“I
may have chosen to stay on board your ship, but
Aubrey
was given no such choice,” she accused him, deciding to be blunt.
The spring uncoiled. With a jerk his feet came off the
desk and hit the floor so fast that her heart stopped. She feared that she would have one of her asthma attacks and expire right on the spot, as his searing gaze pinned her to her chair.
“I suggest you use a more pleasant tone when you speak to me,” he bit out. “I suggest you display the good manners you were raised with, Miss Thoroughgood. Order my men about, if you like. Bully them with that hands-off tone you wield like a weapon. But don’t ever think to use it on me.”
His cold eyes bored into hers for one long uncomfortable moment, and more than anything Eliza wanted to flee. Had she been anywhere but on a ship somewhere in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean, she would have done just that. But there was nowhere to run. So she sat there petrified, gripping the carved wooden ends of the chair arms as if they could possibly lend her their support.
He gave her a cool smile. “That’s better. I’ve decided to lay down a few rules for you. Xavier will see to most of your needs. But if you have any complaints, bring them to me, not him.” Then his expression grew even cooler, if that were possible. “I suggest very strongly that you keep your distance from Oliver.”
“But … but why?” she managed to get out in a shaking voice.
He pursed his lips and gave her an assessing look. “He can’t be trusted around women. I wouldn’t want him to do anything, shall we say, untoward.”
No doubt you’re saving that task for yourself
, she thought. But she wisely did not say that out loud. Her tart remarks had always been forgiven at home. She was the pampered invalid. The only daughter. But here … She shivered to think how totally vulnerable she was here.
He seemed to be equally aware of that fact, if the sudden glitter in his vivid blue eyes was any indication.
“You needn’t worry about me, Eliza. As I explained last night, I’m only interested in women who are willing. Or women I can make willing.”
The challenge in his voice was unmistakable and it was made worse by the fact that he stared at her so boldly hot color burned her cheeks. Did he imply that
she
could be made willing?
She shook her head, denying to herself the curiosity his kiss had roused in her. “Then I … I suppose I have nothing to worry about, do I?”
His head dipped once as if in mocking acknowledgement of her feeble attempt at bravery. “We shall see, won’t we? But I forget myself. Now that you are settled in your quarters, it remains for us to attend to other matters.” His eyes slid over her, studying every aspect of her appearance until she squirmed in self-conscious dismay. Her face was clean, and her hands as well. But her hair, though combed, was styled only in one long, ragged plait down her back. As for what she was wearing …
If his goal was to keep her in a constant state of discomfort, he was certainly doing a very good job of it.
“Stand up,” he ordered.
“Wh—what?”
“Stand up,” he enunciated more clearly. “And turn around. Slowly.”
“But … but why?” she asked, fighting back a wave of pure panic.
He sighed, as if she tried his patience to the absolute limit.
She
try
his
patience!
“Unless you wish to wear that hideous garment for the duration of your time aboard, you will stand up and turn around. Your nightgown, I believe?” He waited expectantly.
Was that all he had in mind, providing her with more suitable clothing? Despite Eliza’s unwillingness to accept any kindness from him, an enormous wave of relief
washed over her. She had been excruciatingly and constantly aware that she was dressed only in her nightgown. Desperate to be more properly clothed, she ventured, “Are you saying you have women’s clothing on board your ship?”
“Actually, I was going to offer you one of my shirts and a pair of breeches.”
At that she stiffened. She should have known he’d find some way to be insulting in the process of appearing to be kind. “Thank you, but no.”
A mocking grin curved his lips. “I suppose I should have anticipated that sort of response from such a proper London miss as yourself. Would you like me to ask my crew if they have any women’s garments?”
“Your crew? Why would any man carry women’s clothing with him?” she asked suspiciously.
“They often purchase such things for their wives or other womenfolk when we’re in foreign ports.”
Eliza’s heart leapt in hope. But she was wary, too. He seemed awfully accommodating this morning. Perhaps she should test the limits of his pleasant mood.
“I’d appreciate that very much.”
His eyes, so dark and bold, held hers captive. “Good. So, stand up and turn around.”
Once more a shiver of fear snaked down her spine. She was so completely at his mercy. Though he professed no interest in unwilling women, everything he did managed to be outrageously provoking and somehow filled with innuendo. She’d never been made so entirely aware of a man before. Not even Michael. Nor had she ever been so conscious of her own body. Worse, she feared that even a change of clothing would prove no barrier to that disturbing awareness. Appearing before him in her nightgown was not what was making her so nervous. It was him. Were she garbed in full winter regalia, she would still feel the impact of his eyes on her.
She cleared her throat, seeking a way to avoid allowing
him a full inspection of her person. “I … ah … I’m sure I can alter any garments you may provide so that they fit. What I’d rather discuss—” “You can sew?” he interrupted her.
“Well … well, yes, of course I can sew.”
“And here I’d thought you just a … how do I put this? Just an ornamental sort of female. Unable to cook or sew or do any of the ordinary domestic tasks. Has the life of English nobility changed so much in recent years? I would have thought you had servants to perform all those little jobs for you.”
Eliza didn’t know whether to be angry or defensive at his taunting appraisal of her and her sort. She sewed, yes. But only embroidery. Ornamental detail. She’d never once sewn a complete garment. Nor cooked a complete meal, either. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t if she tried.
“I’m quite able to alter any clothing,” she stated, willing any tremble from her voice.
“Very well, then. I’ll have Xavier see what he can find for you.”
“What about Aubrey?” she asked, for Aubrey was what this was all about, not her. “Aubrey needs clothing too.”
She might as well have slapped him, she thought, in the frigid moments that followed. His expression had been relaxed, though still retaining that mocking edge. Now, however, his brows pulled together and his jaw hardened. “The boy has no need of additional clothing.”
“But of course he does,” Eliza insisted. Though she was aware her words infuriated him, she was compelled to continue. “He can’t remain in his nightshirt.”
“He
can
remain in his nightshirt. And he can bloody well remain in his cabin, too!”
Despite the threat in his menacing tone, Eliza knew this was one subject she must pursue, for his vengeful
treatment of Aubrey was at the heart of his vile scheme. “But he is only a child,” she pleaded. “You cannot leave him locked up that way.”
“I can do anything I bloody well please, Eliza. I suggest you not forget that. Anything,” he repeated for effect.
It worked, for it struck fear in her very soul. She started to argue, but her mind seemed to freeze. When she finally found her tongue it was to stammer, “I wish you wouldn’t curse.”
To her shock, however, her foolish words turned his glower to amusement. “You wish I wouldn’t curse?” He laughed out loud. “If you think to run me and my ship like you run your household, you shall be quite disappointed, my dear.” He leaned forward, a wicked gleam in his eyes. “I say what I bloody well want and I do what I bloody well want. And nobody, not even a prissy little thing like you, tells me otherwise. So tell me, my delectable Eliza. Why aren’t you married yet?”
His abrupt change of mood, followed at once by his equally abrupt change of subject, shredded the last of her composure.
“I … I’m engaged to be married. But … but that is neither here nor there. You cannot confine Aubrey to below decks. It is simply too cruel.”
A muscle in his jaw flexed but this time his expression remained unchanged. “I’ll make you a bargain, then. You dine with me this evening, wearing your new clothes, and I’ll allow the boy on deck.”
Eliza studied him warily. What was he up to? “You’ll find him clothes and allow him on deck?”
He studied her right back and she saw a flicker of a smile in his eyes. Before when he’d smiled it had been overcast by a mocking sense of distance. He’d been observing her—baiting her—and amused by what he saw. This time, however, some stray bit of warmth showed in
his vivid blue eyes. It lit them with just a hint of silvery color.
“Every day you share a meal with me, he shall be allowed on deck,” he conceded, leaning back smugly in his chair.
Eliza swallowed the alarming shiver of anticipation that gave her. Did he think in this way he might “make her willing”? She wasn’t sure she wanted to know. “What of his clothes?”
He nodded once. “He’ll have clothes. Anything else?” he asked, raising one imperious slash of a brow.
Eliza deemed it best to stop while she was ahead. She still hoped to uncover his reason for kidnapping Aubrey, as well as his plans for the child. But that was a subject better left for another time. Perhaps tonight at dinner, she decided when she rose. His gaze slid over her once, very briefly. But it was enough to warn her to be on her guard. If he should behave in even the most mildly forward fashion, she would bring up her uncle’s name. Hopefully his resulting anger would squelch any amorous intentions he might harbor. Better him furious with her than trying to seduce her.
With that one bit of security to sustain her, she moved nearer to the door. “If it’s all right with you, Captain, I’ll return to Aubrey now.”
“As you wish. But Eliza,” he added when she turned to leave, “I’d prefer you call me Cyprian.”
Once again there was that flicker of heat in his eyes and it sent a disturbing quiver up her spine. Somehow it made him seem even more dangerous to her than before.
“And if I don’t prefer it?” she whispered.
His smile did not change. “As I told you before, I never force a woman to do anything she doesn’t want to do.”
I just make her willing
. The unsaid words rang as clearly as if he’d shouted them.
Eliza didn’t reply. What would be the purpose? But as she pulled the door open, slipped out, and pulled it shut, the words echoed in her head.
I just make her willing. I just make her willing
.
Eliza squinted in the waning light. The skirt Xavier had brought fit well enough, though she’d had to pull the ties at the waist as snug as they would go. The chemise too was fine, though rather sheer for her tastes. But the blouse he’d given her was altogether something else. It was a fine quality cotton with a soft hand much to be admired. But it was cut wide and low at the neckline, with vivid colors in an unusual geometric pattern. Rather gypsyish. Xavier had said it came from Morocco and was of a style worn by many women there. But it was quite unlike anything Eliza had ever seen.
She was trying now to take it in at each shoulder so that it didn’t gape so immodestly over her chest. Three more stitches and she’d be done.
“Ouch!” she yelped when the boat lurched and she jabbed her thumb. “Bloody hell,” she added as she stared at the pinprick of blood that welled up from her offended digit. “Bloody, bloody hell.”
Somehow it felt good to say such vulgarities out loud. If her current situation didn’t warrant cursing, she wasn’t sure what did. Still, she was glad no one was there to witness her profanity.
She finished the garment and donned it right away. Xavier had taken Aubrey above decks a short while before. The boy was clad in coarse wool breeches rolled up around the ankles. He wore his sleeping shirt over it and a loose knit cap covering his curly head. He’d wanted shoes—to cover his misshapen foot. But there were none in his size, so he was forced to remain barefoot. Still, his eagerness to leave the confining cabin, coupled with Xavier’s reassuring encouragement, had eventually overcome his embarrassment.
How Eliza wished she could have the gentle giant Xavier with her when she joined the captain at dinner. The captain who preferred she call him by his given name. Cyprian Dare.
Eliza had thought about the enigmatic captain all afternoon. If she was forced to dine with him once a day in order for Aubrey to be free of his cabin, she must formulate a plan to gain whatever else she might from him. It was clear he expected to soften her opposition to him by their forced proximity, so that meant he would most likely be on his very best behavior. What she must do, she told herself as she tugged the neckline as high as she could get it, was beat him at his own game. He meant to bring her around, but she must bring him around instead. She must convince him not to use Aubrey as a weapon against her Uncle Lloyd.