returned both hands to the pistol grip.
To her relief, she saw that her hands were steady.
"You may turn around."
Her voice was gruff. He could have no idea of the mortifying route her mind had just traveled, of course. Still, as he did as she bade him she was conscious of the hot lick of embarrassment.
"Behold me relieved to find myself still among the living."
His gaze touched on the pistol, then rose to her face. Thank goodness she was too cold to blush, was her first thought as their eyes met. Then, to her horror, Claire got the impression that he was secretly amused. Had he somehow guessed what had been going through her mind? No. It was not possible.
She would not even consider the possibility. But she felt her cheeks start to warm despite the fact that she was soaking wet and thoroughly chilled.
"I confess, you had me all atwitter: When your hand slid beneath my shirt, I was expecting to find myself, if not murdered, then at the very least ravished."
Incredibly, he seemed to be teasing her, and about the very subject that she most preferred not to allow into her mind. The infuriating thought that he could jest about such a thing had the welcome effect of steadying her nerves. She gave him a long, level look, and her embarrassment disappeared.
"If I were you, I'd keep a civil tongue in my head, sirrah. I'm still trying to decide what to do with you, and your insolence could just tip the balance."
He laughed. A sudden twinkle warmed his eyes, and the ends of his mouth turned up in a crooked smile. He looked quite engaging, she thought with some surprise, then quickly amended that to: quite engaging for a villainous, murderous rogue.
"You do find yourself on the horns of a dilemma, do you not?" he asked, sounding almost sympathetic.
She, however, was not fooled. He could try to turn her up sweet until the English Channel parted for Napoleon; she had tried much the same thing on him, after all. But it hadn't worked on him— and it certainly wasn't going to work on her. Her hands tightened around the pistol grip, and she watched him warily as he continued.
"You must be asking yourself: What do I do now? You could shoot me, of course, but if you do, what then? You will still be in this cabin, on this ship, which is now some way out from land. For the sake of argument, though, let's suppose you shoot me and then stay in the cabin until the ship docks. You must then unbar the door, emerge, get off the ship, and somehow find your contact. But first there will be James to deal with. Even if he does not hear the gunshot with which you dispatch me— and he has ears like a lynx— he will have figured out that there is something badly amiss long before you unbar the door and will be waiting outside like an angry bear defending its cub, if he does not find some means of breaking it down beforehand. He'll be extremely wroth with you for having done away with me, I assure you, and is quite prone to violence even in the normal way of things, as you can probably tell from the bump on your head. If by some miracle you should succeed in getting by James, then you must still get past Captain Dorsey and his crew. And then, of course, you are an Englishwoman in France, which can be counted on to make you less than popular with the general run of its citizenry. And finally, if you surmount all those barriers, you must still find some way to get in touch with your contact, who has, by now, most likely thoroughly lost track of you."
Their gazes met and held. Hugh's assumption that she had some kind of contact in France aside, everything he said was true, Claire realized with growing dismay. If she killed him— which in any case she truly didn't wish to do— she would find herself no better off, and possibly in far worse case, than she was at present. Remembering the way the sailors had slobbered over her, she swallowed.
Whatever this man's faults— and they were many and varied— at least he didn't seem bent on rape.
"You
To her relief, she saw that her hands were steady.
"You may turn around."
Her voice was gruff. He could have no idea of the mortifying route her mind had just traveled, of course. Still, as he did as she bade him she was conscious of the hot lick of embarrassment.
"Behold me relieved to find myself still among the living."
His gaze touched on the pistol, then rose to her face. Thank goodness she was too cold to blush, was her first thought as their eyes met. Then, to her horror, Claire got the impression that he was secretly amused. Had he somehow guessed what had been going through her mind? No. It was not possible.
She would not even consider the possibility. But she felt her cheeks start to warm despite the fact that she was soaking wet and thoroughly chilled.
"I confess, you had me all atwitter: When your hand slid beneath my shirt, I was expecting to find myself, if not murdered, then at the very least ravished."
Incredibly, he seemed to be teasing her, and about the very subject that she most preferred not to allow into her mind. The infuriating thought that he could jest about such a thing had the welcome effect of steadying her nerves. She gave him a long, level look, and her embarrassment disappeared.
"If I were you, I'd keep a civil tongue in my head, sirrah. I'm still trying to decide what to do with you, and your insolence could just tip the balance."
He laughed. A sudden twinkle warmed his eyes, and the ends of his mouth turned up in a crooked smile. He looked quite engaging, she thought with some surprise, then quickly amended that to: quite engaging for a villainous, murderous rogue.
"You do find yourself on the horns of a dilemma, do you not?" he asked, sounding almost sympathetic.
She, however, was not fooled. He could try to turn her up sweet until the English Channel parted for Napoleon; she had tried much the same thing on him, after all. But it hadn't worked on him— and it certainly wasn't going to work on her. Her hands tightened around the pistol grip, and she watched him warily as he continued.
"You must be asking yourself: What do I do now? You could shoot me, of course, but if you do, what then? You will still be in this cabin, on this ship, which is now some way out from land. For the sake of argument, though, let's suppose you shoot me and then stay in the cabin until the ship docks. You must then unbar the door, emerge, get off the ship, and somehow find your contact. But first there will be James to deal with. Even if he does not hear the gunshot with which you dispatch me— and he has ears like a lynx— he will have figured out that there is something badly amiss long before you unbar the door and will be waiting outside like an angry bear defending its cub, if he does not find some means of breaking it down beforehand. He'll be extremely wroth with you for having done away with me, I assure you, and is quite prone to violence even in the normal way of things, as you can probably tell from the bump on your head. If by some miracle you should succeed in getting by James, then you must still get past Captain Dorsey and his crew. And then, of course, you are an Englishwoman in France, which can be counted on to make you less than popular with the general run of its citizenry. And finally, if you surmount all those barriers, you must still find some way to get in touch with your contact, who has, by now, most likely thoroughly lost track of you."
Their gazes met and held. Hugh's assumption that she had some kind of contact in France aside, everything he said was true, Claire realized with growing dismay. If she killed him— which in any case she truly didn't wish to do— she would find herself no better off, and possibly in far worse case, than she was at present. Remembering the way the sailors had slobbered over her, she swallowed.
Whatever this man's faults— and they were many and varied— at least he didn't seem bent on rape.
"You
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