A Pirate's Love by Johanna Lindsey

with all my being. I loathe your touch, so if you must rape me, then be quick about it,” Bettina hissed.
    But he paid her no mind. “Not tonight, Bettina. Tonight you will discover the joys of being a woman.”
    â€œYour pride is great, monsieur .” She laughed bitterly. “It would take a better man than you to teach me those joys.”
    When his face darkened, she knew that her gibe had worked. He spread her legs and entered her cruelly, but she welcomed the pain. This time she was too distraught to feel any pleasure, and only when he finished with her did she relax.
    â€œWhy do you do this to yourself, Bettina? Whydo you deny yourself the pleasure I can give you?”
    She opened her eyes to see him staring down at her, and she realized that the danger was not yet over.
    â€œI deny myself nothing. I merely spoke the truth,” she returned, her tone full of contempt.
    â€œYou’re a witch.”
    â€œAnd you, monsieur , are the Devil incarnate.”
    The room filled with his laughter. “If I am, then we make a good pair, you and I.”
    He left the bed and put on his breeches, then poured wine into his tankard. Before he drank, he bent down, picked up her dress, and laid it over the chair.
    â€œYou will have to take better care of your clothes, little one. You would not look so appealing wearing mine.”
    â€œI have other dresses,” she replied tartly.
    â€œDo you? And where might they be?”
    â€œIn my trunks, of course.”
    â€œNo trunks were brought aboard my ship, Bettina. Only you, your servant, and your dowry.”
    Her eyes opened wide. “You are lying to me again!”
    â€œWhy should I lie about this?”
    â€œBut my trousseau was in one of those trunks!” she yelled at him.
    â€œI’m sure your future husband will purchase you another trousseau.”
    â€œBut I don’t want another one!” She felt the tears coming, but she couldn’t stop them. “I worked for a month on my wedding dress. It was a beautiful gown and you—you—” She burst into tears, hiding her face in the pillow.
    â€œMother of God! You don’t cry over your loss of virginity, but you cry over a lost dress. Blast all women and their tears!” Tristan grabbed his shirt and stalked from the cabin, slamming the door as he left.

B ettina lay on the narrow bed, silently counting the minutes as they passed. At least three hours had gone by since she stopped crying. Crying was such a foolish thing to do. Only weak women spilled tears, or those who would play on another’s sympathy. But she was not weak, and she vowed she would never let a man see her cry again.
    Her tears had ruined her plans and made Tristan storm from the cabin. He had not yet returned, and she had no way of knowing if he would or not. He could have gone ashore, he could be sleeping elsewhere, but she couldn’t leave until she knew exactly where he was. He must return to the cabin!
    Another hour passed, and then two more, but she was still alone. It was well after midnight now, and Bettina was finding it increasingly hard to keep her eyes open, but couldn’t get up and pace to ward off the drowsiness. She had to appear to be sleeping when and if Tristan did return.
    When the door to the cabin finally opened, Bettina closed her eyes and lay perfectly still. The room was in darkness, with only a tiny sliver of moonlight spilling in through the window. She couldn’t seeTristan, but she could hear him as he stumbled toward the bed, mumbling a curse when he bumped into the table. A moment later, he dropped down on the bed beside her, his arm feeling like a heavy board as it fell across her chest, making her gasp. But he didn’t seem to hear her.
    The fumes of liquor hit Bettina in the face, and she smiled to herself. This was better than she had hoped for. He was already asleep, would sleep like a log for what remained of the night, and would