not help. I knew how much your ship meant to you and I—I suppose I felt responsible, in some way.”
He looked into her upturned face, noting the delicate rings beneath her eyes and how her shoulders slumped with exhaustion.
She brushed a stray strand of hair from her cheek, unwittingly exposing the angry red stripe across the palm of her other hand.
His gaze narrowed, his heart oddly twisted. Damn it, don’t begin imagining that her actions mean any more than her words. She’s an actress—and a brilliant one, too .
His gaze flickered over the delicate lines of her face and throat, obvious even through the fine coating of grime. “That does it,” he said, straightening. “When we return to your hotel, I want to see every bruise, cut, and burn on your body.”
She narrowed her gaze. “I’m not removing my clothing for you.”
He shrugged. “Then strip for a maidservant. I don’t care, so long as someone sees to your bruises and cuts.”
“Why do you care?”
“I don’t. But if you’re patched and cleaned at least—ah, there’s Poston now.”
The groom hurried up. “There you are, sir! I was lookin’ all over fer ye and I—” He leaned forward, frowning. “Why, the door is completely off its hinges!”
“Miss Beauchamp decided to take a walk.”
“A walk, sir?”
“Yes,” Marcail said in a bitter tone, “a walk .” Why did they both seem surprised that she had wished for her freedom? She’d wager her last penny that neither of them would have accepted being locked in a coach.
“I found Miss Hurst wandering the pier and I convinced her to join us here.”
“I was coming back on my own,” she retorted. “If you’d been ten minutes later, you would have found me here.”
Poston glanced from her to his master before saying in a quiet tone, “Pardon me, Cap’n, shall I fix the door so we can get under way? Or do you—”
“No, no. Fix the door.” William climbed into the coach and sat across from Marcail. “Once you’ve secured that, drive us back to the hotel. Miss Beauchamp has something of mine that she would like to return.”
Marcail sniffed.
“Yes, Cap’n. Right away.”
Marcail lifted a hand to brush her hair from her face, caught sight of her filthy fingers, and winced. Her gown was streaked with soot and dirt from the buckets, her stockinged feet quite black. She was almost afraid to see how her face and hair had fared.
The coach dipped as John Poston replaced the hinge pins. Though it had taken her some time to undo them, he seemed to have no problem replacing them, though the final pin stuck out at an odd angle.
Upon seeing the sadly bashed pin, the groom had sent Marcail a concerned look, but he never said a word. He checked that the door would still work and, satisfied that it did, he closed and latched it. Soon, they were under way.
Suddenly weary beyond words, Marcail leaned back into her corner of the coach. When they arrived at her room in the inn, William would demand the artifact and she would give it to him. She had no choice, now that she knew what the stakes were for him and his family.
But what would she do about the blackmailer? Could she negotiate a settlement, exchange the artifact for another one, perhaps one that was worth more?
Whatever it took, she’d pay.
A letter from William Hurst to his brother Robert, written from the deck of his first ship .
I named my ship the Agile Witch . She’s a wonder. She’s swift and cuts the water like a cutlass. I wonder now why I hesitated so long to purchase her.
It’s odd how often we face a change in our life that can only yield benefits, and yet we fight that change as if it carried poison and not opportunity.
C HAPTER 9
W illiam broke the silence before the carriage had rounded the first corner. “I’m still astonished that you thought to steal the artifact from me to begin with. You had to know I wouldn’t stand idly by and allow you to escape.”
Marcail glanced
He looked into her upturned face, noting the delicate rings beneath her eyes and how her shoulders slumped with exhaustion.
She brushed a stray strand of hair from her cheek, unwittingly exposing the angry red stripe across the palm of her other hand.
His gaze narrowed, his heart oddly twisted. Damn it, don’t begin imagining that her actions mean any more than her words. She’s an actress—and a brilliant one, too .
His gaze flickered over the delicate lines of her face and throat, obvious even through the fine coating of grime. “That does it,” he said, straightening. “When we return to your hotel, I want to see every bruise, cut, and burn on your body.”
She narrowed her gaze. “I’m not removing my clothing for you.”
He shrugged. “Then strip for a maidservant. I don’t care, so long as someone sees to your bruises and cuts.”
“Why do you care?”
“I don’t. But if you’re patched and cleaned at least—ah, there’s Poston now.”
The groom hurried up. “There you are, sir! I was lookin’ all over fer ye and I—” He leaned forward, frowning. “Why, the door is completely off its hinges!”
“Miss Beauchamp decided to take a walk.”
“A walk, sir?”
“Yes,” Marcail said in a bitter tone, “a walk .” Why did they both seem surprised that she had wished for her freedom? She’d wager her last penny that neither of them would have accepted being locked in a coach.
“I found Miss Hurst wandering the pier and I convinced her to join us here.”
“I was coming back on my own,” she retorted. “If you’d been ten minutes later, you would have found me here.”
Poston glanced from her to his master before saying in a quiet tone, “Pardon me, Cap’n, shall I fix the door so we can get under way? Or do you—”
“No, no. Fix the door.” William climbed into the coach and sat across from Marcail. “Once you’ve secured that, drive us back to the hotel. Miss Beauchamp has something of mine that she would like to return.”
Marcail sniffed.
“Yes, Cap’n. Right away.”
Marcail lifted a hand to brush her hair from her face, caught sight of her filthy fingers, and winced. Her gown was streaked with soot and dirt from the buckets, her stockinged feet quite black. She was almost afraid to see how her face and hair had fared.
The coach dipped as John Poston replaced the hinge pins. Though it had taken her some time to undo them, he seemed to have no problem replacing them, though the final pin stuck out at an odd angle.
Upon seeing the sadly bashed pin, the groom had sent Marcail a concerned look, but he never said a word. He checked that the door would still work and, satisfied that it did, he closed and latched it. Soon, they were under way.
Suddenly weary beyond words, Marcail leaned back into her corner of the coach. When they arrived at her room in the inn, William would demand the artifact and she would give it to him. She had no choice, now that she knew what the stakes were for him and his family.
But what would she do about the blackmailer? Could she negotiate a settlement, exchange the artifact for another one, perhaps one that was worth more?
Whatever it took, she’d pay.
A letter from William Hurst to his brother Robert, written from the deck of his first ship .
I named my ship the Agile Witch . She’s a wonder. She’s swift and cuts the water like a cutlass. I wonder now why I hesitated so long to purchase her.
It’s odd how often we face a change in our life that can only yield benefits, and yet we fight that change as if it carried poison and not opportunity.
C HAPTER 9
W illiam broke the silence before the carriage had rounded the first corner. “I’m still astonished that you thought to steal the artifact from me to begin with. You had to know I wouldn’t stand idly by and allow you to escape.”
Marcail glanced
Similar Books
