then halted and turned back around with a sigh. “I have an errand to run first.”
“What errand? We have all our supplies loaded.” Mr. Abbot tugged on his red neckerchief and glanced at Cassandra. “Shouldn’t we leave while the storm is upon us?”
“I must say good-bye to someone.”
Cassandra’s gaze shot to Mr. Heaton. The way he’d said the words with such affection, it had to be a woman. She knew of his reputation. Of course a man like Mr. Heaton would have a love interest in town, perhaps many. Then why did her insides burn at the thought?
Sitting on the edge of his desk, Mr. Heaton crossed his arms over his chest. “Biron, order the men to repair that railing at once.”
Cassandra flinched. She opened her mouth to ask the elderly man to stay—to not leave her alone with this rake—but he had already slipped into the companionway. The thud of his boots soon faded beneath the caress of the waves against the hull.
She should leave as well. She had seen the entire ship and now the captain’s cabin. There was no reason for her to stay.
Except for the pull of Mr. Heaton’s eyes as he allowed his gaze to wander over her. Not in a bawdy way as his crew had. But as someone staring at an object of great beauty that he could never possess.
No one had ever looked at her that way before. And it made her feel, all at once, like both a princess and a prig. As if she were precious and yet too pretentious to touch. She approached the chair, putting it between herself and Mr. Heaton, and ran her hand along the carved back. “I suppose Mr. Crane deserved the embarrassment. But do forgive him, Mr. Heaton. I fear it is only jealousy that drives his peevish behavior.”
“So, he has some claim on you?”
She pursed her lips, shocked at his bold question. “I don’t see how that’s any business of yours.”
He grinned then gestured for her to sit.
“No, I cannot stay. I should not stay.” She glanced at the door,thankful Mr. Abbot had left it open.
Standing, Mr. Heaton approached her until only the chair filled the space between them. A space that instantly heated and crackled beneath some unimaginable force. “Do you fear being alone with me, Miss Channing?” A mischievous glint flashed in his eyes.
Thunder growled. Though he towered over her, she did her best to lift her gaze to meet his. “Should I?” Yet she knew the tremble that coursed through her had nothing to do with fear.
The sheen over his eyes softened, and he raised a hand to touch her face. Cassandra leapt back with a gasp.
He frowned. “I am many things, Miss Channing, but I would never hurt a woman. In fact, I am quite fond of women.”
Cassandra tightened her grip on the handle of her parasol. “So I’ve been told.”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “My reputation bothers you.”
“Not in the way you might think.”
No, in every way possible.
Even in ways she dared not admit. “I only care that you keep your focus on privateering.”
“Fortunately for us both, I have the ability to focus on many things at once.”
Indeed Cassandra could see many things in his eyes now—sorrow, admiration, yearning. The realization confounded her and set her heart racing. She glanced at the charts spread across his desk. “In what direction do you intend to sail?”
A strand of his black hair slid over his jaw. Glancing over his shoulder at the desk, he eased it behind his ear. “South along the coast and then across the Caribbean trade routes. That should afford us the best chance of crossing hulls with a British merchantman.”
Beyond the stern windows, lightning flared across the sky as rain splattered the panes, running down in silver streams.
“And when do you expect to return?” she asked.
“As soon as I catch a prize.”
“Soon then, I hope.”
A devilish grin curved his lips. “You will miss me?”
A wave of heat flooded Cassandra. “Don’t be absurd. My interests lie purely in my investment.” She shifted her
“What errand? We have all our supplies loaded.” Mr. Abbot tugged on his red neckerchief and glanced at Cassandra. “Shouldn’t we leave while the storm is upon us?”
“I must say good-bye to someone.”
Cassandra’s gaze shot to Mr. Heaton. The way he’d said the words with such affection, it had to be a woman. She knew of his reputation. Of course a man like Mr. Heaton would have a love interest in town, perhaps many. Then why did her insides burn at the thought?
Sitting on the edge of his desk, Mr. Heaton crossed his arms over his chest. “Biron, order the men to repair that railing at once.”
Cassandra flinched. She opened her mouth to ask the elderly man to stay—to not leave her alone with this rake—but he had already slipped into the companionway. The thud of his boots soon faded beneath the caress of the waves against the hull.
She should leave as well. She had seen the entire ship and now the captain’s cabin. There was no reason for her to stay.
Except for the pull of Mr. Heaton’s eyes as he allowed his gaze to wander over her. Not in a bawdy way as his crew had. But as someone staring at an object of great beauty that he could never possess.
No one had ever looked at her that way before. And it made her feel, all at once, like both a princess and a prig. As if she were precious and yet too pretentious to touch. She approached the chair, putting it between herself and Mr. Heaton, and ran her hand along the carved back. “I suppose Mr. Crane deserved the embarrassment. But do forgive him, Mr. Heaton. I fear it is only jealousy that drives his peevish behavior.”
“So, he has some claim on you?”
She pursed her lips, shocked at his bold question. “I don’t see how that’s any business of yours.”
He grinned then gestured for her to sit.
“No, I cannot stay. I should not stay.” She glanced at the door,thankful Mr. Abbot had left it open.
Standing, Mr. Heaton approached her until only the chair filled the space between them. A space that instantly heated and crackled beneath some unimaginable force. “Do you fear being alone with me, Miss Channing?” A mischievous glint flashed in his eyes.
Thunder growled. Though he towered over her, she did her best to lift her gaze to meet his. “Should I?” Yet she knew the tremble that coursed through her had nothing to do with fear.
The sheen over his eyes softened, and he raised a hand to touch her face. Cassandra leapt back with a gasp.
He frowned. “I am many things, Miss Channing, but I would never hurt a woman. In fact, I am quite fond of women.”
Cassandra tightened her grip on the handle of her parasol. “So I’ve been told.”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “My reputation bothers you.”
“Not in the way you might think.”
No, in every way possible.
Even in ways she dared not admit. “I only care that you keep your focus on privateering.”
“Fortunately for us both, I have the ability to focus on many things at once.”
Indeed Cassandra could see many things in his eyes now—sorrow, admiration, yearning. The realization confounded her and set her heart racing. She glanced at the charts spread across his desk. “In what direction do you intend to sail?”
A strand of his black hair slid over his jaw. Glancing over his shoulder at the desk, he eased it behind his ear. “South along the coast and then across the Caribbean trade routes. That should afford us the best chance of crossing hulls with a British merchantman.”
Beyond the stern windows, lightning flared across the sky as rain splattered the panes, running down in silver streams.
“And when do you expect to return?” she asked.
“As soon as I catch a prize.”
“Soon then, I hope.”
A devilish grin curved his lips. “You will miss me?”
A wave of heat flooded Cassandra. “Don’t be absurd. My interests lie purely in my investment.” She shifted her
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