The Pits of Passion Read online

  The Pits of Passion

  by

  Amber Flame

  (c) copyright July 2003, Melissa Bowersock

  Cover art by Eliza Black, (c) copyright July 2003

  New Concepts Publishing

  4729 Humphreys Rd.

  Lake Park, GA 31636

  www.newconceptspublishing.com

  CHAPTER 1

  Elizabeth Rosanna Montgomery made a conscious effort to raise her chin and focus her jade-green eyes directly in front of her. Stepping down from her carriage, she mentally gathered her strength, preparing to brave the Iron Boar Tavern to collect the rent. For some reason, even after six months, this was still the chore most demanding of her spirit.

  You’re alone now, she told herself, and there’s no one to do it but you. Her parents had died as they had lived, together, in each other’s arms, in a carriage wreck. At their death, Elizabeth had felt part of herself die as well, but she resolved to carry on the might of the Montgomery empire and not give in to the fearful weakness that threatened her.

  Just eighteen, Elizabeth was a beauty. Her hair was a curtain of honey, although not as sticky, and framed her smooth-skinned face. Her flawless skin was like creamy alabaster, and her eyes were sparkling jade stones set in the clear face. Whenever she walked through London, people stopped to stare at her beauty and at her temptingly ripe young body. Even now, as she drew breath to brave the Iron Boar, a young lad tripped over a dog as he walked by staring at her.

  Elizabeth smoothed her skirt and stepped inside the dark tavern. The smell of alcohol, sweat and stale dirt assailed her nostrils, but she refused to allow that to deter her. She slapped her ever-present riding crop nervously on her skirt. That gave her little security, but the black powder pistol thrust into her garter bolstered her courage. She stepped up to the stained common table and fixed a baleful eye on the man she had come to see.

  “The rent is due, sir,” she said. The “sir” was strictly a formality.

  “It is, is it?” bellowed the man with a rough laugh. He was a large beefy man, with huge beefy arms and a beefy face. His cheeks shook when he laughed. “So the high and mighty Miss Montgomery would pilfer my few pennies from me, would she?” he asked snidely.

  “You may take your Iron Boar and your business elsewhere if it suits you,” she said grimly. “But the rent for this month is due--now.” Elizabeth had begun to sweat and the perspiration trickled down between her breasts. She hoped the man would not notice the darkened bodice of her clinging dress. Almost as if he read her thoughts, his eyes traveled to her rounded breasts, feasting on the sight of them rising and falling with each breath.

  Elizabeth turned away, slapping her crop on the table. “If you do not pay your debt, I shall be forced to call the Magistrate in on this matter. Now what will it be, Mr. Hockersmith?”

  Beefy Mr. Hockersmith heaved himself up from the table and went back toward the kitchen. “Come here then, and I’ll give you your money.”

  Feeling somewhat relieved that she had had no more trouble, she followed. Just then a dark shape caught her eye, and she noticed a man lunging at her from the shadows of the corner.

  Just in time, Elizabeth whirled and laid her crop across the man’s face, dodging his clumsy attempt at catching hold of her. Instead, he caught only the sweaty, damp bodice of her gown and with a long rip, tore the front of it away from her heaving breasts. Elizabeth screamed, clutching her trembling nakedness in panic and modesty. The drunken man leered up at her from the floor where he had stumbled, the fabric of her dress in his hand, a welt across his face and lust in his eyes.

  “You’re a beauty!” he said, and scrambled across the floor toward her. Elizabeth screamed again, thrashing him with her crop, holding her burning breasts and trying to keep the man from crawling under the hem of her gown.

  Suddenly a booted foot appeared and, with a swift kick, tumbled the man over sideways. Elizabeth turned, crop raised, ready to face a new adversary, but she was met by a darkly handsome visage that stared concernedly down at her.

  “Are you all right, madam?” he asked. His piercing blue eyes stabbed hers, impaling them so she could not look away.

  “Uh, yes, I-I’m all right,” she stammered. Suddenly she remembered her condition and clutched the shreds of her bodice together, feebly trying to cover her young bosom. The motion only served to attract the handsome man’s eyes, and his gaze took in all the charms she could not hide.

  “Here,” he said, and he gently placed his coat around her shoulders. It smelled of leather and tobacco and was very large. It reached almost to her knees.

  “Thank you,” she murmured quietly. She had not expected to be treated so gently or politely. It befuddled her so that she had difficulty finding her tongue.

  “Mr. Hockersmith,” the man called loudly, turning toward the kitchen. “Have you the rent money yet, or do you need aid to get it out here?” It was more an ultimatum than a question.

  “No, no,” Mr. Hockersmith said quickly. He stepped immediately from the doorway where he had witnessed the entire scene. He had hoped to be forgotten during the ruckus, but now came forward almost eagerly, with a small bag of money. Smiling to the stranger, he held up the pouch. “It’s right here,” he said, and handed it to Elizabeth. Her small delicate hand appeared from the great coat and took the money.

  “Now let’s see no more trouble over the rent, eh, Mr. Hockersmith?” the dark man said.

  “Oh, no, sir, no trouble at all,” the tavern keeper said quickly. He smiled nervously.

  The stranger turned again to Elizabeth and she felt his ice-blue eyes devouring her, eating away her garment down to her very soul, and her heart quickened. She found herself growing very warm, whether from his gaze or his coat she wasn’t sure.

  “I should think you’ll have no more trouble here, madam,” he said, and he strode silently out the door.

  Elizabeth watched him go, feeling both relief and sorrow that he was gone. Staring after him, she asked quietly, “Who was that dark man?”

  “Why, don’t you know?” Mr. Hockersmith asked incredulously. “That was Benjamin Ascott Elliott.”

  Elizabeth had vowed upon her parents’ death to carry on the Montgomery name with pride and fortitude. She would continue all enterprises by herself, without interference and without aid from anyone. Therefore, the specter of the strange, handsome man was troublesome to her, for only through his aid had she come unscathed from the Iron Boar. She was grateful for his help, but irritated by the fact that she had required it.

  Until six months ago, she had enjoyed being the only daughter of Ellen and Charles Montgomery, the pampered child with the silver spoon in her mouth. She had gloried in her parents’ adoration and wealth, and played teasing games with the serious young men who came to court her. Now, though, she was determined to take the reins of adulthood and ride unscathed through her adversity. She became quieter, more serious and more formal. She had even taken the more formal name Elizabeth, when before she had been content with Bess (or Beth, as Beggar Ely the hair lip called her). Now she considered herself a full-grown woman, capable of handling her own affairs. And this man Elliott was a thorn in the side of her independence.

  The day after the encounter at the Iron Boar, Elizabeth called her servant, Trevor, to her and asked him if he knew of this man Elliott. “Why, yes, milady, I know of him. Everyone knows of him.”

  Elizabeth chose to ignore the implication. “Do you know where to find him?” she asked.

  “Yes, milady. He be down at the shipyards most likely. He be a shipping tycoon.”

  Elizabeth’s first impulse was to toss the loaned jacket to Trevor and have him return it, but when she picked up the garment, it clung to her hand like it had a will
of its own. She couldn’t seem to undo her grasp on the manly-smelling thing, and so, becoming prideful, she ordered Trevor to bring the carriage about. She would return the coat herself.

  Trevor guided the matched pair of dapple-grays expertly through the London traffic to the shipyards. Elizabeth sat arrogantly in the coach, unmindful of the beggars and dirty children and fathers shoveling sheep dip at the shipyards. She was concentrating all her energies on getting the jacket unstuck from her hand.

  By the time Trevor stopped the grays, Elizabeth was ready. She climbed down from her carriage and cast about for the sight of the strangely handsome man. All she saw were grimy, smelly seamen, none of whom looked familiar. Plucking up her skirts and her courage, she began to walk along the docks, going from ship to ship in her search. Trevor sat up on the carriage bench and fell asleep.

  Elizabeth searched the face of every man she saw, and she saw every one on the docks; they stumbled over themselves to get a glimpse of her, one man so struck by her beauty that he fell into the water and drowned before anyone noticed he was missing.

  Elizabeth tried desperately to ignore the stares and catcalls that followed her, but the men grew bold. Three of them confronted her, their eyes roaming her body crudely, their tongues hanging out of their mouths.

  “She’s a beauty, ain’t she?” one asked his cohorts.

  “Aye, she be a beauty,” another agreed. “But she be all covered up and you can’t see all of her.”

  “We’ll fix that,” the first one said, and lunged for Elizabeth’s lace-covered throat. She twisted, whirling away from his grasp, but his fingers caught on the lace and tore a swathe down the front of her gown. Clutching her burning breasts, she raised her hand to strike the man with her crop, but she only succeeded in blinding the man with a well-placed button.

  Taking advantage of the confusion, Elizabeth turned and fled down the dock. Her face flamed with disgrace and tears blinded her as she ran. Suddenly she was brought up short by a very hard, masculine chest.

  “Whoa!” a deep voice chuckled above her. She looked up, blinking away the tears and saw the familiar swarthy face.

  “Mr. Elliott!” she said. All the plans of independence she’d made dissolved at the touch of his hand on her arm. Forgetting her resolutions, she felt only relief that she had found him in time.

  “I was returning your coat, sir,” she explained, “and those men attacked me.”

  “My coat?” he asked. He raised a coal black eyebrow and stared down at her expectantly.

  “Yes, you know, the one you laid about my shoulders yesterday in the Iron Boar. You do remember me, don’t you?”

  “Why, yes, of course,” he said quickly. He appraised her condition with a sweep of his deep blue eyes. “Why don’t you come aboard my ship and we’ll see if we can’t repair the damage. A bit of string or some glue should do it. Come along.”

  Placing one hand compassionately on her buttocks and the other on her arm, he led her down a gangplank to a low-riding dark-wooded ship.

  “This is your ship?” she asked, wide-eyed. It was a very strange ship, low and narrow and with cannons mounted all along the sides. The flag it flew was completely black.

  “Yes, this is the Black Beauty,” he answered proudly. “Come on, I’ll show you around.”

  Hesitantly, Elizabeth allowed him to lead her aboard the ship. There were few crewmen and they all seemed very quiet and watchful. Their eyes seemed to follow her everywhere about the ship until the mysterious Mr. Elliott led her down to his cabin.

  “Here are my quarters,” he said with a flourish. The cabin was probably quite roomy as far as cabins go, but it seemed very small and compact to Elizabeth. There were several sea trunks pushed against the walls, a large roll top desk and an even larger wooden-sided bunk. The windows all had black curtains over them and the room was very dark.

  “It’s very nice,” she stammered. Elizabeth knew nothing about captain’s quarters, but she supposed it was very nice. While she looked about, Mr. Elliott took the coat from her and tossed it across one of the sea chests. She turned toward him and was suddenly very aware of the fact that they were alone.

  “You have the advantage over me,” he said, his eyes traveling over her body. Elizabeth looked confused. “You know my name, but I don’t know yours.”

  “Oh,” she laughed nervously. “It’s Elizabeth Montgomery.” She was beginning to feel very hot and flushed, even allowing for the draft that came in through her torn bodice.

  “Well, my dear, “ he said, coming closer. “Let us see how badly your dress was damaged. “ He slipped one arm around her back and then plucked at the shreds of lace Elizabeth tried to hold together. She felt his fingers probing, stroking her tender flesh, and all her blood seemed to rush boiling to her head. She gasped and stared up into those cool, icy eyes, her mouth open to protest, but he silenced her easily with a savage, bruising kiss. His lips were like burning brands on hers, searing her flesh until she could almost smell the smoke. Her blood pounded in her head, and at the same time she realized his blood was pounding somewhere else. Feeling confused and panic-stricken, she tried to wriggle away from his embrace of steel, but her attempts only enflamed him more. Weakly, she tried to push him away, but when she succeeded in managing a two-inch gap between them, her dress crumpled from her shoulders to the floor.

  “I’m very good at buttons with my right hand,” he said huskily and pulled her closer again. Her thin chemise was like nothing between them, and she could feel his hard muscles bruising her body. He forced kisses on her face and throat, his hands holding her fast against his assault. One hand moved boldly upward until it caught her ripe young breast, and to her dismay, her breast seemed to thrust itself further into his hand. His other hand roved downward and gripped her taut buttock, and her buttock seemed to mold itself to his grasp. Elizabeth felt as if her body were betraying her. Even her feet wouldn’t do what she told them to. Her mind screamed out in protest against this man taking such liberties, but her body responded shamelessly. Trembling and helpless, she stood trapped as he quickly shed his own clothes and slipped her chemise from her fevered body.

  “Oh, my God!” she breathed weakly. She had never seen a naked man before, and the sight shocked her. She hurriedly cast her eyes downward, safely down to where she could only see his feet and trim ankles. Involuntarily, her gaze lifted, to his alabaster thighs and his . . . .

  Without a word, he scooped her up in his arms and carried her to the bed. She protested feebly but found that all her struggles were in vain. He moved over her, claiming her body with his, driving his claim stake into her where no one ever had before. She felt the pain, felt it tearing her, ripping her body, and she struggled anew, but this only increased his passion until he was taking her wildly, like an animal aroused.

  “Sheee-itt,” he said suddenly and shuddered above her. Then he laid still, his mouth pressed against her throat, his hands cradling her ripe young hiney. His breath was like a hot flame that tickled her flesh, and she felt new shame and indignation over what had happened.

  “Let me go!” she screamed and began to pummel him with her small fists. “You animal! You rapist! You anti-social deviant! Let me go!”

  “Gad, but you’re beautiful when you’re angry, “he said. “I ought to just . . ..”

  “Let me go!” she wailed. “Isn’t it enough that you’ve robbed me of the only thing that was mine alone to give? That you’ve stolen the one treasure I held in sacred trust for my husband? That you’ve degraded and humiliated me beyond measure? That you--”

  “Enough!” he said suddenly. His steely blue eyes roamed her body, still flushed with passion, taking in all the hills and valleys she could no longer hide. His gaze swept her, caressing her silken skin, then looking back into her eyes as if he’d just remembered there was a head attached.

  “You cannot blame me, madam, for tasting the fruits you so blatantly possess. There is no man who could see you and then willingly turn away. Call me
what you like, but I have done what any man would do in the face of your beauty.”

  “And you’ll pay dearly for it,” she snarled at him. “You’ll pay for what you’ve done. I’ll see to that.”

  “Shall I give back all the kisses I’ve stolen?” he asked, laughing. “Here’s one,” and he kissed her, “here’s two . . ..”

  “Stop it!” she demanded.

  “Very well,” he said. “I can take a hint.” He got up and donned his dark pants and crisp shirt, watching Elizabeth all the while. She got up gingerly from the bed.

  “Why do the women always have to lay in the wet spot?” she asked no one in particular. She found her chemise and pulled it on, then squirmed into her torn gown. “Will you button me, please?” she asked haughtily.

  Elliott moved behind her and began to button the tiny buttons. While he did, one hand strayed across the expanse of bare skin still exposed. Elizabeth shuddered, unwilling to admit how his touch excited her.

  “Done,” he said finally, and she moved quickly away from him. “I don’t suppose 1 could persuade you to stay?” he asked lightly.

  “Not hardly.” she sniffed. “But you haven’t seen the last of me.”

  “I certainly hope not,” he said meaningfully. He came to her side and took her arm. “Allow me to escort you out.”

  “Thank you, but I’d rather do it myself, “ she said coolly, and walked arrogantly ahead of him. Out in the fresh air again, the bright sun blinded her momentarily. She stopped on deck to let her eyes become used to it, but Mr. Elliott bumped into her.

  “Sorry,” he mumbled. “The bright sun blinded me momentarily.” Fully recovered now, Elizabeth picked up her skirts and made her way back to her waiting carriage. She felt Elliott’s eyes on her as she walked, and they seemed to bore holes into her. Feeling angry and abused, she slashed at Trevor with her crop to wake him up and ordered him to drive her home.

  At home, Elizabeth came brutally to terms with her condition. She felt threatened on every side, felt her independence and willful freedom crumbling all about her. In two days this man had destroyed all the security she had, except for her finances. That thought cheered her. She still had her father’s fortune behind her, although when she realized the rest of her life was a sham, it was a hollow victory.