Page 5 of The Heart of an Earl

He kicked off of Des’s neck and dragged the girl across the deck.

The last image Des saw before his world slipped into blackness—the swish of the girl’s peach-colored skirts along the deck, her boots struggling to not step forward.

Resistance.

Even though she’d just promised willingness. Resistance.

Resistance was going to get her killed.

{ Chapter 2 }

Six years later, September 1820

West Indies

Steel cracked close to his temple. Too close.

He shoved up on his blade, sending the attacker stumbling. Battling men back from Captain Folback’s side was always tenuous—the captain liked his red coat, which made him all the better a target in a skirmish.

With a heave of breath, Des ducked the blade coming at him from a second attacker and swung out his left hand with his dagger, slicing the man directly in front of him across the thighs. The brute doubled over and Des brought a knee up into his skull. The man dropped, dead weight to the boards of the deck.

Another battle. Another man down by his blade.

He’d been watching the captain’s back for too long. Not that he was inclined to move on from his current lifestyle. The privateering business of Captain Folback suited him just fine. No one to know him. No one to answer to but his mates. Just part of the crew.

Des took a quick glance about the ship’s deck as he blocked a cutlass from his right. Most of the men of theFirehawkwere still standing, but they weren’t winning.

Losing, very possibly, for the first time in ages.

“We aren’t making any progress, Captain,” Des shouted over his shoulder.

“Well then, make some damn progress,” Captain Folback yelled back in between clashes of his sword.

Make some damn progress. Easier said than done.

Des caught sight of the door below the quarterdeck. Get to the captain of this pirate ship and it’d be over. Quickest way to victory.

That the captain—or at least the obvious captain—of theRed Dragonhadn’t appeared in the battle yet was telling. The man saw his downfall looming.

“I’m going after the captain,” Des yelled to Captain Folback as he stepped away into the stinking haze of burnt gunpowder.

Des moved across the deck in quick order, avoiding flying steel and flailing bodies. Just as he reached the door leading to the captain’s quarters, a shriek reached his ears and a body jumped down on him from the quarterdeck above.

The mass hit him in the shoulders, making him stumble into the wall beside the door. Half-doubled over, he caught himself against the rough wood just before he fell to his knees.

Not fast enough.

The length of a dagger was at his neck before he could draw himself up to his full height and ready his sword.

Des shifted, looking up at his assailant, looking for a way out.

For how much he tempted death day in and day out, the instinct for self-preservation always won—no matter how he tried to sequester it.

He froze.

Eyes. Female eyes.

Staring at him. Wide. Manic.

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