The Virgin Huntress (The Devil DeVere #2)(24)

“Where is she now, Pratt?” Hew growled, nearly knocking the elder man to the deck when he emerged like a fired cannon ball from below.

“She dashed past me to the foredeck,” the bewildered man replied. “I don’t like the look ‘o this at all, Cap’n Hew.

“Don’t worry, Pratt,” Hew answered with an ominous scowl. “Her waywardness is coming to an end. Here and now.”

He caught up with Vesta on the bow where she balanced herself with one leg slung over the rail. “Now, Hew,” she said. “You will swear to me on your word of honor as a gentleman that you will not force me to marry you.”

“Or?” He raised a brow.

“Or I will jump overboard.”

“Will you now?” He retrieved a long coil of rope and tied one end around the foremast and then took two paces toward her.

“Stop! I told you I will jump.” She stepped over the rope rail and balanced on the other side. He noted the apprehensive look she cast at the waters below.

“No, you won’t.” He took another step forward until he stood at arm’s length. He tied the other end of the rope around his waist. “Although it would be contrary to all my inclinations at the moment, I would be obligated as a gentleman to retrieve you. Should you exercise such poor discretion, I promise you will very much regret your actions. And for the record, Vesta, I am a very proficient swimmer.” He reached out his hand. “Now, be a good girl for once and do as you are asked. Step over the rail and come back below.”

“I won’t, Hew. I won’t heed you until you give me your word.”

“You will do as you are told! I’m bloody tired of these games. You got what you wanted.”

“I did not!” she cried and let loose one hand just as the ship hit a swell, sweeping her feet out from under her.

“Damn it all!” Hew surged forward, catching her by the wrist just as she lost her grip. “Give me your other hand, Vesta.”

“I won’t,” she stubbornly repeated, now dangling by one arm. “Not until you promise me.”

“This is one battle you won’t win, my girl. For the last time, Vesta. Give. Me. Your. Hand.”

“No!”

Hew turned to Pratt. “Hold the rope in case I need more leverage.” With a great grunt, Hew heaved upward and backward, hoisting her high enough to catch her about the waist. “Untie me,” he commanded Pratt as he summarily tossed the shrieking girl over his shoulder. “You will follow behind and lock the door, Pratt. She is my charge now. I will brook no further interference, no further complicity from you. Do you understand that?” Hew noted that the little man had the wisdom to just nod.

“Put me down!” Vesta wailed. “You have no right to manhandle me like this.”

“On the contrary, as your betrothed husband, I now have every right.”

“You are not my betrothed!” Her kicks met air, and her fists flailed with futility.

Hew entered the stateroom and kicked the door closed. He waited only for the click of the lock before striding in his uneven gait to the bed. He sat hard and pulled Vesta from his shoulder only to throw her over his lap.

“What do you think you are doing!” she screeched.

“What your father should have done years ago, for it’s bloody well past time you paid the piper.”

***

Determined not to give him any satisfaction, Vesta bit her lip with the first stinging blow, the thin linen shift doing little to buffer the contact of calloused palm to tender backside.

“That one’s for the stunt in Hyde Park. And here’s another one for the laudanum that gave me such a hellish headache.” The second whack brought tears to her eyes, and then he delivered a third for having to retrieve her from the crow’s nest. This one almost made her cry out. Her bottom smarted like nothing she’d ever experienced. She looked back over her shoulder to see him raise his hand again. “Stop! You’re killing me!”

“Killing you?” Hew laughed. “Hardly. This is for your own good, sweetheart. A kick from the dam never hurt the colt, after all. I think a fourth is definitely deserved for this last little feat.” He grunted as his hand connected.

Her shift had ridden up with her struggles, leaving her bare flesh vulnerable to the next painful smack. Already burning and tingling as if she’d sat in a field of stinging nettles, she braced herself. But then Hew paused. She thought he would finally release her until she heard him mumble. “Perhaps one more, just for good measure.”

The next thing she knew, she hit the floor with an unceremonious thud. She scuttled away from him like a crab, feeling as if she could commit murder. Once she had a moment to compose herself, she rose from the floor, rubbing her backside, but the burn only seemed to worsen. She turned to the mirror on the wardrobe and raised her shift to inspect the angry, red hand-shaped welts that marred her skin.

“Just look what you’ve done to me!” she cried, turning her bared backside to him.

“’Tis no less than you deserved.” He growled, his gaze seeming to linger on the welts.

She noted with satisfaction the flare of his pupils and the hoarseness of his voice. “Is this how you think to handle your wife?” she demanded. “Polly warned me about beasts like you!”

“Beasts, eh?” Hew rose and advanced toward her with a menacing look.