The Prize by Brenda Joyce Page A

captain's cabin.
    She shivered,
realized she was trembling from the cold— she was soaked from head to foot—and
she blinked and
    glanced around at her
new accommodations. The cabin was about four times the size of the berth she'd
shared with the Davises . It was, in fact, luxuriously
appointed. Just beyond the doorway there was a low four-poster mahogany bed,
bolted to the floor and covered with paisley silk quilts in a bold red, black
and gold pattern. Gold-tasseled red velvet pillows were piled high on the bed,
looking distinctly Eastern. Two rows of shelves were on the wall above the bed
and two dark red Persian carpets covered the floor. A desk covered with books,
maps and charts was in a corner of the cabin.
    There was also a
fine, small dining table in the cabin, gleaming with wax, its pedestal base
incredibly carved, clawed and detailed. Four tall, elegantly upholstered
striped chairs graced it. A black Chinese screen, inlaid with mother of pearl,
was against the fourth wall. A closet seemed to be built into the wall. A
porcelain hip bath was there, as well.
    Virginia grimaced, terribly uneasy. She
hated being in his quarters, surrounded by his personal effects. Worse, it bothered
her to no end that the appointments were far more elegant than those of her
own home. She walked over to the bed. ignoring it, but helplessly wondering
where she was going to sleep. There were some folded garments on one shelf— she
saw what she thought were drawers and stockings. There was a mirror, a razor, a
thick shaving brush, a toothbrush and a gold-engraved porcelain bowl. There
were also several candles in sterling-silver holders.
    Dismay somehow joined
the unease.
    On the higher shelf
were dictionaries: French-English, Spanish-English, German-English,
Italian-English, Portuguese-English and Russian-English. And then there were
two small, tattered books, one on common phrases in the Arabic language, the
other Chinese.
    Was her captor
educated? He'd had a heavy Irish brogue, but he'd also had the airs of an
aristocrat. In fact, he hadn't
    appeared at all the
way she would expect a pirate to appear— he hadn't been toothless, smelly and
dirty—except for the blood. It crossed her mind that he had been clean-shaven,
too.
    She couldn't stand
it. The cabin, filled with his presence, now threatened to suffocate her. She
rushed to the door and tried it, expecting to find it locked. To her shock, it
opened instantly.
    She wasn't locked
in.
    The door ajar, she
peered out and saw that the preparations on the Americana were almost complete. A new mainsail was
being unfurled, which meant only one thing—the ship would soon begin to sail.
If only she could manage to get back on board, she thought.
    She stepped out of
the cabin. It was growing later in the afternoon now and a swift breeze had
picked up, chilling her more thoroughly. She shivered, shading her eyes with one
hand and gazing out at the Americana . No dinghy remained tied to its side, so even
if she could have thought of a way to get back over to the other ship, it was
too late; the ships were casting off.
    Cautiously, Virginia glanced around. Men were climbing
the masts, unfurling some sails, reefing others, and other men were hoisting a
huge anchor. No one seemed to be aware of her presence.
    She hesitated, then
saw him on the quarterdeck. Virginia stilled. He was obviously giving
orders. The strong wind was now blowing strands of his hair wildly about, even
though he wore it tied back, and it was also causing his billowing and
still-bloody shirt to collapse against his torso, defining ridge after ridge
and plane after plane of muscle. His presence was commanding. Far too
commanding for him to be some farmer-turned-pirate. The man was an aristocrat,
she decided instantly, an aristocrat gone bad.
    He saw her and across
a vast distance, he stared.
    Virginia found it hard to breathe.
    A moment later he put
his back to her. The Defiance suddenly bolted as if it were a horse let
out