Kitabı oku: «Captured For The Captain's Pleasure», sayfa 4

God damn it all.

Thoughts whipped around in his head like storm-damaged rigging in a gale. Faces skittered across his memory. Meg falling. His beloved mother and father surrounded by flames. And Jaimie.

The light from the candles burned through his closed eyelids. Barbed arrows tore into his brain. The urge to hit something bunched his muscles. He stormed around his cabin, flinging things aside, looking for the source of his pain. The light.

The punishing light.

‘Simpson,’ he bellowed. ‘Where the hell are you?’

A flicker of sanity gave him the answer. Gone with the girl. The daughter of his enemy.

He found the bed and ripped off the covers. Found the hooks. Nausea rose in his throat. He gripped the blanket in both fists.

‘The light,’ he whispered. ‘For God’s sake, someone douse the bloody light.’

Chapter Five

‘Cap’n’ll be in a foul mood today.’

He struggled to make sense of the words penetrating the thick, swirling, grey fog.

‘Always is,’ replied the piping tones of a boy. ‘After one of they headaches.’

Who? The question bounced sluggishly in the miasma of his brain. Panic closed his throat as he stared into the surrounding heavy blackness. Who was he?

He jerked to a sitting position at the sound of a crash followed by the tinkle of shattering glass.

‘Careful, lad. The Cap’n’ll have your hide.’

Memories flooded in. His name was Michael. The all-too-familiar yawning pit of despair receded. He was Lionhawk. He owned this ship and he knew his name, his parents’ names, his grim reality.

Michael sank back on to the mattress, safe in the dark tent of blankets put up by Simpson before he collapsed. Relief washed through him. A headache had laid him low. The momentary blank when he first awoke scared him worse than any nightmare. The rush of blessed memory, every last hellish one of them, dawned like manna from heaven.

The first episode for months. It had struck him hard. And he’d thought he was free of them. He hauled air into his lungs, gathering momentum for the task of getting up. No mean feat after a night of agony.

‘Did you see the look on his face when he ordered her back to the hold?’ Simpson’s voice.

‘Naw.’ Jacko, his cabin boy. ‘I only heard him roar at her.’

Her? Michael frowned and winced at the sensation of tight skin stretching over his scalp.

‘I’m surprised he wanted that ’un,’ Jacko said. ‘T’other ’un’s much purtier. Like a china doll I saw once at the market in Freeport, black curly hair and pretty pink cheeks.

Simpson grunted. ‘You’re too young to know, me lad. That ’un’s done naught but complain. She can’t hold a candle to the Fulton wench.’

Bloody hell. Alice Fulton and her brother. The pieces of the puzzle fell together in splashes of colour and light. He’d captured Fulton’s ship and all who sailed in her and celebrated with too much red wine.

It put paid to his planned seduction, but he had learned a great deal more about his enemy.

In the cold light of day another truth lay before him as obvious as a steaming dollop of horse dung in the middle of a fancy soirée. Fulton Shipping had hit rough water.

Laughter balled in his chest. Served the bastard right. But just how badly off was he? Some men complained if they lost so much as a farthing.

The sounds of a scuffle broke out as Jacko and Simpson fought for the privilege of serving him. The wily boy won and pushed his ugly wharf-rat face between the edges of Michael’s makeshift cavern, grinning from one misshapen ear to the other.

‘Here ye are, Cap’n. Coffee. Will ye be wanting your breakfast?’

‘On my desk. And be quick about it.’ The cheeky grin didn’t falter, but the boy dashed off, leaving Simpson to pull down the blankets.

Michael covered his eyes with one hand and suppressed a groan.

‘Might do that lad some good to feel the flat of your hand on his backside once in a while,’ Simpson grumbled.

‘Not on my ship. I’ll turn off anyone who does.’ He pressed his fingers to his temples.

‘Ain’t seen you this poorly since we got into the fight with the press gang from the Dreadnought,’ Simpson commented. ‘The water for your bath is on the way. Shall I call the sawbones or do you want a hair of the dog?’

The doctor could do nothing and the thought of alcohol made Michael’s stomach roll. ‘Coffee is all I need.’

‘Cap’n?’

‘Yes.’

‘Er…’

‘What, man? Spit it out.’

‘That there Fulton lass. She told Wishart you gave orders for her and the rest of them to promenade on the deck today. Health reasons.’

Michael’s mouth fell open. ‘Promenade?’

Simpson rummaged through a chest for Michael’s clothes. ‘Sort of take a walk, like.’

‘I know what the hell promenade means.’

‘They’re to come up at six bells. Bones agreed it would do the sick lad some good.’

So, the lad was up and about. ‘I’ll see Wishart in here after coffee and a bath.’

‘Aye, aye, Cap’n.’ Simpson held out a towel.

Absently, Michael took it. Promenade on his deck without authority from him, would she? The wench had some nerve.

But then he’d known that already. Apparently, Miss Fulton now had so little respect for him, she thought to take charge of his ship.

For some unfathomable reason, he looked forward to correcting her mistake in person. The sensation took him all abeam.

Alice stepped over the coaming at the top of the companionway and squeezed her eyelids tight against the mid-morning dazzle.

‘Alice, where’s my parasol?’ Selina asked from the top step. In a pink muslin matched by the ribbons on her straw hat, Selina might have been preparing for a stroll through Hyde Park at the fashionable hour, instead of emerging from a dungeon. Alice smiled. One could always count on Selina to add style to the occasion.

Alice assisted her out on to the deck. ‘You gave it to Mr Anderson.’

‘So I did. Mr Anderson, my sunshade, if you please.’

‘Here you are, Lady Selina,’Anderson said, opening the parasol. Two days’ growth of beard and his arm in a sling gave the usually smart business agent a rather disreputable appearance.

A bandage around his forehead, Richard followed him out. Mr Anderson directed them to the shade beneath the awning slung over the Gryphon’s deck. Mr Wishart had proved most helpful in meeting Alice’s requests, once she had the doctor’s agreement. Once out of the heat of a blazing sun riding high in a cloudless sky, Alice lifted her face to the cooling breeze.

Richard clung to the rail. For all his brave words, he looked as if he didn’t trust his legs for support.

‘Don’t do too much on your first day up,’ she warned, taking his arm.

‘I’m all right.’ He shook her off and peered over the mahogany rail into the blue-green ocean sliding by. ‘You are worse than old Nanny Mills.’

And that was a bad thing? Alice curbed her tongue. Finding Richard still unconscious when she’d been hustled back to the hold last night had given her a fright. She’d bathed his temples with cool water and spent the night dozing in a chair beside his cot. Her relief at his awaking this morning with a demand for food knew no bounds.

Apart from the usual creaks and the wind humming in the rigging, the ship seemed strangely silent. No sailors aloft or on deck. She sent a sidelong glance at their captain at the helm and his nearby first officer. Now why would they send the men below?

Richard must have seen the direction of her gaze. ‘Damn, but he’s something, isn’t he?’

‘Richard, your language,’ Alice admonished.

But her brother was right. At one with the elements, with his strong hands gripping the wheel, he braced against the wind and stared at the horizon as if nothing in the world existed but him and his ship. The wind played with his loose-fitting white shirt. It pulled the fabric taut and teased her with a glimpse of the sculpted muscles of his torso. Then it dove inside the shirt, billowing the cotton like a sail, emphasising his narrow hips and strong thighs in tightfitting breeches.

Her breath hitched in appreciation of his male beauty.

It was a good thing she understood her own wanton nature, her own weakness, or she might be tempted to do more than look. But she’d followed that path before and knew the pitfalls. She was well armed to resist the handsome rogue. She hoped.

She took a deep breath. What she needed to do was find a way out of captivity that did not end in her father’s complete ruin.

Lionhawk’s questions seemed to hold the key, if she could just work out what it was he wanted and why he knew so much about her and her family.

‘Richard, whatever the captain asks you about Father’s business, tell him nothing,’ she said in a low voice. ‘Tell him you have been away at school and this is the first time you’ve been on one of these trips.’

Richard grimaced. ‘You mean tell him the truth.’ Once more his gaze strayed to the man at the wheel. ‘What I’d give to have a ship of my own, to be answerable to no one. I want to sail, not buy and sell things or spend hours in a stuffy office pouring over accounts.’

The admiration in her brother’s expression sent a sick feeling sliding around in her stomach, like the queasiness during the first days at sea. Richard was far too easily impressed. He’d always wanted to go to sea and Lionhawk was just the kind of man he’d take it in his head to emulate.

‘What are you looking at?’ Selina asked, joining them with Mr Anderson in tow. ‘That pirate?’

‘Privateer,’ Richard corrected.

Selina poked her arm. ‘What questions did he ask you last night?’

Richard swung around. ‘What is Lady Selina talking about?’

‘I had a long talk with our captain while we played a game of chess,’ Alice said. ‘He was prying into Father’s affairs, trying to ascertain how much ransom we were worth.’

Selina shivered. ‘Horrid man.’

‘Yes,’ Alice said, wishing her stomach didn’t give a flutter every time she looked at him.

Richard bristled. ‘You shouldn’t have gone to his cabin.’

‘Do you think I had a choice?’ she said drily. ‘I don’t believe I told him more than I should.’ If only she knew the purpose behind his questions, she might mount a better defence.

‘Take heart, Lady Selina,’ Anderson said. ‘At least he’s not thrown us overboard.’

Selina’s green eyes grew round. ‘Do you think he would?’

‘There’s no saying what a blackguard like that would do,’ Anderson said. ‘Preying on merchant ships about their lawful business and capturing honest citizens. He deserves to hang.’

Selina blanched.

‘Oh, for goodness’ sake, Mr Anderson,’ Alice said. ‘Can’t you see you are frightening Lady Selina? It really is too bad. All the man wants is money.’

Anderson coloured. He bowed stiffly. ‘I beg your pardon, ladies.’

Richard thrust out his chest and tried to look manly. ‘Don’t worry, Lady Selina, I’ll keep you safe.’ He turned an anxious pair of eyes on Alice. ‘He didn’t offer you any insult, did he?’

‘Of course not,’ she said, not quite meeting his gaze. To her shame, she couldn’t call a kiss she’d responded to with enthusiasm an insult any more than she could call Andrew to account for what they’d done together.

Selina pouted. ‘I want to go home. We are going to miss the Bedlingfords’ rout.’

‘There will be many more routs, I assure you,’ Alice said.

Selina twirled her parasol. ‘Do you always have to be so practical? Walk with me, someone. I need the exercise.’

Always restless, Selina would not be happy unless she was dancing until dawn and riding out all afternoon, part of the reason she had fled from sedate Lisbon society. That and a man.

‘Take my arm, Lady Selina,’Anderson said, holding out his good one. ‘A ship’s deck is no easy matter for a delicate female. Ropes and such, you know.’

Trust Selina to bring out chivalry in a man when Alice could only manage a rough dismissal. Not that she cared. She’d been delighted to leave his cabin, even if it was rather mortifying to be thrown out like a lump of bad meat.

Selina and Anderson strolled off towards the bow.

Off the rail, the ocean flashed diamonds. Gulls dived into the water, sending up tiny waterfalls full of rainbows. The beauty of the day jarred with the turmoil in Alice’s mind.

‘I hate school,’ Richard grumbled. ‘Do you think Father will let me join the navy when we get back? I’m never seasick. Captain Dareth said I’m a natural sailor.’

If they weren’t very careful, Richard might run away to sea. The thought of him joining as a common sailor chilled her blood. ‘I’ll talk to him when we get home.’

But when would that be? Who knew how long it would take Father to raise funds for the ransom? The trick would be to convince Lionhawk not to ask for too much, which wasn’t much at all.

Completely oblivious to her worries, Richard gave her shoulders a quick hug. ‘I knew I could count on you, Allie.’ A rush of tenderness for the man-boy at her side filled her heart. She patted his cheek. Her fingers met hot flesh. Too hot. ‘I think you may have a fever.’

Richard groaned and jerked his face away. ‘The doctor said I’m all right.’

Every time she thought how close her brother had come to death, she went cold all over. She’d finally talked to Mr Bones this morning and, despite his disreputable appearance, he’d seemed to know his business. She’d ask him for willow-bark tea the next time he came to check on Richard. It would help with the fever.

Captain Dareth had taken a dreadful risk in trying to escape. Thank God Lionhawk had made him heave to before the Gryphon put a hole in their hull and people died, even if it did mean they’d ended up as his prize. Besides, a good lawyer might be able to prove something irregular about a prize taken by such underhanded means—if they ever made landfall to give evidence.

Against her wishes, her gaze found its way back to their captain. He looked more like a pirate than ever today in his open-necked loose-fitting shirt, black breeches and shiny black boots. Or he would, if it weren’t for Selina and her fluttery pink ribbons and matching parasol parading across his deck.

As if sensing Alice’s observation, he turned his head and their gazes locked. The flare of heat she saw in his piercing eyes made her tremble inside.

This had to stop. This wanton longing. It would only lead to trouble.

She forced herself to look away. When she looked back it was to see him disappearing into his cabin and Wishart alone at the wheel.

Chapter Six

Alice turned at the sound of running feet. A boy dashed by waving something aloft in a flurry of scrawny, sun-bronzed limbs.

A sailor lumbered after him a few yards behind. Kale. Alice recognised him at once.

‘Give it back, you imp of Satan,’ Kale bawled. He lowered his head and charged the lad. ‘I’ll take my belt to you, when I catches you.’ He lunged. Meaty fists grabbed the boy’s shirt. ‘Got you.’

The boy struggled, twisting and ducking, kicking out with bare feet. Kale picked him up, dangling him like a puppy in its dam’s jaws, though his intent seemed far from maternal. The shirt ripped. The boy crashed to the deck on his behind, rolled and sprang cat-like to his feet. With a crow of triumph, he pelted off. Naked from the waist up, thin arms pumping, his striated ribs expanded and contracted beneath tightly stretched skin.

Alice wanted to cheer him on, but could only watch in horrified fascination.

The lad dodged behind the mast and turned to face his pursuer. His eyes widened, his lips drawing back from his teeth.

Kale cursed. Arms stretched wide, he lurched from side to side, blocking the boy’s escape.

This was no game. No rough and tumble among shipmates. The boy was clearly terrified.

‘Belay that!’ Wishart roared, his face red. Good. He would stop it.

But Kale wasn’t listening. He had something in his hand. It flashed metallic. A knife.

Mouth dry, her breath tangled with her voice and her shout of warning came out no more than a croak of fear.

He threw. A glinting sliver of death, turning end over end, flew right at the boy.

‘Look out!’ Richard cried.

At the last possible second, the boy sensed his danger and ducked. The blade whizzed over his head and landed against the bulwark with a clatter.

Thank God.

With a hoot of defiance, the lad flung himself into the ratlines on the starboard side and clambered upwards on frantic skinny limbs. Kale strode after him.

‘Kale!’ Wishart’s roar boomed across the deck.

The seaman seemed not to hear. He hauled his burly body up on to the rail and into the yards.

Wishart roared again. ‘I said enough!’

Kale turned his head, glared and then dropped to the deck, fists clenched.

Alice let go her breath.

‘Stand there,’ Wishart yelled. ‘You heard the captain. No one on deck while the prisoners take the air. He’ll be having words with you.’

The boy would come down now. Her gaze sought him out, travelling up the ratlines and sheets, up through the timbers and billowing sails. There. Straddling the topmost spar at a dizzying height far above the deck.

Seeing his pursuer being dressed down by the officer, he leaped to his feet, shook his fist and danced a triumphant hornpipe.

The little wretch. If he wasn’t careful—

His foot slipped. He grabbed for the spar. It slipped from his grasping fingers. He toppled forwards. Twisted like an acrobat. Caught one arm over the looping footropes.

Alice’s heart lurched into her throat.

‘Look out!’ Richard grabbed her around the waist.

A large figure rushed past. Lionhawk. Alice caught the stark fear in his expression just before he flung himself upwards into the rigging, climbing like a man possessed.

Far above him, the boy’s feet kicked, his free hand stretching for a rope just out of reach.

Alice pressed her hands to her mouth, unable to look away, not wanting to watch.

‘Hold on,’ Lionhawk yelled. His fluid strength carried him swiftly. But the boy was weakening. The rope slipped from under his armpit to the crook of his elbow. He swung wildly.

A thin wail rang out.

A gasp rushed from her throat. Her stomach knotted tight. Her heart struggled to beat. He was too little, too weak, to hold his own weight. Instinctively, she ran forwards arms outstretched.

‘Please, Miss Fulton,’ Wishart called out. ‘Stand back.’

Richard grabbed her arm and pulled.

She couldn’t move. She could only stare upwards at the figures too far apart. At the little lad’s kicking feet. She could only imagine his fear. If only there was something she could do.

‘Don’t look down,’ Lionhawk yelled up at the boy. He launched himself from one rope to the next.

‘Fetch a sail,’Alice said. ‘Spread it out to catch him. If he falls—’

‘He’s too high,’ Richard said. ‘Don’t watch. Take Lady Selina and go below.’ He pointed to where Selina stood in the stern, her face pressed to Anderson’s shoulder.

Another cry from above. Against her will, her stomach so tight it hurt, Alice looked up.

The boy now hung by one hand. Her stomach roiled. She couldn’t breathe or move, she could only watch Lionhawk’s last desperate rush.

He hit the spar at a run.

Oh God, he would fall too. She covered her face with her hands.

‘He’s got him,’ Richard said. ‘Hooray.’ He gave her shoulders a squeeze.

At the helm, Wishart cursed loud and long.

Alice felt like cursing too. And whooping. She sagged against the rail, her trembling legs refusing to hold her weight, and looked up.

Carefully, Lionhawk hauled the boy up on to the spar and pulled him against his chest, held him there, hugging him close, holding him, rocking him, stroking his hair. The lad burrowed against his solid form.

She couldn’t hear anything, but she sensed Lionhawk talking to the boy the way a groom talked to a frightened horse, soothing him, calming him.

And all the while they were balanced high above the deck on a length of wood that looked no thicker than her finger.

One false move and they’d both smash to the deck. Yet she knew he wouldn’t fall, not with the lad. Not after such a daring rescue.

Time that had slowed to a crawl seemed to race. Had it been minutes or hours since the lad shot past her? Finally, Lionhawk set the boy on his feet and nudged him towards the mast.

The lad took one shaky step and glanced back at his captain. Surely Lionhawk wouldn’t make him climb down by himself!

Alice’s heart once more fluttered like a wild bird caught in a net.

The lad gave a little hop, then a skip, then swung down like a monkey.

Alice shook her head. Boys. Who would understand them? And now the pair was racing, Lionhawk catching the lad up, passing him and landing with a thump on the deck a good few seconds ahead with a wide grin.

They deserved to break their necks. But it was a relief to see the boy drop to the deck beside her.

Lionhawk strode over to him. ‘You little rat.’ He rubbed the boy’s shorn head. ‘I thought I was finally going to be rid of you.’ The voice was hard, but the eyes were stark with an emotion Alice felt sure was fear. How was that possible?

‘Let me see your hand,’ she said to the boy.

He held out a grimy paw, knuckles up.

She turned it over. The skin of his palm was raw and bleeding. No wonder he’d had trouble holding on. ‘How did this happen?’

‘’E cut me.’ He jerked his head in Kale’s direction.

Lionhawk’s face hardened as he turned to Kale. ‘What the hell were you about?’

Kale lifted his lip. ‘He’s a thief. The little bastard. He deserves a good whipping!’

Lionhawk stiffened. He looked at the boy. ‘What did you take?’

The lad fumbled in his trouser pocket. He pulled out a silver coin.

Lionhawk’s face darkened. ‘Jacko. You know the rules.’

‘It’s mine,’ the boy said. ‘’E stole it from me. I was just rec-recov…getting it back.’

‘Prove it,’ Kale snarled.

‘Jacko?’ Lionhawk said.

‘It’s the truth,’ the boy yelled. ‘You gave it me. When we was in Lisbon. I never spent it.’ He pointed at Kale. ‘I saw ’im take it, when ’e thought I weren’t looking.’

Lionhawk took the coin and turned it over. ‘It looks very much like the one I gave him, Kale. I want the truth now.’

‘That’s right,’ Kale said. ‘Believe your little bum boy. We all know why you favours him.’

A deadly insult.

The air on the deck stilled. Even though the sun remained high in the sky, the day seemed suddenly cool.

Wishart glowered. ‘You, Kale, have been nothing but trouble since you came on board. A conversation with the cat will straighten you out.’

‘Not on my ship,’ Lionhawk said grimly. ‘It doesn’t matter who owns the coin. He pulled a knife on a shipmate.’ He glared at the sullen sailor. ‘Do your duty from here on in and we’ll part company at our next port and no more said. One wrong step and you’ll find yourself in irons.’

Kale cursed. ‘See. He favours that lad over proper seamen. T’aint right.’

Wishart’s handsome features twisted in a snarl. ‘You heard the captain. Get below. Count yourself lucky. If it was up to me, you’d be getting off at the next port with no skin on your back.’

Kale disappeared at the double.

Lionhawk turned back to the boy. ‘Next time you have a problem with one of the crew, you talk to me.’

The lad hung his head.

‘Jacko.’ The captain’s voice was kind but firm.

‘Aye, aye, Cap’n,’ the boy said.

‘I have some salve in my trunk that will heal his hand,’ Alice said.

Lionhawk swung around as if he had forgotten all about her. ‘Miss Fulton.’

‘It is very good salve,’ she said. ‘I will give it to Mr Bones, if you wish.’

The captain gave the boy a fierce glare. ‘Hear that, boy. Report to Bones and have him look at that hand. When he says you are fit, see Alphonse. You’ve earned yourself a day of kitchen duty.’

‘But, Cap’n—’

‘No buts, lad, or I’ll make it two days.’

Jacko rolled his lips in as if to physically stop more words from pouring forth. He sketched a salute and walked away with dragging feet.

‘At the double,’ Lionhawk growled.

The boy fled.

Alice couldn’t help her chuckle.

He shook his head. ‘I’m sorry you had to witness that.’

‘I’m glad you managed to reach the boy in time. I have never been so scared in all my life.’

Lionhawk stared at her for a moment, then let out a long breath. His shoulders relaxed. ‘To be honest, I didn’t think I’d make it.’

‘I’m amazed you managed to get him to climb down by himself.’

‘Pride is a remarkable thing.’

‘And Kale?’

‘Wishart is right. The man is a menace.’ His lips flattened. ‘The sooner he is off my ship the better.’ A smile dawned on his face and turned him from stern to charming. ‘Thank you for your offer of medical help for the boy.’

The burn in her face let her know she was back in dangerous waters. One flash of warmth and she melted. She kept her expression tea-time polite. ‘It was the least I could do. If Mr Bones has need of the salve, have him let me know.’

‘Thank you.’ He bowed with old-fashioned courtesy. ‘In appreciation for your kindness, I should be glad of your company at dinner tonight.’

She felt as if she’d walked into a trap. ‘I did nothing.’ Wrong answer. She should have said no. She opened her mouth to refuse.

‘I saw you with your arms outstretched to catch him, Miss Fulton.’

‘I scarcely recall what I did at that moment.’

‘Kind, but foolhardy in the extreme. If he had fallen from that height you would have been killed.’

‘Do you invite me to dinner to thank me, or lecture me, sir? In any case, you reached him in time, so the issue is moot.’

Michael watched her back stiffen and her face take on its disapproving expression. Prickly again. Defensive. The same as when she parried questions about Fulton Shipping. Behind that prim demeanour she was definitely hiding something, and not just the fact that she found him attractive. Tonight he would get to the truth. And…he did want to thank her.

‘Since I prefer not to dine alone with such scintillating company on board,’ he said, ‘perhaps Lady Selina would prefer to join me in your stead?’

Her eyes narrowed, pinpoints of amber and green dancing in brown depths. Amusement or anger. ‘Is that a threat, Captain Lionhawk?’

Sun-kissed wisps of hair fluttered around her serious face, her slightly askew bonnet gave her an attractively dishevelled appearance. ‘Merely a question, Miss Fulton.’

‘If you find our company so delightful, why not dine with all of your guests—together?’

A bantam cock in a barnyard could not have looked more ready for battle. He found himself wanting to laugh. Damn it, why did he have to like the blasted woman? She was Fulton’s get and he’d do well to remember it.

‘My cabin is far too small for large gatherings. No. One person only. Lady Selina it will be this evening. And tomorrow your brother.’ He glanced over at the boy eagerly conversing with Wishart at the wheel. ‘He’s an engaging scamp. He’ll make an excellent sailor, given the chance.’

‘I don’t see why whatever you need to discuss cannot be said here on deck, Captain Lionhawk.’

‘Please, call me Michael. The ship is too small, our party too intimate, to stand on ceremony.’

Heat flushed her cheeks and she turned her face towards the empty wilderness of sea and sky.

‘Do you really want to discuss the terms of your ransom now when your brother or your friend might join us at any moment and overhear?’

She sighed. ‘No.’

He stifled a smile of triumph.

A dark water-slick, supple creature cleared the waves ahead of the prow.

‘Oh,’ she said pointing. ‘A dolphin.’

He drew closer, his hand beside hers on the rail, his gaze on her profile as she admired the lithe leaps and dives.

She shivered. Michael’s body warmed in response to that tell-tale tremble of awareness. Of him. It was as if he sensed every nuance of her skin, as if every breath she took had more meaning than a simple inhalation.

What the hell was he thinking? This was the daughter of his enemy.

He wasn’t thinking. Not with his brain.

He had a use for Alice Fulton. And for that he needed to allay her fears.

‘I hope you will find your quarters a shade more pleasant when you return below,’ he said casually. ‘The men are swabbing it while you take the air. I didn’t expect company on this voyage or we would have made it habitable.’

She turned to face him, her face surprised. ‘Thank you.’

The ship lurched on a rogue wave. He reached out a hand to steady her.

She flinched.

It irritated him, but he merely cocked a brow, kept his voice calm. ‘Surely you don’t fear me, Miss Fulton?’

‘Certainly not. I just don’t wish for your company.’

‘Your young brother, on the other hand, seems to be enjoying himself enormously.’

Her glance shot to where Richard chatted animatedly at the wheel. She paled beneath her freckles.

‘What is it you really want?’ she said.

Clever Miss Fulton. He would do well not to underestimate her. He placed his hand against his heart. ‘I’m naught but a common sailor who rarely has the chance to enjoy such pleasant company.’ He bowed and grinned at her obvious disbelief. ‘And besides, you beat me at chess last night. You owe me a return match. And honest answers to my questions.’

The fight went out of her. He saw it in the resignation in her gaze, the slump of her shoulders. Damn it, now he had the urge to offer her comfort.

She held out a moment longer, chewing the inside of her cheek, giving her face a quaint, lopsided expression. ‘Very well,’ she said, gruffly.

‘I beg your pardon.’

‘I will dine with you this evening.’

The tension in his neck melted away. Until this moment, he hadn’t realised how much store he’d put in her acquiescence, grudging though it was. He looked forward to battling wits with her again. And this time he would win.