Page 32 of Scandalous

He picked up his glass and stared into the amber liquid. For years he’d allowed the situation to stand—enabled the men who’d striven to keep him ignorant and vulnerable. Tomorrow he would change that, and all those men could go to hell. He threw back the rest of his brandy and bared his teeth as it burned down his throat. He was free, wealthy, and the master of his own destiny; he could do anything he wished.

His arm itched, and he scratched until it bled.

Chapter Eleven

Sarah crawled around the cabin floor on her hands and knees and collected the scattered paper, broken quill, and empty ink well, grimacing at the stain spattered across the lovely silk bedding.

“Miss Fisher? Are you all right?” Daniels stood in the open doorway, his boyish features compressed with anxiety.

Bouchard hadn’t bothered to close the door after flinging it open and stomping off, cursing furiously in French and a collection of other languages.

“Yes, thank you, Mr. Daniels.” She accepted his hand up and held out the damaged quill. “I’m afraid I’ve been rather clumsy.” It was easier to claim the effects of the captain’s tantrums as her own, as she’d been doing almost every day for weeks.

Sarah had guessed Captain Bouchard might be a challenging pupil, but nothing had prepared her for the difficulties she faced. He was the most impatient, arrogant, and excitable person she’d ever known. If he did not grasp a concept immediately—which he did often, as his mind was agile and hungry—he became enraged. If he wasn’t flinging the contents of the table across the room, he was accusing her of toying with him, as he’d done today. She must be failing Bouchard somehow; otherwise he wouldn’t react with such frustrated anger.

“You should be more careful, Miss Fisher. This is the fourth quill I’ve fixed for you this week,” Daniels chided, examining the splayed tip.

“I’m afraid I have rather a heavy hand, Mr. Daniels.”

Daniels closed the door to the captain’s cabin.

“Miss Fisher? Is that you?” Captain Graaf’s voice came from behind his cabin door as they passed and stopped both her and the second mate in their tracks. Sarah considered ignoring the bored aristocrat, but knew Daniels was watching her. It would be rude to ignore the man under such circumstances.

“Coming, Captain Graaf.” She nodded to the second mate and turned to walk the short distance to the Dutchman’s cabin.

His face lit up at the sight of her, and Sarah couldn’t help feeling flattered, even though she could not entirely like the man.

“Good afternoon, Captain. What can I do for you?”

“Please, won’t you sit and talk with me? Or read to me? Or play chess with me?”

Sarah made herself smile, although who he was and what he’d done was never far from her mind. Practicing forgiveness was proving to be more of a challenge than she had anticipated. “Very well, which do you prefer?”

“Perhaps a little talking and then a game of chess? Or maybe cards? Have you any cards?”

“No, I do not. I’m afraid I’ve never even seen a deck of cards.”

“Then I must procure some immediately. I will teach you piquet, and maybe I’ll be able to beat you at something. I am quite exhausted from all the beatings I have endured in chess. Can you not let me win every fifth or sixth time?” He importuned her with eyes that were a clear, celestial blue. As his health improved, his demands on her attention increased. His growing infatuation was not surprising; Sarah was the only person onboard who would interact with him.

She gave a little snort of contempt. She could captivate a nobleman she privately despised, and could befriend several of Bouchard’s crew, but not the frustrating Frenchman himself. A man who made it no secret that he preferred whores to her.

“You look so sad. What are you thinking, Miss Fisher?”

Sarah sat down. “I am merely tired.”

He made a tsking sound. “I told you helping Bouchard with his bookwork would not be a pleasant task.”

Doing bookwork to pay for her passage was a myth she’d concocted to explain why she spent so much time in Bouchard’s cabin. She doubted the pretense would be necessary for much longer.

She chewed her lower lip. If she couldn’t find some way to break through whatever was stopping Bouchard from progressing, he would call a halt to her efforts. She’d wracked her brain for weeks over what the problem was. He was quick at writing and reading the sample exercise she drew up every day, but when it came to reading an actual book, he became sullen and angry. Perhaps she wasn’t offering him items that interested him enough to learn? Maybe he would prefer ship records?

Graaf’s voice intruded on her thoughts. “Come, you are very distracted today, Miss Fisher. What is it?”

Sarah looked at his earnest, hopeful face and felt a pang. She forced the more interesting topic of Captain Bouchard from her mind and tried to concentrate on the man across from her. “Please, won’t you call me Sarah? We have been on this ship for several weeks, and there are still many to go.”

His pale cheeks tinted. “I would like that very much, Sarah. You must call me Mies. Captain Graaf is not only a mouthful, it is also not a title I’ve earned.”

Sarah ignored the last part of his comment. “Your cough seems to have gone away. How are you feeling otherwise?”