“Forgive me, I didn't mean to startle you.”
She glared up, blinking away stars to see concerned blue eyes looking down at her. He reached out a hand and against her better judgement she took it, suppressing the shiver of awareness that prickled over her skin as his warm fingers closed over hers.
“What on earth were you doing?” he asked, amusement and far too much warmth in his expression.
Henri rubbed her head and looked at him with suspicion. “I was clearing up the glass. I told you I'd make myself useful. I meant it.”
He nodded, apparently approving. “Thank you, I appreciate it. Especially as I seem to come off the worse for wear whenever we cross swords,” he said, waving his bandaged hand as the corners of his mouth tilted up.
Henri's suspicions increased and she refused to acknowledge the fact that he looked adorable when he was trying to be reasonable; like a tiger trying to blend in at a tea party. He gestured to a plate he’d placed on his desk.
“I thought you must be hungry?” To her mortification, Henri's stomach gave a loud and insistent grumble the moment her eyes focused on the plate, bearing bread, cheese and a slightly wrinkled apple. “I thought so.” He chuckled.
“Thank you, I could eat something,” she said, avoiding his gaze with care and moving to the chair he drew out for her to sit down.
He moved around to the other side of the desk and sat as well, apparently determined to watch her break her fast. Henri ignored him. She was too hungry to be put off her food and too set on not being drawn down dangerous paths again to catch his eye.
They sat in awkward silence for the next ten minutes, or at least Henri found it awkward. Whenever she dared to steal a glance at him he seemed perfectly at ease, and tremendously amused when she looked away as fast as she could.
What was the devil playing at now?
“Well then,” he said as though they had just left off speaking and not sat in silence for the time it had taken her to eat. “What would you like to do today?”
She frowned, pushing her plate away from her. There had been a suggestive note to his words that she hadn't missed, but she was damned if she was going to acknowledge it. "Oh a stroll around the Vauxhall gardens or perhaps shopping on Bond street," she said with the wave of her hand and a glittering fake laugh before dropping her sarcastic act and scowling at him. “I believe I agreed to make myself useful, so perhaps you would direct me to the kitchen?”
“The galley,” he corrected with a patient smile. “Not kitchen, and there's no need to get pettish with me, sweetheart, and furthermore no, you didn't agree.”
Henri looked at him, puzzled. “What do you mean? You know I did.”
The captain sat back and put his feet up on the desk, watching her with that ever present amusement lurking behind his eyes. “No you did not, because to agree to something it must have been suggested to you in the first place, and I most certainly did not suggest you work in the galley.”
She folded her arms and tutted with annoyance. “Really, must you split hairs? I am well aware of what you suggested and I have told you quite clearly that your offer is unacceptable.” He said nothing for a moment and simply lifted one dark eyebrow. It was enough to make the colour rise on her cheeks. They both knew damn well that she was not as clear about his offer as she had intimated. She stood and looked down at him, keeping her voice even and avoiding his eyes. “Captain Savage, I do not wish to be a burden to you or your crew. Please would you show me to the ... galley, so that I might make myself useful.”
“My name is Lars,” he said, and she looked back to him in surprise.
“Lars?”
He nodded, smiling at the look on her face.
“But that isn't even a name,” she objected. “Is it short for something.”
His smile dipped a little and he shrugged. “Perhaps, or at least it was a long time ago.”
“Oh?” Had that been regret in his eyes? Intrigued, she looked at him closely and wondered who he really was, or at least who he'd been. Were people born pirates? Or had fate or circumstance fallen on him just as it had for her. He'd implied as much at least. “What is it short for?”
“It really isn't important,” he said, waving a dismissive hand. “But I insist, as we are going to be living together in such ... close quarters, that you call me Lars.”
The seductive tone was back in his voice and she knew damn well what he was playing at. She stood, squaring her shoulders and glaring down at him, which to her annoyance just seemed to amuse him all the more. “Captain Savage,” she said, her voice as cold as the air that clouded in front of her as she spoke. “Take me to the galley or I shall find it myself.”
“Come, Hetty,” he said, using a nickname she despised.
"Henri!" she corrected him. "I loathe the name Hetty, though you may call me Miss Morton.
He chuckled. "Ah yes, Henri. I can see how well that suits you," he said, raising one eyebrow.
Damn the man, mocking her again, but nonetheless her name on his lips sent an elicit thrill down her spine.
“Can we not at least be friends?” he asked as he lifted his feet from the edge of the desk and rose, moving with languid ease but never taking his eyes from hers.
“We are not friends, and I did not give you leave to use my name in such a familiar manner.” Henri froze, rigid with tension as he began to move around the desk. She turned and circled away from him, moving to the side he had just vacated. This was ridiculous, she thought as panic began to scrabble around in her chest like a terrified mouse. Not that she was afraid, she amended to herself, though being afraid in such a situation was quite right and proper. The fact that she wasn't as afraid of him as she was of herself, however, was quite outrageous.
“Do you really wish for me to chase you around the desk?” he asked, with a merry twinkle in his eyes. Henri glared at him and prayed he would ascribe the flush she could feel colouring her cheeks to anger and not to the fact he'd almost read her thoughts.
“I do not!”
He started to chuckle and then appeared to think better of it and cleared his throat. With all trace of mockery and amusement wiped from his face he looked at her with every expression of kindness and sincerity. “Miss Morton,” he said, holding out his hand to her. “Please would you accompany me for a turn about the deck?”
She frowned at him, perplexed by his sudden change of course.
“It is a beautiful day,” he added. “The sun is up and I know a sheltered spot where you may enjoy the sunshine. It will be warmer than this fridge, I assure you.”
The idea of getting out of the cabin and feeling the sun on her face was too alluring to refuse. Plus she would surely be safer out there than in here alone with him.
“That would be ... lovely,” she replied, even though she didn't trust the change in his demeanour one little bit. She was perfectly aware that he was simply trying another tack. There was no doubt in her mind that he meant to seduce her, and despite the fact that the idea made her blood thrill in her veins she had no intention of letting him. Let him try and charm her, she thought, gritting her teeth, for in return he would find her as cold and welcoming as the sea beneath them.
With reluctance she allowed him to place her hand on his arm and she followed him outside.
Chapter 12
“Wherein the past appears and mocks the living.”
Lars watched Miss Morton as he strolled with her around the deck. His men greeted them with a mixture of good-natured ribaldry and lewd comments and he noted her reaction to each.
“Was the Captain's bed warm enough for ye?” Jay shouted at her across the deck, his sly, rat-like eyes glinting in the bright sunshine. “For if it aint, I'm at yer service, Miss, should you want a lithesome bed warmer tonight?” he'd added with a leer and a grotesque movement of his thin hips.
Lars smiled as Henri held the man's gaze, unblinking, and then looked him up and down, slowly and with contempt. She looked all the world as though she was
assessing a horse and had found it to be a broken down nag instead of the pure blood as advertised. “I'd rather the cold embrace of the ocean than suffer your attentions, sir, and I will thank you to keep your disgusting comments to yourself.” There was little or no expression in her voice. She sounded bored and totally unimpressed and the men had roared with laughter, leaving Jay looking rather unsettled.
Lars had been struck with ... what he wondered? Pride, he realised with a start. She was alone, friendless and in the hands of men she would no doubt expect the very worst from, but she didn't cower and slink away to hide. She came out with those sharp claws and her tawny eyes flashing with fire and held her ground. The disquieting realisation that he admired her settled in his chest, and it wasn't a comfortable feeling. He didn't want to admire anything but her beauty and the way she would look naked in his bed. Though if they didn't get to warmer waters soon he'd have to settle for feeling his way under a mound of blankets. A pity but beggars couldn't be choosers.
He drew her away from the men and urged her forward until they were standing on the quarter deck.
“What's that?” she asked, breaking him out of the pleasant images that he'd begun to consider, as to what exactly she did look like under all those layers. In an effort to stop his thoughts turning in more disquieting circles, he looked to where she was pointing and saw to his annoyance that the sloop was making good time.
“Mousy!” he yelled and held his hand out for the spy glass as the big man joined him.
He held the glass to his eye and focused it, he and felt a wave of cold flow over him so intense he knew they must have seen him shiver.
“What?” Mousy demanded. “What is it?”
He couldn't respond. There was ice in his gut and his mind ran in circles. Mousy snatched the glass from his hand and looked to see what the problem was but just frowned.
“The Revenge?” he said, a question in his voice. “That ain't no Navy ship and it ain't the Water Guard. That's a merchant vessel.”
Lars nodded. It was. It belonged to a vastly prosperous merchant company, and he knew who owned it. It was a ship made for speed, to move things fast, not in bulk and to his knowledge the company had never actively hunted down pirates. He doubted that had changed. So why? Why would a merchant vessel be on his tail? Why this vessel? He felt like his mind was wading through treacle as he tried to make sense of it and failed. He turned to see Henri studying him. Those tawny eyes were watching him, frank and open, and curious. He ran a hand through his hair, aware that Mousy was looking at him with concern but ... he just couldn't ... think.
“Take evasive action,” he said, watching the ship's progression through the water as though he was watching a sand clock, watching the grains slide away his remaining time. He looked away and turned to Mousy. “And whatever you do, do not engage.”
Mousy looked at him in shock, his mouth falling open in surprise.
“But ... but Capt'n ...”
“But nothing!” he shouted, suddenly furious. “You have your orders.”
Lars turned on his heel and walked away, back to his cabin, slamming the door behind him. He paced, trying to clear his head but nothing made any sense. Snatching up a bottle he pulled the cork with his teeth and drank deeply before sitting at his desk. He placed the bottle between his feet and stared down at it, his head in his hands. Was this how he would end? Were the fates so cruel that they would do this to him to satisfy their love of irony?
He looked up as the door opened, fully intending to yell at whoever it was to get the hell out, but his gaze fell upon the anxious figure of Miss Morton. She closed the door and hurried towards him, and to his surprise sank to her knees beside his chair.
“What is it?” she asked.
He frowned, looking at her and feeling even more that the fates were toying with him. Why would she care? Why were her words so soft, and why the devil was she looking at him with such concern ?
“Don't worry, Miss Morton,” he said, wondering why his voice sounded so dead, he lived yet surely? “I won't let any harm come to you, this is likely an answer to your prayers.”
He jolted as a soft, warm hand covered his. “But not yours I think?”
He laughed and pulled his hand away, though he wanted nothing more than to grasp it in his and take her to the bed. It would likely be the last thing he did after all.
“Are you afraid?” she asked. He looked at her sharply. Was she implying that he was a coward? He'd never run from a fight in his life. He'd gained his reputation as a charismatic lover and charmer perhaps, but he'd not lived this long in a brutal world by being afraid of a fight. But it wasn't accusation he saw in her eyes, it was compassion.
“I'm not afraid,” he replied, his voice hard.
“Then why did you look like you'd seen a ghost when you saw that ship?”
A mirthless bark of laughter escaped his lips. “Perhaps I had.” He reached down and grasped the bottle at his feet, drinking deeply once more, but to his annoyance she snatched it away from him, stuffed the cork back in and shoved it in the nearest desk drawer.
“If you are to find a way out of whatever predicament you seem to be in, I think you need a clear head. Don't you?” she demanded.
Lars stared at her. Those warm brown eyes were on him with such fierce determination, as though she'd decided to save him again and she was damn well going to do it. “What do you care?” he asked, refusing to believe what he saw there. “I'm not going to escape this one. I can't outrun them and we didn't have time to provision properly, so they can just sit on our tail until we starve to death or the men decide to give me up in return for their freedom, and I have a fair idea which they'll choose.”
“But then why don't you fight?” she demanded, and he was quite taken aback by the ferocity behind her words. “Aren't you the Rogue? The stories I read about that man lead me to believe he would never run from a fight!”
“I cannot fire upon The Revenge!” he shouted in frustration and then buried his head in his hands. He deserved this, he realised, he knew he did. But how the devil was he going to get out of this mess? He couldn't allow The Revenge to blow his men out of the water, and if he didn't take control of the situation and lead them to engage the vessel, they would appoint another captain who would. And he couldn't allow that either. No harm would come to The Revenge, he wouldn't let that happen, not now.
He started as the gentle slide of a hand stroked his hair. It was soothing, calming, and he took a breath as she repeated the motion.
“Who is on that ship?” she asked, her voice quiet.
He glanced up to see those beautiful eyes looking at him as though she really did care, as though she would save him if she could. He felt his heart squeeze in his chest. Well the fates were really getting their money's worth today, he thought with a bitter smile. Now they send him a woman like this, when there was damn all he could do about it.
“The past,” he whispered. “The past is on that ship, and I cannot do it any more damage than I already have.”
She frowned and held out her hand, holding it to his face, her thumb caressing his cheek bone. “You are in quite a fix, aren't you, pirate?”
Despite himself, he laughed. “You could say that.” He didn't dare move any further for fear she would remove her hand. He didn't want her to. He wanted to sit here and look at those pretty eyes and feel her hand, warm against his cheek. He wanted to pretend that great black spectre on the horizon was nothing more than a storm cloud that would pass by if he was patient. If he kept looking into her eyes.
“Is there anything I can do?” she asked.
Kiss me. The words were in his head in an instant and he knew she must see it in his eyes but he wouldn't say it. He didn't feel he could. Not now. If he was going to die, whether he was consigned to the depths of the ocean or taken to hang, he would do one good thing before he died. He wouldn't take anything more from this woman than had already been taken. But then, she moved forward and pressed her lips ag
ainst his.
Chapter 13
“Wherein fires are lit in a room full of powder.”
Henri pulled away and saw her own shock reflected back at her in his eyes. The bright blue had seemed dull, his expression so utterly hopeless that she hadn't known what else to do. She only knew that she wanted the insufferable, arrogant pirate back, that all too charming man with the merry blue eyes who made her blood boil and her heart race. She wanted to take away the pain she saw in his eyes and lift off the shadow of the past that hung over him. She felt she could almost see it, the weight of it at least, as it bowed his shoulders. And so she had kissed him.
His breath caught at the first press of her lips, an encouraging sign she thought, as she had drawn back, just a little, to brush her lips against his again. She was tentative, not really certain of what she was doing, and only knowing she was mimicking the manner in which he had kissed her before. Had it really only been this morning?
But it was not only shock in his eyes and her heart began to crash with wild abandon as she understood what that meant.
She had read enough romance novels in her life to know that she could never be happy being married to a cold and indifferent man who would never love her to distraction. She had wanted to know love and passion, to know what it was to be desired above all else. Well her foolish plan may mean that she would not know what it was to be married to a man who loved her, but she knew that this man needed her, for the moment at least. And she was likely the biggest fool in the world, but she could no more walk away from him now than she could have let the militia men drag him away to the gallows.
She raised her other hand, holding his face between them and feeling a warmth that spread through her chest as a smile tugged at that gorgeous mouth of his.
“Miss Morton,” he said, his voice low, and a familiar thread of amusement behind the words. “You are the most contrary young woman I have ever known, and ...” He shook his head and brushed her cheek with his knuckles. “You never cease to surprise me.”
The Rogue Page 8