Page 7 of Scandalous

“Of course I do not employ slaves, but—”

“Then they had a choice!” Martín slammed his fist on the table, and everyone jumped. He looked from the captain to the woman, their shocked expressions enraging him even further. “I tell you what, Captain, I will give your crew the same choice they gave the people in your hold. You know what choice I mean, eh? They can get into the ship’s hold, or they can die.”

Both the Dutchman and the woman stared back at him in wide-eyed, open-jawed amazement.

Martín fought to get a grip on his frayed temper as he looked from the pale blond man to his feisty companion, both so eager to tell him about choices while hundreds of people suffered on their ship. “That is your choice, as well, Captain Graaf. If you do not like it?” Martín shrugged. “I will throw the whole damn lot of you to the sharks, you and your whore included.”

Martín was not surprised when the woman shot to her feet at the word “whore.”

He sat back and savored her reaction. He did not believe her to be a whore—she had neither the look nor the demeanor of a woman who earned her living pleasuring men. In fact, she had the look of an innocent, which made him very curious as to what the hell she was doing on a slaver’s ship.

“How dare you? I am no . . . whore.” She trembled with the force of her emotions. “Have you no decency?”

“None at all,” he admitted, grinning.

Her eyes spit fire, and her pale cheeks bore twin flags of color. She was quite attractive in her anger. Also, her hips stretched her snug breeches in a most intriguing manner.

He gestured to her clothing. “Do you always dress so?”

Her smooth brow furrowed. “What has that to do with anything?”

Martín shrugged.

“I donned these clothes to stop the mutineers.” She enunciated each word as if speaking to a lackwit, and Martín frowned. But before he could contrive a suitable response, she jabbed a finger at the Dutchman. “This man risked his life so that we might return home. Can you not forgo money just this once?”

“Home?” Martín repeated, perplexed.

“Yes, home. I live in the village of N’goe, not far from Bantè. At least it used to be a village before the entire population was captured and sold to slavers, which was how I ended up on the Blue Bird.” She glared down at the Dutchman, forgetting she’d been his champion only a moment before.

Martín looked from the Dutchman to the woman, and then back again. She was his captive? His slave? He shifted irritably in the too-small wardroom chair, tired and short-tempered from a lack of sleep. When he stretched out his legs to get more comfortable, he noticed an unsightly mark on the toe of one boot. He stared in disbelief at the hideous smudge; Jenkins had missed a spot. Just wait until—

“Captain? Captain? Are you listening?”

“Eh?” Martín pulled his eyes away from his blemished boot and tried to recall what she’d just said. “Are you telling me Graaf purchased you, mademoiselle?”

She gave the Dutchman a speculative look. “Not precisely.”

“But he kept you in the hold?”

“Well, yes—”

Martín held up a hand, not wanting to lose the thread. “But then he took you out of the hold?”

She made a huffing noise and crossed her arms. “Yes.”

He looked from her to the Dutchman and back. “Are you wearing his clothing?”

She sneered. “I refuse to discuss my clothing with you, Captain Bouchard.” She raked her eyes across him, an unpleasant twist to her lips. “Although you certainly look as if you think of nothing else.”

Martín frowned and sat up. “You think my clothing is not, eh, how do you say it?” He snapped his fingers to summon the words. “Comme il faut?” he asked when the English words refused to come.

Her eyes narrowed to slits. “Will you, or will you not, let our ship go?”

Martín blinked at this unexpected change of subject and threw up his hands. “Voyons, of course I will not release your ship.” He looked from the infuriating woman to the fool beside her. The Dutchman coughed, an expression of abject misery in his hazy blue eyes.

“What is wrong with you?” Martín asked, all of a sudden noticing the man’s complexion had a somewhat greenish cast.

“I have the choking fever.”