Page 55 of Scandalous

Why had she done it? It was as though she’d been seized by some insane tempest when she’d knocked on his door. She’d thought that the weeks since Tenerife had served to eradicate the hold he had over her. Why had she suffered such a horrifying relapse just as freedom was within her sights?

Why had she thought that giving herself to him would make anything between them any different? He might lie with her, but he was not the kind of man to offer more. Why would he? He was beautiful, rich, and coveted. She was penniless and plain and had begged him to take her virginity. He’d never even claimed his rights to her body from the bargain they’d made so many weeks ago. She’d needed to throw herself at him before he had taken her.

He’d made love to countless women. Sarah knew that—she’d heard stories about his conquests during their months at sea. Even so, some part of her, some hopeful little ember, had continued to burn. She’d hoped his behavior at Tenerife, inexcusable though it was, had shown he had some feelings for her. Feelings he was too emotionally stunted to understand. She hadn’t wanted to believe his feelings were only thwarted pride, but now she knew she’d been fooling herself. Not for a moment after their lovemaking had he shown even a shred of affection for her. He’d been far more interested in taunting her about Mies than in examining whatever might be between them. He’d made love to her—the most emotionally and physically powerful experience of Sarah’s life—and then had gone back to his ledgers.

Sarah lowered her head onto her bunk and cried.

Chapter Twenty

A surprising number of ships dotted the waters off Eastbourne. Although Napoleon had been vanquished, Martín had still been forced to show his papers more times than seemed necessary. He was left with the distinct impression that the coastal authorities merely wished to speak to him. He knew he should have been flattered, but he was far too irritated for such an emotion.

Sarah and Graaf were leaning against the railing, chatting to each other with the ease of longtime companions. Martín realized it was too late to shove the man overboard now.

“Beauville!” He didn’t know what he wanted to say; he just felt the need to yell.

“Aye, Captain?” The man popped up behind him so soundlessly, Martín almost leapt out of his skin.

“Good God, man, must you lurk so?”

“I’m sorry, Captain.” Beauville’s gaze drifted toward the couple at the rail and back to Martín.

Martín narrowed his eyes at the gesture. “I’d like you to acquire suitable transportation to take our guests to Baron Ramsay’s hall. Send word to the baron letting him know of our arrival. We shall have something to eat at the Pig and Whistle while we wait. You will join us when you’ve carried out my orders.”

“Aye, Captain.” Beauville had an annoying gleam in his eyes as he turned away to do Martín’s bidding. Martín had noticed the first mate’s sly looks often over the past weeks.

He realized Sarah and the Dutchman had stopped chattering and were looking at him.

“What?” he demanded nastily.

Sarah shrugged. “Nothing.”

“What are you two discussing so earnestly? Plans for your new mission?”

Rather than look offended, she gave him a sweet smile. “Yes, we thought we’d leave the plans for a bordello in your capable hands.”

Her unorthodox reply drew a shocked gasp from Graaf.

Martín laughed, genuinely amused by her display of fire. “Yes, mademoiselle, you had best leave things neither of you understand in wiser, less gentlemanly hands.” He smirked at Graaf. “We will be reaching Eastbourne shortly. Are you both ready to disembark?”

“Mr. Daniels has kindly given me a box for my possessions and brought it up on deck.”

Martín rolled his eyes and turned to Graaf, gesturing to two small trunks. “Is this all there is for you, Your Highness?”

“Yes, Mr. Daniels has brought all my possessions up for me, as well.”

“It would appear Mr. Daniels is better suited to the position of stevedore than second mate,” Martín snapped, turning on his heel.

Daniels had been getting on his nerves more with every passing day, and Martín would be glad to have some time away from him and the rest of his crew—many of whom seemed suddenly disapproving of him and overprotective of Sarah Fisher. It was time they all recalled who paid them, especially when that payment was likely to come from Martín’s own pocket.

* * *

As Martín led his guests toward the Pig, he saw several people he knew from his time at Lessing Hall, Baron Ramsay’s ancestral seat. He received few welcoming smiles, and those only from women. Most of the townspeople turned away or pointedly ignored him.

One man hustled out of his shop and snatched a girl—his daughter?—out of Martín’s path and dragged her inside.

“It seems you are well-known here, Captain Bouchard,” Sarah commented.

“Perhaps it is not me, but Captain Graaf’s fearsome reputation that precedes him.” Martín chuckled at his ludicrous suggestion.