I hate disclaimers, but I'd hate it more if I were sued…

Many thanks for the scant reviews and to Kat for her quicker editing than my uploading!

The is some French in this chapter with English in brackets. Don't blame me if the translation is wrong:-p

I suddenly realised after I had uploaded this chapter that I now need to change the rating – it is now rated M for adult content… stop your squealing, you lot! ;)

Chapter eighteen

"Oh, thank goodness that's finished!" Celia sighed, flopping down on the stern seat with exhaustion and casting a critical eye around the cabin, smiling with satisfaction on seeing that all was as it should be at last. She sank back, closing her eyes and waiting for the thoughts she had managed to push to the back of her mind to come flooding to the fore, sighing again as they did. 'Why do I allow Jack to affect me so? It's sinful… isn't it?' she fretted, groaning out loud. "What am I going to do?" Celia stood and walked to the side cabin containing the private head and picked up a looking glass, staring at her reflection. 'I don't even recognise you any more,' she mused, pondering on how much she had changed since arriving in the Caribbean, even if her face did look the same. 'Mother Superior was right – I should never have come over here. This isn't the place for me.' Celia put the glass down carefully and walked over to the bunk, fingering the ribbon binding the edges of the blanket. 'I kissed two men, lost my temper and shared a bed with Jack, all in one day! Maybe I should give myself to Jack – I couldn't sink any lower,' she thought despondently, before frowning crossly and giving herself a shake. "And self pity is not a sin any longer?" she said out loud.

"Perhaps not, but talkin' ter yourself is th'first sign of madness," came Jack's amused drawl from the main cabin.

"Oh!" Celia jumped, placing a hand against her wildly beating heart. "I wish you wouldn't do that!"

"I thought you'd gone ter bed, it was so quiet," he grinned as he leaned on the back of his chair. "Do you want a wash an' change into a dress before we arrive?"

"Could I?" she asked, wondering if she dared suggest that he have a wash as well. "Perhaps I could save the water for you afterwards…?"

"You suggestin' I'm dirty?" Jack enquired, his eyes glinting, whether with anger or amusement, Celia could not tell.

"N-no," she stammered. "I just thought… oh, never mind."

"I will if you wash my back fer me," he teased, raising his eyebrows hopefully.

"I do not think so," Celia snorted. "You can stay mucky…"

"What's th'point in washin' if I can't clean all of myself, eh?" he argued, a seductive smile playing on his lips.

"I manage to clean my back well enough," she sniped, turning so that he could not see her burning cheeks. 'Oh, Lord. Not again…' she thought as the now familiar sensation of warm desire started creeping through her blood.

"I still can't move my arm that well," he reasoned, walking slowly and quietly over to her. "In fact," he purred in her ear once he had reached her. "There's a lot of me that I can't wash…"

"S-so get one of the men to do it, then."

"Their hands wouldn't be as gentle as yours," he whispered hoarsely, nuzzling her neck.

"Stop it!" Celia gasped, darting from his reach. "Will you please leave me alone?"

"I was only teasin' yer," he protested. "But I don't think, deep down, that you want me ter leave you alone…"

"What are you doing to me?" Celia wailed, throwing her hands up in the air. "I was respectable, decent, and even obedient before you came into my life. And now…"

"Now, you're normal," Jack shrugged. "You're yourself an' not tryin' ter be somethin' that yer not cut out ter be. Why else did you leave th'convent?"

"You know why I left the convent," she hissed angrily, rounding on him, her eyes flashing with anger. "I did not leave the convent to become a pirate's whore!"

"I'm not askin' you ter be a pirate's whore."

"What else would you call a woman who opens her legs willingly to a man, hmm? Chaste?"

"You could always be a pirate's woman. Have some degree of respectibility."

"Respectibilty? Dear Lord! What difference would it make what I was called? Whore, woman? The meaning is still the same!"

"All right, all right," Jack soothed as he backed away, wishing he had never started teasing her. "Yer water'll be here soon."

Celia watched with dismay as he strode from the cabin, an almost hurt look on his face and she kicked a nearby trunk, wincing with pain as she did, then hobbled across the cabin, and yanked the door open. "Jack!" she called. "Captain…" she belatedly corrected as she hurried up the quarterdeck steps. "I'm sorry. I'm not myself."

"I'd noticed," he commented, looking at her crossly. "Yer water's ready."

Celia looked over her shoulder as Elliot carried a pail into the cabin and turned back to Jack, beseeching him with her eyes. "A-am I forgiven?" she asked tentatively, chewing her lip.

"If you like," Jack shrugged, taking his spyglass out and peering at the island of Grenada, effectively dismissing her.

She turned dejectedly and headed back down the steps, smiling thinly at Oliver who was hovering nearby.

"Yer all right?" he enquired in a whisper.

Celia nodded and disappeared into the cabin, wiping away a tear that was trickling down her cheek. She padded slowly to the side cabin and took the pail, pouring some of the hot water into a bowl standing on a sturdy table to the side of the small cabin then undressed herself, glad to be out of the clothes she had worn since the previous morning. She sighed heavily, realising that she had forgotten to bring a rag to dry herself with and padded naked across the cabin to a trunk, pulling it open and delving in.

"Bloody hell!" Jack muttered, getting an eyeful of her backside as he came back in to the cabin.

"Oh!" Celia screamed, trying frantically to cover herself with her hands.

"Dunno what you're doin' that for," Jack mused, chuckling softly to himself as he closed the door quickly. "It's not like I haven't seen you naked before…"

"I don't care! Get out!" Celia demanded, grabbing the rag and finally preserving her modesty.

"My cabin – you can't order me from my own cabin. B'sides, I need a chart…" He ambled over to the trunk next to the one Celia had been rummaging in, casting a sideways glance at her before concentrating on the task in hand. "You know, if yer really don't want me ter look at you, you could always go to th'side cabin…"

"I-I am!" she declared, storming off with as much dignity as she could muster, the sound of Jack's laughter ringing in her ears. "Damn!" she cursed, unconsciously. "Jack…? Could you bring me the soap?"

"No," he chortled. "Come an' fetch it yourself…"

"I knew that would be the answer," Celia sighed, tying the large rag around herself and going back to the main cabin, avoiding his gaze but feeling his eyes on her nonetheless.

"You sure you don't want me ter clean your back?" he enquired, his voice deeper than usual. "I have nothin' else ter do fer th'moment…"

"N-no," she stuttered. "I-I can m-manage." Celia squatted down to pick the soap up, not wanting to bend and maybe give him another eyeful, and jumped when she straightened, wondering to herself why she was surprised that Jack was right behind her.

"Last chance…" he growled, his eyes dark and lust filled. "Shan't offer again."

"No," Celia replied firmly, turning around even though her knees were trembling and a hot throb had begun between her legs.

"Ah, well," Jack sighed, shrugging his shoulders ruefully. "It was worth a try." He kissed the tip of her nose and swayed back to the table where he had spread the chart, and bent over it, seemingly scrutinising it carefully and ignoring her as she hurried back to the side cabin.

'Oh my word,' Celia breathed, leaning against the bulkhead and closing her eyes, opening them immediately as she saw the pirate captain's eyes in her mind. 'I am never going to be able to resist him.' She picked up a small rag, dipped it in to the bowl and rubbed the block of grey soap against it until it lathered. She let the large rag that had been covering her, drop to her feet and she began washing herself, trying desperately not to imagine Jack's hands wandering over her body instead. Celia hesitated before pushing the cloth between her legs, moaning as the contact sent a bolt of fire coursing through her body. To her astonishment, she found herself rubbing the rag harder and harder against her slit, groaning and writhing where she stood until she felt she was about to explode.

"Celia?"

The young woman physically jumped and let out a yelp as Jack's voice sounded from the other side of the drape. "W-what?" she gasped, her throat feeling too tight to talk.

"You all right, luv?"

"F-fine."

"I've left a dress on th'bunk fer you. Hope you like it…"

"T-thank y-you," she wheezed, sitting down on the head, lest her legs give way on her.

"It's a pleasure," Jack replied, grinning wickedly to himself as he headed to the main cabin doors and outside.

"He heard…" Celia groaned, closing her eyes in disbelief. "You stupid, stupid girl…" She threw the rag into the bowl and stood slowly, torn between wanting to feel disgust with herself and wanting to do it again. 'It was wrongwasn't it?' she thought. 'But if it was wrong, why did it feel so nice – so…?' Celia sighed resignedly. "Good," she muttered aloud. "I should pray for forgiveness," she mused, reaching for her rosary beads but then hesitated, feeling as if she would sully them if she touched them now. She walked in a daze to the larger side cabin and the bunk, stopping when she saw the beautiful dark red silk dress, with lace sleeves, which Jack had laid out for her, her eyes going round and her mouth dropping open as she picked it up, and she forgot her shame as she stared at it.

"I-I…" she spluttered, looking wildly around. "I can't possibly wear this!" she exclaimed to the empty cabin, but even as she said it, she could picture herself in it. "Should I try it on?" Celia wondered aloud, before going over to the trunk containing her clothes, retrieving an underslip and knickers that she had bought herself during their last stop in Tortuga, carrying them back to the side cabin and hasilty pulling them on in her eagerness to try the gown on. Celia carefully stepped into it, smoothing down the skirts before realising that it fastened at the back and she was unable to do it herself. 'Never mind,' she thought going to fetch the looking glass from the private head and wishing that it were larger as she admired her reflection.

"I thought it might suit you."

"Oh! Jack!"

"Aye, Jack. Who'd you think it'd be, eh?"

"I-it's beautiful, but I can't possibly wear this."

"Why not? Got ter make a good impression in a new place. Can yer speak French?"

"A little, why?"

"Grenada is a French island. Best you don't say anythin' when we're ashore, then. Unless there's no-one else around or someone is about ter stick a dagger in my back," Jack quipped.

"Urgh! Don't say that!" Celia shuddered, not wanting to think of horrible things while she was wearing something so beautiful.

"Turn around, I'll lace you." Jack wanted nothing more than to kiss her milky white shoulders as he pulled the laces tight, but knew that if he pushed her after teasing her earlier and then catching her pleasuring herself, he might scupper his chances completely. So he kept quiet and adjusted his breeches where his erection bulged uncomfortably tight, resisting the urge as he tied the ribbons together and patting her shoulder when he had finished.

"T-thank you," Celia smiled, her face flushed red at the closeness of his contact, and a throb between her legs reminding her of her earlier indiscretion made her blush even more and she was eternally grateful for the fact that he could not see.

"I'll go an' wash myself, just fer you… damn!" he muttered as the sound of the anchor chains being released rattled through the cabin. "No time – sorry, luv," Jack shrugged with a grin. "Guess I'll just get changed, eh?"

"Oh… all right," she nodded, hurrying to the main cabin as he started undoing the buttons on his shirt, not wanting to see any part of his flesh in case her resolve weakened to the point of collapse.

'Bloody hell,' Jack mused to himself as he stripped off his shirt them remembered that he hadn't brought a change of clothes in with him. 'Hmm,' he pondered with a wicked grin. "Celia, luv?"

"Yes?" she called from the main cabin.

"It seems I've caught your forgetfulness… can you bring me my best shirt, th'brown breeches an' red waistcoat from th'chest?"

"Are you naked?" Celia asked in a stern tone. "You're not trying to trick me, are you?"

"As if I'd do that…" Jack chuckled, wondering whether to shed his breeches or not before deciding not to.

"Here," the young woman sighed a few minutes later, thrusting a hand through the drapes and handing him his clothes.

"Cap'n!" Gabriel Jennings called. "Th'boats are ready."

"Just comin'," Jack replied, adjusting his good breeches over his still hard member. 'Although not as soon as I'd like,' he thought wryly. "Can you give me a hand with th'waistcoat?" he asked Celia as he walked into the main cabin, wearing the breeches and shirt and nothing else. "It's a little tight an' I can't bring me arm 'round ter put it on."

"Of course," she smiled, taking the garment off him and helping him into it. "I can't believe how quickly you've healed – or have you?"

"I'm a quick healer," Jack replied evasively. "Could yer do th'buttons…?" he murmured, inhaling her scent as she stepped closer.

"A-all right," Celia smiled breathlessly, chewing her lip as she made a start on the tiny buttons down the front of the brocade waistcoat whilst trying not to react to the closeness of him.

"Thank you," he whispered huskily in her ear when she had finished, smiling as she shivered and was slow to move away from him. "Could yer do my boots as well?"

"Of course," Celia deferred, not asking why he was suddenly unable to manage his boots when he had been putting them on and taking them off for a few days already. She fetched his boots and took them to where he was sitting on his chair and knelt on the deck before him, easing first one foot and then the other into the battered footwear.

"Ta," he grinned, standing and wriggling his toes until he was comfortable. Jack walked to another chest and took out a wide brimmed hat with a large feather and placed it on his head. "Right – now we see what sights Saint Georges has ter offer. Ready, luv?"

"As I'll ever be," she replied, managing a small smile. "There won't be trouble, will there?"

"Nah," Jack assured her with a wave of his hand. "We never come down this way – well hardly ever. They won't know who we are." 'Hopefully,' he thought to himself. He offered Celia his arm and led the way on to the main deck, doffing his hat to the crew as they jokingly bowed elaborately as he and Celia passed them.

"You look a treat," Joshamee beamed at Celia as they reached the bosun's chair.

"Why, thank you," Jack quipped with a wink as he helped her into the contraption and fastened her in.

"I didn't mean you, as you well know," the quartermaster sighed, rolling his eyes at Celia, who giggled in return.

"Thank you, Joshamee," she smiled, gulping as the chair jerked and the men started to lower her down to the boat, where Gabriel and Elliot were waiting to receive her.

"I've got yer," Elliot grinned, having shoved his crewmate out of the way so he could be the one to help Celia from the chair.

"Yer'll get a dunkin' in a minute," Gabriel sniped, glaring at the younger man.

"Ya'd never row th'boat ter shore on yer own, old man!" Elliot taunted, taking Celia's hand and guiding her to the bench.

"You'll both go back on deck an' I'll have someone more capable if yer not careful," Jack drawled as he climbed down, albeit carefully, to the boat.

"Sorry, Cap'n," both men chorused, still shooting looks at each other as they sat and took up the oars.

Gabriel smirked as he manoeovered himself opposite Celia. "What yer goin' ashore fer, Cap'n?" he enquired.

"Just ter have a look an' do a little askin'," Jack informed him. "See if anyone remembers Geoffrey Goodluck an' where he lived."

"Maybe there could be family living in the area?" Celia suggested. "Perhaps he had children."

"I hope not," the captain of the Black Pearl frowned. "That means they'd have th'treasure then…"

"There might not be any treasure," she reminded him. "If it hasn't been found after all these years…"

"Then that means I will be th'first ter discover it," Jack chipped in, puffing out his chest and preening.

"What if there is treasure?" Elliot pondered. "That would mean havin' ter get it past th'Frenchies."

"We'll deal with that problem when it arises," Jack replied, his confidence bording on arrogance.

"If it arises…"

"One day, you'll learn ter have a little more faith in me, Miss Hammond," he sighed exaggeratedly. "There is treasure ter be found, I can feel it, savvy?"

"Oh, yes. Your infamous intuition…" Celia sniped, smiling sweetly at him.

"She doesn't believe in it, lads," Jack shrugged, pulling a bemused face.

"She will soon enough, Cap'n," Gabriel grinned, having total confidence in his captain's sixth sense. "When she's wearin' gold an' pearls around her neck, diamonds an' rubies on her fingers…"

"Oh, enough, already!" Celia exlcaimed. "I'm not interested in jewels and suchlike."

"You will be," Jack replied knowingly. "You will be…" He turned to see who was at the quayside, taking in a couple of stevedors and someone whom he assumed was the harbourmaster. "No talkin' now - apart from you, Jennings."

"Oui, Capitaine," the crewman replied, being one of few crewmen able to speak French. "Bonjour!" he called to a dockhand, tossing the mooring rope to him.

"Bonjour," the harbourmaster greeted as he approached the boat, giving Jack a hand out, who in turn helped Celia . "Quel est votre bateau?" (what is your ship)

"Lé Perle." (the Pearl). Capitaine Jaques Menet, à votre service" (Captain Jack Menet at your service).

"It is ten livre to berth your ship. Will your boat be staying?" the man asked in French, holding out an expectant hand.

"Daylight robbery," Jack muttered in English, fishing about in his pocket and retrieving the monies required. "No, my men will be returning to the ship. Can you recommend a good tavern?" he enquired, slipping back into the foreign tongue.

"L'Anchre Bleu," the master informed them, pocketing the money and going on his way.

"M-must we?" Celia stammered once the man was out of earshot, shivering violently. "I-I don't w-want to g-go there," she whispered.

"Eh?" Jack frowned until he remembered that it was the name of the tavern in which Davy Stockton had held his auction of the captured women. "Hey," he chivvied gently, winding his arm around her. "It's not th'same place."

"I-I k-know, but still…"

"We'll have a look around, see if we can find somewhere else, eh? Jennings – hide th'boat so ol'beaky nose doesn't find it then you two can come an' catch us up, savvy?"

"Oui, Capitaine," he nodded, speaking in the local tongue even if his captain wasn't.

"Come on, Madamoiselle," Jack drawled. "Let's find us a tavern."