Page 16 of Scandalous

Oh, please, don’t let Bouchard have heard that.

A slow grin spread across his face. “I hope we have made enough for you, mademoiselle.”

He cut off a large portion of fish and placed it on a plate, adding a healthy serving from each of the other bowls. “Flame blackened whitefish stuffed with rice and herbs. Potatoes cooked with butter and shallots, and a ground corn dish favored by the Italians, called polenta. Please”—he inclined his head—“enjoy.”

Sarah speared a piece of fish and popped it into her mouth. It was delicious and flaky and melted on her tongue. She bit back a moan. She’d never tasted anything so delicious in her entire life. “The polenta is from Italy; are the other dishes French?”

“These dishes are from the mind of my cook, whom I pay more than I should so that I may eat like this even at the outskirts of civilization.”

“Am I mistaken in thinking you are from France, Captain?”

“I am from the United States, mademoiselle. From New Orleans, to be precise. You have heard of it?” He took a mouthful of food and chewed, an odd glitter in his eyes.

“That is in the portion purchased some years back by your President Jefferson. I have not met an American before.” She put a forkful of potatoes in her mouth and froze as the flavor exploded. She closed her eyes at the sheer bliss of it.

“I do not call myself an American.” His knife clattered against his plate, and she opened her eyes.

“Oh, why is that?”

“Let’s just say I would not be welcomed with open arms should I ever wish to return to that country.” His frigid tone told her the subject was closed.

Sarah busied herself with her meal while she considered his response. She could only suppose his inability to read and his hostile attitude toward his origins were the result of an unpleasant past.

She chose another topic. “Where do you live when you are not at sea?”

“I have spent some time in England, but mainly I live at sea. Now that Napoleon is safely restrained, I may settle in France.”

“Did you live in London?”

“The south coast. A friend of mine has a house there and I have stayed with him from time to time. But country living is too parochial for my taste.” He pushed aside his half-eaten plate of food.

Sarah’s own plate was almost empty. She’d been eating like a starving baboon. She grimaced and put down her fork before lowering her hands to her lap. Looking at the lovely robe brought another topic to mind. “Thank you for the beautiful garments you sent, Captain.”

His eyes dropped to her chest and Sarah instantly wished she’d kept her mouth shut.

“While you look delightful in it, I must say I am disappointed you made the most prosaic choice from my offerings.”

Sarah stared at his darkening eyes. Was it possible he was imagining her in the black lace confection? She saw his lips twitch, and heat surged up her neck. No, he was merely tormenting her. How could a man who looked like him respond otherwise to a woman who looked like her? She glared, thrusting out her chin. What did it matter if he made his disparaging thoughts so obvious?

“Tell me, Mademoiselle Fisher, what are your plans after I return you to Freetown?”

Sarah frowned at the unexpected change of subject. “I suppose I will see if any of the others wish to return to our village.”

“There are many others on Graaf’s ship from your village?”

“No, but there are people from nearby villages.”

“How many?”

“There are two men, well, boys, really. And there is also one older woman—”

“Bah! Four people? Two children and two women? You would do best to stay in Freetown and forget about returning to the jungle, mademoiselle.”

“Why do you say that?”

He shrugged, the movement sinuous yet controlled. He reminded Sarah of one of the large snakes that lay in wait in the trees around the village. His body was pure muscle, coiled and dangerous.

“What is there for them in Freetown?” she asked, annoyed by his certainty.