“My home is Williamsburg.”
“Milady, your home is a beautiful place upon the peninsula. Sweat and tears and blood went into the founding of it, and I do not take kindly to your insults.”
“I’ve not insulted—”
“But you have. Good night.”
She was not about to let him turn away. She sat up, drawing his sword from her covers with a blue flame rising in her eyes. She was quick and expert, bringing the tip of his own sword against his throat before he began to realize her intent.
“Skye—”
“No! No!” she admonished, holding the blade at his throat while she came up upon her knees and faced him. She dug slightly, forcing him to raise his head. It was her turn to smile. “Sir, I have had it with beginning and ending these conversations. Shall we go back to the beginning? You have no right here. You and my father played some trick and you think then that I am married. Well, I dispute that fact, so you do have no right here! Now, sir, you have rescued me from the grip of not one pirate, but two. However, sir, I find you little better than either of them! You fought today with the same sizzle of conquest in your eyes, and you are every bit as arrogant and disdaining of social custom as your cousin! I did not set out to make your life miserable, sir—you stumbled into my life!”
“I beg to differ. Your father—”
“My father!” She prodded the sword closer to his throat, forcing him to cease speaking. “My father! What is this about my father? Are you not a man, sir? Have you not heard the word ‘no’?”
She pressed against his throat. He did not seem to care. His eyes grew narrower by the second and they seemed to blaze like the North Star. “Madame, there is nothing that I do not do by my will, and by my will alone. But I honor my father, and so I chose to honor his vows. If you have a disagreement about our present relationship, feel free to bring it up to your father, but know this! By the law you are my wife. By temperament I am afraid that your very hostility has made me bound and determined to keep what is mine. You are at my mercy, madame, and you’d best remember it!”
Skye laughed with sheer delight. She had him at the disadvantage;he was the one with the blade of honed steel against his throat, and he still thought to threaten her.
“I should slice and dice you!” she whispered.
“Yes, you should. And immediately,” he said calmly. “Umm. I daresay that your best move would be to do murder this very second, because otherwise you will live to rue this moment with all of your heart.”
“I don’t think so. I think that you will leave my cabin this very second.”
“Not without my sword.”
“That will be difficult. I hold your sword.”
“No, you do not.”
Maybe he knew that she could not really murder him; maybe she had not been threatening enough, or maybe she had been so thrilled with her own moment of triumph that she had fallen prey to his speed and daring. He simply took the blade with both his hands and thrust it from him before snatching the hilt from her. And he did it with such speed and reckless bravado that the blade lay against her breast before she could so much as blink.
He smiled pleasantly. “I hold my sword, milady, as you see.”
Skye sank down upon her haunches, keeping a very wary eye upon him. His smile remained. So did the blade. He very calmly drew it through the laces of her gown. Its honed edge slit the delicate ties soundlessly and effortlessly, and her gown spilled opened. His eyes fell upon her in the lamplight, but gave no clue to his thoughts. She could not have known if he desired her, or despised all that he saw. He moved the material away from her breast with practiced ease—the razor-edged blade did not so much as scratch her flesh. To her dismay, her body responded in an alarming fashion. Her breasts swelled, her nipples peaked and hardened. Her breath rasped too quickly and he surely saw the rise in her pulse as it beat against her veins. She saw his eyes then, and the satanic mischief in them. “Bastard!” she hissed to him, and shoved the sword away. With deep throaty laughter he allowed it to fall.
She clutched her bodice together. “This was a good gown!” she snapped to him.
“Since it is my duty to see you fed and clothed, I shall replace it, madame. May I say that it shall be well worth the cost.”
“You may not!”
“Poor rogue who captured you, milady! So this is why the Hawk let you go without demanding a single farthing!” Chuckling softly, he turned. Had she been blessed with any good sense whatsoever, she would have let him go.
Good sense seemed to be the least of her virtues at the moment. Skye vaulted from the bed to slam against his back with both fists flying. “You are not amusing, and you are not my husband, and I absolutely insist that you—”
She broke off, for he had whirled around, and he held her very tightly in his arms. The sword had fallen to the ground, where he ignored it. He didn’t speak for several seconds; she had gone dead still, for she sensed in his hold, in the heat of his body against hers, that now, more than ever, she had gone too far. He held her in a grip of steel, he held her without moving, barely breathing. Then at last he whispered very softly, “Unless you wish me to prove you my wife in every way this very night, this very moment, press me no further!”
She did not. She allowed her head to fall back and she watched him with a certain awe, trembling and trying not to do so. Her bodice gaped open and she felt the tremendous burning pressure of his body heat against her breasts. She could feel his hips, flush to her thighs.
She wanted to die. Shame and humiliation rushed into her, bringing a rose red flush to her cheeks. She did not want both men; she hadn’t wanted either man, but the one had taught her about passion and the sweet dark secrets of desire, and now this stranger with the same silver touch seemed to be beckoning her anew. She could not allow it; she could not bear this of herself.
“Please! I am sorry, let me go!” she said.
He breathed out in a rasp, slowly releasing her. His fingers brushed her bare flesh as he brought the straying folds of her torn bodice together.
