The Duke and the Pirate Queen. Victoria Janssen

cursed, but without much vigor. He returned to trying to lift his feet. The deck braces to which he was hitched showed no hint of movement and the sturdy decking didn’t even creak, no matter how hard he pulled. The knots on his wrists, he’d quickly learned, drew tighter if he struggled, and there was no accessible end for him to attack with his teeth.

      “Being kidnapped,” he said, “is much more dull than I would have expected.” Perhaps things would improve once the ravishing began. If it began. He was beginning to have his doubts.

      When another quarter-bell rang, he began to sing, loudly. “Oh, the army had no courage in them! But then came La Rose, the whore! She swore she’d put the courage in them! And give them something mo-o-ore!” He paused, and swallowed, wishing for another orange.

      “La Rose, she had a dainty hand! And lips as red as blood! She took the captain first in hand! And soon, upright he stoo-oo-ood!”

      The door slammed open. “My ship is not a bawdy house!”

      “They’re called licensed brothels in my duchy,” he said. He looked at her hopefully. “All that singing made me thirsty, and I recall there are seventeen more verses. Twenty-three, if you count the extras my aunt taught me. Those are even worse. There’s one where her dog licks—”

      Imena stalked over to stand in front of him. Anger had brought a high color to her cheeks, and he was forcibly reminded of how she’d looked as he’d pleasured her in the castle baths. He lifted his hand to touch her before remembering his wrists were bound together. She glared at him, then looked away, visibly collecting herself. She said, “I’ll get you a drink. Did I tie you too tightly?”

      She didn’t betray me. Until relief at that realization washed over him, Maxime hadn’t realized he’d been doubting her loyalty. He lifted his bound hands. “You could loosen these. I won’t be much good to you if my hands are numbed.”

      She propped her foot on the trunk beside him and placed his hands on her knee, unfortunately palm up, so he couldn’t sneak in a squeeze of her leg. She bent over his wrists, tugging at the knots. The faint rasp of hemp against his skin wasn’t entirely unpleasant. When coupled with the warmth from her hands, it was intriguing. Maxime leaned forward and nuzzled her bare scalp, letting the warmth of his breath caress her skin. A shudder rippled across her before she said, “Stop that.”

      “Why?” He bent closer, investigating the soft skin behind her ear. “You smell good,” he said.

      “Now is not the time. Occupy your thoughts with something else if you can.” With a final tug at the rope, she straightened and stepped back, out of his reach. She poured water from a stoppered jug and held the wooden cup to his mouth while he drank. After two cups, he refused more, and she said, “I’m busy up top. I promise, I’ll be back later to speak with you.”

      “You could untie me, then.”

      “I don’t think so,” she said. “You’re too unpredictable.” She smiled at him. “I hear tales of how creative you are. Surely you can amuse yourself for a little while.”

      Before he could ask her to untie his hands and provide him with pen and paper, she was gone. “Agh!” he growled.

      The cabin, he realized, smelled of her. Even pine tar and lemon oil could not conceal from him that she lived in this space, worked and ate and slept here. She would sleep nude on the spacious bunk across from him; the flat, cotton-stuffed mattress would smell of her skin even more strongly. He closed his eyes and inhaled. Her trunks were lined with cedar, whose scent impregnated all her clothing; sitting atop one of the trunks was like being close to her.

      He opened his eyes. “You are just as pathetic as Sylvie said,” he noted to himself. Smelling her furniture. He was behaving worse than the soggiest hero of a provincial melodrama.

      He’d wasted enough time with patience, waiting for her to speak of her interest in him, or at the least demonstrate she had an interest in him beyond her immediate needs. His seduction of her in the baths had gone well, much better than he’d expected, at least until she’d rejected him. That was the first advance he’d made since he met her. He needed to continue in that way, as talking didn’t seem to be doing any good. He could sway her with touch. A little sway, as a way into her thoughts and feelings, was all he needed.

      Therefore, he had to touch her again. That would be difficult at the moment, given that she’d knotted his hands together.

      His singing had brought her into the cabin. He would draw her into the room again, and then he would talk. Talking had served him well over the years. It was a lucky thing he’d honed the skill, because he needed it now.

      He stared at her bunk, unfocused his eyes and meditated on what he would say.

      * * *

      Norris spotted another royal cutter from the upper nest, necessitating another alteration in Seaflower’s course and subsequent tacking to accommodate both the new heading and the change in wind. Chetri might have handled it all on his own, but Imena was reluctant to enter her cabin again, at least not yet.

      She couldn’t leave Maxime tied there indefinitely. Sooner or later, she would have to be close enough to him to untie him so he could put on the rest of his clothes. Then she would have to fight the urge to taste him again, mouth or throat or the muscle atop his shoulder, she didn’t care.