Page 67 of The Summons


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At first she nodded, no doubt pleased with his charity, but then she released a heavy sigh. “Such ambitious plans, Captain.”

They moved on to view two paintings by Diego Velázquez. Silence spanned between them as she examined the portrait of a young Spanish princess,Infanta Margarit Teresa in a Blue Dress.

“I will admit you surprise me, Captain. I have never met a pirate with the taste of a nobleman.”

“A compliment?” Blake laid a hand on his heart. “I find myself quite taken aback.”

“Even more surprising”—she shot an angry look his way—“is that you expect your prisoner to regale you withsaidcompliments.”

He smiled, longing to touch one of her curls. “Honestly, I do not think of you as such.”

She frowned. “Then what am I doing here?”

He fingered the Ring, and against every desire within him, answered her, “Teach me to control the demons from this Ring, and I will set you free.”

b

Emeline had already informed him that demons only fled in the presence of God’s Holy Spirit. “As I have said, ’tis not me, Captain, who chases evil away. You speak of power. The ultimate power comes from the Almighty and presides in those who trust His Son. That is where real power in this life lies. Not in ruling your own kingdom.”

“Hmm.” He glanced back at the painting, seemingly unfazed by her homily. “’Tis not been my experience.”

“It could be, should you wish it.”

He lifted his hand toward her as if he intended to caress her cheek yet again, then dropped it. “Are you trying to convert me, my little missionary?”

“Nay, I’m trying to save you.”

One brow arched. “It appears, however, ’tis you who needs saving at the moment.”

She could not deny it. Though she could not resist adding, “Appearances can be deceiving, Captain.”

At this he smiled. The banter between them, while tense at times, she found oddly enjoyable. The man was not dull by any means. He had an intelligence about him, a sharp mind and quick wit.

When he was sober, that was, and not angry.

He walked ahead of her to another painting of a tall ship amidst a raging storm at sea, and she took the opportunity to study him. He looked every bit the pirate captain with his tight breeches stuffed in Hessian boots, his embroidered leather jerkin covering a white cambric shirt, open at the collar where his necklaces hung. The ever-present cutlass at his hip swung as he walked. Today, he had tied his dark wavy hair behind him, while matching stubble lined his jaw and perched upon his lips in a thin mustache. But ’twas those eyes that mesmerized her—that had mesmerized her from the first time he looked at her on Nassau—almond-shaped and much like the stormy sea in the painting he gazed upon, turbulent and restless.

He caught her staring at him and smiled, not the smile of a pirate, nor a kidnapper, but the smile of a courtier, a gentleman toward his lady. Their eyes locked for several moments, and she wondered if he could indeed become the hero she so desired.

Later at dinner, as she sat around the table with his crew and staff and watched him drown himself in rum and curse as well as any of them, she withdrew her former question. What was wrong with her to even consider such a thing? For some reason unbeknownst to her, he had her emotions in a spin. Surely she was the silliest of all women to ever think anything honorable existed in such a man who thought naught of stealing from others and kidnapping women.

A truth that further came crashing down upon her when he burst into her bedchamber hours later, deep in his cups, and demanding she play the violin for him. He wore naught but his breeches, and despite the moonlight drifting in through the window landing on his powerful chest, reminding her he could crush her with one blow, she denied him.

“Find someone else to play. I’m tired.”

He drew close, halting just inches from where she sat on her bed. The smell of rum and spice and Blake surrounded her. His heavy breaths filled the air. He was a panther on the prowl, a man accustomed to getting what he wanted. She was a fool to deny him.

“Youwillplay for me, Miss, or I fear I will have to remain in your chamber with you all night.”

“To what purpose?” Her voice quivered.

“Let us not find out.” His tone was not threatening, but rather one of desperation.

Still, the threat remained. The one that reminded her she was naught but a prisoner in this crazed pirate’s dream of power.

So, she played for him as he sat in a chair, his head leaning against the cushioned back. A single lantern revealed a face that at first looked tortured but now relaxed into an almost peaceful repose.

Perhaps the Ring did summon demons, as the myth implied. Or rather it called forth demons already at work within this man. Regardless, she could hardly spend the rest of her nights in his bedchamber. Either he must get rid of the vile Ring or give his life to God. Unfortunately, she saw neither as a possibility.