Savage Surrender Page 8

  He sat up slowly and laid his hand over mine. I steeled myself to his touch. "You're feeling very friendly tonight, Elise. Have you had a change of heart about me? Not ten hours ago you were treating me like a leper." He picked up my hand and placed it on the soft swelling between his legs. I gave a startled little cry, and tried to pull my hand away, but he held firm. I could feel my face growing red. "Little girls shouldn't start things they can't finish."

  "I don't know what you mean."

  "I mean if you're trying to seduce me you will succeed, but if you're trying to bleed me for information you're destined for failure. I've been tested by experts, lady. What makes you think a babe like you can win at this game?"

  The sleeping manhood under my sweating palm was coming alive. I could feel it stretching and growing. My breath began to come in short little pants, and my whole body felt flushed and warm. I again tried to jerk my hand away but he held it steady with a firm hand. With his other hand he stroked my loose hair and caressed my face and neck.

  "I'm not a babe," I said defensively. "Not any more. And I'm not playing a game. I realize that I have been nothing but an irritation and a trouble to you, and I'm sorry." He made a scornful noise. "No," I protested, "I really am." I bowed my head and said in a small voice, "If I were a different kind of person none of this would have happened. It's all my fault. I wish I could die."

  I had the feeling he was suppressing his laughter, but I didn't dare raise my eyes to find out. He fingered the lace on my nightgown.

  "Is that what this is supposed to be?" he teased. "A shroud?"

  I smiled up at him through my lashes. "Don't you like it?" I asked coyly. "Françoise told me it was what ladies of breeding wore on their honeymoons."

  "I think it's hideous."

  "Well, please don't tear it off because it's the only one I have."

  He laughed and gathered me into his arms. I wriggled out of the offending garment and he tossed it to the floor. His clothing followed immediately, and soon we were entwined in each other's arms, our bodies naked and shining in the dim yellow light. He kissed me deeply and a shudder like a sigh passed through me. I reminded myself sternly that I had a mission and that my determination must not flag, but his caresses took my breath away and drove everything out of my mind. He lightly stroked the insides of my thighs and all thought flew out of my brain. I felt hot and cold all at once. I wanted him to stop, and I wanted him to go on. I moaned softly and opened my legs.

  "You are too greedy, lady," he said laughing. He kneaded my body with his great, skillful hands while his tongue darted serpent-like in and out of my mouth, teasing and inflaming me. I threw my head back and strained upwards against him, longing for the weight of his body on mine. But he waited until he had brought me nearly to the brink of madness with his lips and his tongue and his fingers. When he came into me the combined force of our passions created a fierce, explosive, all-encompassing world. It was a revelation to me.

  He was like a golden stallion in the candlelight, I thought. A golden leaping pawing plunging stallion. When at last he fell away from me we lay gasping. Gradually my scattered wits began to return.

  "I suppose you'll be leaving for England tonight," I asked in a throaty voice when I was at last able to speak again.

  He laughed sleepily. "And if I am, how does that concern you?" he murmured. "You got what you wanted, Elise. Be quiet and go to sleep."

  "But—" He sighed deeply and turned his back to me. In a moment he was asleep.

  I raged inwardly. I had behaved like a wanton, a whore, a trollop, and what had I gotten for my pains? Nothing! Nothing but a warning to be quiet. He turned his back to me as though I were nothing. I hated him, and I was furious with myself. If I had hoped to get anything out of him, any clue, I had failed. He had known from the beginning what I was after, and he had let me make a fool of myself. I was sick with disappointment. I felt suddenly old, and at the same time very young. I closed my eyes. I had learned so much in the past few days, and yet I still knew so little.

  Later, much later, when he thought I was asleep, he climbed out of bed and dressed himself. He stood for a second looking down at me where I lay sprawled half-naked on the pillows. Watching him through the fringe of my lashes as I pretended to sleep, I saw him toss something on the mattress. Then I heard the door open and close again. He was gone.

  I sat up and reached for the object he had dropped on the bed. It was a fat purse. I dumped the contents into my hands. Louis d'or, about twenty gold pieces. Enough to hire a carriage to take me home, if I wasn't raped and killed in this awful place first.

  I threw back the coverlet and dressed hurriedly. I swept my possessions into my valise and clapped my bonnet on my head. I wasn't going to stay in that filthy room another minute, and I wasn't about to let him get away without first finding out where he was going. I had to have something to tell the soldiers, and I only hoped I wasn't too late.

  I tiptoed into the hallway and darted down the stairs. I paused in the shadows at the bottom when I heard his voice. He was speaking to the landlord.

  "—and there will be hell to pay. She's the Emperor's goddaughter, the apple of his eye, my friend. He'll come down on you so fast—"

  The landlord mumbled, "Oh, aye, aye, Monsieur, I'll look to the lady right enough. Pleasant journey to you."

  The Marquis slipped out the door and the landlord returned to his patrons in the tavern. When the coast was clear I crossed the space between the bottom of the stairs and the door, and I ran out into the night. I looked up and down the street. Valadon was walking briskly towards the wharf. I followed him, keeping to the shadows, ready to press into doorways and alleys when I saw someone coming towards me. Thankfully the hour was late and few people were abroad.

  By the time we reached the wharf I was gasping for breath. Hiding behind a huge bale of goods near the dock I saw my quarry disappear down a narrow flight of steps that led to the water's edge. I heard low voices, and then a bumping and creaking told me that he was stepping into a rowboat. As I thought, when he and his companion were about a hundred feet away from the dock I could see him sitting in the prow of the boat opposite the rower. They were heading for a ship that lay at anchor well out in the harbor. I could see her masts gleaming eerily in the moonlight like naked trees against a winter sky. A few lanterns winked from her decks.

  A sailor approached me, walking unsteadily along the dock. I jumped out from behind the bale and accosted him.

  "See here," I said sternly, "what ship is that? Tell me at once."

  The man collected his wits and leered at me. "American ship, Ma'am. The Charleston Belle."

  "American? Where is she going? Tell me."

  He shrugged. "I don't rightly know. Spain, someone said it was."

  Spain! Ah, that was a start. I wondered if the swine was planning to sabotage Napoleon's operations there. "I want to go out there," I told the sailor. "Right now, tonight. You must take me. It's all right, I can pay you."

  He protested. "I don't want to go out there. It's not my ship. Let's you and me go someplace else, eh?"

  "I'm not going anywhere with you unless it's out to that ship," I said firmly.

  As we argued I became aware of a clatter of feminine voices behind us. The sailor grabbed my arm and shoved me towards the approaching women. "Those dames are going out there," he said. "You can go with them."

  I looked at the jabbering females. I wondered for a moment if they were wives, going out to the Charleston Belle for one last farewell. But no, they didn't really resemble respectable married women. They were too loud, too lewdly dressed, too gay. I went up to a fat lady who seemed to be the leader.

  "I beg your pardon, Madame," I said humbly. The women fell silent and stared at me. "I understand that you are going—out there." I indicated the ship.

  "And what if we are?" one of them demanded. "Do you object, your ladyship?" Her friends tittered.

  "Oh, no, not at all," I assured them. "In fact, I would like
very much to accompany you, if you don't mind."

  "And what would the likes of you want with common sailors?" They surrounded me, laughing broadly, fingering the cloth of my suit and the ribbons on my bonnet. I held my valise tightly against my chest.

  I sniffed and said with what I hoped was convincing pathos, "It's my husband. He made me leave my home when he married me, and now he's leaving. I don't know anyone in this part of the country and I'm so frightened, and I thought if I could see him or talk to him I could at least get some money to take care of me and the—the baby," I added as a masterstroke.

  They murmured sympathetically. The fat one patted my shoulder. "There, now, dearie, that's all right. Come along. There's no harm in asking him, I guess, but if I know sailors he's spent all he had."

  We walked along the dock until we came to a place where a larger rowboat was tied. Two sailors were waiting impatiently. We clambered down a wooden ladder with some difficulty and stepped into the rocking boat.

  "Hey, Jack," one of the sailors shouted to his companion in English. "This one's clean!" He pinched my buttock as I passed him. "They're sendin' us a higher class whore now."

  I stopped and gaped at him, but the boat lurched and I stumbled down next to a scrawny woman who was wearing a decrepit shawl and a skirt and very little else. The sailor had been right; she smelled foul.

  When we reached the Charleston Belle we climbed up rope ladders—with eager hands lending assistance from above and below—to the deck. Everyone seemed to reek of rum and sweat and what I now recognized as sex. In the riotous confusion on deck I managed to evade the drunken hands that grabbed at my bosom and thighs. I crept into the shadows to reconnoiter. I peered at the scene every so often, hoping to catch sight of Armand Valadon. I wanted to confront him with what I had learned, and I thought I could expose him to the Captain and crew of this vessel and persuade them to hand the scoundrel over to the proper authorities.

  An arm shot out of the darkness and fumbled at the front of my bodice. "Ah," breathed a whiskey-soaked voice. "Look at this, look at this!"

  I shrieked and twisted free of him. As I ran along the deck I could hear him gasping behind me. Then I heard a crashing sound, like a fall, and a stream of rich curses. I glanced back: my pursuer had tripped over a coil of rope and become hopelessly entangled. I found shelter in a dark corner between two enormous casks. I sat down on my valise and rested my head in my hands.

  My plans weren't working out as I had hoped. Instead of denouncing a criminal I was running for my life. I rather suspected that at this time of night, with all the distractions at hand, none of these men would be willing to listen to my tale. God, I was tired. The sounds of revelry grew fainter and gradually I ceased to hear them altogether. Soon I would try and find that rascal Valadon, after I had rested a bit. What madness was this: stinking quayside inns and boats full of whores and squads of drunken sailors, all chasing me up and down a ship.

  "Will you look at this! Wake up, gal. The Captain's chewing nails this morning, and he won't be happy to see you."

  I got unsteadily to my feet and looked around. With horror I saw that it was day. The harbor was gone, there was no sign of other ships, Nantes had disappeared. We were rocking along on a gray ocean under a leaden sky. The bottom of my stomach dropped out.

  "Where—where are we, Monsieur?" I asked slowly in English. "I didn't want—I didn't mean to stay here."

  The sailor shook his head. "We sailed on the morning tide, before sun-up. Come along now. The Captain likes to eat stowaways before breakfast. You'd better pray we meet a French ship before too long."

  I opened my mouth. "But you don't understand. I have come here to find a man who is masquerading as the Marquis de Pellissier. I know he's here—"

  "Sure, sure, lady. Come and tell your fancy tale to the Captain."

  I went pale at the sight of Josiah Fowler, Captain of the Charleston Belle. He was rotund, bulky, hirsute, and he stank of rum, vomit, and salt water. I explained the situation as best I could in my stumbling English, and I wondered if he heard me at all. He kept his eyes fastened to my bosom during the whole course of my recital.

  "—and I must tell you, Captain, the man is an imposter. His name isn't Armand Valadon at all. I don't know what his name is, but I am sure he is an English spy. Surely you have seen him." I described the Marquis. "I came out here last night. I followed him, and I know—"

  The Captain scowled deeply. "Got no passengers aboard this ship. You're spinning me a yarn, and I'm in no mood to listen to it. Parker!" He called to the sailor who had found me. "Do something with this bitch. I'll have no whores on my ship, do you hear?"

  "Captain," said Parker hesitantly, "there is one passenger. The American who came on board last night, Mr. McClelland. You remember, sir, it was arranged—"

  "Oh," the Captain grunted. "Him. Get him in here, then. Now!"

  Suppose Valadon had left the ship before it sailed? Suppose the passenger was someone else. American? He was no American, I could swear to that. I stood trembling with my eyes glued to the floor until the door to the Captain's cabin opened and Valadon stepped in with Parker behind him. He glanced at me. The expression in his eyes was hard and angry, but I breathed a sigh of relief. At last I would be vindicated.

  "That's him, Captain," I cried. "That's the man! He is a dirty spy, a traitor, an evil, cunning man. I demand that we return to Nantes at once and—"

  "You know this female, McClelland," the Captain demanded. "Says she came on board last night with the whores. My man found her this morning, hiding behind the water barrels."

  "I wasn't hiding," I protested. "It was an accident! I fell asleep."

  The tall fair man looked at me and then at the Captain, who continued to stare intently at my breasts. My heart stopped. I was at the mercy of the very man I sought to capture. If he disclaimed any knowledge of me— I glanced at the Captain. Saliva gathered on his lips and he wiped it away with the back of his hand. I shuddered visibly and looked beseechingly at the Marquis.

  He blew out his breath. "Yes, I know her," he said wearily. His English, I noted, was flawless. "She is—my wife."

  I allowed myself to breathe again. The Captain's frown grew still deeper.

  "This ship is no place for a woman, man! If you want to keep her you can pay her passage. If you want her thrown overboard no one will be the wiser except me and Parker here, and we know how to keep quiet."

  The cold blue eyes flickered over me. "It's a tempting offer, Captain, but I suppose I must keep her. I have no money, though—"

  I fumbled in my bag. "I have money, Captain." I handed him the purse with the golden louis. "It's all I have." I avoided looking at the Marquis. "I hope it will be suff—suffi—" the word defeated me. "Enough."

  The Captain hefted the purse. "Get her out of here, McClelland," he growled. "And keep her out of my sight. Why you'd want to go and marry a whore I'll never know. Women are trouble on a ship, nothing but trouble."

  The man he called McClelland took my arm none too gently and led me silently out of the Captain's presence. I followed him down a narrow passage. He opened a door into a smaller cabin that was dark and low, hardly high enough for him to stand erect. It had a leaded glass window through which I could see the bleak ocean, a small table with two kegs that could be used as chairs, a washstand with a pewter bowl and pitcher, and a narrow berth with storage closets built underneath. A lantern swung crazily from a beam over the table. As I watched it I felt a tide of nausea rising in my throat. I choked it back down.

  The man and I watched each other in hostile silence. He sat down on a keg.

  "Have you ever heard of a bad penny, Elise? " he asked in English. I shook my head. "It doesn't matter. Welcome to your new home. It's not the Louvre or the Chateau Lesconflair, but it's small and easy to keep clean."

  "Who are you?" I demanded in French.

  He shook his head. "France is behind us," he said. "You'd better start brushing up on your English. By the way, my
name is Garth McClelland. I'm an American."

  "Bah! You are a dirty spy!"

  He smiled. "Such patriotic fervor."

  "Scum! Villain!" I cried. "Filthy saboteur! The Marquis of nothing is what you are!"

  He lifted his eyebrows. "Why, Elise, you are a snob. Shame on you."

  "Shame on me! Pig, dog, son of a jackass!" I shouted, scraping my English vocabulary for fitting adjectives.

  "This cabin is hardly big enough for one of your spectacular scenes, Elise. Fortunately, there is very little for you to throw." He seemed very calm. "Believe me, I rue the day I ever set foot in the forests of the Lesconflairs. And I doubly regret the Fates that led me to an important rendezvous at your little fete, but we're going to be cabin mates for a long time, and—"

  "Long time, pfui," I sneered. "You dirty rascal, just wait until we get to Spain—"

  "Spain? Where did you get that idea? We're not going to Spain."

  "But the sailor in Nantes said—"

  "Drunken sailors are not responsible for what they tell whores, even well-dressed ones that look like ladies. Captain Fowler is a slaver. This is a slave ship. The next time you set foot on land it will be on the Slave Coast. And when you next experience what you think of as civilization—in about six months—you will be in Jamaica. So calm yourself and enjoy the voyage. We are going to Africa."

  Chapter 4

  Slave Ship

  The waves lapped innocently against the mossy hull and gentle swells lifted the anchored ship up and down. A sea gull screeched overhead and swooped low to retrieve an invisible morsel from the water before disappearing in the seaward horizon. Light gusts of wind from the land shook the ropes and rattled the furled sails in the masts. My skirts whipped around my legs. I wished that the wind would carry me away beyond the horizon with the sea gull.

  I stood in the prow of the Charleston Belle watching the shore. A hot sun was burning through the haze that had shrouded the coast since dawn, blurring the details of the jungle into a solid green mass. The jungle smell, heavy with the stink of rotten vegetation and the perfume of blooming hibiscus, seemed to permeate the ship.