Paid to the Pirate by Una Rohr

Chapter 5

Colt

She took her sweet time gathering her belongings. If I hadn’t men posted at the base of the stairs and outside her window, I’d have thought she intended to give us the slip.

I knew from experience how good she could be at escaping notice.

But then why had she sauntered into the room as if wanting to get caught?

I told Johnson to ensure the crew obeyed orders -- no one but myself was to engage Charlotte. No questions, no accusations, no probing of the past. She’d floated into the room like a goddamn ghost and they were going to treat her as such until I got to the bottom of her lies.

I had a plan. I had it under control.

Which was my lie, but they’d never know. The important message to convey was that anyone stepping out of line would face my wrath.

Near a half-hour later, Charlotte descended the stairs like a bloody duchess, shoulders squared and chin jutting stubbornly. Her face, however, was the pale of death, and I caught the quiver of her lower lip. She was scared.

Good.

I’d instructed the crew to keep their distance. I didn’t know who had the best or worst intentions for Miss Charlotte, as she apparently called herself, and I wanted ample space to sort out whether or not my own intentions ran more on the side of protection… or punishment. More than once my fingers dug into my thighs, itching to encircle her neck and squeeze.

Unsure whether or not I had my impulses under control, I temporarily kept my distance as well.

Surrounded by my men, Charlotte had no choice but to be led into the jolly boat and deposited securely in the middle bench. Head high, she faced The Dread Night, anchored safely in the bay and guarded by the remainder of the crew. I sat at the stern, watching the waves and wind sweep strands of honeyed curls from her pins and sending them in disarray down her neck. She tried to reassemble them -- she actually tried to tidy her hair as I rowed her to her doom. I didn’t know whether to laugh or to throttle her.

Hair pins would be the least of her concerns when I was through with her.

Though they obeyed my orders not to engage Charlotte, I could see the crew’s curious eyes steal glances as we rowed, and once we boarded The Dread Night, whispers ran from man-to-man.

In the brief moment I took to silence them with a stern look, Charlotte dared to wrest command by wheeling to face me, eyes blazing and speaking first.

“I demand to know what it is you want from me,” she declared with her pouty pink lip jutting.

Unbelievable. She spoke as if she didn’t already know. She spoke as if she wasn’t practically asking me to firmly put her in her place in front of my crew.

Well, then. I’d oblige. With pleasure.

“I think we’re going to be wanting a lot from you.” I paused, letting her mind race with the implication. “But we’ll start with that preposterous dress. Hold her,” I ordered. A quick jut of my chin in the direction of Robert and James and both men eagerly grabbed Charlotte’s arms as I stalked forward.

She dropped the indignant lady act when I withdrew my dirk from its scabbard and held the glistening tip close to her rounded eyes. She knew the damage I could do with it. Perhaps her mind flashed back to all those men I’d gutted with the same blade. The rise and fall of her chest told me she wasn’t sure I wouldn’t gut her, as well.

Good.

She’d certainly earned it.

Slowly, I dragged the flat side of the blade down the column of her neck. I smiled as her rapid breathing grew even shorter when the knife crossed the expanse of flesh exposed by the gown’s low cut and headed toward her breasts.

What did it mean that she still wore the locket?

I blinked at the golden oval dangling low on her chest, before shaking my head to clear it.

Using one hand, I grasped the top of her dress to hold it taut and was rewarded by her small squeal. With a quick swipe downward, I used the dirk to cut the ties on her bodice. The tear would decrease the gown’s value at our next port, but it was worth it for the fear in her eyes.

Stepping back, I said, “You can remove the rest yourself or we can do it for you.”

I not only wanted her stripped in front of my men, I needed it.

There could be no questioning my authority on my ship and my intent to make her pay. I’d have had no qualms about removing every thread of clothing on her body and marching her fully naked to my cabin, but for some who might find it distasteful. And it was only for those who might sympathize that I showed restraint. For soft old men like Conks, who’d grown protective of her.

Looking around in wide-eyed fright, Charlotte’s trembling fingers reached for the top of her dress and she pushed it downward from her torso, revealing the pristine white chemise beneath.

“All the way,” I commanded. “And step out. You won’t need it anymore.”

“You’re vile,” she swore between clenched teeth, as if she’d expected mercy. As if she expected to be served tea for drinking and feathered pillows for sleeping, like a guest upon a galleon.

I wasn’t sure what game she played, but I wouldn’t be deterred. Charlotte took her time as she lowered the dress to a puddle around her and delicately stepped from the garment.

“I hope you meet the devil in hell when you die,” she declared, wrapping her arms around her torso. “And I hope it’s soon.”

I barked a laugh. There was the saucy Charlotte I remembered, underneath this lady act.

“Perhaps I will, Miss Charlotte, was it?”

I could play this game just as well as she could. I could outplay her.

“But not before you. I’ll remind you I’m the devil on this ship.” Roughly, I grabbed her by the hair, yanking her head back. “And I’m about to show you hell.”