‌I didn’t feel like a prisoner.‌

As Ashley escorted me through the passageways of His Majesty’s Ship, which stretched nearly two-hundred feet fore to aft, I didn’t feel like a pirate or a whore or anything comfortably familiar.

With my fingers loosely curled around his muscled forearm and my skirts swishing over my bare feet, I heard the greetings and commands he gave the sailors he passed. But I focused on what wasn’t being said.

I was, on the surface, ignored by all. No one looked at me. Not directly. Yet every man in the vicinity was viscerally aware of the woman on their commodore’s arm. I could practically hear their arseholes clenching.

The last time they’d glimpsed me, I’d just been plucked from the sea like a drowned rat, wearing only a man’s shirt. Today, garbed in a gown made from Lord Cutler’s frocks, I looked refined enough to be a lady.

If I’d wanted that title, I would’ve followed my mother’s rules, married the Marquess of Grisdale, and perhaps both of my parents would still be alive. My rebellion had cost them everything, and I would make damn sure it wasn’t in vain.

My pirating career would not end in a whimper on the gallows.

The gown, the modest braid, and my delicate hand upon his lordship’s elbow were but small steps to freedom. If I embarrassed the commodore in front of his soldiers, I would lose the progress I’d made toward warming more than his bed.

I needed to melt the ice around his heart. So I behaved myself as he guided me through the upper and middle gundecks—I would return to

inspect those guns on my own time—the galley, and the infirmary. Somewhere near the stern beneath his quarters, he opened the door to an elegant cabin occupied primarily by a large table.

The wardroom.

Access to this space was restricted to only warrant officers. Its purpose was to provide a private place for high-ranked men to socialize, dine, and conduct business during wartime.

From what I understood, the topic of women—not to mention the presence of one—was strictly prohibited within its walls. So when Ashley invited me across the threshold, I thrilled at the idea of him breaking a sacred rule.

Perhaps there was a little rebellion in him after all.

Several lieutenants sat around the table, which was long enough to serve a dozen officers. Ashley stepped in ahead of me, and all conversations ended. Everyone rose to their feet, clapped up their hands to their hats, and bowed.

“At ease, Lieutenants.” He pulled his elbow forward, bringing me with him through the narrow space.

The scent of tobacco and rum sweltered in the humid air. Sunlit windows veneered one wall. Shelves of alcohol, silver serving platters, books, and navigational equipment lined the other.

As he led me past the officers, none of them glanced at me. But their body language, stiff and unwelcoming, threw the entire cabin into a state of brooding dissatisfaction.

Ashley gave their attitudes no acknowledgment.

Arriving at the bulkhead at the far end, he stopped at a small table and poured a cup of tea for himself. He didn’t serve me, but I wasn’t interested. My complete attention fixated on the sheets of printed paper covering the aft wall.

Each page highlighted a different pirate. Some had sketches of faces and designs of their personal flags. All of them were titled by name.

The first print depicted me. My name. My relationships with Edric Sharp and Charles Vane. No mention of Priest. No sketches or descriptions of my image. And no flag, for I never cared to hoist my own. But the page contained some intelligence about where I’d been and the ships I’d attacked over the past few years.

There were fallacies in the report, but most of it was horribly precise.

Even more harrowing was the sheet that hung beside mine. This one with a picture.

The “Feral” Priest Farrell.

The representation of his features had been drawn by someone who knew exactly what he looked like. The artist had captured every gorgeous detail, down to the shading of his whiskers, the braids and beads woven through his hair, and the look he wore on his face. The accuracy of those sketched eyes staring back at me, the fearlessness and savage intensity in them, made my heart squeeze.

I tipped my head, angling the brim of the hat to hide my face. Then I quickly scanned his report for my name. Not finding it, I jerked my gaze away.

A dozen of the most notorious pirate captains covered the wall. I knew every name and had met half of them. But the sketches of the ones I’d encountered in person hadn’t been drawn with the same impeccable care as the picture of Priest.

Anger ignited beneath my skin and clenched my fingers. I wanted to knock Priest into a cocked hat for being so heedless with his identity. Knowing him, he’d probably posed for that drawing.

The arrogant twat was going to get himself captured. Then I would have to rescue him. After he rescued me, of course.

“You know these rogues.” Ashley sipped his tea, studying me over the porcelain rim.

Every officer in the cabin stilled, awaiting my response.

Well, now I knew why he’d invited me in here. He wanted me to take a long look at these prints of the bad and the worse and help him hunt his prey.

Heat rose to my face, burning my cheeks anew. My chest heaved with indignation, and it took everything I had to control my temper.

Yes, this was Ashley’s career, his duty as a pirate hunter, which he put above and beyond all else. But I would never aid him in the mass capture and murder of my kind. Not even for a pardon. It went against everything I was.

After spending four days with me, he should have gleaned that much. “Everyone out.” He set down the cup, never taking his eyes off me.

The cabin vacated. The door shut behind the last lieutenant. Then we were alone.

“You stared at this one the longest.” He tapped the sketch of Priest. “He has a dissolute reputation with women. Have you bedded him?”

“Hasn’t everyone?” A hollow thud erupted in my ears. “They call him the king of libertines.”

“Yes, and you mentioned a libertine the other night.”

Me and my big mouth.

He grabbed my arse cruelly through the skirt, wedging invasive fingers into the divide between my cheeks. “Was he the one who took you here?”

A defensive posture and adamant denial would’ve given away my true feelings for Priest. So I loosened my stance and tossed out the answer he would expect from a pirate whore.

“Yes.” I twisted the corner of my mouth into a devious half-smile. “Jealous?”

“How many times?”

“You want a number? Like an actual count?” I blew out a breath, making a splattering noise between my lips. “I don’t know, Ashley. It was a very long night, and he had an insatiable staff that stood near as tall as the mainmast. So if I’m counting strokes, do I include every position, fore and aft and—”

“It was just one night?”

I saw the writing all over the wall. He was fishing, hunting for clues about his target. How well did I know the infamous Priest Farrell? Well enough to provide a list of weaknesses, habits, favorite ports, and haunts?

Why yes, I knew him better than anyone. And I just so happened to be wearing his shirt. Because I loved the traitorous bastard.

Unfortunately for me, I would choose endless torture and certain death before I ousted him.

“That feral pirate never beds the same woman twice.” I shrugged carelessly and moved away from Ashley’s grip on my backside. “I was lucky enough to have him all to myself for an entire night.”

I’d had him for a year. Sadly, during my time with him, I hadn’t truly had him to myself.

“Where is he now?”

“That depends.” I stretched my mouth into a yawn. “On?”

“Is he your next target?” “Yes.”

“If you go after him, what happens to me and the forty pirates in your hold?”

“You’re free to roam the ship, and I’ll arrange limited exercise and fresh air for the others. They won’t perish if I extend the voyage a little longer.”

Perfect.

“Hm.” I folded my arms across my chest and tapped my lips, toying with him.

“You’re trying my patience, woman.”

“Fine. If I tell you what I know, what do I get in return?” “I can’t grant you a pardon.”

In 1717, King George issued a proclamation that granted a full pardon to pirates who surrendered themselves to any governor in the colonies. I hadn’t wanted it then. I hadn’t wanted it when the king reissued his pardon in 1718. And now, three years later, the opportunity was gone.

Well, fair riddance. I would hang myself before I traded my vivacious livelihood for a spiritless existence of conformity.

“For your assistance in this matter, you shall receive a reward.” He pointed at one of the royal proclamations on the wall.

Persons who willfully and obstinately persist in their piracies, robberies, and outrageous practices shall be pursued with the utmost severity, and with the greatest rigor that may be, until they and all of them be utterly suppressed and destroyed.

If any person shall discover any other person concerned in the said heinous offenses, above mentioned, so that he or they may be apprehended and brought to justice, such discoverer shall have and receive the sum of one-hundred pounds.

The decree went on to state that pirates themselves would be awarded two-hundred pounds for turning in their own captains.

That amount of coin would provide a luxurious retirement in the West Indies. Yet none of my crewmates had been tempted. If and when I escaped Lord Cutler and recovered my compass, I would find my father’s treasure and reward my men for their loyalty.

Until then…

“God save the king,” I said dryly. “Tell me about His Majesty’s reward.

Shall I receive it before or after I hang?”

He slowly released a breath. “What do you want?”

The smile I concealed between my teeth made me tremble. I was going to send him on a wild chase, thereby delaying the journey to England and allowing myself more time to turn his heart. I couldn’t have asked for a better boon.

“I’ll assist you in this hunt, in exchange for a kiss.” I met his dark blue eyes. “It must be equally as passionate as the first one. But this time, you’ll give me unrestricted access to touch you anywhere I please.”

His pupils flared so wide I saw the reflection of my unbidden smirk in them. A muscle feathered in his hard jaw, and his cravat twitched over the straining sinews in his neck.

Oh, what I wouldn’t give to hear the thoughts churning in that gorgeous head.

“I agree to your terms.” Miraculously, his voice retained its unruffled smoothness. “Tell me what you know.”

“The king of libertines leases a room in New Providence. He resides in a brothel called the Garden.”

That had been true three years ago when I’d met him. Whether he’d returned to visit his pretty naked flowers during our separation was anyone’s guess. What I did know was that he wasn’t there now.

“Nassau.” Ashley’s lips thinned. “Pirate haven.”

It was about a week’s voyage away. Considerably closer than England. From his perspective, if he turned the ship about now, he wouldn’t be backtracking too terribly far.

“What are the chances he’s there?” he asked.

“Who knows? But his doxies adore him and keep careful records of his comings and goings. I’m certain, if you licked their middle parts with the utmost severity and the greatest rigor that may be, you could coax them into sharing their innermost secrets.”

He narrowed his eyes. “You seem to know a lot about this libertine for having spent only one night with him. A night that, by your account, wasn’t given to conversation.”

“Quite true. Due to all the unnatural sexual relations.” I grinned, trying to raze his stiff demeanor.

He didn’t blink an eyelash. “Tell me how you really know Priest Farrell.”

This was the tricky part, and I would need to tread carefully. “My quartermaster is Reynolds Farrell.”

“Another Farrell?” “Half-brother.”

His head jerked back, his eyes round with disbelief.

“I thought you knew everything, Commodore.” I took advantage of his shock and hooked a finger into the front closure of his waistcoat, relishing the pocket of body heat beneath. “Priest has a gaggle of half-blood relations.”

“This brother, your quartermaster…” He gripped my wrist but didn’t push it away. “Are they close?”

“They despise each other. But Reynolds keeps up with him.” “When was the last time you saw Priest Farrell?”

“The night I spent with him. So that was…” I let my focus blur as if pondering the question at length. “Two years ago.”

“Thank you for the information.” He lifted my hand and softly kissed my fingers, lingering with the barest touch.

Every iota of my being gravitated toward that beautiful mouth. But distrust kept me rooted.

His warm, masculine scent surrounded me, his hand firm around mine as he regarded me closely.

The rich red waistcoat and blue frock with gold embellishments, chiseled countenance, and physique worthy of envy—he was the paragon of English nobility.

Until he licked my fingers.

His tongue, firm and hot, dipped into the valley between my knuckles, conjuring images of another slit he could have been laving with the same delectable pressure.

“You’re beautiful, Bennett.” His sensual blue eyes jumped to mine and blinked. “I’ve never said those words to a woman. Never thought to say them until I saw you.”

A sound rose in my throat, one of startled disbelief and abject need. His kisses traveled to my thumb, and he wrapped his supple lips fully around it. I fell into paradise with my mouth open.

His free hand clutched my head beneath the rim of the hat, and he pulled me into him, trapping my knuckle with his teeth. He didn’t bite, but he looked as though he wanted to desperately.

He owed me a real kiss, and his hooded eyes told me he was thinking of it. Loosening the clamp of his jaw, he released my thumb. His face drifted closer, his head ducking until his hat bumped mine.

The hand on my head began a slow caress, firm fingers stroking the base of my braid, holding me still, making me wait with shortening breaths. He erased another inch until nothing remained but his mouth and his strength restraining me so close, so exquisitely captive.

His gaze flitted to my lips, adding extra beats to my heart. Then his eyes drifted over my shoulder, snagging on the wall behind me.

I knew exactly where his focus went. I felt Priest’s sketched eyes staring at my back. He didn’t even need to be present to control my life and everyone in it.

“Ashley.” I touched his stony jaw.

His gaze remained locked behind me. I’d already lost him, the moment between us gone, in lieu of a new target, another pirate to catch. Of course, he would choose duty over me.

“Time for you to leave.” He clutched my arm and ushered me toward the exit.

I dug in my heels. “Wait a sec—” “Do as I command and make haste.” “You owe me for that information.”

“I agreed to a kiss. Not a time or place.”

“You’re evil.” I jerked my arm from his grip. “Far more wicked than any man on that wall.”

“Perhaps you should learn how to negotiate.” He slammed a hand into my backside, sending me along. “Go.”

“No—”

His fingers closed around my neck, and he yanked my mouth to his, stopping just before our lips touched. “Don’t ever tell me no.”

He opened the door and shoved me huffing and seething into the companionway.

His personal guard, Sergeant Smithley, waited just outside, showing no reaction.

“Gather the lieutenants, Sergeant.” Ashley straightened his frock, his expression void of emotion. “We have another pirate to collect.”

“Yes, my lord.”

The Sergeant departed, and the door shut in my face, leaving me alone in the passageway with thoughts of violence.

The depraved pirate in me wanted to storm through the ship and stir up havoc from stem to stern. At the very least, I wanted to toss weaponry over the bow, cut all the ratlines, and piss on the king’s flags.

But all that would get me would be a ticket back to the hold. An impatient temper certainly wouldn’t win favors with Ashley.

So I went for a stroll and iced my anger. First stop… The gundecks.

Hammocks slung above the guns on all three decks. Senior officers probably had small cabins of their own, but the majority of the crew slept here. It was also where they ate. Tables hung from the beams of the deck above, making the most of the confined, airless, overcrowded space.

Running my fingers along the snouts of the bronze beasts that crouched along either side, I imagined their mighty booms as they spat thirty-two- pounders at enemy ships. Galleons like Jade. But she would never again sail into the sights of these guns. I trusted Reynolds to hide and protect her and my crew.

As I continued to roam, vigilant eyes tracked my every step. None looked pointedly at me. But there was always someone on my stern or at my beam, following orders. Ashley’s orders. It was apparent he’d charged a retinue of men to watch over the wandering prisoner.

I was standing at the rail of the quarterdeck an hour later when Ashley turned the ship around.

Overhead, cables and tackle clattered as rigging lines were hauled. Canvas slowly turned, and HMS Blitz swung into the wind, angling for a wide arc.

Plumes of frothy spray flung from beam to beam as she came about, her towering masts heeling out over the sea on a starboard tack. Timbers creaked and shivered. The deck canted, and I braced my legs as her massive hull smashed through the waves.

I missed Jade. I missed my compass, Reynolds and Jobah, my trousers, and so many things. But God’s teeth, I lived for this. The beat of the sailcloth in the wind, the salty scent of the ocean, the mist of spume upon my face and sleeves… The incomparable unity of the senses.

Squinting through the blinding sunlight, I scanned the decks for Ashley, but I already knew he wasn’t topside. I couldn’t feel him.

Strange how I had that faculty of perception with a man I’d only known a few days. Yet whenever he neared, I became unmistakably conscious of his presence as if my entire body was attuned to him.

There was only one other man who had that effect on me.

The distant horizon drew my gaze, the sun high over the yard-arm.

There were no ships in sight. No signs of Priest.

Changing our route wouldn’t throw off his pursuit. If anything, it would make it easier for him to find me, for I was leading Ashley into the busiest port in the West Indies. And it just so happened to be in the vicinity of Harbour Island, where I’d sent Reynolds to hide Jade.

In full suits of sail, HMS Blitz set a northerly course to New Providence, riding easy on a south-southwest wind.

I had a week.

One week to corrupt the lord of propriety and reunite with my ship.