She stared at him, her eyes shifting between his, her chest rising and falling rapidly.He stood so close, he could feel her breath on his chin and smell her sweet scent of sunshine and rose.
The shock in her gaze changed to fear but finally settled upon anger as he continued his grip around her wrist.
In truth, he didn’t want to let her go.Every inch of his body came alive at her touch, at her closeness, alive like he’d never known before.And he hated himself for it.She was everything he loathed in a woman.
Not to mention she carried his enemy’s child.
Flames shot from her eyes.She tried to shake off his hold.He held her firm for a moment longer if only to prove his command over her, that he would have his way whene’er he wished.Finally, he led her to a chair and released her.“Sit.”
Pressing a hand on her back, she eased onto it, clearly distraught by the encounter.“I beg you, Captain.Allow me to leave.”
???
Gabrielle did not look at him, could not look into those eyes that so often changed from brown to green when he was overwrought, for what she saw past the glaze of alcohol disturbed her more than anything.Sorrow, intense, deep sorrow and pain, the depth of which she could not fathom.
And yet, a spark…a spark of something else that unnerved her, sent a shiver down her, and not in a bad way.
That was before the hatred returned.
She rubbed her wrist where he’d held her, if only to inspire guilt in the man,ifhe possessed the ability to feel such an emotion.For he hadn’t hurt her.Even when she’d tugged from him, he’d not squeezed too tightly.
Men.Physically superior to be sure.Yet rather than use their God-given strength to protect, most used it to control, to harm, to subjugate.This man was no different.In truth, she wondered if the only reason he hadn’t had his way with her was due to the child in her belly.
“Why do you hate me so, Captain?Is it only for the babe I carry, or do you have some other maniacal reason?”The words fired out before she remembered this volatile man was benumbed with alcohol, and she’d learned with Damien ’twas always best to keep one’s tongue when spirits were active.
He huffed, started to walk, but stumbled slightly.Then shoving plates and cups aside, he sat on the table, hoisted his legs onto a chair and leaned forward, staring at the deck as if fascinated by the deep rivets in the wood.
She waited, listening to the wash of water against the hull and the creak of wood.Above deck, one of the pirates played a fiddle, a sad tune that seemed to fit the mood that had flooded the cabin.
“Did Allard have something to do with the stripes on your back?”she dared ask.
His gaze lifted to hers.A strand of his dark hair fell across his cheek, and he eased it behind his ear—the one missing half the lobe.He pressed it in passing.“Aye, though not directly.’Twas his doing that sent me to Barbados as a prisoner-slave.”
“For what crime?”
He gave a sad laugh and plunged a hand through his hair.“Suspicion of treason.”
Shock sped through Gabrielle.“Suspicion?”
“Her word against mine.”
“Her?”
His eyes narrowed.“Does your tongue never rest, Lady Fox?”
Gabrielle bit her lip and glanced over the cabin.The heap of dirty dishes and food-splattered table beckoned to her.Sorting things, cleaning things, soothed her nerves, set life in order, as much as was in her power to do so.
He grabbed a nearby bottle and drew it to his lips.If she was lucky, he’d pass out.If she wasn’t lucky, the rum may loosen what moral restrictions restrained him from taking liberties with a woman with child.“Did you?”
“Did I what?”
“Commit treason.”
His lips slanted.“Nay.”
The baby kicked, and Gabrielle rubbed her belly, desperate to know this man’s full story.She might not have another chance to be alone with him so besotted.Yet she walked a fine line between his rage and lust.
“How long were you a prisoner?”
