“How can he?” she murmured. “How can he even know that I am here?”
“I sent your ship, theSilver Messenger, close in to Cape Hatteras as we traveled south. Her signalman sent messages to a merchantman. TheSilver Messengercame here this afternoon, and my man assures me that his messages were received, and answers were sent.”
“That is…good to hear,” she said softly.
He turned around suddenly and his eyes swept over her from head to toe. They lingered upon the emerald that lay between her breasts, but he did not mention it. He bowed to her. “Milady, you wished to dine?” He indicated the table. She walked to it and he was quickly behind her, pulling out her chair. He poured her wine in a goblet before taking his own seat. The candles glowed softly between them, flickering occasionally, for the table lay before the open window, and both the colors of the sunset and the coolness of the twilight breeze rushed softly in upon them.
“Shall I serve you, milady?” he asked.
Skye nodded, sitting back, her fingers curving over the arms of her chair. She watched his dark head and the fine, brooding line of his features as he dished out food from the servers. She wasn’t sure what touched her plate, for she studied him so earnestly. He caught her gaze at last. She flushed and picked up her wineglass. But she continued to study him.
“What? What now, milady?” he demanded acidly.
And she smiled very slowly. “What manner of pirate are you, sir? I sit before you unmolested. In my jewels.” She leaned forward, fingering the emerald. “It’s worth a small fortune, Sir Silver Hawk. Of that, I am sure you are aware.”
“Perhaps, lady, I will receive a small fortune for your safe return.”
“Perhaps.” she murmured, but her smile remained. He swore softly and tossed down his serving implements. “Lady, I tell you, I am at the end of my resources. I am past being driven to mere drink, and I hunger for far more than dinner.” She picked up her fork and idly touched her food. She was scarcely hungry herself. She tasted some delicious fish, and steamed fresh carrots and potatoes and sweet toasted bananas. She could eat very little. Nor did he pay much attention to his food. He watched her, and a deep, dark tension remained with him. His brow continued to knit and a scowl played upon his lip beneath his mustache.
“He will come here?” she said. “Lord Cameron?”
“Aye.”
“He will feel safe?”
“He will know himself safe.”
She shoved about a piece of fish with her fork. He leaned toward her. “What is it, milady?” he snapped. “Who do you think you are, what sweet nobility sets you so confidently upon this golden crest of disdain you would cast down upon others? I am a pirate, yes, but you scorn a member of your own society, a man who is willing to sail a tempestuous sea for an unwilling bride?”
Her temper rose and her first impulse was to slap him. She smiled instead, holding her silver goblet, tracing its rim with her fingers. “I am my own mistress, sir, and that is all.”
He sat back, his eyes narrowing. “And what precisely does that mean, lady?”
“I—I am graced with my own mind, sir. My mother”—she hesitated just briefly, swallowing—“my mother died when I was young, and I quickly ran my father’s affairs. He sent me to school in London, and neglected to tell me about a promise given at my birth!”
“So the promise is not your concern.”
“No.”
“You do not choose to honor your father?”
“Not in this.” She set her wine down and spoke to him earnestly. “One would think, sir, that daughters were created as slaves, to be cast to the highest bidder.”
His eyes were smoke, concealing his thoughts. “Perhaps he cares for the security of your future.”
She lowered her head suddenly. “He knows so little about me.”
“About your fear of the dark?”
Her head jerked up like a marionette’s. “I don’t care to discuss any of this with you.”
“Why not? Perhaps I can help.”
“Help!”
He shrugged, sipping more wine. “He is a cousin, distant at that, proper, stoic, and all those gentlemanly things. I do know something of him. He is sailing to retrieve you. He is no ogre.”
She smiled, touching her dangling pendant. “You are the ogre, right?”
