Raven Saint by MaryLu Tyndall

Perhaps she was too tired or the light too dim. He had saved her for no other reason than the protection of his property. Hadn’t he?
    He took a step closer, so close she could smell the brandy on his breath. “Did they hurt you?” He eyed her from head to toe.
    Grace lowered her gaze. “No. I am fine.”
    His countenance stiffened. “Sacre mer, what were you doing down here, mademoiselle?” He backed up and snorted. “If you wish to be ravaged, then by all means, let me know and next time I shall remain in my bed.”
    In his bed. Now that her mind no longer reeled in fear, she noticed he wore no boots and his shirt hung loose instead of being tucked into his breeches. Even the belt housing his blade hung haphazardly about his hips. “How did you know I was down here?”
    â€œAnswer my question first.” He cocked his head.
    â€œI was looking for something.” Grace bit her lip, not wanting to lie.
    â€œQu’est-ce que vous recherchez?”
    Grace squared her jaw. “You must answer my question now.”
    A hint of a smile lifted his lips. “Spyglass woke me. She clawed into my cabin and would not stop meowing. The last time she did that, a thief snuck on board and had captured one of my crew. So I thought I should enquêter sur”— he paused and flattened his lips—“how do you say, investigate.”
    Grace blinked and let out a tiny chuckle, amazed she found anything amusing amidst her subsiding terror.
    Captain Dubois swept a hand toward the ladder. “May I escort you back to your cabin, mademoiselle, or do you prefer to spend the night in the hold?”
    Grace allowed him to lead her up the two decks to her cabin, reluctantly taking his proffered arm lest she collapse beneath her still-trembling legs.
    Sweeping open her door, he ushered her inside, and then he set down his lantern. Spyglass slipped in after them, perched upon the table, and began licking her paws then wiping them over her face as if pleased with a job well done.
    The corner of the slab of wood Grace had retrieved the night before stuck out of the open armoire. She hastened to stand in front of it and whirled around, her stomach tightening. If the captain saw it, he’d no doubt remove it from her cabin, and with it, her last hope of escape.
    ***
    Rafe studied the baffling woman. She possessed an intriguing mixture of courage, purity, and strength in the midst of delicacy he had not seen in any lady he had encountered. And he had encountered quite a few ladies in his day. Such pluck, such bravado in the face of certain assault. He could still hear the admonition she’d expounded to the trio of brigands as they were about to ravage her. He’d been barreling down the ladder, following Spyglass, when those words drifted up to him, halting him in his tracks, jarring him to his soul—that God had made them to be better men—that they could be better men. Even now, he couldn’t shake the words from his mind. But then she had spewed her pious condemnations upon the men, jolting Rafe back to reality—people who professed to follow God sat in judgment on others.
    Mademoiselle Grace splayed her fingers over the skin above her gown and looked away. “You are staring at me again.”
    Rafe’s heart leapt at her innocence. “Next time you find yourself in such a precarious situation, mademoiselle, might I suggest you avoid the moral censure. Men who would accost a lady have no care for what the Bible says. You will only infuriate them. Your God will not save you upon your insult to others.”
    â€œI was not insulting them. I was telling the truth. And God did save me. He brought me you.” She swept her green eyes back to him—sharp, clear, convicting.
    â€œI accept your gratitude.” He bowed, longing to see some spark of appreciation for him on her face.
    â€œYou do not have it, Captain,” she snapped. “Why