box and handed it to his Captain.
Captain Rose tucked the pistol case under one arm and offered her the other. ‘Shall we?’
‘Yes, please.’
The supple wool of his dark jacket shifted beneath Cassandra’s palm with each sure step of his boots during the walk to his cabin. She matched his stride, holding her head high as if they were parading across Hyde Park and not a pirate ship. The crew stood at respectful attention, with only the weasel Mr Barlow leering as though he expected Captain Rose to ravish her in plain view. She should have shot the nasty man, but heaven knew what repercussions his death would have brought down on her, Dinah and the crew of the Winter Gale. Even now she couldn’t say what fate awaited her. Alone, with the door to Captain Rose’s cabin firmly closed, she would be at his mercy. However, the lives of many depended on her being a pleasant and charming guest, so with purpose she swept across the threshold and into the semi-darkness of his cabin.
A bank of diamond-shaped glass windows made up the far wall of the narrow cabin situated at the back of the ship. A faded, red-velvet curtain graced the top of the window, cascading down each side and edged with faded gold tassels. One end hung next to a small desk, the other end pooled near the head of the narrow bed built into the hull. Her attention darted from the sumptuous pillows and fine coverlet to the small, square table in the middle of the room. A woven rug lay beneath it and two sturdy nail-head-trimmed chairs flanked either side. An assortment of exotic fruits including pineapples covered the well-set table. Everything from the silverware beside each plate to the books arranged on the desk spoke of the refined tastes of a gentleman, not the vulgar clutter of a hardened sailor new to comfort. It was a strange contradiction. He was commanding, but he hadn’t forced her; charming and yet violent; a scoundrel and at the same time a man of station. She wondered what had driven him to this life. Perhaps through witty conversation and grace of manners she could bring out more of the gentleman she was sure he’d once been and appeal to him for her and the Winter Gale’s freedom.
‘Do you approve?’ He set the walnut box down beside a pewter service at one end of the table, then pulled out a chair.
‘It’s far more refined than I expected.’ She sat down, conscious of how close he stood, his hands near her shoulders, the cuffs of his coat brushing against her skin when he slid the chair in until the seat touched the back of her thighs. She glanced over her shoulder at him towering above her, dark and impressive, her curiosity giving her more to consider than her worries that he might turn on her at any moment, and a reason for her to be brave and bold. She sensed he would respect her for it. ‘Though it’s ill-gotten.’
* * *
Richard trilled his fingers once on the chair, then gripped the leather tight. The delicate curve of her bare shoulders above the bodice of the dress was so close that if he reached out one finger he could touch it. The skin would be warm, but not her reaction. The uncertainty in her eyes when she’d stepped out of his embrace on deck had undermined her defiant crossing of the planks. She was afraid of him, but determined to show otherwise. He could remove the mask and prove that she had nothing to fear, but he didn’t. Despite her having upheld her end of the bargain, being a charming partner at dinner was one thing. Colluding with a pirate in a place as hostile to them as Virginia was quite another. Until he was sure he could win her to his cause, he would remain Captain Rose. A woman scorned could be a lethal enemy in Virginia at a time when he needed all the allies he could cultivate.
‘Not as ill-gotten as the way the Virginia Trading Company obtained it through the misery of slaves, seamen and countless other ruined lives.’ He let go of the chair and took his seat across the table from her.
She raised her rich eyes framed by dark lashes to meet his. ‘You dislike the Virginia Trading Company?’
He opened and closed his hand beneath the table, thinking he should have stayed behind her and not faced her. The white mounds of her breasts were supple and smooth against the dark fabric of her gown, tempting him to break from her gaze and admire them. ‘I do. Their ships are the only ones I attack. The others I let go.’
‘Why?’ She tilted her head to view him, making the teardrops of her earrings brush the line of her delicate jaw. ‘Were you an officer on one of their ships and the Captain disciplined you too harshly?’
He tapped the chair’s arm, wishing he could taste a little of her discipline again. ‘No.’
‘Then a rival perhaps, a gentleman of some means who had his own company but couldn’t keep it in the face of competition?’ She speared a piece of pineapple off her plate with the fork and set it between her lips, using her teeth to draw it off the tines.
Richard, his pulse racing in his ears as well as places lower down, took hold of the thin neck of the wine decanter and reached over to fill the crystal goblet in front of her. Its red depths danced with the candlelight from the chandelier above the table, the heady vintage as tempting as her. ‘No.’
She set down the fork, rested her elbows on the table and steepled her fingers beneath her chin. The delicate lengths of them almost begged Richard to take them in his calloused hands and kiss the tips of each one the way he used to do during their afternoons in the Belle View barn. How beautiful she’d been beneath him then, her languid body curled around his, eager and ready for him. ‘Then tell me why?’
The amethyst jewels around her neck winked with the candlelight and the largest of the descending teardrops rested between the swells of her full breasts. One close to her throat had turned over, hiding the gem. He reached across the table and righted it, his fingers lightly brushing her neck and bringing a chill to her skin and his. ‘Because not all scoundrels sail under a black flag.’
She didn’t lean away despite the nervousness flickering through her eyes, but met his steady gaze. ‘How unfortunate I chose one of their ships for my passage.’
‘If you hadn’t, we may not have met.’ He raised his wineglass to her. She held up her goblet before taking a sip, watching him over the rim of the crystal, except it wasn’t her sparkling eyes that held his attention, but the gold wedding band sitting like an ugly scar on her finger. It killed the desire for her coursing through his body. ‘What does your husband think of you sailing by yourself?’
He nearly choked on the word husband and everything it meant. She was not his to enjoy and tease, she hadn’t been for a long time and all because of the choices he’d made. It didn’t matter—nothing did except securing her help. She’d be no use to him if her lord and master put a stop to things.
She set down the wine and glanced at the ring as if she wanted to snatch the cursed thing from her finger and hurl it into the sea. ‘He thinks nothing of it. He’s dead.’
Richard sat back in shock, her reason for being at sea and on her way home suddenly clear. He’d despised the man who’d taken his place, but he didn’t want Cas to suffer in mourning. She didn’t deserve it—however, the man’s being gone would make many things so much easier. ‘I’m very sorry for your loss.’
‘I’m not. He did nothing but make my life miserable.’ She stared at the reflection of the candles in the surface of the wine, the shape of them widening and narrowing with each tilt of the ship making the liquid sway. The teasing, alluring woman from a moment ago was gone, revealing the wounded one she’d hidden so well with her bravery and her charming words, the one he’d failed to recognise because he’d been too intent on getting what he wanted.
Just like when he’d left her at Yorktown five years ago.
Richard picked at the nail head on his chair, a guilt washing over him such as he hadn’t experienced since the first time he’d taken a ship what seemed like a lifetime ago. He was quickly proving to be as big a bastard as his enemy. ‘I’m sorry things did not turn out as you would have liked.’
‘It’s been a long time since anything has.’ Defeat draped her like a sail cut loose from a mast. It was the same futility he’d experienced when word had reached him of her marriage and then of his father’s death. Regret crept along the back of his mind, resisting