He straightened, closing the door, sensing a battle’s first blow.
She smiled and it was as cold as ice. “I wondered when you would return…Captain.”
Delight tingled in his veins. How he loved a good war. He intended to enjoy this one. “I hadn’t realized you were pining for my company,” he said with a courtly inclination of his head.
“I only pine for your head—on that silver serving platter,” she said, as regally as if she were England’s queen.
He wanted to smile. He nearly did. Instead, he approached cautiously and saw the fury in her eyes. “I fear to disappoint you. My chef is French. I have far better fare on that platter.”
“Then I shall wait patiently for a better day, when the dinner I truly desire is served,” she almost spat.
He refused to chuckle. “You do not strike me as a patient woman, Miss Hughes, and as I doubt the day you seek will come for a good many years, what will you do instead of waiting?”
“You’re right. I havenopatience, none at all! Rogue!” she cried.
He almost laughed. “Bastard” was more like it. “Have I somehow offended you, Miss Hughes?”
Her laughter was brittle. “You murder innocent Americans, you abduct me, take me prisoner, strip in front of me, ogle my breasts and ask me if I am offended? Hah,” she said.
He reached for the bottle of red wine. “May I?” he asked, about to pour into her glass.
She leapt to her feet. “You’re an officer!” she shouted, and he tensed, thinking she intended to strike him. But she only added in another shout, “In the British navy!”
He set the bottle down and swept her a mocking bow. “Sir Captain Devlin O’Neill, at your service, Miss Hughes.”
She was trembling with rage, he saw. He decided to give in to lechery and admire her perfect breasts. “Stop leering,” she hissed. “You have committed criminal acts. Atrocious criminal acts! Explain yourself, Captain, sir!”
He gave up. This woman dared to orderhim.It was the single truly entertaining moment of his life. She was onhisship, inhiscommand and she orderedhimabout. He laughed.
Virginia froze, startled by the brief eruption of that rough sound, with its oddly raw tone. Then, still furious at his deception, and worse, at what clearly was not the dire predicament she had thought herself to be in, she snapped, “I am waiting for an explanation,Captain.”
He shook his head and looked at her. Very softly, he asked, “Are you not afraid of me?”
She hesitated. What kind of question was this?
“Be truthful,” he said, as if in earnest.
“You terrify me,” she heard herself say, her pulse quickening. Then she amended, “You have terrified me, and all for naught, damn it!”
His brows lifted. “Ladies do not curse.”
“I don’t care. Besides, I have not been treated like a lady, now have I?”
He gave her a very odd, long look. “Another man would have had you in that bed—where you belong. But you are hardly there, are you?”
She went still. Alarm filled her. Alarm and such a forceful heartbeat she could no longer breathe. “I har—I har—I hardly belong in your bed!” she stammered. Terrible images of her there, with him, in his powerful arms, assailed her.
“A slip of the tongue.” His brows, darker than his hair, lifted. “I agree. Skinny women tend to be exceedingly uncomfortable.”
She almost gasped again. Then she cried, “I am only fourteen, sir! You would take a child to your bed?”
His gaze slammed to hers.
She wet her lips. She was perspiring and she desperately needed him to believe her now.
His jaw flexed. His gaze narrowed with speculation, causing her heart to lurch with dread. “This is a dangerous game you play, Miss Hughes,” he said softly.
“It is no game!”
