”
CHAPTER ONE
1794, 3 YEARS LATER …

T he glittering Caribbean Sea stretched out like a flat jewel

before the black-hulled, three-masted schooner sailing
toward the verdant mass of Jamaica in the distance. The day
had dawned bright and clear with friendly waters, a boon for
those aboard the vessel. After twenty-five long days at sea,
the crew of The Sea Lion had finally arrived to the port of
Falmouth. A fortuitous storm had overtaken them
somewhere in the South Atlantic, propelling them far swifter
than their top speed of eleven knots and allowing them to
arrive a few days early. This was especially good for the
captain, who stood in a wide-legged stance on the forecastle
deck, one hand braced on the thick foremast as he watched
the island that had once been his home draw closer.
On the deck below him, his quartermaster, Rory Walsh,
shouted commands to the crew, sending them fore and aft in
a flurry of pulled riggings and snapping sails. Above the
white canvas fluttered the colors of The Sea Lion, proud and
in full view of anyone who might note their approach. The
captain had no need to try to pass his ship o as belonging
to the Royal Navy and hadn’t flown British, French, or
Spanish colors from his masts in over a year. Instead, black
flags undulated in the wind with the snarling lion’s head
stitched onto them with golden thread.
One of the most notorious pirate vessels traversing the
Caribbean Sea, the Atlantic, as well as the Indian Ocean, The
Sea Lion was well-known by the naval forces who had spent
decades renewing their vendetta against pirates. Her captain
had evaded them for years, choosing to either capture or
outright obliterate their ships as opposed to cutting and
running, thumbing his nose at the admirals who dared hunt
him, and pilfering any merchant or slaver who crossed his
path. Ruthlessness had earned him a reputation as a man to
be feared, and he wore it like the proudest of mantles. They
referred to him as The Black Lion, his appearance and
ferocity lending itself well to the moniker.
His eyes narrowed against the bright morning sun as his
gaze fixed on the land of his birth, turmoil erupting within
him like a rumbling volcano. A sense of rightness and
coming home ought to have washed over him at the sight of
those lush mountains and the flowering landscape, yet he
felt nothing of the sort. There was only anger and
determination, the driving forces of his life for the past five
years. They had been his bedmates, his closest companions,
his reasons for living. He had miraculously evaded death
more times than he could count, as if something within him
would not surrender to death until he’d earned his revenge.
“We’re makin’ good time, Cap’n,” said Rory as he
stepped onto the forecastle, the musical lilt of an Irish
brogue thick in his voice. “We’ll be droppin’ anchor within
the hour. The jolly boats are ready to row ashore.”
The captain nodded without taking his eyes o the land
mass beckoning to him, promising the retribution he craved.
In a few days, a wedding was to take place at St. Peter’s
Anglican Church, the new limestone structure plotted and
erected during his absence. His scouts had brought news of
the nuptials taking place between the two people he had once
loved most in the world. The two people who had betrayed
him.
He pressed a hand against his chest, fingers encountering
the tattoo etched across the muscles through the opening of
his shirt. The prick of a needle and leak of ink into his skin
hadn’t hurt half as much as realizing that home would never
truly feel like home ever again, or that he’d placed his trust
in people who could so cruelly abandon him to his fate.
Unfortunately for them—but luckily for him—fate had led to
him right back to Falmouth. He returned stronger, wiser, and
wealthier than a king thanks to years of plunder. He had
reached the height of glory for a sailor of low birth,
commanding a small fleet of ships docked on the shores of
an island where he ruled over his own small realm like a
sultan. He had amassed riches, destroyed his enemies, and
created a name for himself as one of the most feared pirates
in the West Indies and along the Barbary Coast.
There remained only one thing left, and today he would
finally have it. Opening his hand, he stared at the thin white
scar marring his palm. It represented his past, the young and
gullible boy who had died aboard the HMS Hannibal. A new
man stood in his place, older and wiser and determined to
never be played for a fool again. Curling his fingers inward,
he made a fist, trembling with the force of his need to
obliterate the mark from his body, to erase that last part of
him that still longed for things that had fallen out of his
reach.
“Very good, Mr. Walsh,” he replied, sparing a glance for
his quartermaster. “You’ll remain aboard with half the crew
as planned, and rendezvous with me in Ocho Rios.”
The Irishman grinned as the wind tousled his copper-red
curls, a pair of bright blue eyes dancing with good humor.
The two of them had served aboard the HMS Hannibal before
a mutiny changed their fates and fortunes. Rory had su ered
beneath the reign of a cruel captain just as he had, yet
somehow found it within himself to smile and laugh and
make a grand joke of just about everything. It never ceased
to ba e the captain, who felt as if the capacity for
merriment and joy had been stomped out of him years ago.
When the captain neglected to return his grin, Rory
sighed, turning his gaze back to the horizon and their
waiting prey. “Are ye certain ye wish to go through with
this?”
 He glared at the quartermaster, fingernails digging into
his scarred palm. “And just why wouldn’t I?”
“It’s a suicide mission, for one. And for two, I doubt it’ll
make ye feel any better.”
The captain grinned, though the expression could more
readily be called a grimace, the baring of his teeth feral and
fierce. “Oh, there you would be wrong, my friend. It will
make me exceedingly happy to see them pay. And do not
speak to me of danger when you are the first to vote in favor
of pursuing even the most daunting of prizes. Have you
forgotten how we fleeced that flotilla of Spanish trading
vessels last spring? Just whose suggestion was that?”
Rory threw his head back and laughed at the memory. “A
bracing good time that was, and worth starin’ death in the
face for the booty it earned us.”
“Precisely.”
The Irishman frowned. “Won’t be any such riches on this
mission, Cap’n. Not for the rest of us, anyway.”
Yet, the crew had unanimously voted to aid the captain in
meting out punishment to those responsible for him being
torn away from his home and hurled into a dark and cruel
world. It was a testament to how much his men respected
him that they would join his quest, knowing they would
endanger their lives with nothing to show for it in the end.
Except, perhaps, for the satisfaction of a captain who had
freed many of them from di erent forms of captivity. It was
because he had liberated them and treated them as equals
that they would have followed him into Hell.
“I’ll make it worth their while, and yours, Mr. Walsh.”
A rough hand clapped his shoulder before Rory turned to
descend from the forecastle. “We’re with ye, Cap’n, till the
bitter end.”
The captain remained silent as Rory went back to
bellowing his orders, preparing the crew to drop anchor.
 It was time.

A RABELLA STARED through the parted drapes of her bedroom

window, heedless to the fussy hands of the women preparing
her for her wedding day. Below, a carriage pulled into the
circular drive, the four matched bays hitched and ready to
carry her to St. Peter’s for the ceremony. Busy fingers
plucked at her voluminous skirts, pu ng and gathering
them to create the a la polonaise e ect with the robe a
l’anglaise in pale pink silk she wore over a decadent, frilled
petticoat of brilliant white. White lace flowed from the
elbow-length sleeves hugging her arms, while the square
neckline dipped far lower than any bodice she had ever worn.
A towering white wig adorned with matching pink
ribbons sat atop her head, hiding the cinnamon-hued curls
constricted by a cap beneath it. Fat spirals draped one
shoulder, a constant irritation against her exposed skin.
Closing her eyes, she pressed a hand beneath her bosom,
feeling for the talisman that was always on her person unless
she was in the bath. Otherwise, it fit into her stays, or lay
beneath her pillow as she slept—a constant reminder of the
young girl she’d once been, so full of hope and dreams. That
girl had died following Drew’s loss at sea, and in her place
stood a pragmatic, hopeless woman—one who had learned
that dreams which didn’t come true eventually perished, and
all a person could do as a result was make the best of things.
So, here she stood ready to take a man who was not Drew
as her husband. A good and kind man who had seen her
through one of the most di cult times of her life, but still
not the one she might have chosen in other circumstances.
You must not think of Drew today … today belongs to William.
She opened her eyes and sighed, angry with herself over
such traitorous thoughts. William deserved more than a
woman who could never love him as much as he seemed to
love her.
Arabella’s thoughts were disrupted as she was turned
toward the mirror to confront her reflection, the two slave
women standing back with hands folded before them.
Another bride might have grinned at such a pretty picture—
the way the soft pink dress complemented her honey-gold
skin, or the enhancement of rouge staining her cheeks and
lips, or the accompaniment of pure white pearls clasped
around her throat and on her earlobes. But Arabella could
only take stock of the di erences between herself and the
women standing behind her—both in the clean, starched
uniform of house slaves, with only a small di erence in their
skin hues separating her from them. That, and the fact she’d
been conceived by the man who owned this house and the
acres upon acres of cane fields beyond her windows.
Beyond the immaculate house grounds, hundreds of
slaves toiled, their backs broken out in a sweat, their feet
weary and aching, their fingers raw.
The identity of her father was what made Arabella free
while these others remained bound in captivity. Such a
seemingly small thing, but it created a wide gulf between
herself and them. That did not make her any closer or more
acceptable to her half-siblings, who never let her forget that
she was merely tolerated because of Archibald Abbot’s
benevolence. Were he to die today, they would cast her out
without a second thought, leaving her to find her own way in
the world.
Is this what my life is to be now; wed to Will for fear I may not
be safe otherwise?
Despite having been a slave herself, Arabella’s mother
had commanded quite a bit of influence over her father.
Their dynamic never ceased to ba e her. Archibald was lord
and master of everyone and everything within the acreage of
Greenhill, including the woman he’d taken as a mistress.
Yet, with some combination of the wiles of her body and the
cunning of her mind, Leonora had managed to make the
lives of those around her a bit easier.
No, she could not strike the chains of bondage o them.
But she could advocate for the slaves of Greenhill—keeping
children from being sold away from their mothers and
staying the hands of cruel overseers. She had ensured
Arabella would never want for anything. Arabella been
granted her freedom, as well as a small inheritance upon
Leonora’s death, which included the gown and the pearls she
wore for a wedding ensemble. Throughout girlhood, Arabella
had been tutored and molded into a lady just like her half-
sister, sheltered from much of the cruelty of the world.
Arabella did not know how to feel about such
circumstances. Should she be grateful that her mother had
worked until her dying breath to ensure she would never
want for anything? Or should she resent her place when
others would never have such chances?
She had few choices in life, despite her freedom and
education. A mulatto woman was little better than a black
one in the eyes of those inhabiting the island. If not for the
fact that William wanted to marry her, she’d face dire
prospects, such as becoming some man’s mistress. She
might find work, but being unprotected in the world would
put her at risk for all manner of horrible fates.
Better she marry Will, her dear friend since childhood. His
plantation bordered Greenhill. As mistress of such a place,
she would be in a position to do more than even her mother
had done. As the lady of a fine house, she would command
influence and because William loved her, he would heed her
suggestions. She would be the wife of a planter, not the
possession of one. It wasn’t the life she had wanted, but it
was the best she could have now that Drew was gone.
 “Thank you. Tell Papa I’ll be down in a moment.”
The women made a silent retreat, leaving Arabella alone
with the coming onslaught of tears. She had told herself not
to think of Drew, but that was di cult given she was
marrying his brother today. To the outside world, it appeared
as if she had finally recovered from the loss of the boy she
once loved.
After a year of shunning close contact with anyone but
Will, Arabella had begun trying to find some semblance of a
normal life. She took walks and read books; she painted and
visited what few friends she had on the island. She attended
church with her father and half-siblings every Sunday, and
went along for dinners at other fine homes, her father taking
up various invitations as an excuse to talk island politics over
grand meals.
William had been instrumental in helping her move on,
first serving as a faithful friend upon whose shoulder she
could cry, then evolving into a doting suitor. Arabella wasn’t
certain when it had happened, but one day his attentions
began to lean toward the romantic. He visited her with
flowers and gifts, and went out of his way to show her
a ection. She had resisted at first, her heart still broken and
her nerves entirely too raw to abide the touch of someone
else.
It had taken three years of persistence on Will’s part, but
he had been so patient with her, so understanding.
“I love you, Bella. I have for a long time, but … well, I suppose
you will think me terrible for being jealous of Drew. The three of
us grew up together, and as we grew older, I noticed just as he did
how beautiful you had become. I couldn’t blame you for choosing
him; the two of you were well suited. But I could be good to you. I
would treat you well and take care of you. It might feel too soon
now, but when you are ready to consider your future I hope you’ll
think about what I’ve said.”
 He cupped her cheek to lean in for a kiss, and she allowed it.
Arabella had been so lonely, and life without Drew was a dim and
dismal hell. She missed passion and laughter. She missed feeling
treasured and having someone to call her own. She missed Drew,
but the sea had taken him and he was never coming back. Would
she die alone mourning a dead man, or would she be brave
enough to consider what William was o ering?
The kiss began sweetly, with soft touches of Will’s lips and the
gentle caress of his fingers along her cheeks. However, it swiftly
become too much for her to bear, Will snatching her against him
with a desperate groan and dipping his tongue into her mouth,
consuming her. There wasn’t anything wrong with the kiss, and
she certainly wasn’t some shrinking violet. But it only reminded
her how much she missed Drew’s touch and the way he had kissed
her, like some marauding conqueror taking what he wanted. She
had always reveled in how those kisses made her feel—weak and
utterly possessed.
Arabella pulled away from Will with a gasp. “I’m sorry. It isn’t
you, I just …”
Will’s chest heaved, his mouth reddened and his cheeks flushed
with ardor. “It’s all right, Bella. I understand. I only … Christ, I’ve
wanted you for so long. I have been just as lonely as you without
Drew, and I … please forgive me.”
“It’s all right. I think if you are willing to be patient with me, I
could come to return your feelings. You are so dear to me.”
He kissed her once more, but slowly this time, and with such
gentleness that Arabella nearly wept. “I will give you all the time
you need.”
And so he had. For years Will had waited, even making it
clear he did not care about the intimacies she had allowed
Drew. She was coming into her marriage a virgin, but by no
means chaste. She and Drew had crept o to be together
more times than she could count, and he had taught her a
woman’s pleasure.
 None of it mattered to Will. He loved her, he wanted her,
and Arabella had no reason to refuse him.
Taking a deep breath and retrieving the handkerchief
from up her sleeve, she dabbed beneath her eyes, careful not
to smudge her kohl or rouge. Today was not a day for tears;
it was a day for joy. She was marrying her dearest friend in
the world. There would be no need to worry over her future,
or what might become of her when her father died. Archibald
seemed as hale as ever, but nothing was guaranteed. Her
mother had seemed perfectly healthy, but that had changed
in what felt like a blink of an eye.
Arabella would take no chances. A new future lay before
her, and she would step gracefully into it and be grateful to
have any such options at all.
Taking one last look in the mirror, she then made her way
from the room. One gloved hand gripping the balustrade, she
descended as gracefully as she could manage, her body
suddenly overtaken by shudders. Through the large doors
thrown open to the front steps and circular drive, she could
see the waiting carriages—one for herself and her father,
another for her half-siblings.
“Ah, there you are, poppet,” said her father, turning to
her with a bright smile. “We are ready and waiting, at your
leisure.”
Arabella took his hand and allowed him to help her o the
bottom step. Glancing up at Archibald Abbot, she
experienced the usual tumult of confused feelings he
inspired in her. The man had sired her, provided for her and
her mother, and had doted on her from birth. But one
glimpse at the fields stretching beyond the house grounds
reminded her of the duality of his nature. He was a wealthy
planter, one who traded in sugar cane harvested by the sweat
of black brows and the bloodied fingers of people who looked
like Arabella and her mother. People who had been torn from
their homeland and forced to labor on pain of torment or
death. They weren’t people to him, but commodities, just
like the precious crop that had made him so exceedingly rich.
What, then, did he see when he looked at her?
As he nestled her hand in the crook of his elbow, he
seemed to see his daughter, his own blood. But she often
wondered that if she were someone else—some nameless
mulatto sired by another man—would he see her with such
eyes? Would he treat her as he did the countless people who
worked as his house slaves?
Shaking o those thoughts, she allowed him to lead her
down the front steps to their waiting equipage. There was no
use mulling over these questions on such a day. These were
the realities of the world she had been born into, and
Arabella had no power to change it in any substantial way.
She could only play the cards that had been dealt her.
A pale face appeared from behind the parted curtains of
the second carriage—white powder adding a ghostly quality
to her half-sister’s visage, a black beauty patch a startling
stain near her chin.
“Is her highness finally ready?” Eugenia whined. “Thank
God, I thought I would just die from the heat.”
“Oh, do cease your squalling, Eugenia,” came a mu ed
male voice from inside the carriage. “We’ve barely been in
here five minutes.”
Eugenia retreated, and Milton appeared, looking somber
and older than his years in a powdered white wig tied back in
a queue. He wore just as much face powder and rouge as
their sister. “But, we should hurry, else the poor man will
think Bella has changed her mind.”
“God forbid,” Eugenia said with a little sni . “Because,
who else would have her?”
Arabella raised her chin and allowed her father to help her
into the carriage, pretending not to have heard as Eugenia
received a sharp scolding. She wished her father would not
go to so much trouble to defend her, when it only made
Eugenia despise her more. While Milton couldn’t care less
that his father had taken a black mistress—as so many
planters were wont to do—Eugenia knew how it had enraged
Mrs. Abbot, and had taken up the mantle of the dead
woman’s hatred.
“Pay her no mind, poppet,” her father urged as the
carriage door was closed. “Eugenia can rarely tolerate
another girl being the center of attention, especially when
that girl is you.”
“Then I am sure she’ll be glad to be rid of me,” she
murmured, turning to gaze out the window. “With me out of
the way, she’ll be the one true lady of the house.”
Archibald snorted a laugh, slouching on the squabs of the
rocking conveyance. “I must confess that the thought of
seeing you leave Greenhill saddens me, poppet. I knew this
day would come, though I must say I am pleased in your
choice of groom. Throckmorton is a fine catch, and he will
take good care of you. Your mother would be pleased.”
Would she? Arabella wanted to ask. But she remained
silent, leaning forward to better see through the window.
Dark skin stretched over the muscular backs of bare-chested
male slaves, their sinewy arms working with the strength
and skill needed to harvest the cane. Clusters of women
worked to tie the stalks into bundles for transport, while the
elderly and children pulled weeds and chased rats away from
the valuable crop. Dark eyes peered at the carriage, some
heavy with curiosity and others with outright disdain. She
frowned, shaking her head as she realized her father had
been speaking to her and she hadn’t heard a word of it.
“I’m sorry, Papa. You were saying?”
Instead of taking up where he’d left o , Archibald looked
to the window, taking in the passing scenery with a furrowed
brow.
“I am certain you’ve heard the talk of dissent among the
slaves.”
Arabella blinked, uncertain why he would broach such a
subject with her, and on today of all days. She had heard
whispers, of course, but only the little that people would
allow a woman to overhear. Even if she was not treated like
the delicate Eugenia, people still remembered whose
daughter she was before speaking of such matters.
“A bit,” she hedged.
His gaze grew pensive as he continued watching Greenhill
roll past them, the iron gates looming ahead. “I don’t want
you to be afraid, for it is only talk. The slaves know what’s
good for them, and an uprising will only result in blood and
death. They saw that much at the end of the Second Maroon
War.”
Arabella bit her tongue, when what she really wanted was
to remind her father that the liberated slaves known as the
Maroons hadn’t been defeated; they’d been tricked into
laying down their arms and then captured. For decades
before the Final Maroon War, they had freed themselves
before hiding in the mountains and fending o anyone who
encroached upon their territory.
The slaves currently toiling at Greenhill and Jamaica’s
other plantations outnumbered their masters by the
hundreds. While past slave uprisings had been unsuccessful,
the volatility of the situation in Jamaica couldn’t be ignored
forever. Someday, something would happen and there would
be blood. Arabella wasn’t certain her father was right to
assume the slaves would be so easily put down.
However, like the good daughter she was, she kept her
mouth closed. Another thing her mother had taught her was
maintaining the outward appearance of gentle obedience.
Some arguments were better not had at all, and some fights
must be won using the mind. Speaking her thoughts on this
would only cause her father to grow cross with her hours
before her wedding. It would free no one, help no one. It
would not be worth it.
“I am not afraid,” she simply said.
“Good,” her father said with a little nod, though as they
passed through the gates of Greenhill, the worry on his
expression did not ease. “Well, let’s not speak of such things
just now. After all, today is a happy day. You are getting
married, poppet.”
She forced a smile, though she could not conjure the joy
she ought to feel. In truth, she was not happy and didn’t
think she would be ever again. This day did not feel like one
for celebration. It felt like a day of mourning.
“Yes,” she whispered, willing herself to feel something
other than despair. “I am getting married.”
 CHAPTER TWO

A rabella’s hands shook as she walked down the aisle of

St. Peter’s Anglican Church. With the eyes of the guests
fixed on her, she approached the altar. Her fingers tightened
around the tropical array of native island flowers making up
her bouquet. The sun beamed through large stained-glass
windows, casting rainbow prisms of light against white
limestone walls. Beneath one such window depicting the
blessed virgin cradling her newborn son, stood her waiting
bridegroom.
Will looked as handsome as ever in a summer suit of
powder blue silk with a matching waistcoat, the garment
highly embellished with silver thread and gleaming buttons.
Frothy white fabric showed at his wrists and throat, and a
fresh shave accentuated the sharp line of his law and the
breadth of his mouth. His hazel eyes gleamed with flecks of
warm honey at the center, his expression one of pure
admiration as he watched her approach. An understated
white wig was tied back at his nape, the simple style
flattering his patrician features.
It made her feel better to lay eyes on him and see such a
lack of regret in his eyes. There was only love in his steady
gaze, and Arabella drew on it for succor. Unlike her, Will
came to their marriage without reservation. He had always
been the steady one, guiding her through grief and back to
life. She would continue to look to him in the days to come—
a soothing balm to her pain.
Arabella released a sigh of relief when she reached his
side without tripping or otherwise embarrassing herself. Will
accepted her hand from her father and flashed a brilliant
smile as the ceremony began. Arabella tightened her hold so
much it was a wonder his fingers didn’t break under the
strain. Will gave no indication that he noticed her viselike
hold, or her trembling as the priest began to speak, his deep
droning voice echoing from the high ceilings.
“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here together in the
sight of God …”
Arabella’s head began to swim as the weight of what she
was about to do fell onto her with crushing force. Her heart
hammered wildly in her chest, blood rushing in her ears and
drowning out all other sound. She could see the lips of the
priest moving, but heard none of his words. Will’s handsome
face swam before her, and she feared she might grow faint.
He squeezed her hand, keeping her with him, though her
mind retreated farther from the proceedings the longer they
went on.
A sudden noise from outside grabbed her attention and
she flinched. Will’s eyes widened, and he followed the path
of her gaze to the double doors leading outside. The sound
was distant, mu ed through the thick walls. The priest had
gone silent, seemingly caught o guard by the disruption as
well.
Had that been … gunshots?
After a moment passed in silence, Will cleared his throat
and turned back to the priest.
“Please go on, Father.”
The priest gave a nod. “William Albert Throckmorton III,
wilt thou have this woman to thy wedded wife, to have and
to hold …”
Arabella swallowed past the lump rising in her throat and
tried to force some movement into her heavy, useless
tongue. In a moment, it would be her turn to speak and any
hesitation on her part would shame both her and Will in
front of their guests. The last thing she wanted was to
embarrass Will after all he’d done for her.
Her groom’s voice rang out clear as a bell, breaking
through the fog of her convoluted thoughts. “I will.”
Dear God, it was her turn. Her knees weakened as the
priest turned to her.
“Arabella Katherine Baines, wilt thou have this man to
thy wedded husband, to live together after God’s ordinance
in the holy state of—”
The priest cried out when the sounds came again, far
closer and unmistakable. The crack of gunfire, this time
followed by the outcry of men’s voices. Brow furrowed,
Arabella looked to the doors, wondering what on earth could
be happening out there. It was too early in the morning for
any sort of disorderly conduct from the taverns, but such
happenings weren’t unheard of. Or, perhaps some criminal
had found himself at the mercy of Falmouth’s auxiliary
militia.
The guests murmured to one another, some sending
nervous glances to the doors as if they expected the conflict
to spill into the church.
Will’s thumb stroked her wrist, the touch soothing even
through the layers of their gloves. He turned to the priest
and squared his shoulders.
“It is nothing to trouble ourselves over. Do go on.”
The priest looked uncertain, but fumbled to pick up where
he’d left o .
“Wilt thou obey him and serve him, love, honor, and keep
him in sickness and in health; and forsaking all others—”
 Gasps rippled through the congregants as another
gunshot interrupted the priest once more. A few men leaped
to their feet, including her father, who brought one hand to
the ceremonial saber hanging at his hip.
This shot sounded far too close, almost as if it had
occurred on the front steps. A few gentlemen seemed ready
to take it upon themselves to investigate, but were brought
up short by Will’s booming voice.
“Stop!”
Arabella looked to him with a furrowed brow, fear
stroking down her spine with frigid fingers. Whatever was
happening, he seemed more annoyed that it was ruining
their wedding than afraid.
“Whatever is happening out there is none of our concern.
I’m sure the fine men of our militia have things well in hand.
Please proceed, Father.”
Arabella shook her head in disbelief. Surely, they ought to
take this more seriously. They might be in grave danger.
“Will, shouldn’t we—”
“I have waited too long for this,” he declared, his voice
low yet still sharp with command. A fierce light crept into his
eyes, reminding her so much of Drew it was uncanny. “We
are getting married this minute, and I will not allow
anything or anyone to put a stop to it. Father, if you please.”
The old priest had gone as white as a sheet and seemed
torn between following Will’s directive and fleeing for his
life. He chose the former, stuttering out the rest of his
address to Arabella.
“And f-forsaking all others, keep th-thee only unto him
as l-long as you both shall live?”
“I …”
Arabella mu ed a cry of fear as a bloodcurdling scream
rang out, penetrating the walls from outside. Her legs nearly
gave out, sweat speckling her brow and between her
shoulder blades.
“I … I …”
Will gave her a little shake, becoming more unsettled by
the second. He seemed desperate, eyes intent as he watched
her lips for the words that would commit her to him for life.
Next would be the vows, and then the sealing of a kiss. She
was nearly his.
“Say it, Bella,” he urged. “Hurry.”
She opened her mouth to try again, but no sound came
out and her tongue rebelled, paralyzed by fear. Whether fear
of what was happening outside, or terror over making their
union solid and real, Arabella could not say.
Before she could force the words out, the doors flew open,
slamming against the walls. Female screams tore through
the church, as the outraged bellows of men preceded the
slide of sabers from scabbards.
Arabella’s legs gave out, and she sank to the floor, skirts
billowing around her as she took in the group of men
storming the church. Sunlight framed them through the
open doors, casting their intimidating shadows across the
floor. They wore rough clothing, and some were quite
indecently dressed in billowing white shirts hanging open to
reveal wide swaths of chest, the absence of waistcoats or
coats marking them as rough and common. Weapons
gleamed in clenched fists, the menacing cutlasses, daggers,
and blunderbusses sending an icy stone of dread sinking into
Arabella’s gut. On first glance these men might seem like
regular cutthroats, but the longer she stared at them,
Arabella began to realize this was not the case.
Salt-stained boots and sun-weathered skin were her first
clues, then she studied each of them and discovered more
evidence of her premonition—brightly-colored scarves tied
about heads and waists, gleaming earrings puncturing ears
and some noses, the dark ink of tattoos showing on hands,
necks, chests, and even one man’s face.
Pirates.
Bile surged in her throat as Arabella swiveled her gaze to
the one standing at the forefront—he seemed to be their
leader. Swathed in a black frock coat adorned with gold trim
and buttons, he wore a tricorne with a blood-red plume, the
brim shadowing his face. She was struck by the great stature
of him, the menacing silhouette brimming with brutality and
violence.
What were these pirates doing so far inland—and more
importantly, why had they interrupted her wedding?
Will moved to stand in front of her, blocking her view of
the leader, though Arabella did see the threat of raised
weapons as the brigands started down the center aisle. A few
well-meaning gentlemen attempted to engage them, sabers
raised, but one was swiftly clubbed on the head with the butt
of a blunderbuss, while another was cut down, his shout of
rage dying o on a gurgle when a dagger swiped across his
throat. Sobs and screams swiftly died away as blunderbusses
were aimed at the crowd, urging them back to their seats in
the pews.
“What the devil are you doing here?” her father blustered.
“You dare to enter this holy place and interrupt the wedding
of my daughter? You brigands! You blackguards! You—”
Arabella clapped a hand over her mouth at the dull sound
of a fist striking flesh. She peered around Will’s leg just in
time to watch her father crumple, sword falling from his
hand. One of the pirates took him by his lapels and dragged
him to his feet.
“Quiet, you bilge rat!” rasped one of the pirates, shaking
her father by the collar.
“Easy with him, Mr. Cutting. That one comes with us.”
“Aye, Cap’n.”
 “No!” Arabella called out, scrambling to her feet as
another pirate helped the one named Cutting subdue her
father. Will kept her behind him, shielding her from the
invading pirates. Whatever could they want with her father?
“Please, no!”
“The bride and groom, too,” said the voice of the captain.
“Take them both.”
Arabella nearly swooned from the force of recognition
when the captain spoke the second time. She knew that voice
with its deep and low rasp, the accent less cultured and
refined than Will’s.
“You,” Will whispered, and it seemed to Arabella he
trembled at bit. “But how … you … you’re dead!”
“Am I?” purred the voice, booted footsteps bringing the
captain nearer. “I hate to disappoint you, brother, but I feel
very much alive.”
Arabella could see the top of his head now, the hat with
its jaunty plume appearing first, then his shadowed face.
Skin toasted to a bronze finish by the sun showed, along
with several days’ worth of beard that gleamed dark brown
with a few golden strands here and there. Long ropes of hair
that had curiously begun to clump and lock together draped
his shoulders.
Grasping Will’s shoulder, Arabella angled closer, her
heart leaping, seizing and skipping beats as she realized she
stared upon a face as familiar as the voice emitting from that
plush mouth.
It couldn’t be! But as he removed his tricorne with a
mocking bow to them both, Arabella looked past the things
marking him as a stranger—the clothing, the shadow of a
tattoo on his chest, the overgrown hair, the rough beard—
and saw the familiar. His eyes, golden and fiery like those of
a jungle cat, the planes of his face hardened by whatever had
happened to him over the past five years. Arabella knew him
as well as she knew herself, in a way she had never known
anyone else. He was here, before her, alive!
“Bella, don’t!” Will urged as she tried to come out from
behind him.
But she simply twisted her arm out of his grasp and
approached the man the other pirates had referred to as
‘captain.’ She closed her eyes and shook her head, certain
she couldn’t be seeing him clearly. On this poignant day, her
mind had conjured a specter, her heart yearning for a dead
man even as she stood ready to bind herself to another. But,
when she opened her eyes again he remained before her,
hardened and changed, but still the same boy she had loved
all her life.
Tears stung her eyes and Arabella’s entire body went
rigid, her insides erupting into turmoil as she wrestled with
what it all meant. Black spots encroached on the edges of her
vision, and her hands grew cold and clammy. Mother of God,
she was going to faint.
“Drew?” she whispered, just before her legs gave out and
she fell back into Will’s arms.
The dark spots converged, becoming one thick mass
blotting out the world, and all went silent.

T HAT SHE FAINTED TURNED out to be fortuitous, for it made

things far easier for Drew and his men. He knew Arabella as
surely as he knew himself, and had she been awake she
would have fought tooth and claw to keep from being taken.
Fortunately, her shock had worked in his favor.
Will thrashed like a madman when Drew plucked Arabella
from his arms and threw her over his shoulder. Two of
Drew’s men had converged on Will, subduing him with little
e ort and capturing his wrists in irons. While Will was tall
and broad-shouldered like Drew, he had not the strength to
match men who put their bodies to work each day laboring
aboard a ship.
As Drew turned to face the wedding guests with Arabella
balanced on his shoulder, he bowed his head in a move of
mock gallantry. “I regret to inform you that the nuptials of
Mr. Throckmorton and Miss Baines will not be taking place
—today, or ever. Good day.”
It brought him satisfaction to watch them shrink away as
he thundered down the aisle, his crew and prisoners trailing
in his wake. The people who looked upon Drew with fear did
not seem to recognize him as the boy who had apprenticed
under Falmouth’s best carpenter—not that it mattered to
him. Now he’d claimed his prize, he would leave Jamaica and
never set foot on these shores again. The colonial militia had
put up a pitiful e ort at stopping them, but Drew had been
prepared for such a reception, and they’d put the redcoats
down.
“You dare to storm this sacred place and sully it with
violence and blood?” called out the priest as he trailed them,
gesturing toward the dead man who had raised a sword to
one of his men. “Your soul shall surely su er torment in the
afterlife, you cretin.”
One of his men drew a cutlass, pointing it at the priest
with a sneer. “Let me put this son of a whore down for ye,
Cap’n. Let me take his tongue.”
Drew smirked, but shook his head to deny the request. “It
wouldn’t be sporting to cut down an unarmed man. Leave
him be. Oh, and Father?”
The priest trembled when he met Drew’s eyes, as if he
stared into the maw of the devil himself.
“I’ve already been to Hell,” he declared before turning to
continue on his way. “It spat me back out.”
A cacophony of voices rang out through the church as
they made their exit, but Drew paid them no heed. The
horses his men stole from the public stables had just arrived,
along with a wagon for transporting their prisoners.
“What is the meaning of this?” roared Archibald Abbot as
he was lifted bodily into the wagon, hands shackled behind
his back. “Andrew Reeves, I know that’s you! Your father
would be appalled at what you have become! A bloody pirate
… I never thought I’d see the day!”
“Shut him up,” Drew snapped, an order that was
promptly followed by a crewman shoving a bundle of rags
into the man’s mouth.
Lingering near the wagon as Will was shoved in next to
Arabella’s father, Drew glowered at the man who had refused
to allow him to wed her time and time again. He had also
taken part in the treachery that saw him ripped away from
Arabella and thrown into the cruel pecking order of the
British Royal Navy, which had led him right back to them as
the man they looked upon now.
“My father would have you and Will to blame for my
becoming a pirate,” he snapped, adjusting Arabella’s weight
on his shoulder. “As such, I invite you aboard my ship so I
may thank you properly.”
“God damn you, Drew, you should have never come back
here!” Will called out just as Drew had turned away to make
for his waiting mount. “You’ve ruined everything!”
Drew swiveled to face his brother, the one person he’d
once thought he could depend on no matter what. The pain
of betrayal had long since died, and he felt only cold
revulsion and hatred when he stared into eyes identical to
his.
“You should have made sure I was actually dead,” he
retorted. “Or at least had the balls to kill me yourself.
Leaving my death up to the whims of fate was a fatal
mistake, brother.”
 Will paled, his eyes as wide as dinner plates as several of
the crewmen climbed into the wagon along with him and
Archibald—whose protestations were mu ed by his gag.
Drew strode to his horse, lowering Arabella into the arms of
his bosun while he climbed astride. Then, she was hoisted
into his arms, and he laid her across his lap, cradling her
back with one arm and letting her head loll against his
shoulder as he took hold of the reins.
The moment her body met his, Drew went hard, his tense
muscles thrumming with years’ worth of need. She smelled
just like he remembered, and he found it oddly reassuring to
realize she still bathed in lilac-scented water and dabbed her
neck and wrists with rose oil. He scowled at the elaborate wig
she wore and the cosmetics staining a complexion that
needed no enhancement. The plump globes of her breasts
taunted him at her low neckline, pushed upward by the tight
cinch of her stays. Through the layers separating them, he
could feel none of her natural curves, but Drew remembered
them well, had run his hands along those supple slopes and
planes more times than he could count.
That he should lust after Arabella so strongly after she
had betrayed him annoyed Drew, and he dug his heels into
his mount with far more ferocity than he intended. As the
horse took o with the rest of his procession following on
horseback or in the wagon, he turned his mind to what
would happen next.
While they had temporarily managed to subdue
Falmouth’s militia, he had no doubt they would mount
reinforcements and begin the search for them. Once word
spread that the bandits attacking the colony had actually
been pirates—and that those pirates had come from aboard
The Sea Lion—he had no doubt the Royal Navy would become
involved, if they weren’t already. He had counted several
ships of the line in Falmouth’s port, and expected them to
give chase expeditiously. With Rory rendezvousing with him
in Ocho Rios, Drew wanted to be o this island in less than
two days. If the weather held up and rain did not slow their
progress through the thick jungle, they could manage it in a
day and a half.
Despite needing to keep his eyes sharp for redcoats, Drew
was drawn time and again to the woman in his arms. As a
boy, he’d never wanted or loved anything more than he had
Arabella Baines. While he and Will had been close, Arabella
was the only person who understood what it was like to
stand with each foot planted in two very di erent worlds and
feel torn apart by them—to be baseborn and scorned, but
elevated to a status above others like them and still not have
a place to belong.
When he was set upon by a press-gang five years ago and
whisked aboard the Hannibal, his every waking thought had
been of getting back to her. Even while he worked his fingers
to the bone, palms raw from the drag of rough ropes and his
belly quivering with hunger, Drew had thought only of
Arabella—of how worried and grieved she must have been to
discover him missing.
Drew ground his teeth as he remembered receiving word
of her courtship with Will, and the intimacy that had grown
between them in his absence, then of their upcoming
nuptials. His jaw ached, and it was a wonder he did not grind
his molars into dust as he remembered just how naive he’d
been. It had taken him months to realize his impressment
hadn’t been some whim of fate, but it never occurred to him
that Arabella might be complicit in it. Her marrying Will was
proof enough, wasn’t it? With Drew gone, the two of them
had been free to take up with one another in the same way
Arabella once had with him.
A cloak of black rage fell over him as he imagined her
sneaking away with Will to the private expanse of beach
bordering Greenhill, Arabella undressing to her shift and
letting that whoreson lay his eyes on the parts of her only
Drew had ever seen.
His hold on her tightened as he imagined them lying in
the sand, kissing and pawing at one another, Arabella
panting and moaning her pleasure. Perhaps she’d even let
Will fuck her.
The slight form in his arms began to squirm, and Arabella
came awake. Drew slackened his grip, but kept her firmly in
his lap, the sway of the horse moving beneath them a
torment. With each loping step, their bodies rubbed
together, the curve of her hip agitating his aching cock. That
she could still make him desire her to such madness was yet
another transgression she would pay for when all was said
and done.
“Drew?” she whispered.
Their closeness brought them nearly nose to nose, and
Drew could see the dilation of her dark pupils eating up the
deep brown of her irises. He could count the light freckles
across her nose, the little spots only slightly darker than her
tawny skin. He felt her breath on his cheek, swift and warm,
each exhale smelling of cinnamon tooth powder and tea.
“I don’t answer to that name anymore,” he said in gru
tones, turning away and looking out over the horizon. He
couldn’t let himself be drawn in by the false innocence in
those wide eyes, or allow the love of a young boy to derail the
vendetta of a man. “You may call me Captain, as everyone
does.”
He felt Arabella looking at him, her eyes caressing his
face and taking stock of the di erences five years had made
in him. That she had hardly changed at all while he was so
altered was a testament to all he’d endured. While she
remained on this island, pampered and catered to, he had
endured a number of horrors she could never fathom.
 Drew flinched when her soft fingers caressed his face,
raking through the coarse stubble growing along his jaw. He
caught hold of her wrist and twisted it behind her back,
thrusting her breasts up at the most enticing angle. She
gasped, peering up at him with fear in her eyes—fear that,
surprisingly, only made him want her more. It made him
want to yank up her skirts and pull her down onto his
waiting cock right there on the back of this horse.
“Don’t touch me,” he growled, his lips brushing along
her cheek toward her ear. “Unless you want me to bend you
over and fuck you within an inch of your life, you’ll keep
those pretty hands to yourself.”
That slight touch had already made a mess of his senses,
along with her scent and nearness. He needed to keep his
head on straight until the time was right. Drew had every
intention of using the body hidden beneath the layers of pink
silk and muslin—a body that now belonged to him. But first,
he would get the answers he was due and the vengeance he
thirsted for. Then, he would take her and take her until she
begged him to stop … then, he would take her some more.
“Won’t you at least tell me what’s going on?” she
whispered. “Where have you been? Where are you taking me,
and where is Will?”
“The matter of where I’ve been will be revealed in due
time,” he replied, releasing her wrist and taking up the reins
once more. “As for Will, he is in the wagon behind us along
with your father, and you’re all bound for the same
destination—my ship, The Sea Lion.”
He glanced down to find her looking at him again, her
eyes a muddle of confusion and trepidation. Was she
frightened of him now that he was a pirate, or was it guilt
over her perfidy that had her so terrified to face him?
“Do you mean to … hurt him?”
 Arabella flinched when he leaned closer, nostrils flaring
and jaw flexing as he thought of all the ways he intended to
make Will pay for what he’d done.
“Yes,” he replied without hesitation, watching her go
ashen in response to his revelation. “But, I do wonder, Bella,
why you haven’t asked the most important question of all.”
“What question is that?”
“Whether or not I intend to hurt you.”
 CHAPTER THREE

T hey arrived to their destination late into the night on the

day following Arabella’s botched nuptials. They made
the journey swiftly through the overgrown jungle ringing
Falmouth and the failed settlement of Ocho Rios, which had
been abandoned and overtaken by pirates despite the e orts
of the Royal Navy. While many places in the West Indies had
become dangerous for pirates to tread without fear of facing
the hangman’s noose, Jamaica still stood as one of the few
places the buccaneers maintained their strongholds—here in
the north, and in Port Royal to the south.
Arabella had yet to shake o the shocked daze that fell
over her when Drew had manifested before her. Once she’d
recovered from the stunning realization that he wasn’t dead
after all, her mind had been overwhelmed with questions.
Where had he been all this time? How had he escaped the
sinking of the HMS Hannibal, which was reported to have
gone down in a storm with all hands? What had led to him
becoming a pirate—no, not just a pirate, but the captain of
his own ship?
Most acute of all was her need to understand the changes
in him and the reason for his abduction of herself, her
father, and Will. Gone was the light of tender love in those
golden cat-eyes when he looked at her. In its place was
derision and anger, though she did not miss the lust that
flared hot when he dragged that unnerving gaze over the
flesh at her bodice.
However, the way he looked at her could not be compared
to the murderous intent written all over his face when he set
eyes on Will and her father. He trembled with uncontained
rage, his jaw tight and a cheek muscle ticking spasmodically,
hands curling into fists. Arabella shivered at the sight of
those hands, the knuckles notched with pale scars, the back
of the left one tattooed with a nautical star between the
thumb and forefinger. It had taken her a few peeks at those
hands to make out the letters etched onto his knuckles, four
on one hand and four on the other.
HOLD FAST.
The opening of his shirt showed her that he had also
marked his chest, though she could not make out whether
the skin would show more words or an image of some kind.
She couldn’t fathom the pain he must have gone through in
order to brand himself this way. Falmouth being full of
sailors coming and going from port, Arabella was familiar
with the practice of piercing the skin with a needle and black
ink made of gunpowder. But she’d never seen a sailor with as
many of them as Drew and his men had.
The gleaming ruby puncturing his left ear drew her eye
each time he turned his head, as did a collection of
unfamiliar scars. One marred the bow of his upper lip, while
another slashed his neck as if someone had been midway
through slitting his throat before stopping. There was
another on the back of his right hand that looked like a burn.
How many more did he hide under his clothes? How badly
had the world wounded him in the years they had been
apart?
Arabella found herself torn between the desire to press
her lips to the scars and being terrified to touch him. She had
never been afraid of Drew. But now … one look in her
direction, and Arabella was quivering from head to toe,
uncertain whether she would survive whatever he had in
store for her. This man was not her Drew; the longer she was
in his company, the better she understood that. Whatever
had happened to the man she loved, it had transformed him
in the most fundamental of ways.
Arabella was kept separate from her fiancé and her father
during the journey, even when they made brief stops to
water and feed the horses. Will and Archibald were only let
out of the wagon once and led into the jungle to relieve
themselves, before they were unceremoniously shoved back
into the vehicle. They halted for an evening meal of dried
biscuits the pirates referred to as hardtack, salted and dried
beef, and oranges plucked from the surrounding trees.
Arabella noticed one of the men hoarding great quantities of
the fruits, along with handfuls of limes he discovered—likely
to ward o scurvy once they had boarded the ship. Fresh
drinking water had been drawn from a nearby river.
She was unbearably hot, the humidity wilting her skirts
and making her undergarments stick to her skin. Her scalp
began to itch, the pins holding her wig in place chafing, but
she refused to su er the indignity of removing it in front of
these men, so she su ered in silence.
They continued at a grueling pace, until reaching one of
the rivers winding through Ocho Rios toward the ocean.
Abandoning the stolen horses, the pirates uncovered three
canoes hidden within the foliage and pushed them into the
river before taking up several oars.
Arabella’s head spun as she stared at Drew’s broad back
undulating beneath his coat while he rowed, as the
realization that he had planned this entire thing astounded
her. This wasn’t some spur-of-the-moment kidnapping. It
had been orchestrated down to the very last detail, including
a well-thought-out escape plan. She kept expecting the
auxiliary militia to appear through the underbrush, sabers
raised and rifles cracking, but the jungle remained as still
and quiet as ever—save for the chirp of bugs and gurgling of
the rivers.
As the boats glided down the wide river abreast of one
another, Arabella stole a glance at Will, who looked as if he
would be violently ill at any moment. His wig sat crooked on
his head, wisps of his brown hair hanging in his face. Sweat
stained his silk suit in places, and there was a tear in one
shoulder seam from the rough manhandling of the pirates.
As he turned to look at her with mournful eyes, his teeth
clenched around a gag that had been forced on him when he
spoke out of turn, Arabella felt conflicted. While she pitied
him, she also wondered at what had passed between him and
Drew at the church. Her gaze grew accusing the longer she
looked at him, filled with one thought: You told me he was
dead.
Will furrowed his brow and gave his head a little shake, as
if to tell her: I thought he was.
Her father was no better o . His white periwig had been
lost and his balding pate was on undignified display,
reddened from the harshness of the afternoon sun.
Archibald’s face was mottled and red as well, eyes downcast
as he stared at the shackled hands folded in his lap. Like
Will, he seemed to be a target of Drew’s anger—but why?
Arabella’s head began to ache as she tried to puzzle it all out
only to come up short.
By God, she would have answers. Drew had promised to
reveal where he’d been all this time, but that wouldn’t be
enough. He avoided speaking to her aside from ordering her
on and o his horse and o ering her food and water. But
once they boarded his ship, she would not be denied.
Arabella didn’t care how angry it made him, she would press
for the information she needed to untangle the threads and
make sense of this.
With the moon peeking out from behind thick clouds,
they left their canoes and traversed the rest of the way to the
beach on foot. As the trees grew sparser, white sand and the
dark blue sheet of the ocean appeared. On the gently rolling
waves sat a ship she assumed must belong to Drew. Its hull
had been painted black, the golden figurehead of a snarling
lion thrusting from its prow.
Under the cover of night, dozens of men came and went,
loading unmarked crates. The ocean crashed and rolled in
waves of frothy white, a match for the canvas sails
undulating in the soft push of the wind.
Holding tight to her arm, Drew steered her toward a
gangplank lowered into the stand, at the bottom of which
stood two men who greeted him with easy smiles.
The first was a towering African who stood higher than
even Drew’s impressive height, his shaved head gleaming in
the moonlight and his white teeth flashing in the dark.
“Ahoy there, Captain,” the man said in the thick accent of
his homeland, though his English was near as perfect as her
own. “It has been some time since The Black Lion has been
spotted on land.”
“You won’t be seeing me on this godforsaken lump of dirt
again, Malike, you can be sure.”
Malike threw his head back and laughed, seeming not to
care that the boisterous sound carried through the night. In
fact, none of these pirates appeared concerned with speed or
stealth, and the need for haste had dissipated once they were
free of the boundaries of Falmouth.
“We’ve almost finished loadin’ the supplies, Cap’n,”
chimed in a red-haired Irishman with a lyrical accent and a
smirking mouth. “The Sea Lion’s shipshape and ready to raise
anchor.”
 “Very good, Mr. Walsh,” Drew replied, inclining his head
toward Will and her father, who remained in irons. “See
these two to the bilge. I’ll deal with them in the morning.”
Arabella watched as Will and Archibald were prodded up
the gangplank, her fiancé’s protestations mu ed by the gag.
She didn’t know what a bilge was, but Will didn’t seem keen
to go there, so it must be a less desirable space on a ship to
occupy.
Turning to Drew with no mind for his companions, she
cleared her throat. “And just where do you plan to stow me?”
Drew’s fingers flexed around her arm, his gaze dropping
to her mouth and holding for a moment before traveling
lower and locking onto her breasts. Her belly roiled, and a
slow pulsation began between her legs. Drew’s gaze
promised both pleasure and retribution—but for what, she
couldn’t be certain. The longing to feel his lips and hands on
her again was as strong as the urge to demand he set her free
and tell her what was going on. At the moment, her desires
were winning out, five long years of starvation overtaking all
else.
“You’ll remain with me, of course. Mr. Walsh, I trust you
to tie things up here. I expect us to raise anchor in one
hour.”
“Aye, Cap’n,” the Irishman replied with a grin and wink.
When he caught Arabella’s eye, however, his expression
darkened, his smile fading. If it weren’t her imagination, he
almost looked as if he pitied her. That only made dread swell
within her as Drew directed her up the gangplank, his long,
swift strides forcing her to trot to keep up. Why did she have
the feeling that Drew did not mean for them to have a
proper, romantic reunion behind the closed doors of his
cabin? The surety in his stride and the unbreakable clench of
his grip had the heat of her earlier lust freezing over into an
icy block of terror.
 “Drew, would you please tell me what’s going on?”
He paused, swinging her around to face him so fast she
nearly lost her footing. Then, he gripped her other wrist and
hauled her against him. He didn’t let her go, the heat of his
body seeping through the layers of their clothes and making
Arabella aware of every hard inch of him. Even Drew’s work
as a carpenter had not made him this solid in his youth.
From what she could feel, there wasn’t a bit of softness left
to his torso and thighs, his arms bulging against the seams
of his coat. Hard labor aboard ships had chiseled him,
lending greater strength to the hands holding her.
She melted against him, commanded to submission in his
arms with such ease. Arabella wanted him to hold and kiss
her, to tell her they would be together again now that he’d
found her.
But she saw no such intent in his eyes, the wild, feral
glint hinting at something far more nefarious.
“I told you not to call me that,” he snapped, leaning down
until their lips almost touched. “It is ‘Captain’ to you, and
everyone else on board this ship. Do you understand?”
She shook her head slowly, brow furrowed as she tried to
make sense of this man who was now a stranger to her.
“What in God’s name happened to you? Won’t you tell me
anything? I’ve missed you so much, and I—”
He shook her until her teeth rattled, forcing her silence.
“Enough. You needn’t think your pretty, false words will
cause me to treat you any di erently, because they won’t.
Your father and your fucking fiancé are now my prisoners.
You, my little temptress, are to be a guest in my cabin. You
will do what I say when I say, and without hesitation, or
you’ll not like the consequences.”
Arabella’s mouth fell open as she grappled with the
meaning of all he had just said. He thought her a liar for
claiming to have missed him? Had he any idea how she’d
su ered for thinking him lost to her forever?
“My words are not false, Captain. I have walked about as if
half-dead since you were taken. My greatest wish has been
that you would return to me, even as I knew you never
would.”
He seemed momentarily taken aback by her words,
blinking like a wide-eyed owl and staring at her
incredulously. Then, his expression hardened, and he
released her right wrist while lifting the left one between
them.
Inclining his head toward the large, gaudy ring William
had slid onto her finger the night of their engagement, Drew
sneered. “Explain this.”
Arabella’s looked to the betrothal ring weighing down her
left hand, a piece she’d never cared for but that had belonged
to Will’s grandmother. It had meant a lot to him to see her
wearing it, so Arabella had hidden her dislike of the ancient,
heavy piece and worn it for him. Now, it damned her.
What Drew must think, to have returned to Falmouth on
the day she was to wed someone else. Not just any
‘someone’; his own brother. Now, she understood the anger
radiating from him in hot, tangible waves, the heat in his
narrowed eyes as he looked at the ring as if he could
obliterate it into dust with only his stare.
“I can explain this,” she whispered, her voice shaky with
guilt and trepidation. “Drew, I would have never—”
“Betrayed me with my own brother?” he snapped,
flinging her hand away as if he could hardly stand to touch
her any longer. “But you did, and I saw it clearly enough—
you standing at the altar with him, wearing his ring, vowing
to honor and obey. It felt a lot like betrayal to me.”
He snapped his mouth shut then, his gaze traveling
somewhere beyond her. She glanced over her shoulder to
find that half the crew had halted amid their duties,
mesmerized by the sight of their captain arguing with a slip
of a woman in wilted silk.
Some gazes swept over her with contempt and suspicion,
while a few blazed with interest and lust as they lingered on
her exposed cleavage. A deep, ominous growl emanated from
Drew, and his arm lashed around her arm again, pulling her
back against his body.
“This is Miss Arabella Baines, a guest of The Sea Lion. The
lot of you will keep your eyes down and your hands to
yourself while she’s aboard, or you’ll answer to me.”
Rounds of ‘aye, Cap’n’ rippled through the men, and
Drew barked, “Get back to work!” as he whirled and
continued guiding her toward the quarterdeck, under which
the captain’s cabin was located. Arabella was momentarily
taken aback by what she found as he threw the door open,
her lips parting on a sigh of wonder.
A cove of mullioned windows allowed in the light of the
moon, which combined with the blaze of several lamps and
tallow candles to set the cabin aglow with warm, golden
light. The space had been opulently turned out in the
Oriental style, inky black and glittering gold mingling
together in a chamber fit for a king. The plush rugs beneath
her feet were etched with floral patterns and scrolls, with the
heads of snarling lions staring up at her. The wild cats were
everywhere—carved into the front of his heavy, black-
lacquered desk, staring at her from the tapestries hanging
from the walls, and even from the heavily adorned armoire
edged with hand-worked gilt. A painting of a lion rising out
of the sea had been painted onto the surface of a dining table
long enough to seat ten, with heavy-looking, black and gold
upholstered chairs bolted to the floor around it.
The true masterpiece of the chamber was the bed. An
enormous black a air hung with gold damask curtains, it sat
on a raised platform in the center of the room, its black and
gold counterpane turned down invitingly. Snarling from the
headboard was the golden figurehead of yet another lion, a
match for the one jutting beneath the bowsprit of the ship.
Upon closer inspection, Arabella realized jewels had been
mounted into the eye sockets of the sculpture—golden
topaz, she believed.
Slamming the door, Drew released her long enough to
shrug out of his coat and take o his hat, hanging them both
on wooden pegs.
Then, he took hold of her again. Arabella’s legs nearly
gave out as she noticed they neared that massive bed. She
had hoped they would speak now, and some sort of
explanation would be in order—but one glance at the heavy
bulge swelling at the front of his breeches told her that talk
was the very last thing on Drew’s mind.
“Wait,” she whispered as he swung her around and
pressed her against one of the posts. “Wait!”
With a sneer, Drew began plucking the pins free of her
wig, letting them fall noiselessly to the rug. He snatched the
confection of curls and ribbon from her head and hurled it
across the room. Then, he divested her of the muslin cap
constricting her own hair—a mass of brown coils that came
tumbling free to surround her face.
He gave her a grin, but it was more like the grimace of the
golden lion bonded to his headboard. “I detest the sight of
you in such frippery. I prefer you the way you truly are.”
Before giving her a chance to respond, he began using his
shirtsleeve to swipe at the rouge staining her lips and
cheeks. He wasn’t gentle about it, leaving Arabella’s lips
swollen and her cheeks hot when he’d finished, the pink
stains marring his sleeve.
Before she could blink, he drew a dagger from his belt,
arcing it toward her with motions that left her breathless.
She screamed, but then clamped her lips around the sound
when she realized the blade had not so much as touched her
flesh. The sides of her bodice fell slack, pins sent scattering
across the floor and her stomacher fluttering to her feet. She
sucked in swift, sharp breaths and tried to calm her racing
heart. He wasn’t going to hurt her—at least not yet. He
seemed intent on toying with her, the golden pools of his
eyes glowing in the light of the tapers, his lips parting on
rasping breaths as he pressed the tip of the knife against her
collarbone.
Arabella held as still as possible, feeling for herself that
the blade was so sharp, if she much as sneezed he would
draw her blood.
Drew stroked the knife along her skin, using it to push the
garment o one shoulder, then caressing the sharp edge to
the other side. The bodice fell o her shoulders and to the
rug in a heap. Prying her away from the bedpost, he spun her
to face it, then pushed her against the lacquered wood. The
knife kissed between her shoulder blades, then over the laces
of her stays, though he did not slice them. Instead, he
focused on the strings tying up her outer petticoat, pushing
the pu y folds of the garment o her. Despite the tension
and fear keeping her on edge, she couldn’t deny the relief of
being free from the garments.
Arabella clung to the bedpost as he tore away the bumroll
she’d worn to add volume to her skirts, as well as three
layers of petticoats. Dropping to one knee, he snatched o
her shoes and hurled them against the wall, making her
flinch at the sound they made when they struck the
tapestry-covered wood.
Then, he was turning her to face him wearing only her
stays, shift, and stockings. Drew’s chest heaved with labored
breath as he reached out to take one of her curls between his
fingers. He stroked it to its end, then released it, letting his
knuckles strum over the column of her throat and down to
her breast. Arabella shuddered and leaned against the bed for
support, certain she would melt into a heap at his feet. It had
been so long, and she felt starved for his touch. For five long
years she had only been able to dream of him, and now he
stood here looking at her with fire in his eyes. What she
wouldn’t give to have those hot, lazy summers back—lying
in the sand with him, the ocean washing over them as he
touched parts of her body that set her on fire.
Just then, he could have done anything to her, and
Arabella would have let him. All she knew was that he was
here, he had her in his sights, and—God help her—she
wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.
“Oh, Drew,” she whispered, her gaze falling to his lips.
“How I have missed you.”
His grin hardened even more, until he resembled the lion
on his headboard, baring his teeth at her. He smoothed his
thumb over her mouth.
“How prettily your lips lie.”
Arabella shook her head, the rough pad of his thumb
abrading her tender lips. “I would never lie to you.”
He sco ed and rolled his eyes. “Enough. I saw you
myself.”
“What you witnessed was but a moment, a few seconds of
a wedding. You have no idea what went on in the years since
—”
“I wasn’t referring to your goddamned wedding!”
His fingers bit into her jaw, and Arabella stumbled when
he yanked her against him. Chest heaving with rage barely
held in check, Drew tipped her head back until her neck
ached, holding her captive to his venomous glare.
“The night before your wedding, I sailed along the
western coast of Falmouth, near Greenhill … to a place I had
always thought of as ours.”
 Arabella squeezed her eyes shut, heart plummeting as she
realized what he might have witnessed had he ventured onto
that beach. She had gone there for a walk to clear her head,
and hopefully rid herself of bridal nerves. What she hadn’t
counted upon was Will coming to her. If he had seen them …
“Oh, God,” she whispered, certain she was about to be ill.
“No.”
“Yes,” Drew bit out, his voice a low, harsh whisper
against her cheek as he leaned in close. “I took a jolly boat to
the shore—an idiotic flight of fancy on my part. A part of me
wanted to believe I had it all wrong, and you couldn’t
possibly want to marry my brother. But I saw the two of you
… kissing and pawing at each other like animals in heat. I
saw him putting his hands all over you, as if you were his,
and you … acting the whore.”
She shook her head, causing the grip of his fingers to
hurt. Her throat burned and her eyes tingled with coming
tears. How could she ever make him understand? Arabella
had never desired Will’s touch. The only reason she’d ever
allowed him liberties with her body was because she’d feared
going to her marriage bed unable to endure another man
touching places only Drew had ever been. Will had been
frustrated with her reticence, but understanding, always
stopping whenever she asked him to. He’d never kissed
beyond the edges of her bodice, never had his hands under
her skirts, never seen her stripped down to nothing the way
Drew had. But, how could Drew know that? He’d only seen
what he described, and the very idea brought her shame.
Until a sudden realization dropped into her mind.
“Why didn’t you come to me?” she accused, opening her
eyes to meet the challenge in his stare. “You had your chance
to confront us then, to take us if you wanted to. Instead, you
hid in the shadows and … and watched?”
 “I uncovered the answer I needed that night. Besides,
nothing gave me greater satisfaction that ruining your sham
of a wedding.”
“Drew, I can explain everything. If you would only listen
—”
“I think not,” he rasped, his grip on her jaw loosening
and his hand trailing down her throat.
Despite the desperation clawing in her chest and the
sorrow of realizing he thought her a faithless harlot, the
whisper of his fingers over the tops of her breasts made her
shiver. It had been so long since anyone’s touch had brought
her alive like this. Five years of separation and the distance
of oceans had done nothing to destroy the current of desire
and need that had always thrummed between them. She
wanted to slap him, shake him until he came to his senses.
More than that, she wanted to kiss him, press herself against
him, remind him what they had once meant to each other.
His breath quickened, growing harsh as his thumb found
its way back to her lips.
“I’d rather you use that pretty mouth of yours for
something far more pleasurable. I seem to remember it being
good for a bit more than lying.”
Her belly clenched as he pressed his thumb between her
lips, the salty taste of him invading her senses. On instinct,
she closed her mouth around him and sucked. She could not
seem to help herself with him whole and alive before her, hot
and hard and so devastatingly male.
He hissed through his clenched teeth, snatching his
thumb free of her mouth, then wrapping a hand around her
throat. It took only a slight squeeze for him to command her
to her knees, his eyes burning straight through her as he
reached for the fall of his breeches.
 CHAPTER FOUR

D rew’s hands shook as he unbuttoned his breeches to

free the erection he’d been walking about with since
laying eyes on Arabella. His thoughts were a torrent of
confusion, suspicion, and anger, and it had all converged
upon him like a hurricane at her insistence that she had
missed him, that there was some reasonable explanation for
what he’d witnessed on that beach. But, there was no good
reason for Arabella to have given herself to Will in any way.
How could she have been honest about her love for him if
she could do something so cruel?
Thinking back to the days of his youth, when he’d begun
falling in love with her, Drew could see things he had been
blind to in the past. Such as the fact that Will had always
wanted Bella, and had given himself away with every
lingering glance. Surely, she hadn’t been ignorant to Will’s
lust for her. Knowing this, it was easy to believe that Arabella
believed Drew’s brother the better choice. Had she simply
used Drew as a steppingstone to stature and security as the
wife of an island planter? Had she been seduced by Will’s
impending inheritance, pretty manners, and high birth?
But … the pain in her voice, the tears he’d seen in her
eyes, gave him pause.
 Drew had turned the circumstances over in his head
several times, wondering what would possess the woman he
loved to give herself to his brother when she knew him to be
at sea. Hadn’t she gotten his letters promising to return to
her come hell or high water? Didn’t she believe he would
never let anything stop him from making her his?
If she had chosen someone else, he might have
understood. Drew would thought her lonely and tired of
waiting. A mulatto woman living on her father’s mercy in
Jamaica had few options and a good marriage proved her
best prospect. But for her to marry Will …
Their betrothal and the intimacies he witnessed with his
own eyes had led Drew to the only conclusion that made
sense: One day Arabella had realized Will wanted her for
himself. Maybe being the wife of a carpenter turned seaman
wouldn’t be enough for her. Perhaps in Will she had found
the life she longed for—a wealthy husband to give her all the
things Drew couldn’t.
None of it sounded like the girl he’d known all his life, but
time away from Arabella had allowed the idea to implant
itself in his mind and fester. There was also the fact that he
would never have thought Will capable of treachery, either.
He had tossed and turned at night trying to make excuses for
her, telling himself he couldn’t be right.
Eventually, his mind won out over his heart and he
became resentful. Even so, his vengeance had always
included making her his again. She would warm his bed and
be his pretty little treasure, the jewel in his crown as the king
of the seas and his own little island holding.
Only, as she knelt before him just now, watching with
wide eyes as he took the hard, thick length of his cock in
hand and stroked, Drew wrestled with his conscience as well
as his assumptions.
 Either she was telling the truth, or she was a very skilled
actress.
He didn’t have time to puzzle it all out now, not with less
than an hour before The Sea Lion would set sail. But one thing
he did have time for was taking advantage of her position on
her knees and the o ering of that luxurious mouth. He ached
for her—the touch of her soft hands, the heat and wetness of
her mouth, the warmth and clench of her cunny. That last
part of her was something he had never taken, hanging onto
the noble idiocy of his youth. Drew had wanted her to be his
wife first—something he cared nothing about now. Arabella
was his and always had been, and now that she was his
captive he would use her as he saw fit.
“Open for me, Bella,” he growled, grasping a handful of
her thick curls and angling her head to his liking. “Suck me
with that perfect, lying mouth of yours.”
To his surprise, she obeyed without a fight, parting her
lips and bracing her hands on his thighs. Her tongue darted
out to lap at his swollen cockhead. He pulled in a swift breath
at the hot strokes as she circled the pink organ, then began
licking her way down his shaft. His balls pulsed and ached,
his stomach contracting as he strained toward the pleasure
while fighting not to spend the moment she enveloped him
in her mouth. He had been too long without a woman,
having devoted his life to his ship and crew, and now to
exacting retribution on those who had hurt him. Pleasures of
the flesh had seemed unimportant in the face of all that … at
least, until now.
Christ, he had forgotten how good she was at this. Of
course she was good at it—he’d taught her himself. Hidden
in freshwater coves, or slinking away to the beach at night,
Drew had tutored Arabella in all manners of pleasure while
preserving her maidenhead, and she’d always given as good
as she got.
 “Fucking Christ,” he moaned, when she took him into her
mouth, enveloping him in grasping, slippery heat. “Yes, just
like that.”
He braced her head with both hands, fingers tangling in
the coils of her hair, and fucked her mouth without holding
back. What need did he have to take things slow and easy
with her, to treat her like a lady? She was his, a vessel to be
used to his satisfaction, a prisoner to his desires and whims.
She whimpered and groaned around Drew’s cock, rising
on her knees to take him deeper and bobbing her head to the
rhythm created by his snapping hips. He took one of her
dainty hands and wrapped it around his shaft, helping her
stroke and suck him in tandem. He squeezed until he was
certain her fingers must ache, but she didn’t draw away or
flinch. She merely sucked him harder and pumped him at the
rhythm he wanted.
Drew closed his eyes and let his head fall back, reveling in
the moans mu ed by his cock between her lips, the sounds
of her gagging and choking when he shoved into the back of
her throat. His legs shook and his thrusts became more
erratic as the end drew near, the anticipation of it so
intoxicating he could hardly breathe.
He held her in place with a tortured groan and thrust
deep, release sweeping over him with spasms that nearly
doubled him over. She gulped and gasped, but swallowed his
seed like a greedy wanton, her fingernails gouging his thighs
as she scrambled for purchase in the face of his powerful
finish.
Drew pulled out of her mouth with a ragged exhale,
shoulders heaving as he fought to catch his breath. She fell
to her bottom on the rug, her lips red and swollen, eyes wide
and glazed. Tucking his cock away, he swiftly buttoned his
fall before reaching for her again. It was time to cast o , so
he couldn’t drag her to the bed and live out the rest of what
he’d been fantasizing about doing to her. For the moment,
she had taken the edge o his need and that would enable
him to think clearly in the hours ahead.
Arabella didn’t struggle when he sat her on the edge of
the bed, though she did give him an incredulous look as he
untied one of the cords tying back the bedcurtains. She
appeared half-drunk, her lips still parted, head lolling on her
shoulders as he arranged her to his liking before lashing her
hands to the headboard. He allowed just enough slack for her
to choose to lie back or sit up, but tied his knots so she’d
have no hope of escape.
She shifted upright, folding her legs beneath her as he
retreated, adjusting his gun belt and reaching for his coat
and tricorne. He took one look at her before departing,
cursing under his breath at the carnal picture she presented.
Undressed with her hair wild about a face softened by desire,
she was the picture of every dream that had sustained him
during those horrid days aboard the HMS Hannibal.
Turning away, he thundered through the door with a vow
to return as soon as humanly possible and make that dream
into reality.

A RABELLA SAT in Drew’s bed with her back braced against the
lion sculpture, her head spinning and her quim pulsing with
unquenched desire. Above her, the sounds of the ship being
readied to cast o resounded in a thumping of boots and
yelling voices. One of the windows hung open, allowing in
the calls of the pirate captain.
“Hoist the anchor and the mizzen, and let’s get the Lion
out to sea where she belongs!”
“Aye, Cap’n!”
“Anchors aweigh!”
 Closing her eyes, Arabella let her head fall against the
headboard, her mind tossing about like a boat in a storm as
she grappled with all that had occurred in less than two days.
The ship gave a groan and swayed as the ocean began pulling
it out into her depths.
“The night’s far too quiet, Mr. Caesar! Let the sea know
who breaches her waters with the call o’ your drums!”
“Aye, Capn!”
This order preceded the rhythmic pounding of drums, a
primitive cadence like a war cry piercing the quiet night. The
drumming only exacerbated the headache thrumming in her
temples, as well as the pulsation of desire between her legs.
As Drew had commanded her to her knees, Arabella
experienced a fleeting impulse to fight him—to demand he
tell her the truth of what had happened over the past five
years, and that he listen to her explanation. However, her
need of him had won out, and she became awash in the urge
to be close to him in any way she could, touching him,
tasting him. Arabella hadn’t realized how starved she was for
him, until the moment he’d freed his cock and angled it
toward her mouth.
What she really wanted was for him to finish stripping o
her clothes and lay her down on this bed for a proper
reunion. The past could be washed away with the joining of
their bodies and the fulfillment of so many years’ worth of
starvation and longing. This would be easier then, for she
would truly feel as if she belonged to him again. Just now,
she felt like the whore he had named her—a plaything for
him to use as an outlet for his anger and lust.
“Hands to the sheets! Hoist the fore and main sails!”
Drew’s thundering voice made it di cult to steer her
mind away from the memory of him standing over her with
his legs braced wide, those long ropes of brown hair kissed
with gold hanging over his shoulders and into his eyes.
Arabella bit her lip, recalling the spark in his stare as she
lapped at his cock, and the deep groans of his satisfaction
when she’d begun sucking him. His profane mutterings as
he’d fucked her mouth, the musky scent of him, the feel of
him hot and hard against her tongue … all of it was enough
to have her squirming where she sat, pressing her thighs
together to stifle the pulsations there.
The ship lurched, picking up speed as it cut through the
Atlantic, swaying in a comforting, mind-numbing motion.
Through the open window, she could hear the men calling
back and forth to one another, Drew’s orders loudest of all.
She thought of Will and her father, wondering how they
fared in what Drew had referred to as ‘the bilge’. She
assumed that must be some place belowdecks, and hoped
they weren’t too uncomfortable.
But then, she remembered Drew’s assumption that she
was lying and the pain and humiliation he’d decided Will and
her father deserved. Furrowing her brow, Arabella tried to
think through the haze of exhaustion. If Drew hadn’t been
dead all this time, then who sent word to Falmouth that his
ship had gone down with all hands? Will had confirmed it
himself when she’d asked, and what reason had he to lie?
What reason, indeed?
The nefarious thought had her craning her neck to stare
at the heavy ring weighing down her left hand.
Will was the truest friend she’d ever had besides Drew,
and Arabella could never think of a time she had caught him
in a lie. This was why she found it so di cult to believe he
might have known all along that Drew had not gone down
with the HMS Hannibal.
Arabella shook her head and sighed, too tired to puzzle it
out. She had hardly slept the night before her wedding for
being so anxious, and what was supposed to have been her
wedding night being dragged through the jungle. Just now,
she had a di cult time keeping her eyes open. As sleep
claimed her, Arabella gave herself over to her fate and prayed
that all would be revealed before Drew did something he
might regret. Despite his cruelty toward her, she had to
believe there was a reason. He would never act in such away
unless he thought it justified. She knew him well enough to
believe that wholeheartedly.
A voice in the back of her mind whispered that perhaps
she’d never really known him at all. She ignored it, certain
she had never known anyone as she did Drew. Everything
would work out in the end. If she was going to make it
through this, Arabella would have to hold on to her faith in
him.

D REW SPENT what was left of the night on the deck of The Sea
Lion, relieving this man or that man on watch since he was
too restless to return to his cabin and sleep. While spending
in Arabella’s mouth had eased his torrential desires
temporarily, he had been distracted while guiding the crew
through casting o . His gaze frequently strayed to the
quarterdeck, below which his little captive remained with her
wrists bound to the bed. While he could have trusted Rory
with the ship, he wouldn’t abandon his crew so he could lock
himself away with Arabella to have a proper taste of his
personal prize.
These men had risked their lives to help him earn his
revenge. He owed it to them to always put the crew, and The
Sea Lion, first.
But, as the sun broke free of the horizon, co ee and bacon
scented smoke from the galley began floating through the
air. Drew realized his time of respite was over. He had to
confront his past, and that meant dealing with his other two
prisoners.
 Rory appeared from the galley holding two steaming tin
mugs. Drew accepted his portion of strong, black co ee. The
bitter brew jolted his senses, its aroma helping pull him back
from the brink of exhaustion.
“Mornin’, Cap’n,” Rory murmured between sips. “Spent
yer whole night up here, did ye?”
“My ship, my right to spend the night wherever the fuck I
want.”
Instead of being cowed by his irritability, Rory merely
laughed. Rory always laughed. “I take this to mean ye didn’t
help yerself to the pretty lassie waitin’ in yer quarters. Had I
a wee thing like her all to meself, I’d go balls-deep in her
and not come out until I heard the cry o’ land ho!”
Drew glowered at Rory, annoyed that the man had
touched on exactly what he wanted to do. Only one night
aboard his ship, and Arabella already had him wanting to
shirk his duties as well as his vendetta.
“I haven’t yet decided whether she’s a liar or a victim …
but I intend to find out. Then I’ll lock myself in that cabin
with her and you can command the ship until I emerge.”
Rory gave him a wide, wicked grin, the wind tousling his
brassy curls. “I’ll try not to die o’ envy in the meantime. Any
orders before ye go below, Cap’n? She’s tackin’ at nine knots
and makin’ good time.”
“Keep a weather eye for the Royal Navy. You can be sure
they’ve already made chase. It’s only a matter of time.”
“And other ships?”
“Send for me if you see anything worth pursuing. And by
worth pursuing, I mean sitting low in the water and easy to
overtake—I know the men want their plunder, but it would
be best for us to return home and lay low for a bit.”
“As you say, Cap’n.”
Taking a gulp of his co ee, Drew went in direction of the
forecastle stairs, but paused and turned back.
 “Have Little Jack take breakfast to my guest. Now that
we’re out to sea, she can be untied.”
Rory called out for Little Jack, his cabin boy and son of his
bosun, Big Jack. Drew continued on his way, stopping o in
the crew quarters to borrow a lamp. It lit his way down
through the hull and into the deepest, dankest space of the
ship. The bilge served no function other than to be a cesspool
of leakage and a stench that would singe a man’s nostril
hairs.
From the low-hanging beams hung his two prisoners,
wrists trapped in irons and arms stretched high overhead.
Both their coats had been removed, and their shirts were
now dingy from sweat and grime. Will’s wig lay in a puddle
on the floor, his dark brown hair a stringy mess about his
face. Archibald was drenched in sweat, his face pale and
drawn. The old man seemed to have fallen asleep despite his
uncomfortable position, his legs given out and his stockings
soaked from inches of dirty water pooling beneath them. Will
was wide awake and watching Drew’s every move with
suspicion, fear, and a subtle glint of anger in his eyes.
“Gentlemen,” Drew boomed. “I hope you’ve enjoyed the
hospitality of my ship thus far.”
Archibald startled, his snores breaking o on a snort,
watery eyes darting left to right before landing on Drew.
“Drew,” Will snapped. “This barbaric treatment is
ridiculous and completely unnecessary. If you—”
The resounding thud of the back of Drew’s hand across
Will’s face echoed through the bilge, and the other man
swung from his restraints, feet scrabbling for purchase. He
narrowed his eyes at Will, who righted himself and shook his
head, lapping at the blood oozing from the corner of his
mouth.
“You’ll refer to me as Captain or have your tongue cut
out,” Drew snapped. “And it’s funny, you calling me a
barbarian, for I am what you made of me, brother.”
Will narrowed his eyes, one of them watering from the
force of Drew’s slap. “I don’t know what you’re talking
about. The last time I saw you—”
“Before you fix that hole in your face to lie to me, allow
me to make one thing very clear,” Drew said, arms crossed
over his chest. “I know it was you who set that press-gang
on me, and Archibald helped you. It didn’t take me long to
puzzle that out, or to realize that it was all because of Bella.”
“You aren’t fit to even speak her name, you … you bloody
pirate!” Archibald spat.
Drew edged closer, leaning in until he could see the pupils
of Archibald’s eyes and smell the stench radiating from him.
“Pirate. It isn’t the worst thing I’ve been called. In fact,
piracy is what set me free and made me richer than the two
of you combined, so I suppose I can thank you for that much.
And for all your e orts, I still succeeded in taking your
daughter for myself. Not fit to speak her name? I’ll have
done far more than that by the time I’m finished with her.”
Archibald seemed to forget his restraints, lunging toward
Drew with a cry of outrage. Drew simply took hold of his
throat, lifting him clear o the ground and giving him a
teeth-rattling shake. He swung from the ceiling, choking
and coughing when his throat was released. Drew stepped
back and eyed the two men, unable to deny the surge of
satisfaction he felt having them at his mercy. Their
treatment thus far could be called kind considering what he
had su ered after impressment—though he intended for
that to change.
“I wrestled with myself for years wondering why you’d
done it,” Drew said, shifting his attention to Will. “Him I
could understand when he’d always detested my association
with his daughter. But you … even knowing you coveted
Bella, I couldn’t think of any reason you’d go out of your way
to eradicate me. But she was the reason, was she not?”
Will spat a stream of blood at his feet and sneered. “Your
arrogance knows no bounds. Did it ever occur to you that the
wedding you interrupted was what she wanted? Bella knew
she’d become a pauper and an outcast married to a bastard
mongrel like you, and came to see she didn’t want such a
life. She wanted a husband who could give her everything
you couldn’t, but we could never have that as long as you
were in Falmouth.”
Rage fired Drew’s blood as his brother’s words struck
true, lodging themselves deep in his chest and poking at his
suspicions. Over the years he’d hardened himself to pain
both physical and emotional. Until he had visited that beach
in Falmouth and witnessed Will and Bella wrapped in each
other’s arms … until he’d barged into St. Peter’s church just
as they were reciting their marriage vows. The part of him
that had loved Bella since boyhood rebelled at the idea of her
choosing Will. It railed within him, its voice growing
stronger and louder as he tried to convince himself that
perhaps he was wrong. Five years ago, Drew had believed so
strongly in Arabella’s love for him that he would never have
believed her capable of betraying him with Will. But he was a
di erent man now—one who’d had all the softer feelings
stomped out of him by cruel navy o cers, the necessity of
stealing and killing to survive, and the relentlessness of a
fickle sea. Now he trusted no one … not even the woman who
had stolen his heart and then ground it into dust.
Seeming to sense his turmoil, Will laughed, the sound
grating and dripping with scorn. “The little chit seems so
innocent, doesn’t she? Those big brown eyes will trick you
into underestimating the truth of her cunning nature. Truly,
I found her so much more alluring once she revealed that
side of herself to me. And with you out of the way she fell
into my arms so easily it was laughable. She never really
loved you, you know. Otherwise, how could she come to me
the way she did, o ering herself up with such …
enthusiasm?”
Drew’s fingers twitched, his palms itching with the urge
to strike Will again. “You tread on dangerous ground.”
“Is the truth so di cult for you to hear? You wanted to
know what happened after we were rid of you, and I’m happy
to tell you. It shouldn’t surprise you when I know how
frequently she let you beneath her skirts. Once you were
gone, who better to help assuage her … appetite? I’ve had
her, so many times and in so many ways it’s a wonder I
decided to marry her at all. Why make a wife out of her when
she so willingly fell into the role of playing my whore?”
Unable to hold back any longer, Drew let his fist fly. It
slammed into Will’s stomach, then snapped up to connect
with his jaw. Will groaned, falling slack in his shackles and
letting his head drop toward his chest. It wasn’t enough.
Bloodlust surged through Drew, demanding he take more
and make Will su er for all the indignities that had been
heaped upon him. But, once he allowed himself to truly feel
the rage, to unleash the bloodlust suppressed deep within, he
didn’t think he would be able to stop. Drew was many things,
but he wasn’t a man who allowed fits of temper to rule him.
He wouldn’t take Will’s life until he’d had the entire truth,
and even then not without the say of his crew. He might be
their captain, but acting against a prisoner aboard The Seal
Lion without their leave was against the articles. He
respected the laws of his ship, as well as the men who sailed
under his command. He would stay his hand for the time
being.
Will found his feet, head still lowered as he began to
laugh, his entire body trembling with the deranged sounds.
“You never could bring yourself to put your prick in her,
could you? I thought you had, but I learned the truth for
myself. You weren’t man enough—”
“William, perhaps you oughtn’t—”
“Sod o , old man!” Will bellowed, cutting Archibald’s
protests short. “She should have been grateful I wanted her
at all, and you ought to be glad I was willing to take your
mulatto bastard o your hands.”
Drew grasped Will by his shirtfront.
“You’re a liar,” he snarled, even as he wondered if he
might be too besotted to face the truth.
He didn’t want it to be true, but it had been years. They
had nearly wed, and Bella had always been passionate. Drew
had always been the one to put a stop to their intimacies, for
fear he might lose control.
Gritting his teeth and closing his eyes, he wrestled with
so many thoughts and emotions at once he feared they
would tear him apart. Will’s voice cut through his wandering
thoughts, and Drew opened his eyes to find his brother
watching him, clearly delighting in the torment he inflicted.
When had Will become such a vindictive bastard? It was
almost as if the man he’d loved and known for so long had
peeled away a mask to reveal his true face—an ugly,
unrecognizable face.
“Think what you like. If you cannot bring yourself to face
the truth, I can hardly force you to. But the fact is, she took
every inch of my cock and moaned and begged for more.”
Archibald began to bluster and rail at hearing his
daughter spoken of in such a way, but Drew hardly heard a
word of it. Murder seized him in its clutches as he stared into
the eyes of the man he’d once loved, but now hated with
every inch of his being. He wanted to snap Will’s neck and
have done with it, but such would be too good for the man
responsible for years of torment and degradation. He
deserved a slow, agonizing death, and Drew intended to
make certain he had it. He would not derail his own plans in
a moment of thoughtless fury.
With a deep, slow breath, he managed to blink past the
wrath darkening his vision and threatening to turn him into
an unthinking beast. He released Will, fisting his hands but
keeping them lowered at his sides.
Turning to Archibald, he shook his head in disgust. “This
is the man you preferred for your daughter?”
Archibald lowered his head, now faced with the
realization that he’d pulled Arabella from the grasp of an
unsuitable man only to throw her to a lecher who spoke of
her as if she were no more than a whore.
“He is of a fine family with good social standing.”
“I hope it was worth your miserable life, for that is the
price you will pay for what you’ve done.”
Archibald kept his head down as if ashamed to meet
Drew’s eyes, but Will glowered at him, still as filled with
indignation and self-importance as ever. He laughed as Drew
began backing away, needing to leave them before his ire got
the best of him.
“You simply cannot stand the fact that she was mine, can
you? Kill me if you like, but you’ll always have to live with
knowing I took her from you. Had you the grace to die as you
should have, she would be mine even now.”
Drew turned away, refusing to be baited. Will almost
seemed to want Drew to kill him now, for the man had to
know his planned execution would be brutal and
excruciating.
“She will never be yours,” he ground out as he took up his
lamp and made for the stairs, casting them back into
darkness.
He stomped up the stairs, agitation firing his blood. Will’s
words had the intended e ect, and now his mind filled with
images of his brother with Arabella—touching her,
undressing her, helping himself to her delicious little body.
Shaking his head as he cleared the bilge and came up
through the forecastle, he told himself he had been right to
call Will a liar. He was as easy to read as ever, and had given
himself away the moment he’d opened his mouth.
So, now you know for certain she had nothing to do with their
plan to do away with you. But what of the rest of it? Did she give
herself to him?
He wanted to believe she hadn’t. He wanted to give her
the benefit of the doubt, even as he found himself enraged
with her for even agreeing to marry Will. However, it didn’t
escape him that one of these grievances was worse than the
other.
Did it matter whether she had given her body to Will?
That, he might have forgiven her for, but she’d been willing
to give him far more than that. Her heart, her soul, her entire
self. It would have all belonged to Will until death did them
part. It was this knowledge that tormented Drew most, for
what was a maidenhead but a bit of flesh
No, it wasn’t that she might have given Will her body that
infuriated him so—though he did not relish knowing it. He
didn’t think he could ever forgive her being willing to pledge
her life, heart, and soul to another man. Not just any man,
but his own brother.
Hands clenched so tight that his fingernails bit into his
palms, Drew stormed toward his cabin. Despite his
exhaustion and sleepless night, he wouldn’t be able to rest
until he heard what Bella had to say for herself.
Even feeling as if he might never forgive or trust her
again, he couldn’t deny the possessiveness surging through
him—a wholly intoxicating and unreasonable resolution.
Bella was his for better or worse now, and no matter what
she’d done, he would never relinquish his hold on her.
 CHAPTER FIVE

A rabella was greeted that morning by a boy with nut-

brown skin named Little Jack. He declared himself
Drew’s cabin boy and informed her that she was to be untied
for breakfast. Little Jack didn’t speak much, cleaning the
cabin and preparing for the captain’s morning toilette while
Arabella opted to sit at Drew’s desk to have her breakfast.
She felt better after a night of rest and a filling breakfast
of bacon, hardtack, porridge, slices of the oranges fresh from
Jamaica’s lush jungle, and a pewter mug of co ee sweetened
with a cube of sugar. The boy o ered warm water for
washing, and she was about to avail herself to it as best she
could while still restricted in her stays—but her curiosity
over Drew’s life as a pirate captain had averted her. She
couldn’t help the urge to search his desk, pushing aside
charts and maps and various nautical tools to seek out any
items of personal interest.
Who had Drew become? Was he as ruthless and heartless
as most pirates were rumored to be? How many men had he
killed in his quest for wealth? Was he the sort to rape and
murder as well as steal? Did he have a lover waiting for him
somewhere?
All these questions drove her to seek out any personal
mementos or clues to the man who had kidnapped her. The
man she still loved with all her heart, even if he now
despised her. She’d just come upon a chest filled with odd
and foreign-looking objects, when the door flew open.
Arabella flinched when it crashed against the wall. Her
captor stood on the threshold with one hand braced on the
frame, his lion’s eyes locked on her. He had done away with
his frock coat and hat, making his torso appear broader and
harder through the open shirt draping his form.
Her belly erupted in a flurry of butterflies, and the chest
fell onto the massive desk with a loud ‘thunk.’ She couldn’t
interpret the look in his eye, which made fear and
anticipation curl within her gut in equal measure.
However, he didn’t seem to notice the chest or her place
behind his desk. He had eyes only for her, fire blazing in the
depths. She stood frozen in his thrall, hands shaking as she
tried to force her legs to move. But where was she to go?
Even if she could get past him and out of the cabin, they
were at sea with nowhere for her to run.
Did she truly wish to run from him? While this new side
of his nature frightened her, the part of her that loved him
wanted to be in his clutches no matter what pain it might
cause her.
“On the bed,” he snapped while yanking the tails of his
shirt free of his breeches. “Now.”
His sharp command propelled her into motion, as she
could see it would be unwise to resist or further annoy him.
As she stumbled toward the bed, it dawned on her that he
hadn’t returned to the cabin last night. Something had
happened since then to anger him. Did it have to do with her
and Will?
Her racing thoughts came to a screeching halt as he
straightened from removing his boots, his entire torso now
bared to her view. The elusive tattoo was now on full display,
illuminated by the light streaming through the bay of
windows open to allow in fresh, salty air. It was the head of a
lion, large and encompassing his entire chest, its mane
lustrous, its maw open to bare sharp teeth in a ferocious
snarl.
She gasped at both the beauty and brutality of him half-
clothed, the hard-packed muscles defined by deep lines.
Thick, prominent veins pushed against his skin along his
forearms, and the line of dark hair trailing down into his
breeches held golden strands just like the mop of his hair.
Those intriguing, rope-like tendrils hung down his back
uninhibited, as wild and feral as the rest of him.
“C-captain?” she stammered, trembling as he
approached, prowling toward her with swift, long strides.
“What …”
“Did you fuck him?”
She flinched as if he’d roared at her, when his voice had
actually come out on a low whisper. Still, the words struck
her as heavy with accusation and pain. Shaking her head in
denial, she backed away from his advance, coming up short
against the headboard. The golden figurehead of the lion
pressed between her shoulder blades.
“No, I … I couldn’t bring myself to, no matter how he
pressed me. I only ever kissed him, and even then it did not
feel right. It never felt right, because he wasn’t the man I
wanted. He wasn’t you.”
A low growl emitted from deep in Drew’s chest as he
climbed onto the bed. Taking hold of her ankle, he dragged
her toward him. He spread his legs to straddle her, then
knelt upright, unbucklimg his gunbelt. The leather hissed
through the buckle, then the weapons he wore fell to the bed
—a wicked-looking cutlass and a pair of matching flintlocks.
“As angry as I am, you will only make matters worse if
you seek to placate me with falsehood.”
 Uncertainty and fear melted away, and in its place
Arabella experienced a swift surge of righteous anger. She
could understand his resentment at having found her in
Will’s arms, or seeing them at the altar about to be wed.
However, now that he had the chance to learn the truth from
her own lips, he would still call her a liar? What need had she
to lie to him?
Surging into a seated position, she nearly came up against
his chest as he seemed determined not to back down.
“You have been away from Falmouth for five years! How
can you presume to know what took place in your absence? I
do not know what has gone on between you and Will, but I
would think you could trust me, at least!”
Taking hold of her face, he tipped Arabella’s head back
and loomed over her, nostrils flaring and upper lip peeling
back into a snarl.
“Perhaps it would be easier to believe you had I not
witnessed him with his hand in your bodice and his tongue
down your throat only a few nights ago. Tell me, Bella … was
it Will’s money and status that seduced you, or simply that
my absence made it too di cult for you to keep your legs
together?”
Arabella snatched out of his hold, bracing both hands
against his chest to shove away from her. She was uncertain
where such strength had come from, nor could she control
the hurt and fury propelling her to give chase as he stumbled
o the side of the bed to land on his feet. Launching herself
at him, she pummeled him with clenched fists, striking his
chest, his shoulders. Her open palm cracked against his jaw
twice before he finally wrestled her into submission, taking
both her wrists in an ironclad grip and hauling her up until
she balanced precariously on tiptoe. She peered at him
through eyes gone hazy with tears, her cheeks hot and
flushed, her chest heaving as she fought to get herself back
under control. She had never been possessed of a quick
temper, nor could she remember ever raising her hand to
another person.
Drew had pushed her too far. After all the years of waiting
and wanting, mourning and dying a little inside each day,
she was now to have her integrity and honesty questioned?
After all she had endured, it was simply too much.
“Damn you,” she sobbed bowing her head to avoid the
penetrating disgust in his eyes. “If you don’t believe me,
then I will prove it. Take me to bed, right now, and see for
yourself.”
His fingers clenched tighter around her wrists, his
breaths harsh against her cheek. She opened her eyes and
returned his stare, determined to maintain whatever dignity
she might have left. O ering herself to him this way wasn’t
what she would have wanted, but her options were few. He
would have her one way or another, and the sooner she
allowed it to happen, the sooner Drew would come to see the
truth. Then there was the fact that despite the fear this new
side of him inspired, Arabella still wanted him, still loved
him in a way that defied explanation. The man she loved was
still in there, somewhere, and she would take what he had
become if it meant she could also have the other parts of
him.
“Do it,” she whispered when he simply stared at her,
mouth pinched, eyes boring into hers. “Do it and learn the
truth. Or, convince yourself I’m still a liar and be damned.”
Drew spun her around and pushed her facedown on the
bed. Turning to glance over her shoulder with her heart
lodged in her throat, Arabella noted the flash of his dagger
just before he mounted the bed—the same one he’d used to
cut o her garments last night. She drew in a sharp breath
when the sharp point made contact just beneath the base of
her skull, lightly whispering down her spine. The cool metal
tickled despite its dangerous trajectory, sending sensation
and goosebumps rippling over her skin.
Her chest swelled, and she took in great gulps of air as he
cut through the ribbons of her stays, the garment falling
open to ease its restriction on her waist.
She hardly had time to adjust to the swift change before
he was turning her back over, snatching the undergarment
free of her arms and hurling it o the side of the bed.
The warm air seeping through her shift reminded her of
her hidden secret, and Arabella pressed a hand to her chest.
“Wait, I …”
“No,” he snapped, tearing her hand away and pressing it
to the bed. “No more waiting.”
His other hand grasped the neckline of her shift and he
pulled, rending the garment as if it were made of paper. She
kept her gaze upon his face as he discovered what she hid
between her breasts, his hardened expression melting into
one of astonishment. Releasing her wrist, he plucked the
little circle of wood from her body, leaving behind an angry
red wheal. She’d had the wood pressed against her for so
long that the imprint of the lion’s face was left behind,
nearly a mirror image for the one etched across his chest.
Drew held the talisman up and studied it, his jaw working
as if he ground his teeth, his eyes flashing with emotion she
doubted he would want anyone to see. The tension between
them seemed to dissipate, anger giving way to
understanding, awe, and—on Arabella’s part—relief. Surely
the sight of his talisman spoke to him in a way her words
never could. He must now understand that as surely as the
lion had been etched against her skin, so had he been
imprinted onto her heart, her soul.
“Bella,” he whispered, his voice thick and heavy as he
shifted his stare from the talisman to her.
 She gave him a shaky smile and reached up to touch his
face. This time, he allowed it, leaning his jaw into her palm
with a tortured sigh. Pity for him overwhelmed her as she
realized that in the midst of all his anger and indignation
had been something else. Fear, perhaps, that she might have
actually loved and wanted Will all along? Instead of being
wroth with him for doubting her, she wanted to weep for
him. What must it be like to feel as if no one could be
trusted? What had happened to make him doubt everything
—even the depth of her love for him?
“I told you, I was never his. I was always yours, Drew.
Even when I thought you were dead … I’ve always been
yours.”
With a low groan, he kissed her palm, then trailed his
tongue along her middle finger. He opened his mouth to
envelope it, sucking it deep into his warm mouth. Then, he
pressed the talisman to her palm and closed her fingers
around it. She clung tight to the wood as he lowered his head
and claimed her mouth with unrestrained hunger.
He smothered her gasp of surprise and delight with his
tongue, plunging it into her mouth without the gentle
whisper of a prelude. Drew was consuming her, sucking and
biting at her lip, rubbing his tongue against hers.
Strong hands gripped her shift, finishing the rip in the
fabric and pulling it apart. His eyes glittered like brilliant
gold as he looked at her, his gaze stroking over the mounds
of her naked breasts, the nipples puckering without so much
as the touch of his hand. He nudged his way between her
stockinged legs, and slipped one hand beneath her to cup her
buttocks. He arched her up against him, pressing the hard,
hot ridge of his cock against her mound. She whimpered, her
clit pulsing in response to the light pressure, the promise of
more.
 “I’m going to fuck you, Bella, and I don’t have it in me to
be gentle. Not this time. Maybe not ever.”
She wrapped her legs around his hips and deepened the
arch of her back, pressing tighter against him and sending
flutters of pure pleasure through her entire being. It seemed
her every nerve ending had come alive now that she was in
his arms again. It didn’t matter if he was gentle like a lover
or cruel like a conquering pirate. She wanted him as he was
now, alive and hers.
“I don’t care.”
He fell on her again, stretching her wrists over her head
and retrieving the cord he’d used to lash her to the bed
overnight. He tied her there again, securing her hands and
leaving her at his mercy. Then, he cupped her breasts,
squeezing until she squirmed, the touch both pleasurable
and painful.
“Mine,” he rasped, pinching her nipples until she cried
out, then lowering his head to lap at them. “All mine.”
“Yes!” she cried as he clenched a nipple between his
teeth, tugging and licking and sending liquid heat melting
through her. “Yes, Captain.”
He kissed his way up her chest, his tongue stroking hotly
over the brand of the lion against her sternum, then up
toward her neck. She squirmed beneath him, the cords biting
into her wrists and her arms aching as she fought against
her bonds. What she wouldn’t give to touch him and hold
him, exploring the familiar body changed by time and labor.
But he was as merciless a lover as he was a giving one,
keeping her bound and interspersing sharp bites of his teeth
with warm flicks of his tongue. His sucking lips were sure to
leave bruises, the marks of his possession that would linger
long after he finished with her.
Time had changed nothing, except, perhaps, the intensity
and hardness of the man on top of her. But he still knew
where to touch and kiss her, playing her body like an
instrument he’d set down but then picked back up as if he
had never left it. She panted against his shoulder as he
reached down to unfasten his breeches, pressing open-
mouth kisses anywhere her mouth touched, needing to feel
and taste him however she could. He bent his neck to o er
himself, deep moans echoing in his throat as she nibbled and
licked, then bit his shoulder. A heavy hand fell on the inside
of one thigh, pushing her apart, spreading her wider. Then,
he was fisting his cock, stroking it in long pulls as he angled
it between her legs.
She gazed down as he knelt up and took hold of her waist,
pulling her into position. Arabella trembled at the sight of
his cock poised to enter her, swollen and intimidating, as
relentless as the man it belonged to. He pressed against her
opening, hissing through his bared teeth to find her soaking
wet. His grip on her waist tightened enough to leave
fingerprints, his entire body coiling tight, his gaze blazing
hot and locked with hers. His face contorted with animalistic
ferocity as he drew back and then surged his hips, tearing
into her with his cock.
Arabella wailed, her legs snapping around his hips on
instinct, but it was far too late to stop the progress of the
iron-hard organ ripping its way through her. He went still,
lowering his head and sucking in deep breaths as if to
compose himself. She could feel the rush of blood in his
cock, the pulsing veins throbbing in time with the painful
spasms undulating through her insides. He wrenched her
thighs open and drove deeper with a muttered oath, giving
her the rest of him, lodging himself so deep he felt like some
irremovable part of her now. His hands pressed harder
against her thighs, the joints of her hips twinging from the
deep, forceful stretch, her sheath throbbing and grasping at
him.
 He gasped with something like shock mixed with wonder,
the corded tendons of his neck stretching taut as he held
himself over her, arms trembling. He withdrew and then
plunged, the heated drag of his cock against her inner walls
burning like nothing she’d ever felt. She bit her lip until she
drew blood to contain a scream, but Drew was in another
place entirely. Sweat broke out along his brow as he did it
again, then again, rotating his hips and surging even deeper
into her. The press of his groin agitated her clit, adding a
swell of pleasure to his thrusts, leaving her suspended
between ecstasy and agony.
“Fucking Christ,” he groaned. “Bella …”
She whimpered, her body jolted with every hard thrust of
him inside her. The lion tattooed onto his chest undulated
with every movement, the beast seeming to come alive as he
fucked her in a mindless fit. He palmed her buttocks again,
raising her up against him and grinding into her, as if trying
to burrow even deeper. The little nub of her pleasure
pounded and pulsed, her cunt easing to let him in. The
burning torment of his invasion tangled with the pleasure
until she couldn’t tell one from the other—couldn’t
determine whether her wanton moans were those of delight
or those of agony. It didn’t matter. He was inside her, taking
her, claiming her. He was hers now, in a way he never had
been before. Arabella reveled in his ruthless domination,
surrendered to the clench of the cord lashing her to the
headboard, to his hands holding her at the angle he wanted,
to his cock stroking her toward a stunning climax even in the
midst of the pain.
“Drew!” she cried, her insides erupting into a maelstrom
of impending release. “Oh, God, Drew!”
“Yes, Bella,” he said, his voice low and hoarse. “Say my
name … let me hear how much you love the feel of my cock
inside you … let them all hear.”
 She faintly recalled the open windows and the proximity
of the crew above them, but couldn’t find it within herself to
care. She wasn’t a proper lady in here.
She was woman, he was man, and in the throes of such
powerful, primal lust, there was nothing to do but surrender
to her baser nature.
“Drew … Drew … Drew,” she chanted with every thrust of
his cock, every spasm of climax building on top of the last.
She unraveled beneath him, so lost in the haze of her own
completion she didn’t realize his was upon him, too, until
one of his hands came crashing against the headboard. He
roared his release, gripping tight to the golden figurehead of
the lion as his cock twitched and pulsed within her, flooding
her insides with the hot rush of his seed.
He fell on top of her in a boneless heap, though he did
manage to reach up and untie her hands. She groaned as the
blood began rushing into her limbs, letting them drift back
down to her sides as he curled himself around her, and
gathered her in his arms. Still buried deep within her, he
nuzzled her neck and shoulder, his rough beard abrading the
tender skin.
Arabella returned the a ection, turning her head to seek
out his lips. He kissed her with as much ferocity as ever, his
cock leaping within her as if trying to surge back to life. As
she surrendered to his consuming lips and plundering
tongue, she felt the slide of his hand along her arm, toward
the tightly closed fist holding fast to his talisman. Prying her
fingers apart, he laid his palm against hers, the unyielding
hardness of the talisman held tight between them.
 CHAPTER SIX

A rabella came awake, uncertain of the time. Hours must

have passed, as the red-orange hues of sunset radiated
through the cabin windows. Finding the bed beside her
empty, she sat upright and stretched. Blinking against the
flash of orange light as the setting sun glinted o the glassy
surface of the sea, she found Drew on the other side of the
room. Her lips parted on a breathless sigh at the sight of
him, stripped nude before the washstand. Water glinted o
his skin, even the bared parts of him darkened to deep
bronze. She flushed to see him naked in the open, letting the
sun kiss every glorious inch of him.
She bit her lip as she studied his long legs and taught,
firm buttocks, the ropes of muscles stretching and rolling
with each motion of his arms. The waning sunlight
streaming through the cabin windows brought the golden
strands mingled with his dark hair to life, making him look
more like a lion than ever.
Arabella frowned as she studied his broad back, his hair
doing little to hide the cruel brutality painted across his skin.
Long, raised scars traversed the expanse of his shoulders and
upper back, angry and prominent. Her gut twisted at the
evidence that someone had taken a whip to him.
 “Drew,” she whispered, unable to keep the awe and
sadness out of her voice. He looked as if he’d been ravaged
half to death. There were more scars—knife wounds on his
legs and arms, and a puckered, circular scar she assumed
might be a bullet wound in his side.
He turned to face her while using a linen scrap to wipe the
remnants of water and soap from his freshly-shaved face.
Tossing it aside, he reached for a pair of breeches hanging
over a painted screen and pulled them on.
“Finally awake, I see. Good. We have a visitor.”
She followed the trajectory of Drew’s gaze and found Will
bound hand and foot to a chair on the far side of the cabin. A
gag split his lips, though he made no sound as he stared back
at her, his gaze tracing a path over her disheveled hair and
exasperated face, then lower. Arabella’s cheeks heated as she
realized she was still naked and the bedclothes had fallen to
her waist. Swiftly jerking them up over her exposed breasts,
she looked back to Drew.
“What on Earth is going on?”
Wearing his boots but still bare-chested, Drew
approached, thrusting a clean white shirt at her. “Put this
on. Now that you’re awake, there are matters that must be
addressed.”
Arabella did her best to put the shirt on while avoiding
exposing herself to the two men. It didn’t matter that Drew
had just fucked her, or that he’d seen every inch of her body
countless times. She didn’t feel very charitable toward him
just now.
What game was he playing?
Climbing from the bed, she winced at the twinge between
her thighs. The aftere ects of Drew’s rough claiming were
still making themselves apparent. Biting her lip, she
carefully made her way to the foot of the bed, one hand
grasping a wooden post as she watched Drew approach Will.
 As he bent over her former fiancé to pry the gag from his
mouth, Arabella looked on in strained silence, heart
knocking against her ribs. Drew had become so
unpredictable, and his anger hadn’t abated—that much was
clear from the hard set of his jaw and the grim slash of his
mouth.
“Drew,” Will grumbled with a black scowl. “This is
ridiculous. You have quite made your point—”
“Have I?” Drew murmured, arms crossed over his bare
chest. “But there is still so much to settle between the three
of us. After all, you were the one who told me you had
anticipated your wedding night with Bella. What was it you
said? Oh, yes … you ‘gave her every inch of your cock, and
she begged for more.’ Did I remember that correctly?”
A sound of outrage tore from Arabella’s throat, and Will
squirmed under the heated glare she leveled at him.
“He’s lying, Bella. I would never—”
“Why would you have married her, when you could so
easily make her your whore?” Drew interjected, each word
biting into Arabella like the strikes of a dagger. “That was
what you said when I confronted you this morning. You
wanted me to believe she had betrayed me, when you were
the true traitor all along.”
Ignoring Drew, Will leaned forward as much as the ropes
around his chest would allow. “Bella, he’s lying. I wanted to
marry you because I love you. I—”
The back of Drew’s hand cracked across Will’s jaw,
making his words break o on a startled cry. Then, stomping
across the room, he took hold of the coverlet Arabella had
just lain under and tore it from the bed. Her stomach
spasmed with a sick feeling as the white bedsheet was
revealed, stained right in the middle with the pale pink
splotches showing anyone with eyes that she’d been a virgin
before climbing into that bed.
 “Care to explain that?” Drew taunted, raising an eyebrow
at his brother. “Imagine my astonishment when I helped
myself to my well-earned prize, only to learn she remained
as untouched as I left her five years ago. You never counted
on that when spewing your filth, did you? As I predicted,
you’re a liar.”
Arabella pressed a hand over her mouth, her entire body
shaking with the force of the emotions tearing through her.
She felt like a bone held between two ravenous dogs, torn
apart by an animosity she did not understand. The two men
she’d known before had loved one another, had been
brothers in blood and in their hearts. What had happened to
change all that?
“Tell her!” Drew barked, pointing at Arabella while
keeping his narrowed eyes on Will. “Tell her how it gratified
you to paint her the Jezebel in order to stoke my rage. Tell
her what you did to me that night at The Bull’s Head!”
Will’s jaw jutted stubbornly, and he remained silent as he
glared at Drew. Arabella couldn’t help a startled cry when
Drew’s fist went flying, crashing into his jaw.
“If you don’t start moving that bit of flesh in your mouth,
I’ll cut it out!” he roared.
Already, Will’s face was swelling and darkening from red
to purple in places. His lip had been split, which meant Drew
had likely abused him sometime between last night and this
morning. A nauseating sense of foreboding opened in her gut
as she tried to rationalize the reasons for Drew’s malice. He
had never been illogical or vindictive. If he was angry,
Arabella had to believe there was a reason.
“Tell her,” Drew snapped, grasping Will by his hair and
wrenching his head back so he was forced to meet Arabella’s
gaze. “Tell her about how I invited you to have a drink with
me to celebrate my good news. Do you remember how
excited I was that I’d finally saved enough money to buy
those shares in our uncle’s shipping company? It was what I
needed to finally prove to Archibald that I was good enough
to marry Bella, and you were the first person I wanted to tell.
Look her in the eye and tell her how you got me drunk and
guided me into that alley, where you knew the press-gang
would be waiting. Goddamn it, you will tell her or I’ll kill you
right here, right now!”
Arabella’s eyes stung with an onslaught of tears, her
throat burning as she started at Will in disbelief. “You told
me you never saw him that night … that you only found out
Drew had been impressed after your father made a few
inquiries.”
Will made a pitiful sound of protest as the grip on his hair
was tightened, and Drew’s dagger appeared at his throat.
“You have five seconds to speak, or I’ll slit you open. One
…”
“Sod you, Drew,” Will gurgled, never taking his eyes o
Arabella.
“Two …”
“Will, please!” she exclaimed, a hot tear splashing her
cheek.
“Three … four … five!”
Arabella’s cry of dismay was lost in the tangled sounds
coming from the two men—Drew’s determined snarl as he
pressed the knife tighter against Will’s throat, and Will’s
exclamation as he flinched away from the blade.
“All right! I’ll tell her. For the love of Christ … you
actually meant to do it!”
Drew lowered his arm, revealing an inch-long incision on
the left side of Will’s throat. Blood welled in the gash,
trickling down the pale column of Will’s throat. Arabella
leaned against the bedpost, dizzy, overwhelmed and certain
she might fall to the floor any moment.
 “Don’t test me like that again,” Drew warned, wiping his
blade clean on the leg of his breeches and sheathing it in his
boot. “When I make a promise, I keep it. Now, talk.”
Will’s throat undulated with a forceful swallow as he
looked back to Arabella, more blood leaking toward his
collarbone.
“There’s a commodore who takes bribes to set press-
gangs on men you might want to get rid of. It was Archibald
who told me about him. He suggested it could be an
expedient way to keep you from marrying Drew.”
“But, why?” she railed, her voice rising in volume and
pitch as she pushed away from the bedpost to approach him
on unsteady legs. “Why, Will?”
His chest heaved with heavy breath as his gaze darted
from her to Drew and back again. Then, Arabella felt as if she
looked into the eyes of a di erent person entirely. The sweet,
considerate man she’d been willing to marry was gone, and
in his place was a cold, calculated stranger—all hard angles
and cold, dead eyes.
“You never knew what was good for you, Bella. Archibald
knew it, and I did, too. Your life with Drew would have been
far less than you deserved, and I wanted you. I loved you. I
had the means to see you catered to in luxury for the rest of
your life, but you could never see that for all that you were
obsessed with him!”
Arabella shook her head in disbelief, more of the accursed
tears running down her face and neck in hot streams. She
could hardly fathom what she was hearing—could not
believe that two of the people she had loved most in the
world had gone out of their way to harm someone else. And,
Drew hadn’t been the only one hurt by their perfidy. She had
been manipulated and made to think he was dead.
“You could not love me as much as you claim if you could
conspire to hurt me this way,” she spat, her lip curling into a
sneer. “Drew is your brother. I might be able to understand
why Father would plot to be rid of him, but you? How could
you?”
“Quite easily, I assure you,” Will snarled, narrowed eyes
fixed on Drew. His brother returned his stare with a cool,
unflinching one of his own, arms crossed over his chest. “It
was never enough for you, was it? Father accepted you, doted
on you, went out of his way to make sure his little black
bastard wasn’t made to feel neglected! And what about me,
hm? Do you think he twisted himself up in knots over his
only legitimate son? No, it was always you—making him
proud by learning a trade, going into business, buying the
shares in that fucking line. But even that wasn’t enough for
you, was it? You had to have her, too, even when we both
knew who the better man was. You knew I wanted her, and
you snatched her right from under me!”
“A man cannot take steal something that was never yours
to begin with,” Drew replied, no reaction to his brother’s
words showing on his face.
For her part, Arabella was absolutely horrified. She felt as
if she had been walking about blind all this time, and Drew
had snatched a veil from over her eyes to expose the truth.
All her life, she’d thought the three of them so close—two
brothers with a tight bond, and her a friend to one and a
lover to the other. She had truly been ignorant of Will’s
feelings for her, as well as his jealousy.
Arabella felt like such a fool for believing in the absolute
goodness of the people around her. Her father and Will had
both destroyed her trust in one fell swoop, and robbed her of
so much. As Drew paced to the other side of the cabin and
she caught sight of the horrid scars on his back, she knew
that even more had been taken from him.
“I want you to know that I will take great pleasure in
repaying you in kind for what you did to me,” Drew said,
turning back to them as he pulled a fresh shirt on over his
head. “I am certain you thought yourself beyond my reach.”
“You weren’t supposed to come back,” Will bellowed,
spittle flying from his mouth and blood drying on the collar
of his filthy shirt. “You were supposed to have died on that
ship!”
“How unfortunate for you that I didn’t,” Drew intoned,
his voice as flat and emotionless as a flat, glassy lake. “And I
thank you for the first bit of honesty I’ve heard from your
lips in years. I spent a long time wondering why you would
betray me, why you hated me so much. I thought it was only
Bella, but it would seem you are the one who could never be
content. Poor little Will, born with all the money and
privilege in the world, jealous of his bastard brother for
earning the respect of the man who made sport of his
enslaved mother. You would have inherited everything he
gave a damn about, when all I ever received was the seed
that gave me life, his blood in my veins, and a pittance of a
settlement to live on and make my way in the world. As to
your opinions regarding what I do or do not deserve … they
are irrelevant. You see, thanks to you I’m the most feared
pirate in the Caribbean Sea, and one of the wealthiest
besides. And now, Bella is mine again, as she was always
meant to be. You have quite lost our little game, which I find
highly amusing considering that for years I didn’t even know
we were playing one.”
Will seethed as Drew shoved the gag back between his
lips. Then, he tore open the cabin door and called for a few of
his crew. Booted footsteps preceded four men, all of whom
gave her no more than a cursory glance before following
Drew’s orders.
“Take him back to the bilge. I’ll deal with him at my own
convenience.”
 Will lunged once free of the chair, as if to fight the
pirates, but with a few kicks and a set of irons they had him
subdued. They dragged him, bellowing curses and writhing,
from the cabin, slamming the door behind them.
Arabella paced toward the mullioned windows, arms held
tight around her waist as the last sliver of sun disappeared at
the line where sky met sea. She trembled as if a mighty gale
whipped through her, and her throat convulsed around sobs
she fought to contain.
“Bella.”
Drew’s hand landed on her shoulder, heavy and hot,
setting o a violent reaction within her. She whirled to face
him slapping his hand away with a savage growl.
“Don’t touch me!”
He reared back, an expression like dismay furrowing his
brow. “Don’t tell me you shed tears for him. He is
responsible for all of this!”
Swiping at her wet face, she let out a sarcastic snort.
“Was he responsible for the spectacle you pulled with the
bedsheets? Or your complete disregard for my feelings in the
revelations you made? But, of course my feelings don’t
matter. I am simply your prize, am I not? The spoils you are
entitled to after all you have endured!”
She finished o her diatribe by pounding her fist against
his chest and pushing him aside to storm for the door. Anger
made her feel hot and itchy all over, and if she had to occupy
this cabin with him a moment longer, she might do him
serious bodily harm.
Drew caught her up, one arm looping around her waist
and jerking her back against his chest before she could get
her hand on the doorknob. Her feet left the floor, and she
kicked and flailed as he carried her back across the room. Her
bottom made contact with a cushion, and Arabella found
herself seated on a bench that was pushed up against the
alcove of windows.
“You are not to leave this cabin so scandalously dressed,
unless you want me to pluck out the eyes of every man on
this ship who lays eyes on you.”
Drew’s gaze traveled down her body, making her aware of
her state of undress. When he looked into her eyes again, she
noticed the turbulence in the depths of his irises, storm
clouds gathering in muted brown over the gold-green tones.
His face was drawn tight, lips thinned as he backed away
from her, swiping up his gunbelt as he went.
“If you want to be away from me so badly, I’ll leave,” he
declared while buckling the brace of flintlocks and cutlass
around his hips. A scarlet frock coat with gold buttons
followed, then his tricorne.
Arabella pulled her knees up to her chest and watched his
retreat, flinching when the door crashed forcefully into the
frame. With another sob, she let her head fall against the
window and closed her eyes, her face awash in another flood
of tears.
 CHAPTER SEVEN

W hen Arabella opened her eyes again, the dark blanket

of night lay beyond the window, with the moon and a
smattering of stars slashing through it in pinpoints of silver.
Prying her cheek away from the warm glass, she blinked and
groaned, her entire body protesting her position. She’d cried
herself to sleep against the window, curled up on the
cushioned bench. Despite her rest, she still felt heavy and
wrung dry, her head pounding and her mouth dry.
The sound of trickling water caught her attention, and
she turned her head to find she was no longer alone in the
room. Drew stood behind his desk, bent at the waist over
what looked like a map. Four heavy, golden weights held it
down at each corner. He had removed his tricorne but still
wore the red coat. Candlelight illuminated his face, casting it
in haggard and tense lines.
In the center of the room stood a copper tub draped with
white muslin. Jack the cabin boy stood filling it with a
steaming bucket of water—what appeared to be one of many.
The tub was already nearly full. She sighed at the sight of the
steam rising from the water, which brought Drew’s gaze to
on her. She paused, having just placed her feet on the floor,
caught up in the intensity of his stare. Her earlier anger with
him had settled into a pile of glowing embers, the roaring
flames doused by her exhaustion and uncertainty. What did
he want with her now that the truth had been revealed? He
claimed to ‘own’ her, but what did that mean to a pirate who
was apparently wealthy enough to have whatever and
whoever he wanted?
“You’ve awakened just in time,” he said, straightening
and folding his hands behind his back. “Your bath is ready.
Thank you, Little Jack. You can go now.”
The cabin boy had just finished pouring the last of the
water, and nodded to Drew before taking up two buckets and
leaving the room. Arabella came to her feet, noticing that the
tub was large enough for her to immerse herself and had to
have required quite a bit of fresh water to fill—a precious
commodity on a ship.
As if he had read her mind, Drew approached, pausing to
test the heat of the water with his fingers. “I don’t fill this
tub often, but we replenished our water stores in Ocho Rios,
and will have the chance to do so again. There is no comfort I
would deny you, Bella. If you require anything during your
time aboard The Black Lion, you need only ask.”
She could only stand and stare at him, lips parted as he
came to stand before her, one hand coming up to caress her
cheek. It was the tenderest contact Arabella had experienced
since he had come to Falmouth to take her. She couldn’t help
leaning into it, feeling in that touch the young man who had
stolen her heart so long ago.
“Come, before the water grows cold.”
She sti ened when his fingers plucked at the buttons
holding the shirt closed over her breasts. His eyes melted
into golden, liquid pools as the garment fell o one shoulder,
then lower, baring her breast. Arabella heard the hitch in his
breath, her own exhales coming sharp and uneven as he
stroked a fingertip along her collarbone, then lower, lightly
skimming his fingernail over the tightening tip of her nipple.
 “My beautiful Bella,” he murmured. “You are mine … but
not because I’ve taken you as an act of revenge, and not to
rub Will’s nose in my triumph, but because you love me.”
She opened her mouth to reply, but he pressed his finger
over her lips with a smile. He was radiant when he did that,
and it took Arabella’s breath away. His fingertip stroked
along the curve of her lower lip.
“What I should have added earlier—for Will to hear from
my own lips—is that I am yours, in the same way that you
are mine. Because even when I thought you had chosen him
over me, even when the thought of you letting him kiss and
touch you made me want to commit murder, even when I
was uncertain whether you had conspired with him to have
me impressed … I couldn’t stop loving you. I couldn’t stop
needing you. If kidnapping you and keeping you chained to
my bed was what it took to make you mine again, I was
willing to do it, even if it caused you to hate me.”
She took hold of his hand and kissed the palm, relief
sweeping through her as she realized she’d been right to put
her trust in him—in them.
“I could never hate you.”
“Even when I use you to hurt Will as he has hurt me?” he
whispered, hanging his head. “I should never have done it. I
have no excuse to o er other than the fact that I haven’t
trusted anyone except my crew for a long time. Will’s
treachery made me question everything, but I was wrong to
ever doubt you. I’d never forgive myself if what I did today
destroys my second chance with you. Forgive me … please. If
not now, then someday. I’m so sorry, Bella.”
Taking his head in her hands, Arabella raised it so he
looked at her again. “Do you think I want this second chance
any less than you do? I will not allow what Will has done to
come between us. If you forgive me for almost marrying your
brother, I will forgive you. Let this be the end of strife
between us, Drew. I have missed you, I longed for you, and
now you’ve found me again. I will not waste the time we’ve
been given being angry or holding grudges.”
He pressed his forehead to hers with a heavy sigh. “Thank
you. I don’t deserve your forgiveness, but I’ll earn it if you
give me time.”
Kissing the tip of his nose, she o ered him a smile. “It
would seem you now have all the time in world in which to
do so.”
He smirked, pushing the shirt o her other shoulder. The
linen slithered down her body, leaving her completely nude.
Desire lit in his gaze as he looked her over, lips parting on a
low sound of raw, male need. Yet, he merely took her hand
and guided her to the tub.
“Get in.”
Arabella obeyed, wincing at the sting when the water first
made contact with her skin. As she submerged herself,
sinking down until the water lapped at her chin, the tension
and soreness melted away. She watched Drew remove his
coat, then roll his shirtsleeves up to the elbow. Taking up a
rough, wooden stool, he sat beside the tub with a cake of
soap held in one hand.
Arabella allowed him to pluck one of her feet from the
water, closing her eyes. The scent of roses and something
spicy rose up from the water, titillating her senses.
“Rose and patchouli oils,” Drew said, answering the
unspoken question of her deep inhales. “I thought you might
like them.”
“They’re heavenly,” she murmured, groaning when his
soap-slick hand kneaded her calf. “One would never think to
find such luxuries on a pirate ship.”
“One would be surprised what years of plunder can make
possible.”
 The reminder of who he was now—what he had become
—had Arabella opening her eyes to look at him. Drew’s focus
remained on his ministrations, his hands caressing bubbles
along her wet skin, fingers exerting firm, belly-fluttering
pressure. The nautical star tattooed on his right hand snared
her attention, glimmering beneath a coating of water and
soap.
“Drew?”
“Yes?”
Clearing her throat, she ignored the bundle of nerves
expanding in her belly. If they were to have some sort of
future together, there were things she needed to know. Will’s
admissions had only o ered her part of the story. “Won’t
you tell me what happened to you? Where have you been? We
received word years ago that your ship was lost in a storm,
and … I truly believed you dead.”
He lifted her arm out of the water, his hands freshly
lathered with soap and working from shoulder to wrist. “The
Hannibal was, in fact, lost … but not in a storm. There was a
mutiny, and she was set aflame and sunk.”
“Goodness,” she murmured.
“By me,” he added. “Me and Rory … the Irishman you
met when you boarded the ship.”
Her mouth dropped open as she looked for any sign that
he was lying or joking. She found none.
“You have to understand that life on a Royal Navy vessel
isn’t the glorious adventure you might think,” he said, his
voice taking on a biting edge. “Not even for a man who goes
aboard one of those ships willingly. For a quadroon who had
been impressed … well, let’s just say a trip to Hell would
have been preferable.”
“I remember your letters, the few we received. You
mentioned being half-starved from meager rations and
sleeping in quarters that were either cold or stifling hot, and
always damp. I wept for you, Drew. I hated to know you were
su ering with no way out.”
“I could only have been set free from my term of service
when our ship finished its campaign. I counted the days and
weeks, and told myself I could survive it. I had to survive it,
so I could get back to you.”
“I would have waited,” she told him, with every ounce of
earnestness in her body. “I was willing to wait as long as it
took.”
Drew squeezed his eyes shut as if pained and shook his
head. “The commander of the Hannibal … he was a
particularly cruel and exacting master. His standards were
impossible to maintain, and his punishments were severe.
He was skilled with the cat o’ nine tails, cane, and birch rods,
and used any excuse to wield them.”
Arabella pressed a hand to her mouth, feeling as if she’d
be ill. “The scars on your back.”
“Courtesy of Captain Manning,” he spat. “The man
seemed to take particular joy in abusing the lowest of his
crew, and I was certainly considered below his regard. I was
too angry over my impressment, too resentful of my place in
the navy—something I never asked for or wanted. He took it
upon himself to beat the defiance out of me. He and the
other o cers made our lives miserable. Within the first year
of mine and Rory’s service, rumblings of discontent began
sweeping through the crew. We were starving while the
commander and his men ate like royalty every night. We
were harshly punished for the smallest transgressions, and
some of the o cers … they were not averse to using the
weakest of us for sport when their need for release after a
long time at sea grew too strong to ignore. There were boys
on board and … and one of the o cers had unnatural urges
toward them. The captain’s cabin boy threw himself into the
sea rather than su er such torment any longer.”
 Tears sprang to her eyes at the horrors of his tale, the
unimaginable su ering he had endured. “Did such things
happen to you? Did those men …”
Drew shook his head with a disgusted snort, then took up
his stool to sit behind her. Prodding her to inch forward, he
began washing her back. “No, but it was a near thing. One of
them caught me unawares with a blow to the head. By then, I
was weak from lack of a proper diet and had just su ered yet
another taste of the cat o’ nines. They had nearly succeeded
in breaking me, but when that o cer attempted to make use
of me, something within me cracked. I was done cowering
and simply keeping my head down so I could survive. I
fought back, though I cannot tell you where I found the
strength. It was as if some demon had taken possession of
my body—one that would rather kill that man or die trying
rather than lie there and let him defile me.”
His voice remained low and steady as if he detached
himself from his own words. Reaching for his hand, Arabella
stilled it on her shoulder and gave his fingers a squeeze.
“Another o cer walked in just as I finished strangling his
comrade. He attacked me, attempting to slit my throat.
That’s where this came from.”
She looked back to watch him trace a wet fingertip along
the scar on his throat, confirming her suspicion about how
he’d gotten it. Tilting her head, he cupped water in his hands
and doused her hair. Arabella let him lather the strands and
remained silent while he continued his tale.
“He would have succeeded if Rory hadn’t happened upon
us. He wrestled the second o cer o me and snapped his
neck. From there, the carnage spread like wildfire. The other
seamen rose up with us, attacking the o cers and
imprisoning the captain in his quarters. We slew more than
half of them and imprisoned the rest, chaining them
together and throwing them into the bilge. Then, we dragged
the captain out onto the quarterdeck and stripped him
naked, giving him a taste of what he so readily dished out to
us. We took turn lashing him with his precious cat o’ nines,
until not an inch of his skin went unpunished. Then, we
strung him up to the mainmast and left him there until he
died.”
“My God,” she whispered hoarsely, stunned at the
thought of such carnage and brutality. But what recourse did
men have when the choices were degradation and starvation,
or a mutiny?
His hands tightened in her hair and he pulled her back
until his lips touched her brow. “I won’t lie to you or try to
soften the reality of what I’ve become. The o cer was only
the first in a string of men I’ve killed. I am not who I was
when you knew me, Bella, and I never will be again.”
That much she understood without him having to tell her.
At least now she knew the extent of it, and realized she
would have accepted him regardless. She loved him too much
to believe that the label of ‘pirate’ somehow made him
di erent than the boy she’d grown up with, the man she
loved so dearly. “Tell me the rest. I want to know all of it.”
He leaned her head back to rinse her hair, his hands
gently guiding the water through the strands that now fell in
soaked, wooly waves between her shoulder blades.
“We spent those first days drunk on the gratification of
what we’d done. We raided the galley and helped ourselves to
the food we had been denied, and the rum the o cers had
enjoyed while we drank water from the scuttlebutt that had
gone putrid. We feasted like kings and imbibed until we were
three sheets to the wind. But, as the revelry died down, we
had to face the consequences of what we’d done. We could
never return home, or risk being hanged for treason. Some of
the men had families, but no means of supporting them now
that they’d taken part in a mutiny. We never really called
ourselves pirates, not at first. We were simply men seeking
our fortune, righting the wrongs of what had been done to
us. When talk of who would be our captain began, Rory was
the one who put forth my name. The vote to elect me was
unanimous.”
“You gave them what they needed to rise up and fight
back. By killing that o cer, you showed them they didn’t
have to cower or be tread upon. Of course they made you
their captain.”
“I didn’t see it that way. I was simply angry and desperate
and had taken more than I could stomach from my superiors.
I became their captain because it was the only way I could
think of to get back to you. I had one simple plan—ravage as
many Royal Navy ships as I could and earn myself the ability
to establish a life somewhere else—someplace away from
Jamaica and the navy and your father. I had every intention
of returning to Falmouth and making o with you. I didn’t
want to endanger you by writing, so I held on to the hope
that you would wait.”
She lowered her eyes in shame, angry with herself for
giving in to Will when all she’d only needed bide her time. As
if sensing the path of her thoughts, he tipped her head back
so she looked at him, pressing a kiss between her eyebrows.
“You were misled, just as I was. We decided to forgive
each other, remember? I know now that if you had known I
was alive, you would have waited. In the end, that is all that
matters.”
He urged her to stand so he could wash the rest of her,
gentling his touch as he ran his palms over her belly, her
breasts, his calluses abrading her tender nipples
“Word came to Falmouth that the Hannibal had gone
down with the crew,” she said. “No word of your survival
reached us.”
 “It wouldn’t have. We were the ones who sank it, you see.
We’d been pirating for a year by then, our holds filled with
goods stolen from British merchantmen and navy vessels.
But then, our mutiny came back to haunt us. We had elected
not to slaughter the other o cers, choosing instead to
maroon them on an island in the Bahamas. They were
eventually rescued by another navy vessel, and word quickly
spread of what we’d done. The Caribbean Sea became a
dangerous place for us, with all Royal Navy vessels ordered
to retake the ship should they encounter us. So, when we
came upon this schooner carrying tobacco and sugar cane
out of the West Indies to England, we seized on the
opportunity. We took it for ourselves and sank the HMS
Hannibal. I suppose the Admiralty didn’t want it known that
a lowly group of seamen had defeated its o cers and stolen
one of its finest ships, so the tale of our loss in a storm was
spread about. They refused to admit they’d been bested by
us.”
“Naturally,” she said with a disdainful sco .
“We’ve spent these past years making our fortune on the
seas. Every man who has a family to support has found
himself able to either send his wealth home, or have brought
their wives and children to live with us on Île Saint Marie.”
“Île Saint Marie?”
He smiled. “It is an island o the eastern coast of
Madagascar, and is known by some as ‘pirate island’. There
are several pirate captains who have claimed territory there,
including myself. Various navies have tried to ferret us out,
but have all but given up. We’ve made it clear that we won’t
go down without a fight, and it isn’t worth it to them trying
to invade. Their chances are better on the open sea, and they
know it. My crew and I have our own compound of sorts, on
a hill overlooking the most beautiful valley. You should see
it, Bella … miles and miles of green palms and lush forest,
clear lagoons with rushing waterfalls—my own home
overlooks such a place. I had always planned to take you
there.”
Arabella heard the longing in his voice, a subtle note
underlying the gru tones.
“You will,” she said, cupping his face and running her
fingers along his smoothly shaved jaw. “Won’t you?”
He straightened, having finished rinsing her of the last of
the soap. “Yes. That has always been my plan; to take you
away to my piece of the island and make some sort of life.
I’m a wealthy man, but a wanted one, though I cannot
pretend to be ashamed of it. I did it all for us, for you.”
She frowned “What stopped you from coming until now?
How did you find out Father and Will had something to do
with your impressment?”
His jaw flexed and clenched tight, his nostrils flaring at
the mention of his half-brother. “I wasn’t certain at first.
But hindsight will make a person aware of things they did
not see before. I always knew Will wanted you. I’d have been
a fool not to see the way he looked at you. He did not mask
his desire or his envy well. I think he was counting on me not
being able to purchase those shares in the shipping company
so I could wed you.”
Arabella shook her head, still in disbelief at this
revelation. “I never noticed. I was so wrapped up in you, I
only ever saw him as my friend.”
Drew reached for a thick sheet of toweling, wrapping it
around her and then lifting her from the tub. “Everyone else
knew, your father included. I was a fool to think he would
ever allow us to wed, whether I could support you or not. I
now know the lengths he was willing to go to keep me from
having you.”
“I cannot believe he would do such a thing. He knows how
much I love you.”
 He gave her a solemn look filled with pity. “I know you
want to think your father is a good man …”
“I think he is a man who only considers his best
interest,” she said with a shrug. “I do have a ection for him,
but the reality of my birth cannot be ignored. He took
advantage of my mother’s position as his property, knowing
she could not truly deny him. She was like any other slave
until she had the wiles to earn her freedom, and mine.”
“She was a brave woman, much like her daughter.”
Arabella lowered her eyes in the face of his praise,
knowing she hadn’t been as brave as she ought, or as smart.
She’d been so blinded by grief she hadn’t seen Will’s
manipulation for what it was.
“You asked how I knew Will and your father had turned
me over to that gang? It was when I tortured it out of the
Hannibal’s captain. I suppose they thought that if I were
away for years, Will would have a chance to win you. That
the Hannibal was reported as lost must have seemed
fortuitous for them.”
Her head spun as she took all this in, appalled at the
cruelty of her father and Will. Truly, Archibald’s behavior did
not surprise her, but Will … he had been one of Drew’s only
friends in the world. Mrs. Throckmorton had hated the
evidence of her husband’s involvement with a slave, and had
made it clear that Drew was not welcome in her home, even
after his mother had died and left him an orphan.
Mr. Throckmorton had set him up in a house in Falmouth
with a nurse to care for him. He’d gone to school and become
a carpenter’s apprentice, and despite the interference of his
father’s wife, had managed to forge a tight bond with Will.
Upon the death of his wife, Mr. Throckmorton had begun
bringing Drew into his home for extended visits. It was
during those times that Arabella had come to know both
boys, finding in them her closest friends in the world. Will’s
betrayal wounded her so deeply she could hardly stand it.
How could he have been so cruel?
“Jealousy is a powerful emotion, Bella,” Drew said, as if
having read her mind. “I know how it feels. When I began
sending my spies into Falmouth, I learned he was courting
you and the island was ablaze with talk of your eventual
marriage. I didn’t want to believe it, but then I saw you
myself and … I was fit to kill you both then and there. But I
loved you too much, even when it hurt, and I wanted my
hands on him just as badly, so I bided my time. I’m glad I
did, so I could come to see that jealousy and anger blinded
me to the truth.”
She braced her hands on his shoulders as he finished
helping to dry her. Then, he was guiding her to the bed,
laying her down on fresh, clean sheets. The ones holding the
evidence of her lost maidenhead were nowhere to be found.
Arabella sat in the center of the bed, waiting for him to join
her and feasting on the skin he exposed as he began to
disrobe. His gunbelt fell away first, then his shirt came o
over his head, his boots, stockings and breeches following.
When he climbed into bed, Arabella went to him, straddling
his hips and wrapping her arms around his neck. She needed
to be close to him, to feel connected to Drew after so much
time apart.
“You must know I’d never have considered him if I
thought for a moment you were alive. I was just so lonely
and wretched without you. And he was there, and he … he
manipulated me most thoroughly.”
He braced both hands at her waist, smoothing them down
to her hips and back up again. His cock swelled against her
mons, full and thick.
“He took advantage of you. But you were never his,” he
growled, raising both hands to cup and knead her breasts.
“I’m taking you to my island and refuse to let you out of my
sight ever again.”
Moaning, she undulated her hips to press closer to him,
fitting her breasts more fully in his grasp as he toyed with
her tender nipples. “I won’t want to be away from you. Not
ever. You’ll have me, always.”
He made a low hum of satisfaction, still toying with her
breasts and seeming to enjoy himself immensely. “I’ll have
you right now. I know it’s bad of me when you must be sore
from this afternoon, but … goddamn it, Bella. I can’t get
enough of you. I never could.”
“Have me,” she urged, despite the lingering soreness. She
didn’t care if it hurt, if he tore her apart. She wanted him.
Needed him.
A wicked gleam flashed in Drew’s eyes as he lowered his
hands to cup her buttocks, raising her up so he could fit his
cock at her opening. “Ask me nicely like a good girl. Say,
‘Please fuck me, Captain.’”
She gasped when he surged his hips, giving her the barest
inch of him and pausing. Gripping his shoulders, she ground
against him, urging him deeper.
“Please fuck me, Captain. Oh!”
Her exclamation choked o on a strangled cry as he
swiftly pressed her downward, spearing her on his cock. His
head fell back against the headboard and the muscles in his
arms bunched and rolled as he propelled her up and down
his cock, his hips moving in time with hers so they danced
together, as in tune with one another as they’d always been.
The sting of his invasion melted away as she stretched to
accommodate him easier than before, this position allowing
him in as deep as he could go. She clawed his chest, wild
with desire as she gave herself over to primal lust and need.
As she hurtled toward climax, Arabella clung to Drew,
throwing her head back and surrendering to the storm as it
washed over her, exulting in the fact that he was hers once
more.
 CHAPTER EIGHT

T he following afternoon, when the sun was at its highest,

Drew stood amongst his crew on the deck of The Sea Lion
with Arabella at his side. His two prisoners knelt in irons,
ready to face the justice of the crew and their captain.
Despite a near-sleepless night, Bella was bright-eyed and
radiant. With past slights smoothed over and lies exposed,
they were now free to become reacquainted with one another
—an opportunity Drew did not take for granted. They had
passed the night tangled with one another in his bed, legs
intertwined, voices low as they spoke every word that had
gone unsaid between them for five long years. When they
weren’t talking, Drew was exorcising years’ worth of turmoil
between her thighs.
He ought to be gentler with her, kissing and caressing her
with the tender hands of a lover instead of the dominating
ones of a pirate captain, but his fervor for her was unlike
anything he’d ever experienced. It demanded utter
annihilation—panting, sweating oblivion.
His Bella was as receptive to him as she’d always been,
her carnal urges awakened and responding in kind to his
dark urges. She only clung to him tighter when it was over,
kissing his neck, his jaw, his lips. Her sweetness in the
aftermath was his favorite part—something he’d never
thought to experience again during those hellish days aboard
the HMS Hannibal.
That time in his life was over. With this final act, he
would put Archibald, Will, and their foul deeds behind him,
then escape with Arabella to part of the secluded Pirate
Island. His pirating days were far from over, for there was an
entire crew of men relying on him, and oceans full of ships
for the plunder. But he would strike out to sea secure in the
knowledge that Arabella would always be his home, his place
of refuge, the thing drawing him back to Île Saint Marie.
This morning, he delved into the chest of treasures he’d
been saving for over the years for the first time. She’d been
surprised to learn that the bench beneath his bay of windows
was actually a chest, which he opened to reveal the riches
kept safe within. Drew had taken the best of the plunder
from various ships for her, and it gave him great pleasure to
finally put it all in her possession.
His Bella had been catered to as a lady all her life, but now
she would be a queen. She bathed in waters scented with
jasmine and clove, and slathered her skin with rose and
almond oils. Once he had her on the island, he’d reserve a
portion of his house sta to cater to her every whim. He
would do it because it would gratify him to give her
everything her father had thought him incapable of—but
also to make up for his own mistakes. She had forgiven him
for the assumptions he had made, as well as his lack of trust
in her. However, Drew wouldn’t be content with that. He
would spend the rest of his life ensuring she was kept safe
and showered with everything she could ever desire.
He gave his queen her pick of gowns in opulent fabrics
taken from all over the world—India, Morocco, The Orient,
Italy, Spain, and France. She chose a sari of green silk
embroidered with gold beading from amongst his bounty
taken from an East India Company ship, wrapping it around
her body and allowing the long, end of the garment to flow
over one shoulder. She wore nothing beneath it, exposing the
golden slope of one shoulder and her upper back, making his
mouth water to bite and kiss that bare skin. She tried several
pairs of slippers before finding some that fit, and allowed
him to fasten a jade broach over her breast.
“Everything that is mine is now yours,” he’d said,
standing back to study her, much preferring her in thin silks
as opposed to constricting stays and layers of petticoats. “I
give you the world, my Bella.”
“I never needed the world, Drew. You were all I ever
wanted.”
She had kissed him then, coming up on tiptoe and
cupping his face. Drew fell into the kiss with unquenched
ardor, nearly forgetting the task he had set for himself for
the day. Now that he’d set things right with her, there were
two treacherous snakes to be dealt with.
“Enough,” he had rasped, tearing his mouth away from
hers. “If we go on this way, we’ll never leave this cabin. As
much as I would like that, there is another matter for me to
tend to. Then, we are going home, together.”
So, here they now stood on the deck of his ship, ready to
mete out punishment for the misdeeds of the two men who
had nearly torn them apart. Drew’s chest swelled with pride
at the awe-filled stares Bella attracted. The eyes of his crew
settled on her with respect and appreciation instead of scorn
and lascivious intent. He supposed they could be allowed to
keep their eyesight.
Nothing pleased him more than seeing Will’s dismay at
the vision of Arabella at his side, one arm around his waist.
Drew draped a possessive arm over her shoulders, smirking
at the way Will’s jaw ticked when his hand fell against
Arabella’s breast. He left it there, and she seemed content to
allow it.
 “Brother, Archibald, today you stand before the crew of
The Sea Lion to answer for your o enses against their
captain. While nothing would please me more than tending
to you myself, I never act without the leave of my crew.”
“String ‘em up by their balls, Cap’n!” shouted a man
perched on the yardarm, a bit of rigging twined about his
arm.
“Give ‘em a taste o’ the cat o’ nines!” cried another.
“Nay! Keelhaul the bastards!”
Archibald whimpered as cheers and shouts of agreement
rang out through the crew, while Will remained as stone-
faced and defiant as ever. His brother never broke his gaze,
chin jutting out in a show of rebellion. His bruises were
hideous in the bright light of the afternoon—some starting
to turn green and yellow, while the fresh ones had just
darkened to deep purple.
Drew held one hand up for order, and the crew fell silent.
“In due time, gents, in due time. First, my lady must be
allowed to have her say, for these men not only betrayed me,
they also wounded her.”
Sounds of dissent and scorn rippled over the deck, a few
men even going so far as to spit on Archibald. His cabin boy
delivered a swift kick to Will’s ribs. Will doubled over but did
not fall, shoulders heaving as he struggled to catch his
breath.
Rory stepped forward, one fist raised as he roused the
men to chant, “Bella! Bella! Bella!”
Arabella glanced about with startled eyes as the men took
up the call, her name echoing through the air with the force
of nearly one hundred male voices.
Bracing a hand at the small of her back, Drew lowered his
head to whisper in her ear. “They love and accept you,
because you belong to me. By harming you, they have
harmed me, and the men won’t stand for it. Speak your
mind, Bella. The men will listen and take it into account in
their judgment.”
She lifted the hem of her gown and stepped forward, head
held high like the regal creature she was. Staring down her
nose at her father, Arabella looked upon him as if thinking
him a pitiful sight.
“I have always wrestled with myself as it pertains to
you,” she said, her voice strong and her words sure. “I have
felt a ection for you, but also a great deal of wariness. How
can a man who makes his fortune on the labor of slaves
claim to love me, or have loved my mother?”
Archibald sobbed, his mottled face and chapped lips
making him an unsightly mess. His balding pate had begun
to redden and blister under the unforgiving sun.
“It was for love that I did this, poppet. He isn’t good
enough for you … he never was.”
“That is for me to decide,” she countered with a shake of
her head. “If this is what your love brings, then I want none
of it. What you did to Drew was so cruel that my own pain
can never compare. I do not know if I want you to die for it,
but … you should su er as he has su ered. You should know
what it is to be helpless and preyed upon, to be hurt and
unable to defend yourself. Perhaps then you will learn
compassion for your fellow man.”
“Hear, hear!” Rory called out, prompting a galvanizing
cry of agreement from the men.
When they fell silent again, she turned to Will, her eyes
blazing with fury. “As for you …”
Will met her gaze, his expression a muddle of derision
and lust. “What a fool you are, Bella. You could have had a
real man, but have chosen to give yourself to this
degenerate. I pity you.”
Rory lunged for Will, but Drew held him back with a heavy
hand on one shoulder.
 “Let me at him, Cap’n,” his quartermaster growled, face
as red as his hair in his fury. “I’ll have his foul tongue for
that!”
“It is Bella’s turn to speak, Mr. Walsh. We will have our
time.”
To everyone’s surprise, Bella merely smiled at Will, the
gesture heavy with her own derision. “It is you who should
be pitied. Were you a real man, you wouldn’t have found it
necessary to resort to lies and trickery to have me. All the
riches in the world weren’t enough for you, were they? You
couldn’t stand for Drew to have the one thing that could
never be yours. And for all your scheming and plotting, in
the end you have lost. You will die—perhaps today—and face
eternal judgment, while Drew and I will go on to be happy
and forget about you entirely.”
Will’s mocking smile melted into a black scowl,
embarrassment and fury twisting his features until he was
nearly unrecognizable. This was his true face, the one he hid
behind a mask of politeness, his forked tongue dripping
honeyed words when it suited him.
“You ungrateful, spiteful whore! You could have been a
grand lady, but you’ve chosen to become the bed wench of a
pirate.”
She backed away from Will and into the shelter of Drew’s
body. He wrapped his arms around Arabella and pulled her to
his chest, resting his chin atop her head and giving his half-
brother a mocking smile. Will’s insults only gave truth to his
real feelings. It ate him up alive to know he’d nearly had
Arabella, only for her to slip through his fingers.
“Better his whore than your wife,” Arabella retored.
“Death is far too good for the likes of you. These men could
do with you what they pleased, and I would sleep just fine
tonight. Damn you, Will. Damn you to Hell.”
 An eerie silence fell over the gathering, all eyes turning to
Drew as the men awaited his direction. He clung to Arabella
while sweeping his eyes over them, meeting the gazes of the
men who’d been at his back come hell or high water. Some of
them were part of the mutiny aboard Hannibal, while others
had joined the crew over the years, proving no less loyal than
those who’d first tasted the pirate’s life with him.
“You heard my lady. Her father lives, though will not go
unpunished. This bilge-sucking gutter rat may go to the
devil, though we’ll ensure he su ers before he does. What
say you?”
Cries and suggestions were shouted out at once, Rory
chiming in loudest of all. It took a quarter of an hour to calm
the men enough to take note of the possibilities and vote
accordingly. In the end, it was decided that the two men were
to be marooned—if they could survive until The Sea Lion
reached the next uninhabited island. Archibald was to be
thrown back into the bilge, where he would live on a diet of
hardtack and water until the time came for him to be left in
the hands of Fate. As for Will … he would su er a lashing,
after which he was to be strung up from the mainmast until
morning. If he survived the night, he’d be tossed into the
bilge with Archibald. If he did not succumb to infection from
his wounds, he would be marooned along with Arabella’s
father.
While it was typically Big Jack’s job as bosun to deliver
lashings, the large African had turned to Drew with a sober
expression on his dark face, his mouth a grim line as he
extended the nine-tailed whip to his captain.
“Your enemy, your right, Cap’n,” the man said as Drew
released Arabella to take hold of the weapon.
Drew glanced down at the knotted tendrils of the whip,
fingers tight around the handle. He had been content to
stand back and watch Will receive his comeuppance, but as
Bella and his men looked on and waited for him to begin,
Drew realized this was how things had to be. Big Jack was
right; Will was his enemy as much as he was his brother. He
would lash his back to ribbons with relish, and not just
because of what Will had done to him. As he looked into the
tear-filled eyes of Bella, he vowed to make this especially
painful as retribution for what had been done to her. She
claimed to not have su ered as much as he had, and while
that might be true, Drew would rather she never have
su ered at all. He could not change that, but he could make
things right. He could make the man who had attempted to
use and manipulate her pay for it.
With the whip hanging at his side, he cupped Bella’s
cheek. “You should not witness this.”
Blinking back her tears, Arabella squared her shoulders
and met his gaze with determination. “Yes, I should. You’ve
shared everything with me—your life as a pirate, the deeds
you have been forced to commit to survive. Why would you
expect me to turn away now? I won’t be sheltered any
longer, Drew. I will stay and watch.”
He wanted to press the issue, knowing she couldn’t
possibly understand how brutal a lashing could be. The
healed scars on his back were ugly, but not nearly as terrible
to look upon as when they were when first inflicted. But, the
look in her eye told Drew she would not be swayed. Deciding
she had earned the right, he gave her a slight nod and then
released her.
“Strip him.”
Three of the crew fell on Will at the command, while Drew
handed the whip o to Rory to prepare himself. As Will was
unshackled and divested of his shirt and stock, Drew peeled
o his own coat as well as his tricorne. He handed the items
o to Arabella, who clung to them as he swiftly stripped o
his shirt and gunbelt. She cradled it all in her arms as he
turned to accept the whip, while Will’s wrists were bound
with ropes. Two of his crew stood to either side of Will,
pulling the ropes taut and spreading his arms out wide.
Drew circled his brother so he could look him in the eye,
the heat of his previous rage freezing over into a solid, icy
mass of contempt. Will made a pitiful sight, despite the
e ort he made to keep his chin raised. Fear was evident in
his eyes, as the reality of what was happening seemed to
finally settle over him.
“I loved you once,” Drew said, his voice low enough that
only the two of them heard. “Then, for a long time, I hated
you. I’ve hated you right up until this moment. As of right
now, I no longer feel anything for you. You are less than
nothing to me.”
And how liberating this realization was. Bitterness had
driven him for so long, but now a ponderous weight had
been lifted o his shoulders. He was free to move forward
with his life, with Arabella at his side.
Will seemed to have nothing left to say, mouth pinched
tight as he stared at Drew with resignation in his eyes. There
was nothing left to do but begin.
Drew circled him again, urging Arabella and his crew to
give him a wide berth. Then, he raised his arm and took the
first swing. The cat o’ nines landed squarely in the middle of
Will’s back, the knots digging in and leaving angry red
circles at the end of each crimson stripe. Will flinched, but
remained silent, his arms shaking in the snare of the ropes.
That stoicism would not last. Even the strongest of men
could not endure a lashing without crying out in agony.
It took six strokes to produce the desired result, Will’s
tortured screams ripping through the air like a sudden crack
of thunder. His skin broke on the seventh lash, blood welling
in the wounds and trickling down his back. The Sea Lion had
gone eerily silent, only the sound of leather against flesh and
Will’s screams breaking through the quiet. Archibald
cowered and trembled, tears streaming down his reddened
face. However, he kept his mouth clamped shut, as if afraid
he might bring this sort of torment on himself if he stepped
out of line.
Drew worked with cold resignation, finding that even this
did not stoke him to passionate anger. It wasn’t something
he did to make himself feel better—for Bella had already
soothed the wounds of his past and given him what he
needed to heal. This was simply something that needed to be
done.
He took his time with the task, the tails of the whip
licking at every inch of exposed skin, wrapping around Will’s
sides and ripping flesh from ribs. Will sobbed until his voice
grew hoarse, violent tremors wracking him from head to toe.
By the time Drew finished, his back had been made a gory
mess, and his blue silk breeches were stained with crimson
gore. Bits of skin clung to the whip, pools of blood soaking
the deck. Sweating and panting from his exertions, Drew
finally allowed his weary arm to rest.
Turning to nod at Rory, he stepped back while his
quartermaster accepted a bucket of seawater from Big Jack,
which was promptly upended over Will. His horrific screams
had several of the crewmen wincing and swearing under
their breaths, for they could hardly fathom the agony of the
saltwater seeping into those grievous wounds. The ropes
were released, and Will collapsed in a dead faint, landing in a
massive puddle of his own blood.
“String him up to the mainmast and leave him,” Drew
commanded, thrusting the whip back into Big Jack’s hands
and turning toward Arabella.
Her skin had gone ashen as she stared down at Will’s
prone form. She looked as if she would be sick, but kept her
composure as Drew accepted his articles of clothing back one
by one and put them on. His boots would need a good
cleaning, splattered as they were with Will’s blood. But he
thought only of Arabella, who he took under his arm and
guided back toward his cabin, putting the limp form of Will
being raised up to the mainmast behind them.
 CHAPTER NINE

T hat evening, Drew hosted a dinner for the ship’s o cers

in his cabin, a celebration of sorts. He wanted her to get
to know his closest friends. Most of them called Île Saint
Marie their home, and Arabella would be seeing a lot of them.
While it seemed uncivilized to feast with Will hanging from
the mainmast, his occasional sobs and cries of torment
ringing out through the night, she couldn’t bring herself to
feel sorry for it. Will had inflicted pain onto others and been
repaid for it. With his fate decided, what else could she and
Drew do but celebrate being reunited and on their way
home?
Home. What an odd concept that was, for while Falmouth
was the land of her birth and the only place she’d ever lived,
Arabella had never truly felt she belonged there. Standing
between two worlds, she had despised her place in her
father’s house while bemoaning the fate of the slaves who
toiled to make the Abbott family wealthy. It was for that
reason she’d begun to train herself to think of Île Saint Marie
as home. Even without ever having laid eyes on it, she
already loved the island for the beautiful picture Drew had
painted of it with his words. She could hardly wait to arrive.
Arabella smiled as she sat at the end of the long dining
table, observing Drew sitting at its head. She still wore her
green sari, enjoying the freedom and luxury of the
extravagant silk—though at Drew’s insistence she had added
jewels to the ensemble for dinner. Her wrists and ankles
were clasped with golden cu s, and her ears and throat
dripped emeralds that sparkled in the light of the tapers.
Despite being accustomed to the finery of a lady of privilege,
Arabella had been absolutely stunned by the opulence of
Drew’s gifts. Her pearls and muslins seemed like the rags
and baubles of a peasant compared to the treasure trove
provided by her pirate captain.
Drew had changed for the occasion, donning a pair of
loose-fitting black trousers and a long, sleeveless robe of
rich velvet trimmed with decadent gold thread. He wore
nothing beneath it, the parted sides of the robe proudly
flaunting his lion tattoo. He had tied his long hair back from
his face, displaying the gleaming gold hoop a xed into his
pierced ear. Flutters of desire spread through her belly as she
watched him eat and drink and laugh with his men, the black
ink on his fingers catching her eye every time he lifted his
wine goblet to drink. She wanted those tattooed hands on
her, stripping o her clothes and plundering her naked flesh.
She wanted to be alone with him so they could take up where
they’d left o this morning. Despite being exhausted from
the events of the day and sore between her legs from their
sleepless hours last night, she found herself as insatiable as
he seemed to be. There was so much lost time to make up
for.
Drew met her gaze from across the table as if he read her
wandering thoughts. A slow smile spread across his face, and
he played his fingertips over the rim of his wine goblet, a
promise in the subtle movements of his fingers.
Clearing her throat, Arabella tore her gaze from his and
attempted to engage their dinner guests. If they kept making
eyes at one another, she wasn’t certain Drew would be able
to keep from casting his men out and dragging her to the
bed.
“How did you all come to be aboard The Sea Lion?”
Rory, who was seated at Drew’s right, set his fork beside
his plate and grinned. “As ye may know by now, I was a
Royal Navy man like the cap’n.”
She nodded between bites of a delicious roast pork—
which she’d been surprised to learn had come from a pig
slaughtered just this morning. Apparently, the cargo hold of
the ship also included cattle and chickens for the production
of fresh eggs and meat. Drew had warned her that the meals
would become less grand as they got closer to home and
their supplies ran low, so she was determined to enjoy the
fare while she could.
“Yes, he told me about the Hannibal mutiny. Were the rest
of you there as well?”
“Only I,” said a blond man seated near the middle of the
table, half his face marred by scars left over from a nasty
burn. His accent was that of England. “Half the crew were,
too.”
“And you?” she prompted, glancing at Big Jack, who sat
at her left side.
The bosun had a fearsome aspect, but had proven to be
kinder and gentler than she’d have thought a pirate could be.
Big Jack had spoken of his son over dinner with pride and
fondness in his voice, and was clearly a devoted papa.
“The cap’n rescued me, my wife, and my boy from The
Enterprise … how long has it been now, Cap’n?”
“Three years now, Jack,” Drew supplied.
Jack nodded and smiled, turning back to Arabella. “The
Enterprise was a slave ship. Your man overtook her after a
fierce battle, findin’ her holds crammed to the brim with
starvin’, sick, and miserable slaves on their way to
Barbados.”
 Arabella’s appetite suddenly fled, recollections of what
she’d read about the conditions aboard slavers coming to
mind. Many of her father’s slaves had come to Greenhill
malnourished and barely recovered from their arduous
journeys. She’d heard rumors of such ships losing half their
human cargo due to harsh conditions and disease, and other
tales of people being thrown overboard to ward o the
depletion of food and fresh water.
“My God,” she whispered. “How horrible that must have
been for you.”
Big Jack nodded, his expression grim. “When the Cap’n
found us, he put the o cers to death and took the ship for
himself. Most were already dyin’ from typhus or wasting
disease—including my wife. But those what could be saved
were nursed back to healthy, and the Cap’n gave us all a
choice—be taken to Île Saint Marie where we could live free,
or join the crew of his ships and make our fortune as pirates.
With my boy to think of, there was only one choice for me.”
Arabella leaned toward him, brow furrowed as she
reached out to place a hand atop his. “And your wife?”
His dark eyes grew mournful as he shook his head. “Dead,
ma’am. She never recovered from wasting disease.”
Her heart ached for the man, her fingers tightening
around his. “I am so very sorry.”
Jack nodded in acceptance of her condolences, but then
smiled. “The Cap’n gave us our freedom, so we gave him our
loyalty.”
She turned her gaze to Drew, who merely sat in silence
and observed the exchange. He seemed to conceal whatever
he felt at being the object of such praise, merely bowing his
head at the bosun.
“I didn’t give you freedom, as being free was your right at
birth. I merely o ered you a chance to expand your horizons.
Any slaver who crosses my path will go to a watery grave.”
 “And I’m grateful, Cap’n.”
“To the Cap’n!” Rory said, raising his goblet, his eyes
now heavy-lidded from drink. “Down with the slavers!”
Cups were raised and shouts of ‘to the Cap’n!’ and ‘to hell
with the slavers!’ rang out amongst them.
Dinner resumed, and Arabella learned the stories of the
rest of the o cers—all of whom had been liberated from
terrible situations by Drew. Freed slaves and indentured
servants, abused seamen, poor beggars, and even a disgraced
priest. They would hardly seem to belong together in the
eyes of those who didn’t know them, but being in their midst
Arabella experienced the tight bonds of their brotherhood.
The world would call them criminals, but they only took
from those who stole from others—those who traded in
human cargo or exploited slave labor for riches. That they’d
all become wealthy as a result, with Drew living in the
manner of a grand lord on his private patch of the island,
seemed just after all they’d endured.
Several toasts were made throughout the course of the
meal—to Drew, to her, to the success of their mission in
Falmouth and their impending return home. By the time the
men excused themselves, Arabella was languid with
contentment. Her belly was full, her mind and heart were at
peace, and her head swam from the e ects of drink. The
Madeira and sherry flowed like water, and she allowed
herself the indulgence of several goblets with no one here to
remind her that good young ladies did not over-imbibe.
The priest was the last to depart, a man Arabella knew
only as ‘Padre’—as the rest of the crew was fond of calling
him. He paused in the doorway, giving them a meaningful
look as Drew rounded the table to take Arabella into his
arms. Her pirate captain seemed oblivious to the company of
another as he lowered his head to kiss her, but was brought
up short by the other man loudly clearing his throat.
 Drew paused, lips hovering an inch from hers, his eyes
darting toward the man lingering on the threshold. “Padre?”
The priest grinned at the impatience threaded through
Drew’s voice, but seemed in no hurry to depart. “Well, I was
only thinking, Captain … once our prisoners are disposed of,
a wedding might be in order. We’ve never had one aboard
The Sea Lion, so I think it’s high time.”
Drew raised an eyebrow. “Is that so?”
“Quite so.”
Drew glanced down at her, humor dancing in his eyes.
“What do you say, my Bella? Would you like to be married
aboard my ship? She’s not a fine church, but she’ll do.”
Joy welled within her at the prospect, and she threw her
arms around Drew’s neck. “I wouldn’t want to be married
anywhere else.”
He turned back to Padre and shrugged one shoulder. “You
heard the lady. We’d be honored for you to marry us. Now,
sod o .”
With a boisterous chuckle, the priest left them, closing
the door tight behind him.
Arabella fairly trembled with excitement, the events of
the past few days now converging on this moment in which
she stood in Drew arms, belonging completely to him.
Drew’s amusement faded by degrees as desire flared in
his eyes, the hands at her back slowly smoothing their way
down to her buttocks. He gave her a squeeze and pulled her
tighter against him, a rapacious smile spreading across his
brutally handsome face. The hard ridge of his cock was
relentless against her belly, and her cunt answered in kind,
taking up a slow and yearning throb.
Taking her hand, he began propelling her across the
room, his strides long and purposeful.
“Come, Bella.”
D REW LEANED back in his chair, his gaze tracing Arabella’s
curves outlined by the silk of her sari. He reached up to
remove her brooch, dropping it onto the desk and then
setting about unwinding the fabric. The evening had been a
pleasant diversion, but as the hours crawled by, he’d found
himself hungry to have her to himself. After going so long
without his Bella, he craved her like a man starved.
She braced her hands against the desk and let him have
his way with her, quivering as the fabric fell into a vibrant
green pool at her feet. Drew grasped her waist and lifted her
to sit on the surface, prompting her to lean back on her
elbows and spread her legs. He slouched in his chair to
accommodate his painful arousal. Drew had always thought
her alluring, but she’d never been more beautiful or
desirable to him than she was right now—limbs spread and
her body open to his whims, adorned by only brilliant gold
and glistening emeralds.
He trailed a finger through the soft curls between her
legs, dipping into the seam of her mons. “Before we go
forward with anymore talk of marriage, I want you to
consider that I am not the man you once knew, and never
will be again. You are the love of my life, but this ship and
the sea are my mistresses. The crew are my family, and I
want them to be yours, too. I will not lay down my role as
captain. I never dreamed the life of a sailor could be for me,
but it is, Bella. As long as there are men out there profiting
o slave labor and the sale of human cargo, I cannot stop.
Fighting them has become my purpose.”
She shivered as he strummed her clit with featherlight
caresses, his other fingers spreading out to slide through her
silken curls, pressing and massaging, teasing her into
readiness for him. “I loved the boy you were all those years
ago. But I love the man you are now, too. People like Big Jack
and their families rely on you. They need you to lead them
and help them make their living. I would never begrudge
them that.”
“I will give you anything you desire,” he continued,
delving his middle finger into her sheath and withdrawing to
find it coated in her wetness. He lapped the juices and
hummed his pleasure at her taste. “Anything that is within
my power to give—and there isn’t much out of my reach.”
She moaned and writhed as he went back to teasing her,
lightly stroking the furrows and folds of her cunny,
marveling at the way she responded. She’d been made for
passion and pleasure—his passion and pleasure.
“And what would you have in return, Captain?” she
purred, spreading her legs wider and arching her back.
“Just you,” he replied. “I warn you, Bella … there may be
times I am gentle with you, but I’ll find it di cult. There is
little tenderness left in me. You drive me to madness, to lust
and urges that cannot be contained. I find myself wanting to
devour you whole. Perhaps you ought to consider whether
you can live with that.”
Her eyes met his, the dark depths filled with yearning.
“I want you the way you are, Drew—wild and demanding.
I am yours to do with as you see fit.”
Her spoken surrender nearly hurtled him past the line of
his control. Just now, he had the most di cult time holding
back and allowing himself to enjoy slow seduction and
teasing.
Drew clenched his teeth and tamped down the urge to
drop his trousers then and there and stu her full of his
cock. Instead, he slowly rose to his feet, running his palms
up her body to cup her breasts. She mewled when he rolled
her nipples between his thumbs and forefingers, giving her a
few light tugs.
“Are you in any pain?”
 She gasped when he took hold of her clit and gave it a
sharp pinch, then moaned as he began rubbing the swollen
nub with slow, lazy circles.
“I’m a little sore. But I don’t want you to stop … I don’t
want you to hold back.”
“Then I won’t.”
He kept up his ministrations between her legs while
reaching toward the chest he’d caught her rifling through
yesterday. She likely had no idea what any of the items
stored inside were for, but he’d take great delight in showing
her.
“Were you curious about this little chest, my Bella?” he
murmured, selecting a pair of clamps from within its depths.
“Y-yes.”
Holding the two diamond and pearl encrusted clamps up
for her inspection, he grinned. “In Paris, the most daring
women wear their gowns low enough to nearly display their
nipples. In the bordellos, and even in a few ballrooms, you
would be shocked to see pairs of breasts adorned with jewels.
Some of these pieces are made to actually pierce the nipple
as one might wear an earring, but these are simple clamps.
They are as much for stimulation as they are for
adornment.”
Her eyes went wide as he palmed one breast, and he kept
his gaze trained on to her face as he bent his head to lick her
nipple, then drew it deep into his mouth. The little nub
hardened against his lashing tongue, her soft, panting
moans urging him on. He might have spent all night here,
sucking and biting Arabella as she squirmed beneath him,
but he couldn’t wait any longer to see her adorned with the
extravagant baubles, which he’d taken from a chest of jewels
belonging to the mistress of a French aristocrat.
She whimpered when he snared her nipple in the clamp,
her expression of sudden pain melting into one of bliss as
she grew accustomed to the tight pressure. He did the same
with the other nipple, coming upright to admire the sight of
her breasts, upturned and capped by the priceless gems.
“Beautiful,” he murmured, cupping her breasts and
squeezing, agitating the clamps and prompting another
chorus of gasps and moans from her.
Drew kissed his way down Arabella’s body as he sank back
into his chair, his lips and tongue trailing down her belly. He
held her thighs open and nuzzled her mons, flicking his
tongue at her slick opening. She gripped the edge of his desk
as he eased her legs over his shoulders and buried his face in
the valley between them, his senses overwhelmed by the
scent of her arousal and the taste of it on his tongue. He
began with light nibbles and licks, until she was begging for
more with the silent pleas of her arched back and trembling
legs. Then, he freed himself to devour her, sucking and
biting, delving his tongue deep into her honeyed passage.
She tasted like ambrosia after years of starvation, slick and
wet and warm against his lips. Her fingers tangled in his hair
as she wantonly rode his tongue and sought her pleasure.
Easing two fingers into her, he fucked her with them while
pulling at her clit with his tongue and teeth.
She shattered like fragile glass, splintering with a hoarse
cry, her fingernails raking his scalp and her thighs clenching
around his neck. He bent her knees and pushed her legs
back, holding them in a relentless grip to keep her from
squirming away when the pleasure became too much for her
to bear. He forced her to bear it, not letting up until he’d
dragged her climax out to its end, heightening her finish
with relentless flicks of his tongue at her clit.
Only when she’d gone still, legs shaking in his grasp and
her desperate cries melting away to soft sighs of wonder and
contentment, did he release her. He eased her to stand on
shaking legs and then came to his feet, shrugging out of his
robe. Going back into his chest, he retrieved the smallest of
his plugs—an elegant thing shaped like a teardrop and made
of pure, gleaming silver. Its flat base was encrusted with
decadent rubies.
Her eyes widened as he placed it in her hands, then went
back inside for a small vial of oil.
“What’s it for?” she asked, tracing its curved lines and
the jeweled base with curious fingers.
He plucked it from her grasp and gave her a wicked grin.
“It’s for your arse, love.”
Her eyebrows furrowed, her expression one of shock and
curiosity instead of revulsion. “Is that … well it doesn’t
sound very seemly. I never thought such things were
possible.”
Her innocence delighted him as much as it aroused him.
There were so many ways to shock and debauch her.
“Shall I show you how pleasurable it can be?”
Arabella gave an eager nod, not as intimidated by the plug
as he’d have thought. Such was her trust in him, he
supposed.
Drew urged her to bend over the desk, nudging her legs
farther apart. Hands braced on the surface, she stared at him
over one shoulder as he dipped his fingers into the oil,
liberally coating them. She tensed when he grasped one of
her buttocks and parted her, revealing the ring of tightly
furled flesh within.
“Breathe,” he murmured, pressing his first finger to the
tight hole. “It will feel odd at first, but then … well, you’ll
see.”
The tension in her spine eased, and he proceeded, slowly
sinking his finger into her rear passage. The tight, hot clasp
of her had his cock pushing against his trousers, begging to
take the place of his finger.
 She remained still as he probed her with as much
gentleness as he could manage, eagerness to fill her with the
plug overwhelming him.
“Good, Bella,” he crooned as he stroked slowly in and out,
stretching and priming her for more. “You’re doing very
well.”
“I … oh!” she exclaimed when he joined the first finger
with a second, slowing to accustom her to the widening
invasion.
He used his other hand to toy with her clit, pinching and
pulling to relax her and heighten her pleasure. Arabella
melted in his hands, angling her hips higher in invitation,
spreading her legs even wider.
“Yes, that’s it. Just like that. Christ, you’re so hot and
tight.”
She moaned as he sank himself in to his third knuckles,
plunging and withdrawing as she eased to let him in. He took
his time accustoming her to the feel of his fingers, working
her until she was feverish from the pleasure, face pressed
against the hard desk and each breath coming out on a
moan.
She let out a little hu of annoyance when he withdrew,
and he chuckled at her impatience.
“The best is yet to come, love. Just wait.”
He coated the plug with oil, then pressed it against her
rear hole, slowly easing it inside.
“Drew!” she wailed as he wedged the unrelenting thing
into her, slowly widening her farther than his fingers could.
“It’s too much, I … I can’t …”
“It’s almost in. Don’t fight it.”
Her breath grew swift and ragged, her nails scraping the
surface of his desk as the widest part of the plug slipped
through the tight orifice, the rest of it rapidly following.
 “There,” he crooned, kneading her buttocks and staring
at the protrusion of the base from inside of her. “Fuck, what
a sight you are right now, spread open for me and your arse
filled. How do you feel?”
“I-I don’t know. Full … odd … but not bad. It doesn’t
hurt.”
“Good.”
He tore open his trousers, hands shaking as he allowed
the full force of his raw, animalistic need consume him. He’d
been as slow and as patient as he was able, and had now
reached the end of his rope.
Arabella cried out when he shoved inside her with one
brutal thrust, forcing his way past the press of the plug on
the other side of the thin wall separating one passage from
the other. He palmed her buttocks and held her open,
exposing every bit of her as he watched with rapt fascination
the plunge of his shaft in and out of her, slick with her juices.
She was impossibly tight with the plug taking up space
inside her, gripping him with such force it took his breath
away. Rough groans lodged in his throat, hot and vibrating,
his vision growing hazy and dark around the edges. He took
hold of her hair and wrenched her up o the desk, creating a
deep arch in her back and changing the angle of his thrusts.
She became as wild as he was, arching into the clench of his
fist in her hair and throwing her hips back to meet each of
his battering thrusts.
He shed all notions of gentleness and care as she rocked
into him at the perfect rhythm, opening her body until he
became a part of her. The desk swayed beneath them, Bella’s
nails scoring the lacquered wood as she became the lioness
to his lion—clawing and panting and crying her pleasure
with wild abandon.
Drew released her hair, wrapping one hand around her
waist to mold her to him, his other cupping between her
legs. His middle finger found her clit and he stroked it
swiftly, his pelvis pounding against her buttocks as he
slammed into her with brutal force. It only heightened her
pleasure, and she thrashed in his arms, her sheath
contracting around him as climax swept over her.
He took hold of her shoulder with his teeth, holding fast
and growling as his own end followed close on the heels of
hers. Arabella’s orgasm seemed to go on and on, the ripple
and pull of her sheath strengthening with each caress of his
fingers at her clit, each bite of his teeth at the juncture of her
shoulder and neck. For a moment, the entire world fell away
as release swept through him. He doubled over from the
strength of it, pressing her down onto the unyielding desk.
With one hand gripping the back of her neck to hold her in
place, he fucked her through his finish, wringing himself dry
inside her.
Drew collapsed over her, the strength sapped from his
limbs. Arabella was in a similar state, her body limp and still
beneath him, save for the rapid rise and fall of her back
against his chest.
When he found the strength to move, he kissed her cheek,
then straightened to ease out of her. She flinched when he
pulled the plug free but remained silent, her harsh breaths
going from swift and grating to soft and nearly silent.
Putting the plug aside for the time being, Drew fell back into
his chair and pulled her into his arms. Once he’d eased the
clamps o her nipples, he urged her to curl up in his lap, her
head nestled against his chest and her mussed hair tickling
his jaw. He stroked a hand up and down her back, a sudden
urge toward a ection washing over him.
After a while she went still, seeming to come back to
herself. She peered up at him a bit shyly, her eyes still glassy
from the after-e ects of their primal coupling.
 “Will it always be this way between us?” she whispered,
her voice a bit hoarse from screaming her pleasure.
He grinned and gave her bottom a playful swat. “I
certainly hope so, my Bella. Now that I’ve shown you what
being in my clutches will entail—and be assured that this
was only just a taste—I ask again, are you certain you wish
to wed me? Can you live with a husband who will make such
demands of you?”
Bracing her hands against his chest, she sat up, her grin
sly and all too alluring in its teasing. “Not only can I live
with it, I demand you carry on with me this way for the rest
of our days. I’ve never felt so alive, Drew. I don’t think I
could be this wanton with anyone else, but with you …”
He chuckled. “I will do my best to live up to your
expectations. In fact, I fully expect to die an old man, happily
buried inside you when my heart finally gives out on me.”
“If I have my way, that won’t be for a very, very long
time.”
“Aye, my Bella,” he agreed. “Not for a long time.”
They rose from behind the bed then, Drew leading her to
the washstand, where they had to make do with cold water
for washing. Shivering, she climbed into bed with him,
where she lay between his spread legs, her back against his
chest as he rested against the headboard. Through his open
windows, the salty scent of the ocean and clean, night air
wafted in. The sky was cloudless, allowing them a stunning
view of a luminescent moon and a blanket of diamond-like
stars.
Arabella glanced down to where his hands rested over her
belly, tracing her fingertips across the letters tattooed on his
knuckles. “I know a seaman’s tattoos always hold some sort
of luck or significance for him. The lion is part of your
identity, but this … ‘hold fast’. What does it mean to you?”
 Smiling, he held his hands up and studied the tattoos, the
letters upside down from this angle. “In rough times at sea,
a man’s hold on the rigging can make the di erence between
life and death for himself and his crew. A pirate’s grasp on a
single line of rigging may sometimes be the only thing
keeping the ship from being lost and his mates from going to
the depths. Many men of the sea have these words tattooed
onto their hands as a reminder to hold fast to the rigging,
but also to the ship and the crew, to each other. For me, it
was a reminder to hold fast to the thing that was keeping me
alive … the hope of finding you again and making you mine.”
She laced her fingers through his and sighed. “Now that
I’m here, you can hold fast to me.”
“Aye, my Bella,” he murmured, clutching her fingers and
nuzzling his nose into her hair. “I’ll hold fast and never let
go.”
 CHAPTER TEN

A fortnight after setting sail from Falmouth, Arabella

Baines became Mrs. Andrew Reeves. Standing atop the
forecastle deck while the crew packed themselves amidship
to watch, she pledged her heart and soul to her pirate captain
with Padre presiding.
Her groom was resplendent in a white frock coat shot
through with silver thread and gleaming buttons to match,
black breeches and boots clinging to his powerful legs. He’d
left o his tricorne, pulling half his hair back to keep it out
of his eyes and flaunt his handsome face. She’d adorned
herself in white as well, finding the most beautiful garments
in the Oriental style—white and gold silk etched with
patterns of water-lily, bamboo, and plum, the long, bell-like
sleeves falling away from her arms like wings. Drew had
gone into the co ers of years’ worth of bounty, producing
the glittering diamond coronet that sat atop her head—her
only adornment.
Rory stood at the captain’s side as a best man, and while
Arabella had no attendant, Big Jack had asked for the honor
of giving her away. She’d forged a friendship of sorts with
the bosun in her short time aboard The Sea Lion, and had
been pleased to be led up to the forecastle on his arm.
 Padre led them through a simple, short ceremony that
was far more intimate and less formal than her near-miss
with Will—and it was all the more beautiful for it.
Even her former fiancé’s presence couldn’t taint the
occasion, for Will and her father had been marooned days
before, on a small, wild-looking island that Drew was certain
was uninhabited. Left with nothing but a pistol containing
one shot, they were left standing on the shore as The Sea Lion
cast o back to sea. Just as she had not taken a single look
back on that day, Arabella did not think of them now as
Padre led them through their vows. The beautiful words were
the invention of a priest turned pirate, and fitting for such a
ceremony.
“I, Captain Andrew Reeves, take thee Arabella as my
wedded wife, my anchor in fair weather or foul, my strength
in times of weakness. Shall the sea call me away from thee,
may it also bring me back as the tide returns to the shore. I
vow to be your shelter in the storm, to love you with every
beat of my heart, from this day until my last day.”
With tears welling in her eyes, Arabella made her own
promises, clinging tight to Drew’s hands.
“I, Arabella Katherine Baines, take thee Andrew as my
wedded husband, in poverty or in prosperity, through sunny
horizons and deathly doldrums. If the sea shall call thee
away from me, may you always find me waiting as the sky
awaits the rising of the sun. I vow to hold fast to you in fair
winds or ill, and to love you with every beat of my heart,
from this day until my last day.”
Drew was then presented with a pearl-hilted dagger by
Rory, who stood by holding two short bits of rope—one in
each hand. Taking her hand, Drew revealed her left palm and
the razor-thin scar that served as a reminder of the last time
they’d committed themselves to one another. As Drew
dragged the dagger over her flesh, opening the old wound
before doing the same to his own left hand, Arabella felt no
pain. There was only joy and the blessed weight of finality as
they took their ropes from Rory, pressing the rough fibers to
their bleeding flesh. Meeting and holding Drew’s gaze, she
allowed her life’s essence to soak the bit of rigging, the tears
welling in her eyes finally making their descent.
Under Padre’s guidance, they joined their bits of rope—
representative of their pasts and their separate lives—into a
lover’s knot, which symbolized the joining of two halves into
a whole, of the present and the future. Pulling on opposite
ends, they shared a smile as the ropes clung together and
held, stained by their blood and joined in a tight bond. A
symbol of eternity.
Then, Drew presented her with a ring—a simple a air
with a golden band enclosing a large, freshwater pearl.
“I now pronounce you man and wife,” Padre intoned,
after which Rory loudly interjected, “Now, kiss that bonny
lassie, Cap’n, before I do!”
Amid the raucous cheers of the crew, Drew swept her into
his arms and kissed her soundly, not letting up until he’d
stolen the breath from her lungs. As they pulled apart, he
gave one of his rare smiles and stroked her cheek with his
unwounded right hand.
“I love you, my lioness,” he murmured as the crew
erupted into celebration, hats flying into the air followed by
requests for music and rum.
“And I you, my lion.”
They allowed Rory to pull them apart long enough to wrap
their cut hands with strips of clean linen, then they were left
to their own devices as the celebration went on around them.
Caesar took up his place at the war drums, while one man
produced a fiddle, and another a flute, the jovial music
o ering a pleasant accompaniment to the festive occasion.
Casks of grog were broken open, tin mugs passed about. The
men would all be three sheets to the wind by sundown, with
the exception of those responsible for the night’s watch.
Drew led her to the ship’s bow, a bit removed from the
revelry. They stood together, watching the undulating waves
of the sea, Drew’s hands braced on the railing and enclosing
her between his arms. They fell silent for a long while,
Arabella’s head rested against his chest as she allowed
herself a moment of reflection on all that had happened to
lead them to this moment. She decided it had all been worth
it to be able to stand here in his arms, the world stretching
out before them, theirs for the taking.
Above them, the thin voice of a pirate from the crow’s
nest caught their attention. They gazed up to find Little Jack
pointing out at the horizon as he cried,
“Sail, ho, Cap’n! Sail, ho!”
Drew straightened, narrowing his eyes as he followed the
direction of the boy’s pointing finger. A smirk ticked at the
corner of his mouth, and Arabella glanced out to sea,
noticing for the first time a ship in the distance, closing in
fast.
Rory appeared at their side, raising a spyglass to one eye.
“She’s a brigantine, Cap’n, sittin’ low in the water … filled to
the brim with cargo.”
Drew took the spyglass and looked for himself, as
Arabella stepped aside to allow him to do his duty.
Apparently, pirate conquest did not stop—even for a
wedding.
“It’s The Jupiter, I think,” he said, voice laced with a
derision that sent a chill down her spine. “I recognize the
figurehead and she’s flying British colors.”
Arabella frowned as Rory spat over the rail and Drew
sneered, lowering the spyglass.
“Sons of whores,” the Irishman grumbled. “Stu ed full
o’ slaves, she is. I bet me balls, Cap’n.”
 Drew gave an amused snort. “No need, Mr. Walsh. We all
know Jupiter specializes in human cargo. You know my
stance on slavers, but it is my wedding day. If we are to chase
a prize, we cannot do so without the permission of my bride.
Far be it from me to rob her of her wedding celebration.”
Arabella had no need to think on the matter. All it took
was the memory of those slaves toiling on her father’s cane
fields and her impotence as a silent witness to their
su ering. She had been helpless to aid those in captivity, but
her circumstances were now changed. She was no longer the
bastard daughter of a wealthy English planter. She was the
wife of a pirate captain, and he had already told her there
was nothing he would not give her. And on this day, what she
wanted was to see the people trapped aboard that ship set
free.
Turning to her husband, she smiled. “Captain, there is
nothing I want more than to see you send that foul ship to
the bottom of the Atlantic.”
Drew flashed his predatory smile, and took hold of her
face, drawing her to him for a swift, hard kiss. Then, he
turned to stare down at the crew watching and waiting for
his commands.
“You heard my wife, you scurvy sea dogs! My Bella wants
that ship as a wedding present. Shall we give it to her?”
Amid cries of ‘aye, Capn’!’, Drew fell seamlessly into the
role of their commander.
“Hands to the sheets, lads! Hoist the colors and let the
black banners of The Sea Lion be the last thing they see
before we blast them to kingdom come! Hand to the wheel
Mr. Walsh, Mr. Caesar to the drums—let them hear our
call!”
The ship erupted into activity, and Arabella shrank back
against the railing to allow the men room to maneuver in a
flurry of raising sails and unfurling lengths of rigging. The
war drum’s cadence vibrated the very air around them as the
vessel picked up speed, the wind catching and thrusting out
the crisp sheets of the sails. Chests appeared from hidden
compartments and were broken open to reveal an array of
weapons fit for any army.
Drew paced back to Arabella, taking her hand and leading
her toward his cabin. “The deck isn’t a safe place for you
right now. Remain inside and keep this door locked. Do not
open it for anyone but me.”
He all but hauled her over the threshold, shrugging o his
frock coat before taking up his gunbelt. Arabella stood and
watched as he armed himself with his twin pistols and
cutlass. His favored dagger came next, nestled safely in his
left boot. Then, he strapped a leather bandolier across his
body before bending his head to give her a swift kiss.
Arabella walked him to the door, following his command
to lock it once he was on the other side. Now that the initial
excitement had faded, her hands shook with trepidation and
her belly began to roil. Hearing tales of battle on the high
seas was one thing; being on board a ship prepared to go to
war with another proved another matter entirely. Men might
be hurt or lost today. The ship could be sent to the bottom of
the sea with them all on board. She had heard stories of her
husband’s ferocity, as well as the skill and strength of his
crew—but no man was immortal. He could so easily be
snatched away from her.
Pacing toward the bay of windows, Arabella pressed her
face to the glass and held her breath, watching the horizon.
From the rear of the ship, she could see nothing; yet, she
couldn’t seem to move away, heart throbbing at a mad
rhythm in her breast.
It dropped into her stomach as the first blast of cannons
rocked the ship and threw her to sit on top of her chest.
Hand pressed against her belly, she closed her eyes and
prayed.

D REW HELD a length of rigging and pulled himself up onto the

railing at bow of The Sea Lion. With Arabella stowed safely in
his cabin, he was free to devote all his energies to the
brigantine stu ed full of slaves in the distance. His beloved
ship cut through the ocean at full speed, her bow sending up
a salty spray, her bowsprit pointed straight at its quarry. His
skin tingled and his veins pulsed with the thrill of an
impending fight.
Many vessels might surrender at the sight of his colors
fluttering in the wind, but not this one. Every slaver from
here to the shores of England knew of the fierce reputation
of The Black Lion. He had freed hundreds of slaves from the
holds of their ships and sent dozens of their captains and
crews to Hell without mercy or remorse. There wasn’t a slave
trader alive who didn’t want to get their hands on him.
Drew hadn’t realized how badly he’d wanted a real fight
until now. Their foray into Falmouth had been ridiculously
easy, something he could have accomplished in his sleep.
Now, a prime opportunity for carnage and bloodshed had
presented itself, and Drew was ready to face it head-on.
Padre appeared at his side, o ering the brass speaking
trumpet to help amplify his voice. Raising it to his lips, Drew
turned to look past his crew, who scrambled about to arm
themselves, to where Rory stood at the quarterdeck, legs
braced wide as he gripped the wheel.
“Hard-a-larboard, Mr. Walsh!” he bellowed, before
turning to address his master gunner. “Mr. Steel, ready on
the starboard guns with chainshot!”
The voice of the master gunner carried over the pounding
of boots and the roll of wheels as the cannons were pushed
into position. The Sea Lion groaned and swung about to
shouts of ‘helms-a-lee!’, her black and gold banners
snapping and fluttering on the wind as they presented her
broadside to the approaching enemy. Jupiter had now drawn
close enough to have identified them—which was proven
when their bow began to swivel east, rows of gunports going
up on their hinges.
“Looks like Jupiter is flirtin’ with us, cap’n!” crowed one
of the gunners. “She’s a right tease, she is!”
“She wants to dance wi’ us afore she lets us fuck her!”
added MacTire, the Scottish gunner with a bald, tattooed
head, who was known for his deadly precision.
Taking the forecastle stairs down to midship, Drew
retrieved his cutlass and pointed it at their prey.
“Then we’ll indulge her like the gentlemen we are,” Drew
replied amid a chorus of laughter. “Mr. Steele, give her a
taste of the rogering she’ll soon get, aye?”
“Aye, Cap’n!” Steel replied aiming a kick at MacTire’s
backside. “Run a shot across her bow ye useless lobcock.”
“Bugger yer maw,” MacTire fired back, though he was
quick to follow the master gunner’s order.
Hunched over his gun, he squinted while inching the
cannon in increments to align with his target, tongue
clenched between his teeth. The large Scot was jolted, but
kept his bearings when the gun kicked and went o with
loud boom. His aim was perfect, as always, sending a single
cannonball careening within inches of Jupiter’s forecastle
deck.
Drew bared his teeth in a feral grin as the enemy ship
opened fire, lobbing several shots over the water. The
cannonballs either fell ridiculously short, or whistled past
The Sea Lion without leaving a scratch on her hull.
Now close enough to see the scurry of the slaver’s crew
about Jupiter’s deck, Drew bellowed into the trumpet.
“That’ll be the only warning you receive. Strike your colors
and throw down your arms, and I’ll make your deaths quick.
Fight me and know what it is to stare the devil in the face
before I turn you into shark bait!”
Despite his warning, Drew did not expect surrender.
While his men rallied behind the gunners on the starboard
side, weapons raised and their animalistic battle cries
splitting the air, the captain of Jupiter raised his arm and
curled his hand into a fist, before extending his middle
finger for Drew to see.
A volley of epithets and the sounds of his men spitting
over the rail nearly drowned out Drew’s laughter at the
impudent gesture.
“Have it your way,” he muttered, lowering the trumpet
and nodding to Steele. He didn’t have the patience to waste
time trying to talk a suicidal captain into surrender.
Steele’s gravelly voice echoed over the glittering surface
of the ocean, and with a wave of his arm, the gunners let
loose with volleys of chainshot. Cannonballs tethered
together by iron chains spun through the air in twos, aimed
to tear through sails and rigging and incapacitate the ship
without harming its prisoners in the hull. The splinter of
wood and rip of canvas was like music to Drew’s ears, the
crack of the mainmast sending up a howl of victory from his
men. He ordered another round of chainshot for good
measure, not caring if every mast of Jupiter was reduced to
kindling. He’d taken many a ship for his own, but had long
waited to send this one to the bottom of the ocean.
“Hard-a-starboard, Mr. Walsh! She’s ready to be
boarded.”
Caesar’s furious pounding on the war drum increased in
its rhythm as Rory rolled the wheel to aim their bowsprit at
Jupiter, who had nowhere to run without a single mast or sail
left to propel them. Drew pulled one of the pistols from his
gunbelt, pacing up and down the row of starboard guns,
anxious for his time to act and lead his men in the charge.
“Take no quarter!” he commanded them as Rory swung
them abreast of the enemy ship. Grappling hooks were
retrieved, several men already leaping onto the rail, ready to
board Jupiter. “These sons of whores would sooner clap you
in irons than deal you a fair turn. And what do we say to
that?”
“Bugger them!” Rory bellowed as he left the quarterdeck,
a blunderbuss held over one shoulder and a cutlass clenched
in the other. “We are free men!”
“Aye, and when we’re done, so will those poor souls
below her decks be!” Drew replied before stepping up onto
the railing between Padre and Big Jack. “I want Jupiter’s
decks painted red by sunset.”
Followed by a rousing chorus of ‘Aye, Cap’n’, Drew
jumped the tiny space between ships before the grappling
hooks had even been set. He didn’t look back to ensure he
was followed, trusting his crew to have his back. Rory’s
lilting brogue came from somewhere at his left, taunting the
enemy crew. All fell into chaos—the clash of steel, crack of
muskets and flintlocks, and the gurgling cries of men being
cut down.
Drew engaged the enemy by rote, trained by years of
fighting to survive. His cutlass slashed across a throat here,
his pistol cracked a shot into an eye there. His men fought
like savages, snarling and cursing Jupiter’s crew to hell. In
these men, Drew was certain they all saw those who had
once tread upon them in the faces of these slavers. For his
part, the faces swimming around him in a sea of blood were
all-too familiar. His brother, Archibald, the o cers of the
HMS Hannibal who had whipped him and kicked him as he
crawled across bloodied decks to escape their abuse. He
killed them over and over again, his lust for their blood never
satisfied, his hatred of men who put their boots upon the
necks of the oppressed a never-ending well.
At the end of it all, he stood amid a haphazard assortment
of dismembered body parts with blood staining his face and
hands, the white linen of his shirt now turned crimson. Bits
of gore clung to the blade of his cutlass, and someone’s
innards squished beneath his boots as he made his way to
Jupiter’s captain, who had been stripped of his finery and
made to kneel between Rory and Big Jack.
The man had balls, Drew had to admit. He didn’t so much
as flinch when Drew stood over him, the bloody cutlass
leveled at his face.
“I want you to remember that you were warned,
Captain,” he growled, wiping his blade clean on the other
man’s shoulder. “Had you lain down your arms, I might have
slit your throat and simply thrown you overboard. Now … I
think I’d rather let my men have a little fun with you. After
the fight you put up, I think they deserve it. What say you,
Mr. Walsh?”
Rory’s blue eyes glittered with a frightening amount of
excited glee. “Oh, aye, Cap’n. I propose one lick of Big Jack’s
cat o’nines for every soul found in the hold.”
For the first time, a crack appeared in the other captain’s
demeanor, his eyes widening as he seemed to mentally count
the number of slaves hidden below. That reaction told Drew
all he needed to know. He wouldn’t live long enough to
endure every lash.
“See it done,” he ground out, before sheathing his
cutlass. “One lick for every body … dead or alive. And I want a
full accounting of those rescued. Have them safely stowed
wherever there’s space. O cers quarters go to the old and
infirm, and women with the youngest children. The rest of
the crew are to surrender their hammocks to any leftover
women or children in need of a place to sleep. Improvise
bedrolls for the men. Have the surgeon tend the wounded.”
“Aye, Cap’n.”
Before turning to stride back across the deck, he took the
captain of The Jupiter by the shoulders and slammed his knee
into the soft flesh just beneath the man’s chin. His head
snapped back, and blood splattered the deck, two teeth
skittering over the boards.
“Where are ye goin’, Cap’n?” someone called out to his
retreating back.
“It’s my wedding day,” Drew called over his shoulder.
“I’m going to my wife.”
 CHAPTER ELEVEN

D uring the battle between the two ships, it occurred to

Arabella that The Sea Lion would soon be the temporary
home of several people who needed of food, solace, and care.
She had spent so much of her life feeling helpless and
impotent, and could no longer abide it. She might not be able
to take up arms and fight their enemies, but there was much
she could do.
So, she rifled about Drew’s cabin and set about
improvising attire she would feel comfortable working in.
Upon returning to their cabin covered in blood, gunpowder,
and sweat, Drew raised his eyebrows at the sight of her,
prompting a giggle from Arabella. She had donned one of his
shirts and the sole petticoat of her bridal ensemble he hadn’t
destroyed with his dagger. A leather belt cinched her waist,
and a ribbon tied her braided hair back from her face.
Arabella’s relief at seeing him alive and unharmed made it
easier to adhere to her plan. Her husband had dedicated his
life to freeing the enslaved, and as his wife she would stand
by his side as he did it. She would do it without flinching
away from the realities her father had tried to shield her
from.
“And just what are you about, my lioness?” he asked
while stripping o his bandolier and attacking the buttons of
his soiled shirt.
“I understand that The Sea Lion has a surgeon, but I
imagine quite a few people will need tending. I intend to help
him. If another hand is needed in the galley, perhaps I might
assist in getting everyone fed, as well.”
He paused in the middle of splashing his face with water,
giving her a heartwarming look of surprise and naked
devotion. “Have you ever seen sick and starved slaves fresh
from one of these ships? It’s unlike anything I’ve ever
witnessed, Bella. The reek of the hold, the look in their eyes,
the evidence of their abuse … it’s horrifying. I wouldn’t
blame you for not having the stomach for it.”
Squaring her shoulders, she lifted her chin defiantly. “Do
you think me so weak that I would shrink away from helping
those poor people?”
With a sigh, he wiped his face and hands clean and then
came to her. The mingled scent of soap, blood, and acrid
smoke clung to him, but she didn’t pull away when he
cupped her face and placed a tender kiss on her brow.
“I think you’re stronger than many people have given you
credit for. Forgive me if my words caused you to believe
otherwise. Protecting you is my first priority.”
Resting her hands against his waist, she smoothed them
over bare skin riddled with puckered scars. She had spent the
past weeks exploring them, learning the altered expanse of a
body forged and chiseled by labor and pain.
“If there is one thing I don’t need protection from, it’s
this. Please don’t ask me to turn my back on their su ering. I
could just as easily have been one of them. Besides, the
women might be intimidated by the presence of so many
rough pirate men. Perhaps a female face will put them at
ease.”
“You’re right, about all of it. And I’m certain Mr. Butler
would be glad to have your help in the surgery. I only ask
that you not overtax yourself. Rest, eat, and drink when you
need to.”
“Of course,” she agreed.
He then asked her to wait for him to don clean clothes
before making her way onto the deck. Drew also sent for a
pair of boots, as the shoes she’d been taken in were hardly
made for such practical work. As it turned out, Little Jack’s
feet were nearly the size of Arabella’s, and his spare
jackboots fit her perfectly.
They emerged from the cabin together, just in time to
watch a bedraggled, pitiful lot of former slaves being led
across a gangway from one ship to the other. Tears stung
Arabella’s eyes at the sight of them—most either naked or
wearing next to nothing. Yellow stains discolored the whites
of many eyes, and open, festering wounds showed on arms
and legs and backs.
Padre helped two other sailors provide what clothing
could be spared from within a crate—shirts, trousers,
stockings. Big Jack and his son o ered ladles of fresh
drinking water from a barrel, and Arabella’s chest squeezed
tight around her heart as one woman wept as if the water
were the most precious gift she’d ever received.
Giving her shoulder an encouraging squeeze, Drew led
Arabella over to Mr. Butler, the ship’s surgeon. The slender,
wiry man had set himself up on the forecastle deck, clean
rows of instruments and bundles of catgut sutures arranged
on a cloth draped over a cluster of barrels. Introductions
were made, and the man had been happy to have her
assistance. While Drew and the rest of his men set about
stripping The Jupiter of all its supplies and valuables, Arabella
placed the waiting men and women according to their
conditions, ensuring the most grievous of them were treated
first.
 Sweat soaked through her shirt, and her back began to
ache—but before the night was over she had cleaned wounds
and assisted Butler with the necessary tools for suturing
them closed. She administered potions for a number of
ailments, and joined the ship’s cook in handing out rations
of dried fish, oranges, and water to those who had either
been seen to or awaited treatment.
With the moon hanging overhead in a clear sky, the last
of the crew returned to The Sea Lion, with Drew crossing the
gangway last. He tossed a torch over his shoulder as he went,
quickly setting the kerosene-soaked deck ablaze.
Arabella stood with Drew’s arm slung over her shoulders,
the entire crew going eerily silent as they pulled away from
the burning ship. The night came aglow with red and orange
light, the near-black sheet of the ocean taking on the colors
of flames. Only then did Arabella allow the tears she’d held
back all day to fall, as she remembered Drew’s accounting of
lives lost. Of the three hundred slaves who had been chained
together and forced into the stifling, confined space of the
hold, half had been dead or dying. Several hadn’t even lasted
the day. Big Jack had spoken with a man who could only
communicate in a broken French-patois, who informed him
that dozens more had been tossed overboard days ago. That
revelation filled Arabella with a fury that fueled her through
the long hours of that first day. It had persisted in the
following four weeks, as they sailed closer and closer to the
haven of Pirate Island.
With their marriage cemented and the problems of her
father and William behind them, her days with Drew fell into
a comfortable routine, though Arabella was never bored or
short on things to do. She woke each morning to find Drew
already gone from their cabin, tending to the myriad of
duties awaiting him as the captain. She learned that he was a
stern but fair leader, never asking a member of his crew to
do something he would not. He took his turns on watch,
shared the duties of piloting the ship, and made certain that
every corner of The Sea Lion remained in tiptop shape.
While he did that, Arabella assisted in the kitchen and
helped serve meals to the crew as well as their passengers.
Between meals, she entered the ship’s surgery to lend her
aid to Mr. Butler, who treated sick and wounded patients. A
pair of Little Jack’s breeches had replaced her soiled
petticoat as part of her daily ensemble, much to Drew’s
irritation. The long drape of his shirt was the only thing
hiding the way the tight fit of the breeches flaunted the
curves of her hips and buttocks, but fear of his wrath proved
enough to keep any eyes from wandering south of her face.
She had come to know many of their rescued passengers,
though most either didn’t speak English, or knew only
enough to have been able to communicate with their
previous masters. However, even among those who could not
talk to her, Arabella noticed the furtive smiles and relief in
their eyes. Many had been on their guard in those first days,
giving Arabella and the crew suspicious glances. And who
could blame them? Drew had told her that there were some
pirate crews who would plunder slave ships, only to take the
prisoners as their own cargo, selling them o to turn
themselves a tidy profit. These people had no reason to trust
even those among the crew who looked like them and spoke
their languages.
Over time, however, most seemed to understand that they
were to be treated well, and allowed themselves to enjoy
their newfound freedom. The quarter and midship decks
came alive each night, with music and dancing and grog
passed from hand to hand. Their meals became sparser and
less lavish as their stores were depleted, though the bounty
taken from The Jupiter had helped supplement their food and
fresh water.
 On the day that land finally appeared on the horizon,
Arabella stood at the bow with excitement churning in her
belly. The comforting monotony of their days at sea would
soon to come to an end, and the next phase of what was sure
to be an adventurous life would begin. Never had she
imagined that her future would lay before her in such a wide
expanse of such possibility. The quiet girl who bowed to the
whims of her father had been peeled away layer by layer, and
a new woman stood in her place—one who was ready for
whatever may come next.
The scent of Drew fused with soap and leather invaded
her senses right before his body pressed into her from
behind, his hands gripping the rail to cage her in.
“There it is,” he murmured against her ear, nuzzling and
kissing and making a mess of her senses. “Home.”
“That looks like quite a bit of land,” she remarked,
leaning into his embrace. “The way you described the island,
I expected something smaller.”
“From this distance it’s di cult to tell, but what you’re
seeing isn’t one land mass—it’s two. The greater mass is
Madagascar itself. When we draw nearer, you’ll be able to see
that Île Saint Marie is its own chunk of land, separated from
Madagascar by the Baie de Tintingue. There are over a
thousand people inhabiting the island—pirates and their
families, freed slaves, the formerly indentured … people who
needed a place to put down roots and start anew.”
“I find it di cult to believe so many pirates can exist in
one place without tearing each other apart.”
Drew’s chest rumbled against her back when he laughed.
“With every king, lord governor, and commodore in the
world hunting us down and stringing us up for piracy, we
have no cause to be at each other’s throats. Our continued
survival depends on our willingness to band together against
the rest of the world. Besides, all pirates exist by a code of
some kind. On board our ships, we abide by the articles and
vote on every decision. Even my choice to come to Falmouth
to retrieve you had to be approved by my crew first.”
“Truly? And how di cult was it to convince them to vote
in your favor?”
“It wasn’t. The vote was unanimous. Anyway, when on
Pirate Island, we abide by another set of articles. No man
may try to take what rightfully belongs to another. Crimes
where blood is spilled are subject to punishment, based on
the votes of a council of captains. Captains claim their own
territory, and those who live under his protection do their
part for the good of each settlement. At the center of the
island is the marketplace where we trade our goods. Money
doesn’t change hands here, as gold is all but useless to a
pirate. Gems are a form of currency, but so are the
necessities—foodstu s, wine and spirits, fabrics, that sort of
thing.”
“Fascinating. If you had described such a place to me
before now I might not have believed it.”
“It is a di erent sort of life than what you are accustomed
to, but I have faith that you will grow used to it. Perhaps
you’ll even come to prefer it this way.”
Glancing back at him, Arabella smiled. “I would be happy
anywhere as long as you were there.”
They shared a lingering kiss and then Drew had to leave
her, his duties demanding that he do his part to ensure the
ship was ready to make port at Île Saint Marie. He came and
went over the next several hours, but Arabella remained
where she stood, unable to look away from the emerald form
in the distance, growing larger by the second. As Drew had
predicted, she was eventually able to tell the island apart
from Madagascar itself, a small expanse of land surrounded
by water on all sides. The sea and inlets carved along its
perimeter were the bluest Arabella had ever seen—bright
and clear beneath a sky graced with flu y white clouds. The
landscape changed as they approached, magically seeming to
rise up out of the water in a stunning display of mountains,
overgrown forest, and gigantic palms.
Bracing one hand over her brow and squinting against the
sun, she made out a series of coves along the eastern shore,
each one home to a veritable fleet of ships. Her mouth fell
open as they sailed into one of them, losing count of the
number of vessels they cruised past. Brigantines, galleons,
schooners, and even a gigantic man-of-war—all of them
neatly moored and acting as a silent threat to anyone who
would approach.
“Impressive, isn’t it?” Rory drawled as he came to join
her at the railing.
“It’s breathtaking,” she whispered. “So many ships.”
“Each one ready to launch itself in defense of the island if
need be, though we haven’t had to fight o the Royal Navy in
a while.”
Rory gently took her arm to steady her as the ship swung
at the command of Drew at the wheel, pulling into one of the
shallow inlets and aiming their bowsprit into a wide gap
between a frigate and a galleon.
“These here sail under the command o’ the cap’n,” he
added, sweeping his arm to encompass not just these two
ships, but six others flanking them left and right.
Arabella sucked in an awed breath as she took in furled
sails and gleaming decks.
Rory let out a laugh in response to her dumbfounded
expression. “Didn’t he tell ye?”
Shaking her head, she stared at the gleaming figurehead
of a mermaid thrusting o the front of the galleon to their
left. “No, he didn’t.”
“He’s a modest man, yer husband. All seven o’ these
beauties are prizes he claimed himself. Each one is captained
by a di erent man, but they all sail under the banner of The
Black Lion. Won’t let us call him Admiral, the bugger.”
“Some of us don’t feel the need to toss about fancy titles
to make ourselves seem more impressive,” Drew retorted as
he appeared on Arabella’s other side.
Smiling up at him, she clutched the lapels of his frock
coat and went on tiptoe to kiss the bridge of his nose. “I am
no less impressed, no matter what you call yourself.”
“Wait till ye see where you’ll be living,” Rory chimed in.
“Quiet, you,” Drew snapped, though his lips twitched
with mirth. “Think you can manage the Lion so I can get
Bella ashore?”
Rory snapped his heels together and o ered Drew a
playful salute. “Aye, aye. I’ll have yer things sent up the hill
directly. Go carry yer bride across the threshold.”
The ship shuddered to a stop as they dropped anchor, and
Drew took her hand, gesturing to where a group of men had
already begun preparing jolly boats to carry their passengers
ashore.
“Shall we?”
Glancing at the cluster of former slaves watching all the
goings-on with quiet reserve. “What about them?”
“Big Jack and Padre set out on a jolly boat first thing this
morning and likely reached the island hours ago. A welcome
party will be arranged, and temporary living arrangements
will be secured for all of them. Most will lodge with us until
we can find someplace to put them. When we set sail for
Falmouth, a number of small dwellings had already begun
construction, but it could be weeks yet before they’re
inhabitable.”
Allowing him to lead her to where one of the boats was in
position and ready to be lowered, Arabella found herself
grateful to be wearing breeches and boots. That made it
easier for her to swing her legs over the rail and lower
herself into the boat without collapsing in a graceless heap.
“I thought Rory was joking about where you live, but … I
suppose it must be very large if we can accommodate so
many people?”
Drew settled beside her in the boat, then held his arms
out for Little Jack, who was being lifted over the rail to join
them. The boy settled on Drew’s other side as others began
climbing in, filling the small vessel fore and aft.
“I think your question is best answered by showing rather
than telling. But, in short, yes … our house is already home to
Rory, Big Jack and Little Jack, Padre, and a handful of others.
There are empty chambers and parlors that will do nicely for
anyone who needs a place to sleep. All will be well, and they
will soon settle into their new lives. Those who do not wish
to remain may find passage on any ship leaving our shores at
their convenience. They are not prisoners here.”
Clutching the side of the jolly boat, she peered over the
side as it began inching down to the bay. The water was so
clear here, Arabella could see straight to its rocky bottom. It
occurred to her that some of the larger ships were moored
farther from shore than the smaller sloops and schooners,
likely due to the treacherous ocean floor. The sharp stones
would be enough to rip the hull of a brigantine to shreds. No
wonder the beaches here couldn’t be stormed by ships of the
line. They couldn’t get close enough before being blasted to
kingdom come or sinking themselves.
She couldn’t seem to sit still as the oars were lowered and
a pair of men began rowing them to shore. The sights that
greeted Arabella as they neared her new home proved a feast
for the senses. The fresh, salty air of the ocean was now
mingled with the aromas of citrus and green vegetation.
Wafting smoke in the distance carried with it the scents of
cooking food that had her stomach growling for want of a
good meal.
Drew seemed to have heard the rumblings of her belly, for
he chuckled and stroked a hand up her back. “All in good
time, my Bella. If I haven’t missed my guess, Padre and Big
Jack would have told my sta to anticipate our arrival. I’d
wager a rather fine meal will await us.”
“It should not surprise me to learn that your house is
sta ed with servants. Is there anything you haven’t been
able to buy yourself, Captain?”
He shrugged. “The island is overrun with the wives of
sailors in need of work. I supply their families with food and
essential supplies, and they maintain the house, cook meals,
tend crops, and look after those who reside there in my
absence. That is the way employment is arranged on the
island, everywhere from the larger houses, to the smithies,
carpenters, and taverns.”
“And the brothels?” she teased, for Arabella couldn’t
imagine a pirate stronghold without its fair share of places
for the men to slake their lust.
Drew smirked. “Having never set foot in any of them, I
wouldn’t know. There are several, however, if that’s what
you’re asking.”
Arabella snapped her mouth closed around the question
burning like a hot coal in her throat. It hadn’t occurred to
her until now to ask him about their time apart, and whether
he had taken comfort in whores and the like. Despite burning
with curiosity, she found it di cult to feel as if she had the
right to ask. After all, barely two months had passed since
she had been prepared to go to the marriage bed with Drew’s
brother. Had he arrived too late to stop the wedding and the
resulting consummation, Arabella hoped Drew would have
been able to forgive her. The past was no longer relevant,
and she would not delve too deeply into matters she would
rather not face. He was hers now, and that was what
mattered.
To assure herself of this, Arabella rested her head against
his shoulder and twined her fingers through his. Glancing
down at their joined hands, Drew stroked a fingertip over the
pearl in her ring.
They arrived to the shore in short order, and Drew led her
and Little Jack over sparkling white sand toward a path
leading through the towering trees. The rough walkway
opened into a clearing, where a collection of horse-drawn
wagons sat in wait.
Among the waiting men stood Padre and Big Jack, who
came forward to greet them. The bosun scooped his son o
the ground and held him to his side like he might a babe—
and he might as well have been for how large Big Jack was in
comparison to the boy.
“Welcome home, Cap’n, Mrs. Reeves,” he said with a
bright smile. “All’s in preparation at the house. We brought a
horse for you and your missus. Figured you wouldn’t want to
wait for the wagons.”
“You’re a godsend, Jack,” Drew said, accepting the reins
of a large chestnut stallion from Padre. “Spread the word
among the crew. I want to host a celebration tonight in
honor of Bella’s arrival. All who wish to attend will be
welcome. Make sure we have enough ale and rum pulled
from our cargo to accommodate a crowd.”
“Aye, Cap’n,” both men replied at once.
Drew helped her into the saddle and climbed on behind
her, taking the reins in hand. With a click of his tongue they
set o down the path leading deeper into the overgrowth of
jungle.
Arabella drank in everything her eyes landed on, lips
parted in wonder. There was a certain familiarity about being
surrounded by a landscape similar to that of Jamaica, and yet
this place felt like another world entirely. The yellowish eyes
of lemurs peered at her from the shadows of the trees, while
the medley of tropical birds rang out through the air. The
trickle and rush of water hinted at rivers and creeks buried
deep in the overgrowth, and rustlings of unseen creatures
here and there told her there were other inhabitants of these
woods.
The forest eventually gave way to cleared plots of land
upon which tidy rows of modest homes stood—some made
of clay, others of timber or stone. Neat rows of crops grew on
small farms. Drew waved to the people appearing in the
doorways of their dwellings, or pausing in the midst of their
work to greet them. Children ran in open fields in their bare
feet, their laughter and smiles warming her heart.
Without the obstruction of trees, Arabella could see the
vastness of the island beyond, mountains towering in the
distance with wide swaths of land cleared and settled much
like those in the valleys below.
“The village proper is farther inland,” Drew told her.
“This route home is faster, though, so we won’t come near it
today. I’ll take you another time.”
Arabella leaned back against his chest and enjoyed the
scenery as the path began to wind its way up a sloping
incline. They climbed what had been referred to as ‘the hill’,
and the village and houses below them began to fall away,
revealing an escarpment upon which a collection of buildings
sat. There were houses in various sizes, stables and
paddocks, and other enclosures containing cattle, pigs, and
goats. But, it was the massive mansion looming over it all
that caught and held Arabella’s attention. She sat up
straighter and gaped, thunderstruck at the opulence of such
a place built in the middle of such wild environs.
“Is this …”
 “Yes,” Drew said, drawing the horse up near one of the
outbuildings. “Your new home.”
“Dear God.”
He dismounted first and helped Arabella down, leaving
her standing near an enclosure where several chickens
clucked and skipped in circles while he tended the horses.
Arabella studied the edifice of the house, with its massive
white columns and a terrace that seemed to wrap around the
house from the front to both sides. Floor to ceiling windows
on the ground floor would allow in a great deal of natural
light, and rounded balconies jutted o two front-facing
chambers on the second floor. It was a grand house that
could rival any of the finest manors in Falmouth.
Drew’s hands landed on her shoulders, snapping Arabella
out of her stupor. He grinned when she shook her head at
him in disbelief.
“I’m certain there is a fantastical story behind this,” she
said as he propelled her in the direction of a low, clay wall
surrounding the house. “Somehow, you’ve gone from
carpenter, to sailor, to pirate, to … lord of the island?”
“Not quite,” he replied with a laugh. “I happened to come
into this house after the man who built it fell out of favor
with the island natives. You see, Captain Baldridge founded
the settlement here. He had this house built and lived like a
king. There are even rumors that the rooms within were
filled with his own personal harem of women from all over
the world.”
“Charming,” Arabella muttered with a roll of her eyes.
“What happened to him?”
“The natives were content to keep to themselves as long
as Baldridge went on paying them in cattle, rum, and other
goods … until he went into business as a slaver and set his
sights on them as potential cargo. They had the manpower to
fight back, but were outgunned. Until The Sea Lion returned
from a rather profitable trip with her stores filled with
weapons.”
The horror she’d felt over the actions of Captain Baldridge
were smothered by amusement as she gave Drew a sidelong
glance. “You armed them, didn’t you?”
His knowing smirk was a more than adequate answer, but
he replied anyway. “I did, and they ran him o in short
order. He abandoned this house and never returned to the
island.”
“After which you promptly took it for yourself.”
“They don’t call me a pirate for nothing.”
There wasn’t time enough for her to answer before they
were passing through the gates, and then the front doors
flew open to reveal a woman on the threshold. Arabella
nearly tripped over her own two feet at the sight of the most
ravishing person she’d ever laid eyes on. Tall and slender,
she still somehow managed to convey a sense of physical
power as she took the stairs two at a time in their direction.
The sun gleamed o flawless, dark-as-night skin, and a
headful of black hair fell down her back in the same curious
style of Drew’s. Though, her own mane was decidedly wilder,
with haphazard plaits and adornments of beads interspersed
through the dark ropes that nearly kissed the small of her
back. She wore men’s clothing, yet carried them o in a
decidedly feminine way. Breeches and a frock coat did
nothing to hide the curves of breast and thigh and hip, and
rather seemed to flaunt them to their advantage.
As she drew closer, Arabella took in an angular face
notched with high cheekbones, the sharp slash of a straight
nose, and full, lush lips. It was too much to hope, of course,
that her teeth might be rotten or crooked or missing
altogether. Naturally, her smile was as perfect as the rest of
her—white and brilliant and becoming.
 “Well, look what the tide washed up,” she teased as she
neared them. “The Sea Kitten returned to dry land!”
Even her voice was riveting, slightly deep and husky,
laced with a light French accent.
Dropping Arabella’s hand, Drew advanced on the woman
with a chuckle, bending down to accept her warm embrace.
Arabella’s stomach twisted and churned, her throat burning
with bile as she noted their familiarity.
“It is good to see you too, Nadège,” Drew replied, tugging
on a lock of hair adorned with a bright red feather. “Can you
not behave yourself long enough for me to introduce you to
my wife?”
Nadège peered around Drew’s shoulder, her smile going
even wider when she caught sight of Arabella. “You mean to
say some poor woman has been foolish enough to wed you?”
Pushing Drew aside as if he weighed no more than a child,
she moved toward Arabella with both hands extended. She
moved as gracefully as any lady Arabella had ever met, as if
the layers of skirts and petticoats swished around her ankles.
Swallowing past the odd emotion welling up in her as
Nadège came near, Arabella placed her hands in those of the
other woman and forced a smile.
“Nadège Dantes,” she said, appraising Arabella from head
to toe. “You must be the famous Arabella. I’ve heard so much
about you—all good things, I assure you. My, but you’re
lovelier than he led me to believe. Shame on you, Drew.”
Arabella’s gaze flicked to Drew in surprise. He had come
to stand at her side to watch the exchange, his expression in
a softened, placid state. Was it made so by coming home, or
by the presence of this enchanting woman? She referred to
him intimately, by the shortened version of his name. During
her time aboard his ship, Arabella had come to realize that
only she addressed him that way. So, why did Nadège feel so
comfortable referring to him as ‘Drew?’
 “Shame on him, indeed,” Arabella managed, doing her
best to keep her voice light. “For he has told me absolutely
nothing about you.”
Nadège threw her head back and laughed, squeezing
Arabella’s hands as if they were old friends. “I am thinking
this is a good thing. My infamy might have made you
terrified of me.”
“Rightly so,” Drew muttered, though there was mirth
heavy in his voice. “The stories are all true, and we both
know it.”
“I have a reputation to uphold,” Nadège declared, raising
her chin and tossing her mane of hair. “I will leave you to
explore your new home. But, we will see one another again
soon, oui?”
“Of course,” Arabella replied.
“Tonight, if you aren’t otherwise engaged. I’m hosting a
celebration for Bella.”
Releasing Arabella’s hands, Nadège began backing toward
the front steps. “I wouldn’t miss a chance to guzzle as much
of your rum as I can get my hands on. Welcome home,
Captain.”
Drew waved her o with another laugh as she bounded
back up the stairs and strode through the front doors as if
she belonged here.
Swiveling toward Drew, Arabella raised her eyebrows.
“She lives here?”
O ering her his arm, he guided her to the open front
doors. “Nadège would say she lives nowhere. She is rarely
ever spotted on land, but has been recuperating from an
injury. When she is on the island, she has a room here, just
like most of my o cers. You aren’t too tired for a tour, are
you? It’s been a long day, and the celebration will likely go
late into the night. I’ll understand if you need to rest.”
 Staring after the retreating form of Nadège Dantes,
Arabella told herself she was being ridiculous. Yes, the
woman—who was, apparently, also a pirate—was
exceedingly beautiful. Yes, fondness crept into Drew’s voice
when he spoke of her. But then, he had always been fiercely
loyal to people he considered his friends. She was obviously
making much out of nothing.
“A tour would be lovely,” she said, clinging to Drew’s arm
as they entered the bright, airy entrance hall. “I want to see
everything.”
As he allowed her a moment to soak in the high ceiling,
skylight, and pink-veined marble floors of the vestibule,
Arabella took a moment to gather her bearings. She was
home now, and their new life would begin.
Drew was hers, and would be for the rest of her life. What
did it matter if he had indulged in an a air with the beautiful
pirate during their time apart?
It doesn’t matter, she chided herself as Drew led her down
a corridor, pointing out the rich wood paneling of the walls
and the paintings gracing them—many of which had been
acquired from the various ships he’d pillaged.
Even as she latched onto the thought and held fast to it, a
whisper from the back of Arabella’s mind warned her that
she was wrong.
 CHAPTER TWELVE

D rew slouched in the chair he occupied overlooking the

mass of bodies overtaking the front lawn of his house,
raising a cup to his lips. His eyelids were heavy with fatigue
and the e ects of drink, but a bone-deep satisfaction had
settled over him. Coming home to Île Saint Marie always
brought him peace, but bringing Arabella here, seeing her
walk the corridors of a home he’d acquired for her, having
her near, made peace seem like a pittance. What he
experienced now went beyond that, and he doubted he could
even put a name to it.
Typically, a fortnight on land would prove more than
enough for Drew, before the sea began calling his name. But
as he watched Arabella from his seat, he realized the siren’s
call of the ocean would be easy to shun. He didn’t intend to
retire yet—there were far too many slavers operating in
these waters, and his crew and their families depended on
him for their essential needs. However, there were eight
other ships under his command, all piloted by captains he
trusted to carry on without him. Long months enjoying the
company of his bride sounded like just the respite he needed.
They had spent the afternoon roaming the house, with
Drew taking great pleasure in Arabella’s awe over the various
rooms and their furnishings. It didn’t seem to matter that
she’d grown up in a home as fine as this one—this place
belonged to them together, and it made him proud to finally
be able to show it to her. She met his small sta —a cook, a
trio of maids, and the three burly men-of-all work who were
responsible for both the upkeep and security of the place.
Martine, the cook, had o ered the services of her daughter
as a personal maid to Arabella, though his wife had been
reluctant at first. She’d been waited on her entire life by
slaves, and was no longer comfortable with the idea of
anyone serving her.
“Serena has been seeking a position since her husband
died at sea,” Drew reassured her. “This is a di erent world,
my Bella. Anyone who works for us will be paid what they are
worth, and I know you will be a kind mistress.”
That had been enough to convince her to accept the o er
of a maid, and Serena had been promptly sent for. Upon the
young woman’s arrival, Drew left Arabella in her care and set
o to begin preparations for the party.
He and his wife hadn’t crossed paths again until his
arrival an hour ago—as she had already left their bedroom
by the time he arrived to bathe and dress.
Every possessive bone in his body wanted to shove
through the people standing between where he sat and
where she stood, talking and laughing with Rory and Padre
as she sampled the o erings from the food table. However,
there was no reason to keep her from coming to know the
other inhabitants of the island. It was why he’d planned this
celebration, after all. When the time came for him to take to
the sea again, Arabella would need friends to rely on. He
would have her to himself soon enough.
Glancing up at the moon, high and full in a cloudless sky,
he calculated that they had about another hour or two before
he wearied of sharing her and acted accordingly.
“Merde, you’re besotted. It’s pitiful.”
 Drew took his gaze o Arabella long enough to find
Nadège sinking into the abandoned seat beside him. He and
his closest friends had feasted at this table at the onset of the
party, with the rest of the islanders spread out on blankets
on the ground or sprawling on the front steps. The empty
plates and scattered cups had been left behind, and Drew was
the only one who remained after the others had taken their
leave.
Now, small fires lit up the night as groups of people
clustered about to indulge in rum and ale, voices mingling in
a cacophony of English, French, Portuguese, and several
mangled varieties of patois. On one side of their
encampment, ship’s musicians had struck up a tune, fiddle
and drum interlaced with o -key voices raised in song. The
dancing had begun, and if he hadn’t missed his guess, the
people darting o into the shadows in groups of two or three
were after amusement of their own where no one could see.
“Guilty and unashamed,” Drew muttered, taking another
long pull of the best rum to be found this side of the Indian
Ocean.
“When are you going to tell me what happened?” she
asked, picking up someone’s abandoned cup. Sni ng its
contents, she shrugged and drank. “When last we spoke, you
were convinced she’d played you false. What changed?”
Arabella threw her head back and laughed at something
someone said, the sound arrowing straight into his chest.
His fingers twitched around his cup, itching to reach for her,
pull her to him and command her attention. Nadège was
right; he was absolutely pitiful.
“The short of it is … I was misinformed. Not that it would
have stopped me from returning here with her. To be able to
come home under di erent circumstances has been a
pleasant surprise.”
 Nadège snorted into her cup, and Drew found her
frowning at her rum. “Pleasant, eh? You call tying an anchor
around your ankles pleasant?”
Drew studied her for a moment before responding.
Nadège had the dubious distinction of being the most
coveted woman on the island, as well as one of the most
feared pirates. The dichotomy of her nature was apparent in
her appearance—the men’s togs she wore better than most
males he knew, the femininity of her form, the regal
arrangement of her features. Her background was a mystery
to everyone, including him. He knew only that she’d sailed
into Île Saint Marie two years ago, refusing to claim anything
other than homes and small land plots for her crew. She
served on the council when she was on the island, which
wasn’t often. Any pirate who thought to pursue her to satisfy
his own lust or command her submission was quickly
disabused of either notion. No man could call her his in any
way, and Nadège preferred things that way. Which was why
it didn’t surprise Drew to hear her refer to marriage as she
did.
“All ships need an anchor, Dège,” he replied. “Besides, I
never said I intended to give up my ship. I choose to see it as
having a reason to return here, not something holding me
down. Besides, wives are portable. They fit quite nicely
aboard ships. Surprising, I know.”
She slouched and spread her legs shamelessly, resting her
cup on one knee. “I am glad for you, really. Such a life isn’t
for me.”
Drew shrugged one shoulder. “Perhaps not this life,
exactly. But, times are changing. A pirate’s career can end
one of two ways—retirement or dancing the hangman’s jig.”
“The Drew I’ve known these past years would have
preferred to dance the jig.”
 “Maybe,” he admitted. “Why chase death when I’ve
finally found my reason for living again? I cannot tell you
how to live your life, obviously—”
“Not unless you want to lose your cock to my blade.”
He smirked, glancing down at the dagger sheathed at her
hip. Drew wasn’t certain if the rumors were true, but talk
about the island suggested that Nadège had castrated men—
as few as five and as many as five hundred, depending on
who was relating the tale.
“Admit it,” he quipped. “You just want to get your hands
on my cock.”
She burst out laughing, the sound loud and uninhibited
and drawing the stares of several men in the vicinity. Nadège
locked eyes with one and raised an eyebrow, legs spreading
even further as if in invitation. Drew choked on his rum,
sputtering and choking between laughs as she crooked her
finger at the man he supposed would be her bedmate for the
night.
“Your cock is now o cially o limits, so I’m no longer
interested,” she said without breaking the other man’s gaze.
Drew frowned. “No longer?”
Sparing him a glance, she flashed him a grin and tipped
one shoulder in a shrug. “A cock is a cock, friend, and I’d
have had yours if you were willing. You weren’t, so I averted
my attentions elsewhere. Don’t tell me you’re going to start
avoiding me now? What’s talk of cock between friends?”
Wiping at his wet chin, Drew shook his head with a snort
of disbelieving laughter. “Considering all we’ve been
through together, nothing at all. It’s already forgotten.”
“Good. Now, bugger o .”
The pirate Nadège had beckoned to now sat on her other
side, leaning close with clear intent in his gaze as he leered
at exposure of her cleavage through her open shirt. Drew
could have argued that this was his table and if she wanted
to seduce her companion, she could do it someplace else. But
he spied Bella moving through the crowd toward the house
and decided to follow her. Aside from the feast, before which
he had announced their marriage and introduced her to their
guests, she had spent most of the party away from him. His
time of hanging back so she could enjoy herself was at an
end. The long day had tired him, but not so much that he
wouldn’t enjoy taking Arabella in the bed they would share
for the first time.
His cock pulsed in his breeches, rising to the occasion as
he locked eyes on the back of her neck and followed the
beacon of her magnetic presence up the front steps. She
walked swiftly, rump swaying enticingly beneath the folds of
a skirt she had fashioned out of a sarong he’d given her. The
vibrant yellow material had been embroidered with a green
and red floral pattern, and without the need for petticoats, it
clung to her in a way that called attention to her shapely
form. She wore a simple green bodice over it, one that laced
up the front and thrust her breasts upward in a
mouthwatering display. He’d been fantasizing about
unlacing that bodice all afternoon.
The noise of the party faded away as he stalked her
through the darkened corridors, simply enjoying the sight of
her here, in his domain, wearing his ring on her finger and
the clothes he’d selected for her, and bearing his surname.
All his years of anticipating this eventuality paled in
comparison. His footfalls were silent as he followed her up
the curved staircase, wondering if she had decided to take
herself to bed. If she was tired, why wouldn’t she have
simply told him? He would have been more than happy to
shun the party to spend the night lying beside her.
Arabella moved fast for such a petite woman, her legs
propelling her several steps for each of his slow ones. Drew
lingered in the doorway of their bedroom—which Arabella
seemed not to realize she hadn’t closed behind her.
Amusement made the corners of his mouth twitch as she
began pacing about and muttering to herself. Kicking o her
shoes, she jerked at the laces of her bodice.
“Damned insu erable pirate,” she ground out, pausing in
her ministrations to throw up her hands with a hu . “Sitting
there … smiling and laughing … I ought to blacken both his
eyes!”
“Simply tell me which pirate on this island has caused
you upset, and I’ll see to that for you,” he drawled, entering
the room and pulling the door closed behind him.
Arabella flinched and sucked in a breath, whirling to face
him with her bodice hanging open. Drew tore his gaze away
from the plush, brown flesh showing in the gap and fixated
on her face. It bewildered him to find anger there, flashing
like amber lightning in the brown prisms of her eyes.
“Ah,” he said, rubbing at the back of his neck. “It would
seem I am the pirate in question. Can I ask why you wish to
blacken my eyes?”
Hands braced on her hips, she raised her chin and glared
at him. “Have you had her? Nadège?”
At first, her words made no sense. He wouldn’t consider
himself drunk, but he’d imbibed enough to wonder if his
ears deceived him.
“Have I … had … what?”
“Her!” Arabella snapped, waving a hand toward the set of
French doors leading to their balcony. From it, they would be
able to overlook the entire front lawn and the party still in
full swing. “I told myself it wouldn’t matter, and I could live
with the knowledge that you might have taken lovers while
we were apart. God knows I cannot fault you, when I was
prepared to marry Will. And I could live with knowing there
were whores or the occasional passing fancy. In fact, I
haven’t asked because I didn’t want to know. But I saw her,
and she’s stunning, and you like her, and she makes you
laugh, and I …”
Drew held up both hands, cutting o her nonsensical
rambling. “You think I’ve fucked Nadège?”
Her chin trembled, one hand swiping at her cheek. Only
then did he notice the tear that had leaked from the corner of
one eye. “I think I could bear to know you have lain with her.
What I suspect goes deeper than that. The two of you have a
connection of some kind, don’t deny it. She calls you Drew.
No one calls you that but me.”
Drew approached slowly, realizing he’d underestimated
how upset his wife was. She trembled when he reached for
her, sni ing and blinking back more tears.
“Come here, my Bella,” he murmured, taking hold of her
arms and drawing her into him. “Is that why you’ve stayed
away from me all night? You’ve been angry with me since we
arrived.”
“Not precisely angry with you. I think I’m mostly angry
with myself for being so jealous of a woman I hardly even
know. I know I have no right—”
“You’re my wife. You have every right.” He smoothed his
hands up her arms, fingertips skimming her neck and jaw,
until he framed her face in both hands. “Nadège has been a
great friend to me over the years. We respect one another
and have much in common. But, my feelings for her are no
di erent than those I have toward Rory, or Big Jack. Yes, she
is lovely, but in my eyes, no woman is as beautiful as you.”
Her mouth fell open and she stared at him, her breath
coming out on a breathless, “Oh.”
Drew smiled, caressing her cheeks with his thumbs and
leaning down until his forehead rested against hers. “And
even if I had indulged in an a air with her, or some other
faceless woman, you would never need to worry that she
might wrest my heart from your grasp. That feat is entirely
impossible.”
“God, I feel so foolish,” she whispered, squeezing her
eyes shut.
“I think it’s adorable that you were jealous. Truly, it’s
very flattering.”
Her eyes flicked open and she pushed against his chest,
face scrunching in a scowl. “Oh … you … you …”
“Pirate?” he teased, grasping her waist and lifting her o
her feet.
She gave a halfhearted twist in his grasp as he carried her
toward the bed. The massive tester was adorned with a rich
white damask counterpane with gold embroidery. It, the
sheets, and pillows were the only adornments of the room. It
had been his aim to allow her to decorate to her heart’s
content, so even the walls had been left bare.
Arabella was a bright splash of color against the stark
coverlet, limbs splayed and breasts heaving with every
breath.
Drew shrugged out of his coat, letting it fall in a heap as
he crouched to yank o his boots. By the time he climbed up
to join her, Arabella was propped up on her elbows, watching
him with equal parts annoyance and desire warring in her
eyes.
“Allow me to further put you at ease,” he said, straddling
her and using one hand against her chest to push her to her
back.
She went down with a hu , squirming and whimpering as
he loomed over her, locks of his hair brushing against the
skin bared by her half-open bodice. The lace edge of her
chemise teased him with a peak of white lace.
“Drew,” she whispered when he lowered his head, his
mouth hovering just over hers.
 He nuzzled her nose with his, then pressed his lips lightly
to hers. “One of the things about pirating is, if a man centers
all his energies on plundering ships and stays at sea more
often than he is on land … he doesn’t have much time to go
staggering into whorehouses.”
She furrowed her brow, but didn’t resist as he began
plucking at the laces of her bodice, making the two sides fall
open. Her breasts sprang free, heavy and full, the dark peaks
of her nipples beckoning through the fabric of her chemise.
“Do you mean to tell me you’ve been celibate all these
years?”
Drew grinned against her nipple just before licking it
through her undergarment, drawing a surprised gasp from
her.
“That’s exactly what I am telling you,” he confirmed,
lapping at her nipple again, then taking the very tip of her
nipple between his teeth.
She cried out, then mu ed the sound by pinching her
lips, as if worried they might be overheard. He couldn’t help
but chuckle by the evidence that time aboard a crowded ship
had a ected her reactions to him. She had begun restraining
her moans, seeming more aware that they could be
overheard by anyone walking over the quarterdeck.
“Oh … how I am going to make you scream for me
tonight, lioness,” he murmured over her dampened chemise,
using his fingertip to toy with her distended nipple.
He bit her opposite nipple and was rewarded with a hiss
between clenched teeth, Arabella’s head tipping back to
reveal the way her pulse thundered at the base of her throat.
Cupping her breasts, he plied both nipples at once,
enraptured by the reaction painted across her face as he
twisted and pulled. She panted and writhed, back arching in
a silent plea for more.
 “Most of the times we we made port, I remained behind
on the ship,” he said conversationally, helping her out of her
bodice, then going to work on the knot holding the sarong in
place over her hips. “I spent that time caring for The Sea
Lion, taking over the duties of the carpenter, helping Big Jack
mend canvas and rigging. Anything to keep from thinking
about how badly I wanted … and I did want, Bella. That never
went away. But what I desired couldn’t be found in a brothel
or behind some filthy tavern. What I wanted was worth
waiting for. I was that convinced I would make my way back
to you, and aside from my own disinterest in whores there
was also the possibility of being a icted with the pox or
some other foul disease.”
The folds of the sarong fell open, leaving her laid under
him in her shift and stockings. Her eyes were wide and
probing as she stared up at him, hands resting against his
chest.
“Oh, Drew,” she murmured, her voice heavy with regret
and sorrow and joy all at once.
He felt it, too. The years of loneliness, the agony of loss,
every painful moment that had pulled her farther away from
her, but eventually brought him back full circle.
“Why do you think I can hardly keep my hands o you?”
he teased, inching his hands beneath her chemise, tracing
the contours of her thighs. “I feel as if I’ve crawled across
the desert, and you were my first taste of water. And, God …
how you taste …”
He ran his tongue down the inside of her thigh, senses
overwhelmed by the scent and flavor of her. His cock gave a
desperate surge, throbbing and making a nuisance of itself
as he sank to his belly between Arabella’s legs and pressed
his mouth to her. He ignored the persistent annoyance of his
cockstand for the moment, determined to take his time this
first night in their shared bed—without the distraction of his
crew nearby, or the continuous rocking of the ship. Tonight,
there was only the two of them, the world beyond shut away.
Arabella made a choked sound against the back of her
hand as he drove two fingers into her, latching onto her clit
with his lips and sucking. His other hand fell on her belly,
keeping her anchored to the bed as she jerked and arched
beneath him. He was torn between amusement and raw lust
at the way she clenched her teeth to hold in the sounds of
her pleasure. Fingers threaded through his hair, she raised
her hips and rode his mouth, all that sweet innocence of hers
melting away to reveal her true self. Drew reveled in the
appearance of his wild lioness, never tiring of watching the
strata of her ladylike comportment fall away like the layers
of her clothes.
He curled his fingers, finding the spot that sent her eyes
rolling up into her head and made her cry out with wild
abandon. Primitive satisfaction surged through him at her
wanton moans, heightening in pitch and volume as he
fucked her with his fingers and lashed his tongue at her
swollen clit. Her wetness soaked him to his knuckles, and the
spasms of her climax made her clench around his fingers.
She whimpered and went slack when he withdrew,
sucking the remnants of her climax o his fingers. Drew tore
at his shirt, ripping it o over his head before going back
over Arabella, hands braced on either side of her head. She
wrapped her legs around his hips and urged him closer, her
heat searing through his breeches.
Her gaze darted to his co er—the one containing his
clamps and plugs and the other implements he’d introduced
her to during their time aboard his ship. He chuckled, tracing
the tip of his finger along her lower lip. Her nostrils flared
and her mouth parted as she recognized this was the finger
he’d just had inside her. The tip of her tongue came out to
caress the pad and he groaned, pressing deeper into her
mouth. She sucked, never taking her eyes o him, basking in
her own shamelessness.
“I see my lioness is in need of a little something more,
tonight. Aye?”
She nodded, watching silently as he left the bed and went
to retrieve the chest, dropping it beside her and flipping it
open.
Arabella spoke just as he reached inside. “If you’ve been
celibate all these years, how have you become so
knowledgeable about … such things?”
Her gaze had fallen to the chest again, and Drew smiled.
She must have wanted to ask all this time, but would have
been too afraid to learn the truth. He couldn’t blame her. It
had been di cult for him to simply witness a kiss between
her and Will. The thought of anything beyond that had him
wanting to tear his own hair out.
“Well … I might have left the ship a time or two. To sell or
trade, to turn gold currency into something more portable. I
had the rare occasion to … observe a few things. I came by
the clamps and the plugs as part of my share of a prize. I
wanted to know how to use them properly.”
She gasped when he took hold her hips, flipping her over
onto her belly and then yanking her up onto her hands and
knees. Arabella spread her legs in anticipation, the insides of
her thighs slick with arousal.
“Does that appeal to you?” he whispered, tracing his
fingertips down the back of one thigh. “The idea of me
watching some whore and her cull while stroking my cock to
thoughts of you wearing those clamps and having your arse
filled with the plug?”
Arabella whimpered, raising her hips as he stroked his
way back up, fingertips playing along the seam of her mons.
Drew snared her clit between his thumb and forefinger,
giving it a pinch and a twist.
 “Yes!” she cried. “Yes, Drew!”
He gentled his touch, indolently petting and caressing her
with one hand while tearing open his breeches with the
other. His cockhead glistened with wetness, and more of the
same appeared at his slit as he stroked himself, trembling
from the intensity of his need.
“I thought having you again would soothe me,” he
murmured, slowly delving a finger in to gather her wetness,
then pressing it at the tight pucker of her rear passage. “I
didn’t think I could ever be more desperate to have you than
when I would jerk my cock to memories of you, burning up
from the inside and starving for the barest touch of your
hand.”
Accustomed to the invasion of his fingers as well as his
plugs, Arabella inched her legs as wide as they would go, her
upper body sinking to the bed as she eased to let him in. His
finger found e ortless entrance into her, slickened from her
juices and surrounded by tight, molten heat.
“I was wrong,” he groaned, easing her open for him,
working her up to taking a second finger. “Having you again
has only made me more desperate. I can’t even look at you
without feeling as if I’ll burst out of my own skin. One taste
of you would never have been enough. It has only made me
hungry for more, and more, and more.”
He pressed his cock to the entrance of her cunny, slowly
feeding into her inch by inch while he went on stretching
and opening her back entrance. Most times, it was di cult
to be gentle with her, the intensity of his need turning him
into a raging creature of instinct and lust once he got his
hands on her. But, in this, Drew never forgot to temper his
touch, to slow his strokes and patiently wait for her to be
ready to take his plugs. Only … tonight, he sensed she was
ready to go beyond that. Which was why, as he reached back
into his chest, he ignored even the largest of his plugs in
favor of the oil.
Drizzling it between her cheeks, he coated his fingers in it
and delved back in while slowly working his cock in and out
of her. Arabella clawed the coverlet and swayed into each of
his thrusts, urging him faster and harder and deeper.
Drew gritted his teeth and wrestled with control, but it
was fast slipping out of his grasp. His thighs stung with the
impact of flesh on flesh, and his fingers took up a steady
rhythm within her arse, driving desperate moans from
Arabella. He heard the note of finality in them, felt the
fluttering spasms of a coming climax, and urged her toward
it. Fucking her harder, he used his free hand to take hold of
her hair, wrenching her up until her back arched, o ering
him the perfect leverage. She screamed and wailed as if
hovering on the edge of madness and pleasure and pain, her
cunt squeezing tight around his cock as she came o . Drew
rode her mercilessly, not letting up until she had collapsed
beneath him, her breaths coming swift and uneven.
“Touch yourself for me,” he commanded, guiding his
cock toward the oil-slickened entrance to her arse.
A rough groan tore from him at the sight of Arabella’s
slender fingers appearing from beneath her, stroking her clit
and delving into her cunt.
“Yes, just like that … don’t stop.”
The head of his cock eased into her, and Drew paused,
taking a deep, slow breath and reminding himself that they
stood on the threshold of new territory. Arabella had gone
sti beneath him, her fingers stilling in their ministrations
and her breath growing shallower. With her cheek pressed to
the bed, he could only make out one eye, and it was round as
if with shock.
“Shh,” he urged, nudging into another inch, and then
another. “You’re doing very well, my Bella.”
 Another soft whine emitted from her, this one tinged with
need and desperation as she resumed stroking herself with
renewed vigor. He withdrew and plunged, giving her his
entire length in one swift stroke. The coverlet mu ed her
cry as she took him to the hilt, the tight ring of flesh
clenching at his cock with exquisite relentlessness.
“Fucking Christ,” he rasped, going still inside her long
enough to catch his breath. “Bella …”
One of her hands twisted in the coverlet as the other
plunged deep into her cunt, showing him the rhythm she
wanted, begging him for more without words. Drew obliged
her, rocking into Arabella with slow, shallow thrusts,
accustoming her to his length and girth. His entire body
coiled tight as he did battle with his own urges, not wanting
to hurt her, needing her to enjoy this as much as he did. It
was so glorious, he was on the verge of coming within the
next three seconds, but he fought it o —wanting this to
last, needing to feel connected to her in this new and
di erent way. It was filthy and base, and the manifestation
of so many nights of torrid dreams. And his Bella opened
herself to it without reservation, meeting his thrusts with
wiggling hips and an arched back.
“Drew,” she moaned. “Fuck me … please!”
A feral grin spread across his lips, and the tension
unwound from his spine as her words set him free. With a
savage snarl, he snapped his hips, the impact of his cock
thundering through her and sending her skittering a few
inches across the counterpane. He followed, taking hold of
her hips and angling her to his liking. Then, he fucked her in
earnest, his heart galloping as he rode her with every bit of
the savage hunger roiling through him. She accepted it all,
moaning her pleasure and working her fingers faster below
where he penetrated her.
 Closing his eyes, Drew let his head fall back as he
surrendered to the moment, to her. He could pretend to be in
control all he wanted, but a deep-seated part of himself
knew the truth. Arabella had him snared in her delicate little
hands, could control him with nothing but a word, could
destroy him if it pleased her. There wasn’t a thing Drew
could do but accept that and pray she never stopped loving
him as much as he did her. Even the whisper of a thought
that he might lose Arabella had Drew falling over her, one
arm wrapped tight around her waist to mold her to his body.
“Mine,” he growled against her ear, nipping at the lobe,
biting at her neck. “My Bella.”
Her hand came up to clutch the back of his neck, and she
tipped her head to o er him her mouth. “Yes,” she
whispered between kisses. “Yes, Drew.”
He buried his face in the crook of her neck and raced to
his own finish, dimly aware that she fell apart right along
with him. Pressing into her, he held himself deep and
spilled, groaning and trembling as she moaned and thrashed
beneath him.
They fell into a heap together, Drew easing onto his side
to keep from crushing her with his weight. Heavy breaths
and stray sighs of satisfaction were the only sounds to be
heard in the room as she turned and sought the haven of his
arms, her face buried in his chest. Drew held her close,
draping one leg across both of hers to completely ensnare
her. Fortunately for him, she didn’t seem to want to be free.
 CHAPTER THIRTEEN

A rabella lifted a pineapple from one of the many baskets

lining the fruit stall, smiling as she noted its vibrant
color and firm outer skin. Handing it o to one of the two
men tracking her every move through the central
marketplace of the village, she moved on to inspect the other
o erings.
Over the past two months, she’d come to think of the
market as one of her favorite places on the island. It came
second only to the untouched stretches of beach along the
north coast, and the little cove a walk away from her home,
where Drew had revealed the presence of a waterfall pouring
into a clear lagoon.
Her days were filled with an aimless unpredictability that
Arabella found exciting. It extended through every part of
her life—from what she might wear on any given day, to
how she might pass her time either in Drew’s company or
out of it. Her husband was spoiling her rotten, and she
couldn’t pretend to be displeased with this development.
Most mornings she never even had to leave her bed to have
breakfast, with Drew ordering it delivered to her at the same
time every day. Sometimes he lingered to eat with her, other
times he would have to depart before dawn and she would
break her fast alone—though by no means resentful of the
people who depended on him.
He had spent their first few days on the island visiting
with the families of his crew, seeing to their needs and
ensuring they were all satisfied with their shares of the latest
haul. Then, he met with the council of captains to discuss
matters of import to the residents of the island. Another
afternoon saw him closed away in his study with the men
who captained his other ships, each of them bringing him a
report of their latest voyages and the shares owed to him as
their admiral.
While he was about this, Arabella would wander the
house, taking note of the changes she wanted to make and
the décor she would purchase to cover empty walls and
surfaces. Drew had given her carte blanche to buy and trade
to her heart’s content, and the knowledge that she was the
wife of The Black Lion a orded Arabella anything she could
ask for.
When he wasn’t about his business, Drew was showing
her some new part of the island, making her fall thoroughly
in love with every square inch. They rode horses along the
shore and swam in crystal clear waters. They sunbathed
nude near the little lagoon on their property, with Drew
confident no one would come upon them. As it turned out,
this was why his skin had taken on the deep bronzed cast
from head to toe. Arabella was well on her way to catching up
to him in that regard.
This morning, he had joined the crew of one of his ships
in careening—a practice she’d learned was necessary for the
maintenance of a ship fresh home from sea. It was quite an
undertaking, with the ship being attached to a system of
ropes and pullies and turned over on its side to have its hull
scraped clean of barnacles and debris.
 Arabella had sat to watch the process for about an hour
before growing restless. Drew sent her o under the guard of
his men, something he had insisted on from the beginning.
“My name should be enough to protect you, but this is
still an island overrun with criminals,” he insisted. “When
you are away from me, you’ll be escorted by no less than two
of my men.”
She had to admit her escort came in handy, carrying her
purchases and otherwise ensuring she wasn’t accosted by
anyone. For the most part, the residents of the island—
pirate or otherwise—were merely curious about her. Many
had been introduced to her at the party, and she smiled and
greeted many of them as she moved from stall to stall.
Arabella found herself suddenly hungry, but couldn’t
quite decide what she might want to eat. All the fruits and
sweetmeats she’d just bought looked delicious, but none
appealed. The smell of something being baked called to her,
and she sni ed the air, searching for the source of the
aroma.
Arabella’s mouth began to water as she picked up the
scent of spices and perhaps something buttery. Whatever it
was, she wanted it, and could hardly think past her
trembling stomach. The two men scrambled to catch up with
her, toting baskets and sacks filled with her goods. Holding
up the hem of her skirt, she made her way toward a stall on
the end of the row, where smoke wafted from a cookfire. It
was where the smell was coming from.
She had nearly reached it when something slammed into
her shoulder, throwing her o balance. Arabella’s arms
wheeled as she stumbled, though one of Drew’s men quickly
righted her, hands firm on her shoulders as he ensured she
kept on her feet.
“Are you all right?” he asked, while his companion glared
in the direction of the thing—or rather, the person—that
had knocked into her.
“Watch where you’re going!” the second guard bellowed
at the retreating back of a man.
Arabella frowned and watched him go, pushing through
the crowd as if he were in a hurry. He peered over his
shoulder from beneath the shadow of a wide-brimmed hat
pulled low over his eyes. A thick overgrowth of dark hair
grew on his jaw, but his mouth … there was something
familiar about it.
He was quickly swallowed up in the crowd, and Arabella
blinked, certain she was going out of her mind. She’d seen
very little of the stranger who had likely bumped into her by
accident. Shaking her head, she turned back to the stall in
question. Behind it, there was a slender woman with the
leathery, brown skin of an island native. There were pies of
some kind cooking on palm leaves arranged over the hot
coals of her fire. Whatever they were filled with smelled
heavenly, and Arabella’s belly quivered as she stared down at
the fresh batch laid in neat rows ready to be purchased.
The wizened woman noticed Arabella staring and
grinned, revealing several missing teeth. She smiled back as
the woman got to her feet and approached, o ering one of
the fresh pastries on a palm leaf to her.
“Oh, no, I couldn’t … let me pay for it.”
The woman shook her head and thrust the pie at Arabella,
dark eyes twinkling with mirth. “Eat. Good for mama.”
Arabella was too busy enjoying the first bite to have
noticed the native woman’s words. It wasn’t until she
swallowed what turned out to be a filling of spiced lamb and
vegetables that she blinked, realizing what had just been
said.
Frowning, she looked to the old woman, who nodded
encouragingly. “Good?”
 “Yes,” Arabella mumbled, licking buttery crumbs o her
lips. “Um … I beg your pardon, but I’m not a ‘mama.’ Not
yet, anyway.”
The gap-toothed smile appeared again as the woman
reached one long arm out, a thin finger poking at Arabella’s
bodice. She froze, unable to believe what was happening as
the old woman prodded at a breast.
“Swollen here,” she said with a decisive nod before
playfully tapping Arabella’s nose. “And smelling everything,
yes? You smell and come here to eat. Smells made you
hungry.”
Arabella’s eyes widened as she glanced down at the pie,
which she’d bitten into without even investigating what
might be inside it. The hunger driving her had been unlike
anything she’d ever experienced.
Taking another bite, she chewed thoughtfully and
narrowed her eyes. She’d been so caught up in enjoying
married life and settling into the island, Arabella hadn’t
noticed that her monthly courses should have come weeks
ago. She swallowed, lips pulling into a smile as she met the
older woman’s eyes.
“My God,” she whispered with a shake of her head, eyes
pricking with happy tears. “I’m pregnant.”
“Yes,” the woman agreed, going back to her stall and
coming back with a parcel of more of the small pies wrapped
in palm leaves. “Have more. Must eat and rest to make
strong baby.”
Arabella accepted the pies, waving over one of her guards.
“I insist you let me o er you payment. For your kindness as
well as your delicious pies. Please.”
Arabella’s new friend seemed opposed to the idea, but
grudgingly held her hand out to the guard rifling around the
sack he carried. Her face lit up as he came out with a pouch
of tobacco. Apparently, this was an acceptable gift to
exchange for the pies, and she tucked the pouch under her
arm as she resumed her place within the stall. Arabella
nodded her thanks and pilfered another one of the pies
before surrendering the rest to be stowed away. She reached
the end of the row of stalls and halted, glancing left and
right to decide where to go next.
The clatter of wagon wheels and horse’s hooves warned
her seconds before she was nearly run down by a vehicle
approaching too fast. She reared backward to allow it
passage, separating herself from her guards. Turning in a
swift circle and searching for them, she wasn’t prepared for
the rough hand that fastened on her arm, or the clap of a
hand over her nose and mouth. By the time the cart cleared
the lane, Arabella had been dragged around the corner and
out of sight of her guards. Her half-eaten pie lay in the dirt
where she’d left it, forgotten.

W HEN A RABELLA OPENED her eyes again, she became aware of a

splitting pain in her head. With a soft groan, she groped
through her hair for the source. Images and memories swam
through her mind as she recalled being accosted at the
market, a hand mu ing her cries as she was dragged away
from Drew’s men. With the wagon separating them, she
doubted they’d witnessed her abduction.
She winced when her fingertips encountered a lump on
the back of her head, recalling how she’d struggled only to
be rendered unconscious by a stunning blow. Blinking to
clear her blurred vision, she glanced about, trying to take
stock of her surroundings. Terror and panic tried to claw up
from her stomach into her throat, but Arabella choked it
down. She needed to figure out where she was and who had
taken her. Only then could she form some sort of plan.
 Her heart sank as she glanced around what appeared to be
a small cabin on board a ship. The rough walls and gentle
sway of the bed told her they had cast o to sea. Her chest
heaved with rapid breaths as she began losing the battle
against fear. Did Drew have enemies who might benefit from
her capture? He must, for she could think of no other reason
for someone to try to take her away from Île Saint Marie.
Coming to her feet, she gritted her teeth as her head
pounded and swam, the room tilting and swaying as if the
ship were being tossed about by a storm. But, no … it wasn’t
the ship, it was Arabella. The blow must have left her head
concussed. Choking down vomit, she stumbled across the
cabin, bracing herself on the bed, and then a desk bolted to
the wall. Falling against a porthole, she peered out and found
nothing but darkness. Hot tears wet her cheeks as she rested
her head against the glass. She’d visited the market at
midday, which mean hours had passed since her abduction.
Night had fallen, and the steady rock of the floor beneath her
feet meant there was more than her injured head at work
here. They were sailing away from the island, away from
Drew, who must be sick with worry by now.
Arabella swallowed a sob, determined to keep her wits
about her. Just now, it was all she could do to remain
conscious. She had made it halfway back to the bed when the
door of the cabin swung open, revealing a dark shadow on
the other side. The urge to cower in the corner overwhelmed
her, but she wouldn’t give in to cowardice. Squaring her
shoulders, she held her breath and waited for her
presumptive captor to reveal himself.
It shouldn’t have shocked her to set eyes on the man who
strode in and let the lamplight fall over his face, but it did.
Arabella held one shaking hand over her mouth as William
slammed the door behind him and came to stand in the
center of the cabin. On first glance, she might not have
recognized him—but Arabella knew his face too well, as well
as she knew Drew’s. She hadn’t recognized him in the
market due to the beard and the hat pulled over his eyes, but
that mouth would have been enough to give him away had
she not been so intent on filling her belly.
It quivered with dread now, as he approached with slow,
menacing steps. Arabella plopped onto her bottom on the
bed, legs now devoid of strength. His skin had been sun-
baked, though the peeling layer of flesh across his nose and
cheekbones told her he’d been burned before he started to
turn brown. His overgrown hair was left bedraggled around
his face, and the whiskers overtaking his jaw made him seem
like a di erent person entirely. It was an e ective disguise if
ever she saw one. He was even dressed di erently, in rough
breeches and a shirt that had once been white. A tattered
frock coat hung from his shoulders—displaying how he’d
diminished in just a few short months. He had lost at least a
stone of weight, his cheekbones gaunt and his collarbone
showing sharply through his half-open shirt.
“At last,” he murmured, stopping once he stood over her.
“What was lost has been found. Though, I have to say,
you’ve looked better, Bella. All the riches at his disposal, and
it pleases Drew to dress you like a heathen tart.”
She glanced down at her light bodice and skirt, which had
been simple, but clean and e cient this morning. Now, her
hem was dusty and the shoulder of her bodice torn. She had
lost a shoe in the struggle, and a hole had been worn in the
heel of her left stocking.
“William,” she croaked, scrambling backward on the bed
as he raked his gaze over her. “I thought you were …”
“Dead?” he supplied with a rough snort. There was a
frightening lack of emotion when he looked at her now—no
lust, no longing, no derision. The muted colors of his irises
struck her as cold and flat, lifeless. “You’d have liked that,
wouldn’t you?”
Despite knowing it would be foolish to antagonize him,
she raised her chin a notch and glared. “It is no worse than
what you did to Drew. No more than you deserved.”
He swayed on his feet, though Arabella suspected it
wasn’t due to the undulations of the sea beneath them. Sure
enough, when he climbed onto the bed over her, the stench
of spirits emanated from his breath. Her head spun as he
pushed her to lay on her back, one hand lightly circling her
throat.
“Unlike him, I intend to ensure he pays for his o ense
against me with his life. When he comes for you—and I have
every reason to believe he will—he’ll meet his own fate at my
hands.”
Arabella tried to swallow and found it nearly impossible
as Will’s hand tightened at her throat. A spark of something
flared in his eyes, exacerbating the nausea making her
stomach lurch. The press of his cock against her thigh made
itself more apparent, growing and swelling as he released
her throat and ran his knuckles over her cheek.
“As for you, my dear … you will return to Falmouth with
me. I will not go back without you, to be made a
laughingstock over our botched nuptials.”
She gaped him, disbelief making her forget the
vulnerability of her position. “Are you mad? A marriage
between us could never be legal! I’m married to Drew!”
His closed fist struck her face, sending pain exploding
through her left cheek and through her eye. The blow had
come from out of nowhere, so swift she hadn’t had the time
to brace herself. Arabella’s cry of shocked outrage was
mu ed by his hand pressing over her mouth, as he leaned
down until they were nose to nose, his eyes now alive and
blazing with fury and something else … something that made
her blood run cold. Just then, she knew Will might be capable
of anything—a fear that had never before occurred to her.
“Now, now, none of that,” he crooned, the gentleness in
his voice at odds with the violence tensing his muscles.
“That has always been your problem, Bella. The men in your
life have allowed you to do and say whatever you please,
something I intend to remedy starting right now. As to your
marriage to Drew … there is no signed church register to
validate it. I don’t give a bloody damn about whatever
heathen ceremony took place on that ship with one of those
criminals presiding. You belong to me, and there isn’t a
thing he can do about it.”
Fury welled in her so fast she forgot her aching head and
turbulent stomach. Wrenching her face from under his hand,
she swung a hand at Will. He grunted and tried to wrestle her
into submission. Arabella was overwhelmed with the need to
fight him, unable to simply lie there and let him abuse her.
She clawed like a wildcat, kicking and flailing as he struggled
to get her under control.
“Goddamn it, Bella, stop!”
His words broke o on a sharp cry as she drove her knee
up between his legs. When he curled into himself, Arabella
threw him aside and scrambled from the bed, dashing for the
door. She didn’t know what ship they were on, but
considering that he’d somehow found his way to the island,
she had to assume they were aboard a pirate vessel. She’d
rather take her chances with the pirates. Just as she
wrenched the door open, Will’s fingers closed around her
hair, hauling her back toward the bed. Dragging her feet only
succeeded in helping him tear several strands loose from her
scalp, and she wailed helplessly as he flung her back onto the
mattress. Her head throbbed, and her eye pulsed in the
socket. Her cheek had swollen so much she could see it in her
peripheral vision, pu y and discolored.
 The last of her strength was gone, and she could only
blink and fight to stay alert as he used rough ropes to tie her
hand-and-foot to the bed, spreading her wide. He stood back
to admire his handiwork, leering at the sight she made—
helpless and at his mercy.
“It’s no wonder my brother and I cannot seem to cleanse
ourselves of this unholy obsession with you. What a little
spitfire you are … always have been beneath that prim and
proper demeanor, and well we both knew it. I will take great
pleasure in breaking you. And, Bella, I will break you.”
“Go to hell,” she spat, jerking her face away as he tried to
cup her cheek.
She was rewarded with a stinging slap for her defiance,
blood filling her mouth with a rancid, metallic taste.
Remaining silent, she glowered at him as he backed away
from the bed, hands clenched at his sides, chest heaving with
every harsh breath.
“I don’t like hurting you,” he ground out, baring his
clenched teeth. “Don’t force my hand. Cooperate, and this
will go easy for you. Fight me …”
Her gaze fell to his trembling fists, flecks of her blood
staining his knuckles. Turning away, she squeezed her eyes
shut, willing herself out of the cabin and back on the island.
Just that morning she’d come awake to Drew’s lips on her
brow, his hand braced on her naked belly … the belly neither
of them knew had begun to quicken with child. For the sake
of her unborn babe, she couldn’t a ord to continue
antagonizing Will. In the past, she might have sco ed at the
idea of him hurting her, but Arabella had never really known
him. He might not kill her—he needed her alive to salvage
his reputation back home—but he could cause her to
miscarry Drew’s baby.
As he turned away and stumbled toward the desk, she
pulled at her bonds, despairing that there was so little slack
to allow her movement. Licking at her bloodied lip, she took
deep, slow breaths and told herself to remain calm. All she
had to do was bear Will until Drew arrived. Like him, she had
no doubt that Drew would come after her. Unlike Will, she
was more than confident he would succeed in tearing down
anyone who’d had anything to do with her abduction.
For a brief moment, she feared more for Will than herself.
Her husband would not be merciful a second time.
 CHAPTER FOURTEEN

A rabella drifted awake for the second time to find herself

still lying on the bed, though Will had removed the
ropes binding her. Her face was hot to the touch and swollen.
The metallic taste of blood still lingered on her tongue,
which was dry and thick in her mouth. With a low groan, she
turned onto her side, her entire body aching as if she’d been
pummeled from head to toe.
“Good morning.”
She cracked one eye to find Will standing at a commode in
the corner, upon which a basin of water rested. On the wall
hung an old, tarnished mirror in which Will could barely see
his reflection as he scraped the days’ worth of beard o his
face. He had stripped to the waist, giving her a glimpse of the
state of his back after the brutal lashing he’d received at
Drew’s hand. Unlike Drew’s scars, these stoked no sympathy
in her. She was aware of every indignity Drew had been
forced to su er because of Will’s deceit and had meant what
she’d said about it being no more than he deserved. The skin
didn’t even look as if it belonged on a living being—warped
and leathery and notched with thick, spidery lines. The
seawater he’d been drenched in had likely saved him from
infection. It had also been the thing that kept him alive long
enough to be marooned, though the island was supposed to
have been uninhabited. How had he escaped it?
“Your breakfast is on the desk,” he muttered without
looking at her. “Get up. Eat.”
It would have pleased her to defy him, but the gnawing
hunger was back, reminding Arabella that she couldn’t only
think of herself or her own pride. Walking to the desk proved
slightly easier today, though her head was still pounding.
She wasn’t certain how long she’d slept, but the sun shined
through the porthole, allowing her a glimpse of blue sky.
The meager rations weren’t well cooked; the porridge was
runny, the bacon burned black, and the hardtack apparently
teeming with weevils. Setting the hard bit of bread aside with
a sneer, she downed the tasteless porridge and singed bacon
until her stomach began to rebel. There was fresh water, and
she drank greedily from her cup, relieved at its cool trickle
down her throat.
By the time she finished, Will was turning away from the
commode, wiping his face clean of stray soap and water.
He’d caught her staring at his back and sneered.
“Admiring Drew’s handiwork? I suppose it would gratify
you to hear of how miserable the healing process was—my
shirt clinging to the wounds and tearing them open when I
took it o , the persistent itching and burning.”
She raised an eyebrow but o ered no further response.
“Those first days on the island with your weak sop of a
father were some of the most hellish I’d ever endured. Like
you and Drew, I doubted we would survive it. Well …
Archibald’s survival lasted as long as it took for him to
become a leech, a persistent weight bearing me down. I like
to think he was grateful to have me put him out of his
misery.”
Arabella’s belly clenched as his casual mention of her
father’s death hit her like a fist to the middle. Pressing a
hand to her mouth, she began to feel as if her breakfast
might make a reappearance.
“What’s this?” Will taunted. “Tears for your old man?
They are wasted, you know. He spent as much time cursing
you as he did damning Drew to hell. It surprised him to be
betrayed by you, left in the hands of those godless pirates.”
She came to her feet, bracing a hand on the back of her
chair. “The two of you conspired to have Drew killed. You
might not have dealt the blows yourself, but you attempted
to cause his death. Where was Father’s loyalty to me when he
decided to do away with the only man I’ve ever loved? Which
of us was truly betrayed by the actions of the other?”
Arabella was surprised to realize she was weeping, tears
sluicing down her face and neck. Grief made her heart heavy,
and she could hardly make sense of it. She was so angry over
the way Archibald had deceived her, but he had still been her
father and part of her felt that loss acutely. It felt like being
torn in two, her emotions so at odds with each other that
they strung her taut between them.
“How did you kill him?” she asked, uncertain why it was
so important. Perhaps she wanted to know he hadn’t
su ered.
“The pirates left us with a handy pistol, though it only
had one shot. I had a choice between murdering myself or
getting rid of the pain in my arse so I could focus my e orts
on survival. I think we can both agree we made the right
choice.”
He said all this while pulling on a shirt and his frock coat,
as nonchalantly as if they discussed the weather.
“How did you get o the island?”
Her curiosity was getting the best of her yet again.
Though, it was probably a good idea to keep him talking. If
he was answering her questions, he wasn’t beating her, or
tying her to the bed. The bulge at the front of his breeches
remained a persistent threat, and she couldn’t be sure how
long he would wait before trying to take advantage of her
vulnerability. She was utterly at his mercy, and they both
knew it.
He strode to a small armoire bolted to the floor, opening
it to retrieve a gunbelt holding a pair of mismatched
flintlocks. Will held her gaze while strapping it on.
“Fate, dear Bella. It does seem to intervene at the most
opportune moments. I’d been foraging to survive for weeks
before I was found. I discovered fresh water, and slept on
makeshift palettes made of tree limbs and piles of leaves.
You would have Drew to thank for showing me how to make
a fire years ago, it came quite in handy. I had nearly starved
when I spotted sails on the horizon. The trees I set ablaze
drew them to me. I o ered them a great reward if they would
carry me to Île Saint Marie. It was awfully foolish of Drew’s
men to speak of it in my presence. While I hung from that
mainmast after he’d stripped the flesh from my back, I heard
snatches of conversation and knew it was where you would
turn up.”
Arabella frowned, watching as he sheathed an ornamental
sword at his side. The weapons were as ill-fitting as his
clothes, the borrowed possessions of a sailor.
“What reward did you o er them?”
Will grinned, looking very much like a cat who’d just
cornered a mouse. “Why, the most coveted prize in the high
seas, my dear. The Black Lion himself.” He chuckled at her
stupefied stare, spreading his arms wide as if to encompass
the vessel they sailed in. “Did you think I had taken to
consorting with bloody pirates? No, darling, this is a ship of
the line, one of five currently drawing Drew out into the
open sea.”
“No,” she whispered, dropping her head into her hands.
 Drew would most certainly launch The Sea Lion to come
after her, and he would be sailing into a trap. Even a captain
with his skill and expertise wouldn’t be able to hold his own
against five ships of the line.
Will’s hand closed around her wrists, forcing her hands
down so he stared into her tear-filled eyes. “Yes. I’d wager
that by the end of the day, your beloved Drew will be in the
clutches of the Royal Navy and on his way to the hangman.”

D REW ’ S FINGERS clenched spasmodically around the hilt of his

cutlass as he watched the white sails in the distance draw
closer. The Sea Lion had set out from the island within hours
of Arabella’s reported abduction. He’d become a madman,
pushing his crew with a new sort of ferocity, desperate to
pursue whoever had taken his Bella.
He knew only what his men had reported when they’d
come running to the inlet where he worked alongside his
crew to careen the hull of his ship. They hadn’t taken their
eyes o her for a moment, they claimed. A wagon had pulled
down the lane between them, and when they looked up
Arabella was gone, seemingly vanished into thin air. One of
her shoes had been found on the outskirts of the village
market, and from there the trail had gone cold.
More news of sails in the distance had reached him
shortly after, and he had known. Whoever took Arabella had
spirited her away on a ship. They pursued through the night,
during which Drew had remained awake and alert, standing
at the bow of The Sea Lion and staring unseeingly at the
horizon. When the news of her disappearance had first been
related to him, he’d flown into a fury. Both men responsible
for protecting her had limped away from him with bloodied
noses and cracked ribs. He’d roared and thundered until his
crew got him out to sea, unable to stand still for all the
turmoil turning his blood to fire.
Now, a deathly calm had fallen over him, freezing over
like a glacier. The single force driving him to draw breath
beat a resounding cadence of bloodlust in his chest. Whoever
had taken Arabella from him would su er before his death.
His accomplices would be strung up by their balls and gutted.
Their ships would be sent to the bottom of the ocean after he
had ravaged them with cannon and fire. Only when he had
her back in his arms could he give in to the emotions
threatening to weaken him. He couldn’t a ord to let his
feelings get the best of him, not yet. Not with Arabella’s life
hanging in the balance.
“What are your orders, Captain?” Nadège asked,
appearing at his left side. She was a bright splash of royal
blue against the morning sky, her frock coat trimmed in
gold, her tricorn sporting a jaunty purple plume.
“Chainshot to the masts and sails,” he replied. “We don’t
know which ship Bella is on and until we do, I want then
incapacitated, not sunk.”
Rory was at his right, a blunderbuss held over one
shoulder. He had been as much in a lather over Arabella’s
kidnapping as Drew had been. Even now, his face was still
red with wrath, flushed to the roots of his hair.
“And once she’s secure?” he prodded.
“Sink them,” Drew snarled, grip tightening on his cutlass
until his knuckles ached. “Sink them all.”
They went o to relay his orders, and Drew remained
where he stood, eyes watering with the need to blink as he
kept his stare leveled on the ship at the center of a formation
of five. Royal Navy ships flying the Union Jack, just as he’d
been told. Four ships of the line sailed in perfect formation
around the central vessel. Instinct told him Arabella was
being held on that center ship, but he had to make certain
before he unleashed hell.
The next hour passed with Drew in a fog, never moving
from his place at the bow until they came close enough to see
the gleam of cannons through gunports and the scurry of
sailors across the decks of the ships.
“Guns at the ready, Cap’n!” Steele called from amidship.
Drew finally turned away from his place on the forecastle
deck, as confirmation was called out over the speaking
trumpet to the ships flanking them left and right. Voices
carried over the water, from The Sea Lion to Medusa, to The
Mantis, Fury, The Barbarian, The Nomad, and The Night Hawk.
Warning shots were fired over bows, and the first thrill of
impending battle shot through him as he imagined the naval
o cers’ shock at realizing he’d not fallen prey to their trap.
Île Saint Marie was overrun with scouts who worked in
rotating shifts, eyes always peeled for any sign of trouble. A
flotilla of Royal Navy ships would never have escaped their
notice. They were neither outmanned nor outgunned, and
Drew was ready to show them how The Black Lion did battle
with those who crossed him.
The blast of cannons was nearly deafening as all six ships
opened fire at once, sending chainshot tearing through
masts and sails and riggings. Unlike the slaver they’d taken
down all those months ago, these ships of the line were
manned with expert gunners who knew their business. Drew
barely batted an eyelash as return fire tore through the
railing near the quarterdeck, sending several of his men
scattering to get out of range. The damage could be repaired,
and such a blow would not sink them. One of his brigantines
lost a mast, and the galleon had taken a hit to its hull, but his
captains were capable. They would not be stopped.
The gunners reloaded with an impressive speed born of
practice, sending another volley of chainshot toward the
enemy. The splinter of masts and rip of sails followed, and
by the time they came upon their enemy, the navy flotilla
had taken heavy damage. There was nowhere to run.
Drawing his cutlass, Drew took hold of a length of
rigging, swinging himself o the railing of The Sea Lion and
onto the deck of the nearest ship. Rory had steered them
abreast of the center ship, leaving the rest of the fleet to
surround the others. The cries of his men followed Drew,
urging one another to shadow their captain. He had no time
to spare for them. He'd take on every man aboard this ship
alone if that’s what it took to get him to Arabella.
A blunderbuss cracked, the ball flying inches past his left
ear, but Drew pressed on, leaping from the railing and
landing his boot in the face of the man who’d tried to shoot
him. His cutlass dug into the man’s chest, leaving a bright
burst of crimson on his crisp white shirt. He ran down the
line of gunners, firing his flintlock into the back of one’s
head, then slitting the throat of another. The butt of his
pistol whipped the jaw of one who rose against him, sword
raised to fight him o . Drew bashed his face in with the
flintlock, roaring his fury as teeth and blood went flying. By
the time he righted himself, his hand wet with the other
man’s gore, half his crew had boarded the ship, sending the
entire deck into chaos.
He fought by rote, taking no pleasure in the killing as he
might otherwise have done. Nothing would satisfy him until
he discovered who had taken his wife and made the spineless
coward pay.
By the time he came to his senses again, Drew had made
it to the quarterdeck. A string of dismembered bodies lay in
his wake in a trail of death. His way was unobstructed as he
took the stairs downward two and a time, his cutlass
brandished and ready for anyone who got in his way.
 The doors to the captain’s cabin were shut tight, but a
handful of other doors o ered multiple possibilities. Slowly
making his way down the narrow corridor, he listened for
sound, any hint that Arabella was here.
His lack of patience won out before long. “Bella! Bella, are
you here?”
A mu ed cry came from behind a door to his left,
feminine and laced with terror. Fury seized him in its thrall,
and upon finding the door locked, he stood back and sent it
flying on its hinges with a few well-placed kicks.
Within, he found Bella, wide-eyed and trembling in the
tight hold of a man who held a flintlock to her head. His
teeth ached from how hard he clenched them as Drew locked
gazes with a pair of eyes identical to his own.
“Will,” he spat. “I ought to have known.”
His brother sneered, pressing the gun into Arabella’s
temple until she whimpered, thrashing in his hold.
“Not another step,” he warned, tightening his hold on
Arabella until she was wheezing and gasping for breath. “I’ll
put a hole in her head, I swear it.”
“No … he won’t,” Bella panted out. She had gone still, but
defiance radiated from her eyes.
“Shut your mouth!” Will railed, shaking her and tapping
the gun against her temple. “You’ve caused enough trouble,
you little bitch.”
Drew growled as Arabella’s head whipped to the right,
exposing the unsightly swelling and bruising marring half
her face.
“Did he do that to you, my Bella?” he demanded, his voice
a low, rasping whisper. “Did he put his hands on you?”
The barest nod was all the confirmation he needed. Will
wouldn’t just die at his hand. Drew would tear him limb from
limb, and he’d do it slowly.
 “It’s almost over,” he assured her, though he had eyes
only for Will, who seethed while keeping the gun aimed at
his wife. “I’m taking you home, and no one will ever harm
you again. You have my word.”
Will’s laughter filled the cabin, demented and harsh and
humorless. “You couldn’t even protect her from me. If I were
you, I’d be more concerned with the fact that you’re
surrounded. There is no way out of this for you, Drew. The
o cers of these ships practically salivated when I told them
all they needed to draw out The Black Lion was take one little
woman hostage. You played right into my hands.”
It was Drew’s turn to laugh, and he allowed all the
mocking derision he felt toward his brother to seep into the
sound. “Did you think I would be so easily defeated?”
An explosion sounded overhead as if to illustrate Drew’s
point, nearly throwing them all o their feet. Will snatched
Arabella back against his body before she could escape him,
the gun now pressed to her cheek.
“Perhaps you ought to have dug deeper into the details of
my piracy career—which, while short, has been exceedingly
rewarding. You are the one who is outnumbered, and if I
haven’t missed my guess, the other ships are well on their
way to the bottom of the ocean by now. The only reason this
one still stands is because my Bella is on it, and because I
won’t allow the sea to rob me of the pleasure of spilling
every bit of your blood.”
Will’s eyes darted as he seemed to notice the sounds of
carnage coming from above for the first time. The cannon
fire hadn’t ceased since Drew had come below, and the music
of shattering hulls and the wails of dying men penetrated the
walls to reach them.
“What did you hope to accomplish?” Drew taunted,
needing Will to turn his fury away from Bella and onto him.
“Did you honestly think I would allow you to take her back to
Falmouth—that forcing her to marry you would restore your
reputation?”
“I couldn’t give a damn about my reputation, unless
restoring it would mean the end of you!” Will railed. “You
took everything from me! How does it feel to know I hold the
one thing you care about most in the palm of my hand? I said
don’t come any closer, goddamn it! Do you think I won’t
shoot her? If I’m truly surrounded, then I have nothing left
to lose. I’ll kill her, then you.”
The sound of him cocking the hammer echoed through
the small cabin, and Arabella’s sharp intake of breath
followed.
“Drew?”
“It’s all right,” he crooned, holding one hand up as of to
steady her from a distance. “He won’t do it. He wants you
too badly. Besides, we both know what a coward he is. In
order to take you from me, he had to have me press-ganged
and hope someone else did the job. If he were man enough,
he’d have killed me himself. But he didn’t, because he’s a
gutless lobcock who will never be able to live down the fact
that he isn’t half the man I am.”
His words had the desired e ect, and Will advanced on
him with a snarl, tossing Bella aside. She landed on the bed,
as Will leveled the flintlock at him.
His brother had always been horrible at hiding his intent,
and had a tell—a slight flinch and grit of his teeth before
pulling the trigger. It was enough to save Drew’s life, giving
him a split second to duck the shot. Then, he charged, his
cutlass falling to the floor as he slammed into Will’s middle.
Arms wrapped around his brother’s waist, he took them both
down with a force that shook the floorboards. Kneeling over
Will, Drew went to work with his fists. He struck Will’s
cheek, right where he had struck Bella, then sent his chin
snapping back with a spray of blood. Clutching his lapel,
Drew yanked him up, lunging until his crown collided with
Will’s forehead in a vicious headbutt.
Something sharp slashed at his side, and fire erupted
along his ribs. Drew scuttled back on his hands and knees,
pressing a hand to the wound Will had opened with a dagger.
Pulling his own blade from his boot, he stood to meet Will’s
challenge. His brother held his weapon in one clenched fist
as he circled Drew with blood trickling from his lip.
There was nothing left for either of them to say, for all
had been laid bare. Even Arabella was deathly silent,
watching from the bed as they took one another’s measure,
waiting for their moment to strike. Drew waited Will out,
knowing his brother’s volatile nature would be his downfall.
As expected, Will lunged first, swiping at his throat with the
knife. Drew raised an arm in defense, taking the blade to his
arm, while swinging his own with brutal intent. Will cried
out when Drew’s dagger sank into the flesh of his left biceps,
pushing clear through the limb. He retaliated with a fist,
throwing Drew o balance with a powerful blow to the jaw.
For a man who had been marooned and lost a great deal
of weight, Will was still remarkably strong, fueled by his
hatred. A knee crashed into Drew’s middle, doubling him
over, but when Will tried to follow it up with a kick, he found
his foot caught in Drew’s grasp. He twisted, making Will
crash to the floor, then pulled until he stood over his
brother, his second flintlock drawn and aimed. He’d been
saving it, thinking to put a bullet in the skull of Arabella’s
kidnapper, but that was no longer good enough. As his gaze
flitted to his wife and he once again caught sight of the
condition of her face, he closed his eyes, drawing in a hissing
breath through his teeth. His skin itched and burned, pulling
tight around his bones until he felt as if a savage beast
rattled the cage of his ribs.
 Slamming his boot against the hilt of the dagger still
embedded in Will’s left arm, he ensured the blade punctured
the floor to pin him in place. While Will screamed and curled
on his side to try to reach the dagger, Drew leveled a kick at
his shoulder, rolling him onto his back, then bracing a boot
on the other man’s chest.
Glancing up at Arabella, he cocked the flintlock. “Which
hand did he strike you with? I know he favors his left, but I
want to be certain. Was it the left hand that harmed you, my
Bella?”
Knees drawn up to her chest, she peered at him over her
knees and nodded. Drew swung the pistol left, aiming for
Will’s hand, and pulled the trigger. The report left a ringing
in his ears, but it wasn’t enough to drown out Will’s pitiful
cries as his hand shattered from the force of the ball, blood
splattering the floorboards. His brother’s boots scrabbled
over the floor, as if he thought to escape, but Drew’s boot
and the dagger kept him in place as he once more looked to
Arabella.
“What else?” he demanded. “What else did he do to you?
Were you violated?”
She shook her head in denial, and a small measure of
relief washed over him. It had been his worst fear, as he’d
known Will would never kill her.
“I’ll allow you to keep your cock,” he muttered, taking his
boot of Will’s chest. “Though you should take no consolation
in it.”
He crossed the room, finding the ropes tied to each post
of the narrow bed. “He tied you down?”
“Yes,” she whispered, her voice so low he almost hadn’t
heard her. “Overnight.”
He seethed with rage as he tore one of the ropes loose and
strode back to Will. Drew crouched and yanked his dagger
free of his brother’s arm, producing another pitiful wail. Will
rolled onto his stomach and tried to squirm away,
whimpering and sniveling as Drew straightened, taking his
time fashioning a noose. Will made it as far as the door,
leaving a trail of blood in his wake, before Drew was finished.
He caught his brother up in a few quick strides, looping the
noose around his neck and pulling it taut before yanking Will
to his feet.
Rory chose that moment to appear in the doorway, hair
standing on end and face smudged with blood and soot.
“Four ships o’ the line are feedin’ the fishes now, Cap’n.”
His eyes widened at the sight of Will, docile and dripping
blood in a growing puddle at his feet. “Blow me down, it’s
you!” Ye filthy fucking bilge rat!”
“Mr. Walsh,” Drew said, shoving the end of the rope into
his quartermaster’s hands. “Take our prisoner aboard The
Sea Lion. Don’t let him out of your sight. I’ll deal with him
when we reach the island. I must see to my wife.”
Rory gave the rope a sharp tug, making Will choke as the
noose dug into his windpipe. “I’ll have no trouble out o’ ye,
aye? I’ll shove me boot up her arse and make ye dance for me
if ye do. Glad to see ye’re all right, lassie,” he added to
Arabella before yanking Will down the corridor and out of
sight.
Arabella remained silent as he approached the bed,
staring up at him with her hands fisted in her filthy skirts.
His heart squeezed painfully in his chest at the sight of her,
battered and exhausted, dark circles showing under her eyes.
But the moment he neared the bed, she launched herself at
him, slamming into his chest and wrapping him in her arms
and legs. Drew held her tight to him, burying his face in her
hair. The remnants of her soap had begun to fade, and she
smelled of sweat and blood, but Drew didn’t care. She was
whole and alive and where she belonged. The tight band of
fear that had compressed around his chest eased, and he
could draw breath again. He could think. He could feel.
“I knew you’d come,” she whispered into his chest.
“Nothing could have kept me from you,” he replied,
adjusting her so she lay in his arms like a babe, keeping her
held tight against him. “I’m only sorry he was able to get his
hands on you in the first place. It’s my fault, but it will never
happen again. You are not to be out of my sight from now
on.”
She tried to smile, but winced as if it hurt her to do so.
“You cannot blame yourself. We thought Will far behind us.”
“He will be, for certain this time. I can promise you that.”
“Then that is good enough for me. Now, I only need you
to one more thing.”
“What’s that?”
“Take me home.”
Kissing her brow, he swiveled for the door, following her
command so easily it was laughable. “Aye, my Bella. Without
delay.”
The great Captain Reeves, The Black Lion himself,
brought to his knees by nothing more than a slip of a
woman. But then, there was no woman like Arabella Reeves.
A man could certainly do worse.
 CHAPTER FIFTEEN

A rabella sat up in bed, blinking the bleariness from her

eyes. The darkness beyond the windows told her it was
still night, and she couldn’t have slept more than a few
hours. She, Drew, and the crews of all eight of his ships had
arrived back on the island by sunset, putting the entire
ordeal behind them. However, there was still the matter of
Will to attend to. Drew had left her in the care of her maid
with strict instructions for her care. Promising to return as
soon as he could, he set o to ensure the matter of Will was
put to rest once and for all.
In his absence Arabella enjoyed a luxurious bath, had the
tangles combed from her hair, and took to their bed. She’d
been served a dinner fit for a queen, with so many dishes she
could hardly taste each one before she found herself unable
to take another bite. Arabella had tried reading while waiting
up for Drew, but exhaustion had won out and she’d drifted
o to sleep.
Glancing to the foot of the bed, she found the thing that
had drawn her to wakefulness. Her husband sat staring at
her, his eyes dark shadows in the meager light of the moon
filtering through the sheer curtains.
“Drew?” she murmured, tossing the blankets aside and
throwing her legs over the side of the bed. “Why didn’t you
wake me?”
The cedarwood and clove scent of him reached out to her
as she drew near, and when she touched his bare chest, she
found him still slightly damp. He had bathed before coming
to bed and wore not a stitch of clothing. How long had he sat
there watching her sleep?
Her hand slid down his side, encountering the wound Will
had caused with his dagger. The damage had been
superficial, and had bled like the very devil, but turned out
not to require stitches. Drew didn’t so much as flinch when
she ran her fingertip gingerly over the cut.
Instead, he moved to the edge of the bed, spreading his
legs and pulling her between them, both hands braced on the
curves of her waist. When he stared up at her, Arabella saw
all the emotion he’d smothered during her rescue. She had
been frightened at what she found in his eyes while he’d
coldly and methodically urged Will away from her, then
disarmed and battered him half to death. It had been unlike
anything she’d ever seen, reminding her why her husband
was one of the most feared pirates on the high seas. But all
the cold fury had been on her behalf, and his vengeance had
been righteous. Now that it was over she could see his pain,
his fear, his anguish.
Arabella smoothed her fingers over his furrowed brow.
“What is wrong, my lion?”
With a rough sigh, he lowered his head against her
breasts and yanked her closer, his fingers digging into her
back as if he were afraid she’d float away if he let go. “My
wife was snatched away from me and abused while I was
impotent to stop it, and you ask me what’s wrong?”
“I’m all right, Drew,” she crooned, stroking his hair. “He
didn’t do anything to me that I cannot heal from.”
Surging to his feet, he held her by her upper arms, eyes
blazing with barely contained fury and turmoil. “I am not all
right. Do you understand? You are home, and after I finished
taking my rage out on him with my fists I strung him up as a
warning to anyone who would dare touch you. But it wasn’t
enough. I want to tear apart everything I set eyes on. I want
to burn the world to ashes. I am not all right!”
He trembled, his hold on her arms tight but not painful as
he stared down at her, jaw tight, mouth turned down.
“I thought losing you once was the worst thing that ever
happened to me,” he said with a shake of his head. “That
was before I realized finding you again, only to have you
taken away would end me. Do you hear me, Bella? If you are
lost to me, I am nothing. I am no one. I would lay down and
die without you.”
“Shh,” she crooned, reaching up to cradle his face in her
hands. “Do you think I feel any di erently? I was devastated
when I thought Will might coerce you into a trap that would
see you hanged. But, he failed. We are together and alive, and
I have faith that nothing will separate us ever again. If
anyone or anything should try it, we will fight them
together.”
He swallowed, drawing in a deep breath through his
nostrils as the tension began to slowly melt away from his
muscles. “You have no need to fight. I’ll tear down anyone or
anything that would harm you.”
Taking her hand, he propelled her to the window, pushing
one curtain aside to reveal the expanse of the front lawn. Her
breath hitched at the sight that greeted her—the silhouette
of a man’s body hanging from the sturdy limb of a tree. It
swayed in the breeze, lifeless and limp.
“I need you to see it, to know that he can never hurt you
again,” Drew’s voice rumbled in her ear. “I watched the life
drain from him, saw him struggle for his last breath. He’s
gone, for good this time.”
 Turning away from the window, she took hold of Drew’s
shoulders and turned him so his back was to the grisly sight
beyond the window. Pushing him to sit on the cushioned
window seat, she stood back and raised her hands to the knot
in the fabric tied about her chest. The loose sarong was more
comfortable for sleeping in such a hot climate than the usual
nightgown, and to her delight, easier to remove. With a flick
of her wrist, the fabric slithered down her body, leaving
Arabella bared to Drew’s hungry gaze.
He drew in a sharp breath, eyes roving over her nude
form before clashing with hers. “Bella …”
Stepping back into the gap between his legs, she took one
of his hands, pressing it to the plane of her belly. He
frowned, gazing down at her stomach, then back up at her
face.
“You’re going to be a father, Drew,” she whispered,
laying a hand over his. “I realized it just before he took me,
and my one regret would have been for you to never know it.
I think looking forward to the birth of our first child is a
good enough reason to put this behind us, don’t you?”
Drew lips parted as he stared up at her in wonder, his
expression changing to one of pure elation. “You’re with
child.”
It wasn’t a question, but she felt the need to reply. “Yes. If
I’m right, we’ll welcome our babe this coming spring. How
do you feel … Papa?”
A surprised laugh escaped him as he joined his right hand
with the left to frame her stomach. The dark ink on his
fingers stood out in the moonlight. HOLD FAST. The sight of
those words against her pregnant belly made Arabella smile.
“Papa. There’s something I’ve never been called before. I
feel … there are no words, Bella. My God, to think you went
through that while … you must have been so terrified.”
 Arabella braced her hands on Drew’s shoulders and
climbed up to straddle him, pressing against his cock. He’d
begun to harden the moment she removed her sarong.
“I was, at first. But then, as I already told you, I knew you
would come. It wasn’t only me you saved today, Drew. It was
our future.”
He held her, hands smoothing up and down her back as
she nudged against him, teasing his cock to full mast. “Bella
… you shouldn’t. You’ve had a di cult few days, and the
babe—”
“We are both just fine,” she argued, reaching between
them to take hold of his prick. He was hot and hard for her,
pulsing with life and vitality. “I need you to understand that,
to feel it … feel me.”
Drew groaned, his head falling back against the window
as she fit his head within her entrance and sank down to
envelop him, taking his cock deep inside her body. His hands
cupped her buttocks, holding her tight to him, but he was
otherwise still, eyes closed, lips parted.
“I feel you,” he whispered as she began to move,
moaning at the spark of pure ecstasy it created between
them. “My Bella … so good … you feel so good.”
He remained passive beneath her, though Arabella felt
what it cost him. Drew thrummed with leashed power and
tension, his grip on her hips tightening as she rode him with
slow circles of her hips. His mouth found her breast, and he
suckled, tongue laving her nipple as he moaned his pleasure.
She held him to her, taking him, accepting him, loving him
with every fiber of her being.
“Tell me you love me,” she urged, needing to hear the
words and take comfort in the solidity of their union.
“I love you,” he whispered against her breast, his breaths
coming harsher and swifter now, the cords of muscle in his
thighs drawing taut as she worked them both toward climax.
“I love you more than anything, my Bella.”
Planting her hands against his chest, she quickened her
pace, her clit throbbing and her sheath clenching around
him as the end loomed near. Drew was moving with her now,
his hips coming up o the window seat to meet each of her
downward surges. They chased the finish together, Drew
covering her mouth with his just as she cried out her release,
shaking and falling limp in his arms. He picked up where she
had left o , tongue thrusting between her lips and deep,
guttural moans echoing in the cavern of her mouth as he
followed her over the edge, spilling within her in a hot,
liquid rush.
Drew eased out of her body a few minutes later, lifting her
in his arms and carrying her back to bed. He laid her down
and then climbed in after her, covering them both with the
counterpane before pulling her back into his arms. They lay
facing one another, breaths slowing in increments until they
fell silent and pensive.
Tracing a finger over his chest tattoo, Arabella smiled.
“So, my lion, do you think becoming a father will be enough
to keep you anchored to the island for a while? I know that
once The Sea Lion has been prepared, you’ll be itching to
return to your mistress.”
Stroking a stray curl back from her brow, he smiled. “I
cannot promise to remain on land forever, but when I do set
out it will be for the benefit of my crew and their families.
My days of pirating for personal gain are over.”
“Oh?” she teased, tugging one of his locks and twining it
around her fingers. “What’s a pirate without his treasure?”
Pulling her closer, he rested his chin atop her head and
sighed. “That’s just it. There is no treasure greater than
what I’m holding in my arms right now. There is no trinket,
jewel, or bauble that compare to you. Besides, I think
becoming a father will be its own sort of adventure.”
Arabella blinked back tears as she clung to him, secure in
the knowledge that his words were true. He had, after all,
crossed oceans to find her and bring her home.
“Aye, Captain,” she murmured. “That sounds like the
beginning of the best adventure of all.”
 EPILOGUE

A rabella stretched and yawned, listening in drowsy

satisfaction to Drew’s lilting voice as he related the
details of his latest voyage—his last until well after the babe
was born, he’d promised. She had not begrudged him the
trip. News of slavers sailing along the Spice Route had
reached him, and what could he have done but go after
them? However, not long after he'd pillaged those ships and
freed the enslaved, he had sent word that there was another
mission he must undertake. He begged Arabella’s
forgiveness, but would be away another two months at least.
He insisted she would understand once he had explained his
reasons.
As it turned out, one of his hauls had included a cache of
weapons, mostly guns, for which he had hatched a daring
plan. Sailing back to Falmouth, it had been his intent to
make contact with the last small faction of Maroons hiding
out in the mountains. They had been scattered and mostly
disbanded following the Second Maroon War, but hadn’t
been completely obliterated. They remained hidden to
protect their battered communities from the governor and
militia, stripped of nearly everything they had.
Her father’s insistence that their presence in Falmouth
and the grumblings of rebellion among the slaves were
nothing to worry over came back to Arabella now, and she
nearly laughed aloud. As it turned out, there was much to
worry over—such as a dauntless pirate captain who had
made it his life’s purpose to deal as many blows to the
institution of slavery as were within his power.
“You should have seen them,” he said, stroking a hand
over her tight, swollen belly. “The man who led me into the
mountains was as tall as an oak tree and built like a warrior.
He wore nothing but a sarong about his waist, and a brace of
blades across his back. His chest was bare, showing his many
battle wounds. His skin was the darkest I’d ever seen,
flawless aside from the scars, gleaming in the sun.”
“He sounds impressive,” she murmured, though Drew
wasn’t actually talking to her.
His head was lowered over her bared stomach, the folds of
her sarong parted so he could see and feel the growing
mound. She’d grown larger by the day during his absence,
and he seemed enthralled by the evidence of the life growing
inside her. The babe pitched and rolled as if in reaction to its
father’s voice, and Drew smiled at the feel of a foot pressing
against his palm.
“There were dozens of them, hidden so deep in the jungle
that no one who doesn’t know where to look could ever find
them. They kept their guns trained on me while my men
unloaded the wagon filled with my gifts to them—guns, so
many guns, little one. And cloth for clothing, food, rum,
tools. You should have seen their faces when we pried the
crates open to show them.”
He looked up at her then, a ection softening his features.
“I wish you could have been there to see it, my Bella. Their
leader turned to me and asked me why I was simply giving it
all to them and demanding nothing in return. They were
suspicious, and rightly so. They’ve been double-crossed in
the past by governors and their treaties. They had no reason
to trust me.”
“But they did trust you in the end,” she o ered, adjusting
her position to get more comfortable.
Drew lay on his side, idly tracing the circumference of her
stomach and sending goosebumps rippling along her skin.
They’d made love the moment he returned home, but there
was a deep and poignant ache within her, begging for more.
It would seem her condition had done nothing to dampen
her desires; in fact, it seemed to have exacerbated them.
“They did once I explained my reasoning. I told him that I
had been born on that island, the son of a slave and the man
who owned her. I told him that the woman I loved had been
born of the same. I told him I could no longer stand back and
enjoy the rights of freedom while the kin of my mother
remain in chains.”
“Hear, hear,” she agreed.
“He understood even more when I told him I did want one
thing from him, if he would be so kind.”
Arabella braced herself up on her elbows, breathless with
anticipation for his next words. “And?”
Drew dipped his head and kissed her belly, an overgrowth
of whiskers abrading the tender skin. “And, as The Sea Lion
set out for the open sea, Falmouth was ablaze with the light
of dozens of fires. The plantations were burning, falling
under the rage of the Maroons and the hundreds of slaves
they’d armed. It was that most magnificent thing I’ve ever
seen.”
“You didn’t stay to see the outcome?”
Drew slid up the bed until he lay face to face with her.
“Part of me wanted to, but it was overruled by my heart. I’d
left it here on Île Saint Marie, and couldn’t wait another
moment to be reunited with it. It feels good to be home, my
Bella.”
 He lay his head on her breast with a sigh, closing his eyes
and drifting o to sleep. Having arrived just this morning
after several weeks of setting a grueling pace back to the
island, he must be exhausted.
Resting a hand atop his head, she put another on her
shifting belly, the tightening pangs hinting that labor pains
would soon follow. Drew had arrived just in time.
As she sank into sleep, it occurred to her that as much as
she loved their island paradise, it simply wasn’t the same
without him. It wasn’t as magical or enthralling until Drew
had set foot on its shores.
“Yes, my lion,” she whispered to his sleeping form. “It is
good to be home.”
MORE BY VICTORIA VALE
ENJOY THIS DARK ROMAN CE SE RIE S, THE VI LLAIN

The Villain
The Dove
The Butterfly
The Damsel
The Gift
THE SCANDALOUS BALLROOM E N COUN TE RS SE RIE S

Masquerade
A Marriage Most Scandalous
Tempting Two
Submitting to the Marquis
Dominating Mr. Darling
Her Beautiful Bastard

Scandalous Christmas Encounters Vol. 1

Scandalous Christmas Encounters Vol. 2
Scandalous Christmas Encounters Vol. 3

The Gentleman Courtesans Series

Tempting the Bluestocking (prequel novella)
Portrait of a Lady
What a Courtesan Wants
Making of a Scandal
Taming of the Rake
Chasing Benedict
 ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Sexy heroes … sassy heroines … electrifying erotic romance.

Victoria Vale has written over two dozen Romance and Young Adult novels under
various pseudonyms. As a lover of erotic romance, she enjoys nothing more than
a sexy hero paired with a sassy heroine, flavored with a dash of spice and lots of
heat. A wife and mother of three, she enjoys reading (of course), cooking, sewing
… and other activities that aren’t appropriate for inclusion in a biography.