Kitabı oku: «The Duke and the Pirate Queen», sayfa 4

CHAPTER FIVE

AFTER SYLVIE LEFT HIM, MAXIME CALLED FOR A bath in his quarters, but it did not make him sleepy as he’d hoped. He sent the servants away and spent several hours at his desk, reading the accounting for the past couple of days and then placing his seal on various permissions, customs documents and requisitions to supply the castle. All had been meticulously prepared by his aunt, Lady Gisele, and two of her children, whom she was presently training in the fine art of bureaucracy. He tried not to think about how little he was actually needed here; no longer was he necessary to distract Julien’s attention from the business of the duchy, because now everything was legal, open to inspection.

Being a duke felt more like extra bonds than the freedom he’d thought the position would represent. He was tempted, sometimes, to run. To head down to the docks and take ship for elsewhere.

He moved to a tray of letters already opened and ready for him to peruse. As he’d feared, Julien hadn’t waited for his formal refusal of Diamanta; another envoy was on the way.

Maxime glanced at the piles of legal texts he’d assembled. He would need to shift a few of his secretaries to that duty, for copying documents if nothing else. Because no one was watching, he put his head in his hands for a few moments and allowed himself to curse at length. He didn’t want to do it, but he would start in on the legal tomes tomorrow. For now, he composed replies to some of Camille’s letters, and to a personal one from Henri, whom he was beginning to consider a friend, as well. He briefly considered sharing his worries about marriage with Henri, but what could the boy tell him in return? Henri was barely twenty, and though acknowledged as legal consort to Camille, his situation was vastly different from Maxime’s.

When he’d finished, he wiped off his signet ring and laid it in its dish along with the carved stamp that bore the same design, an octopus curling around the initial letter of his name. He blew out the lamp, tossed his robe over the back of his chair and walked naked into his bedroom. The floor, heated by piped water from the hot springs, soothed his feet. Sometimes he stretched out upon the warm tile, with a pillow to prop his head, and reviewed the day’s work in his mind. Today, though, he planned to go straight to bed. Perhaps sleep would organize his thoughts on Imena Leung and how he could entice her to listen to his point of view.

His bed, with its intricately carved wooden canopy, loomed in the dim light of a single yellow lamp. The servants had carefully tidied the heaps of goose-down-filled bedding and pillows and attempted to straighten the mountain of leather-bound books and encased scrolls stacked near the bed’s head. Despite their efforts, the pile leaned dangerously and soon would create a landslide of reading material in five languages.

It didn’t matter if the room was a mess. He rarely entertained anyone in here. He preferred the baths and the adjacent chambers; it was safer that way, easier to keep his partners at a distance. The only woman he’d fucked in his own bed was Camille, and he didn’t count her, exactly; they’d known each other for such a long time that she didn’t seem like a mere sexual partner, and besides that, he’d known she was in love with her stable boy, Henri. It had been safe to have her here, safe to let her see his things spread about. He’d known she wouldn’t ask more of him than he was willing and able to provide for her.

Strangely, after he’d shared this room with her, and they’d finally consummated their relationship, he’d known they were finished as lovers. It was as if a string, pulled tight for decades, had finally snapped, and his burning desire for her had flown away with it. He was grateful they’d had other commonalities between them, and remained friends.

He ignored all the books, even a half-finished legal treatise on marriage laws and the manual he’d lately been reading on stellar navigation. It was written in the court language of the Horizon Empire, and though like all the aristocracy of his duchy, he’d studied the language since boyhood, it was rough going, with technical vocabulary that wasn’t usually required for normal trade relations. He was still trapped in the introduction. He had hoped to ask Imena to help him; she’d been trained in stellar navigation and he suspected she would have a gift for teaching it.

He blew out the lamp before sliding wearily between soft cotton sheets. He’d been awake since the dawn, waiting for Imena’s visit. He closed his eyes and the world tilted into sleep.

He woke to a familiar touch and scent—Imena. Groggily, he smiled. He didn’t mind her in his rooms. He didn’t mind her here in the least. Her callused hand clamped over his mouth. “Get his feet, Seretse,” she said.

Maxime struggled to blink awake. A sailor had a firm grip on his ankles, and another grabbed his shoulders as Imena removed her hand from his face. “Quiet,” she said in a low voice. “Don’t struggle.”

He hadn’t thought she played these sorts of games, but he was willing to go along, even when the two sailors laid him on a cinnamon-scented wool carpet and proceeded to thoroughly wrap him within its folds. He tried to lift a hand to clear fabric away from his face only to find it trapped. “Imena—” In the other room, he heard his door open.

“Quiet! Chetri, did you find the courier?”

“Aye, Captain. Here she is.”

Maxime heard a laugh, quickly muffled, then Sylvie’s voice. “Well, well, Captain. You want him after all. I never would have thought you’d have your muscled crewmen carry him off.”

“Listen carefully, Sylvie,” Imena said. “Chetri, go with Seretse and Kuan.”

Maxime relaxed. Imena clearly intended to tell Sylvie her plans for him. She might play games, but she didn’t plan to put his entire castle into an uproar. He remembered the envoy from King Julien that would be arriving in the next day or so and began to struggle. Someone, probably Imena, kicked the carpet with a bare foot and said, “Get him out of here!”

He realized even a complicated game like this one would be unlikely to last more than a day and a night, and if the envoy arrived during that time, someone would send him a message. He had quite a lot of work to do, but courting his future wife was work, as well. He relaxed into the spice-scented carpet—the sensation of soft wool all over his bare skin reminded him of pleasurable encounters of the past—and let the crewmen carry him from his rooms and out into the corridor. They exited, he thought, through one of the side entrances and loaded him, still wrapped in the carpet, onto a cart. He heard a pony snort. Two men climbed onto the bench seat, shifting the cart’s weight, while the remaining man, probably Chetri, stayed in the rear with him. Maxime could just sense the weight of Chetri’s hand on the outside of the roll of carpet; the hand rested just over his genitals. Maxime grinned, wondering if Chetri was intended to be part of the evening’s entertainment, as well. If Imena had no objections, he certainly wouldn’t raise a protest.

Soon he smelled the sea. Chetri and the two crewmen slid his carpet from the cart and carried him down the dock, their feet slapping hollowly on the boards. He almost protested when he felt a cargo sling being adjusted around his carpet, but closed his mouth when he remembered his role. She’d told him to be quiet, so quiet he would be.

It was rather exhilarating, being swung into the air and into a boat, rowed for a distance, then lifted much higher and swung across to what he assumed was Seaflower‘s deck, more exhilarating because he couldn’t see, move his limbs or balance himself in any way. He had to give over control completely. Imena was delightfully devious. He’d chosen even better than he’d imagined.

The sailors manhandled his carpet down a set of shallow stairs, which told him they were beneath the captain’s cabin. He remembered the low-ceilinged space there. Temporary bulkheads could be erected at different intervals. It was sometimes used for passengers, sometimes for cargo, and at present smelled strongly of mangosteens and farm animals, who were kept below. His carpet was carried into a space that felt smaller, a temporary cabin perhaps, and set on the deck. The sailors departed in a hurry. The door shut and a chain rattled. They did not leave a light.

He wondered how long Imena would be, and if waiting was part of the game. He didn’t think he was intended to remain rolled in a carpet until her return; or if he was, he didn’t intend to behave, as the pressure of fabric against his face was beginning to irritate him. He shifted his weight, struggled and rolled to one side then the other. The folds of the carpet loosened. He persevered, and was soon free.

The cabin was small, only just long enough for his outstretched body, the ceiling too low for him to stand without stooping. There was no bunk or chair, butsomeone had provided a pair of loose trousers, a blanket and a spread towel that held a large jug of water, a loaf of bread, several oranges and a waxed-paper package of soft cheese, which he identified by smell and by the faint light filtering through tiny cracks between the boards of the temporary bulkhead. His searching fingers soon found an enameled box, as well: candied balsam, probably from the same shipment as the box he’d given to Diamanta. The food indicated his wait might be lengthy, and they didn’t intend to stint on him while he was aboard. He was grateful someone had thought to leave a chamber pot, as well.

It was a good thing Imena had told Sylvie where he was. He pushed the towel with the food into the corner and spread the carpet as far as it would go, folding the edges under so one end made a sort of pillow. He leaned back against it, pulled the blanket over himself and in moments was asleep.

Imena shoved her hastily scribbled transcript of the conversation she’d heard into Sylvie’s hands. “So there is a woman involved, but I wasn’t able to tell how, or what, her intentions might be.”

Sylvie made a face. “Where His Grace is concerned, she might be any one of dozens. Including you, Captain Leung.”

“It is not me,” Imena said sternly. “You will take care of this? At least until it’s safe for us to return?”

Solemn and cold, Sylvie nodded. “You may take refuge with Madame Camille if needed.”

“I don’t want to put Her Grace in jeopardy, as well. Her position is still precarious, isn’t it?”

“The Duke’s Council is growing used to her,” Sylvie said. Then she grinned. “You will take good care of His Grace?” The tone of her voice made it clear she meant the words pruriently.

Imena stared down her nose at the smaller woman. “I have to go now if we’re to catch the tide.”

A cat was meowing loudly.

Maxime woke, unsure at first what had changed. The cabin was cooler than before, and he’d dislodged his blanket. An enormous ginger tomcat had probably helped; it was sleeping behind his knees. He groped for the blanket, found it, then froze with his hand full of wool. He smelled the sea. Not the docks, but the sea. He vaulted to his feet amid feline protest. The gentle sway beneath his feet was not a ship docked, or even a ship at anchor, but one in motion, fleeing before the wind and propelled by a good tide.

“Fuck!” Maxime tried the door—fastened closed by a chain passed through bolts—then banged on the bulkhead. “Imena! Captain!”

His fist rang hollowly. He could hear it echoing across the empty deck. She hadn’t loaded cargo. Of course not. She’d hardly had time. Half her crew would have been enjoying shore leave. What was she about, heading out to sea under such circumstances? He would have been happy to entertain her in port. Why had she taken him to sea? Perhaps they hadn’t gone far?

“Captain!”

No response. In fact, not even a rush of sailors’ feet toward his door. He rubbed his sore fist and listened; he could hear feet pattering on the main deck above, distant shouting, the loud creaking of wood, the heavy hum of rope and the snap of sail. From below, he heard the grunting of pigs, chickens gabbling, a goat’s bleat and the plaintive lowing of a milk cow.

Being ignored was more frustrating than he could have imagined. He paced the narrow room, faster and faster. He was no longer in the mood for sexual games or sex, unless it was the quick-and-hard kind. What was she doing? Testing him?

If she kept him out here too long, he’d miss the king’s next envoy. And what of all the business that would await him this morning?

He might not want to deal with any of that, but he wanted it to be his choice if he did not.

After pacing off the worst of his anger, he put his back to the bulkhead and slid to the deck. It was too bad he didn’t have those legal texts with him; if he missed the envoy, he would need all the references he could get to keep in Julien’s good graces. But he had nothing in here, not even a treatise on sailing. He would just have to wait until someone came to his door. Then he’d beat Imena at her own game.

But first, he was going to put on some trousers.

“Captain!” Chetri called. “Sail approaching.”

Imena, who’d been about to go below and speak to Maxime, cursed. “Norris, take the spyglass and see if you can identify it.”

“Aye, Captain.” She scampered up the rigging, barely touching the ropes with her feet.

Chetri said, for her ears alone, “Looks like one of the king’s cutters.”

“Fuck him with a bowsprit,” she said. “I don’t think it’s a courtesy visit.”

“Do you think they’d take His Grace by force?”

Imena took a deep breath and concentrated on the clean salty breeze that brushed her face and scalp. As always, sea air calmed her. She was in command here, not just of the ship, but of herself. “The duchess Camille told me that King Julien is a reasonable man, but I don’t know what her definition of reasonable might be, after she lived with that insane husband of hers for so many years, while he wreaked havoc on the duchy.” She added, “I would have thought a reasonable king would have removed the man from power himself, not left it to Camille to take care of.”

“Who knows how royalty thinks?” Chetri asked. “Her Grace Camille seems a woman of good judgment in many ways, so perhaps she’s right about her king.”

“I believe she trusts him, but … whether this cutter is the king’s doing, or that of the men I heard at the Squid, or just coincidence, I can’t take the risk.”

“There won’t be any accidents on Seaflower,” Chetri said. He touched the long knife at his side.

“It’s best if they’re not allowed to board.”

Norris slid down the ropes and landed almost at Imena’s feet. “A royal cutter,” she said. “No signals flying.”

Chetri said, “They’ll have seen us by now, and it’s no secret you’re His Grace’s captain.”

Flee or bluff? Fleeing was more suspicious. The fewer suspicions about Maxime’s whereabouts, the safer he would be.

“We let them approach, and we bluff,” she said. “On no account does anyone from that cutter go below.”

“Captain,” Norris said. “I could stow His Grace more safely.”

“Where?” Imena asked. “No, don’t tell me. I don’t want to betray his hiding place. Very well, Norris. Do it now, then hop back up top as quickly as you can.”

Maxime waited impatiently as someone fussed with the chain and padlock on his door. When the door was flung open, he was startled to see Norris, Imena’s cabin girl. “What’s going on?” he demanded.

“This way,” she said. When he didn’t move, she hesitantly reached out and grabbed his wrist.

“Where are we going?”

“I have orders to hurry.”

“Whose? Captain Leung’s? I pay her salary, you know. And that means I also pay yours, Norris.”

She heaved at his arm, but he braced his weight and didn’t budge. He said, “There’s no real rush, is there? Given that she left me here for half the night.”

“Please, Your Grace.” Norris released his wrist.

Maxime didn’t think Imena would blame Norris for his lack of cooperation, but the girl seemed distressed, so he sighed and said, “All right.”

He regretted acquiescing when he saw the narrow deck cubby into which he was expected to squeeze himself. “Is this your cabin?” he asked. Little more than the size of a small wardrobe, the enclosed space held only a hammock and a large trunk. “Have you been smuggling? Does the captain know? Of course she must—”

“Just climb in!” Norris struggled with the weight of the trapdoor as she wrestled it to the side.

“Is there air?”

“Enough. It won’t be long, I promise.” Another test? Was Imena testing his sincerity? He was willing to do a great deal more than pretend to be smuggled goods, if he could have her in the end. He managed to cram himself into the cubby, which smelled sweetly but strongly of the valuable balsam resin that had been stored within. Norris yanked the trapdoor over him and hammered it down with the heels of her hands. Maxime was left in warm, perfumed darkness.

Imena did her best to appear bored as the royal cutter’s first officer examined the papers Arionrhod, the purser, had handed over. Chetri stood at her side, chewing mastic, hands clasped behind his back. He looked casual but was ready, she knew, to draw his knife at a moment’s notice. Several of her crew handled inconsequential tasks within easy distance; she’d been careful to order most of the younger sailors to stay below on the lower cargo deck. At the first sign of trouble, the cutter’s first officer and his boat crew would become hostages. If worse came to worst, she might also claim diplomatic immunity; anything to gain time.

She might also accidentally knock the officer down for looking at her as if he’d like to pay for her services. A knife pressed to his genitals might give him more respect for women.

The officer peeled off the second sheet and returned it to her. Imena slid the page into its case. “As you can see, we’re in the employ of the duke Maxime.”

“You were scheduled to remain in port for another week. Why did you depart early? Without a full cargo?”

He wasn’t looking at her face, but at her bosom, despite its being bound into a bodice and concealed beneath a loose shirt. She was careful to show no hint of emotion as she said, “Personal matters.”

“Personal matters that caused you to recall your crew from shore leave and vanish from the docks in the wee hours of the morning?”

“I wanted to catch the tide,” she said blandly. “Are we finished here?”

“I’m curious as to the nature of these personal matters.” He glanced up at her face now, and smiled. He was a young man with bright teeth, symmetrical features and glossy hair. He wouldn’t be used to being refused.

“You will remain curious, then,” she said. “Chetri, will you escort the officer to his boat? I need to speak with Bonnevie.” She turned toward the wheelhouse.

“Oh, come now,” the officer said, looking annoyed. “You could at least offer me a drink.”

Imena frowned. “That’s not required by law.”

The officer’s back stiffened. “I wasn’t aware you particularly cared for laws, Captain Leung.”

“I have no idea what you mean.” She felt Chetri ease closer to her.

“Everyone knows why His Grace hired you. You’re a pirate.”

Chetri’s blade whistled from its sheath, and he spat the mastic gum at the man’s feet. Imena blocked his arm without breaking the officer’s gaze. She heard movement, then settling, as the sailors realized there would be no fighting. “I was a privateer, in the service of my government.”

“It’s all the same to us. We’ve been keeping an eye on you.”

“Have you.” She pushed on Chetri’s arm until it lowered and he stepped back to sheathe his blade. “Unless you are accusing me of piracy now, you will leave my ship.”

CHAPTER SIX

MAXIME HAD NEVER FEARED ENCLOSED SPACES, but as time passed, he felt more and more confined in his narrow cubby. The bottom wasn’t padded, and though he didn’t feel any splinters, it wasn’t comfortable, either. The trapdoor pressed entirely too close to the end of his nose, now numbed to the smell of balsam; his breath returned to him, forcing him to tell himself that he was not suffocating. It only felt as if there was no air. He could feel air: warmish, stale air, flowing across the soles of his feet. He could also feel the trapdoor against his chest if he took too deep a breath. Perhaps he was lucky he wore only trousers; if he’d been wearing his usual layers of clothing, this cubby would be considerably more stifling.

He opened his eyes. That was a little better. There was no light in the cubby, but it made him feel better anyway.

He’d heard quite a lot of noise from above: pounding feet in large numbers, a wooden thumping as of something heavy rocking into Seaflower’s hull, more feet. Then silence, until he heard more steps, closer, and the welcome sounds of someone wrenching open the trapdoor above his head.

As soon as the door was opened, he said, “I’ve had about enough of this game.”

Chetri stared down at him without answering, brown face studiously blank, light playing on his necklaces and array of silver earrings, many more than any courtier would wear. Despite all his adornments, he clearly had no fear of anyone’s branding him a dandy. He extended a hand, layered in calluses, to pull Maxime up.

Maxime was impressed there seemed to be no effort involved, despite the fact that he was considerably larger than Imena’s first mate. He eyed Chetri’s muscular chest, decorated across the pectorals with dense black tattooing. He wondered how much Imena liked looking at such a fine specimen of a man, day in and day out. “How far out to sea have we gone?”

Chetri looked him up and down slowly, without answering. “Come along,” he said. When Maxime didn’t follow, he grabbed his hand and tugged him.

Maxime soon discerned they were returning to his belowdecks cell. He said, “I shouldn’t be away for this long. Much as I’d prefer to stay, I’m expecting a royal envoy any day now.”

“I’ll fetch you out later on,” Chetri said, gently pushing him into his cell with a hand on his back.

Maxime grasped Chetri’s shoulder to stop him from closing the door. Imena would be displeased if Maxime seduced him. At the moment, he was in the mood to cause her displeasure. “You don’t need to lock me in here.”

“I suspect I do have to lock you in here,” Chetri said with a wry twist to his mouth.

Maxime tightened his hand on Chetri’s shoulder, squeezing gently and sensually. “Perhaps we could both be locked in here.”

Chetri turned his head and nipped at Maxime’s fingers. “I don’t trust myself, and I don’t trust you further than I could throw you, Your Grace.”

“You wouldn’t be sorry. I suspect you have no aversion to men. Wise of you.”

Chetri grinned. “And I’m sure you’d make it worth my while, is that it?” Gently, he dislodged Maxime’s hand and stepped back. “You’ll be a handful for the captain, that you will.” Easily fending off Maxime’s lunge, he slammed the door closed, calling through it, “I’ll bring you something to read later. A nice philosophical volume.” A moment later, Maxime heard the noise of the lock and chain.

It hadn’t been polite to try to seduce her second-in-command when he was hoping to convince her that she ought to marry him, but did she really expect him to play the innocent virgin and wait patiently for her attentions? Otherwise, why make him wait so long?

Unless she knew what he’d done with Sylvie. Maxime sighed. That had been a mistake, too. It wouldn’t do him any good to explain that it had been nothing to Sylvie, and that he’d been thinking of Imena throughout most of it. Despite knowing Sylvie, and what Sylvie was like, Imena wouldn’t be pleased with him for giving in, not at all.

Yes, that could be the reason for his current imprisonment. Imena knew about his brief encounter with Sylvie, and she planned to make him pay. But couldn’t she have chosen a more … pleasant revenge?

He refused to consider that Imena might not care at all.

Maxime grimaced, sat on the blanket and tore off a hunk of bread.

This bit of ocean was far too crowded for Imena’s liking. It made sense that every courier cutter and fishing trawler would be taking advantage of the wind, but that also meant every one of them would spot Seaflower with her distinctive imperial rigging and duchy profile. While Chetri sent the crew through a series of complex maneuvers designed to get them out of the most trafficked sea lanes, Imena sat in her cabin and labored over her charts, deliberately putting off talking to Maxime. He would be furious that she’d swept him away out of danger without telling him. She didn’t want to face that right now. She didn’t want to face him, after what they’d done in the baths, and what she’d briefly felt there.

Here, she could work in peace for a while. She had the largest cabin on Seaflower, furnished with a spacious wooden bunk projecting from one wall, two trunks to serve as seats, and her worktable and chair. One bulkhead was lined with a row of glassed-in windows, the others decorated with painted screens of historical battles. Several books and a new length of hempen rope, which Norris would use for drying clothes, were piled in a basket near the door, waiting to be stowed, distracting her from the charts spread in front of her.

The problem was, she had no idea how long Maxime would be in danger. He was safe belowdecks, but he would be wild with curiosity about the situation right now, and angry. Rightly so. Angry with her.

Sylvie would pass on the vital information about the plot to Lady Gisele, and hopefully Gisele would be able to stall any royal envoys who traveled to the castle, but Maxime himself was still in the dark.

Doubtless he’d figured out something had happened. He was no fool, and would know she only had his best interests at heart. He wouldn’t be angry for long. He could wait.

Imena returned her thoughts to navigation. Remaining on the open sea seemed the safest option, but just to be safe, she reminded herself of available ports, official or otherwise, on the heading she planned. She scribbled down her preferred course, then two options, with some side notes to Chetri, then fastened the paper firmly onto the corner of a table. Carefully, she rolled and stowed her charts in their waterproof casings. She couldn’t put off talking to Maxime for much longer. She would go and speak to him immediately after she’d been up to pass on her orders.

Chetri said, “We’re not fully provisioned. We got the extra spars loaded last night, but we’re lacking some of the supplies I’d like to have, if we’re to stay out for as long as you fear.”

“You think I’m being too cautious?” she asked.

He considered, stroking his fingers over the hilt of his dagger. “No,” he said finally. “I don’t trust royalty, especially not when money’s involved. And that’s what it’s really about—His Highness wants control of His Grace because then he’ll have control of a duchy stuffed with coin.”

“If it is King Julien.”

“If not him, then his flunky,” he said. “They’re all corrupt—well, aside from His Grace. He’s fair and honest in his dealings. Will we be getting word from that Sylvie girl? Will she really be able to uncover this plot? She puked the whole time she was aboard that one time.”

“Her Grace the Duchess Camille relies upon Sylvie,” Imena reminded him. “She’s an experienced courier and spy. She’ll know to send us news through the usual channels. We’ll just have to be careful where we dock.”

“Aye, Captain,” Chetri said. “By the way—you might want to speak to His Grace soon. He’s … anxious … to be released from durance vile.”

Chetri’s sly grin arrested her attention. “Anxious?”

“He offered me delights of the flesh if I’d set him free.”

“He did what? “ She paused. “Was he joking?”

“Possibly. Possibly not.” Chetri licked his lips. “He is a fine figure of a man, your duke. Plenty to hold on to, a bitable arse, and I hear reports he’s skilled as any whore with that cock of his and otherwise. Making the tide with him would be no hardship, no, not at all. I almost took him up on it.”

Through a red haze, Imena said, “You will not bite his arse nor hold on to any part of him.”

Chetri laughed. “Of course not. I know he’s yours.”

“He is not—”

He patted her shoulder. “Of course not, Captain, sir. That’s why you scooped him up, naked as the day he was born, and tossed him into your hold.”

“I was in a hurry.” She was aware she sounded surly, but could not help herself. Sometimes, Chetri considered himself entirely too much like her father. Only worse.

Chetri continued, “You had time to let him put his trousers on before you rolled him up in a carpet. Nice cock like that, you ought to wrap it up safe.” He lifted his eyebrow, the silver ring through it glinting in the sun.

“Enough.” She thrust the orders into his hand. “Get us out of here. Every scrap of canvas we have. Spring a topmast if you have to. I’m going below.”

Imena had intended to invite Maxime up to her cabin, now that the chance of discovery was so much less, but that was before he’d tried to seduce Chetri. As she unlocked the door to his refuge, she considered simply leaving him in the hold. The accommodations might not be to his liking. She was no longer in a mood to please him. However, if she left him down here, who knew how many more of her crew he would try to subvert? Or seduce? Or both? Who would be next? No doubt Maxime would like a challenge. Seretse? Leggy Roxanne, the second mate?

It was a pity they needed to shift the cargo, poorly stowed thanks to their precipitous departure. Maxime would be in the way belowdecks. The needs of her ship were more important than a small act of revenge.