He wore an embroidered robe and silk slippers and had dispensed with his wig; his greying hair cropped close to his head. Verity looked away from his covetous gaze, and pulled her shawl closer, feeling demeaned and oddly naked. Her plan must work. If she was seen to reject his advances, Henrietta would be in danger from this man. She tamped down a shudder of loathing with a seductive smile. “A lovely night, my lord. Champagne! How pleasant.”
“Only the finest for you, Madame.” He poured two glasses and handed one to her.
She stared out the porthole. “Was that lightning? Are we heading into a storm?”
He frowned. “Surely not. My captain would have informed me of it.” Once his back was turned, Verity slipped the bottle from her pocket, removed the cap, and poured half its contents into his glass. She managed to replace the bottle in her pocket before he turned. His smug expression reminded her of a spider with a fly in his web. “No storm. A cloudless sky. I trust that isn’t your attempt to delay the inevitable?”
With a light laugh, she raised her glass to his. “Bonne chance, my lord.”
“I make my own luck.”
She struggled with a surge of deep anger. “What do you expect to find at your chateau? All estates such as yours have been confiscated. They are now the property of the French government, and anything left behind would have been ransacked by the peasants.”
He cursed, drank the last of his wine and slammed down the glass. He grimaced. “This champagne is not up to snuff.” He leaned forward his thick fingers spread out over the table. “If a famous French actress such as yourself was to accompany me there I’m confident you could charm those peasants into returning my most valuable pieces. Beautiful possessions are of no use to ignorant people.”
Verity tilted her head. “I wish you well, but I regret I shall not be able to join you.”
Disappointed, she saw no sign that the laudanum affected him. Was the man invulnerable? Bitterness filled her mouth. Should she have added more? She didn’t wish to kill the man.
“Come now, why the disguise?” He laughed. “You didn’t fool me for a moment. Saw you inHamlet.You were magnificent as Ophelia.”
“Merci.” She held up her empty glass with a teasing glance. “I may tell you… later. Might I have another?”
“Just one,” he said, playfully stroking her fingers as he took her glass.
She clinked her glass against his, stroking her throat with her free hand. He watched her greedily over the rim of his glass. She wrinkled her nose. “I find it airless in here. There’s a calm sea. Might we open the porthole?
“I believe you wish me to spend more time at that porthole than with you,” he said gruffly. “As you wish. And then we will go to bed. I hope you enjoy some of my tricks, Mademoiselle Garnier. I have much to teach you.” As he flipped the catch, the boat rolled. Spray splashed through the porthole into his face. He cursed and slammed it shut.
While he struggled with it, Verity emptied the rest of the bottle into his glass.
He turned, brushing the seawater from his sleeve. He held up their glasses. “Shall we take these to bed?”
Her heart thudding wildly, Verity perched on the edge of the bed, sipping her wine. She feared she’d be drunk before this man became even a little unsteady.
He tossed back the champagne, cursed at the inferior quality, then dropped the glass onto a side table, snapping the stem. His robe slipped to the floor, and he stood before her naked, swaying, a glassy expression in his eyes. “Let’s get those clothes off you…” he said thickly. “Iwanto see the womanbeneethe.”
Verity giggled and turned her back to him. “You’ll have to undo my hooks.”
He bent over her, breathing heavily, and fumbled at the hooks. “Minx!” He tugged the material tearing a seam. Then he gave up and gave her breast a painful squeeze. His strength took her by surprise as he pushed her forward onto her stomach on the bed. Her skirts were flipped over her head. “You’ll notdisshapointme.” His deep pinch on her derriere would leave a bruise. “I’ll take you like this, damned if I won’t.”
“Such a lack of finesse, my lord,” Verity scolded, fright causing her voice to quiver. She tried to push herself up, but her skirts became entangled with her wig and blinded her. “This is your trick my lord? I’m sure you wouldn’t want it put about that you’re a bad lover?”
“We have till dawn,” he said huskily. He lay heavily over her. When he pushed against her, ice flooded her veins. She wriggled away from his grasping hands as he struggled to hold her still enough to mount her. The room filled with his curses and heavy breathing, and her gasping protests. Suddenly, he fell silent. His heavy body weighed her down. He snored in her ear.
With a sob, Verity wriggled out from under him. She straightened her skirts, grabbed the bottle of champagne, and splashed the last of it over the bed and him. With shaking fingers, she struggled to open another bottle. From the bed, Ramsbotham snorted and stirred. Her pulse thudded in her throat. The cork came free with a pop loud enough to wake the dead. She turned anxiously, but he didn’t stir. She opened the porthole and emptied the wine into the sea. Put the bottle down and returned to the bed. She stood over him, her hands curled into fists remembering with horror her desperate fight with Rocchard. Ramsbotham was capable of the same violence. He’d come fearfully close to ravaging her. She wanted to kill him not tuck him into bed. Nauseous, she swallowed, and pulled the bedclothes from beneath him, rolling him first one way and then the other. Then she tucked her perfumed handkerchief under the pillow. He mumbled as she covered him. She fought a strong urge to flee, stood and took stock, glancing around the room until satisfied that it looked as if a drunken romp had taken place.
“Rêves doux!” Bruised and exhausted, she left his cabin closing the door behind him. She doubted she would sleep with his brutality causing her pulse to race.
If she did, her dreams would not be sweet.
