Within A Captain's Power Read online

  Cover Copy

  Never underestimate the power of a pirate . . .

  Captain James Steele is duty bound to capture the privateer Scarlet Night and bring her rebellious crew to England to hang. Then he will leave his majesty’s service, make an upstanding marriage, and join the landed gentry. But the winds of fate are blowing the straitlaced commander utterly off course.

  Once aboard, James comes face to face with a pirate boy who is in reality fierce, desperate—and gorgeous—Samantha Christian, on the run from a sadistic Virginia plantation owner. With her identity unbound, the good captain dutifully takes her under his personal command, whereupon decorum goes out the porthole. But while his heart is lost to Samantha by the time they reach England, her noose still awaits. Now James’s sense of duty will be severely tested. As for Samantha, she has a plan, and a duty, of her own . . .

  Visit us at www.kensingtonbooks.com

  Books by Lisa A. Olech

  Captains of the Scarlet Night

  Within A Captain’s Hold

  Within A Captain’s Treasure

  Within a Captain’s Fate

  Within A Captain’s Power

  Published by Kensington Publishing Corporation

  Within A Captain’s Power

  A Captains of the Scarlet Night Novel

  Lisa A. Olech

  LYRICAL PRESS

  Kensington Publishing Corp.

  www.kensingtonbooks.com

  Copyright

  Lyrical Press books are published by

  Kensington Publishing Corp. 119 West 40th Street New York, NY 10018

  Copyright © 2017 by Lisa A. Olech

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

  All Kensington titles, imprints, and distributed lines are available at special quantity discounts for bulk purchases for sales promotion, premiums, fund- raising, and educational or institutional use.

  To the extent that the image or images on the cover of this book depict a person or persons, such person or persons are merely models, and are not intended to portray any character or characters featured in the book.

  Special book excerpts or customized printings can also be created to fit specific needs. For details, write or phone the office of the Kensington Special Sales Manager:

  Kensington Publishing Corp.

  119 West 40th Street

  New York, NY 10018

  Attn. Special Sales Department. Phone: 1-800-221-2647.

  Kensington and the K logo Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.

  Lyrical Press and the L logo are trademarks of Kensington Publishing Corp.

  First Electronic Edition: April 2017

  eISBN-13: 978-1-5161-0078-1

  eISBN-10: 1-5161-0078-6

  First Print Edition: April 2017

  eISBN-13: 978-1-5161-0080-4

  eISBN-10: 1-5161-0080-8

  Printed in the United States of America

  Dedication

  To Bob – Another fine captain.

  Acknowledgements

  I wish to thank all the hands who have lovingly brought my pirates to life upon these pages. Thanks to Amanda, my editor; Dawn, my agent; and the fine folks at Kensington Lyrical and Blue Ridge Literary Agency.

  Thanks, also to Kathy, and the Plot Bunnies. I couldn’t have done this without you!

  Chapter 1

  Pleasant Ridge, Virginia — 1715

  “Are you trying to get yourself killed?”

  “I'm buying myself some time.” Samantha Christian whispered behind her fan.

  “You're buying yourself another beating.” Her companion, Rebecca Whitmore, whispered back.

  “As long as I know it will be the last, Wessler can do his worst.”

  The air in the Whitmore’s ballroom was stifling. The room was packed with an overabundance of Virginia’s beautifully dressed elite. Plantation owners with their gossiping wives and pampered daughters wearing their latest Parisian fashions. Political bigwigs vying for attention, and high-ranking British military in crisp, sharp uniforms. All these, and Samantha—in the ill-fitting, cast-off gown of Damian Wessler’s deceased wife. She did her best to blend into the silk damask wallpaper. A mighty challenge wearing the color puce.

  It was the annual harvest ball. An anticipated favorite in the surrounding community. It would be social suicide not to attend, which is why Wessler agreed to allow Samantha to come, even though he despised her burgeoning friendship with Isabelle Whitmore and her daughter Rebecca.

  “Fine. We'll go. But I won't be spending my money on some foolish new gown. One of Marlene’s will do.” He snatched at her upper arm and gripped it viciously. Samantha shook with the effort not to cry out. “And if I catch you talking to those blasted Whitmore bitches, or you embarrass me in the slightest way, you’ll live to regret it.” He spit between his clenched teeth.

  It was his favorite expression. “You’ll live to regret it.” There was much Samantha regretted, but it did her little good to go back and try to undo what had already been done. Her only other option was to put her plan in action to leave the vile prison she found herself in, regardless of the unavoidable risk to her health. Wessler’s beating tonight would happen whether she followed his strict dictate or not. She might as well earn it honestly.

  Samantha fanned at her cheeks. She and Rebecca stood tucked in amongst the huge floral arrangements decorating the room. Magnolias and dogwood perfumed the space. She caught Wessler glaring at them from across the room and massaged the nauseous pitch and roll of her stomach with gloved fingers.

  “Mother has sent word, but if the Scarlet Night has moved on from their hiding place...” Rebecca clutched at Samantha’s wrist. Pale eyes, wide with concern, met hers.

  Samantha smiled, trying to reassure the girl. “That’s a chance I’ll have to take.” She closed her fan with a snap, kissed Rebecca’s cheek, and shot a defiant smile in Damian Wessler’s direction. “Now, why don’t you introduce me to the handsome Captain Steele?”

  Captain James Steele of the Royal British Navy was among the guests at tonight’s ball. He cut a dashing figure in his dress uniform of navy and cream. Broad shoulders filled his gold-trimmed coat. Brass buttons winked in the flicker of the hundreds of candles lighting the room. He wore no wig, choosing to club his hair. The color was a rich auburn that shone to a light ginger in the candlelight. It made the blue of his eyes all the more striking. Taller than the majority, he was by far the most noticeable man in the room.

  After the proper introductions, he swept her onto the dance floor. “Have you lived in Virginia long, Mistress Christian?”

  Her gaze darted from Wessler’s livid glare to the handsomeness of Captain Steele. “Six months. However, it feels more like six years.”

  He grinned. The curve of his mouth revealed a slight dimple in his left cheek. “Do you miss your home so much?”

  “I do, and my family most of all.” She tried to concentrate on the steps of the dance and boost her fortitude.

  “I, as well, but soon I’ll happily set sail with orders bringing me back to England. I’m looking forward to autumn in Weatherington.”

  “Weatherington? Is that where you’re from?” She dared another glance in Wessler’s direction. His glower caused her to falter and step on the captain’s polished boot. “I-I grew up not too far from there in South Oxbridge.”

  Captain Steele never missed a beat. “You don’t say. I know South Oxbridge well.” He spun her to the music before dipping his head and dropping his voice almost to a whisper. “I must warn you, my lady, there is a gentleman standing of
f my port side who has the most disagreeable scowl directed at us.”

  Samantha could almost feel Wessler’s eyes burning holes through her back. She forced a grin. “Does he resemble an overfed hound dog in a wig?”

  The captain threw back his head and laughed. The sound warmed her clear through and somehow gave her a necessary measure of courage. “Why, yes, now that you mention it, there is something a bit hound dog about him. Who is he? A suitor perhaps? An overprotective uncle? By his expression, perhaps he is your betrothed?”

  She lifted her gaze from his pristine silk neckcloth. The Captain’s eyes were impossibly blue. They were the sky on a brilliant summer afternoon. “No, he is not my betrothed. He is more my jailer.”

  Captain Steele laughed again. “Isn’t that somewhat the same thing?”

  “Spoken like a man who is either terminally single or unhappily betrothed.”

  “Betrothed, but not unhappily. Impatient. I’m to be wed as soon as I return to England.”

  Samantha blinked at the quick rush of unexpected disappointment. “Congratulations, Captain. Your fiancée is a lucky woman indeed.”

  “Thank you. Lillian is lovely. We’re well matched.”

  “Will you wed in Weatherington?”

  “Unfortunately, no. Lillian lives in London. She does not share my love of the country. A bit too rustic for her tastes.”

  “I’m a true country girl, I’m afraid,” Samantha lifted a shoulder in a slight shrug, “but I’ve always longed to see London.”

  His rust-tinged brows rose. “You didn’t sail from there?”

  “No, Portsmouth.” Turning once more in the dance, Samantha caught Wessler heading toward them, only to be intercepted by one of the other local plantation owners. He acknowledged the man with a civilized nod. The tolerant set of his jaw told Samantha he’d been caught in conversation. He shot her another dark scowl.

  “Well, if you ever find yourself back in England, you must allow me to show you London.”

  Captain Steele’s warm voice softened the edge of Wessler’s threat. “Won’t your Lillian mind?” She blinked up at him.

  The dimple in his cheek flashed once more. “I suspect she’d frown like your guard dog.”

  “I can certainly understand why. You are quite handsome.” A darting look told her Wessler still watched. Samantha laid her hand on the lapel of the captain’s jacket. “What is it about a man in uniform that is so appealing?” She traced the gold braid.

  “I wouldn’t know. I’m surrounded by men in uniform every day. I fail to see the allure.”

  Samantha’s laugh sounded tinny and forced to her ear. Their dance ended. Couples began to clear the dance floor. Wessler finished his conversation and seemed intent on making his way through the crowd toward them once again.

  “Captain, I do beg your pardon, but I am suddenly feeling a bit…It’s so terribly warm…” She feigned a stumble.

  He caught her arm. “Are you unwell?”

  “Air.” She lifted a shaky hand to her throat. “I’m desperate for a bit of air.”

  The orchestra began another lively tune. New dancers crowded the floor and blocked Wessler’s approach as Captain Steele guided her quickly in the opposite direction toward the French doors leading to the back veranda.

  The night breeze was a blessed relief after the heat of the ballroom. Moving them into the shadows, Samantha pressed a hand to her ribs and drew in several deep breaths. She lifted the back of her hand to her cheek.

  Captain Steele gave her a worried frown. “Are you all right?”

  “Yes,” she nodded, “I believe so.” She shot a glance over her shoulder.

  “Can I fetch you some water, perhaps?”

  “No, thank you. I’m feeling much better.” She laid a hand on his sleeve. The lights from the ballroom filtered through the sheer fabric adorning the doors and accented the attractive angles of his face. “Are you always so kind, Captain?”

  He gave her another small grin. “Unless I’m ordered otherwise.”

  “You are in His Majesty’s service.” Samantha responded coyly and curtseyed.

  “Aye, and loyal to king and country.” He inclined his head in a small bow.

  “And steadfast in your duty?” she teased.

  Captain Steele stood tall. “I know of no other way.”

  The doors to the veranda flew open. Music and the hum of conversation tumbled out as Damian Wessler rushed from the ballroom. He stood for a moment at the railing, peering into the shadowed pathways of the Whitmore’s formal gardens.

  Blood rushed in Samantha’s ears. Fear and panic caused her to clutch at Captain Steele’s sleeves. “Forgive me, sir.” she whispered before rising on tiptoes to crush her mouth to his.

  “Madam—” Captain Steele put his hands to her waist and gently tried to push her away.

  Samantha heard Wessler’s curse behind her. She tightened her grip. “Please, Captain, I’ve no time to explain,” She rushed. “Play along.” She slipped her arm about his neck, angled her mouth, and kissed him again.

  Wessler’s boot heels punctuated each stride as he marched toward them. He wrenched her out of Captain Steele’s grasp. “What in the bloody hell—” he snapped. His eyes held a murderous rage as he growled into Samantha’s face. His jowls trembled with barely contained fury.

  Samantha wiped at the corner of her mouth. She flashed Wessler a coy smile. “You can’t blame me for stealing a simple kiss.” She shot a nervous glance at the Captain. In the dim light, she couldn’t read his face, but the increasing bite of Wessler’s fingers interrupted all else.

  She faked a small stumble and a tiny burp. A forced giggle through her gloved fingertips capped her performance. “Whatever was in the punch? I’m so lightheaded.”

  “You’ll pardon us, sir, but Mistress Christian,” he jerked her to his side, “and I need to bid you a good eve.” As he spoke, his grip continued to tighten. “Come along, my dear,” he snarled as he jerked at her arm. “Didn’t I warn you not to drink too much this evening? Time to get you home.”

  Samantha pushed at his punishing hand. “We shouldn’t be rude to the Whitmore’s distinguished guest.” She shot Captain Steele an embarrassed glance. He was watching the exchange between her and Wessler. A frown knit his brows. “Another dance, Captain?”

  “We’re leaving,” bit Wessler.

  “The spirits were rather potent tonight. Perhaps, Mistress Christian simply needs a bit more air, Mister…?” Captain Steele held out his hand.

  Damian had to release her arm to return the Captain’s handshake. She couldn’t stop the small gasp that escaped her. Her fingers wrapped around her battered skin.

  “Wessler. Damian Wessler. I own the Blackwater Plantation. Mistress Christian is in my employ, and she can be rather wild. Undisciplined. Ignorant to social protocol. Almost defiant.” The last words he directed toward her as he reached for her once more. “If you’ll excuse us.”

  Samantha started to thank the captain for his kindness, but Wessler jerked her away. His vise-like fingers left little room for argument. He dragged her back through the crowded ballroom and past a horrified Rebecca.

  “We—we need to t-thank our hosts.” She resisted the strength of his pull, casting a pleading glance back at Rebecca. She’d rushed to Isabelle’s side, and now both women watched their hasty departure, concern etched on their faces.

  “And give you yet another opportunity to humiliate me?” He wrenched her arm, causing her to gasp as he snarled into her ear. “Shut your fucking mouth and keep moving, or—”

  “Or what? I’ll live to regret it?”

  Chapter 2

  Samantha pulled the hood of her black wool cloak low to conceal her face. Ahead of her, through the gloom of a murky night, her rescuer urged her to hurry. She stumbled upon an upturned root, and her guide cursed.

  “Damn it, hurry. The tide will be turning soon. If we are not away, we won’t be able to leave ‘
til dawn.”

  “I’m moving as fast as I can.” She quickened her pace as best she could. “These shoes are too big. They keep slipping from my feet.”

  Less than an hour had passed since Captain Tupper Quinn alerted Samantha of her arrival by tossing small pebbles at her bedroom window. Now was the time. It was tonight or the opportunity—and her savior—might be lost.

  At the first sound of those lifesaving pebbles, Samantha had raised the window, then caught the knotted rope tossed to her before securing it to the heavy post of the bed. Moments later, Tupper swung over the sill to drop into the room.

  The wild-haired woman in breeches and boots wasted no time with pleasantries. “Put these on and be quick about it. If he catches us, we won’t get away without a messy fight.”

  In the pack Tupper tossed at her, Samantha found a pair of mud-brown breeches and a shirt of coarse linen, together with a long, wide strip of muslin. Stockings and buckled shoes finished the outfit, along with a wide, thick leather belt.

  Stripping off her dressing gown, Samantha winced against the ache in her ribs. She heard the sharp intake of breath behind her and turned to find Tupper’s narrowed eyes upon her.

  “He put those marks on you?” Her breath hissed through her teeth.

  Samantha nodded, clutching her gown to her chest. Tupper brushed the hair away from her face, before tipping it to the light. Samantha couldn’t hide the dark ugly bruise marring her cheek. “He prefers to inflict bruises on his staff none can see, but his anger often gets the better of him.”

  “Lowlife son-of-a whore bastard,” Tupper grumbled, releasing her chin. “Best be quick, before I change my mind about leaving and choose to end his miserable life instead.”