She took a breath and released it. “I’m the bastard of a whore.”
He lifted his brows. “If it’s any consolation, I’m the son o’ a bastard.”
Hawker’s mild reply didn’t surprise her. He wasn’t the kind of man who judged a person by their pedigree or lack thereof, even though she suspected that his own background was more cultivated than his rough-and-tumble manner would suggest. Hawker was a man of honor. His word was his bond, and his civility transcended superficial things like his accent and appearance.
Moreover, he loved books. For a cove supposedly from the stews, his passion for the written word was unusual. Yet he could quote Shakespeare as easily as he could throw a punch and referenced Aristotle and Plato when instructing the Angels, combining philosophical teachings with useful skills like tracking and lockpicking.
Whatever Hawker’s background was, Pearl knew one thing for certain: it could not have been lowlier than hers.
“My mother conducted her business dockside and serviced any sailor with sufficient coin,” she said flatly. “A Chinese ship came in during the spring, and she claimed it was her most profitable week ever. As a result, I came into the world nine months later. She couldn’t guess which of her customers had been my father, so she named me after the ship. Thought ‘Pearl of the Orient’ had a fancy ring to it.” Pearl looked down at her gloved hands, clenched atop the lap blanket. “She died when I was ten. After that, I made it on the streets on my own.”
“Made it” was a euphemism for joining a gang. In exchange for protection and a roof over her head, she’d stolen, run cons, and engaged in a variety of criminal activities. The only thing she hadn’t done was sell her body.
Like a fool, Igavethat away,she thought humorlessly.
“Ain’t right that you had to survive on your own at that age.” Hawker tightened his grip on the reins. “But it made you strong.”
“It made me a realist,” she countered. “A woman who does not believe in faerie tales.”
He drew his brows together. “Is that what you think I’m offering?”
“The morning after we were together, you said you wanted to…to court me.” Uncertainty made her words halting. “To get to know me. Did you mean only in a Biblical sense?”
Did I misunderstand Hawker? Did I, once again, misjudge a man’s intentions?
Humiliation scalded her insides.
“O’ course not.” He frowned. “I wanted to knowyou, Pearl. The woman behind the bombazine and starchy manner.”
Even as she began to breathe again, he went on.
“But to me, a man courting a woman with hopes o’ starting a life together is no faerie tale. It’s life. What normal folks do.”
“I’mnotnormal.” She gathered her composure. “That is what I’m trying to explain. Hawker, I…I’m damaged goods.”
“Bloody fucking hell.”
Her eyes widened as he uttered other choice epithets. Hawker rarely lost his temper. Oh, he could grouse and brood, but he possessed restraint that was worthy of any well-bred gent. At present, however, his colorful vocabulary singed even her seasoned ears.
He punctuated his tirade with a glare. “You will never—and I meanneveragain—refer to yourself in that fashion.”
Some women would be intimidated by a glowering pirate who looked fit to kill.
Pearl had to tamp down a surge of yearning. Straightening her shoulders, she replied, “It’s the truth. You were not my first lover, Hawker.”
“I don’t need to be your first. Just the best and the last.”
His smoldering glance was hotter than a blazing hearth. Made her remember the fire of his lovemaking, how he’d incinerated her inhibitions with his hot, clever tongue and callused touch.
“That…that is neither here nor there.” She clung to her moorings. “The point is, you’ve said yourself that you’re looking for a woman you can explore a future with. And I am not that woman.”
“Why?”
Because I’ve known rejection. Known an even greater loss. And I cannot go through it again.
“Because I say so,” she said.
Hawker grunted. “That’s not an answer.”
