“No, thank you, Captain.” She cast him a saucy smile. “Never touch the stuff.”
“Too young to drink, are you?”
She stiffened. It wasn’t the first time he’d made a remark that implied she was a child, or childish in her thoughts, or too young to know better, and this after he knew very well she was a woman full-grown. And she knew very well he was only doing it to get back at her for implying he was too old for her. But she hadn’t let him rile her, not yet anyway. He had been, after all, quite courteous to her otherwise, coldly courteous actually, telling her plainly just how offended he really was by her remarks about his age.
Three days had gone by since that fateful night of her discovery, and although he had said that they would go on exactly as before, he hadn’t asked for her assistance at his bath, didn’t flaunt his nakedness before her anymore, and even wore his pants under his robe before he retired, as he was doing now. Nor had he touched her again since that morning he tenderly brushed her cheek with his fingers. Deep down, where she was honest with herself to a fault, she admitted a certain regret that he wasn’t even going to try to make love to her again. Not that she would let him, but he could at least have made an effort.
She’d finished her chores early tonight. She’d been lying in her hammock, gently rocking, and biting her nails short so they more resembled a boy’s. She was prepared to sleep, with everything removed except her breeches and shirt, but she wasn’t the least bit tired.
Now she glanced sideways toward the desk and the man behind it. She wouldn’t half mind an argument to clear the air, an opportunity for him to get his resentment off his chest. On the other hand, she wasn’t sure she wanted the other James back, the one that could melt her with a look. Better to let him nurse his chagrin for the remainder of the voyage.
“Actually, Captain,” she said in answer to his caustic remark, “it’s a matter of preference. I never acquired a taste for brandy. Port, on the other hand—”
“Just how old are you, brat?”
So he’d finally asked, and quite irritably at that. She’d wondered how long he would resist. “Twenty-two.”
He snorted. “I would have thought anyone as lippy as you to be at least twenty-six.”
Oh, my, sohewas looking for an argument, was he? She grinned suddenly, mischievously deciding not to oblige him.
“Do you think so, James?” she asked sweetly. “I’ll take that as a compliment. I’ve always despaired that I look too young for my age.”
“As I said, too bloody lippy.”
“My, but you’re grouchy this evening.” She was just short of laughing. “I wonder why.”
“Not at all,” he demurred cooly as he opened a drawer on his desk. “And as luck would have it, I just happen to have your preference here, so pull up a chair and join me.”
She hadn’t anticipated that. She sat up slowly, wondering how she could refuse gracefully, even as she watched him tip the bottle of port to half fill an extra glass, which had also been concealed in the drawer. But then she shrugged, deciding a half glass wouldn’t hurt and might even relax her enough to let her get to sleep. She confiscated his chair from the dining table and dragged the heavy thing over to his desk. She accepted the glass from him before she sat down, careful not to get trapped by those brooding green eyes or touch his fingers as she did.
Casually, still grinning, she lifted her glass to him before she took a sip. “This is very sociable of you, James, I must say.” The use of his name now, when she hadn’t used it before, was annoying him as she had figured it would. “Especially,” she continued, “since I’ve had the impression that you’re angry with me for some reason.”
“Angry? With such a charming brat? Whyever would you think so?”
She almost choked on the sweet red wine, hearing that. “The fire in your eyes?” she offered cheekily.
“Passion, dear girl. Pure…unadulterated…passion.”
Her heart did a double pound as she went very still. Against her better judgment, her eyes rose to his, and there it was, the very passion he just bespoke, hot, mesmerizing, and so sensual it went right to the core of her. Was she a puddle on the floor yet? Good Lord, if not, she ought to be.
She downed the remainder of her port and this time choked on it for real, which was fortunate, since doing so broke the spell for a moment, long enough for her to say sensibly, “I was right. Passionate enragement if I ever saw it.”
His lips turned up the slightest bit. “You’re in top form, brat. No—no, don’t run away,” he added quite firmly when she put her glass down and started to rise. “We haven’t ascertained yet the cause of my…passionate enragement. I like that, indeed I do. I must remember to use it on Jason the next time he flies through the roof.”
“Jason?” Anything to make him let go of this pulse-disturbing subject.
“A brother.” He shrugged. “One of many. But let’s not digress here, sweet.”
“No, let’s do. I’m really very tired,” she said, frowning as she watched him tip the bottle to her glass again.
“Coward.”
He said it with amusement tinging his tone, but she still stiffened at such an outright challenge. “Very well.” She swiped up the refilled glass, nearly spilling it since it was more than half full this time, and sat back in her chair to take a fortifying gulp. “What would you like to discuss?”
“My passionate enragement, of course. Now, why, I wonder, would you think of rage when I mention passion?”
“Because…because…oh, devil take it, Malory, you know very well you’ve been annoyed with me.”
