Page 37 of Scandalous

The lessons sped past quickly and pleasurably, if not necessarily quietly. Sarah and Bouchard still squabbled several times a day, but usually over minor matters, and quills and inkwells no longer ended up on the floor.

Sarah rejoiced at Bouchard’s nimble, hungry mind. When she came into his cabin each morning it was to find books and paper scattered over not only his desk but also the dining table and small nightstand. Watching him discover the joy of books was like rediscovering them herself, all over again.

His progress was doubly amazing given that he was learning in English, rather than his native French. She could not believe that he’d managed so long without books. With a mind as sharp as his, he must have suffered without the stimulation words and language offered. It broke her heart to know that most of his crew could not read either and would probably never have the chance to learn. An idea began to form in her head, and she resolved to tell him of it when he was in a receptive frame of mind.

The opportunity came one morning after they’d just finished a satisfying lesson about verbs. His mood was uncharacteristically placid, and Sarah decided the time was as good as any.

“Do you have a few minutes, Captain?”

“Hmm?” He glanced up from his writing, his golden eyes magnified by the delicate spectacles.

Even after hours and hours together, the sight of his beautiful face was able to rob her of breath.

“You wish to speak to me, mademoiselle?” He laid down his quill and carefully removed his glasses before looking up at her. A small line formed between his stunning eyes as he waited.

Sarah ignored her body’s inconvenient reaction. “Yes, just for a few minutes, if you don’t mind.”

“I am at your service, mademoiselle.”

“I was wondering if you would permit me to read to your men.”

His dark blond brows arched. “Read to my men?”

“Yes. I’ve noticed there are large parts of the day when they are busy with tasks that would be more pleasant with a little distraction.”

“You wish to give my men a distraction?” His piercing eyes flickered down over her neck and bodice before returning to her face.

Her anger flared. “I want to read to them, Captain.”

He laughed and held up his hands. “Please, do not bite off my head. What would you like to . . . distract them with?”

Sarah turned to his bookshelf and pulled Gulliver’s Travels from it. He put on his glasses and looked at the cover.

“Gull . . . Gull ‘I’?” He stopped and looked at her, confused.

“Gulliver. The ‘I’ is soft.”

“What is this book?”

“It’s an adventure novel.”

He opened the cover and squinted at something on the flyleaf.

“What is it?”

He showed her the book. There was something written in a lovely, bold hand on the flyleaf. “What does it say? It is too difficult to read,” he said.

“It says: To my friend Martín, who occasionally makes me glad I did not kill him on our own long voyages. Signed—”

Bouchard laughed. “It is my friend One-Eyed Standish. You do not need to tell me that,” he said, still chuckling.

“He has signed it ‘Hugh Redvers.’” She handed the book back to him.

“Yes, he is the Baron Ramsay, Hugh Redvers, and One-Eyed Standish. He is a big man and carries many names with ease.”

“He must know you very well.”

Bouchard looked up from the book at her not-so-subtle comment and waved a chiding finger at her. “Oh, mademoiselle, that was very ill done of you.”