No chaperone? Perhaps the merchant wasn’t as sharp as he came off. Christian started down the steps.
“I will warn you, Lieutenant, she’s in a mood today. If you’re the reason, I wouldn’t want to be in your shoes.”
Chapter Five
Samantha nibbled onher lower lip while she stared at the canvas in front of her.
Angry blue lines clashed together, an appropriate representation of the turmoil raging within her. Why had her uncle lied to her about her parents’ deaths all these years?
Killed by pirates. How foolish she’d been to believe otherwise. They hadn’t been traveling on shipping business. They’d been treasure hunting.
Pirates. The word quickened her pulse. No wonder she loved the sea so much. It was in her blood.
Her uncle should have told her. All her life she’d felt so out of place on shore. If she’d known her legacy, she could have embraced it more fully. Could have used the information to convince her uncle to let her sail with his crews sooner.
She smashed her brush into a pot of grey paint and swept it across the canvas with a scowl. After she perfected the curve of a towering wave, she stared down the hillside. The trees had been clear cut here and the vista offered an unfettered view of the river below. Her lifeline to the ocean.
On the horizon, sails unfurled upon ships headed out to sea. Somewhere out there, theSirenwas anchored. She scrunched her nose. No longer theSiren. By now, the brigantine would have a new name and a new figurehead. Re-christened to ward off bad luck. Any time one of her uncle’s ships engaged in a skirmish, it received a thorough transformation. It was one of the main reasons none of theirships had ever been caught by authorities.
“It seems I was right about you after all.”
The brush slipped from Samantha’s fingers and she spun to face the lieutenant, her heart in her throat. He stood a few paces away. How did he sneak up on her? Blast.
Her mouth went dry. His cocked hat perched atop dark curls, but his usual impeccable appearance ended there. He’d untied his cravat and it draped loosely around his neck. The top two buttons of his shirt hung open and a few wisps of hair graced the swatch of tanned skin there. Her eyes traveled down the lean lines of his stomach and when they lingered where his trousers stretched across his thighs, heat crept up to her ears.
She jerked her gaze away.
“I thought young ladies painted landscapes.”
She focused on the painting. “It is a landscape.”
“I’ll rephrase that. Young ladies don’t paint hurricanes.”
Samantha pulled her lips between her teeth. Young ladies also didn’t sail the seas with a bunch of so-called criminals. Or sword fight handsome lieutenants. She stared at the scene in front of her, a black sky with cresting waves heaving into the air, and shrugged.
“I was upset.”
The lieutenant stepped forward. “I hope it’s not on my account.”
A cricket chirped from the nearby grass and the breeze picked up, shifting the branches above. Dappled light slid across the lieutenant and she almost laughed at the concerned look on his face.
“Do not fret, Lieutenant. It’s not on your account.”
He smiled, his teeth even and straight. “Good, I’m not sure my pride could withstand the blow of knowing I’d caused a beautiful young lady to paint a raging storm.”
She stilled and he looked away, rubbing his neck. Good God. He was flirting with her. Best change the subject.
A faint scar twisted across the back of his hand and she pointed toit. “Where did you get your scar?”
“This one? Fighting pirates, of course.”
Of course.
“Have you ever lost a fight with a pirate?”
His eyes went dark and the smile faded. “I’ve lost several.”
“Tell me about them.”
