The Captain of All Pleasures Read Online Free Page A
Author: Kresley Cole
night.
He would just keep walking. Forget about interfering.
But when the boy barreled right past him, Derek spun around to see him get tangled in an old hempen rope coiled on the walk. The lad sailed forward, arms careening uselessly, before plunging to a stop on the slushy ground. Shaking his head, as if he couldnât quite believe heâd fallen, the boy raised himself on his arms but couldnât seem to manage his legs.
What was left of Derekâs withered conscience demanded a rescue, but he easily quelled the thought. He wasnât the man he used to be. Besides, he could already see the sign of the tavern where heâd been heading. So close to a night of mind-numbing viceâ¦
Judging by the sounds coming from ahead, the men were closing in.
âWatch yerself, ye bastard!â a flamboyantly dressed woman wailed as she swung her cloth bag against one of the menâs heads. When he turned around to face her, she grew silent, frozen, then loped off into the night. Derek understood whyâthe man looked as if he were fresh from a nightmare.
Before he could stop himself, Derek turned to catch another look at the kid. Still valiantly trying to pull himself up, to get his little boots to catch a foothold on the grimy walk. Strangely, Derek had to fight the feeling of pity, a feeling increasingly unfamiliar to him.
He stalled for only a second more. The boy was probably a cutpurse and deserved whatever punishment those men handed out. Determined to turn away, he shook his head and walked on.
An affirmation, he knew, of just how big a bastard he had become.
Â
Like a separate thing living in her, Nicoleâs fear grew, choking her throat. She strained to scramble up, but in her heart, she didnât know how much longer she could go on. Every movement shot pain through her exhausted limbs. Every choppy breath made her lungs burn as though she inhaled fire.
This wasnât how she wanted to go outânot sinking into the filth of a London street waiting to be plucked up by Clive.
I want to go down swinging. She bit back tears of pain and frustration, but before she was even conscious of it, a sob arose and spilled forth on a breath.
âBloody hell,â a deep-voiced man grated from just behind her. A string of imaginative cursing followed; all at once she was lifted up and tucked into the side of some exasperated, angry giant. As he started toward a forgotten crack between two tea warehouses, shock rose up to claim her again; she couldnât even tell herself to fight because he wasnât one of those men.
Had she found a savior from the docks? Not likely, yet the man held her gently.
âDonât be afraid,â he advised sharply. âI wonât hurt you.â
The man holding her had the clipped, precise speech of a gentleman, and her own instincts werenât screaming danger in his presence. She was strangely unafraid, especially considering that sheâd just been shot at, and barely escaped with her life. Shot at . On her own ship, a bullet whizzing past her ear. Splinters exploding all around her headâ¦
That memory crystallized her thoughts. She had little apprehension of this man, but didnât want to be a sitting duck. No time to explain to him whyâshe needed to keep herself safe. She twisted in his arm and began kicking, drumming her boots against the backs of his legs.
âIâm trying to help you. Son of aâwill you stop?â
Her blows had no effect. Thinking her attack would enrage him, she hunched her head between her shoulders to prepare for a slap or worse.
Yet he calmly redoubled his efforts to restrain her. He was easily twice her weight, huge, with unbudgeable arms. He could subdue her with laughable effort. But even as she fought, she got the strange impression that he tried very hard not to hurt her.
âCalm down! Damn it, youâre like a greased cat,â he uttered in a low, aggravated voice.
As she
He would just keep walking. Forget about interfering.
But when the boy barreled right past him, Derek spun around to see him get tangled in an old hempen rope coiled on the walk. The lad sailed forward, arms careening uselessly, before plunging to a stop on the slushy ground. Shaking his head, as if he couldnât quite believe heâd fallen, the boy raised himself on his arms but couldnât seem to manage his legs.
What was left of Derekâs withered conscience demanded a rescue, but he easily quelled the thought. He wasnât the man he used to be. Besides, he could already see the sign of the tavern where heâd been heading. So close to a night of mind-numbing viceâ¦
Judging by the sounds coming from ahead, the men were closing in.
âWatch yerself, ye bastard!â a flamboyantly dressed woman wailed as she swung her cloth bag against one of the menâs heads. When he turned around to face her, she grew silent, frozen, then loped off into the night. Derek understood whyâthe man looked as if he were fresh from a nightmare.
Before he could stop himself, Derek turned to catch another look at the kid. Still valiantly trying to pull himself up, to get his little boots to catch a foothold on the grimy walk. Strangely, Derek had to fight the feeling of pity, a feeling increasingly unfamiliar to him.
He stalled for only a second more. The boy was probably a cutpurse and deserved whatever punishment those men handed out. Determined to turn away, he shook his head and walked on.
An affirmation, he knew, of just how big a bastard he had become.
Â
Like a separate thing living in her, Nicoleâs fear grew, choking her throat. She strained to scramble up, but in her heart, she didnât know how much longer she could go on. Every movement shot pain through her exhausted limbs. Every choppy breath made her lungs burn as though she inhaled fire.
This wasnât how she wanted to go outânot sinking into the filth of a London street waiting to be plucked up by Clive.
I want to go down swinging. She bit back tears of pain and frustration, but before she was even conscious of it, a sob arose and spilled forth on a breath.
âBloody hell,â a deep-voiced man grated from just behind her. A string of imaginative cursing followed; all at once she was lifted up and tucked into the side of some exasperated, angry giant. As he started toward a forgotten crack between two tea warehouses, shock rose up to claim her again; she couldnât even tell herself to fight because he wasnât one of those men.
Had she found a savior from the docks? Not likely, yet the man held her gently.
âDonât be afraid,â he advised sharply. âI wonât hurt you.â
The man holding her had the clipped, precise speech of a gentleman, and her own instincts werenât screaming danger in his presence. She was strangely unafraid, especially considering that sheâd just been shot at, and barely escaped with her life. Shot at . On her own ship, a bullet whizzing past her ear. Splinters exploding all around her headâ¦
That memory crystallized her thoughts. She had little apprehension of this man, but didnât want to be a sitting duck. No time to explain to him whyâshe needed to keep herself safe. She twisted in his arm and began kicking, drumming her boots against the backs of his legs.
âIâm trying to help you. Son of aâwill you stop?â
Her blows had no effect. Thinking her attack would enrage him, she hunched her head between her shoulders to prepare for a slap or worse.
Yet he calmly redoubled his efforts to restrain her. He was easily twice her weight, huge, with unbudgeable arms. He could subdue her with laughable effort. But even as she fought, she got the strange impression that he tried very hard not to hurt her.
âCalm down! Damn it, youâre like a greased cat,â he uttered in a low, aggravated voice.
As she
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