She was surprised to discover that she could smile at his very real concern. “So far, Mr. Arrowsmith, I have been quite lucky with my health, despite the bathing. Is this a problem?”
“No, no! Your wish is my command, Lady Kinsdale.”
How ironic! she thought bitterly. It was such a pity that her wishes didn’t seem to mean a damned thing to his master.
“Thank you,” she murmured.
He returned her to the cabin. Restlessly she studied the books in the shelves. They were many and varied. He had texts by Bacon and Shakespeare and Sir Christopher Wren. Greek classics lined one shelf and there were tomes on not only warfare and naval maneuvers but also philosophy and medicine and the astrological sciences.
The Silver Hawk was a well-read man.
Else he had privateered the ship of some well-read gent! That, too, was a possibility. He was a thief. He had probably stolen the books just as he had everything else.
Robert and two sailors brought the tub to her again and the crew filed in and out with their buckets of water. Again, she thought they seemed too decent a lot to be pirates.
She had been locked in the room for four days, going on five, and she was losing her mind.
Nervously she disrobed and hopped in the tub. She expected him to arrive the very second her clothes were shed, but he did not. In a matter of moments, she leaned back. She let the steam enter deep into her and soothe her muscles and her aching spirits. The water began to lose its heat after a while. She had lingered too long.
Had she waited for him? she wondered.
No!
But perhaps she had. Perhaps she had waited to feel the explosive sensation of lightning tearing into the very core of her body, as she’d felt when his fingers had curved over her breast.
“Never!” she whispered aloud, shamed and humiliated. She leaped out of the tub, grabbing her towel, wrapping it around herself.
That was when the doors opened.
Fully clad in his boots and a handsomely trimmed frockcoat, he was holding a ledger in his hands and he seemed preoccupied with it. When he came full upon her, he stopped in surprise. Skye hugged the end of the towel to her chest and stared at him, her eyes wide, and did not say a word.
Nor did he speak. He tossed the ledger upon his desk. For the longest time he watched her, and she felt her blood begin to race within her.
“You like to bathe,” he said politely.
“Yes,” she managed to reply. He was very grave.
“Did you sleep well, mam’selle?”
“Yes.”
He went silent for a moment. “Robert came and took you about the deck?”
“He—he did.”
He ran out of small talk then. He took the two steps that brought him before her. She didn’t try to run. She didn’t even think to do so. His silver-blue eyes held hers in a curious grip, and she scarce had breath in her body. Her flesh burned, and she felt rooted to the floor.
She could not run.
He paused before her and his fingers very slowly threaded through her hair. He tilted her head back, and then he slowly lowered his lips to hers.
His touch brought the lightning to her again, and a sweet fever seemed to rage through her body. His beard and mustache teased her flesh as his lips pressed against hers with a consuming force that swept all thought from her mind. His tongue teased the edge of her mouth, causing her lips to part to the provocative demand. His tongue filled her, and the kiss was planted deeper and deeper.
No longer was he content with the sweetness of her mouth. His hands fell to the small of her back, bringing her flush against him. Then his fingers fell against her cheeks, along the slender column of her throat, to the rise of her breasts.
Not once did she think to fight him.
Not even when his hand closed over the full naked curve of her breast and she dimly realized that her towel had fallen. Not even then did she fight him. She did not think to fight, for thought eluded her completely, and the shattering sensations ruled her heart and soul. The liquid heat of his kiss swept into the length of her, the sensual stroke of his callused fingertips brought a peculiar sob to her throat.…
