“Then what do you propose?” she asked, the day of fun beckoning her to play.
“You remain hidden until I return for you. Then we’ll make it appear as if I’ve taken you on as a cabin boy, and make sure to keep your face smudged. We don’t want anyone discovering what a lovely face you have, at least not until you’re my wife.”
Wife.
While it was nothing more than a charade they played, the title still startled her. It had been three years since her husband had called her wife, and Daniel had an endearingly proud way of using the title on occasion. It had filled her heart with joy. Not so this time.
This time it unsettled her.
“I’ll be right here waiting,” she said.
“I won’t be long,” he reassured her.
He mingled easily with the crowd of people along the dock. Storm followed him with her eyes as he maneuvered his way to his ship without hesitation, walked up the gangplank, and was gone from sight.
Had she given this decision time or had she been too quick to agree to a day of fun? Did she truly wish to spend time alone with the American? Did she ache to feel a man’s arms around her once again and to share intimacies without ties that bind?
She leaned her back against the crates and slid down until she sat on the hard ground, arms resting on her raised knees.
What was it that attracted her to the American? He was a man much in charge of himself and accustomed to being in charge of others. He wasn’t a man who followed but who led, and he did it with honor.
She respected an honorable man, one who when he gave his word lived by it, even if it proved difficult. And Burke refused to give his word unless he felt he could keep it. Such a man was not only to be admired, but also to be trusted.
She found these qualities much more appealing in a man than his features, not that Burke wasn’t attractive. He pleased her eyes well enough, but his defined character pleased her more.
“What are you doing? Stealing from my crates?”
Storm jumped at the harsh grumble and spun around to find a large barrel of a man, fingers thick as sausages, waving a coiled whip in the air.
“No, sir,” she said, keeping her head respectfully bowed and his eyes distracted from her face. “Resting, that’s all, sir.”
“Don’t lie to me,” he yelled and reached out.
Storm ducked and took off past him hoping to get lost in the bustle of the busy dock.
Burke hurried to change clothes, not wanting to leave Storm alone too long. He had promised Tanin and Philip and the rest of the group that he would keep her safe, and he couldn’t hold firm to his word if she wasn’t with him. She’d be safe enough for a short time hidden behind the crates, but there was always a chance she’d be found.
He stripped off his clothes, washed quickly at the basin filled with water, then dressed in black trousers, white shirt, black vest, and black waistcoat. Unable to tolerate constriction of any kind around his neck, he left several fastenings undone.
Shiny leather boots followed and then a comb of his hair with a real comb and not his fingers, and he was near done.
He grabbed coins from the safe he had stocked with money, and picked up his father’s diamond ring and shoved it on his pinky. It was the only finger it fit, and he wore it with pride, as had his father.
A chest of garments meant for America had been brought to his cabin on his orders. He wished Storm to have her pick. Something was bound to fit her, and he was eager to see her dressed in fine clothes.
She would certainly be a raving beauty, but then her beauty wasn’t defined by what she wore, since she was just as beautiful dressed in lad’s clothing. She was striking regardless of what she wore.
He smiled, recalling her smudged face and how he had wanted so badly to kiss her when they had stood behind the crates. He had wanted to kiss her, hold her, and do much more than that, much too often of late. It was a constant thought in his mind and one he definitely wanted to see reach fruition.
Finally finished and anxious to return to Storm, he hurried out of his cabin to the deck. Much of the crew stood at the railing, their attention fixed on the dock below.
Burke hurried to the gangplank, relieved that he had been provided with a distraction to get Storm aboard without being noticed.
That is, until he saw what caught the men’s attention.
The whip sliced the air so close to her ear that its crack near deafened her. Storm stood perfectly still. Her shoulder stung from where the tip of the whip had caught her when she had attempted to run. She was grateful her jacket took the brunt of the hit, though it had sliced through, and she could feel the blood dripping down her arm.
“You don’t run from me,” the man screamed, his full face turning red with rage.
