Antónia was not as unfeeling as she put off. “Then ye, too, shall die. A tragic death for this ill-fated attraction of ours.”
Titus chuckled bitterly. “If only we’d met at port—when you weren’t bribing my executioner.”
“Ye can’t blame the man for wanting a few extra coins. Besides, we’ll always have our dream of a tavern romance.”
Titus held out his hands in surrender. Grasping at anything to keep her from gliding away. “Let us make it real. Right now. We’ll sail away.”
“Ye tempt me, truly, but I have known ye only a short time, and not under the best of circumstances. I can’t exactly trust ye. I owe it to my men to see them safely back to Ireland.”
Titus couldn’t help a short laugh. “A pirate with morals.”
Antónia shrugged, her gaze intense, she looked toward his bed. “A naval captain without.”
“Touché, madam.”
“Now, out with ye, else this little dance of ours never begins.”
“A dance?”
“I thought to put it in terms ye might understand, English.”
“I am more comfortable with nautical terms than courtly diatribes.”
“Then ye’ll not be spinning me a romantic ballad?”
Titus pressed his hand to his heart. “Oh, doth the heart cry when swindled by a lass so sly.”
Antónia blew him a kiss. “How the lady did wish to take a lover, but alas duty doth hover.”
Regret flooded his chest. “You see, Annie, we’d have made a good pair.”
Antónia stiffened, swallowing hard. “Do not call me that.”
Titus frowned. “Why not?”
“Time to go, English, else I am forced to put a bullet in ye.” Her manner had changed considerably. Gone was the jovial tone, the sarcasm and wit.
What had caused the sudden change?
A coldness came into her eyes that he’d not seen before, even when she’d boarded his ship that morning and demanded he surrender. This was the pirate, Antónia. The captain of her ship. The granddaughter of the most feared pirate of the Emerald Isle and, indeed, all of Europe. The daughter of the Devil’s Hook.
“I’ll go, Antónia. I’ll allow you to escape with my ring”—not to mention his enduring admiration, and dare he say heart?—“but tell me something first.”
“I am in no mood to oblige.” Her eyes flashed with unspoken emotion before going placid once more.
“If we were in Calais. If we were at that tavern, would you make me leave at gunpoint?”
“There is no point in answering your foolish question. That was but a game, a fancy. And one that could never, and will never, happen.”
“But why not?” He took a step forward, noting how she faltered. “We obviously… like each other.”
“I’ve bedded many men,” she said coolly, her rigid stance returning. “Do not mistake my enthusiasm and enjoyment for anything more than a mere blending of our flesh and passion.”
“You might have bedded many, but even you admitted I was different.”
She grimaced. “I lied. I came for one thing, the ring, and now I have it.”
The crushing feeling in Titus’ chest was new to him. A painful, thudding ache. It was hard to breathe. She was lying still.
But for whatever reason, she needed that lie, and as much as it hurt, he was going to let her have it. For now.
Titus opened the door and backed out of the cabin.
“I will find you,” he said.
“I’d be a fool not to believe ye’ll try.”
Chapter Eight
As soon as she was aboard ship, shouting orders to her men to raise the anchor and ready the sails, Antónia felt as though a dense weight had settled in her belly. The clouds overhead, mirroring her moods, darkened, covering the sun and making the water choppy.
She didn’t look back at The Lionheart . Didn’t speak of her time with Titus to Sweeney who looked ready to pounce on her and demand to know what the bloody hell she’d been thinking.
Hands on the helm, she steered them back toward home, her gaze on the horizon and then falling to the ring that darkened on her finger.
A trick
Titus chuckled bitterly. “If only we’d met at port—when you weren’t bribing my executioner.”
“Ye can’t blame the man for wanting a few extra coins. Besides, we’ll always have our dream of a tavern romance.”
Titus held out his hands in surrender. Grasping at anything to keep her from gliding away. “Let us make it real. Right now. We’ll sail away.”
“Ye tempt me, truly, but I have known ye only a short time, and not under the best of circumstances. I can’t exactly trust ye. I owe it to my men to see them safely back to Ireland.”
Titus couldn’t help a short laugh. “A pirate with morals.”
Antónia shrugged, her gaze intense, she looked toward his bed. “A naval captain without.”
“Touché, madam.”
“Now, out with ye, else this little dance of ours never begins.”
“A dance?”
“I thought to put it in terms ye might understand, English.”
“I am more comfortable with nautical terms than courtly diatribes.”
“Then ye’ll not be spinning me a romantic ballad?”
Titus pressed his hand to his heart. “Oh, doth the heart cry when swindled by a lass so sly.”
Antónia blew him a kiss. “How the lady did wish to take a lover, but alas duty doth hover.”
Regret flooded his chest. “You see, Annie, we’d have made a good pair.”
Antónia stiffened, swallowing hard. “Do not call me that.”
Titus frowned. “Why not?”
“Time to go, English, else I am forced to put a bullet in ye.” Her manner had changed considerably. Gone was the jovial tone, the sarcasm and wit.
What had caused the sudden change?
A coldness came into her eyes that he’d not seen before, even when she’d boarded his ship that morning and demanded he surrender. This was the pirate, Antónia. The captain of her ship. The granddaughter of the most feared pirate of the Emerald Isle and, indeed, all of Europe. The daughter of the Devil’s Hook.
“I’ll go, Antónia. I’ll allow you to escape with my ring”—not to mention his enduring admiration, and dare he say heart?—“but tell me something first.”
“I am in no mood to oblige.” Her eyes flashed with unspoken emotion before going placid once more.
“If we were in Calais. If we were at that tavern, would you make me leave at gunpoint?”
“There is no point in answering your foolish question. That was but a game, a fancy. And one that could never, and will never, happen.”
“But why not?” He took a step forward, noting how she faltered. “We obviously… like each other.”
“I’ve bedded many men,” she said coolly, her rigid stance returning. “Do not mistake my enthusiasm and enjoyment for anything more than a mere blending of our flesh and passion.”
“You might have bedded many, but even you admitted I was different.”
She grimaced. “I lied. I came for one thing, the ring, and now I have it.”
The crushing feeling in Titus’ chest was new to him. A painful, thudding ache. It was hard to breathe. She was lying still.
But for whatever reason, she needed that lie, and as much as it hurt, he was going to let her have it. For now.
Titus opened the door and backed out of the cabin.
“I will find you,” he said.
“I’d be a fool not to believe ye’ll try.”
Chapter Eight
As soon as she was aboard ship, shouting orders to her men to raise the anchor and ready the sails, Antónia felt as though a dense weight had settled in her belly. The clouds overhead, mirroring her moods, darkened, covering the sun and making the water choppy.
She didn’t look back at The Lionheart . Didn’t speak of her time with Titus to Sweeney who looked ready to pounce on her and demand to know what the bloody hell she’d been thinking.
Hands on the helm, she steered them back toward home, her gaze on the horizon and then falling to the ring that darkened on her finger.
A trick
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