Page 36 of Scandalous

He’d been knocked almost senseless when he fell to the cobblestone courtyard, his yelp drawing the attention of the men who kept watch at the brothel entrance. He’d not gotten far before they caught him. They’d been dragging him back inside the house when an enormous shadow had loomed ahead of them.

“Well, well, well.”

The doormen had stopped in their tracks at the sight of the one-eyed giant.

Even at such a moment as that, Martín hadn’t been able to help noticing the details of the man’s clothing. His garments had been simple yet exquisite. And enormous.

“What have we here?” The man had examined them through the gaudiest quizzing glass Martín had ever seen. He’d looked like a golden god as he towered above them, the black patch that covered one eye the only thing that marred his otherwise perfect appearance.

“He’s one of the whores, sir. Trying to escape again,” the head doorman explained, giving the big man an apprehensive look.

“Escape?” the giant repeated, lowering the ridiculously ornate quizzing glass.

“He’s a slave, sir, even though he don’t look like one. He belongs to Madam Sonia. Or he did—she just sold him.”

The man’s expression didn’t change, but Martín would have sworn the very air around him became colder, thicker. He wasn’t the only one who noticed the change. The men tightened their grip.

“He looks most unwilling to go with you,” the stranger pointed out, as if that were unusual behavior in a slave who’d been trying to escape.

“He was trying to escape.” The doorman began to move toward the door, but the big man stepped into their path, no longer holding his quizzing glass.

“I know Madam. Quite well, in fact.” His mouth twisted, as if he were enjoying a private joke. He cocked an inquiring eyebrow at Martín. “What is your name?” asked the man Martín would soon come to know as One-Eyed Standish.

Martín had muttered his name through clenched jaws, mortified he might cry out from the pain in his leg if he opened his mouth any wider.

“Unhand Martín and let him go with my crew, gentlemen.” It was not a request. The giant gestured to the shadows. “Delacroix, Van Ries, Wustenfalke, please help Martín back to the ship.”

Three rough-looking men materialized from the gloom.

“Come with me,” the shortest of them said, his face crosshatched with hundreds of scars.

Martín tried to move, but his captors tightened their grip.

“Let him go,” the shorter man barked, far less amused than the giant who employed him. The tense silence filled with the hiss of swords leaving their scabbards.

Martín’s captors released him.

“Excellent!” Standish beamed down at them, as though he’d just been dealt a particularly satisfying hand of cards. He spoke to Martín, but his solitary eye settled on the two doormen. “Run along with Delacroix. I shall take care of Madam Sonia. Come, gentlemen.”

And then he’d turned and sauntered off.

“Come, you are safe, boy. The captain will deal with your mistress,” Delacroix assured Martín, his face so calm and confident, Martín had been overcome by a crippling wave of an emotion he’d never felt before. And then he’d taken a step on his damaged leg and fainted dead away.

The emotion, he’d decided in the years that followed, was gratitude.

Gratitude swamped him now just as it had done all those years ago. This time he did not plunge into blessed darkness, but had to face the unnerving emotion head-on.

Sarah must have seen something on his face because she stopped squeezing him and released his arms, her own face registering shock at what she had just done. They stared at each other as she backed away.

“Tomorrow we resume our lessons?” Her voice was as shaky as his breathing.

Martín cleared his throat, stalling for time, worried his voice would come out a mere squeak if he tried to use it.

She opened the door a crack. “I shall see you first thing tomorrow.” The door clicked shut on the last word.

“Tomorrow,” he repeated to the empty room. He took off the glasses and stared at the cabin door, his entire being pulsing with gratitude—and something even more foreign. An emotion he had no name for and one he’d never experienced before.

Chapter Thirteen