Only With Your Love (Vallerands #2)(7)

“Yes, mon frère, do what you like with her,” Dominic said. His tone was dry, but his lips were curved in a benevolent smile.

André rubbed his hands over her hair and smooth-skinned face. “I’ve never had a woman with this color hair. I’ll have to make this one last.”

Celia closed her eyes. His breath was rank enough to make her ill. The feel of his mouth on her face was more than she could endure. As he tried to kiss her, she jerked her head to the side and bit his ear, hard enough to taste blood. Screaming in sudden surprise and rage, André let go of her. Quickly she scrambled away and darted through the tavern.

Ignoring the stinging of her bare feet, Celia made her way toward the open door, her pulse racing in powerful surges. There was shouting and laughter behind her. The side of her hip bumped painfully into a chair. It was useless to run, but she didn’t care. The will to live flooded through her, and every nerve screamed for her to escape.

Just before she reached the door a booted foot obstructed her path, and instantly her mad flight was over. She tripped and began to fall. The hard floor rose up swiftly to meet her. There was no way to save herself—her arms were tied behind her back. Suddenly she was caught and pulled upright by an unyielding arm. Gasping, she wondered how someone could have moved fast enough to stop her from hitting the floor. Her unseen rescuer steadied her by the shoulders, holding her facing away from him.

The owner of the foot that had tripped her stood up. “John Risk,” the one-eyed pirate introduced himself with a devilish grin. “Where are ye running to, darlin’? Outside is no place for a lady. Ye’d be caught and ravished in a minute by the rovers on the beach.”

“Help me,” she said urgently, while Legare’s men swarmed around them. For once her English was flawless. “I-I am a Vallerand. Take me to New Orleans. Maximilien Vallerand will reward you well for my safe return.”

Risk’s expression of insolent amusement vanished, and he looked up at the man behind her with a questioning frown.

Celia quivered as the man who held her bent to murmur in her ear. “By what claim are you a Vallerand?” His voice was deep and husky, and it sent chills down her spine. She tried to twist around to see him, but he would not let her.

“I am the w-wife of Dr. Philippe Vallerand,” she stammered. “Our ship…the Golden Star…They killed my husband. It was yesterday, I think…perhaps the day before.”

The fingers on her shoulders tightened, then tightened again, until she let out a cry of pain. The crushing hands relaxed their cruel grip.

“My God,” Celia heard him say softly.

“You…you have heard of the Vallerands?” she asked.

Abruptly Dominic Legare was before her, shoving Risk aside. He looked well over her head at the man behind her, who must have been exceedingly tall.

“My thanks, Captain Griffin,” Legare said “Now you will allow me to take André’s gift back to him.”

Celia was shocked to feel the man’s arm slide around her, clasping her body just underneath her br**sts. It was a gesture of ownership. The warmth of his hand burned through her dress. She looked down and saw a muscled forearm covered with black hair, revealed by a rolled-up shirtsleeve. The soft voice spoke again.

“Captain Legare, there is something we will discuss first.”

Dominic lifted his thin brows.

The room became quiet, all eyes turning toward them. It was well known that Griffin was the only man on Isle au Corneille who did not fear Dominic Legare. Until this moment the two men had avoided all semblance of confrontation. They had spoken to each other only once before, concerning a minor dispute between two men from their respective crews. Although Legare’s organization was larger and more powerful, Griffin’s enmity was not something to be taken lightly.

“I have an interest in the wench,” Griffin continued casually. “Are you open to an offer?”

Legare shook his head. “Now that André has seen her, I’m afraid that is impossible. I never disappoint my brother.”

“Fifty thousand—in silver.”

Risk’s mouth dropped open as he stared at Griffin. Slowly he sat down as if his legs would no longer support him.

“No such paltry sum would interest me,” Legare sneered. “I suppose you haven’t heard of the successful run the Vulture has just made.”

“A hundred thousand,” Griffin said calmly.

Ripples of astonishment went through the room, punctuated by whistles and exclamations.

Celia quivered with fear. Why did this mysterious Captain Griffin want her enough to pay a fortune? And if Legare agreed, what did Griffin intend to do with her? The horrifying thought crossed her mind that she might be even worse off in this man’s custody than in André’s.

Legare was silent with surprise. His eyes narrowed. “What is it about the girl that interests you so?”

“One hundred fifty.”

Legare sucked in his breath, then let it out slowly. His sharp eyes glittered with satisfaction at the prospect of refusing Griffin something he obviously wanted. He gave a jagged smile. “No.”

André waddled forward through the crowd, his stomach jiggling. His round face was beet-red with excitement. “Yes, yes! Let ’im fight for her, Dominic! For years we’ve heard all the draff his men spout, boasting about their mighty captain…well, let’s see him fight, now! Put ’im up against our best man.”