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Author: Guede Mazaka
Rating: NC-17. Bondage, kink, blah blah.
Pairing: Will Turner/Bartholomew Roberts/Robert Cochrane, Tom Blood/Woodes Rogers
Feedback: Anything from spelling errors to concrit.
Disclaimer: Not mine, except for Lord Robert Cochrane.
Notes: AU history, supernatural stuff. Borrowing names of historical figures without accurately portraying them. Pretend Bartholomew Roberts looks like Ioan Gruffudd, Woodes Rogers like Christian Bale and Tom Blood like Joseph Fiennes. Robert Cochrane is an OMC that looks like Clive Owen. Kitty Cobham’s from Horatio Hornblower.
Summary: A good night’s “rest” usually helps conclude any debate.
***
The moment the rope unsnaked from his wrists, Robert pulled them down and dropped to the deck of the Pearl. He hissed as he rubbed at his raw skin, but didn’t exactly back away when Will crawled between his legs, sliding a hand from knee to hip. “You’re determined to make dinner tonight a misery, I see. The kind of cuffs I have to wear for it are going to be irritating my wrists to no end.”
“And you look positively gleeful about it,” Will grinned, petting Robert. He tugged up the man’s trousers till they were over his arse—and didn’t he shift about wincing—but left the front undone for the moment. It was far too much fun running his fingers along Rob’s prick and watching the other man squirm. “Be a nice distraction for you. Whereas I’ll be busy trying to remember which fork goes with what.”
“Silverware isn’t any harder to learn than the difference between fore- and aft-stays. It’s merely a matter of motivation. Only the noble are bored enough to bother with such delicacies.” Rob flopped his hair out of his eyes so he could deliver one of his characteristic condescending looks. But his hips were moving very much at Will’s beck-and-call, and his mouth certainly was sweet enough. “Speaking of, do I need to warn my soldiers about your crew?”
Will nipped reprovingly at Rob’s lip, then sucked it till the other man was bowing up to meet him. “You’ve met Anamaria. She’s told them to be on their best behavior long as they’re in sight of the Governor’s mansion.”
“I suppose she seems to be capable enough of motivating men. Your captain’s terrified of her, so that should serve as a recommendation.” Nearly two weeks on the Pearl and Robert was still referring to Jack as ‘your captain,’ however nicely the two had cooperated on several joint missions. The man really was incorrigible when it came to dropping a grudge.
Nothing to be done about it, Will supposed. That was as much a part of Rob as the way he purred at a hand fondling the back of his neck. “Anyway, we stopped first at Tortuga to transact some routine business, so they’re all worn out. Except for me, who had to watch the ship, so that’ll ensure you aren’t neglected while we’re in port.”
“Neglected? Do I appear to be a defenseless lapdog?” Rob raised his eyebrow and shook off Will’s hand to reach for his shirt. But that particular garment was a bit too far away for him to grab while Will still had hold of his prick.
And though Rob wasn’t anywhere near as stiff-backed as he’d been earlier, he was still in a sufficiently bad mood for Will to worry. Three pirate captains, two governors, and all their men in town to negotiate one of the most important treaties in the continuing guerrilla war against the Spanish. If Robert decided to irritate someone, they wouldn’t be able to excuse it like they usually did.
Not to mention Will had personal concerns about whatever would produce a seething Rob and an absent Bart on Nassau’s docks. “No. But I’m used to seeing you with a bit more of a limp when we drop in. Is Bart really off dealing with Gaspar?”
“Yes, though he’ll be back within the hour,” Rob replied, voice clipped and emotionless. He gave up on the shirt and turned back to look at Will as if he expected nothing short of a full broadside. “I suppose I do tend to greet you from a supine position, but I was under the impression sailors were more adaptable than that.”
Well, maybe Bart had a legitimate reason for being out of town, but he certainly had done something. Wonderful. Precisely what Will needed after a short, sharp battle with some unseen witch the Spanish had sneaked into Tortuga to take the Pearl. Here he came, thinking it’d be a few days of diplomatic maneuvering, which would be boring but mostly not involving him and at least accompanied by pleasant nighttime company, and what did he find? Another fight.
“I’m not in the mood, Rob.” Will rocked onto his feet and stood up, then stalked off to find where he’d thrown his shirt and Robert’s coat.
He found them thrown over some spare coils of rope and was picking them up when a shadow fell over him. Reflex kicked in and Will spun away, hand falling to hilt, only to see…a startled Rob staring back at him. Of course, since Will had dismissed the afternoon watch for an hour and they were the only people left on the ship. “Christ, you’re quiet.”
“What else did you do besides stop at Tortuga?” Rob asked. Nicely. And he was a bit hesitant about reaching for his coat, though his chin stayed high and stiff.
Very adorable, but Will really was not in the mood. He was the peacemaker on the Pearl, he had to be the practical one to Jack’s flights of inspiration, and he wanted a break from it. “Collapsed a cliff into the sea to kill some Spanish bastard. Then I spent most of the next day flat out in bed recovering from it. Come on, I can see Gibbs coming back.”
And Gibbs had along a few bottles of what appeared to be very good whisky, one of which he passed to Will as a matter of course. Not only was it the first mate’s due, but it was also circumspect just in case the stuff happened to have freed itself from another captain’s best stock. “Have a nice evenin’ wi’ the gov’nors, Will.” Gibbs tugged his forelock at Rob. “Lordship.”
“Probably not, but it’s nice to be hopeful,” Will called back. The falsity of his cheerfulness grated on his own ear and he hurried up, not wanting to linger out in the open where anyone could ask what was the matter. It was rude to Gibbs, but he’d been around a while and would understand.
He’d better understand. Considering what Will’s current little fit was like compared to, say, Elizabeth’s, Gibbs should be grateful for the break.
And Will was starting to get ornery, and Rob was looking very much as if he were about to back them in an alley and awkwardly ask what was the matter. “Look, I’m exhausted and running low on patience, and I would just like a few days of rest. But obviously I’m not going to get them, so I suppose my second-best choice is to try and deal with everything as soon as possible. What did he do?”
Rob started to answer, but cut himself short as he spotted something. A shortcut. He reached for Will’s elbow, but turned the gesture into a pull at his coat and merely nodded Will into it. Then he followed, eyes darting everywhere but directly at Will.
“Don’t tell me you’re frightened of me. I told you, I’m worn out—I couldn’t set a candle alight unless I did it the way everyone else does: with a match.” Will’s shoulders were starting to ache, so he lifted a hand and rubbed at one. Didn’t do much good, but at least it made him feel like he was trying to do something. “What did he do, Rob?”
“He’s been gone since Wednesday, actually. Woodes Rogers showed up yesterday with Tom Blood in tow.” From the way Rob said the names, the problem had most to do with Blood.
At first Will thought it was lingering jealousy and rolled his eyes, but as they walked, he thought about it some more and saw that that was unlikely. Yes, Robert held grudges like sharks did flesh, but he wasn’t stupid or blind about it. If Tom Blood had shown up in tow of Rogers, then that would seem to eliminate his threat from Rob’s point of view. Not that there ever had been even a whisper, but Will wasn’t about to attempt that explanation again.
It also wouldn’t explain why Rob was angry at Bart, since the whole commandeer-Blood idea had really been Will’s. “And?”
They were nearing the end of the path, which curved around to the back of the governor’s mansion to split into half-a-dozen garden trails. The gravel of each was so beautifully raked in wavy lines that Will paused at the edge, only to watch bemusedly as Rob casually crunched past him. It wasn’t that the other man didn’t appreciate beauty, but that his noble background had left him used to some kinds as ordinary details and hopelessly starved for others.
“And Woodes’ first demand was that Bart take off…I can’t say the word he called it, but from what I can gather, it’s some kind of bracelet, only it goes around the leg.” Rob slowed down to let Will catch up. A flash of amusement showed in his eyes when he saw how Will was self-consciously stepping in his footprints, but it was soon chased away by deep irritation. “Jaguar-headed, gold, Aztec-work. Now, I’m still far behind you and Bart concerning knowledge of the supernatural and of pirates, but I had the impression that the gifting of jewelry carries some significance. Such as a declaration of claim.”
He tugged at his earring, which as it turned out was a completely superfluous emphasis because Will knew exactly what Rob was talking about. In fact, he knew a bit more, and that was why he decided to punch a nearby tree.
It hurt, but it also had a salutary effect on his mind, clearing out all the accumulated irritation to leave him with the seeds of some interesting ideas. He was breathing hard, Will absently noted. Upon checking his fist, he discovered a bit of bruising and one scrape that’d left a small smear of blood on the trunk. Upon checking Rob, he found a very shocked-looking man. “Damn. That wasn’t a valuable tree, was it?”
“What? Oh, no, we’ve dozens of them. I…take it Bart’s been more offensive than I suspected.” Rob tipped his head and stepped a few inches to the side, like a dog hoping for a pat but unsure of his master’s mood.
Well, there was no point in taking it out on him—actually, there was every reason to reward Rob, since once he knew what Bart had done he’d be inclined to take out his claymore and have a go at Bart. And Will wanted the first shot. “It’s times like these that I miss being a blacksmith. I used to be able to go and beat out a nice cutlass whenever I was frustrated. But no matter.”
“No matter,” Rob curiously repeated. They resumed their walk towards one of the many back-passages into the mansion, which Bart was rapidly turning into an elegant rabbit warren.
“No matter.” Will nodded for emphasis and smiled nicely at the other man. The ground sloped so that though they were walking at nearly the same pace, Rob advanced slightly ahead; Will took the opportunity to rest his hand on the small of Rob’s back. Not that Rob needed the help up, however pronounced his limp might be, but because Will was going to need him in a good mood if things were going to work out. “Is that Blood?”
In the doorway they were approaching lounged a lean man with black curls that were too closely-cropped for him to be Bartholomew, otherwise that would have been Will’s guess. The two men certainly did have very similar builds and the same kind of careless grace. He saw them and grinned, teeth flashing in the dark gold light of late afternoon, while he flipped something large and green and glinting in one hand.
“Yes, that would be him. He’s in better fettle than we sent him off in, which goes to show that some do best as dependents.” But Rob was looking upwards, squinting at a lighted window. “And I believe Bart’s just arrived.”
“You’d best go up, then.” Before Will let the other man go, he tugged Rob into a small screen formed by a large trellis covered in flared red blossoms. Then he pulled him down for a long tongue-fondling kiss.
When Rob finally lifted his head, the first thing he did was twitch at his laces. He raised an eyebrow at Will’s chuckle. “You seem to be relaxing after all, despite your claims.”
Well, Rob’s peculiar habits were comforting, else Will would wonder about his humanity. He playfully patted down Rob’s coat. “I can finally afford to, seeing as this is a fairly dead patch.” There was a nick on the hilt of Rob’s sword; Will leaned in to examine it more closely and nearly missed Rob’s puzzled look. “Damn him, Bart should be telling you more of this. That’s another I’ll have to take up with—never mind. Anyway, didn’t you ever wonder why neither of us broke ourselves out of that jail? The one where we—”
“—memorably debauched a helpless and inexperienced duke’s son?” Smug nostalgia suited Rob very well. “I did, but I thought perhaps you didn’t want to resort to that if you had friends coming. They do burn witches and heretics.”
“Yes, but not in the Caribbean. Here we do the burning.” It looked as if Rob had been doing some close-quarters fighting recently, for the true gilt on his sword-hilt had been fair scraped away. Some kind of disguising treatment had been daubed over it, but not a good one as it flaked from Will’s touch. “Short explanation—the magic started from something Jack did, and ten years later it’s still unevenly distributed. It’s strongest in the wild places. In most of the great towns, the world still goes as it used to. For instance, here it takes much more effort to do something than about a mile offshore.”
“Curious.” Fingers fell over Will’s hand, and when he looked up he saw a rare thing: a somber Rob. The usual mocking glint was entirely absent from his eyes. “Will, what are you planning?”
Will straightened and tapped Rob’s hilt. “To borrow someone’s tools while I’m here and get that properly seen to. That great slash on the left’s weakened the metal—it could snap on your next swing.”
That surprised Rob, who apparently still wasn’t accustomed to people offering to help him, but it didn’t distract him for long. He suddenly smiled, thin and amused and sharp. “You know, I may not be used to you being the evasive one, but that doesn’t mean I’m blind to when it happens.”
A hit, and one at which Will couldn’t avoid wincing. “I am planning that. And…I’m planning to have a talk with Bart, but for the moment I’m putting that aside. First I want to get through this blasted dinner.”
“And I thought you were looking forward to it,” Rob said. The quality of his amusement had returned to his usual faintly contemptuous, affectionate tone. Then he stepped near, his eyelashes dipping and his voice going soft and coy. Almost the perfect picture of deference, and certainly an appealing enough one for Will’s prick to stir. “Am I permitted to have anything to do with this talk?”
“It’d depend. I just started thinking about it, and I need to settle a few other matters first.” Will snorted at how Rob was leaning closer and closer, then gently pushed the other man back. “You enjoy this too much.”
Rob laughed. “The Caribbean’s all about excess, or so I’ve heard. I’ll leave you to Blood, then. And before you ask, Bart’s made it very clear he doesn’t want the trouble of burying bodies in the yard, so I can’t kill anyone.”
And then he strode off, leaving a rather amazed Will behind him. So the man did have some sense of diplomatic maneuvering, even if he chose not to use it himself. A lovely, lovely bundle of surprises, Rob was.
An awkwardly limping bundle, though he held his head high and ignored Blood’s smirk. Involving him probably wasn’t the best of ideas, but he really did deserve something. After all, he put up with far more of Bartholomew than Will did, and clearly, Bart was more of an aggravation than his fine manners predicted.
* * *
Tom’s feet weren’t half-healed, so he was very grateful that Governor Roberts had seen fit to stock his house full of comfortable, spacious armchairs. And the servants were curiously uncurious about carrying out odd requests, such as stationing an armchair in one of the garden doors. It made a man wonder.
So did the way Robert Cochrane’s boots clung to his calves and his trousers to his arse while he stalked along, but Tom had a feeling that those beauties only went to a selected few. Two, to be precise. Anyway, he really was too exhausted to be even thinking about tackling a challenge that suicidal.
Cochrane passed him with an aristocratic look of disdain and disappeared into the bowels of the house, while mere moments behind him appeared Will Turner. Now, there was one man Tom still wouldn’t mind making an acquaintance of outside of bed. Or battlefield, as things might go. When the other man came near enough, Tom hailed him. “Ah, Mr. Turner! Lovely to see you again.”
“Really?” This one didn’t seem to have very many illusions left, which made Tom suspect he’d borne the brunt of some rude awakenings. He had that kind of reactionary air. “I heard you convinced Rogers in less than half-a-day. Congratulations—I mean that sincerely. I’m impressed.”
“Thank you,” Tom said. That hadn’t been a response he’d expected, and since it really did seem to be a genuine one, he was temporarily befuddled. But he soon recovered himself and flicked his little bauble up in the air. “Nice thing, this. Took a bit to figure out how to use it, but that was worth the time. Seems I can do it easier than most, too.”
Will’s eyes tracked its arc. The other man leaned against the doorframe. “I thought you might take a permanent interest.”
“Well, it’s never good practice to leave possible leverage uninvestigated. And as it turns out, I seem to have quite a talent here.” Though it was a shame that Tom couldn’t show it on this soil. He’d gotten rather good at molding shapes out of sparks. “Now, what would that make me, Mr. Turner? A first mate? A quartermaster? I haven’t quite gotten your system conned.”
Tom caught his ojo de gueche, his bloody big emerald, and secreted it back in his clothing. As he did, his sleeve rode up, and Turner’s gaze flicked to the slight reddish rasp around his wrist. Then it descended to his feet, which were bootless because Tom’s soles were still wrapped in bandages that made his shoe-fit uncomfortably tight, and so he slipped his feet free whenever possible.
“Oh, yes,” Tom muttered. As nice as the dividends had been, he was still a bit resentful that he’d had to go that damned far. “I needed to make a point to Woodes, so I stole my beautiful stone out of a Spanish fort and got the skin whipped off my feet for my trouble. It’ll be another three weeks, most likely, before I’m walking normally again.”
“So how have you been getting around in the meantime?” Then Turner caught it, and looked sharply at Tom. “Woodes?”
Marvelous chairs, they had here. Perfect for a lounge. “So the captain naturally binds up his power in his ship and doesn’t have much left over to spare. Thus he contracts out his offensive workings to his…well, you’re first mate. And Dampier’s the pilot. A good one, too, but Woodes is a careful type and likes to have reserves on hand.”
From the look on his face, Will was beginning to get it. “Are you enjoying life as a pirate’s captive?”
“It has its benefits.” Namely, that large fluffy bed that Tom had been missing for some months before he’d met up with Woodes, and a good deal of energetic usage of that bed. But on the other hand, there was also Woodes’ attitude—king in his kingdom—and a constant desire to give it a comeuppance. “Can I be frank with you, Turner? I don’t personally know much of you, but you’ve a reputation as a practical, sensible man. And at the moment I prefer to deal with those, as I’m temporarily worn out with flights of fancy.”
“And you’re not liking the idea of becoming Rogers’ human ojo de gueche, I take it,” Will observed.
Tom stretched and resettled himself, then reached for his boots. He hadn’t had that much coin on him, so he hadn’t been able to bribe the servants to keep Woodes away for too long. “Oh, I don’t know. I may turn out to like having a regular berth. But I do want it to be understood that I’m not a possession. Another cannon on the deck. And I think you can understand the value of having a friend on Woodes’ ship.”
“It’d depend on the quality of your friendship.” Turner casually stooped to hand Tom his boots. But then his hand whipped out like a snake-strike and had Tom by the ankle before he could blink. Which was extremely impressive, since Tom had been an artist of the sleight-of-hand even before he’d discovered real magic.
The breath caught in Tom’s throat. He froze.
So did Will’s eyes—for a moment they were black ice. He squeezed Tom’s ankle just enough for the feeling to raise echoes in Tom’s raw feet. “Tom, I’m starting to like you, and I think we might have an accord. But cross me and mine at your own peril.”
“Obviously,” Tom squeaked out. He flopped back with a huge sigh of relief when Will let go of his ankle and rapidly corrected his assessment of the man. Definitely one to have on his side, and not against him. “So…”
“So it turns out that I’ve got another matter that this…I think they’ll dovetail neatly. Just follow my lead when it comes to dinner and afterward, all right?” The other man stood up, and just in time, for Woodes rounded the corner.
Neither man’s expression betrayed much, but Tom felt a definite frisson pass between them, a northern interloper into the humid paradisiacal climate. Will nodded slightly, and Woodes deigned to pivot just as slightly so the other man could pass him in the hall. Then he came over to stare down at Tom.
“So this is where you got to.” Woodes glanced out the doorway, restless gaze alighting not on the wonderful flowers but at the various shadowy patches. No doubt he suspected ambushes even here.
“Yes, this is where I got to.” Inside Tom, his insides were precipitously close to jelly, but over the years he’d made an art of bluffing, and now that came into good use. He threw himself back in the chair, one boot on and one off, and insouciantly lifted his chin.
Unlike Will, Woodes’ preferred method was to invade space, and this he now accomplished by putting his hands on either chair arm and looming over Tom, making a veritable cage of his body. The warmth that flowed off him and drenched Tom was in sharp contrast to his cool tones. “You needed a little air?”
As he spoke, he carefully lifted a hand and drew his fingertips down the side of Tom’s chest, curving the linen of Tom’s shirt so it stuck to him. Then he stroked around to tease at Tom’s waistband before smoothing his palm back up. Tom opened his mouth to reply and had to bite down on it because then Woodes started to fondle his nipple. Rolling it between thumb and forefinger, pinching hard. He was staring straight at Tom, and continued to do so as he pulled the linen taut over the aching nipple and bent down to lick at it. “You could have asked me.”
“When one wants air, one generally wants it in order to get away for a moment.” Shuddering as he was, Tom was nevertheless pleased with how steady he sounded. Though that was ruined a moment later when Woodes simply grabbed him under the jaw and lifted him into a punishing meeting of mouths. “Oh, God.”
“No, dinner.” Woodes didn’t bother to ask, or even give an order. He merely slipped his arms beneath Tom and jerked him upright as if he were a mere doll.
Granted, his limbs were currently rather slack, but that was still a thoughtless and insulting way to treat someone who’d won the man a few fights. Pirates. None of them seemed to understand what any good thief knew by heart: if generosity wasn’t offered, then it’d be taken.
* * *
The servants brought in the last dish and Will nearly wept with gratitude, for that meant no more fiddling about with forks and spoons while Elizabeth frantically hissed directions, and no more gritting his teeth at Bart’s shameless flattery of everyone. Maybe it was his duty as host and schemer extraordinaire, but he really was laying it on thick.
He looked quite well, his usual stark black and white graced with a few notes of color—his earrings flashed nearly as much as Jack’s gold tooth did, and slate-blue sapphires glinted from amid the lace that swathed his hands. There hadn’t been much time for him to do more than enquire after Will’s health and press his palm in promise to Will’s crotch before they’d had to go in for the meal, but occasionally his eyelid did dip in a wink Will’s way.
Beside him sat Norrington, whose chin apparently had something the matter with it. “Think he’s got lockjaw?”
“Don’t be nasty, Will.” Elizabeth daintily began to poke her spoon at dessert. With her hair piled high like that and her dress shining richly in the candlelight, it was almost like the old days. But not quite, since in the old days Will had never been invited to dinner and she had never worn a dress so low in the neck that Will could glimpse the pale pink of one nipple just beneath the bodice edge. “Your lover was stupid enough to seat Jack across from poor James. And you remember how flexible Jack’s toes are, don’t you?’
“Elizabeth,” Will hissed, jerking his head towards Robert. Thankfully, the other man was currently engaged in offending Woodes’ navigator, William Dampier, so he hadn’t overheard.
She merely gave him an impish grin. Then nearly made him jump when she patted his knee before she turned thoughtful, sipping at her wine. “Actually, I think something’s bothering him. He’s agreed far too often. Jack’s noticed.”
So he had, and was now hiding concerned glances behind the fluttering of his hands. Bart had also seen and, not being one to lose a chance, was pressing home some attack. “So you see, if it’s properly organized and carried out, we’ll have just enough resources.”
“Assuming that I assent to this plan of yours,” Woodes interrupted. He was seated across from Will and his left hand hadn’t been above the table since two courses ago. On that side of him, Tom was discreetly slouching in his chair and beginning to shoot distressed looks at Will.
“Gorgeous puppy eyes. I almost regret not letting him have his way with us first.” Elizabeth grinned in an entirely unladylike fashion at Will. “But why’s he looking at you?”
Bart somehow mustered the portentous dignity of a high churchman and leaned forward, tapping his knife against the table. He raised his eyebrows, as if to say what a blind idiot Rogers was. “I had been under the impression that you were here to settle terms, not to seek further persuasion. Therefore it seemed pointless to remind you about—”
“—various carrots you’ve baited me with and sticks you think you’re holding over my head?” Clearly being made to kick his heels in the governor’s mansion for a few days had irritated Woodes to no end. He looked as if he were prepared to harangue till the world ended…or till he engineered something.
Which was why Will had had a word or two with Anamaria once he’d seen Rogers’ ship lying at anchor, and why Will had suggested that Rob sit beside him and diagonal from Woodes. After all, Rob was used to the five-foot reach of his claymore and putting him right next to Rogers wouldn’t have left him enough room to swing a chair.
During the short pause that followed Woodes’ statement, Norrington’s stare turned glacial, Jack was probably contemplating about employing gold- and mother-of-pearl inlaid cutlery for butcher’s purposes—he looked like he was watching the dust float, but Will had learned to read him better than that—and Bart merely smiled. Very charming, but if one tilted to see at a different angle, it was clear that the curve of his lips had an edge like a razor.
Will reached under the table and smoothly stroked up the inside of Rob’s thigh. The other man had iron-clad manners and didn’t so much as bat an eye, though the muscles beneath Will’s hand were instantly twitching. “Anyway, there’s still Blackbeard,” Will innocently said.
He hadn’t had a chance to really warn Elizabeth, but it was probably the best opportunity he was going to get. A quick meaningful look to Tom, a casual flip of the fingers that he hoped Elizabeth and maybe Jack had seen, and Will calmly went on. Massaged his hand up a strong thigh and patted around till he found the swelling of an interested prick, too, so as to have something pleasant to focus on. “You all realize we will have to kill him before we take on the Spanish. I’ve the least experience or learning, I think, of anyone here, but even I know it’s foolish to fight on two fronts.”
From Elizabeth came a stifled snicker, not at what he was saying but at how. The glint in her eyes told him she had caught on and was adoring the rare chance to drag him into turning the world upside-down. Jack took a little slower, but after a moment he put up his arm and rested his chin on his hand. When silently reproved by Norrington, he merely put fingers to his smiling lips.
Rob, Will was amused to see, was starting to bite his lip, though he continued to eat as if all was normal. Will spread his hand over the outline of Rob’s prick and then pressed up, squeezing the balls so he heard a little catch in Rob’s breath. “Bart, your envoy barely got out alive, and I think Teach would shoot anyone from Norrington on the spot.”
“Hear he’s on bad terms with you, too,” Tom chimed in, cheerfully eying Woodes. He also took the opportunity to wiggle a bit farther away. “Didn’t he warn off a town you were planning to ambush?”
“Shit-licking son of a Moorish whore.” Which functioned as a yes from Dampier.
Woodes, meanwhile, just stared. Between him and Bart, Will really should have been unnerved. That was, if he hadn’t previously had practice staring down Elizabeth, Anamaria, Jack, Barbossa, Norrington…sometimes the mess that was Will’s life came in handy.
“True enough,” Bart finally said. He shrugged and leaned carelessly back from the table. “So did you have something in mind?”
“Possibly. It depends on whether a rumor I’ve heard about Blackbeard’s newest mistress is true.” After a last stroke to Rob’s prick, Will slipped his hand from the other man’s lap and got ready to duck, if necessary. “Oh, and if Tom’s interested in coming along. He’s the only other person I know who can work an ojo de gueche without passing out a few minutes in.”
Blood sat up and grinned, while Woodes’ face closed in on itself like a knight’s visor clamping down. “I always like meeting famous people,” Tom caroled.
“You’re not—”
Tom batted away the hand Woodes had started to lift towards him and glared with a strength that surprised Woodes. But his voice was sweet as honey. “I might be understanding matters wrongly, but I believe I’m still under Governor Robert’s…orders, so to speak.”
“Jaguar-toothed ones,” Will agreed.
That set back Bart’s reply for a moment because he twitched. Went very still and unreadable. Then he sighed, set down his knife with great deliberation, and pushed back from the table. “Gentlemen, I know several of us have just arrived from long journeys. Might I suggest we adjourn for the evening, and take up weightier matters first thing tomorrow when we’re all fit for it?”
“If Governor Norrington doesn’t mind, I think it’s a wonderful idea,” Woodes sarcastically drawled. He was still regarding Tom, who had dropped all pretenses of pleasantry and was giving him a devil of a look.
“I think he doesn’t mind. Do you, J—Commodore?” Jack rose, and with him everyone else stood as well.
Long cool fingers wrapped about Will’s hand and squeezed quickly before Elizabeth flitted off; no doubt she was anxious to find Anamaria and have assistance out of her corset. Though Will had thought Rob would be the hardest to get rid of, the other man actually started to depart before Will had even nudged him. “I’ll stop in the library in about a quarter-hour, I think,” Rob muttered. “First I suppose I should go lash the watch into keeping an eye out so no one’s disturbed. More than they already are, at any rate.”
Which left Will with a suspicious Bart trailing him towards the library. “Will bloody Turner, what do you think you’re—”
Well, Will was seizing Bart’s wrist and pivoting fast so when he slammed the door shut behind them, he did so by ramming Bart into it. He pushed Bart’s hands up by his head and pinned them there. “Bart? We need to talk.”
Right after Will kissed the sense out of him so he couldn’t argue.
* * *
James stumbled out the door, still distracted by the sheer incomprehensibility of what had just happened. Of course, his confusion wasn’t helped by Jack’s insistent pulling towards their chambers in the guest wing. “Jack!”
“Stop worryin’, James. I knew Bart of old—he’s always been a careful man ‘neath everything. There’ll be no secrets told from the lips of his servants.” And now Jack was actually behind James, having swiveled while James—well, he had been looking but he certainly hadn’t seen it done. The warmth of his breath tingled the back of James’ neck. “Come, now. Reckon if we let Will manage things, we might get a few more concessions in the morn. Bart always was more generous after a good fucking.”
“Which is very well for the military side of things, but what about—”
Chuckle, low burning heat shot through it like the rum Jack favored so much. “Duchess of nothing, I’d judge. So you needn’t worry—it’s rare that nobility can handle themselves on their own, but your Lady Kitty could raise an Armada. Let the girls treat her to the town, all right? Elizabeth knows about her, and I do believe that’s where she was off to.”
* * *
Bartholomew pulled uselessly at his wrists. “Will—”
The rest came out as a squeak, for Will had nonchalantly shoved his knee in between Bartholomew’s legs. Now he slowly eased it down the line of Bartholomew’s prick, applying evenly devastating pressure while his mouth dragged heat down Bartholomew’s neck, pressing it through lace and linen and stiff brocade. When Bartholomew moaned and sagged against the door, Will muffled a tickling laugh in Bartholomew’s shoulder that startled him into struggling again.
“Will.” Right. Concentrate. Remember the man currently teasing your laces open is a bloody idiot, Bartholomew reminded himself. “Are you mad? Edward Teach—”
“Is a right bastard, but I’ve got plenty of experience with those.” An oddly resentful look to go with the sharp tone. But before an answer could be delivered, there was Will’s tongue flickering against the warming thin skin stretched over Bartholomew’s collarbones. Tasting the little hollow between them. Rasping teeth as gently as a cat grooming its kittens. “Anyway, it’s common knowledge he’s losing his mind. If we got him away from his base—and I think we could figure out a way to lure him, then it’d be easy enough.”
Then Will stepped back and yanked down Bartholomew’s arms as he did. He pulled hard enough to send Bartholomew, already suffering from weak knees, into a sharp spin that landed him with a jolt in a nearby chair. Bartholomew’s hip protested mightily, but when Bartholomew tried to lift a hand to rub at it, he discovered Jack had been quite the thorough teacher. He slouched breathless in the chair and panted as he swiftly felt out the knots that bound his belt around his wrists. “You keep saying we, yet I don’t think you mean Rob or me.”
“How’d you guess?” The sharpness was back in Will’s voice, honing it to a needle-point. And his gaze was just as cutting as it roved over Bartholomew’s wrenched laces, rumpled shirt half-drawn from his trousers, and…boots. It stopped at Bartholomew’s arm, and then Will agilely clambered onto Bartholomew’s lap to tease some more at Bartholomew’s neck. “Stop trying. Those knots are as good as that pretty bracelet I hear you snapped around Tom Blood’s leg.”
Oh, that. Bartholomew had suspected that’d be troublesome later, but he had expected a sulking Rob and a…less physically confrontational Will. He certainly hadn’t planned for a tongue dexterously squirming loose his buttons, or fingers petting every inch of newly-exposed skin. “I can explain.”
“I’m sure you can. And I agree, it was a good way of making sure Blood didn’t simply run off.” Hand working loose Bartholomew’s prick, only to enclose it in strong fingers that knew far too much about their business. “But there’s an earring in Rob’s ear says you should have told me, at least. And saying your damned trick dropped Tom on my account as well as yours is another ring here.”
Will bit savagely at Bartholomew’s nipple, causing him to arch and cry out. But instead of swirling a wet tongue about it till it was soothed, the other man sat back on his heels and let the hurt radiate outward into a persistent ache. His face resembled that of the Pearl’s figurehead, cool and impassive, but in his eyes lurked a very alive anger. “If you’re going to get me linked in a possible grudge with Rogers—or anyone else—I’d like to know. Unless you want to dissolve our accord.”
“I would not,” Bartholomew quickly said, pulling himself upright. He sought to emphasize his declaration with a kiss, but Will held him back. And tweaked his cock for good measure so that Bartholomew fell back against the chair. “Will, truly, I—”
“—are used to being accountable to no one, and of course securing the governor’s post wouldn’t help with that,” Will muttered. He looked off over Bartholomew’s shoulder, staring into some bitter memory.
Sometime soon, Bartholomew really needed to sit Elizabeth down and have a good long chat with her about Will’s previous experiences, and especially where they concerned Jack. Not that he thought his old friend would have been deliberately hurtful, but Jack certainly wasn’t always easy for newcomers to understand. And Will’s introduction to piracy hadn’t been of the usual run. “No, I just wasn’t thinking. I thought of a way to make sure Woodes came to us one way or the other, and I did it before I could think it over too much. So I’m a fool, but I’m very much interested in keeping our pact.”
“A pretty apology.” Will still stayed back.
“A true one,” Bartholomew insisted. He struggled again with the knots, but Will did know what he was doing and they held firm. With a sigh, he gave up and looked at the other Will. “I was never thinking of keeping it permanently on. Actually, I’d damn well better take it off now, else between Woodes and Rob, your new friend’s going to find himself bedding down beneath the sea very shortly.”
“You hang thieves, not drown them.” Rob stepped into the room, then closed the door behind him and pointedly locked it. He threw Will a mildly reproving look as he walked towards them. “We do pay the servants well, but that’s still no reason to give them gossip.”
One moment he was standing, and the next he had been neatly set on the floor, and Will was on top of him and taking his mouth in a way that entirely rid Bartholomew of breath. In a trice Rob was stripped down to his shirt, and then Will maneuvered him onto his belly so his head lay next to Bartholomew’s feet. “Since when have you been prim?” Will asked.
He sounded more playful, which Bartholomew took as a good sigh. But, as the look in his eye made clear, he wasn’t yet out of his devilish mood. When he rose from Rob’s disheveled form, Bartholomew could see little red teethmarks dotting the nape of Rob’s neck. Will kept Rob’s hands pinned behind him as he leisurely pulled down other man’s breeches. Then he shuffled over and dug about in Bartholomew’s clothing—with no small amount of teasing—till he came up with a small tin of salve.
Bartholomew took the opportunity to bend over and lunge at Will. Though Will turned his head at the last moment, Bartholomew still managed to sink his teeth into Will’s ear. Lightly. “Am I forgiven?” he mumbled.
A long, long pause, wherein Bartholomew had a few sharp realizations about how the nature of his private relationships had progressed. Then Will sighed. “I suppose. Damn it, but I can’t help liking who I shouldn’t.”
“What did you two decide?” As Will scooted back, Rob started to rise to hands and knees, but one look from Will and he was hastily lowering himself back to the floor. Once Will had lashed his hands back with his own belt, he rolled half-over so the gold through his nipple dangled from his open shirt.
Will flicked at the ring, provoking half-closed eyes and a purr from Rob that made Bartholomew yank at his wrists, then smacked Rob’s arse hard enough to leave a red print behind. “That we’re keeping you and letting Woodes bother with Blood. Turn over.”
He got his fingers slathered with the salve before tossing the tin over his shoulder; it appeared Will was in the mood for prolonged torment instead of frenzy. He wrapped a hand around the back of Rob’s neck and jerked him to his knees. Rob’s wide eyes met Bartholomew’s dazed ones so Bartholomew could watch as they rounded even more, bulged out as Will slipped his hand between Rob’s legs. Then they disappeared as Will forced Robert’s head down and made him swallow Bartholomew’s prick. Bartholomew could see the skin of Rob’s neck turning a dull red where the heel of Will’s hand ground into it.
That was—when his own head wasn’t lolling backward and thumping against the top of the chair. His knees tried to spread and banged against the chair arms—damned furniture wasn’t wide enough, Will wasn’t letting Rob take more than half into his wickedly clever mouth, and Bartholomew’s hips were out of commission so he couldn’t slide down to take care of that himself. With an effort, he dragged up his head to look down: Rob’s dark head bobbing in his lap, Will’s fingers curling possessively about his neck, the long elegant curve of Rob’s back ending in the swells of his shapely buttocks, which the hem of his shirt just skirted.
Will caught him staring and grinned without a hint of malice, which relieved Bartholomew’s last worries. The other man twisted the fingers he had in Rob’s arse so Bartholomew could take in every shudder, feel the tremble in the lips wrapped around his prick. “Also, Bart’s admitted that sometimes he’s too damn clever for his own good. I need to figure out how to get back here more often, since obviously someone has to keep him in check.”
Whatever he did then with his hand made Rob shiver and whimper, which did wonderfully brutal things to Bartholomew’s body. His nerves were going to have a hell of a time recovering before tomorrow’s negotiations. Though those couldn’t be nearly as…as…stressful as Rob allowing a bit of teeth to touch Bartholomew’s cock. God. “I think you’re managing quite well as it is,” Bartholomew gritted out.
Not that he was complaining. Unfortunately, Will took it as such and made him wait ten endless minutes before allowing Rob to swallow the rest of Bartholomew’s prick and finally submerge him in heaven. A fiery, clutching, relentless kind of heaven that actually looked a bit like hell, what with how a single scratch of Will’s nail along Rob’s hairline could take away the delightful wriggling of tongue against the underside of Bartholomew’s cock. And how Rob absolutely refused to buck the pace Will set—not at all how he behaved under Bartholomew’s hand—and continued to keep Bartholomew teetering on the edge of satisfaction.
“I’d hope so. I’m wearing myself out trying to help you hold all the alliances together, which is a pointless effort if you antagonize people.” Perhaps Will hadn’t fully vented himself.
Well, Bartholomew would make it up to him. And know better next time. Once he was allowed to spill himself—Rob almost sent him beyond recalling with a kind of reverse-swallow that squeezed from tip up to base, but at the very, very last moment Will tugged Rob back. In fact, pulled his mouth off completely just before ramming fingers up into him so he keened into Bartholomew’s thigh. Nuzzled mindlessly at it while his hips shamelessly rode the thrusting of Will’s fingers.
“Will…” Bartholomew hissed. No, whined. Because he was desperate, and beneath that, a touch afraid.
But Will merely pulled Rob all the way off the chair and let the other man melt against him, eyes rolled back into his head and flushing prick rising to taunt Bartholomew, for now it was getting the attention of Will’s other hand. “You know, it still amazes me how damned tight he is,” Will said. Kissed openmouthed the point of Rob’s jaw. “Want his arse?”
“You cockteasing son of a whore. If you were my first mate, I’d never have you out of the rigging.” But Bartholomew was scrambling awkwardly out of the chair and sliding down so his knees thumped painfully on the floor.
Rob writhed and made little tormented noises when Will laid him down on his back, pulling fingers free with a flourish. Which didn’t seem to bother Will a bit as he caught Bartholomew by the elbow and dragged him over, shoving him till he was sandwiched between Will and Rob. Then Will levered up Rob’s legs and, in nearly the same moment, kneed Bartholomew so he dropped forward. Landed with mouth already seeking to devour Rob’s neck, though a second later he had to stop and shudder when Will maneuvered Bartholomew’s cock into Rob’s arse, which was a new level of torturous pleasure.
“Good thing I’m not, then. You’d look better stretched across the ropes,” an unrepentant Will retorted. Then he shoved two fingers into Bartholomew without the slightest warning.
They were still slicked up, but nevertheless the shock of it made the muscles seize up around them, and from there the spasm traveled swiftly and violently throughout Bartholomew’s entire body. His hearing faded out as abruptly as his sight did, and so he was only dimly aware of crying out, of a cooling stickiness spreading beneath him and Rob.
Even when he regained his senses, he could do little more than twitch to the tune of Will’s fingers, which played a bit more in his arse before withdrawing. From behind came the sound of rustling clothes, and then Will’s hands cupped Bartholomew’s hips. “And you’ve left Rob to suffer alone again. Tsk.”
Tsk inde—Will’s prick stretched deep into Bartholomew’s arse, Will’s weight crushed him down against Rob’s cock, and Rob clenched around Bartholomew’s exhausted prick in a way that mercilessly raked over Bartholomew’s unstrung nerves. Helplessly squirming, he decided the better part of discretion would be to take the rest of his punishment without complaint—oh, God, that was good and painful and too much. He already wanted more.
* * *
“What was that?” Woodes virtually flung Tom onto the bed before pacing angrily to the far end of the room. Then he turned around, as if his basilisk look still had much power over Tom.
After a couple weeks of constantly seeing it, it’d lost its potency. Tom flopped backward—marvelous mattress—and yanked off his pinching boots. “Cochrane shouldering us aside in the hall, I believe. Don’t take it personally—from what I understand, he’s on cordially bad terms with everyone. Well, with the exception of Mr. Turner and Governor Roberts.”
“Don’t be dense.” The other man stomped back up the room.
So Tom threw his boots at him. Of course Woodes ducked without any problems, but the point wasn’t to hit him. “I’m not being dense. I’m being observant.”
For a moment, it looked like Woodes was going to strangle him. But the other man gained control of himself and contemptuously turned his back to Tom. He started pulling out the various little knives and so forth that he never went anywhere without. “And what, exactly, are you observing?”
Very dramatic. Tom rolled his eyes and absently wondered if there were any decent theaters yet in this part of the world. He considered being tactful, but judged the situation too advanced for that. Anyway, he’d tried tact and diplomacy and those simply didn’t seem to get into Woodes’ head. “You’re being an utter prick. And an idiot into the bargain, and mayhaps you prefer to be at odds with everyone too, but I don’t.”
“You can’t walk by yourself.” The last knife clattered onto the armoire, and then Woodes turned around while divesting himself of his coat.
He stopped with both his arms still trapped in the sleeves, which was uncharacteristically careless of him. But then again, Tom doubted that he usually faced a crackling ball of lightning.
After a moment, Woodes finished taking off his coat. He moved slowly and never took his eyes off of Tom. “You said you couldn’t use it. I saw you try.”
“Well, I think we both know by now that I’m good at being a fake.” Since he wasn’t interested in setting the bed on fire, Tom snapped the lightning back into the emerald and rolled over onto his back. His little expression of contempt as well as a way of disguising how much that effort had cost him; the magic would be so damned weak here. “Do I have to remind you that my current disability is only temporary?”
“So you want to be under Black Bart’s thumb? He might be governor now, but he hasn’t changed a whit from when I first met him. As likely to trade you for a better set of guns as he is to invite you to bed.” Woodes ambled over to the bed but kept a wide berth of Tom. It was nice to see some show of respect from him.
Tom rolled over again and started yanking at the bandages around his feet and ankles. New skin had started to grow over the raw spots, but a few of the deeper whip-marks still were little more than scabs and had broken along their edges. Drops of drying blood dotted the cotton Tom flung over the side of the bed. “What did he do to you? All I hear is ‘in the old days’ and ‘last I saw him’…maybe he’s not a saint, but none of you are. And he’s certainly changed—can you say that previously, he would’ve gone dancing to the tune of someone like Will Turner?”
The other man chewed on that. He leaned against one of the bedposts and calmly began stepping out of his boots, loosening his shirt, as if it were any other night. They were, however, not on his precious ship.
“Oh, now you think I’m defending him.” For a third time, Tom flopped about; his own shirt had long since pulled loose of his trousers and it billowed about him. Occasionally tangled or stuck, since the room was warmish and he was a bit sweaty, and so made him look very appealing. He could see appreciation for that in Woodes’ eyes, anyway. “Christ, you’re worse than women when it comes to petty jealousy. And twice as blinded by it. You’ve no idea why I’m upset, do you?”
All Tom’s rolling around had mussed the sheets so they twisted in a makeshift nest about him. Woodes transferred his gaze to one corner of it as he sat down, then smoothed out the blankets. He reached out as if to touch Tom’s cheek.
Tom warily moved back. Undeterred, Woodes suddenly lunged forward to fall on his stomach and elbows, one hand knotting firmly in Tom’s hair. Both of them froze.
Then, as delicately as he would ease his ship over shallows, Woodes drew his fingers down through Tom’s curls to curve them around Tom’s head. Neck, nape, the hard calluses of a seafaring life rasping pleasantly over Tom’s skin. “So what do you want?”
“Are we negotiating now?” The words came out a bit hoarse, and Tom had to lick his lips before going on. Damn it, but Rogers had had the better part of a month to figure out where were Tom’s weak spots, and he’d taken full advantage of that.
“I’d thought we were leaving that till you were fully healed, but if you want to set terms now…” Woodes shrugged. Pulled Tom a little closer.
“Terms, terms—everything’s so cut-and-dry with you,” Tom snorted. He absently put his feet down, then jerked and hissed.
His moment of distraction cost him, for Woodes lost no time in sweeping Tom beneath him and then pinning him there. “What’s wrong with that?”
The warm tongue tracing the soreness out of Tom’s neck and shoulder muscles made concentrating difficult. “Well, for one thing, I’m not part of your crew. I’m not a business transaction that happens to be prettier than usual. I’m—would you just consider the idea that I have opinions? And that I’d like you to actually acknowledge them? God damn it, stop—”
Woodes promptly stopped and lifted his head. His expression was unreadable, but at least that meant he wasn’t about to kill Tom. Not with a sword, anyhow; his weight pressing down and the familiar grip he had on Tom’s wrists were starting to fool Tom’s body into thinking this was a prelude to something. Which it might be, but…God, Woodes was infuriating. Even when he wasn’t actually doing something.
After a moment, Woodes leaned back down to whisper caressingly into Tom’s ear. “What say you to me sucking on this—” tongue-flick against Tom’s earlobe “—morsel?”
This…was progress, Tom supposed. Faintly mocking, but it did sound as if Woodes had absorbed the lesson. Good. Because Tom didn’t actually want to meet Blackbeard unless he had Woodes between him and the man. “I’d say…that’s fine.”
And the sensitive bit was immediately taken between nipping lips and treated well enough to make Tom’s breath come short. Then Woodes slid down to rub his cheek against the side of Tom’s jaw. “And to putting my mouth here?”
“All right,” Tom gasped, finally letting himself press back against the other man.
Long wet drag down and back up Tom’s neck before nudging at Tom’s mouth. “Here?”
“Yes.”
Tom eagerly opened his mouth to it, but that wasn’t nearly enough; Woodes decided he was done with being gentle and took possession of Tom’s lips with all the savagery that he would a recalcitrant Spanish shore battery. When he rose, Tom instinctively tried to follow him, whimpering.
Woodes grinned, dark and feral. “And how about burying myself in your arse till you can’t even cry mercy, you damned imp of an Irishman?”
“Wonderful idea,” Tom breathed, spreading his knees. “See, it pays to listen to me—oh. Jesus Christ.”
* * *
Elizabeth chivvied her companion further into the alcove, ostensibly to adjust Lady Cobham’s laces but really so she could get her hand past all the damned stiff skirts they had to wear and back towards that lovely sweet cunt. She giggled and darted in to kiss Kitty, yanking determinedly at the heavy brocade. “See, this is why I prefer to go about in breeches. So much less fuss.”
“I can see the attraction,” Kitty breathlessly said. One moment her hand was limp on Elizabeth’s shoulder and the next it had twined itself tightly in Elizabeth’s hair, holding her still while the other woman revenged herself. “But really, we’re quite late. And I do want to meet your ex-fiancée and Lord Robert—one hears the most wicked stories about that lordling in England.”
“Nothing to what he gets up to here, I’d wager.” As Kitty was right, Elizabeth reluctantly allowed them to back out. She took the other woman by the hand and pulled her along, calculating the odds that Will had picked a bedroom, or perhaps hadn’t made it up the stairs, or…probably the library. Heavy doors and drapes, and even after everything, Will was still such a prude in some ways. “Surprised me, but he’s marvelous for Will. For the longest time, I thought Jack was going to keep Will from ever stepping out on his own—not that Jack did that on purpose, mind, but he can’t help but push himself out there.”
They ran into a slightly frayed-looking James on the stairs, who promptly bowed. “I apologize for not being able to escort you about the town myself, Your Grace, and I do hope—”
“James, she’s not really a duchess.” Whereupon Elizabeth received an elbow in the side, and promptly wrapped her arm around Kitty, pulling her too close for such nasty things to happen again. “Though that’ll be our little secret, since the Spanish are so snotty. She is still an expert on them. By the way, your laces are crooked.”
James blushed. While adjusting them, he revealed a fresh bite on the side of his neck. “You’ve missed breakfast. Er…Madame Cobham, if you’re looking for Governor Roberts, I believe he’s in the east study with Lord Robert.”
“Confusing names, aren’t they?” Kitty inquired as they dashed through the serpentine passages. “Elizabeth, please slow down.”
“Damn all corsets.” They got turned around once and nearly ran over a footman, but eventually Elizabeth found her way. So if those two were together, where was Will? “And not really. Only James is ever that formal—everyone else calls Lord Robert Rob, and Governor Roberts is Bart! Fine morning, isn’t it?”
As Elizabeth and Kitty stepped into the room, they were nearly blinded by light glinting off something. But then it disappeared to show Bart, who looked decidedly less pristine than last night, seated at a window. He had been reading papers while next to him, Rob was lying along the rest of the broad padded sill, head abutting Bart’s hip. The glint had been from the hilt of Rob’s sword, which he was just putting down beside him. Oddly enough, it was a cutlass.
Rob had opened one eye to see them, and now he closed it, as disdainful as any cat. “Will ran off with my claymore early this morning to neaten up the hilt. However do you keep him from burning down the ship when you’re at sea?”
“We put him in charge of the cannons, and find him a forge when we can.” Elizabeth was amused to note Bart’s hand surreptitiously stealing from behind Rob; before they’d come in, he had probably been running it through Rob’s hair, or maybe massaging Rob’s back. “Bart, this is Kitty Cobham, whom we’re referring to as the Duchess of Wharfedale.”
“Considerably shorter than the one I knew,” Rob drawled. “And the color of her hair’s changed as well. Less fiery.”
Elizabeth rolled her eyes. “Norrington requested an expert on the Spanish from the Admiralty some months ago, since he knows little Spanish and less about their internal politics. That was before he and Jack made their accord, and apparently his letter canceling the request never made it to London.”
“And he requested a Duchess?” Bart asked, eyebrows raised. He cast an appreciative but detached gaze over Kitty.
“No, he requested a Duke. Who thought it would be pleasant to bring along better company than his actual wife, and who took ill when a storm drove us onto the Carolina coast. He died as soon as we got into Port Royal.” Kitty produced a delicate little sigh that did marvelous things to her bosom. “Just as well, as I’m the one who usually handled his Spanish contacts.”
The corners of Bart’s mouth began to turn up; Jack had thought Bart would welcome a fellow adventurer, and after a lovely night of sharing with Anamaria, Elizabeth was determined to make it so. She squeezed Kitty about the waist and looked meaningfully at Bart, who hid a grin behind the current paper he was reading.
“Bart?” Woodes Rogers eased from behind Elizabeth and sauntered into the room, trailing a heavily limping Tom Blood who promptly dropped into the nearest chair. “If we could see to a certain matter first, I think negotiations would go much quicker.”
“Of course,” Bart said, standing up. And hiding his wince very well. “Let’s get to work, shall we?”
***