Charon's Crossing (A Paranormal Romantic Suspense Novel) by Sandra Marton

luxurious compared to any he'd known before. In his cabin on the Corinthian, flexing his broad shoulders and stretching as he was now, meant he'd probably have ended up putting his fists through the bulkheads.
    Matthew crossed the cabin to the washstand, unbuttoned his shirt and shrugged it off. He would always have fond memories of the Corinthian. A man didn't forget his first command any more than he forgot his first woman, but there was no comparison between the creaking old merchant ship and this one.
    Robins, his steward, had dutifully filled a pitcher with hot water and left it on the washstand, together with some shaving gear. Matthew poured a stream of water into the blue china basin, worked a bit of lather out of the coarse soap that lay on the stand, and briskly began washing his face, chest and arms.
    Corinthian had been built to ply the trade route between Boston and Plymouth. Atropos was not destined for such a plebian existence. She was to sail the warm waters of the Caribbean under a British flag so that her American captain and Crew could stop and seize the French merchantmen that were foolish enough to venture here, for the English and the French were at war.
    Some said that privateers like Atropos were nothing but pirate vessels cloaked in a veneer of wartime expediency, but Matthew had never given a damn for anyone's opinion but his own. A man could make his fortune here, if he had the guts for it. Hell, the risks inherent in hunting down and taking a rich prize were what made the game interesting.
    He was too young to spend the rest of his life rotting on the beach with the other victims of a president's foreign policy that kept New England seamen from trading with the French and the English.
    As for the danger of his new command... there ought to be some danger in life. Some challenge, to keep a man's blood flowing hot.
    He looked into the mirror above the washstand and spread a lather of foam over his face, then reached for his straight razor and stropped it to a keen edge.
    That was what he was hoping to find tonight. A challenge, but of another sort. Smiling, he tilted up his face, positioned the thumb and forefinger of his left hand on his jaw, and drew the razor down his lightly stubbled cheek.
    He had been invited to have dinner this evening at Charon's Crossing, the home of Lord Arthur Russell. Russell was the Crown's representative in these waters but, of far more importance to Matthew, he was also the agent of the cartel that had backed Atropos.
    Matthew rinsed the blade in the basin, then brought it to his face again. Russell was to provide him with the letter of marque that would permit him to stop and seize French ships and take them, and their cargo, as prizes.
    Matthew looked into the mirror again, his straight white teeth flashing in a quick grin.
    He wanted that letter, certainly. But he was equally eager for a first-hand look at Russell's daughter, Catherine.
    No sailor would ever admit it but seamen were a romantic lot, as given to boozy flights of fancy as any poet. Matthew had heard more than one man sigh into his bitters as he extolled the fairness of Lady Catherine Russell.
    He wiped the last traces of lather from his face, reached for a fresh linen shirt, and pulled it on. He had a fast ship, a sapphire sea to sail her in, and the promise of riches beyond his dreams. Now, if the stories he'd heard turned out to be true and not the fanciful tales of men who'd been too long at sea, he would also have a playmate with whom he could pleasantly while away the hours whenever Atropos was in port.
    Matthew grinned at his reflection. It was immodest, perhaps, but what was the sense in playing at being humble? Even if Catherine Russell turned out to be a rival for Venus herself, she would succumb to his charms. Matthew had not been lucky in the circumstances of his birth nor of his early years, and whatever he had today—his command, his knowledge of the sea and of ships—he had worked