“Do they?” she murmured.
“It will be something to see, if this pardon proclamation of yours comes through.”
“I imagine it will,” she murmured.
“Thank God, my dear, that your adventuring days are over. Soon you will be at Cameron Hall…forever.”
She looked to him quickly, and the gaze he gave her with his subtle curl of a smile sent rivulets of sensation coursing down her spine. Damn those silver eyes of his! The simple words seemed to carry the most satanish, underlying threat. Or promise. Or warning. It was a warning, she realized. On this ship, she was somewhat safe from him. But when they came to his house, his precious Cameron Hall, things were destined to change.
“Forever, sir? I think not. My father will be there when we come in, will he not? I must protest vehemently all that has been done without my consent.”
“Nothing was done without your consent.”
“But it was.”
He shook his head gravely. Still she thought that he was enjoying her discomfort. “You signed all the appropriate papers when your father visited you in London.”
“I—I did not!” she said, but her words tripped and faltered as she wondered just what she had signed. She had been arguing with her father, and therefore not paying much attention to what he required of her. Some of his holdings were in her name, too, for various business reasons. She often signed papers, and she had always hated to be bothered with the details of them. Especially in London, where so very much was going on at all times.
“We will see, milady,” he said softly. He turned from her, heading back toward the helm. His absolute assurance ignited her fury. “Wait!” she demanded.
He turned back to her, arching a brow expectantly.
“You can’t mean to keep an unwilling bride, Lord Cameron! Surely it would be far beneath your dignity.”
He doffed his hat to her, bowing neatly. “Madame, I do intend to keep my bride, willing or no. Good afternoon, milady.” He turned and walked again.
“Wait!” she cried again.
“What?” he demanded.
“I—I can’t!”
“You can’t what?”
She had to tell him that she couldn’t possibly be his wife, but he was some distance from her then, and she didn’t feel like shouting such news across the whole of the ship. He waited with definite exasperation. She moistened her lips, about to suggest a certain privacy, when suddenly the seaman atop the crow’s nest shouted down to him. “Ship to the starboard, sir!”
Cameron turned around without another glance her way, striding with assurance and grace to leap up to the helm platform. “My glass, please!”
Skye, forgetting their dispute, raced toward him, lifting her skirts to hurry up to the helm. He ignored her, facing starboard. The seaman atop the crow’s nest cried down to them. “She’s changing her colors, sir! She was flying the English flag—now she gone a-pirate!”
“Gunners to your stations!” Cameron called. He brought the glass to his eye. “It isn’t Logan,” he muttered. “Nor Blackbeard, nor Hornigold…”
“Do you know them so well, sir?” Skye taunted softly.
“Blane!” he called to the hefty seaman at the wheel. “Bring her about sharp. We’ll pretend to run, then ram straight toward her, all guns blazing then. Understood?”
“Aye, sir!”
He drew the glass from his eye, startled to see her beside him. “Go below,” he told her curtly.
“No!” she said, backing away from him.
“I have ordered you—”
“You will not order me, sir! I have been through this before, and being ordered below will not save me, that I know well! Give me a sword, if you would be helpful, for I might defend myself where others might fail.”
His eyes went very narrow and sharp, and for several seconds she did not see the anger blazing within them. “Mr. Blair, I shall return promptly!” he announced. He handed his glass to a seaman and took a step toward Skye. Too late she cried out in alarm and sought to escape him. Hands of iron set upon her, plucking her up.
