She answered with a glare.
“I give you a challenge then. If you can take the key from me, you can keep it.”
Throwing his hand off her lips, she made a grab for the cord dangling from his neck.
He caught her wrists, holding her in place, a laugh upon his breath. “It won’t be that easy, love.” His intense regard returned to her mouth. “Now, I believe I was offering my services to help you prepare for bed.”
The churlish lout. She should have shot him when she’d had the chance. Then he couldn’t play games at her expense. “You’re wasting your time,” she hissed. “I’m unaffected by your charms.”
“Indeed?” Humor laced his tone, and his lips twitched.
“Quite true. I’ve been told I’m made of ice.” Richard Shevington had assured her of that fact only weeks ago when she had, yet again, rebuffed his advances.
The look in his eyes turned to one of certitude. He leaned in close and raised a hand to the side of her neck, his thumb tracing a path over her lower lip.
Air leaked from her lungs on a tremulous sigh. Her mind stuttered, and for that moment, she wondered if he would kiss her. Her gaze rose to his mouth, to the supple curve of his lips.
He moved closer still, his nose nearly grazing her cheek. “Made of ice?” he whispered. “I don’t believe that. There’s no ice to be found, only your own inhibitions.”
Inhibitions? She stood in a daze, trembling, as he pulled away.
He returned to the hammock, his features alight with amusement. “Rest well.”
Her body still thrumming, she dug deep until she found the anger and indignation that had gone dormant. She understood those emotions and found comfort in them. Much better than the strange feelings James inspired.
Flopping down onto the bed, she turned her back to him. So well pleased with himself. Yes, he was a skilled seducer, she’d grant him that, but if he thought he could charm her into compliance, he was deluding himself. She’d been exposed to enough men and their tricks to know better.
James snuffed out the lantern. Behind her, the hammock’s ropes squeaked under his weight while she stared at the beam of moonlight streaming through the window. Sadly, she knew what men were capable of. The first time she’d seen her uncle and his friends entertaining, she’d been twelve years old. Miss Biddle had wanted her to witness the follies of men.
Through the doorway to the parlor she’d seen Uncle Marshall crouched over a woman on the divan, her dress half-removed and her moans echoing throughout the room amid cheers and hoots from the three gentlemen who had watched. Her uncle had grunted and sweated over her like the rutting pig he was.
Disgusting. All of them. Particularly Captain Shevington. Yes, he had been the worst, by far. She could still feel his hands on her person and hear his demanding voice in her ear as he tried to reach beneath her petticoats. Before the memory took hold, she pushed it away. If only she could hold at bay all her bad memories.
She shifted to her back and scanned the darkened room. James lay in his hammock, his hands behind his head. Perfectly at ease. The chair had been returned to the desk, away from the door. The locked door. He’d taunted her with the key like a jailor giddy with his little slice of power. If you can take the key from me, you can keep it. She glowered in his direction, his breaths now deep and even. Sleeping so peacefully. Soundly. Perfect.
Charity rose from the bed, her movements silent and purposeful. Lifting her hem, she took one step, then two, the boards beneath her feet creaking and her body adjusting to the rock of the ship. She inched closer until she stood over him. His dark lashes fanned over his angular features. He was handsome, without a doubt, but he had his share of flaws. Everyone had flaws. And without his skillful words to influence her, his defects would surely reveal themselves. Bending over him, she took a closer look.
No warts. No blemishes of any kind. Or overly long nose hairs. In fact, in the moonlight, his face appeared very much like the skillful work of a sculptor. His skin smooth, and his features perfectly carved. Drat.
His dark beard lightly shadowed the lower half of his face. Hardly a defect. The rugged quality only served to enhance the strong line of his jaw. She bent lower. Those whiskers could be coarse and prickly. Not that she’d touch them. Still, anyone he kissed would no doubt feel the scrape.
She contemplated his lips. Not too thin or full, ideally shaped, their gentle slopes irritatingly perfect.
With a deep, slumberous sigh, he shifted his position, turning his face to the side. A silent groan reverberated inside her head. What in heaven’s name was she doing?
The key.
She glimpsed the leather cord through his open collar. On bated breath, she grabbed the string between her index finger and thumb and tugged the leather. The length inched upward until the edge of the pouch peeked out from beneath his shirt.
James uttered a low grumble, and she nearly jumped from her skin. She stilled and searched his face, her hand clamped onto the cord a fraction of an inch above his skin.
His eyes closed, he scratched his chest where the pouch had rubbed, then rested his hand on top of hers. Smothering a curse, she stared at their hands. What now?
The pouch. She could see it. So close. She grasped its exposed edge with her free hand and dragged it free, then fumbled with the opening, tipping its contents into her palm. In a jingle of metal on metal, a handful of items poured out. A jackknife, a locket…the key tumbled from her palm, slipped off James’s chest, and landed on the floor with a clink. Curse it! She needed that key. By his own words, it would be hers if she could reach it.
Intent on freeing the hand trapped by his, she eased it back, but the moment her hand moved, he gripped it more firmly.
“Stay with me,” he mumbled, circling an arm around her shoulders, drawing her closer.
Her pulse stuttered, and she held her breath as she crouched in the awkward position with her head resting on his chest and her hand still trapped beneath his. No, no, no.
She tamped down her frustration before she gave herself away. Her mind spun with useless ideas, nothing that could free her from the predicament she’d found herself in.
Giving a sleepy groan of contentment, James slid his hand from her shoulder. It roamed down her spine, dipped to her waist, then rose to cup the side of her breast.
A choked gasp escaped her throat. She looked toward his face and found his eyes open. They glittered with humor.
“Oh!” She jerked away, overturning the already tilted hammock. They both fell to the floor. She landed hard on her back, and James’s muscular body followed. He braced himself on hands and knees to avoid landing fully on top of her.
“Are you hurt?” he asked, his face concealed by the shadows.
“I don’t think so.”
He chuckled low. “That was interesting.” Amusement laced his voice, and her mind conjured that wicked smile of his as he leaned in and his lips grazed hers.
Although the caress was scarcely a touch, she tingled all the way down to her toes. Miss Biddle would be aghast. But as the soft pressure of his lips increased, the warnings of her former governess failed to have the same impact they’d had in the past.
His mouth slanted across hers, and warmth seeped into her bones. He nuzzled her neck, and his beard gently scraped along her skin, the texture of those hairs rough yet heady. His breath fanned along her ear, sending little shivers down her arms to her fingertips. “You taste like perfection,” he whispered, the slight rumble through his chest intoxicating.
She lifted her hands to the scarf on his head, pushing it away so she could delve her fingers into his thick hair. Its softness surprised her. She opened her clenched hand to better explore the alluring strands, and the items she’d taken from the pouch dropped from her fingers, clattering against the wooden planks. Both of them turned at the sound. A scattering of trinkets littered the floor. Among them, she spotted her wedding ring. The moon gave it a sinister glow. In an instant, the towering form of Richar
d Shevington rushed to the fore, followed by the memory of the years she had suffered her uncle’s contempt.
Beside the ring lay the key. She launched herself toward it, but an unyielding arm circled her waist and hauled her back. Keeping her tightly against his side, James scooped up the key and held it in front of her.
“And I thought you were warming to me.” His shoulders shook with laughter as he dropped the key into the pouch. “Now then,” he said, lowering his face to hers.
“Stop.” She pushed hard against his chest as Miss Biddle’s voice rang inside her head. So like a man to press his intentions.
“You didn’t seem to mind before.”
Prepared to fight off his advances with all her might, she lifted her hands, her nails ready to score his skin when James blew out a breath and rose to his knees.
“Very well then.” He extended his palm as if to help her up.
Truly? He would accede to her wishes and let her go? Disbelief gave her a moment’s pause before she scrambled to her feet, disregarding his offer to help. Ashamed by her own behavior and sick to her stomach, she rushed to the bed and slipped beneath the covers. She should not have kissed him, for more reasons than one. Yet even now, she could still feel his supple lips on hers. Warm and enticing.
James picked himself up off the floor. “I’m a patient man, love. Come back whenever you’re ready.” He searched around him, gathering the various items she’d dropped and returning them to the pouch, among them the wedding ring she wished she could forget.
Chapter Six
In her dream, Charity feasted on fried eggs, warm ham, and buttered toast. Mmm. She groaned as sunlight penetrated her senses. No. She’d much rather linger in the comfort of her dreams than face reality. Clinging to the image of the delectable meal steaming before her, she tugged the blanket higher over her face.
She could almost smell the smoky aroma of the ham. Charity pushed the covers to her chest and opened one eye, squinting against the light. She sniffed. Ham?
Her gaze turned to the desk. A plate. With… She rose from the bed, lifted her hem, and stepped closer. Ham and potatoes. Biscuits and preserves. Her stomach gave its praises with an impressive growl. She sat at the desk and wasted no time digging into the hearty meal, the rich flavors tantalizing her tongue. How had James managed to… She chewed another forkful. Mmm, heaven. Gratitude swelled within her. He’d gone to such trouble.
A bar of soap lay on the desk a mere foot away. She reached out and grabbed it. The soap felt smooth to the touch and smelled of rose petals. A quick scan of the room revealed a bucket of water that had been left in the corner by the bed. Breakfast, water, and soap? James had outdone himself.
Taking a bite of biscuit covered in sweet strawberry jam, she marveled at how rested she felt. The steady rock of the ship had lulled her into a blissful sleep. Strange how easily she’d taken to the constant sway. No seasickness. Certainly no loss of appetite. She stabbed a bite of potato with the tines of her fork and popped it into her mouth. Delicious. This morning was turning into a much better day. After last night, she hadn’t been sure what to expect. After last night… Her chewing slowed and a niggling of doubt dampened her gratitude. Why had James left her this breakfast, the soap and water? Did he truly go to such lengths simply for her comfort? What did he want from her? She blew out an unladylike snort. She had a guess. After last night, his expectations of her willingness may have changed. Her stare slid to the door. Was he merely appeasing her in the hopes she would soften toward him?
No, he could have forced himself on her, but he hadn’t. When she’d asked him to, he’d stopped his advances. Something she’d never expected him, or any man, to do. Even now, she found it hard to believe.
Another forkful of potatoes midway to her mouth, she paused, spying a glint of silver on the floor. She bent down to get a closer look. The locket from James’s pouch. It had become lodged in a crack, almost disappearing from view. Using her fingernail, she pried it from its hiding place and studied it in her hand. Why would James carry around a woman’s locket? Was it a gift for a sweetheart? Or had a woman given it to him as a memento to remember her by? Either way, there was someone out there he cared for.
The lock clicked, and the door opened. James.
She had no idea how long ago he’d risen, but the morning certainly agreed with him. His bronze skin glowed with good health, and he had the invigorated look of a man who enjoyed life to the fullest.
He closed the door and locked it, his curious look sweeping over her as she knelt on the floor. A lazy smile widened his lips, and her body reacted immediately, her heart fluttering and a disturbing thought coming to mind. If there is a woman he cares for, why is he attempting to seduce me? The last bits of potato she’d eaten clung to the back of her throat, threatening to latch on to her next inhale. He’d kissed her…and she’d kissed him back.
James stepped closer and crouched down beside her. “What have you got there?”
She swallowed down the potato bits and thrust the whole notion aside. “I believe this is yours.” James didn’t act like a man who pined for a woman. He was a pirate. He’d probably stolen the thing from around some poor woman’s neck.
“Ah yes, I was looking for that earlier today. Never found it last night.” He took the locket from her and stowed it in his pouch. “Thank you.”
She rose to her feet and brushed the dust off her petticoat. “Is it for anyone special?” she couldn’t help but ask, although she put as much apathy in her tone as she could.
“No.”
“Yet you carry it around—”
“It was my sister’s.” He moved to the cabinet beside the desk and retrieved a roll of paper.
“Was?”
Spreading the map wide, he set it down on the desk and glanced her way. “She died a couple of years ago.”
“I’m sorry.”
With a short nod, he looked back at the map. “Are you enjoying your meal?”
She longed to ask him more, but one look at his face, his gaze distant and his features heavy with sadness… She’d best leave it be. “The food is delicious. A very pleasant surprise.”
“Good.” He ran his fingers along the map, his attention once more focused on the task at hand. “I made the fare myself.”
“You did?”
With a breathy laugh, James scratched his head. “The cook isn’t as skilled as I would have guessed.”
He’d given up his bed, prepared her meal, and brought her luxuries she’d thought she’d have to forgo on this trip. The voice of reason inside her, the shrill one that constantly expounded on the faults of men, stuttered into a confused silence in the light of James’s kindness and generosity. “Thank you. For the soap and water, the food. Everything.”
“An offering of amends.” James spread his arms wide in a courtly bow, and her lips twitched into a smile.
“How very gallant.” Had she misjudged him? Perhaps somewhere deep down, he was a gentleman with a kind heart. Very deep down. In his boots.
His soft laugh tickled her ears and skipped down her spine. “My mother and sisters made sure I knew the importance of treating women well.”
A man who gave a fig how a woman should be treated. A novel concept. “Do you have a large family?”
He rolled up the map and placed it back in the cabinet, a sober cast to his features, his lighthearted merriment long gone. “Not overly. A brother, two older sisters, and five nieces and nephews.”
More than she’d ever known. All her life she’d wished for a sister or brother, a sibling she could turn to when she needed someone to listen. “What are they like?”
A flash of pain softened his eyes, before he swallowed and forced a smile. “My sisters married well. They seem very happy.”
And his brother? She wondered at the misery she’d seen on his face. Maybe his brother wasn’t well? She opened her mouth to ask when James picked up a strange metal tool from a shelf behind the desk and headed for the door. “I�
��ll be back no later than luncheon.” He turned toward her again. “Do you need anything else?”
She shook her head. His concerned expression touched her far more than she cared to admit. As if he hadn’t another moment to spare, he left and relocked the door behind him. She almost wished he had stayed.
Charity returned to the desk and sank into the chair. Might as well eat her fill before the meal became stone cold. She picked up her fork and cut into the ham. Perhaps James wasn’t the selfish brute she’d assumed him to be. He had a kind heart. The warmth in his voice when he spoke of his family… He loved them very much.
Charity bit into the ham and savored the delightful flavor. And his sister. He carried her locket as if to hold on to a piece of her. She’d never met such a man, one who showed caring, and toward a woman no less. Her father included. He had been a drunk who’d blamed all his misfortunes on anyone but himself…
Behind her the cabin door handle jiggled.
She looked toward the sound. Had James forgotten something?
The door rattled louder, the wood squeaking under added pressure, and her breath stuck in her throat. Definitely not James. Clenching the fork in her hand as if she could somehow use it as a weapon, she scanned the room for somewhere to hide. Her heart pounded so hard it was a wonder it couldn’t be heard outside the door.
“Can I help you with something, Judge?” She didn’t recognize the voice. Dear God. Had he said Judge? She pressed a shaking hand to her mouth to block any noise from slipping out. Even her ragged breaths seemed to echo off the walls.
“Where’s Lamont?” The Judge demanded, his commanding tone that of someone who expected answers without delay.
“On deck.” The sound of the other man’s voice came closer. “I hate to say it, but it almost looks as if you’re about to break in Lamont’s door.”
“If you value your skin, Glanville, you’d best hold your tongue,” The Judge growled out. “Accusations like that could cost you your life.”
She set down her fork without making a sound and eased herself up from the chair to sidle closer to the door, ready to hide behind it, if necessary.
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