Page 30 of Scandalous

“Get us the hell out of here, Beauville. I want to be gone before Keeton comes up with something else for me to do.”

Beauville left without another word.

Martín absently watched as Jenkins dragged in the hip-bath and then assembled his shaving equipment. He drank two mugs of coffee before allowing Jenkins to wrap a steaming strip of linen around his face and neck. For some reason Martín felt desperate for his bath, even more so than usual. He’d always been an obsessive bather, something else he’d learned from the whores who’d raised him. Martín closed his eyes and relaxed as Jenkins shaved him.

He knew what he felt about Graaf’s presence on his ship, but he couldn’t say the same about the woman. He couldn’t tell if the feelings that stirred in his stomach when he thought about her were ones of anger, annoyance, or anticipation. What he did know was that it would be next to impossible to avoid her in the coming months.

Chapter Ten

Sarah was disappointed, but not surprised when Daniels delivered a meal to her cabin that evening. She’d seen by Bouchard’s expression how displeased he was to be saddled with her—perhaps even angrier than he was about being stuck with Graaf.

She’d passed the prior twenty-four hours in a daze. Graaf, a Dutch aristocrat? A member of the House of Orange-Nassau and in line to inherit the throne, albeit quite a way down the list?

Even though he behaved toward her as he had from the beginning, Sarah felt different around the young captain. She could see Captain Bouchard regarded him differently, as well. She’d seen the wheels turning in the handsome captain’s head as he realized what Graaf’s connections meant to him and his rights to the Blue Bird. She could imagine Bouchard deciding sometime during the long journey that the aristocrat wouldn’t recover from his sickness. The Dutchman’s death would be viewed as just another tragic outcome of an ill-fated journey to deepest Africa.

Sarah frowned at the thought. She would need to make sure that didn’t happen. Her frown deepened as she thought back to this morning. Admiral Keeton had tried to keep the conversation with his man quiet, but Sarah had heard enough to know Bouchard had spent the previous day and evening in a bordello.

The feelings this information evoked had discountenanced her. She’d tried to examine her emotions honestly. Disgust wasn’t the only, or even strongest, one she felt. She’d also been hit by a breathtaking wave of jealousy. That had led her to a disappointing, but not wholly surprising, revelation: she was infatuated with Captain Bouchard. Indeed, how could she not be attracted to him? She’d known very few men in her life who’d evinced any curiosity about her at all and certainly none who looked like him. Sarah doubted there were many men who were as handsome or virile as Bouchard. It was natural, albeit unfortunate, that she’d quickly succumbed to him.

It was also no secret how he felt about her after she’d held him at gunpoint. She told herself it was all to the good. After all, what had she hoped for? A tempestuous liaison resulting in love, marriage, and children? There was no future with a man like him. The fact that he sought prostitutes at the first opportunity only proved what he was and what he wanted. She fumed. It was clear he was willing to take satisfaction from any woman available. Except her, of course.

Sarah groaned and pushed away her half-eaten tray of food. She looked at the heavy book Bouchard had given her. It was tragic he had such a wonderful collection of books and would never know what they contained.

She smoothed the serviceable brown cloth of the gown the admiral had procured for her and considered her position on the ship and the long weeks ahead. It was unlikely Captain Bouchard would ever receive payment for her passage. The thought caused her cheeks to burn. It was charity. She’d accepted the admiral’s charity—a few items of clothing that had belonged to his deceased wife—with gratitude, rather than anger. So why did she feel so hostile when thinking of Bouchard’s charity?

Because he despised her. So much so that he didn’t even want to touch her.

She recalled how she’d offered herself to him and reveled in his touch. And then she thought of his cool rejection. No, Sarah would not be a charitable case where he was concerned.

She needed to pay him for her cabin and food if it was the last thing she did. She chewed her lip. There was only one way she could pay him. Well, only one other way. She would teach him to read. If he refused her offer, which was likely given his arrogance, then she would find a way to force him, even if she had to threaten him.

She stood. It was best to take action before she lost heart. She returned her dinner tray to a surprised galley hand and then rapped on Bouchard’s door.

There was no answer. She knocked louder. Again there was no answer. Before she could change her mind, she turned the handle. It was unlocked. She pushed open the door and peered inside. The bed was empty, as was the chair in front of his desk. She peeked around the door to the small dining area. It, too, was unoccupied. She stepped inside and closed the door behind her.

Stop it! Are you insane? Get out of here now.

Sarah ignored the voice of caution and looked at the books on the shelf, slowly dragging her finger across their spines, the simple act of touching them enough to make her happy.

You are courting disaster. You will be thrown from the ship, made to walk the plank.

She ignored the hysterical babbling and pulled a book from the shelf, Gargantua by Rabelais.

Leave now. Leave now! Now! Before it’s too late!

Sarah had read Pantagruel in French several years ago. It had taken her weeks to finish the book, but it had been most rewarding. She would need to ask the captain if she could borrow this volume. She was replacing the book on the shelf when the door swung open.

Bouchard’s eyebrows shot up. “Mademoiselle Fisher, what a surprise. Are you looking for my pistols? They are behind you in my wardrobe. Would you like me to load one for you?” He crossed his arms and leaned against the doorframe, his expression mocking rather than shocked, almost as if he’d expected to find her riffling his possessions.

Sarah’s face flamed. “I came looking for you, and when you didn’t answer I couldn’t resist looking at your library. I shouldn’t have. I apologize.”

“You are a prodigious reader to have already finished the book I gave you.”

“I have not finished Clarissa. I just wanted to see what you had.”

He pushed away from the door and closed the distance between them, stopping a fraction of an inch away from her. He was only a few inches taller than she, but his heavily muscled body was very broad. His aggressive personality made him seem even larger.

“Now that you have seen what I have perhaps you can tell me how I can be of service to you?” He reached up and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. Sarah jumped and took a step back. His mocking smile grew, but he did not pursue her.