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  Claimed by the Captain

  Tara Kingston

  Jason Kane lost everything to one man’s treachery. Thirsting for vengeance, the ruthless privateer abducts Catherine Farrell, daughter of the swindler who destroyed his family. Intending to extract the debt owed him from his tempting prisoner, he plans a cold-blooded conquest. Aroused by his captive’s sensual beauty, he claims her with seductive persuasion. As he plunges her into a world of pleasure, her passionate surrender sparks a deep longing in his heart and soul.

  Catherine Farrell lived the sheltered life of a prosperous merchant’s daughter until Captain Jason Kane made her a pawn in his quest for retribution. Claimed by the captain, she finds herself at the mercy of a man who will settle for nothing less than complete domination. His tender mastery awakens Catherine’s passions and stirs her heart. If only she convince him that love is far more satisfying than sweet revenge.

  Ellora’s Cave Publishing

  www.ellorascave.com

  Claimed by the Captain

  ISBN 9781419933431

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  Claimed by the Captain Copyright © 2011 Tara Kingston

  Edited by Grace Bradley

  Cover art by Syneca

  Electronic book publication June 2011

  The terms Romantica® and Quickies® are registered trademarks of Ellora’s Cave Publishing.

  With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the publisher, Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.® 1056 Home Avenue, Akron OH 44310-3502.

  Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded or distributed via the Internet or any other means, electronic or print, without the publisher’s permission. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000. (http://www.fbi.gov/ipr/). Please purchase only authorized electronic or print editions and do not participate in or encourage the electronic piracy of copyrighted material. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.

  Claimed by the Captain

  Tara Kingston

  Trademark Acknowledgment

  The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:

  The College of William & Mary: The College of William and Mary state university

  Chapter One

  May 1813

  Tidewater, Virginia

  “I will not marry that dim-brained sot.” Catherine Farrell stared across the ballroom, her gaze settling on the long, lean, dour-faced man holding court with her father. She dragged in a breath heavy with the cloying sweetness of honeysuckle. The aroma lingered in her senses as she studied Jonathan Marbury’s weak-chinned profile.

  Arianne Churchill squinted her dark eyes to slits, pinching her lips together in that way she had when she regarded something most unpleasant. “He’s not so bad, Cathy.” Leaning forward, she lowered her voice to a conspirator’s whisper. “I imagine he’d make a most devoted husband.”

  Catherine snapped open her fan with a crisp flick of her wrist and partly veiled her face. “In that case, you are more than welcome to him, dear friend. I’d rather marry a scarecrow than warm Jonathan Marbury’s bed.”

  The strains of a waltz swelled in the background. Catherine’s gaze drifted to the trio of musicians. Their passion brimmed in every note. Such handsome men, young and virile, yet utterly unsuitable. Her father would never approve of a union that would not add coin to his coffers.

  “Tempting morsels, are they not?” Arianne laughed. “Pity I’m not in the market for a lover. When my darling Henry returns from sea, I’ll speak my vows. I fear I must restrain my appetites just a while longer.” She tilted her head to the far corner of the ballroom. “Perhaps Mr. Marbury will have to do without your affection. I believe you may have another admirer. He hasn’t taken his eyes off you the entire time we’ve been talking.”

  Catherine followed the path of Arianne’s lingering attention. A raven-haired man lounged against the wall, taking in the scene with an assessing gaze. His elegant ebony coat hugged broad shoulders and a muscular torso. Snug black trousers clung to his powerful legs. With his chiseled features, the face of a fallen angel, he might have been a striking incarnation of Lucifer come to lure unsuspecting souls to hell.

  Her pulse quickened at the thought, but she drew in a breath and forced the fanciful notion from her mind. “He’s probably wondering how our tongues can wag without pause. We must look like two gossipy biddies.”

  “It seems he has a taste for redheads. The man has eyes only for you.”

  She waved away her friend’s words. “Have you found your way into your father’s brandy?”

  “If only I had. Henrietta Blakely’s blather about her oh-so-wicked suitor might have been far more palatable.” Arianne flicked open her embellished fan and peeped over the ribs. “I do believe that delectable man is coming this way. This is most exciting.”

  “And most improper.”

  Catherine drew her fan closer to veil her features. The gesture did not deter the dark stranger’s course. He crossed the ballroom with long, stealthy strides.

  “Will you at least allow him a glimpse of your face, you stubborn girl?”

  She sighed and dragged in a breath. “Very well. If doing so will bring you peace, I suppose I have no choice.”

  Searching her mind, she struggled to recall some hint of his identity. Surely she would not have forgotten such a remarkable figure of a man. The stranger allowed perhaps two paces between his body and hers, standing far too close for propriety’s sake. Eyes dark as the midnight sea raked over her. He watched her, the heat in his stare stirring an unfamiliar vulnerability that flickered a chill along her spine.

  “Miss Farrell, it’s a pleasure.” Ice coated his words despite the curve of a smile on his lips. He tipped his head to Arianne. “I must confess I had not expected to encounter two incomparable beauties tonight.”

  Catherine studied his chiseled features. “Have we met? I must confess I do not recall the occasion.”

  Her question hung unanswered as Arianne’s practiced pout drew his attention. Her friend’s pale complexion colored prettily as she met his gaze with the skill of a practiced coquette. “You are too bold, sir.”

  “I cannot deny I had no patience to wait for a proper introduction. May I ask your name, lovely lady?”

  Her friend fluttered her lashes and pretended to hesitate. “Arianne. You may know my father, George Churchill.”

  His dark head inclined toward her as he pondered the name. “I’ve made his acquaintance. A tobacco merchant, is he not?”

  “Father has enjoyed great success in recent years.”

  “I’m familiar with many of his ventures. He’s partnered with Edwin Farrell on several occasions.”

  “Yes, that’s true,” Catherine spoke up. “I’m afraid I am still unable to place you, sir.”

  “Many years have passed since we last met. You were a girl then, all red hair and freckles, firmly entrenched in the school room. Since then, your father has spoken highly of your beauty, but I’d believed him to be exaggerating. Until now.”

  “My father is quite shameless, I’m afraid. His quest to marry me off knows no bounds.”

  “I’ve known your father since I was scarcely more
than a boy. For once, he’s spoken the truth.”

  Catherine searched his face for some trace of humor. Such an odd thing to say. As though reading her thoughts, his eyes narrowed, tiny crinkles of amusement etching the corners.

  With practiced ease, he shifted his attention to Arianne. “Miss Churchill, might I trouble you for a favor?”

  “What would you ask of me?”

  He moved even closer, so close he might have intended to brush a kiss over her mouth. Arianne nibbled her bottom lip. “Might I have a moment to speak with Miss Farrell privately? I have a matter of great urgency to discuss, but I fear it is for her ears only.”

  “Of course,” she said, slanting Catherine a knowing glance. “I pray you will join me in a waltz after you’ve shared this scandalous secret.”

  He coiled a stray tendril of Arianne’s honey-blonde hair around his long, lean finger. “Spun gold,” he said with a sly smile. “I look forward to our dance.”

  Arianne fluttered the fan shut. “As do I,” she murmured as she took her leave, scurrying to join a cluster of richly gowned young women at the edge of the room.

  “She is most enticing,” he commented under his breath. “What a pity my purpose here tonight does not involve her as well.”

  The scent of a male in his prime and bayberry shaving soap filled her senses. Catherine backed away, one step, then another. Her father would not permit a scandal.

  Shaking his head slowly, he denied her retreat, closing the slight distance she’d managed to set between them. An excited glint marked his eyes as he dared to touch her hand. Her uneasiness seemed to please him.

  She pivoted away. “What has brought you here tonight?”

  “You did, Miss Farrell.”

  She blinked. Surely she’d misunderstood his meaning. “If you wish to speak with my father, I would be happy to take you to him.”

  “I have no desire to speak with the man. You are the object of my quest tonight.”

  Her breath caught in her throat as she turned to meet his dark gaze. “Whatever do you mean?”

  “I came for you.” His husky rasp sent a frisson of warning through her core.

  Unwanted warmth flooded her cheeks beneath the intensity of his gaze. “What a most peculiar thing to say, sir.”

  “I only speak the truth. I needed to find you, Catherine.” He took hold of her arm with a firm grasp. “I assure you my concerns are quite urgent.”

  An instinctive warning pounded in her brain. Surely this man could have no legitimate business with her. She pulled away, but he restrained her with gentle yet unyielding pressure.

  “I cannot risk that the cackling hens of this fair town will overhear my concerns and run amok.” His voice was little more than a whisper, hard and smooth as marble. “Surely you’d not wish to bring disgrace upon your father.”

  She stiffened against his hold. “Nothing you might tell me could sully his honor.”

  “The truth would bring him great shame.”

  Catherine scanned the ballroom. Iris Humphries made her way through the crowd, her focus intent on the tall, well-muscled man at Catherine’s side. The vows she’d spoken two years prior had come to mean little to Iris, if her bold flirtations were any indication of the value she placed on fidelity.

  “Come with me,” he urged. “What I have to say is meant for your ears and your ears alone. You don’t wish to create a scene, do you?”

  Her father would be furious if she embarrassed him. She was of value only while her reputation remained pristine. Surely an unpleasant exchange with this stranger would draw attention she could ill afford. Humoring him would not be difficult to bear. It was not as though he were ancient and repulsive. So many of her father’s associates were gnarled gargoyles with roving eyes. This man was handsome. Almost dangerously so.

  Undoubtedly, his chiseled features and full mouth had gained him access to hearts and beds throughout his life. The stranger’s deep brown eyes were nearly black, the same shade as the dark hair cropped close to his head in the style of an imposing Roman emperor. He towered over her, his devilishly handsome face clean shaven, his broad shoulders isolating her from the other guests.

  “Come with me to the garden,” he coaxed. The husky timbre of his voice stirred a primal reaction within her, tearing at her resistance.

  Swallowing hard, she defied the instinct to struggle against the stranger’s control as Iris neared.

  “Sir, I don’t even know your name,” she protested.

  “Captain Jason Kane, at your service.”

  His long fingers slid to her wrist. The rough texture of his fingertips contrasted with the gentleman’s attire. His eyes darkened to the color of midnight. Her pulse quickened in silent alarm as she met his unreadable gaze. His heat flooded her veins.

  “Catherine, will you deny me?”

  The rich tones of his voice caressed her name. Her instinctive wariness of this man battled furiously with the desire to discover what lay beneath the charming mask of his features. The sounds of music and laughter and flirtations filled her ears. Surely there would be no harm in seeking a quieter place in which to take their refuge.

  “My father will be furious if he discovers I’ve gone off without a proper chaperone.”

  He dismissed her concern with a smile. “Come, before some other rake sweeps you away from me.”

  Iris would be upon them at any moment. The tart-tongued shrew would stir quite a scandal if given the chance. If she spied Catherine alone with the captain, the gossip would spread like dandelion tufts in a spring breeze.

  Glancing past Captain Kane, Catherine spotted her nemesis. Iris fidgeted with her pearl choker, staring down at the hunched, turban-clad woman who’d attached her hand to Iris’ plump wrist like an eagle’s talons clamped over a baby rabbit. Her mouth scrunched into a twisted bow as she met Catherine’s gaze. Settling her thin lips into a scowl, Iris turned her attention back to her husband’s dowager aunt, looking as if she might actually pry herself from the elderly woman’s hold at any moment.

  Catherine drew in a long breath. With any luck, Sybil Humphries would continue to occupy Iris until Catherine made her escape. I shall be bold tonight. She faced Captain Kane’s persuasive dark eyes.

  ”Perhaps only for a moment.”

  Catherine inhaled the heavy fragrance of gardenias as he led her from the main house. His impenetrable stare crept over her, fueling the uneasy alarm she tried to ignore. She pressed her damp palms together and laced her fingers to disguise the slight trembling in her hands. The set of his mouth and the gleam in his eyes brought to mind a predator. Sleek, beautiful and deadly. She chided her overactive imagination, yet she could not dismiss the sense she had become this man’s quarry.

  “So, Captain Kane, how do you know my father?”

  “My father entered into a venture with him many years ago. The trusting fool did not fare well against your father’s cunning, I’m afraid.”

  A new wariness of this man stirred at his uncloaked disdain of her father. “What is your business, Captain?”

  “I am a pirate, Catherine.”

  Surely he was toying with her. “A pirate? Do you take me for a fanciful girl?”

  “You don’t believe me?”

  “You expect me to believe Blackbeard has arisen from his watery grave?” she scoffed.

  “I assure you I am not a ghost.” He took her hand in his and drew her to him, tipping her chin so she had no choice but to meet his gaze. “If I’d had any idea the old man’s daughter was so enticing, I’d have come for you a long time ago.”

  Catherine took a step back and studied his face for some sign he’d been merely teasing her. She retreated another step. Insistent fear born of primal instinct demanded she flee, but she hesitated. This man was her father’s guest. Surely her father would not invite a malicious rogue into their home.

  Her confusion increased as Kane’s attention shifted. A muscle in his jaw clenched as he gestured with a quick incline of his head.
<
br />   Powerful hands seized her shoulders from behind. The beginnings of a scream squeaked out of her mouth. Kane silenced her, forcing a length of coarse fabric between her lips. He knotted the gag behind her head as unseen hands seized her arms and bound her wrists with rough cord.

  Fear and frustration raged through her thoughts. Could no one see what was happening? She struggled desperately against the bindings and the unyielding hold that restrained her. The loud blur of music and raucous conversation from the crowded ballroom drowned out her small, desperate protests.

  Kane swept her up, settling her against his shoulder as effortlessly as if she were a small girl. Terror filled every breath. The world began to swirl. She was losing consciousness. She was trapped in a swirling vortex of fear and the last thing she saw was the triumphant gleam in the devil’s dark eyes.

  Chapter Two

  Cathy’s head throbbed. The image of the dangerous stranger’s smile of triumph had invaded even her dreams. She forced her eyes open. The villain had removed the gag and bindings. Did he believe she’d be afraid to attempt escape, or had he eliminated that possibility?

  She threw off the scratchy patchwork quilt covering her body and swung her legs over the side of the mattress. Squinting to adjust to the dim light, she scanned the chamber. Dark wood paneling. A single spindle chair. A desk constructed in a stark, unembellished style, so different from her father’s elaborate furnishings. The moon’s rays through the single round window provided the only hint of brightness and beauty. The slender beams danced over an oak chest scarred by years of use.

  Her hands smoothed the elegant gown she’d chosen for her father’s ball. The creamy-white silk now bore several dirty stains and a tear along the seam, slashing from the high empire-waist to the hem. The dress was ruined, she thought with a hint of despair. Staring down at the rended fabric, she shivered as the remaining logic she possessed reminded her quite ruthlessly that the destruction of her gown was the least of her worries.