Skye swallowed and nodded.
“I had thought to find you dressed by now.”
“The trunk just arrived.”
“Yes. Find something. I will help you don your clothing, and you can come on deck for an hour or so.”
Her eyes widened and she bit into her lip. “I can dress myself, thank you.”
“Shall I choose for you?”
There was an edge to his voice. They were engaging in battle again.
Eventually, she thought with a shiver, he would wear her down. Their strange encounters were unnerving her completely.
“Sir, I tell you—”
“I shall choose then.” He strode toward her trunk. She found herself running after him, catching his arm, then was dismayed by her action. She gazed at her hand where it rested upon him and recoiled swiftly, startled by the blood that had hardened upon his shirt. She stared at him in horror.
“You’re—bleeding.”
“I was bleeding, milady. A shrew with sharp teeth caught hold of my flesh.”
She swallowed, her eyes locked with his.
“It is no matter, Lady Kinsdale. If you’ll excuse me—”
“No! You needn’t go into my things again. You had no right to do so before. Sir, I tell you—”
“Milady, I tell you. You had no difficulty riffling through my belongings to find that wretched broadsword. I found no difficulty in disturbing your belongings for a far more gentle mission, that of seeing you clad!”
He was already upon his knees, casting back the unlocked lid of her chest. He found a corset and tossed it back down, then procured a simple shift and a linen gown with short sleeves. It was a soft, cool blue with white lace trim and she had purchased it with thoughts of the long hot Virginia summers in mind.
“This one,” he muttered.
She flushed furiously that his hands should be upon her apparel. She tried to shove him aside, taking up the corset he had dropped. “If you will just leave me—”
“I will not. And drop that whalebone torture creation. You don’t need stockings, either. Even with the breeze, it is warm this evening.”
“Mr. Hawk!” she snapped in exasperation. “Is it Hawk? Or is it Mr. Silver? I mean, really, sir, just how does one address you?” she demanded irritably.
He sat back on his haunches and his slow grin curled into his lip. “I think that I might like the sound of ‘milord,’ from your lips, Lady Kinsdale. Or perhaps, ‘my dear lord.’”
“Never,” Skye said flatly.
“Then ‘Hawk’ will do, milady. Come, let’s see you clad in this piece of summer’s frivolity.”
Skye straightened to her full height. “Sir, this will be done by violence only.”
“If that’s the way you choose it,” he said with a shrug, rising and taking a step toward her. “The manner is of no difference to me.”
“Stop!” Skye pleaded, backing away from him. She hadn’t the energy for the fight. Her flesh still burned from his earlier, less than tender touch. She promised herself that she hated him still with a vengeance, but for the moment, she needed to lick her wounds and recoup her energy.
He stood still, watching her. She lifted her arms and dropped the coverlet from about her shoulders. She meant to keep her eyes on his but she could not, and her eyes fell in shame.
“Oh, you will quit playing Ophelia!” he said in harsh exasperation. He stepped forward, but took his time easing her plight, raising her chin and meeting her eyes. His gaze passed quickly over the length of her. “Milady, the silk stockings must go. Clad only in them, you are most provocative.”
If she had thought to shame him, she had sadly miscalculated, and her own temper flew back to a new high as he lifted her from the floor and tossed her nonchalantly upon the bed to strip away her stockings, all that remained of her clothing from the previous day.
