Never in her life had she beheld his equal in form, strength, or grace, but it wasn’t just the unexpected sight of him. He possessed that raw, commanding presence that was unrivaled by king or commander. An air of noble refinement that was offset by an aura of bloodthirsty intolerance, cool indifference, and utter ennui.
He was lethal, no doubts there. Beguiling. More than that, he was an enigmatic study of warring contradictions that quickened her heart a lot more than she wanted to admit to anyone, especially herself.
In a festering den of inhospitable inequity and evil, this man reigned as its supreme emperor. And while his two companions were dressed in brightly colored brocades—like the other vain occupants of the room—this one, in stark contradiction, wore a somber black wool coat, breeches with plain brass buttons, and an unremarkable dark brown waistcoat. Even his cotton shirt and neckerchief were as black as his hair and boots. Like a Quaker … and yet his demeanor and weaponry said he didn’t partake of their religion or peaceful ways.
The only color on his body was the bloodred hilt of a barbarian-styled cutlass. And a flashing ruby signet ring on his pinky that caught the light.
But for his fierce stance, deadly demeanor, and the firm hand that stayed planted on the hilt of that sword, he could easily pass for a respectable man. Nobleman even.
Until one met that cold, dark, intelligent gaze that saw everything around him to the most microscopic detail.
She could literally feel him tallying the strengths of everyone in the tavern and sizing them up for their every weakness of character and physical flaw.…
As well as their caskets.
He was exactly the kind of unnerving male that caused her and Lettice to draw straws on his entrance back home in the Black Swan to see which of them would be stuck for the night waiting on his table.
And Cameron always cheated to make sure she wasn’t the one left with it. Something that would bother her conscience a lot more but for the fact that it was Lettice’s father who owned the Swan, and while Nathaniel Harrison would guard his daughter’s reputation and well-being, he wasn’t nearly as circumspect when it came to hers. Especially when placed against his need for profit. He’d sell all but his daughter for that.
Even his own mother, and probably his wife to boot.
Not wanting to think about that, Cameron scowled at the men flanking the newcomer. His companions were much more the typical pirate or privateer fare one would expect to find in such a sordid place. The one to his right had a mane of long brown hair he wore tied back in an impeccable queue, along with a well-trimmed beard, and eyes so light and merry a blue they glowed in the dim light. Each of that man’s fingers held an ornate ring—no doubt plunder from some unwary ship he’d raided—if not some unfortunate corpse. Still, he seemed amicable enough.
While many Caribbean pirates had a tendency to pierce their earlobes, this one had chosen to place a small gold hoop in his left eyebrow, just off its arch. His elaborate burgundy and black coat was widely cut at the waist—in the latest fashion craze. And where the beguiling and dangerous captain had chosen a plain black neckerchief to wear, this pirate’s cravat was stark white silk, and trimmed in layers of decadent lace.
The man on the left was dressed in a peacock blue silk coat that covered an insanely ornate gold waistcoat. One so fine a silk that it shimmered in the light like water. He wore a small white wig that concealed his hair color, but judging from his skin tone, dark eyebrows, and the careless whiskers that dusted his well-sculpted cheeks and jawline, she assumed his hair was as dark as his captain’s. Yet where the captain had a set of coal black eyes, his were a deep shade of hazel blue.
While his mood and countenance weren’t as dark and sinister as his captain’s, he was nowhere near as jovial as their companion, either. She’d guess him as the quartermaster.
Or a hangman.
The three of them swept past her without so much as a glance in her general direction, letting her know they saw her as no threat whatsoever—which was fine by her. Last thing she wanted was to be crossed up with such terrifying and deadly men.
They made their way to the back of the tavern to an empty table. The large, burly guard who’d been keeping it reserved for them inclined his head, then went to fetch their drinks.
Something he returned with so quickly that it no doubt set a speed record for the inn. From her years of working in such an establishment, she knew it said much about his fear of angering the three newcomers, and even more about their temperaments and personalities. These men did not like to be kept waiting, nor did they want to be interrupted once settled.
For the first time, Cameron’s courage faltered as she watched the men begin a private and intense whispered conversation.
What are you doing, Cam?
This was what she’d come for—to speak to Captain Devyl Bane and enlist his aid.
Maybe it’s not him.
She knew better. He was just as he’d been described. Darker than sin and more dangerous than dancing with the devil’s favored handmaiden. There was no one else it could be. The witch-woman had told her to look for a captain who’d take her breath and leave no doubt in her mind that he was the bane of the devil himself.
That definitely described the man in the center of the other two.
No one could be deadlier or more sinister.
“Greetings, governor. You be wanting some company, like?”
Cameron winced as an attractive prostitute plunked herself down on her lap. Because Cameron was dressed as a man and passing herself off as one so that she could travel unmolested and with ease, the prostitute had no idea she was wasting her time there.
Grinding her teeth, Cameron caught the woman’s hand before it drifted to a part of her body that would scandalize them both. Cameron shook her head sharply.
“What? You mute?” She reached to touch Cameron’s face and smiled wide. “That’s all right, love. Don’t be needing no words for what I do best, no ways. Fact is you be getting more your money’s worth if’n we don’t be speaking no how.”
Cameron caught the woman’s wrist again and reminded herself to toughen her voice and lower it an octave. “Not interested, me sweet. You’re not me type.” She cast her gaze meaningfully toward the three men.
The prostitute laughed. “Ah … can’t says I blame you there. They each be so fine you can’t help but crave a bite of those backsides and pray for lockjaw.” With another winsome smile, she sighed. “Best of luck to you, mate. Way I hear tell it, though, you don’t got a chance with none of them.”
And with that, she left Cameron’s lap to pursue another, more probable client.
Taking a deep breath, Cameron debated the sanity of seeing this mission through. It was obvious that the three men had no desire to be approached by a stranger.
In fact, they appeared to be arguing.
Heatedly.
This is all kinds of insanity.…
But Cameron Jack was not a coward.
Maybe a little?
She shushed the voice of reason in her head that told her to run for the door before they gutted her. Jacks aren’t craven. Now get in there, me girl.
Scared and breathless, she forced herself to her feet and crossed the room, trying to exude a confidence she definitely didn’t feel. Her legs trembled as sweat beaded on her forehead and upper lip.
For a moment, she feared she’d faint.
You can do this. Don’t you dare back out now. Patrick needs you. You’re all he has in this world.…
The moment she neared them, they fell silent and all three pairs of eyes pierced her with a malevolent glare she was sure had turned lesser beings into stone.
Or, at the very least, caused them to soil their breeches.
Captain Bane took a drink of his ale before he spoke in a voice so deep, it rolled out like thunder over a dark, stormy cove. “May I help you?”
She took a nervous step forward.
The brown-haired man pulled his sword and angled it at her neck. “That be close enough, lad. Declare yourself.”
She cleared her throat and met the captain’s gaze levelly. “I was told that you’re Captain Bane?”