Page 17 of Scandalous

“Safety from slavers, for one. They would be fools to return to their village. So would you. Why would you go back to burned-out ruins? You said all your people had fled. How would you live there all alone? Do you know how to grow your own food? Hunt your own meat?”

“Have you any suggestions, Captain, as you appear to find my own ideas so diverting? Where else should I go? Perhaps there’s a position on board your ship you would like to offer?” She regretted her words even as they left her mouth.

He ignored her suggestion and eyed her lazily, as if her fate were of little concern to him. “My second mate has it in his mind that you should return to England.”

Sarah hesitated before answering. Was he offering her passage? She yearned for guidance as to what she should do, but hated that she must seek it from such an obnoxious source.

“I have considered approaching the missionary society in Freetown—if there is one. Perhaps they would send me to England so that I might seek help to rebuild our village.”

The captain watched from beneath lowered lids, the thick fringe of lashes hiding whatever was in his eyes. “You have no family you can go to in England?”

Sarah thought back to the small, yellowed scrap of paper she’d found in her father’s possessions that had held a single name and address. “My father broke away from his family after becoming a Nonconformist. His family was Lutheran and never forgave him. My mother was the only daughter of a vicar. I suppose my grandparents might still be alive.” She shrugged. “All this is pointless speculation as I have no money to purchase passage to England.”

When Sarah raised the glass of wine to her lips, she was surprised to find it empty.

* * *

Martín refilled the woman’s empty glass. Was she becoming drunk? She was obviously unused to wine; he should give her no more. He blinked at the solicitous thought. So what if she was unaccustomed to wine? Since when did he worry about a woman he meant to bed and how much she’d had to drink?

He folded his arms across his chest and leaned back. And that was all she was to him: a night’s entertainment, a tumble in his bed. This meal was about getting her into his bed. Not that he needed to exert any effort to do so. She’d made a bargain with him, and he could see she was a woman with a most stringent—and probably uncomfortable—moral code.

No, he did not need to court her to get what she had already promised. Yet here he was, wasting time over food and pointless talk. He frowned; he must be bored to want to bed such a skinny wench. Although he had to admit she looked far more appealing after a bath. Her features were chiseled and spare, but he thought a month of plentiful food would take the sharpness from them. She had thick, honey-brown hair and eyes that changed color with her moods—from a tranquil green to a snapping golden-brown.

Not only that, but she was charming and interesting to talk to, which he found more than a little surprising. He rarely spoke to women; he’d never really seen the point. His closest friend, Hugh Ramsay, had argued more than once that a smart woman was the very best company. Martín had always believed the big Englishman was crazy. Yet here he sat: talking.

He suspected Sarah Fisher was a clever woman—perhaps too clever. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but she’d given him an odd look when they’d discussed his book collection.

He looked at her body and smiled. She’d wrapped the robe almost twice around her, vainly attempting to hide herself. If there was one thing Martín knew well, it was women. Or at least women’s bodies.

She flushed under his scrutiny and lurched to her feet, taking slow, careful steps toward his desk. Her slim form shifted enticingly beneath the heavy silk, and he began to harden. His body’s response both surprised and pleased him. Perhaps the evening would be more interesting than he’d hoped.

“What a lovely chessboard.” She was stroking the inlaid ivory board on the desk in a distracting fashion. “Do you play, Captain?”

It was a struggle to wrench his eyes off her long slim hand and its caressing motions. His body had begun to heat and pulse. Sexual anticipation was something to be savored and enjoyed. He was in no hurry.

“Do you wish for a game?” he asked.

Her brown eyes sparkled with mischief, and her delicate lips curved in a way that made his breath catch.

“That would be lovely. I have not played since well before my father died. Are you very good?”

Martín saw no reason to tell her he’d won very few games against Ramsay, the man who’d taught him. He also saw no reason to tell her how he had dashed many a piece against the wall when the big man had beaten him. Why bother telling her those things? He had no intention of losing to her. And there would be plenty of time for bedding her after he’d mastered her at chess. He looked into her smiling face and felt his own lips curve in response.

“Let us have a game.”

He brought the board and pieces to their table and pushed aside the food. She took a pawn of each color and placed her hands behind her back. Martín gestured to her left arm, and she produced the white pawn.

“First move to you, Captain.” She moved the board until the correct corner was before him. They set up their pieces in silence, but before they began to play she looked up at him.

“What are the stakes?” she asked.

Something about the glint in her eyes made his groin tighten. “Stakes? You wish to play for money?”

“I have no money. We must play for something else.” She paused. “I know. Whoever wins can ask anything of the other that is within their power to give.”

Martín laughed. “I have already won everything you have to give.”

Her eyes narrowed at his ungentlemanly reminder. “Very well, I have already traded that, so we will play for something else—the truth. One question to be answered honestly.”