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There was a hesitation, and then one of the men stepped out. The same one who'd laid hands on Cecilia and hustled her into the cabin. "Josiah," Liam said, with a nod. "State your business."
"Captain," the man said. He had a low voice, a little rough, and he sounded firm but nervous. "The boys, we're in agreement. No more delays. This place, it's bewitched. We need clear sea air." Josiah's throat worked uncomfortably, and he sent a glance to a tall, thin, gawky man standing near him—a sharp, strong face, big eyes—who gave an encouraging nod. "You know it's true, sir. The men will go mad in this place. Best we put the witch over the side, like we done before, and—"
Liam, quick as a striking snake, put a cutlass at Josiah's throat, the point just tickling his Adam's apple. There was a collective intake of breath. Josiah didn't move.
"You're talking about my wife, Josiah Walker," Liam said softly. "Best think again, and well, before you continue."
Josiah clearly realized there was no good coming of that particular course, so he changed the conversational tack. "We'll not allow these mincing whoresons you call modern men to wander our ship and mock us, no matter what the excuse. We've had enough. Sir."
Liam lowered the sword and delivered a hard blow across Josiah's face, sending the man reeling into the arms of the other men in the doorway. "Have you," he almost hissed. "So have I. I wouldn't wish any of you on the modern world. You're a disgrace to the mothers who bore you."
Walker squared his shoulders and raised his chin, almost daring Liam to take another swing at it. "Been said before, sir. I'm sorry I called your woman a witch, but she brought us to this. And she has to go if we aim to live as we should. She's done her work—broke the curse—and that's done with her, aye?"
Walker's voice rose in a half question. He was nearly pleading, but his stare was still hard and direct, and Liam's was in no way softer.
"No," he said. It was almost a purr, deep in his throat. "And you put your hands on my woman under the penalty of a death you'd not wish on a rabid dog. Are we clear, Mr. Walker?"
Neither of them blinked. The other sailors murmured and jostled; Cecilia, heart pounding, palms sweating, faint of breath, could hear the tone of it rising, turning darker again. Liam had set them back on their heels for a while, but he was losing it quickly, and it was all because of her.
"Wait," Cecilia blurted, and stepped out of her shadows. To her surprise, they did; all of the mutineers, even Josiah Walker, paused in midmutter to shift their attention to her. "It's our honeymoon. You wouldn't kill me on the day of my wedding, would you?"
Walker frowned. Another man leaned in to say, "The wench has a point. That would be bad luck."
"Worse than having a woman on board?" Walker snorted. "This woman?"
Cecilia took a deep breath and plunged. "What if Captain Lockhart agrees to take the ship out for a period of—oh, I don't know, a month? Call it a honeymoon cruise. Then you put us back ashore, and go on about your business, if you still feel the same way. And we forget about the reception. I'll promise to keep out of your way." She gave them all a sudden grin. "Not that I expect you'll see either me or your captain much."
That woke a deep rumble of appreciative chuckling from the crew. Even Walker was forced into a slightly less vexed expression. "Well," he allowed, "that might do. Might do."
Liam deliberately relaxed, banishing his anger with an effort of sheer will. "Then as long as you all clear my cabin and let me get about the job of welcoming my new bride, you're all free to set sail, or to dive to Davy Jones for all I care."
A relieved sigh went through the men, and through Argyle as well. He'd been prepared to back Liam's play, of course, but Cecilia could see that defying the crew would have gone against his better judgment.
Liam turned toward Cecilia, just for a second, eyes burning into hers, and she forced a slight smile. He lifted her hands to his lips and kissed them. "Forgive me for leaving you," he said. "I'll be back as soon as I can."
And they all filed out, leaving her alone in the captain's cabin. After fidgeting for a while, Cecilia turned to the corner where Liam's hammock normally swayed. It was gone.
In its place was a luxurious feather bed, pristine and white, covered with fragrant red rose petals.
"Oh," she whispered, and tears stung her eyes. "Oh, Liam." It was a lovely thing.
She stretched out on it, feeling cold and lonely, listening to the thump of the crew's footsteps above her.
I should have brought a book, she thought.
Well, it was her honeymoon. Who'd have thought she'd need one?
SHE WOKE UP TO A RATTLE AT THE door, and it banged open to admit a man almost hidden beneath a massive silver tray, loaded down with an elaborate tea service. He staggered under the strain and expertly found his balance when the ship rocked and tilted.
When he lowered it, Cecilia was surprised to see it was Liam, and he was smiling.
"Good morning, love. We're well under way." Liam poured a cup of tea, added milk and sugar in the measures he already knew she liked, and handed over the delicate china. She sat on the edge of the bed and listened, nodding occasionally, as he told her details about where they were nautically in the world, what his plans were for the voyage, and all she could really understand of it was the light in his eyes, the lilt of pleasure in his voice. Although she loved seeing that in him, it also made her horribly uncertain. I'm not good for him. This is what's good for him. If I take him away from this… Maybe the crew was right. Maybe the best thing would have been to slip quietly away in Boston and let them go on without her.
Liam stopped talking and put his cup aside. She glanced down at her own and was surprised to find it empty; she'd sipped it without even noticing the taste, although she'd always enjoyed cream tea.
When she looked up, he was standing in front of her, and he reached down to take the china from her fingers and place it carefully back on the tray. "Biscuit?" he asked, with the blandest possible tone. There were cookies on the tray. Oreos, her favorite. She nearly laughed out loud.
"No, thank you," she said. "Liam—"
He didn't waste time with another polite question, and before she could finish the sentence, he was next to her, capturing her lips with his. The kiss was a fierce, lovely thing, far different from the gentle one he'd given her at the wedding; this was a pirate's kiss, demanding surrender, and she felt her entire body give a joyous answer. When he let her up for breath, it was like rising lazily from a deep, skin-warm sea. She wanted to dive right back in.
Liam pulled back, and Cecilia shivered in response to the look on his face. She'd never had anybody stare at her in quite that way—and then a rush of heat flared up from her toes to melt her into a liquid, gorgeously decadent feeling of utter abandon. Oh.
Cecilia pushed him back onto the bed, then stood up and slowly unbuttoned her white shirt. It slipped off her shoulders and fluttered to the carpets, leaving only the fragile lace bra. The blue jeans were just as easy. Liam's breath left him in a rush.
"Permission to come aboard, sir," she said, and sat astride him. It was a long, damp, aching kiss, trembling with potential and need, and Liam's hands went around her to push her back, just a tiny bit.
"Lass," Liam murmured, "I'm not a gentleman. I wasn't born one, I wasn't made one, and the circumstances of my life haven't encouraged me to—"
She shut him up with a finger across his lips. "If I'd wanted a gentleman, I wouldn't have fallen in love with a pirate," she said. "Not even one with kind eyes."