Page 81 of Scandalous

Martín was so angry he was shaking. “It is easy for you to offer advice, my lord,” he said, sneering the two words. “You are a bloody peer. Wealthy and connected to a family that goes back to the beginning of time. You were a slave for a few years but you were not born a slave because of the very blood that runs in your veins—because of who you are. You do not need to constantly worry you could become a slave again if the right people clapped hands on you. And, lastly, you were never sold to be some old man’s whore.”

“You know what the sultan’s men did to me.” The words were so quiet Martín hardly heard them. He looked at Ramsay and saw a chill in his usually warm eye. Yes, he knew what had happened to Ramsay in Hassan’s palace.

The pause between them grew pregnant with a decade’s worth of unspoken words and secrets.

It was Ramsay who broke it. “You cannot let what happened with d’Armand ruin your life, Martín.”

Martín’s head jerked up at the sound of the hated name.

“Your path has never been easy, my friend, but you’ve survived much worse than becoming an object of gossip. The people who matter—your crew, me, Daphne, Sarah, Mia, Exley—they know your worth. If people judge you because of what was done to you, they are not worth knowing. You care deeply for somebody who cares for you. Do not leave her behind because you are in a hurry to run from your past.”

“She doesn’t want me. She wants the Dutchman.”

Ramsay made a scoffing noise. “She does not want Graaf.”

“Then why does she spend so much time with him?” Martín demanded, his gut clenching with fury at the thought of Sarah and the slaver.

“Because he puts himself before her? Because she pities him? Because she is bored?” Ramsay shrugged. “Who knows why a woman does anything?”

“Pity? Are you insane, Ramsay? The man is a peer on calling terms with the bloody king.”

“You need stronger spectacles, Martín, because you appear to be blind when it comes to Sarah. She was raised by Christian missionaries, for God’s sake. They believe in forgiveness above all else; at least the good ones do. Just because she has forgiven Graaf does not mean she doesn’t pity him. And he is an object of pity—something you would realize if your vision were not so clouded. She was born and raised in Africa—do you think she could ever respect a man who would buy and sell the people she considers her own?”

“Then why does she defend him like a hen with a chick if I make even the smallest comment? Does a woman do such a thing for a man she despises?”

Ramsay shook his head and set his empty glass down with a thump. “I cannot stay and listen to such claptrap, Martín. Only an idiot would think she wanted anyone but you.”

Martín stared at Ramsay’s back as he stalked from the room. His former captain knew Martín better than any other person in the world. Could he be right? Would she be able to live with the truth if he told her? If the truth became public and the rest of the world found out?

Martín knew he could not outrun his past forever. With the war over, there would be more and more contact with his country of birth. One way or another the truth always came out. Would she be able to overlook what he’d once been? The things he’d done?

There was only one person in the entire world who could answer those questions. But he wasn’t sure he could ask her.

* * *

Sarah was disappointed when Martín did not show up at her next riding lesson, or for the six after that. She’d been certain he would appear if only to display his own skill and mock her and Mies. By the time he finally did appear, she had given up looking for him.

She was fastening up her habit when Martín, seated on an enormous bay, cantered up. He stopped by Mies on his way toward her and muttered something she could not hear. While Sarah was no judge of horseflesh, she could see Bouchard’s mount was something out of the ordinary.

“What a lovely animal,” she said, when he came to a halt not far from her.

“Yes, he is one of a kind.” Martín stroked the huge animal’s neck, and the horse leaned into his touch and rubbed against his hand like a friendly dog. “His name is Pasha. He belongs to Ramsay, but today he gets a holiday from carrying such a giant brute on his back, eh?” The animal seemed to gaze at him with adoration. Martín gestured toward Sarah’s horse. “Where did you get that sack of bones?”

“Not all of us require a mount fit for a king, Martín.” She bit her lip, annoyed she’d let slip his Christian name. She was also unreasonably irritated by how perfect he looked in his riding clothes, from his highly polished boots to his fashionable high-crowned hat. Must he always look so irresistible?

She tore her eyes off his broad shoulders and powerful chest, only to find Mies had approached and was looking at her with narrowed eyes.

“Bouchard says you invited him to come and make sure I was offering adequate instruction.” His face was as stiff as his words.

Sarah scowled at the grinning Bouchard before turning back to Mies.

“That is not how I put it at all. But now that he is here, why don’t we all take a ride together?”

Martín tossed his reins to Mies, who caught them on reflex. He dismounted gracefully and closed the distance between them, waving away her groom. “Are you ready?”

Sarah nodded, and two big hands picked her up and placed her in the saddle with shocking ease. Her waist tingled as if his powerful hands still encircled it, and an exquisite tightness pulsed between her thighs.

Sarah couldn’t escape the truth: she was a wanton. And the fact that such a realization did not upset her only served to underscore she was irredeemable.