Fortune Trilogy 1 - Fortune's Mistress Read Online Free PDF

her little time to argue.
    “Don’t be so damned finicky,” her older brother had said. “Lucky for you the coffin was empty when Toby stole it for us. Now, get in, before we all end up in Newgate.”
    Alfred had wedged one corner of the coffin open with his pipe so they could breathe, but being in so confined a space still made goosebumps rise on Lacy’s skin.
    “Actually, I didn’t expect a box at all,” James rumbled. “I thought they’d dump us in a hole and scatter quicklime over us.”
    “Will you stop wiggling!” Lacy had prided herself on never being a coward, but she had to admit that being jammed in here with this big pirate was as terrifying as being caught in a riptide. She’d never been a woman to hanker after men, but Godamighty! His arms and shoulders were masses of coiled muscle and his thighs were rock-hard. She swallowed a lump in her throat and tried to keep from thinking of her bottom pressed so intimately against his loins. Her chest felt tight and she struggled to breathe. Damn Alfred and Ben for this madcap scheme! Why couldn’t they have stolen a hay cart?
    She was increasingly aware that her single petticoat and her thin linen shift and stays were small insulation against his growing interest in their situation. Her chemise and petticoat had ridden up to mid-thigh, and her legs were completely bare. Despite the dampness of the September evening, she was overly warm. “Can’t you control that?” she demanded. “No gentleman would take advantage—”
    “I can’t help it,” he answered in a strangled voice. It was obvious to Lacy that he was not only enjoying her embarrassment, but also laughing at her. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been this close to a woman.”
    Lacy’s mouth was dry. She could feel his huge staff stiffening beneath her buttocks. “Think of something repulsive,” she suggested. Actually, her own inclinations seemed to be following his; her thoughts were beginning to be deliciously impure.
    “Having your brothers discover us in a compromising position?” he suggested.
    “Worse than that.” Her head was lying in the crook of his neck, and one of his muscular arms was twined over hers. “Think of rotten eels.”
    James nuzzled her hair, and unfamiliar sensations of heat began to churn in the pit of her stomach. “Your mane’s so red,” he continued, “it’s a wonder it doesn’t light up our chamber.” He raised a hand, took a lock of her hair, and rubbed it between his fingers. “It’s clean too.” He inhaled deeply. “How the hell do you have clean hair?”
    She tried to ignore his fingertips moving in slow lazy circles on the inside of her right elbow. He was touching her so lightly it could have been her imagination ... but she knew it wasn’t. “Don’t do that,” she said, slapping his hand away.
    “You smell of soap,” he murmured huskily.
    “I traded my other petticoats for clean water.”
    “Soap,” he repeated. “Where did you find soap in Newgate Prison?”
    “The warder’s daughter favored my ribboned barrel pad.”
    “A little longer stay and you’d have walked out the gate as naked as you were born.”
    She smacked his other hand. “If I’d been hanged and dumped in that quicklime pit, I’d have needed no clothes, would I? Hell is hot, they say. No need for three petticoats in the devil’s kitchen.”
    Suddenly, the wagon stopped. Fear raised the hair on the back of Lacy’s neck and she nearly forgot James was beneath her as she lay motionless, scarcely daring to breathe. A man with a heavy Yorkshire accent was questioning her brothers. Lacy knew there was more than one horseman because she could hear the animals’ iron-shod hooves against the cobblestones.
    “Chained together, ye say,” Alfred mumbled meekly. “Ain’t seen none like that. Bad business, pirates. Do I catch sight of any, I’ll call the watch, I will.”
    “Spread the word,” the Yorkshire man said. “There’s a reward for the pair,