A/N: Wow! I'm so glad to have you guys review. Really, each one just brightens up my day. So huge special thanks to my dedicated reviewers (and readers): g, Lady Elizabeth Beckett, SunAndMoon16, and ninjalover13. (: Things have been a little slow, but it should pick up... soon? I'm not quite sure.

Disclaimer: I don't own Pirates of the Caribbean. Neither do I own the lovely characters presented herein. Except maybe any OFCs. (There will actually be one this chapter!)

Warnings: None. Just the usual slight swearing. And a little innuendo, maybe. But nothing really. (;

Chapter Four

Read.

Elizabeth was aware that she was being watched, and she hated it.

She had had to bargain for her "freedom." Again. Lord Beckett had, of course, insisted upon her staying in the household rather adamantly. Obviously, he didn't trust her to go into town—she'd try to escape. And it was wise logic. Elizabeth would try to escape. In fact, that's what she was trying right now, as she stood on the street of Port Royal, trying to inconspicuous as she fanned herself lightly.

One of Beckett's men hung around, watching her. Her skin pricked with anticipation. The deal had been this—she'd be let free only within Port Royal, but she would be constantly followed. And she would not object. And she had to call herself Elizabeth Swann. As far as they were concerned, everyone thought that William Turner was just another pirate vagabond. A dead pirate vagabond, Elizabeth thought to herself bitterly, and therefore not to be the husband of the daughter of a dead governor.

Fine, then. Those terms were fine. Well, Elizabeth would just have to come up with something clever. She did not trust Beckett to keep up his end of the bargain. I mean, who would trust a man who had so blatantly broke his vow with Jack for—for what? It was just good business? Elizabeth scoffed. No, Beckett was not to be trusted. She would get her freedom herself. She would not rely on him to grant her it. And she would kill him. Eventually.

Snorting softly, Elizabeth looked around the town. Nobody paid her any mind. Beckett must have tried to clear up her name. All a misunderstanding, he must have said. Elizabeth Swann was no more a criminal than your resident chicken thief. Well, Beckett had power, and he had quite the mastery over words. He could probably convince anyone of anything if he so wanted it.

And that was when Elizabeth heard the familiar sound of clopping horse hooves. A carriage. Suddenly, her lips curled into a smile. She had an idea.

"The Lord Beckett has summoned you," the messenger had said in an alert tone. What, he could be summoned now? What was he, some sort of mongrel pup?

Derrick Parker didn't like Cutler Beckett. The British lord, he thought, was just another high-class, stuck-up snob who probably took lavish baths and drank expensive wine and liquor. And Derrick Parker hated those aristocratic snobs with their high-class accents and their foofy cravats and their powdered white wigs and their streamy frock coats. Or so he said.

Then again, Derrick Parker was hardly a poor man, himself. Through years of servitude to the East India Trading Company, he had been awarded payment after payment after payment for a job well done. And what hefty payments they'd been!

But of course, now he had a sort of debt to the Lord Beckett for such gracious rewards. And he did not like to keep debts. Derrick snorted. He was being summoned now, oooooh. And what, he wondered, did the Lord Beckett want with him? Hopefully not to polish his shiny black boots, Derrick thought to himself glumly as his carriage careened through the streets of Port Royal, towards the grandeur Beckett estate.

And then, he suddenly felt the cold steel of a knife pressed against his throat. Freezing, he heard somebody whisper into his ear, "Don't move."

Elizabeth gazed at the man before her, her small, but sharp steak knife (she had pilfered it from the dining table) pressed against his throttle. The man slowly turned his head to gaze back at her. She narrowed her eyes, staring straight into his stark green irises. A mess of dark brown, almost black hair, was tied into a sloppy ponytail. His coat and trousers were a mud brown color, and he did not smell—nor look—like the most hygienic person.

Odd, thought Elizabeth to herself numbly. He doesn't look like the sort of person to be riding a rich carriage.

A smile crept onto his face as recognition flickered in his eyes. "Well, well. If it isn't Elizabeth Swann, ex-criminal." His accent wasn't very high-class, either. "I see that you've resorted back to your old ways. Not that I ever believed Beckett's little story of you being just a hostage of the pirates, forced into their ways. I always knew you were bad to the core."

"You'll find that being 'bad to the core' makes me a lot less helpless than others," Elizabeth said smoothly as she dug the knife in a bit, though not enough to pierce the skin. "Where is this carriage headed?"

Derrick pursed his lips. "Where do you think?"

Elizabeth's eyes darted to the window, looking out. Her breath caught in her throat as she realized just where she was headed. "Wh..."

And in that small window of surprise, Derrick grabbed Elizabeth's wrist, twisted her arm a bit, and wrenched the knife from her hand. She yelped as he proceeded to then point it at her throat. She glared at him with fury as he smirked triumphantly. "Well, well... what to do with you now, sweet?"

Elizabeth stared back at him coldly, and then noticed that Derrick's eyes were wandering—downwards. Her whole face flushed as she realized where he was looking, and wished she hadn't worn such a low-cut dress. Slapping an arm over the top of her exposed cleavage, she hissed through clenched teeth, "You shameless pervert!"

A crooked smile played his lips. "You're in my hands now, sweet, so you shouldn't be insulting me if you want to stay safe."

She glared at him. "You're disgusting," she hissed.

He grinned wryly. "Now, kindly tell me what you were planning on doing?"

Elizabeth looked at the knife at her neck and pouted a bit. "I'm not telling you."

The knife dug into her neck a little—and Derrick Parker was not gentle about it. Elizabeth winced as a small lick of blood emerged from her throat, and narrowed her eyes. Derrick smiled. "Would you like to rethink your answer?"

"I was... going to assume control of your carriage and try to visit one of my far-off friends," Elizabeth lied, but gasped exasperatedly to further make her act look convincing.

Derrick considered this, and then frowned. "Really," he said dryly, a skeptical look lurking in his eyes.

"Yes. Really," said Elizabeth desperately. "Now please put that knife down. Please." She begged with her eyes.

Derrick stared at the knife with an observant eye, as if he was ignoring her. Just like how Beckett fixed his buttons. Then, he grinned. "It's not a bad knife at all," he said conversationally. "In fact, it almost reminds me of the cutlery in the Beckett estate."

She would have laughed at his blatant pun, were it not for the small sting of the blade in her neck. Glaring, Elizabeth seethed, "That would be because it's from the Beckett household."

His eyebrows rose just a slight. "And however did you filch this from him, sweet?"

"The good, honorable Lord Beckett has been taking care of me," Elizabeth hissed. "Even allowing me to eat at the same dining table as him."

Derrick sneered. "Now that just doesn't make sense, sweet. The honorable Lord Beckett is graciously taking care of the now-orphan, Ms. Swann? Then why does he not grant her a carriage to use, instead of forcing her to snatch one from the streets? By the point of a stolen steak knife, no less?"

Elizabeth blinked. This man is brighter than he looks, she thought to herself miserably. "Well..." she started to say slowly, but then the carriage screeched to a halt.

He gave a small smile. "Well!" he said lightheartedly. "Looks like we're just about to find out what Beckett himself has to say about the matter." He slipped the knife into his sleeve and dragged Elizabeth out by the wrist. Striding through the gates, he walked around the fountain in the garden and stopped in front of the doors.

A surprised guard met them there. Elizabeth was furious; it was clear on her face, and this got the guard perturbed. "Well... ah... Mr. Parker, sir..." the guard stuttered.

"I've come to the Lord Beckett's call," Derrick announced loudly. "And I've brought his pet, Ms. Swann, with me."

Elizabeth flushed. Pet? She thought to herself incredulously, I am not Beckett's pet. Nowhere near that kind of heinous status!

"I... see," stammered the guard. He opened up the doors quickly.

The two of them headed into the grand foyer. Derrick continued to walk towards the staircase when suddenly Elizabeth grabbed him and forced him to face her. "You're mad," she snarled. "You're going to get me killed. Perhaps you yourself as well!"

Derrick grinned ruthlessly. "Shouldn't've gone after my carriage, then, sweet."

Elizabeth paused, then started spewing nonsense for a bit in her utter rage. Then she managed to get out coherent words. "You're—you—you're not of a rich heritage, now are you? Somehow I doubt that you accessed that carriage with entirely legal approaches, either!"

For a moment, Derrick Parker actually looked injured. But then that expression, that look of hurt, was quickly patched up with a pompous face. Snorting lightly, he responded, "I work for the EITC, sweet. Although I'm not of rich nor noble blood—of that you are true—I've enough funding to get myself a nice abode and a carriage, to boot. Oh, and a lot of servants. A lot of female servants, may I add—"

"You're rotten," Elizabeth snapped. "You're worse than any pirate."

A laugh. "Oh really?" Derrick said, and then whipped out the Beckett steak knife, pointing it at her neck, over the small wound he had inflicted earlier. The blood had ceased trickling, but a small stream still remained on her skin. She had not yet bothered to wipe it off. For a moment, he paused, observing her. And then he spoke again; "I must admit, you are quite fine, though your attitude is simply inappropriate. I don't doubt how James Norrington fell for you, however."

Elizabeth flushed, then became flustered. "What do you know of James?" she snapped. Memories flooded through her. Oh, James. She had been so cruel to him, so entranced in Will that she had never deigned to pay him any mind—oh, did she regret it, when his cold, dead body hit the floor of the Flying Dutchman... Already she could feel the tears forming, but she held them back. If she would not cry for Beckett, then she certainly would not cry for the likes of Derrick Parker.

Derrick opened his mouth to respond, but it was Cutler Beckett's voice that reverberated. "Ah, Mister Derrick Parker. It's nice to see you again. Although, I was anticipating our encounter to be over luncheon rather than knife-point?"

Derrick paled momentarily, but then smirked, quickly gaining his cool, turning to the approaching Lord. Beckett looked nonchalant, but his gaze was locked on Elizabeth. And it was not a kind stare. "Ah. Lord Beckett," Derrick said as smoothly as he could, lowering the knife. He hesitated before wiping off Elizabeth's blood onto his sleeve, and then holding it out to Beckett, who stared at it with repulse. "It's... yours," Derrick added hesitantly.

Beckett was silent. Then he smirked, snorting lightly with a hmph. "So it is," he said softly and took it gently, handing it to a nearby servant. He paused a bit, and then said, "Please. Come this way, Mr. Parker." Another pause, and then he added towards a guard, "Take Ms. Swann, here, to her room. And guard her well, if you would."

Elizabeth opened her mouth to argue, but the guard quickly dragged her away.

"No! Release me!" She screamed as she pounded on the doors. Grabbing onto the door-handles, she relentlessly and pointlessly tried to open them. Again and again she tried until finally she gave a resigned groan, turning and throwing herself upon the bed.

"Damn it," Elizabeth muttered under her breath. She grabbed the blanket and dabbed it on her cut wound, purposely soiling the cream sheets with blood. She hoped Beckett, or one of his servants, would see it. And she hoped it would annoy.

Thrusting herself off of the bed, she strode over to the mirror and gazed at herself. Despite all the wear-and-tear she had just experienced, she still looked somewhat fine. She just looked like a well-dressed, rich lady who had just been through a bit of turbulence, that was all. And a cut on the neck. Well, that was small. Unnoticeable. Yet so exposed. Seeing it bothered her.

Elizabeth quickly got herself a change of clothes into something a bit more casual, although it annoyed her with the thought that Beckett would be seeing her dressed like this, seeing as she was in his... house. She shuddered. This was simply just not an ideal situation, she thought to herself miserably. She would have to devise a plan. And get out of here. Straightening out the skirt of her dress, she checked herself one last time, and then deemed herself fit.

She walked over to the doors again, but this time gave a polite knock. "I was wondering, officer, if you could escort me to the library, sir. I'm quite bored in here, and there's nothing for me to occupy myself with. It would do both you and I much good favor if you were to take me there."

There was a pause as the two guards bartered back between each other. Then, the doors opened, and the officer was stern-faced as he said, "The Lord Beckett did anticipate that you would need... amusement. And he said that in the case that you did, we were to grant it to you. So please come this way."

They led her to the library, and quite swiftly, though Elizabeth figured that the faster they went, the better. They reached the grand doors to the library, and the two guards opened them for her. She headed in.

Elizabeth had never before ventured into the Beckett library, but she knew of it. The one back in his London home was far larger, so she'd heard, but he still maintained a collection to be proud of in Port Royal. That was what she had heard. That was not what she had seen.

It was huge. Towering bookshelves hugged every wall, and the windows barely had any space to peep through. Books of all kinds, both worn and new, were neatly shelved away. A few lounge couches and such were about in the room, but they did not seem to have been used recently. The familiar smell of old books filled Elizabeth's nostrils, but she did not curl her nose. It was alright with her. Better to smell that than the stench of Jack's breath, she figured with a small smile.

She walked about, observing the volumes, searching for one that piqued her interest. Then she blinked as she found a very old book, unshelved, sitting on the table. My Lyfe Amonge the Pyrates, it was called. By... Captain Ward? Slowly, she reached out for it, but then flinched as Beckett's voice rung through her ears.

"I'd rather you didn't," he said softly. "It might fall apart; it's so old."

Elizabeth quickly turned to face Beckett, her eyes full of surprise. Then anger flooded her again, but she said in a controlled tone, "I thought you were... discussing business with Mr. Parker."

"Of course," replied Beckett. "It was just good business."

"What are you talking about?" Elizabeth inquired incredulously. The answer made no sense.

"You will find out soon enough. Patience is a virtue, Ms. Swann," he said in response, which only served to infuriate her further.

She rolled her eyes and turned back to the book. "Is this yours?"

"Of course." Beckett walked over and picked it up, somewhat gently. "I read it when I was younger," he said quietly, as if it was an unspoken secret.

Elizabeth was perturbed. Never before had she ever imagined Cutler Beckett as a child, and just the thought disturbed her for some reason. And this book certainly didn't look like the type that he would read. It looked more like the type that he would burn. "When you were younger," she repeated dumbly.

"I haven't had much time to simply sit down and read recently." Beckett paused. "But I doubt I would hardly even enjoy reading such childish tales these days."

"Hmph," said Elizabeth. "That's simply because you're too stiff to appreciate it."

He snorted. "Is that so," he responded. Then he placed the book back down, with care. "I'd imagine that you read quite well, Elizabeth."

"Oh, yes, I do," replied Elizabeth, pleased. She remembered the old days, before the Black Pearl had attacked Port Royal, how books had been her one way to escape her somewhat dismal reality. "I prefer romantic poetry and novels, myself."

"Shakespeare?" Beckett inquired.

"Quite. I've read some of his plays, and most of his poetry," Elizabeth said fondly.

Beckett smiled. "Clever girl," he said softly. Just like Sparrow, he thought to himself. Almost the same answers, as well.

Elizabeth flushed for some odd reason. Here she was, with her sworn enemy—talking about literature? She supposed that, were she on good terms with the Lord Beckett, he would not be too bad to simply chat with, if not for his somewhat condescending mood. That aside, though, she hadn't had a civil conversation like this in—agh! No, shake the thought! He killed your father, she reminded herself virulently. You hate him! She wanted so badly to be angry again, but she did not want to seem childish, or she would only amuse him again. Keeping calm, Elizabeth said, "So am I allowed to access this... collection?"

Beckett pursed his lips. "But of course, Ms. Swann." The name stung a slight, but she had grown used to it by now. As far as all of Britain was concerned, she was still single Elizabeth Swann, and William Turner was just a vagabond. "I simply ask that you are gentle with these books. They are quite old and I haven't had the time to keep them well-maintained as of late."

"Too much time chasing after pirates, I'd assume," Elizabeth snapped back irritably.

Beckett frowned, all good humor gone. Suddenly, she felt horribly guilty—and upset. She had liked the conversational, polite Beckett, who spoke about books and Shakespeare and had a very nice private library. And all that was gone, now—for one little comment. Naught but little more than a pleasurable memory. "Perhaps," Beckett said curtly, yet somewhat stiffly.

Elizabeth swallowed. She had been too insensitive, and she regretted it. "I..." she said slowly, and then bit her lip. "I'll just... read now, I suppose."

He nodded. He was distant, again, and she hated it. Turning, he said, 'Make yourself comfortable, if you will. We hope to leave sometime this week."

Elizabeth turned away, as well. "And what of Jack? Barbossa? And the crew? The Pearl?"

"Patience," said Beckett with a smirk as he stepped out of the library. "You will find out eventually, Ms. Swann."

He left her there to fume. But she wouldn't be so easily angered, not anymore. Elizabeth picked up the My Lyfe Amonge the Pyrates book. She ran her finger over the worn spine and tried to imagine Beckett as a young boy, reading this very same volume. Finding that she couldn't, she instead flipped the page open and decided to do something she could do.

Elizabeth read.

A/N: Yes, things are finally starting to pick up! For those of you wondering, the book and Beckett's thoughts about Jack are all references to The Price of Freedom by AC Crispin. If you (somehow) haven't heard of this wonderful book yet, it's a book about Jack back when he worked for the EITC. The second excerpt includes a chpter between Jack and Beckett. AC Crispin is an amazing author—excellent characterization! She keeps both of them in such perfect character, and develops on Beckett and Jack's relationship so well (not that way!). I can't wait to get the book, myself—supposedly, it's to be released on the same week as the fourth movie, On Stranger Tides, is set (May 17, 2011). By the way, if you'd like, I can send you an email with the link to the .pdf for the second excerpt should you want to read it. I do recommend it, though. Albeit brief, it is very good.

So, I have some questions for you guys. How, um, "far" are you willing to go? Usually, I prefer to simply stick with a really light lemon that describes not the interaction in itself, but the emotions during the experience. (Hah, this is so very awkward.) But that is just me. Do you readers have limits? Any preferences? Smut, light smut, no smut, lemon? Please review with your answers, just so I know my boundaries. Thank you!