“You have put me in your room,” she accused him.
He lifted his hands and shrugged. She sensed that a smile played beneath the bland and innocent stare that he gave her. “You are my wife,” he said.
“I dispute that.”
“You may dispute the sun, but when it rises, it is still daylight.”
She slammed a fist against the table. “You said that my father would be here.”
“I expected him, yes.”
He was telling the truth, she thought. He seemed as puzzled as she that Theo had not yet arrived.
Skye sat back. “If my father were here,” she told him with narrowed eyes, “you would not attempt to put me in your room!”
“Madame, if your father were here, and his father, and his father’s father, I would still put you in my quarters. You are my wife.”
“But—”
“I left you be upon the ship, milady, out of the delicacy of the situation. We are home now. Upon terra firma. I weary of the waiting, madame.”
She stiffened, leaning back. He meant his words. She could not be his wife!
And unless she did escape him that very afternoon, there seemed little hope for it. Her stomach catapulted. He would discover her a liar in the very worst way. What would he do to her then? What could he do, except release her…?
And yet, she didn’t dare chance the discovery. Nor did she think that she could bear his touch. She dreaded it; she felt the heat of it too keenly. She didn’t know if she despised the man, or if she was fascinated by him beyond all measure. The tempest living inside of her was unbearable.
“I can’t!” she said suddenly, certainly.
“Can’t?”
She leaped up from the chair, walking about the room in a state of agitation. Could she say what she intended about the Silver Hawk? What difference would it make? If the Hawk were ever captured, he would hang pure and simple, and her words could not make him die any more or less thoroughly.
For a moment, though, it seemed as if her heart itself sizzled, for she was betraying something. It was love, she thought, for indeed, despite her later anger, the tenderness and care of the pirate had drawn upon her every emotion. She had, indeed, loved him with care as well as passion. Now she betrayed that very love, but it seemed she had little choice.
“I cannot be your wife because…”
He sat back. “Because…?” he prompted.
She turned her back to him, looking to the windows. If she was going to die, she might as well do it dramatically, wholeheartedly.
She dropped her head in abject shame. “I cannot come to you as your wife. Ever. I am not what I appear to be. I—”
She broke off.
“He—he raped me!” she claimed.
“He what?”
The chair fell back as Lord Cameron jumped to his feet in indignity. He came behind her, grabbing her shoulders, spinning her around. “He—what?”
She kept her head lowered, willing a glaze of tears to her eyes. Slowly she let her head fall back. “He is a pirate, you know! Scourge of the seas. A deadly, horrible rogue.”
“And he—raped you?” Lord Cameron repeated.
“Yes!” she cried, breaking away. He allowed her to go. She sat upon the edge of his desk.
“My God,” he whispered in what she was certain to be raw fury. “He used horrific force against you? He dragged you—my very wife!—beneath him. Horribly and cruelly against your will?”
