Floating on her back and staring at the sky, she thought of James from the Jamaican orphanage. He was like Devon, so exuberant, so resilient, as wild and natural as the gulls flying over the ocean. Claire clung to the hope of someday having her own child. She couldn’t help herself. She wanted that. Deep down, she knew she’d be good at being a mother. That hope swept further and further away. Her fantasies revolved around Devon. What he did to her. How he made her feel. Her stomach tightened, his hands sliding down her back. Her hand flew to her breast.
She must stop this madness. She must guard her heart. To bring Devon’s child into the world would be disastrous. He remained a wanted man, more-so as his reputation grew, and the Crowns of Europe amassed a high reward for his capture. Claire closed her eyes, refusing to imagine the horrible execution awaiting him. Devon would be hunted down. In no way would she allow her child to experience the crushing weight of abandonment that weighed heavily on her shoulders. To even entertain the remotest possibility of filling that void inside her with Devon would be a journey down a landscape of illusion. How would she explain to her child, his father was hung in a gibbet for the crows to feast?
After her swim, she visited her new friend, Jenny, her pregnancy progressed with no sign of labor. The poor girl had stubbed her toe and sat to nurse the pain. Claire hauled water and did other chores, insisting Jenny rest.
She walked back to Devon’s house. The trade-winds shifted, veering a towering dark mass from the leeward side of the island, shadowing her. Claire glanced at the ominous cloud, shrugging her indifference to a brewing inner turmoil swirling through her conscious mind. The tortured thoughts she tried so hard to repress always came to the same conclusion−Devon.
Another ship had anchored in the harbor, but Claire was too consumed with her thoughts to give it much notice. She sighed. When Devon finished with repairs, she’d insist on him taking her to another port.
“Claire!” Lily burst from behind.
Claire whirled, her cousin reduced to shambles, her hair disordered, and her parchment pale face brightened with tears in her terrified eyes. “What happened?”
Lily floundered in misery. “Robert went to Captain Blackmon and asked him if he could sail out to get a minister. Captain Blackmon said no and outright forbade our marriage. I was to go to England with you, and it would be settled in a fortnight.”
Claire reeled from his flat out rejection. “Why would Devon refuse you?”
“I don’t know. He gave no reason at all. Robert is as devastated as me. However he is loyal to Captain Blackmon and will not go against his command. I found someone to love, and he loves me, and we are to be ripped apart and left heartbroken,” Lily wailed and clung to Claire.
Claire’s temper soared. “Of all the unfair, unprincipled, callous−I will take care of this. Now dry your eyes, and don’t give it another thought. This will be resolved immediately.”
Claire dug her heels into the path, intending to hunt Devon down even if it took her to the far corners of the earth. Upon entering the house, Devon’s voice rumbled in the library, apparently he was having a meeting with one of his crew. A goliath with a black patch over his eye guarded the library door. She looked up until her neck had a crick in it. Was this Jenny’s husband, the famed Wolf? His arms were crossed in front of him in a clear statement that suggested no one was allowed to enter. If only she had the strength of ten men to toss him out of the way. She frowned. Even that idea was doubtful. How would she ever get around him?
“Mr. Wolf, I just visited your wife. She is in pain,” Claire bit her lip, altering the facts that implied his wife was in labor never revealing she had a stubbed toe. The giant blinked and flew out the door.
Without knocking, she sailed into the library, Devon in her sights, and oblivious to a visitor seated in a high back chair.
“Of all the low, despicable wretched decisions you have made, this has got to be the worst. Why have you denied Lily and Robert to marry?”
“That is an affair I will not discuss now.” His tone incensed her further.
Claire plunked herself in front of his desk. “When will his lordship, the mighty Black Devil condescend to discuss this affair?”
“I am busy and will address it at my convenience.”
“Convenience! You arrogant, proud, preening peacock. We will discuss−” Devon’s attention stayed focused behind her. Hairs on Claire’s neck stood up.
“Captain Blackmon. She is a beauty in a fit of rage. How could I forget? I see you have kept her captive. Not for ransom? Perhaps a liaison?”
That voice. She whirled. “Captain Le Trompeur. What are you doing here?”
“You are not happy to see me?” He sat suavely in his chair, his lewd gaze traveled over her face and body.
Claire’s anger evaporated. A cold knot formed in her stomach. Did the air change? She couldn’t breathe. She glanced uncertainly at Devon, his face a mask of stone. The muscles on his forearm hardened beneath his sleeve. A chill black silence enveloped the room. An undercurrent lay heavy and palpable between the two men.
Le Trompeur broke the silence. “I have come on a mission of diplomacy. To end our enmity and strike our partnership anew. I paid my half of theSanta Lugain which I was absently remiss. In good faith, I begged pardon of Captain Blackmon.” He flashed a lecherous smile.
She stiffened. “I will return later, Devon-I mean Captain Blackmon.” Too late, her mistake. Her familiarity with Devon picked up by Le Trompeur. His ferret eyes missed nothing.
“No, Mademoiselle. I insist you stay and charm us with your presence.” He leaped from his chair, his movements like the lithe strength of a panther. He took her hand, pressing it to his lips. “It is too bad Mademoiselle, we did not sail together. Perhaps another time?”
Claire jerked her hand away and shuddered, the blackness of his eyes masked the souls of a hundred demons. “That is doubtful, sir.”
“Perhaps in the future we will spend some time together, Mademoiselle?” He laughed his challenge. A trapdoor opened in the floor of her stomach.
Devon stepped between them. “That will be all, Le Trompeur. The lady will be put at an English port to sail to England.” They exchanged polite smiles. “Women make you stupid, Le Trompeur, a flaw in your nature.”
“Well met, my friend. With the Captain’s permission, I beg to do repairs for four weeks.”
