Fire and Ice
The Endeavour, a fortnight after the events of chapter 3.
Elizabeth stood at the window of her cabin aboard the Endeavour and sighed. She had been stuck inside now for two weeks, on their voyage back to Port Royal, now the pirate fleet was in retreat, and back to her putative marriage to Lord Beckett. She snorted derisively at the thought.
"Something amuses you?" at the question, its tone steeped in weary typically masculine condescension, Elizabeth stiffened. She turned, silk skirts shushing to face the man himself, Lord Beckett. He stood, resplendent in lacquered boots and a navy blue coat and waistcoat. His perfectly coiffed wig gleamed in the sunlight now streaming into the darkened cabin, making Elizabeth blink. The light at the end of the tunnel, she thought sardonically, were it not for him. Feeling his gaze on her, on her face she coloured, mind drawn back to their last encounter. To that kiss…..
She opened her mouth to speak, but he saw the rise of awareness, the flash of colour and, fast as a viper; smoothly snared her hand. Inexorably he drew it to his lips, planting a soft kiss on her knuckles. Enduring the caress, Elizabeth gritted and tried to withdraw her hand gently, but he ignored her increasingly pointed tugging, as he reversed her hand and pressed his cold lips to her inner wrist. Her pulse leapt, her lips parted and Elizabeth strained against her bodice just to breathe. Beckett smirked, inwardly pleased at her reaction. His infuriating smirk only grew, when Elizabeth snatched her wrist back, and said pointedly, her tone bored, disguising the telltale tension in her voice and bearing.
"Good morning, my lord,"
One eyebrow rose, Beckett's face a perfect mask of social boredom.
"I believe I asked you a question, Miss Swann?"
"I was just wondering if you were ever going to let me out of this god-forsaken hole or am I to be confined for the remainder of the voyage."
"By all means, my dear-"
"I'm not your dear!" Elizabeth muttered quietly. Beckett ignored her.
"You may walk on the quarterdeck, in company with myself or your father of course,"
Elizabeth rolled her eyes, turning away from Beckett.
"Thank you. I will take a walk later, with my father," the last three words were quietly emphasized. Beckett left her then, with a courteous bow and an amused smile.
Later that day, Elizabeth blinked in the sunlight, as on her father's arm, she emerged from the dreary gloom of the lower decks. She flicked her parasol up, shielding her slowly fading tanned skin from the sweltering sun. She shook her skirts out, glad that she had remained in her thin morning gown of lemon silk, her long hair pinned up but for one trailing ringlet, as per the fashionable style. Elizabeth cursed to herself as the skirts caught around her legs. How she missed her breeches and boots! She still had them hidden beneath her bunk.
The heat was stifling so Elizabeth was surprised to discover the officers on deck engaged with a duel. A moment later, she realised they were merely sparring, practising their blade skills. Governor Swann paused, unsure, and said, "Perhaps we should return below,"
By then the officers had noticed Elizabeth, hovering in the shade and all bowed courteously bar the two still sparring. Acknowledging their bows with a graceful nod, she strode determinedly forward, ignoring her father's insistent directions to the contrary, eyes fixed on the two duellists, their blades like swirling vortexes of silver flashing in the sun. With a jolt of surprise, she recognised Beckett, coatless and cravatless, fighting tooth and nail against Lieutenant Groves. She was entranced as she watched the two figures weaving and intertwining gracefully.
"Elizabeth?" her father asked again, without much hope.
"No I wish to stay. Any distraction is better than returning below deck," Elizabeth replied vehemently, turning away from the sparring figures to frown at her father.
"If the pirate seeks distraction, then by all means, she may seek it here," said a cool, distinctly arrogant and suggestive voice. Elizabeth stiffened as she span to face Beckett, now standing before her, sabre in hand, barely out of breath, unlike poor Groves who was leaning on his weapon, panting heavily.
"My lord she inclined her head. Beckett's gaze swept her, from the pearl drops in her ears, to the hem of her lemon silk gown. Elizabeth flushed but in the heat no-one noticed.
"Miss Swann," he replied, as he raised her hand to his lips again. Elizabeth steeled herself to feel his lips on her skin. His eyes glinted knowingly, as he brushed a kiss across her fingertips. Elizabeth's knees felt like jelly, and she knew if he did kiss her wrist, she'd swoon. Thankfully he released her, and she raised a weary brow before she and her father moved away to stand by the mast and watch. Beckett moved with them, as Lieutenant Greitzer and Midshipman Jones went at it. Beckett took a position at her shoulder, watching her watching the officers practice.
Elizabeth ran a practiced eye over the duellists, noting weight, stance and speed. Excitement filled her, as the dance of the fight began to draw her in. Beckett watched her animation with interest. Then he remembered the impressive blade skills he had seen her use on the Dutchman during the final battle.
When the midshipman made what would have been a fatal error in battle, Elizabeth unknowingly shook her head.
"He could have recovered, had he not lunged so precipitously," she sighed. Beckett shot her a speculative glance.
"Well why do you not give us a demonstration? Since you are so skilled, Pirate King?" he turned to her with a smug smirk and a raised brow. Elizabeth eyed him narrowly, her pride stung.
Governor Swann made furious negative gestures, as a lady should deny such impertinent suggestions. But Elizabeth was no mere lady.
"Unless you are afraid?" Beckett sneered. Elizabeth's eyes flashed, and she drew herself up haughtily.
"I accept, my lord," she added the honorific sarcastically.
A few moments later, Elizabeth emerged from her cabin, dressed in breeches, boots and a billowy white shirt she had purloined from her father. She still wore her chemise, corset and elaborate hairstyle. At least her hair would keep out of her eyes, she told herself, blinking in the sunshine. Beckett was making a speech.
"Pirates are unskilled brutes, yet they are cunning; so in order to defeat them we must ensure we never fall for their wiles. And we can do that by keeping our wits, as well as our blades, sharp. Wits are more important than brute strength,"
"What do you get on by, seeing as you possess little of either commodity?" Elizabeth said from behind him. Not technically true; seeing as he defeated the pirate armada. Beckett turned to her, unruffled.
"And here's our demonstration. Miss Swann what do you use?" he gestured to the gleaming weapons set out on a side table. Elizabeth glanced at them, before she folded her arms and flicked her trailing ringlet over her shoulder, loose limbed and confident.
"The sabre," she said nonchalantly.
Groves tossed it to her, and she caught it one-handed, twirling it expertly.
"Impressive," Beckett remarked dryly. He took his stance, raising his weapon. Elizabeth hesitated.
"I'm fighting you?" she asked, slightly taken aback. The gathered men snickered, as Beckett raised an eyebrow superciliously.
"Is there a problem with that, Miss Swann?" he asked, his grin triumphant. Elizabeth's eyes narrowed.
"If you think to turn this into a humiliation, Lord Beckett, you are sorely mistaken!"
"Such fire! I do hope your skills can match your smart tongue," he said as they began to circle, "Let's say first blood. One lock of hair, my sweet?"
"You're going to wish you were never born, Beckett!" Elizabeth growled as she attacked. Their blades met with a screech of metal.
As they duelled back and forth, Elizabeth realised very quickly that she had underestimated Lord Beckett. He fought as he did most things; totally in control and ruthlessly. His bladework was precise, not using more energy than was needed. But Elizabeth was, as he had said during his speech, a pirate. She had a few tricks up her sleeve.
As he backed her into the mast, still swiping and cutting at her defences, she jumped up onto a barrel to escape him. He swiped at her ankles, and she jumped. She turned the jump into a flip, carrying herself over his shoulders and behind him. She smirked triumphantly, and brought her sabre down in an arc, towards his head. He met it with an overhead parry, turning and striking quicker than a snake. Their blades locked together, and Elizabeth was yanked close to him. Her teeth were gritted; sweat trailing down her spine in the heat, her hair dishevelled. Beckett looked at her with mock concern.
"You look a trifle flushed, Miss Swann. Do you wish to concede?" he asked quietly, his smirk cruelly triumphant. Elizabeth pushed away her tiredness, and growled in reply.
"You wish, Beckett!"
Elizabeth disengaged and feinted to the right, before slashing to the left in a complicated rhythm of twirls and lunges. Beckett easily compensated. Their duel turned into a dance, both participants moving to an unheard beat, their feet weaving and skipping so fast they appeared a blur. Elizabeth couldn't help but appreciate his skill, as well as the muscles bunching and tensing beneath the cotton of his shirt every time he moved. Her mouth dried unexpectedly, as she spun and weaved around him, their bodies intertwining and disengaging like their weapons. When she met Beckett's eyes, she saw the same awareness of their physical state in them as she felt, and rebelled against it. She may have allowed him to kiss her a fortnight ago, but she was stronger now. She would not be caught so easily. But desire had already begun to take hold, insidious and compelling. Elizabeth felt her knees weaken, and knew if she didn't finish their fight soon, she would be on her knees, or in his arms. And that her pride refused to allow.
With a twirl, she skipped to the side, and slashed at Beckett's head. But it was a mistake; it left her head open to attack. She felt a ripple in the air, and a slight tugging. But she didn't care; she hit her mark.. When she spun back to face Beckett, he had a curl of her hair perfectly balancing on the tip of his sword. He smiled predatorily, triumphantly.
"I win," he remarked.
But his smile dimmed somewhat as she slowly held up a single lock of white hair. His hand went to the tail of his wig, and Elizabeth smirked this time.
"Not this time, my lord,"
Clapping erupted from all around them; their display had been sufficiently impressive that the assembled officers were awed.
"A fair victory, my dear," Beckett conceded, but his eyes flashed. Not with anger, or frustration but with a warning. One Elizabeth interpreted with a shiver of desire. The sun suddenly seemed overwhelming, and she quickly escaped, not noticing Lord Beckett's similar disappearance.
Elizabeth slipped into the cool darkness of the hold. Around her, barrels of gunpowder and various other products stood stacked, like great mountain ranges within the hold. Elizabeth tried to slow her breathing, panicked as it was by the need to escape from Lord Beckett. Her hands shook, her lips were flushed and Elizabeth could feel her knees ready to fold. The flaming desire she had seen within his eyes had sent such shockwaves throughout her being. She had not only underestimated him on the battlefield but on a more personal level too. She had always thought he was like ice; cool and unbreakable as stone. But he looked set to burn her alive.
A hand shot out and pulled Elizabeth into the space between a beam and a stack of gunpowder kegs. She opened her mouth to scream, and would have done, were it not for the cool, hard lips suddenly covering her own. She froze, recognising them instantly, until the drugging feel of his lips on hers, seductive and alluring, called to her senses. With a sigh she gave in, opening her mouth to Beckett's invasion.
His tongue surged in, commanding, demanding. Slowly he seduced her, pulling her into a world of sensual need, a whirling vortex of physical pleasures. Elizabeth, breathless, wrenched her lips free, desperate to breathe, desperate to think. Beckett's lips slid over her chin and onto her neck, kissing ardently at her pulse points. She moaned, her body responding eagerly, her mind blissfully blank. She pressed her head back against the beam, baring her throat to his ravishing kisses. He shifted against her, and she bit her lip, senses drugged by the hard evidence of desire pressed against her abdomen. But slowly her pride awoke; she would not be so easily caught!
As his lips tried to return to hers, she reared her head back and away, only facing him when Beckett drew back slightly, releasing her.
"If you try to kiss me again, I'll scream!" she warned him huskily.
"And who do you imagine will hear you?" he said, irritatingly superior. Infuriated, she slapped him hard across the cheek, hitting her mark this time, before turning and attempting to walk away. Beckett snatched her back, gripping her arm in the iron vise of his fingers. He swung her hard against the beam, pinning her wrists against the hard wood.
"I think, my dear, that if you were going to scream, you would have done so already," he whispered against her lips, before he took them, scalding her senses in a rush of searing desire. Elizabeth's defences stood firm for one moment, before they wilted. She gave in again to his demands with an exasperated sigh, shifting against his blatant arousal provocatively. He groaned, released her wrists, and twined his arms around her waist, simultaneously hauling her closer and crushing her back against the beam. Elizabeth gave in to the clamouring needs of her body, and rested one hand on his shoulder, her touch burning through the thin cotton of his shirt. The other hand slid beneath his wig, into the softness of his hair, revelling in the surprising silkiness. When she undulated against him, using all of her limited expertise, he pulled away from her lips and growled, "You're treading on thin ice,"
Elizabeth didn't answer, just arched as he began to devour her neck, hands frantically pulling at her shirt, exposing the peach skin of her décolletage. She arched her neck back, gasping as Beckett trailed hot, yearning kisses across her collarbone and the tops of her breasts, exposed by her corset. Elizabeth felt her body melt, hot desire welling at the base of her spine, insistently begging for attention. Passion descended, an enthralling haze blocking out all else. Only a compulsion remained, one that insidiously wormed its way into their consciousnesses.
As their lips rejoined, Elizabeth felt her kiss turn entreating, begging Beckett to end her misery and take her. She felt as though hot coals were being dragged across her skin with each touch, with each kiss. His hand left her waist; rising to his breeches…..
"Oi! Get three more barrels of gunpowder up from the hold!" someone yelled.
Dimly, Elizabeth heard footsteps descending into the hold. Beckett released her, and she slumped against the beam, body unable to support itself. He pulled her around and further into the darkness of the hold, holding her, both imprisoned and supported, in the circle of his arms. In the gap between two stacks of barrels, she saw a blue-coated figure, which she recognised as Lieutenant Eckert, moving barrels and cursing eloquently beneath his breath.
Slowly the tension between Elizabeth and Beckett dimmed, not leaving them but held at bay, denied fulfilment. Elizabeth looked back at him, still breathing heavily. But with Lieutenant Eckert in the hold, continuing their interlude was impossible. Even if she had wanted to.
But at that moment, Elizabeth didn't know if she wanted him to continue or not. Her body pulled her one way, her mind another.
Beckett touched his lips to her wrist. Heat flared at the simple touch, and Elizabeth escaped from his arms with a shudder.
"Until later then, Miss Swann," he inclined his head. Elizabeth raised a haughty brow, skin deliciously warm, but didn't dare to reply, before the flames in his eyes. She slipped from the hold, stealing softly past Lieutenant Eckert, who was still oblivious, searching for a particular barrel. Beckett followed her with stormy, desire-filled eyes.