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  A PIRATE'S KISS

  Tiffany St.Claire

  She would forever dance upon the knife's edge of peril for another taste of A PIRATE'S KISS...

  This is a work of fiction.

  None of it is real. All names, places, and events are products of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to real names, places, or events are purely coincidental, and should not be construed as being real.

  A PIRATE'S KISS

  Copyright © 2012

  Brittany Adams and Tina Adams

  All Rights Reserved.

  No part of this work may be used or reproduced in any manner, except as allowable under “fair use,” without the express written permission of the author.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  About the Author

  Get MORE Tiffany

  Chapter One

  “A hangin' at the docks! There be a hangin' at the docks!”

  Alessandra Cole ignored the portly man who hitched up his trousers and headed back into the night. “A hanging, my lord? At midnight?”

  The young lordling upon whose lap she sat smiled nervously and shrugged. “It happens now and again. We could watch--”

  She beamed at him. “Oh, then let us hurry. I would hate to miss the festivities.”

  Rising with the grace of a queen rather than the only daughter of a now deceased wealthy merchant, or even a handsomely paid lady of the night, as which she now was disguised, Alessandra straightened, snapped open her bright red feathered fan, and waited for the gentleman to take the lead in escorting her to the docks.

  She already knew the identity of poor fellow bound for the noose hastily hung from the yardarm of the Winsome Widow. Captain Slade Donovan was not unknown in these parts. Praise for his skill was oft bandied about from dockside tavern to the fancy parlors of the ton.

  It was his rumored skill which drew her to the docks tonight. Of all the people she knew who might be able to assist her in saving her twin's wretched hide, Slade Donovan was her closest sure bet.

  The only problem was, the captain was a pirate.

  Dark, dastardly, viciously evil. Alessandra almost giggled to think of Slade in those terms. Nay, he was more rapscallion than knave, she thought. But now was not the time for reminiscing.

  Sashaying alongside her 'escort' for the evening, Alessandra took comfort in the heaviness of the reticule bumping gently against her silk-clad thigh as she walked. Jeremy's pistol, the one their father had given him, lay inside, primed and ready. She had only to wait for just the right moment…

  “'Tis Capt'n Slade they gots! See him just up there? Whooeee-- there's a right nice reward on that one's head I hear!”

  Voices from the crowd reached her ears, penetrating her wayward thoughts.

  “Aye, three thousand pounds,” another said. He pointed toward the ship where the hanging was reportedly about to take place. “Would nigh give me right arm to be captain of the Winsome Widow t'night!”

  Alessandra grimaced.

  If the fellow from the crowd had an inkling who the Winsome Widow's captain was, he would be singing quite a different tune, to be sure. Captain Mortimer Lowrey fit her earlier description of 'pirate' to a tee. In her opinion, it was he who should be swinging with a rope around his neck from the yardarm.

  The gentleman at her side helped her up to sit upon a stack of crates, for a better view, he said, and then he turned his attention to the theatrics playing out on deck.

  * * *

  From his 'lofty' position, Slade Donovan, otherwise known as Captain Slade the Something, kept his expression carefully blank while considering his options.

  Hands tied securely behind him, and a noose lying like a lovely necklace around his neck, those options were less than few. He sighed.

  The second son of a second son, he'd had no hope of inheriting either title or lands, so had been forced to make his own way in the world. Good with ships and guns, when he had seen an opportunity to serve the Crown while doing what he loved – sailing the high seas – he had happily become a brigadier/pirate in service to Her Majesty the Queen.

  Standing there as he was, reflecting upon the choices he'd made over the course of his brief twenty four years, he decided in that instant the life of a pirate wasn't as grand as he had thought it would be.

  Had he known how soon he was destined to meet his end, he would have taken at least a moment to send his love in a note to his mother, he thought. He had neither seen nor spoken to her in six long years, but he had always held hope she would someday forgive him and welcome him back into the family. Now, he knew he had left reconciliation far too late.

  “Slade Donovan, you are to be hanged by the neck until death, here before these witnesses tonight, for your crimes of piracy against the Crown!”

  The burly gents who had wrestled him to the deck earlier had tied his hands securely, but they had obviously forgotten about his ankles. Carefully, he shifted his feet close together to keep anyone from realizing their mistake until it was too late.

  “Aye, John Sears, and when I go, I will be taking you with me, my good man. Have you your greeting for the Devil prepared, or should we give you a moment?” he called down to the captain's first mate.

  Glancing heavenward, he asked a silent prayer that if he be granted one simple boon this night, it be that his promise just made be fulfilled.

  * * *

  Alessandra hardly dared to breathe.

  Any moment now, Captain Mortimer's first mate would remove the support from beneath Slade's feet. Saving him was largely a matter of timing, and now the moment was at hand, she wasn't entirely confident in her skill. Mayhap she should have let Jeremy send for Tristan after all?

  She dug in her reticule for a moment before bringing a scented handkerchief to her nose and then tapped the gentleman who had brought her to the docks on the shoulder. “Can we move a bit closer? The press of bodies here…”

  Surely the man would understand she had delicately refrained from complaining about the press of so many sailors' unwashed bodies and move them to a position from which she would have a better aim.

  “You will have but one shot, Alessandra. Best make it perfect,” her brother had warned.

  The gentleman nodded his understanding and helped her immediately from the crates. Moving through the crowd, he brought her to a place which offered a perfect view of both the yardarm and Slade's backside.

  How tempting, she thought, to put a ball of lead where…. Biting back a grin, she waved the fellow at her side away.

  “I will be safe here,” she assured him. “You may rejoin your friends – for now,” she said, giving him a promising look that hinted at promiscuous things in store for later, and he grinned.

  After a quick, wholly inappropriate squeeze of her backside, he stepped away. He did not go far, but it would have to be far enough.

  Putting her back to him and his cronies, she eased the pistol from her reticule and took aim.

  Chapter Two

  Slade swallowed, every muscle in his body tensing in preparation for what he knew was coming. Any minute now the sturdy crate beneath him keeping him grounded would be pushed away and he would fall with it, but where the wood would fall to the deck and crack and splinter, he would dangle in empty air, the rope about his neck cutting off his air. If he was lucky, the fall would be hard enough to break his neck and he wouldn't have to suffer for so long. But he doubted the fates would take such pity on him.

  The shouts and hoots of the crowd danced in his ears like the annoying buzz of flies, but unlike those flying pests, he could not simply reach out and swat the voices away.<
br />
  The voices grew louder, Slade's heart pounded harder in his chest. He closed his eyes and the crate was shoved from beneath his feet, crashing to the deck below, sounding like gunfire to his ears. In that instant, a last image of a woman's smiling visage filled his mind's eye and he was falling, falling... shouldn't there be an abrupt end to this, he thought, his eyes peeking open? The deck was awfully close.

  Oh, blast. He actually was falling.

  Barely with time to draw in the breath he thought never to breathe again, Slade managed to brace himself for the impact and rolled, ignoring the sharp feeling of broken wood pieces digging into his shoulder and back, and was on his feet in an instant, taking in the shocked and angry faces of the crew aboard the Winsome Widow as well as those of the gathered crowd.

  Knowing pandemonium was but an instant from being unleashed, and thus would take his chance at freedom with it, he frantically looked about the deck for a weapon he might use to cut through the thin rope binding his wrists, all the while knowing his freedom would most likely be short lived since no man in his right mind would leave a blade just lying around on the deck of a ship.

  A murmur rose up among the crowd, fueling Slade's frenzy. He cast a quick glance behind him and found the crew already advancing toward him and his gaze slid to the railing. He wondered if he should chance jumping it? It would get him out of reach of John Sears and those on the docks...but it also spelled his doom. He still hadn't managed to find anything useful to free his hands with, and last time he checked, he couldn't very well swim without the aid of his hands and arms.

  Rolling his eyes in irritation, he said, “Oh, bugger it all, I'm done for no matter which way I look at it.”

  His words seemed to act as a catalyst for everyone, including the rabid mob on the docks, to make their way towards him, shouting “Get him!” and “Don't let him get away!”

  Cursing beneath his breath, Slade braced himself and waited for them, praying one of them thought to use a sword and that he would turn at precisely the right moment to have them slice through the rope at his wrists and not any part of his flesh.

  * * *

  Alessandra ran through the crowd, elbowing those out of her way who were not smart enough to move before she approached. Once on deck, she paused to lift her skirts enough to retrieve the thin stiletto blade nestled against her thigh beneath her garter, then hurried toward her target.

  A part of her wanted to laugh at the look on his face when he got a good look at her, but she managed to keep her smile to herself.

  "Alessandra?" he asked, shocked.

  She looked up from the task of slicing through the rope around his wrists and smiled. "Happy to see me?"

  "I'm not sure. Ask me again if we get out of this alive."

  She tsked, tugging the blade through the last bit of rope. "That is no way to great an old friend, Slade."

  "You can reprimand me afterward, Alessandra. For now, get behind me."

  She pressed the handle of the blade into his hand and he looked down at it in disbelief, then to her, brow raised. “What do you expect me to do with this?”

  Alessandra shrugged. “Whatever you will. I see no other weapon, do you? Oh, and you might want to remove that bit of rope around your neck. It does not suit you at all.”

  Slade made a noise of exasperation as he tugged the noose over his head and dropped it to the deck.

  The crew and onlookers from the docks pressed in on them, forcing them back.

  Slade turned his head slightly and spoke over his shoulder to Alessandra. “You know. I do believe we are going to have to swim for it.”

  “I had a feeling you were going to say that,” she said, sighing.

  “What?”

  “I did not say anything.”

  “You sighed.”

  “Is it a crime now for a woman to sigh when she is faced with doing something tedious?”

  “No, of course not, but I know that sound.”

  “I wasn't aware the sound of my sigh differed from anyone else's.”

  Slade glared, though she couldn't see it. It was enough that he did so for his own sake.

  “What are you doing, Alessandra?” he asked when he heard the rending of fabric.

  “Preparing to swim. I can't very well do a good job of it with all this fabric hindering my movements.”

  Slade's eyes widened fractionally. “I think I am going to kill you after this.”

  “Save your breath, Slade. You're going to need it.”

  “Shut up, Alessandra.”

  She giggled.

  Reaching behind him, Slade took her hand and squeezed it reassuringly. “Ready?”

  She squeezed back. Slade didn't need to look to know she was smiling.

  “Ready.”

  As one, they turned and climbed onto the railing, and dived into the dark waters below.

  * * *

  Later, when they were well away from the threat of the crew of the Winsome Widow and drunken onlookers from the docks, after Alessandra was modestly covered and he wasn't tempted to sneak peeks at her through the revealing cloth of her undergarments, Slade regarded her from his place across from her in the hired hackney they had procured after their escape.

  "May I ask what your reason was for nearly getting us both killed?"

  Alessandra gave him a look of seriousness mixed with mild uncertainty. "I need your help, Slade. Someone very dear to me could get killed unless you agree."

  Slade arched his brow. "Who?"

  Alessandra drew in a deep breath and said, "Alexander."

  Slade sighed deeply and pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. "Bloody hell."

  Chapter Three

  The Cole residence was as far from his usual places of habitation as the colonies were from bad ol' London. Slade generously partook from the glass of brandy Alessandra had given him and leaned back into the plushness of the floral-patterned divan in Tristan's study, his sigh of luxurious bliss only slightly exaggerated. “What has Alexander done this time, and why is Tristan not taking care of it?”

  From the high-backed, upholstered chair behind her eldest brother's desk, Alessandra shot him a look of scorn. “Tristan doesn't know. Nor will he, if I have my way.”

  “Which is just like you, Alessandra. Never letting the boy take the heat for his own mistakes. When will you let him grow up, become a man? Or do you plan to coddle your twin forever?”

  She glared at him. “Alexander is not coddled, Captain. Nor is he any longer a boy to hide beneath his mum's petticoats, which is, in fact, precisely why I need your help.”

  Slade sat up and leaned forward, rolling the brandy snifter between his palms. “You wish for me to allow him to hide beneath bad ol' Captain Slade's garments instead?”

  “I do not wish for Alex to be allowed to hide anywhere.” She groaned in frustration, and then slapped her dainty palms against the polished mahogany surface of Tristan's desk. “Hell's teeth, Slade, could you please simply shut up and listen for a moment?”

  He grinned at the unladylike epithet. “Tsk..tsk. Mind your tongue, my lady. Else I might begin to doubt the sterling quality of your character.”

  She left the desk to pace the study instead, from window to mantel and back again, giving Slade a glimpse of her well-turned ankles, along with multiple opportunities to sit back and admire her trim curves, luscious… “Which reminds me, what were you thinking, venturing out alone to a tavern, dressed like some common doxy hawking her wares along the docks tonight, Alessandra? You could have been hurt.”

  “I was not alone. I had an escort.”

  “An escort?” His brows snapped downward. He hadn't seen anyone with her. In fact, that was to be another of his arguments – that she cease to venture out alone. “You will not partake of such foolishness again, do you hear? An escort! What rot. When you go out henceforth, you will do so in the company of one of your older brothers, or you will stay home.”

  She rounded on him then, fire in her
eyes. “You will not command me, Captain. I am neither one of your ship hands, nor your obligation, and I shall darn well do as I please!”

  Slade got to his feet, fully engaged and prepared to give as well as he received. He caught her to him, glaring down into her face. “Darn well? Tell me, Alessandra. You would disgrace your brothers, yourself, and bring shame onto your family name – after all your father fought through, rest his soul, to leave you with at least a shred of respectability?”

  His dark gaze clashed with hers. “You've been behaving like a child, Alessandra. A spoiled one, at that, but no more. It is high time you grew up.”

  Her eyes sparkled with tightly leashed fury.

  “I am not a child, Slade Donovan,” she ground from between clenched teeth.

  “Prove it,” he challenged. “Prove to me that you have grown up at last, Alessandra, by staying safe at home unless you go out with a proper escort. Prove it by allowing your brothers to fend for themselves – they are grown men and perfectly able to do so, I assure you.”

  “I need prove nothing to you, Slade. Nothing! I--”

  His mouth closed over hers, effectively stemming the angry flow of words. Steeling himself for the fight he knew would follow, he pulled her hard against his chest, holding her close while his lips plundered the softness of hers.

  Her hand came up, fingers balled into a tight fist, and he waited for the blow… but it never came. Instead, she relaxed in his embrace, leaned into him, and deepened the kiss.

  A mistake.

  A very dangerous mistake, Slade realized.

  The sound of slow applause broke them apart.

  “Very good, Captain. 'Tis the fastest transition from childish argument to adult behavior I've witnessed since my return,” Jeremy Cole taunted from the door.

  Chapter Four

  “Finally, the voice of reason,” Slade breathed an instant before Alessandra drew back and cracked her open palm across his cheek.