"Ours?" Dane lowered the scope.

"Nearly twelve, sir."

The captain muttered a curse, squinting against the setting sun. The brig was sleeker, mayhaps a touch faster, for her hull was empty, above her water line; she'd covered too much distance not to be.

"Mr. Thorpe, full sail. Let's not give her a gander at what she's challenged." The boatswain's whistle shrilled and men scurried up the rigging. "Mr. Potts?"

"Aye, sir?"

"Is your station fit?"

Potts flushed, then straightened his shoulders and met the captain's ice green eyes. His duties included the charge of the forward hull, its equipment. "Aye-aye, Capt'n, Fo'c'sle cannons ready an' armed."

The captain nodded sharply, calling for reports from the gun deck. Men bellowed into funnels, deep voices carrying down through narrow pipes running between decks, alleviating the confusion in the com-panionway.

His legs braced wide apart, the stiff breeze plastering his dark shirt to his chest, the formidable Captain 110.

Blackwell on the quarter deck instilled confidence in the men preparing for battle. He watched the brig approach. The Sea Witch was swift, strong, heavily gunned, and Dane knew how to maneuver her as instinctively as he breathed. Though the sun was rapidly descending, the frigate had one more advantage; she was pointed pitch black and now sported solid black sails.

His gaze darted to each station checking the area, then he nodded to a crew man. Lifting the scope to his eye, he could count her guns, fewer than eighteen topside, and could make out her numbers to be half his own. Silently he said a prayer that she would not engage, for their sake. Another champion, Phillip? b.l.o.o.d.y coward, he thought, hoping the worm was aboard, itching to run the b.a.s.t.a.r.d through himself.

For a brief instance his mind conjured his father, thin, pale, broken; his fortune gone; his home stolen, destroyed. And Desiree. His chest tightened, every muscle in his body clenching with reined anger as he remembered her unspeakable disgrace. The situation forced Dane to rea.s.sess his priorities, and somehow Lady Renfrew had slipped into that category, though he was loath to admit it. He lowered the spygla.s.s and mashed a hand over his face, trying to clear his thoughts for what lay ahead.

"What's going on?"

His hand dropped sharply. Tess stood before him.

"Have you no sense at all! Get below!" The brig was swiftly approaching.

"I will not!" she blasted, hands on her hips. "And you don't have to bite my head off!"

A low growl rumbled in his chest as he advanced, 111.

and she took a step back, b.u.mping into the rail. He caught her shoulders. "Must you always fight me?"

She twisted out of his grasp. "I don't always fight, Blackwell. Not until I 'met you. And you can't just give me a knife, tell me to protect myself, then order me to stay put! It doesn't work that way."

"It does on my ship! Now get below!"

"h.e.l.l, no!"

Heads came around at that. "Don't you understand?" he said, his gaze darting to the brig. "The sight of you aboard will be cause enough for attack!"

"That's ridiculous!" she scoffed.

He grabbed her by the arms, hoisting her off the deck and up in his face. "For the love of G.o.d, woman, get to safety! I cannot be worried for your life and my men and ship, too!"

She blinked. He looked so desperate she almost relented. "Dont you think you're overreacting just a bi -?" She was cut off in mid-sentence when he unceremoniously tossed her over his shoulder, then stormed to the pa.s.sageway.

Her humiliation was nothing compared to the air being punched out of her lungs with each step he took, her pounding on his back of no consequence against his determination. He's enjoying this, she thought, his hands clasping her bottom and thighs with a bit too much familiarity. She felt a painful jolt as he kicked open the cabin door, and her ears were ringing when he pitched her on the bed. She started to get up, but he shoved her down, pointing a finger in her face.

"Stay there! Do not move or I swear, by all that is holy, I will tie you to this bed!"

112.

She bristled at that. "Just try it, you ape, and-"

In a heartbeat he was in her face, hands braced at her hips, and he continued to bear down on her, forcing her to dig her head into the pillows.

"I cannot spare a man to post guard, but if forced, be a.s.sured I will. Is-that-clear!" A thin frost hung on the edge of his words, and less nodded mutely, fear stinging down her spine. He seemed to always be angry at her, but never like this. Black hair tumbled low on his forehead like a raven's wing, his expression dark, chiseled in amber, and those eyes belonged to a panther, the pupils mere slits of black. G.o.d, it was awesome.

He straightened abruptly, glowered down at her for a second, then turned away. She lay there frozen until her fear swiftly burst into indignation, and she leapt from the bed, racing after him. He was already closing the door, and she caught a sardonic smile as he shut it in her face. Her eyes widened when she heard the click of the lock. Tess paled with anger, so furious she could hardly speak. Not that it would do her any good to yell; she could already hear his boots thumping down the hall.

"Chauvinistic, s.e.xist pig!" she muttered to the room. "He may as well have bashed me over the head with a club and dragged me down here by the hair!"

Tess tried the door anyway, then sighed back against it. Let them have their fun. She'd make that man's life a living h.e.l.l until she got off this tub.

113.

CHAPTER TEN.

The sun and moon battled for supremacy for a breathless moment, the silver crescent claiming the victory high in the sky, waiting for the vanquished to slink in retreat. And like a gypsy's red coin slipping into an indigo silk bag, the sun disappeared beneath the horizon. Darkness quickly fell, blackening the sea, pearly moonlight streaming across the eerie calm like the gleam on polished onyx.

The Sea Witch plunged across the waters, allowing its pursuer to give chase for several miles, letting them believe she thought herself outmatched and wished to escape the conflict. As the captain antic.i.p.ated, the brig lowered more sail and shifted ballast to increase her speed.

Dane's smile was thin. I'll give the b.a.s.t.a.r.d every advantage, he decided, refusing to fire the first shot. He spoke softly to the second mate.

"Trim a might off the fore, main, and mizzen sails, Mr. Finch. Discreetly. Let us give the lady something to be c.o.c.ksure about."

Aaron smiled, and without benefit of whistle com- 114.

mand, he quietly relayed the order, knowing this would slow them down a little, giving the brig a chance to keep them in her sights. The frigate's crew were well-sailed, and her captain knew how to get the best speed out of her. When the time was right.

The hour seemed to stretch in endless agony while the crew nervously waited, hearts pounding and cannons loaded for the attack. Not one man aboard doubted it would ensue. Three had come before her, and thrice they'd sent the vessels to haunt with Davy Jones. When the brig was close enough, the command came to extinguish all lanterns, and as if by the graceful stroke of an artist's brush, the Sea Witch melted into the night.

The brig was easily seen in the meager light, for she bore a white stripe above her water line, a foggy splash on the canvas of black. In the ordered silence, the men aboard the frigate heard confused voices carrying across the ocean. So close. Eyes shifted between the brig and their captain, each mate antic.i.p.ating his signal. It was nearly relief when it finally came.

Rope creaked against wood as men strained to tack mizzen yard, position fore and aft booms. Black sails unfurled, whipping and cracking as they billowed, catching the wind and harnessing its invisible power. Swift and sharp the Sea Witch came about. The powerful frigate dipped windward, whispering across the inky velvet like a rapier through humid air. The brig had long since lost sight of her in the darkness and never realized she'd turned back and was now adjacent, sailing behind the dual-masted craft. Then the pitch black frigate maneuvered into fighting distance with all the noise of hungry shark.

115.

Sprawled across the bed reading Common Sense, by Thomas Paine, Tess-had already discarded her slippers, stockings, and the first three under petticoats because of the heat in the cabin. For the moment she'd given up the need to see Blackwell squirm with some s.a.d.i.s.tic revenge. Wasted energy, she decided, worrying over something she could not change, and gave up the attempt to understand the political theorist's writings. She closed the book and picked up another. Gulliver's Travels. Blackwell certainly had a wide variety: Chaucer, Shakespeare, Defoe. Some books were even written in French and Latin. Bet he can't read them, she thought maliciously, flopping over on her back and wishing she had a copy of S.E. Baker's latest spy thriller to lose herself in.

Thirsty, she rolled to the edge of the bed and reached for the pitcher. Suddenly the ship listed to one side, and the ceramic urn crashed to the floor. Tess caught the edge of the mattress, straining not to fall on the broken pottery until the vessel righted itself. She scooted to the center of the fluffy down, watching loose items roll off the desk.

"What in G.o.d's name are you up to now, Black-well?" she muttered at the ceiling. When she deemed it safe, she climbed off the bed, cleaned up the porcelain shards, then moved to the desk, bending to pick up the charts and ledgers. A loud crack burst into the silence, and her yelp of surprise was immediately drowned by a thundering boom. Stunned, she dropped the ledgers. The frigate pitched furiously, and her arms waved in a useless attempt to grasp 116.

something stable. An instant later she found herself dumped on her rear. She stayed there for a second, cursing the handsome lunatic, working herself into a state of madness, then struggled in the limp skirts to stand.

She could hear rapid footsteps above her. Shouts from all directions but starboard. She whipped around toward the window, and her eyes widened. Bright flashes of light reflected off the ocean with every vibrating crash. Water sprayed in towering fountains as Tess groped her way to the velvet bench. She swallowed convulsively, plopping onto the seat, shocked beyond any further movement. She couldn't see much, but Lord, could she hear it. Screams of pain, of sheer agony echoed down to her, making her skin crawl up her neck. It was all so realistic! Then the frigate shuddered as it repaid cannon fire three times over. She heard water splash, wood crack, metal sc.r.a.pe against metal, and sails rip. Please don't let it be ours, she thought, not sure this ship could stand such an authentic reenactment. The odor of gunpowder drifted to her, and she watched in horror as a cannonball plopped into the ocean only a few yards from the open window, close enough to send water spraying in her face.

That's it, she thought, swiping at the dampness and latching the window. Tess left her seat and ran to the door, slapping the wood, desperate to get top side. She heard the thump of footsteps in a dead run outside and yelled to be let out. The steps slowed, paused, then raced away, their owner ignoring her call. This was insane! What if this tub actually sank? Frantically she jiggled the latch, but it wouldn't 117.

budge. Then she smiled, stepped back and lifted her skirts above her thighs. She concentrated and took aim, kicking the wood just before the latch. It gave the tiniest bit and with the sounds from above drowning any noise she made, Tess continued to kick with the ball of her foot until she heard the wood crack. She jerked and pulled at the latch, straining until it burst open, and for the second time she went flying across the room. No time to muster dignity, she thought, barely catching the table ledge, then racing out the door.

The pa.s.sageway was clear, and she headed down the corridor. Yanking up her skirts in one hand, she paused before the hatch, bracing herself for what she might find. She could hear Blackwell shouting commands and curses. The roll of cannons moving back to be reloaded rumbled beneath her feet; then the ship lurched with another boom and she was thrown viciously against the door. It burst open at the impact, and she sailed out, sprawling onto the wet deck. Quickly Tess rolled into a sitting position, spellbound at what filled her vision.

Two sweaty men dueled with swords scarcely a yard from her, and she quickly scooted back out of their way. She heard one call the other a "scurvy rat" and saw him raise his sword. Light flickered off the steel as a man she recognized brought the blade down. The other man screamed horribly, and Tess gaped as a hand thunked to the deck before her knees, the quivering fingers still curled around the hilt of his own cutla.s.s.

Her stomach lurched, her gaze snapping to the injured man in time to see his opponent send the blade 118.

into his chest. He howled before it poked out the other side, then crumpled to the deck in a twisted heap, blood still gushing from his stump. She scrambled to her feet and ran to the rail, vomiting over the side until she had nothing left. Tearing off a piece of her petticoat, she wiped her mouth, then tossed the sc.r.a.p into the sea. When she turned back, the opponent and sword were gone, his kill bleeding on the wet planks. It isn't real, she reminded herself, trying to control her rapid breathing, forcing herself to move toward the man.

It's fake! Studio special effects.

She knelt, her arm shaking violently as it reached out, then jerked back before meeting the man's flesh. He's alive, she silently prayed and reached again. Her fingers trembled as she touched the warm skin at his throat. Tess searched for a pulse. Nothing. Her gaze shifted to the dark stain spreading across his chest. She touched it, rubbing the sticky wetness between her fingertips, then inhaling the coppery scent. Oh, G.o.d! OH, G.o.d! Tess laid a hand on his chest. Nothing. She hardly noticed when someone b.u.mped into her as she made a last-ditch effort and placed her fingers beneath his nose. A strangled cry escaped her as she abruptly stood, backing away, a shaking hand covering her mouth. Dead. She could smell it; burning gunpowder, flesh, and wood melting together, a.s.saulting her nostrils. Her head whipped back and forth, a fiercely gruesome battle playing out around her as if she were a ghost. This can't be happening!

She choked back a shriek when another man fell at her feet, his eyes gla.s.sy, his arm reaching up to her for a split second, then dropping as blood gurgled out 119.

between still lips, pooling on the deck. Dead eyes stared up at her. Panicked, Tess lunged for the com-panionway hatch. The" ship heeled, and she lost her footing, tripping over the threshold and slamming into the far wall; she bit her lip to hold in the scream of pain. Swaying dizzily, and not waiting for the sting to subside, she grasped the wall rails and staggered back to the cabin. She leaned heavily against the doorframe for an instant, then rolled inside and shut the door. Her legs crumbled, and she slithered to the floor in a pink pile.

It was real, she thought, swallowing repeatedly. She stared at nothing, then squeezed her burning eyes shut and dropped her head back against the wood. Dear G.o.d in heaven, it wasn't a game! They were actually killing each other up there! Her stomach rebelled at the memory of that hand, still alive, ready to keep on killing. Oh, what did she do now? How could she stop this? She couldn't, she realized, wiping her b.l.o.o.d.y hands on her skirts. They won't give in, and she couldn't begin to fathom a logical reason for a real battle. The crack of splintering wood penetrated her chaotic thoughts with a jolt, and one image flashed in her mind.

Blackwell! Where was he? Good G.o.d, was he sprawled on the deck somewhere bleeding to death? And Duncan and Thorpe and-they could be dying while she sat here, she thought realistically, shoving her hair out of her face and jumping to her feet. Bizarre as it was, Tess knew one thing for certain. Her situation had suddenly become a matter of pure survival!

She fought with the dress, tearing it off her shoul- 120.

ders and wiggling it past her hips, then kicking it aside. Tossing the petticoats atop the soiled gown, she strode to the captain's chest of drawers, riffling through his clothes, then searched a trunk, finding a worn pair of trousers and a shirt. Stripping down to the chemise, she donned the shirt, tying its tails at her waist. Shoving a leg in the pants, she looked around for something to hold them up. Seeing nothing available, she tore a strip of petticoat and fashioned a belt. The pant legs pooled for more than a foot around her ankles, so she took up the knife and cut slits in the hem, then ripped the seams to her knees and tied them off. At least I can walk, she thought, slipping the braid down the back of her shirt as she moved toward the door. Halfway there she halted and made a beeline for the hutch, splashing brandy into a gla.s.s and draining it. She instantly regretted it when her eyes watered as she choked violently on the amber liquid.

Artificially braced, she left the cabin and made her way down the companionway. I'm a fool, she thought, gripping the wall rail. An idiot not to stay safely tucked below and wait this out. But, she couldn't. I improvise with what's available, she could hear her father say; adapt quickly to the situation, and you can overcome any obstacle.

Tess pushed on the latch.

Bursting out onto the deck, she surveyed the chaos around her. Swords clashed and rang, pistols cracked, their blasts flashing white fire in the dark. The air was thick with smoke, and men screamed, dropping into the water as their opponents continued on relentlessly from over the side of the Sea Witch and onto 121.

the other vessel. Criminy, Blackwell, your own ship isn't enough! She was caught off guard for an instant when a snarling man lunged for her. Her foot connected with his solar plexus, and he doubled over, giving her time to run onto the p.o.o.p deck and climb several feet up the rigging. Thank G.o.d for those Karate cla.s.ses, she thought, nerves stretched taut, her position offering a view of the other ship.

Its main mast was ablaze, but no sign of Blackwell. She climbed higher, easily adjusting to the swing of the lattice ropes. Had Blackwell attacked the ship? Could he be that ruthless? A free rope threaded around her thigh and wrapped around her ankle for stability, Tess dangled from the main mast, waving a hand before her face to clear the smoke. She squinted, her gaze careening off anything that moved. Her heart drummed in her throat as she searched. Where are you, you archaic squid? Muscles worked furiously in her arms, and her entire body clenched as Tess fought the urge to scream out. Oh G.o.d! Was he already dead? Had he gone overboard? Tears p.r.i.c.ked her vision. Please G.o.d, no!

On the deck of the brig, Dane Blackwell wielded the silver cutla.s.s, hacking his way toward her captain. The sniveling coward stood on the quarter deck, surrounded by men, his sword drawn, ready for the moment when he must defend himself. Dane's lips twisted in disgust. The wigged dandy pushed his men before him, doing naught but shouting frantic orders and waving his weapon. Dane saw no reason to kill uselessly and shoved men out of his path until forced to run them through. He'd given the vessel the chance to surrender, even after they'd fired the first shot; the returning volley had destroyed her main mast.

Dane grabbed a rope and swung onto the rail, advancing without interruption. He leapt to the deck.

"Do you ask for quarter, Bennett?" he shouted and watched Captain Bennett's eyes widened. "Aye, I know you. Only a coward would champion a sot like Rothmere!"

Thus dared before his crew, Bennett lunged forward, shoving men from his path in an effort to get to the legendary captain.

His fine Toledo sword clashed, and Dane strained, hilt to hilt, his greater power sending the man over the rail as he boarded the brig. Another came and his blade sliced across the man's bare chest, laying it open. The seaman shrieked, staggering back and falling across a cannon barrel, his flesh searing on the hot metal. His wail was deafening, but Dane pushed on, thoughts of Phillip grinding him to seek a measure of revenge this night.

122.

Tess's eyes widened as she watched Dane fight, his sword chopping through flesh as if he were cutting weeds. Clad in black from head to foot, he was awesome, like something out of Captain Blood. He must have said something to further enrage the man ridiculously dressed in a white wig and yellow silk coat because the fellow no longer stayed hidden behind his men. He leapt forward, drew the hilt of his sword before his face, then touched it to the deck.

Timber crackled and burned, debris fell to the 123.

deck, yet the ash-filled air seem to suddenly grow quieter as the captains squared off, crewmen clearing a path for the duel. Bennett lashed the air, the sound a shrill whine, and Dane caught the blade against his own, flicking his wrist and sending the man back. Bennett parried, lunged, and met Blackwell's strikes head on. He'd underestimated the infamous captain and his ability to maneuver his ship. The Sea Witch was like a phantom, vanishing into the night only to reappear where her master chose. Bennett felt a measure of panic, staring into those accursed eyes. The man wanted blood -Phillip's, but his, it seemed, would suffice for now. Frantically he swung the blade, crisscrossing a hairs breadth before Blackwell's chest.

Dane blocked the stab to his heart, yet the tip caught him, slicing open his shirt, blazing a red streak up across his shoulder, Tess gasped, expecting Dane to fall, but he didn't even flinch, his stance remaining relaxed, pale mint eyes narrow and keen. Metal sang again and, like an artist painting a scene, Captain Blackwell wielded his sword with cool expertise, as if the heavy steel were merely a feather.

Dane pressed on, forcing Bennett to back up toward the stern. Though only slightly smaller, the man was losing strength, his heavy clothing constricting his movements, making him work harder, and with each parry, Dane maneuvered closer. The backs of Bennett's legs touched the stern rail, and with all his remaining strength, he lunged at Dane.

But the dark captain was lightning quick, snaring the thin blade against his Toledo steel. "You were part of it, admit it?" Dane demanded into the man's face, 124.

hilt caught to hilt.

Bennett's smile was s.a.d.i.s.tic. "Aye. Desiree was quite the wildcat, Blackwell, screaming for your aid."

A low growl rumbled in Dane's chest, his lips twisting cruelly. Bennett's muscles strained to keep the man back. Phillip was wrong, Bennett thought, Blackwell's ship could not be taken down, yet the man was a different story, he decided, confident in his expertise with a sword.

"Phillip has guaranteed me sanctuary to spend your money," he grunted, throwing his weight forward in an attempt to take Dane off balance. It didn't work.

A black brow lifted. "Rather difficult, I promise," he snarled. "For you shall be quite dead."

Something flickered in Bennett's eyes. "Care to make a wager, Blackwell?"

Tess nearly swallowed her tongue as she caught sight of a turban-clad man advancing on Dane from behind, a wicked machete brandished high above his wrapped head.

"Dane! Behind you!" she screamed, but it was lost in the din of the battle. No one intervened, and Dane didn't hear the frantic shouts from his own men. Her pulse staggered, her fingers clenching the ropes. Oh, G.o.d, help him! Please! He'll be killed! Tess did the only thing she could. She became the wind.

125.

CHAPTER ELEVEN.

Tess didn't stop to think, but drew her arms back and dove out, her pet.i.te body like a shooting star as she flew to the mizzen mast. She prayed, for it was a greater distance than she had ever dared, and thanked G.o.d when she caught the wood, spinning around it into a supine position. Ten points for execution, Renfrew.

The broad pole braced at her abdomen, her movements were swift, urgent, yet confident as she spread her legs, her torso twisting until she straddled the pole, then curled her legs back, hooking her ankles on the wood behind her and pushing to a stand. The wind's too hard for the easy way, she thought, handstand to round off. She grasped a rope, tugging it once to be certain it was secure, then threaded the thick hemp between her thighs and around one leg. Leaning back slightly for a better stance, Tess saw the machete near Dane's back and again called on her championship abilities.