The Mercenary Pirate (The Heart of a Hero Book 10) Read online

  Wolf descended the ladder to the main deck and waited impatiently for her to join him. He’d known it was a mistake to bring the girl aboard. He should have insisted that Joanna take responsibility for her. But damn him, he’d made his choice. In the meantime, he’d be a monster if he ignored the depravities this young woman had been forced to suffer.

  God help the men responsible for doing this to her—and for disrupting his plans.

  Light reflected off the billowing sails thundering and clapping overhead. The breeched guns positioned in their ports at even intervals reminded Selina that the Sea Wolf was a powerful and deadly vessel. She’d been designed to fight, evade, and capture other ships. But whose ships and for what purpose?

  The Sea Wolf was alive. Powerful sails were her heartbeat, and the swells and troughs echoed her pulse. Sea dogs, as the captain had referred to them, ascended the rigging while others scampered across the deck to their stations. Seagulls followed as the ship sailed, screeching, rising, ducking, and circling the stern. Having been kept in a cage on two separate voyages, Selina had never seen anything to rival this thrilling scene in her life.

  Buckets hung from the quarterdeck rail, and a single lantern illuminated the space underneath. Its rickety brackets ground out a rhythm to the pitch and sway of the vessel beneath them.

  “Where are we going?” she asked the captain, wondering anew at the immense size of the three-masted ship.

  “Where your duties can be explained without interruption. Everyone on board this ship must earn his keep.” He turned abruptly around. “I thought I made that abundantly clear.”

  “Yes, but—”

  “You agreed to be my cabin boy, did you not?” he asked, flaunting the terms of her freedom in her face.

  “Yes, but—”

  “Cabin boys take care of their masters.” His size dwarfed hers, and her nerves took flight. “Was that not clear?”

  Wicked retribution flickered in his eyes—or had she imagined it? They stood between the two companionways, and the dwindling light seemed to take delight in teasing her senses.

  She swallowed thickly. “What exactly are cabin boys expected to do?”

  “Many things.” He resumed his course to a bulkhead door. “Deliver my food. Clean the mess. Keep my cabin orderly. Launder my garments. Shine my boots. Deliver messages to and from my crew. In truth, because you are green, you’ll need to study blueprints of the ship so that you do not get lost.”

  What he described was a servant. Is that all a cabin boy was? Eleven servants had been employed at Trethewey House since before she was born. She wasn’t a servant and didn’t know how to be one. In truth, she didn’t know who or what she was, though Owen had pushed her to excel at every level.

  Selina fought the urge to wipe her sleeve against her mouth as she walked twice as fast to keep up with the captain’s strides. She’d slathered dirt over her face and exposed skin to conceal her true identity. Blood had caked the corners of her mouth where Cuvier had slapped her. The wound ached whenever she spoke.

  “I apologize for not being aware of my duties,” she said as the captain came to a stop.

  He placed his hand on the door latch. “No need to apologize. Every sea dog follows a trail of scraps before he feasts.” He nodded toward the bulkhead. “My cabin.”

  “Your . . .” What made him believe she would go into his cabin with him?

  “I prefer to explain what is expected of you in private, away from prying ears,” he said, his brooding eyes lighting up strangely as he glanced around. She followed his stare, noting that they were being watched. “The sea is limitless,” he said, “forcing a ship to become a world adrift. In order to survive, nothing is held sacred or kept from my men. But in this instance, I believe privacy outweighs curiosity, don’t you?”

  “Of course.” She was struck once more by the contradictory sides of this man, his perplexing words and demeanor, his long hair, strong jawline, and muscular body. How did he manage to maneuver inside a ship at all when he was so tall and broad?

  “One step is all it takes to embark on an adventure,” he said calmly. “You’ve taken the first one.”

  She cocked her head. “I have?”

  “You’ve joined my crew. Now I ask you to take another: trust me.”

  Trust him? She had no choice, she supposed, as much as she feared the way her body responded to this man whenever he was near. If she intended to maintain her disguise, she’d have to make decisions a boy would make, without fear or prejudice to gender.

  “I shall,” she said.

  Laughter rumbled from his chest. He looked her up and down. “You’re a fighter—that much is plain. I respect that.”

  Oh, why did his comment have to sound like a compliment? Everything this sea captain did managed to enthrall her.

  Without another word, he opened the bulkhead door and ushered her inside, shutting the portal behind them.

  There, standing in the midst of the captain’s cabin, Selina’s stomach clenched at the sight of the broad box bunk occupying one corner of the room. The large, carved mahogany structure demanded to be noticed in the private space. Curtains hung from three sides of the bedstead. Its counterpane—dyed a devilish red—called to her weary bones. Further inspection of the disorderly room revealed a desk strewn with brass instruments, a spyglass, and charts. Two chairs were draped with clothes near a washstand and an open trunk.

  Light danced from the stern windows. Their closed panes reminded her that no one could help her now. Selina gulped and shivered, trying to mask her concern. What did Wolf intend to do with her? Hadn’t Wolf told Robillard that he preferred cabin boys?

  Selina tried to settle her nerves as the silence between them dragged on. She’d never been alone in a man’s bedchamber before, not even that of her betrothed. Oh, if her father could see her now, what would he say? Suddenly, she felt entirely too exposed.

  She glanced at the closed door. This did not bode well for her at all.

  Her heart sank into her belly as she watched the captain rummaging through the papers piled on his desk. “Have you lost something?” she asked.

  “Nothing lost cannot be found,” he said, continuing to open drawers.

  He was mistaken. When her mother died, she’d been told by the servants that light had dimmed at Trethewey, never to shine again. Would the same be said of her? She imagined Lord Gariland’s concern would be great, but it was too much to hope that Papa was worried about her or longed to see her again. Did he weep over their circumstances? Think she and Owen had been killed after their ransom had been paid? Had he organized a rescue, or had he been searching for them himself over the past several weeks?

  News of her kidnapping would have spread from Redruth to Camborne to Portreath by now. Lord Gariland—jilted as he’d been at the altar on their wedding day—would have received sympathy for his plight. When she returned, however, and the circumstances of her abduction became known, that might change. Selina would be the talk of the district. Events like these occupied people’s minds, helping them forget their own circumstances.

  She also had to consider Papa’s ambitions. Her sudden reappearance, after spending weeks with corsairs, would cause a scandal, but her return, with or without Papa’s heir, would be pure agony. Papa had shunned her, giving her only what she needed to become a lady. From the moment of her birth, she’d been nothing but an investment, no different from the mines his corporation owned. Knowledge of her existence tortured him. Because she lived and Mama was dead. Owen had eventually recovered from his grief and learned to love her. They’d been inseparable since she was six years old.

  She pinched her lips as she became weak in the knees. The cabin spun. Unless Owen managed to escape Cadiz and make it home before her, Papa would blame her for taking his heir away from him, too. Suddenly struck by how jaded her feelings had become toward the man her mother had once loved, Selina felt her mind give way.

  The lantern light dimmed, and the room darkened. “
I’ll have Keegan, our cook, prepare you victuals right away,” the captain said, leafing through papers on his desk.

  She swayed. “Oh . . .”

  Before she knew what was happening, the captain caught her as she was about to faint. There was something about the captain’s touch, his gruff exterior and inner pain, that she could relate to. “There, there,” the captain said. “Hold on a little bit longer.”

  Selina nodded, the action exasperating her dizziness. “I’ll try.”

  She shut her eyes, trying to blot out her worries. Weeks had passed since her disappearance. When she returned to Portreath, she’d be forced to relive the ordeal again and again to appease everyone’s curiosity, unless she sought seclusion on the moors.

  She’d never been addlepated like this before—far from it. She was a realist willing to do whatever it took to survive, including cutting her hair, exchanging her fine clothes for a boy’s filthy garments, and wallowing in a pigpen. No one knew more than she did what awaited her when they docked in Portreath.

  Tears stung her eyes. She tried to tell herself that none of that mattered, not anymore. But it did. Her return to Trethewey House would invite public scorn, what Papa would consider an act of war. She didn’t intend to stay long, however. If her brother hadn’t yet returned, she’d find a way to hire a crew and sail to Cadiz to find Owen or die trying.

  Silence filled the room. She opened her eyes and glanced up at the captain, rubbing the raw flesh at her wrists. “Thank you.”

  “You can thank me by telling me your name—your real name.” He’d stripped his tricorn from his head and tossed it on the bed, glowering at her as he shoved his fingers through his thick brown hair. “No more hiding,” he said. “I know your secret.”

  Chapter Six

  “My secret?” Herding asked, her eyes turning hostile.

  “Yes.” Sometimes attacking a problem head-on was the only way to get what you wanted. And Wolf needed to learn as much as he could about this young woman if he was going to be able to help her. “Your charade is over,” he said. “I know who and what you are.” He raised his hands as a sign that he didn’t mean to harm her. “Don’t be alarmed. You are safe now. You can let your guard down.”

  “Safe?” Herding blinked rapidly. She wiped her mouth with trembling fingers and grimaced at the contact with her cut, swollen lip. She glared back at him, her gaze filled with contempt. “You can’t possibly grasp what I’ve done to stay alive . . . to get this far, Captain.”

  “I can, and my name is Wolf.”

  Beneath the muck, the blood drained from her face, her gray eyes a stark contrast to the filth. “Wolf? Do you really expect me to believe that?”

  “Aye.” He suppressed a chuckle at her disbelief.

  “Now who’s keeping secrets?” She cocked her eyebrow at a ridiculous angle. “Tell me something I do not know. Are you from England?”

  “Careful, Miss Herding,” he warned.

  “Miss?” She blanched at his proper address. “I’ve concealed my features, altered my voice, and speak French fluently. No one else has suspected my ruse. Tell me—what makes you so different?”

  “I also speak French fluently.” He was a man of many talents, with a long list of skills she would never discover. “You are wise not to trust me because you have no idea what I’m capable of, but let me enlighten you. I am not like those men in the Wasp.”

  “Are you saying you are not a killer?” Her mouth thinned with displeasure. “I saw proof of it with my own eyes.”

  “Aye,” he growled. For some inexplicable reason, it irritated him that she’d seen him at his worst. “I kill by necessity, not for pleasure,” he explained. “Commit no harm unless it be needed is our code.”

  “Whose code?” She observed him cautiously as he moved around the desk.

  “What do you mean?” he asked, trying to harness the bark in his tone.

  “You said ‘our code.’”

  Bollocks. He nodded, realizing he’d talked himself into a corner. “The people I work for are not murderers bent on harming women or children.”

  She crossed her arms over her chest and gave a dismissive snort. “I am not a child.”

  “No.” But she’d done an excellent job pretending to be one.

  After losing the first eight years of his life, he understood a great deal more about the extremes she’d experienced in captivity than she could possibly imagine. He’d hidden in the shadows, trying to evade capture. He’d witnessed evil and debauchery through a child’s eyes. He’d endured the rod, felt the sting of the cat, and looked up at Captain Charve’s hallowed head with a mixture of fear and relief. If it hadn’t been for Charve’s compassion, he’d have fared no better than the boys at the mercy of Cuvier and Robillard in the tavern.

  Wolf ground his teeth and rubbed his brow to calm his thoughts. “So stop acting like one.”

  She gasped. “Is that a threat?”

  “Not unless it needs to be.” He inched closer, studying her as if she were a species he’d never encountered before. “I understand your distrust. It cannot be easily won after what you’ve been through, but try to understand that I have your best interests at heart.”

  She shrugged, but her fixed gaze never wavered. “You have no idea what I’ve been through, Captain.”

  “Wolf,” he reminded her, hoping to put her at ease. “And no. I do not.” He lifted his hand and then lowered it. “I do know, however, that you have nothing to fear from me. I will not hurt you.” Few knew about his past and the things he’d been forced to endure. And that was information he didn’t intend to share with Miss Herding. “Whatever you’ve done to get where you are standing now, I want you to know your suffering is at an end.”

  “At an end?” She shook her head, her tremulous voice filled with anxiety. “It will never be over.”

  Sage words, a truth even Wolf couldn’t debate. He wrestled with what to say to allay her worries. But what could a man say when he hadn’t come to terms with his own weaknesses?

  “You’re young,” he assured her. “Your whole life is ahead of you. This will get easier.” Why the hell was he lying to her again? Because for some strange reason, he cared, damn it. He couldn’t explain his feelings. He only knew that he wanted her to be all right somehow.

  “There are . . .” She paused to stare at him. “I am . . .”

  “A clever, courageous young woman,” he said, emphasizing her sex. He only knew of one woman who excelled higher—Joanna. And he didn’t know the whole of her story, either.

  Miss Herding’s gray eyes turned stormy again as shock quickly turned to fury. “When did you figure out what I was?” she asked. “Before you exchanged your cigars for me or afterward?”

  “I knew it from the moment I walked up to the bar.” Else he might not have risked his life to broker her release.

  “Do you mean to tell me—” she raised her chin “—that you only intervened on my behalf because you thought I was a woman?” Her eyes glinted like fire and ice. “You are a coldhearted batârd! I was forced to watch a harmless boy named Jimmy succumb to Cuvier’s cruelty. If I had been Jimmy, would you have left me there to be tortured by those—” she looked around, he assumed in search of something to clobber him with “—animals?”

  Wolf frowned. Would he have left Jimmy in Cuvier’s hands? Absolutely not. But he’d made a habit of not assuming how he would react until he was in a particular situation. He’d learned to be brutally honest with himself. He had no idea what he would do until he did it. But he’d endured cruelty at the hands of corsairs. He’d sworn an oath never to allow anyone to experience the same.

  “You have no idea what I’m capable of,” he said.

  “No, I don’t. And that is the problem.” All the hurt and rage trapped inside her seemed to burst forth. She rushed at him, fists clenched, her face a mask of intensifying rage as she pummeled his chest.

  He allowed her to vent her anger, to use him as an object on which to take out her
pain. As her tears flowed, she poured out her despair in the privacy of his cabin. Her emotional outburst and her strong, lean body stirred up his need to protect her. Fear and desperation swirled about her in waves. Wolf knew he should say something—anything—to counter her reaction, to convince her he was a good man. But he wasn’t. He’d be damned if he’d lie to her about it.

  “You asked me a question, and I gave you an honest answer,” he said. The things he’d done would turn her stomach. “Don’t ever compare me to those butchers.”

  “Then let me go,” she said, panting. Her voice held a faint tremor that dug into his belly like a gutting blade.

  Feeling helpless, knowing he was incapable of easing her heartache, was the worst type of pain Wolf had ever experienced. “I’ll let you go when you tell me who you are and why are you here. And don’t say your name is ‘Boy’ again. We both know you aren’t who you claim to be.” His voice held no visage of sympathy now because he needed the courageous boy he’d discovered in the Wasp to reappear. Until then, controlling the beat of his heart was going to be an arduous challenge.

  She stilled, leaned back, and stared up at him, cold fury simmering in her eyes. Her breaths were shallow, a testament to the energy she’d just expended. “Very well.”

  “Cuvier deserved a more painful death for what he did to you and your friend.” He searched her face. Her expression fell. “I cannot help you until you disengage your claws.”

  “Selina.” Her voice ended on a broken whisper that he barely heard. “My name is Selina.”

  He swiped a loose strand of hair away from her eye. “Is Herding your alias, then?” In his line of work, he’d met plenty of people pretending to be someone else.

  “Alias? No.” She shook her head from side to side. “I spoke the truth before. My name is Selina Herding.”

  He glanced at her lips, drawn in by their dewy softness and sensuality of movement as she spoke. Warmth from her body penetrated his greatcoat. Her body was lean and pliant, making his respond in ways that filled him with unease.