Chapter One
British West Indies, February 1813
He'd stolen a bride.
Sebastian Blake gripped his knife with white-knuckled force and kept his face impassive. If the beauty in front of him were to be believed, he'd stolen his own bride.
He watched as her chin lifted with defiance and her dark eyes met his without fear. She was tall and slender, with blonde curls tumbling down from a once-stylish arrangement. Her lovely watered-silk dress was torn at the shoulder, revealing a tempting display of creamy breast. A sooty handprint marred her flesh, and unable to help himself, Sebastian reached out and rubbed the offending mark away with gentle strokes of his thumb. She stiffened, and lifted her bound hands to knock his away. He met her gaze and held it.
"Tell me your name again," he murmured, his hand tingling just from that simple contact with her satin skin.
She licked her bottom lip, and his blood heated further. "My name is Olivia Merrick, Countess of Merrick. My husband is Sebastian Blake, Earl of Merrick and future Marquess of Dunsmore."
He lifted her hands and stared at her ring finger, noting his crest etched in the simple gold band she wore.
He scrubbed a hand over his face and turned away, striding to the nearest open window for a deep breath of salt-tinged air. Staring out at the water, he espied the debris from her ship bobbing in the waves. "Where is your husband, Lady Merrick?" he asked, keeping his back to her.
Hope tinged her voice. "He awaits me in London."
"I see." But he didn't, not at all. "How long have you been married, my lady?"
"I fail to see—"
"How long?" he barked.
"Nearly two weeks."
His chest expanded on a deep breath. "I remind you that we are in the West Indies, Lady Merrick. It is impossible that you were married only a fortnight ago. Your husband would not be able to await you in England if that were true."
She was silent behind him, and finally he turned to face her again. It was a mistake to have done so. Her beauty hit him with the force of a fist in his gut.
"Would you care to explain?" he prodded, relieved he sounded so unaffected.
For the first time, her bravado left her, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment.
"We were married by proxy," she confessed. "But I assure you, he will pay whatever ransom you desire despite the unusual circumstances of our marriage."
Sebastian moved toward her. His calloused fingers caressed the elegant curve of her cheekbone and entwined in her hair. Her breath caught, and her lips parted in response to his gentle touch. "I'm certain he would pay a king's ransom for beauty such as yours."
Through the smoky smell that clung to her, he could detect the arousing scent of soft woman, warm and luxurious. He reached for the blade strapped to his thigh and withdrew it.
She flinched away.
"Easy," he soothed. Sebastian held out his hand and waited patiently for her to step forward again. When she did, he sliced through the rope that tied her hands together, and sheathed his knife. He rubbed the marks on her delicate wrists.
"You are a pirate," she murmured.
"Yes."
"You have taken my father's ship and all of its cargo."
"I have."
Her head tilted backward on the slender neck, and she gazed up at him with melting chocolate eyes. "Why, then, are you being so kind to me, if you intend to rape me?"
He caught her fingers and placed them on his signet ring. "Most would say a man cannot rape his own wife."
She glanced down and gasped at the heavy crest that mirrored the one on her own band. Her eyes flew up to his. "Where did you get this? You can't possibly…"
He smiled. "According to you, I am."
Olivia stared up into intense blue eyes and felt certain her heart would burst from her chest. Her mind faltered, stumbling over the shocking revelation that the notorious Captain Phoenix was claiming to be her husband.
She backed away from him in a rush, and he reached to steady her when she started to fall. A whimper escaped as his touch burned her skin. The day's events had shaken her, but it was the gorgeous face of the infamous pirate that made her legs feel weak.
He was tall and broad-shouldered, and his presence sucked all of the air from the Sylvia Day - Bad Boys Ahoy!
tight confines of the cabin. His black hair was unfashionably long, and the darkness of his skin betrayed how much time he spent outdoors. He was wild, untamed—a man of the elements.
She'd watched, fascinated, as he'd swept onto her ship and took command of it within moments. Phoenix had executed the attack with brilliant precision—not one man was seriously injured, and no one had been killed. Having spent most of her childhood on her father's ships, Olivia recognized skill when she saw it.
The way he'd used his sword and barked commands, the way loose tendrils of his hair had blown across his face, the way his breeches had delineated every stretch of his muscular thighs—she'd never experienced anything so thrilling. So exciting.
Until he'd touched her.
Then she'd discovered what excitement truly was.
Now she watched, mouth agape, as his long, elegant fingers went to the open collar of his shirt and plucked at the laces. Phoenix tugged the billowing linen from his breeches and drew it over his head.
"Good grief," she gasped, startled by the heat that tore through her veins and flushed her skin as his chest was revealed to her. Her br**sts grew heavy, the tips aching.
Phoenix smiled, well aware of the effect he was having on her. His body moved with arrogant grace, powerful muscles rippling beneath tautly stretched skin.
Dark hair spread lightly over his chest, tapering to a fine line that traveled down his stomach to disappear beneath his waistband. His arms bulged as he shook out his shirt and stepped closer.
She'd never seen a bare-chested man. Even on her father's plantation, the workers were required to remain clothed, her doting father's way of shielding her Sylvia Day - Bad Boys Ahoy!
maidenly sensibilities. Despite this lack of knowledge, she was certain no other male could claim Phoenix's magnificent form.
Olivia snapped her mouth shut and waited until he was close enough so she could feel the heat radiating from his skin. It took everything she had to resist touching him, to resist burying her face in his chest and breathing him in. He smelled wonderful, a sun-warmed and salted male in his prime. His hands came toward her, his hot gaze dropping to the exposed curve of her breast.
"Hell's teeth!" he growled as the edge of his blade met his aroused cock.
Incredulous, Phoenix looked down at her hand, then again at her face. He released a slow, wary breath. "I wouldn't recommend castrating me, sweetheart.
One of your duties, after all, is to bear my heirs."
She inhaled a shuddering breath. "I do not believe for even a moment, Captain, that you are Lord Merrick." But the idea was not distasteful. Romantic notions and girlish fantasies—
Phoenix met both of those and so much more. Her father would never have approved of this man, a pirate worlds apart from the carefully selected earl she'd been told to expect. The pirate would not be to any father's taste, but he suited her secret desire perfectly.
Phoenix's brow arched in sardonic amusement. "But you cannot be certain. Have you ever met your husband?" Her hand shook nervously, and he winced.
"Steady, love," he cautioned. "You may one day desire the appendage you are so grievously threatening."
"The only appendage of that nature I'll be desiring is my husband's," she retorted.
She watched his grin come back in full force, revealing a dimple on the left side of his lush mouth. How could a pirate have a dimple?
"I'm relieved to hear that." His voice was deep and seductive, purring like a Sylvia Day - Bad Boys Ahoy!
predatory cat. "I wouldn't be agreeable to an adulterous wife."
"I am not your wife!" she snapped, flustered by his charm and her response to it.
"If what you say is true, then you are indeed my countess. And despite—," he shot a pointed glance at his blade, "—your charming introduction, you are not displeased with me as a spouse."
"How can you say that?"
"I didn't. Your n**ples did. They are hard and aching for my touch, pressing so delightfully against the bodice of your gown."
With a horrified gasp, Olivia covered her br**sts, and he easily plucked the wicked knife from her fingers. He handed her his shirt. "Here. Cover yourself until I can locate your trunks. I have no wish to display your bountiful charms to my men. We've been at sea for months, and their control is stretched." He eyed her appraisingly for a long moment and then chuckled. "Bold as you please," he murmured.
She stiffened, wondering if Phoenix found her deportment unappealing, and was disturbed to realize that she cared if he did. All of her life, she had accompanied her father on his frequent trips to London. With a child's awareness, she'd quickly discerned that Polite Society disparaged them because of their common background and her father's work in trade. To protect her feelings, Olivia had learned to disregard the opinions of others. But the pirate's opinion mattered.
More than it should.
"I've learned to care for myself," she said defensively.
His dimple flashed again, momentarily stunning her wits. "I'm not complaining,"
he assured her. "Your father is well-known to me, sweet. I am aware that he is a busy man. I'm pleased you acquired some independent thought and intrepidness." He moved toward the door, apparently unaffected by the attraction Sylvia Day - Bad Boys Ahoy!