The Pirate Bride

“Red Charlie! By god, he’s a devil and I want him caught, now, today!”

Jackson Shaw remained silent as Avery Townsend smacked his fist on the fine, mahogany dining table, hard enough to make china and crystal rattle. The Governor glared at Jackson as if he were responsible for the infamous pirate who had taken yet another of the Townsend Merchant ships. Jackson could hardly blame him for wanting Red Charlie caught but the man’s demanding tone did little to elicit Jackson’s service, even if he did hope to have Townsend as his father-in-law some day. Jackson drew on his cigar, stalling while he let his own irritation fade. He’d been summoned to the governor’s mansion like a lackey and although he’d been wined and dined to a fare-thee-well, he knew the real reason he was here. The Governor of Massachusetts wanted to engage his services. Jackson blew out the smoke and was about to decline, when a servant entered.

“I’m sorry to interrupt, Sir, but Miz Townsend say you been in here long enough. You can’t keep Mister Shaw all to yourself.”

“Oh, all right, tell her we’re coming,” Townsend snapped, waving his hand as if to dismiss both the servant and his wife. “Bothersome woman!”

Jackson was glad for the interruption for two reasons. He didn’t have to deny Townsend his request, although he was certain it would be presented to him again before the evening was out, and most importantly, he’d get a chance to see Joanna Townsend again. Beautiful, cultured, and highly intelligent, Joanna would swell any father’s heart with pride. She was also the woman Jackson hoped to marry one day very soon. He’d made enough money to support the elegant Joanna in the style she was accustomed to, and he was ready to give up his Buccaneering days and become a wealthy landowner, himself. Putting out his cigar, he rose and followed Avery Townsend from the sumptuously appointed dining room into an equally sumptuous drawing room where his wife and daughter sat doing needlework.

“Do come and sit by me, Mister Shaw,” Mrs. Townsend trilled, patting the cushion of the settee where she was seated. An older version of her blonde daughter, Melinda Townsend was still a handsome woman and an asset to her husband’s political ambitions. “Would you be so kind as to accommodate me?” She handed Jackson a skein of yarn, looping it over both his hands while she began to roll it into a neat ball. “Did you enjoy your dinner?”

“Immensely,” Jackson replied, casting an amused glance at Joanna.

She sent him a sly smile then concentrated on her stitchery. He was surprised at her sudden decorum, a far cry from the fiery, uninhibited woman he’d come to know.

“I do hope you’ll come to Joanna’s wedding, Mister Shaw,” Melinda Townsend was saying. “She’s to be married in less than a fortnight to that up-and-coming governor from Virginia, Robert Cook. My, he’s so handsome, even if he’s a little older than Joanna. He’s the one she wants, so be it.”

She didn’t look up from her task to see the damage her statement had caused. Jackson’s jaw clenched as he stared at Joanna whose eyes darted wildly around the room as if looking for an escape.

“Momma. I thought we agreed not to tell anyone just yet, at least not until the invitations were sent out.” Joanna glanced at Jackson, her expression filled with dismay at being caught in her deception. Her gaze begged him not to make a scene.

Numb at the information of her pending wedding, given the nature of their tryst not three hours before, Jackson sat speechless. Joanna raised her head and a tiny smile curved her lips.

“Don’t you want to wish me well, Mr. Shaw?” she asked lightly, her pale-blue eyes gauging his reaction.

Jackson felt the blood roar to his head, but he bit back his anger. “Of course, I do, Miss Townsend. I wish you everything you deserve.” He rose, balling the strands of yarn into a snarl. “If you’ll excuse me, Mrs. Townsend, Governor, I’m afraid I’ve just remembered an important matter I must attend to immediately.” Without waiting for their polite responses, he turned and stalked toward the grand entrance hall.

“Er, Jackson,” Townsend called, wheezing in his effort to overtake the younger man. “About that pirate.”

“I’m sorry, Sir.” Jackson swung around abruptly and the Governor pulled up hard so as not to run into him. “I’m afraid I can’t accommodate you. I’m sure there are others who could handle the job as well, if not better than I. Good night, Sir.” The slamming door cut off any rejoinder the Governor might have made. Jackson didn’t pause or look back but stalked down the driveway to where his horse was tied, mounted and rode away as if Red Charlie, himself, was in pursuit. Or maybe it was the feckless Joanna Townsend who had played him for a fool while she insured herself a life of luxury and position as the wife of the Virginia Governor. Jackson was likely one of many lovers she would take in her lifetime, and if he’d understood the rules of the game, he could have enjoyed their liaison, but he’d believed her words of love, fool that he was.

His horse was lathered by the time he reached the quayside where his sloop, The Carolina, was moored. He thought of going aboard and nursing his heart wounds with a bottle of raw whiskey, but he had a need for people—his kind of people—rough sailors and calculating merchants, who if they lied and cheated, did so without pretensions of gentility and noble causes. He dismounted, tied off his horse and entered the first tavern he came to.

The noise and lights beyond the door promised entertainment and forgetfulness. Just what he needed. He took a seat near the fire and ordered rum from the buxom barmaid who flirted with him while she managed to provide an ample view of her equally ample breasts. She was young and clean looking, and he thought before the night was over, he might take her up on her unspoken invitation. Anything to get the taste and feel of Joanna Townsend from his mind. He downed his first drink without regard to breathing and signaled for another.

From the other side of the room came raucous male laughter interspersed with the lighter sound of a feminine giggle followed by a witty retort. The sailors surrounding the woman laughed again. Someone shifted and he caught a glimpse of hair the color of a sunset, a pale, heart-shaped face with dark eyes and an impudent red mouth that wanted kissing.

“Who is she?” Jackson asked the bar maid, who pouted at his interest in any female besides herself.

“Don’t you want to know my name?” she asked teasingly, brushing her breast against his shoulder.

“Of course, I do, you sweet thing,” Jackson replied and pulled her onto his lap.

He settled his lips over hers and was surprised at the honeyed sweetness of her, but his thoughts were on the auburn-haired beauty across the room. When he released the bar maid’s mouth, she simpered up at him.

“My name is Rosy,” she whispered, staring into his eyes.

“And who is your friend across the room?”

Rosy’s smile faded. “She’s no friend of mine and if you want to know, you can ask her, yourself.” The girl jumped up from his lap and flounced away.

Jackson sipped his second drink and ordered another as he watched the noisy group. He lost count of the drinks he downed as he studied the woman who was obviously used to entertaining rough seaman and sailors. Even pirates were known to frequent the bars along the quay, knowing full well they’d be safe. Jackson remembered that Tommy Tew, one of the worst pirates in the Eastern seas, had been entertained and presented with a watch by New York’s Governor Fletcher. Well-heeled merchants often bankrolled pirates for a share of their profits.

“Who’s next t’buy me a drink?” the woman with the flaming hair called and the men around her crowded closer. She pushed them away, her gaze fixed on Jackson. Slowly, knowing every eye was on her, she undulated across the tavern, her hips swaying seductively beneath the rich satin gown she wore. She was a small woman, slim and short of stature, but her bearing was regal, arrogant even. She moved with an easy sensuality that spoke to experience—a prostitute, no doubt. Just what he was looking for tonight. She sauntered to him and paused scant inches away. He could smell her exotic musky perfume, which hinted at tropical breezes and wild sex on hot, sandy beaches.

“Why do you sit here, Sir, studying me as if I were a bug?” Her voice was soft and clear, her words an open challenge that promised much.

“A most interesting bug, Madam,” he said, raising his half-empty mug in a salute. Rum sloshed over the rim and splattered on the table. In the time he’d spent observing the denizens of the tavern, he’d downed several more mugs of rum and now doubted he could stand. Still, he’d turn somersaults for an hour with this woman.

She’d made no response to his comment, but her dark eyes regarded him, unwaveringly. Finally, she smiled. “You are an interesting bug, Sir. Be careful, I do not squash you beneath my boot.”

Her gaze issued the challenge, one that Jackson couldn’t ignore. He lashed out and grabbed her arm, jerking her forward onto his lap. She squawked and flailed against him, but his arms held her against his chest while he lowered his mouth and claimed her lips. He’d expected her kiss to be sweet, but he hadn’t expected the hot spicy taste that filled his mouth, like some exotic fruit. His tongue probed her tightly closed lips until finally, she opened to his onslaught and lay still against him, yielding the heady nectar of her mouth. He probed with his tongue, found hers and dueled, then subdued her while he set up a rhythmic stroking that had his cock rising against the softness of her buttocks. Her scent filled his senses. True, he’d bedded Joanna a few hours earlier, but a hunger rose within him. His need for this woman was as insistent as a man who’d been without a female for days, weeks even. He shifted her, so he could brush a hand over her bodice and touch the silken mound above the lace.

“Here now, mate, that’s goin’ a bit far,” a rough male voice cried out and Jackson’s hand was jerked away.

He ignored the voice, too mesmerized by her eyes, all dark and soulful that he felt their heat deep inside himself, in a place he’d never known before.

“What is your name?” He’d had to clear his throat before he could ask.

She stared up at him and he thought she meant not to answer.

“Charity,” she said suddenly and sat up on his lap. “I’m Charity and don’t get any ideas I’m an easy woman, because I’m not, see?”

“I would never think you a woman without virtue,” Jackson said. “Let me buy you a drink.”

“Well, all right.” She tossed her head like a skittish stallion.

Jackson saw her hair was cut short and curled around her head like a fiery halo. She’d pinned a feather in it, which had become somewhat bedraggled and flopped across her forehead and down one cheek. With aplomb, she shoved it aside and raised her chin.

“I’ll have a brandy, if you please,” she said drawing herself up like a proper lady in a fine parlor.

More proper than the one who’d entertained him earlier that day, Jackson thought bitterly. His cock shriveled at the memory of Joanna Townsend. He turned his thoughts back to the sprightly lass on his lap. She was younger than he’d thought, hardly out of her teens if that, he figured, and full of her power as a woman. She shifted on his lap and her soft buttocks awakened his cock, so it swelled.

“Ooh,” she said and looked at him with interest. “Have you been t’sea, then?” she asked, lifting her glass of brandy and tossing it back with the expertise of a drinking man.

“A few days back,” he answered and returned to his rum.

“Ooh, and you have no lady friends to take care of you?” She eyed him knowingly.

“None I care to have,” he answered, dismissing his dalliance with Joanna. At the moment, she seemed a distant memory. He leaned forward and whispered in the shell-pink ear beneath the riotous red curls. “Will you take pity on a poor sailor who’s been out to sea overly long?”

Her gaze sharpened. “What ship are you with?”

“The Carolina,” he replied and nuzzled her neck, her cheek and her soft pale throat.

She arched her head so he had better access to the slim column. “I know that ship,” she said as his lips trailed a path back to hers. “A tidy sloop, it is. Who is your captain?”

He kissed her first, repeating the thrusting tongue into the sweet well. They were both breathless when he released her mouth to take a huge swallow of rum.

“Well?” She shook his arm impatiently, causing him to spill some of the rum on the white mounds of her breast and the lacy bodice.

“I’m so sorry,” he murmured and lowered his head to lick away every drop. When his tongue dipped into the pale shadow between her breasts, she squirmed in his arms.

“Let us get to know each other first,” she whispered.

He sat back and regarded her impish face. Her soft buttocks against his hard cock felt just right. He might be able to last like this for at least another two minutes.

“My captain is some fool who doesn’t know his head from a hole in the ground,” he said. “I don’t want to talk about him. Let’s talk about something else.” He looked around. “I want to be alone with you, Joanna.” Somehow the woman on his lap was all mixed up in his head with the beautiful blonde woman he’d wanted as his wife. He swept her against his chest and kissed her soundly. His head felt as big as a cabbage—both heads.

“You don’t want to marry that Governor from Virginia, do you? It’s me you love. I was going to ask you to marry me, didn’t you know that? Will you marry me, Joanna? Marry me now, right here.” He raised his head and looked around the tavern blearily. “Is there a preacher in the house? I need a preacher man to marry us.”

“A preacher man?” someone called. “Aye, there’s a preacher here. Reverend Walker, where d’ye be?”

The crowd parted and in the corner sat a man in a black frock coat and white collar, nursing a mug of ale.

“Have ye got yer bible, Reverend?” someone called gleefully. “Ye’ve got a wedding to perform.”