“Then Logan takes you!” she exclaimed.
The anger faded from his eyes and a slow smile touched his lips. “Will you care then, love? You were waiting to attend my hanging, remember? What difference will it make? Alas, you won’t get to witness the deed, but the end result will be the same.”
“Don’t!” Skye murmured.
“Don’t what, milady?”
Skye didn’t reply. She shook her head and backed against the far wall herself, staring at him. He could not die! And she could not trust herself to speak. She lowered her head, swallowing tightly against the tears that burned hotly behind her eyes. She looked about the room. Sand dusted the floor; there was a plain wooden table with a single candle in a brass holder and two rickety chairs beneath it, and against the far wall was a bed of straw with a gray blanket thrown haphazardly upon it.
“Elegant accommodations,” Roc murmured with a certain humor, “but the best that Blackbeard has to offer, I’m afraid. He’s a man who falls in love often enough; he’s glad to give us the night.”
She didn’t respond to his words but jumped back up and pushed away from wall and came to kneel down before him. “This is insane! What are you doing? We must escape from here somehow!”
“We?” He arched both brows. She wasn’t a foot away from him. Her hair trailed in sunset tendrils over her shoulders and her breasts pushed against the fabric of her bodice and her eyes were earnest and sparkling with emotion. He longed to touch her, but he did not. He allowed his hands to dangle idly over his kneecaps. “We? My love, there is no need for you to escape. Your safety is guaranteed. In certain matters, there is no man you can trust so thoroughly as a rogue such as Blackbeard.”
“I can’t go back without you!”
“Why ever not? You’ll miss a hanging, of course, but you’ll live anyway, I’m sure.”
“Stop it! Stop being so—nonchalant!”
“What would you have me be?”
“Concerned! Sir, you are to die!”
He sighed deeply. The temptation was too great. He reached out and fingered one of the silky soft curls. Not even the seawater could damage the softness of her hair.
She did not wrench away from him. He went further, and stroked his knuckles over her cheek. “Will you care?” he asked her softly. “This morning you were anxious to see me boiled in oil! Skinned alive. Ah, yes, that is what Logan promised, I think, if I did not lead him to the treasure.”
“And there is no treasure!” she said desperately.
“What makes you so sure?”
“I was there the day you killed Jack!”
“Ah, yes, of course. Thank God Logan wasn’t about,” he muttered.
“Then there is no treasure!”
He shrugged. “Oh, there is a treasure. There really was aDoña Isabellathat sailed out of Cartagena, and it was supposedly laden with a new cache of Indian gold. And rumor has it that Jack did seize her, steal the cargo, and scuttle the ship. The treasure is supposedly buried somewhere.”
“But you haven’t the faintest idea of where!” Skye moaned.
He was still smiling at her. Smiling ridiculously. There was sensual silver laughter and tenderness in his eyes; his touch against her was gentle and provocative. His fingertips just moved across her flesh. She wanted to hold him, to cling to him. He had lied to her, he had used her, he had made a fool of her, and he was leading a despicable life, but she loved him. She could fight it; she could deny her heart. But she could not change the emotion deep inside.
“You do care!” he whispered.
“I don’t—”
“You do!” he insisted, and then his touch was not so light as he reached out, sweeping her hard and full into his arms. He kissed her again, but this kiss was no hard seizure as it had been outside; this kiss was fierce and demanding but infinitely tender. His lips fell upon her with consuming desire, his tongue teased her mouth, grazed her teeth, sought deep, honeyed recesses. He held her with tenderness, too. His arms were ever ardent, but gentle. His hand cupped her cheek, his fingers trailed her throat as he held her to his kiss. His hands molded her breast, and her waist, and then he broke away, gasping for breath, holding her close. He did love her, too, she thought. He was a rogue, a terror. Demanding, autocratic as the pirate, and as the lord, but his will was fierce and could not be broken, only altered by his own choice, and perhaps, just perhaps, gentled by love.
His eyes probed hers feverishly. “Youdocare!” he repeated.
She moistened her lips, lowering her lashes. She only dared whisper so much upon this occasion. “If I am with child, sir, I’d just as soon he have a living sire.”
His smile deepened. “Ah. So that is why you have not betrayed me!”
“Betrayed you?” She lay against his arm, grateful for the curious moment of peace.
