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The Devil's Necklace
Kat Martin
To British privateer Ethan Sharpe, Grace Chastain was nothing but a pawn for vengeance against Harmon Jeffries, the traitor responsible for his brutal years in prison.Believing Grace to be Jeffries' mistress, he plans to humiliate his enemy by seducing her. Grace fears her priceless heirloom necklace has begun to live up to its curse when Captain Sharpe makes her his prisoner aboard his schooner. Defiantly she resists his coarse advances, but suspects there is more to this complex sea captain than his brooding anger and silent accusations.And Ethan quickly realizes that she is not the wicked woman he imagined her to be. Grace is as headstrong as she is lovely, and the battle of wills that ensues weakens his resolve. But can Ethan settle the demons of his past and follow the destiny his heart commands?


Praise for The Devil’s Necklace
“Full of spirited romance and nefarious skulduggery…. Lively emotional skirmishes between two strong-willed characters propel the plot toward one of Martin’s trademark nail-biting endings.”
—Publishers Weekly
“There is something to be said for a pirate-turned-gentleman who is tortured by his need for revenge…. Martin’s second entry in the Necklace trilogy is an entertaining story…. The Devil’s Necklace started strong and was engaging, with plenty of twists and turns to keep the reader’s attention…it stayed with me after I was done.”
—The Romance Reader
“[A] wonderful captive/captor romance…[a] delightful, sexy and highly satisfying read…Get set for another winner by a writer who knows how to steal your heart.”
—RT Book Reviews
“Kat Martin writes romance that stays with the reader long after finishing the book. Fans of historical romance will fall in love with Ms. Martin’s newest release. It is without a doubt a blessing that she continues to bring us stories that warm the heart and satisfy the romantic. Her books are sexy, fast-paced and entertaining. What more can you ask for?”
—A Romance Review

KAT MARTIN
THE DEVIL’S NECKLACE


To family and friends everywhere.
May you all live long and happy lives.

Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Epilogue

One
London 1805
The hour of her rendezvous was nearly upon her.
Worry made Grace’s heart pound and her hand tremble as she stepped into her bedchamber and quietly closed the door. The music of a four-piece orchestra drifted upward from the drawing room downstairs. The house party, a gala event that had cost a small fortune, was another of her mother’s unending attempts to fob her off on one of the ton’s aged aristocrats. Grace had stayed as long as she dared, forcing herself to make dreary conversation with her mother’s guests, then pled a headache and retired upstairs. She had urgent business to attend this night.
Outside the window, a winter wind whipped leafless branches against the sill as Grace stripped off her long white gloves. Her palms were sweating. Uncertainty coiled like a snake in her stomach, but her course was set and she refused to turn back now.
Hurrying toward the bellpull, she kicked off her kidskin slippers along the way, rang for her lady’s maid, then reached up to work the clasp on the diamond-and-pearl necklace around her neck. Her hand lingered there, testing the smoothness of the pearls, the rough facets of the diamonds set in between each one.
The necklace had been a gift from her best friend, Victoria Easton, countess of Brant, and Grace treasured it, her only possession of any real worth.
“You rang, miss?” Her maid, Phoebe Bloom, was a bit of a featherhead at times but good-hearted nonetheless. She poked her dark-haired head through the door, then hurried in.
“I could use a little help, Phoebe, if you please.”
“Of course, miss.”
It didn’t take long to get out of the gown. Grace managed a nervous smile for Phoebe, pulled on her quilted wrapper, and excused the girl for the balance of the evening. The music downstairs continued to play. Grace prayed she could complete her mission and return to the house before anyone discovered she was gone.
The moment Phoebe closed the door, Grace tossed aside her robe and hurriedly changed into a simple gray wool gown. She blew out the whale oil lamp on the dresser and the one beside the bed, leaving the room in darkness. Stuffing a pillow beneath the covers to create the illusion that she was sleeping if her mother chanced to look in, she grabbed her cloak and swung it around her shoulders.
As she headed for the door, she picked up her reticule, the purse heavy with the weight of the money she had received from her great-aunt, Matilda Crenshaw, Baroness Humphrey, along with a ticket for a cabin aboard a packet sailing north at the end of the week.
Raising the hood of her cloak to cover her auburn hair, Grace checked to be certain no one was out in the hall, then slipped down the servants’ stairs and left the house through a door leading out to the garden.
Her heart was pumping, her nerves on edge, by the time she reached Brook Street, hailed a hackney carriage and climbed into the passenger seat.
“The Hare and Fox Tavern, if you please,” she said to the driver, hoping he wouldn’t hear the tremor in her voice.
“That be in Covent Garden, eh, miss?”
“That is correct.” It was a small, out-of-the-way establishment, she had been told, chosen by the man whose services she intended to purchase. She had gleaned the man’s name from her coachman for a few gold sovereigns, though she didn’t tell him the nature of her business.
It seemed to take hours to reach her destination, the hackney winding through the dark London streets, wooden wheels whirring, the horse’s hooves clopping over the cobbles, but finally the painted sign for the Hare and Fox appeared.
“I’d like you to wait,” Grace said to the driver as the coach pulled up in front, pressing a handful of coins into his palm. “I won’t be inside very long.”
The driver nodded, a grizzled old man whose face was mostly hidden beneath a growth of heavy gray beard. “See that ye aren’t.”
Praying the man would still be there when she returned, and careful to keep the hood of her cloak up over her head, she made her way around to the back of the tavern as she had been instructed, opened the creaky wooden door and stepped into the dimly lit taproom. The place was low-ceilinged and smoky, with heavy carved beams and scarred wooden tables. A fire blazed in a blackened stone hearth and a group of hard-looking men sat at a nearby table. At the back of the room, a tall, big-boned man in a slouch hat and greatcoat sat at another of the tables. He stood as she walked in and motioned for her to join him.
Grace swallowed and dragged in a courage-building breath, then made her way toward him, ignoring the curious glances of the men in the tavern as she took a seat in the ladder-back chair he offered.
“Did ye bring the blunt?” he asked without the least formality.
“Are you certain you can see the job done?” Grace was equally forward.
He straightened as if she’d insulted him. “Jack Moody gives his word, ye can count on it. Ye’ll get what ye pay for.”
Grace’s hand shook as she pulled the pouch out of her reticule and handed it to the man named Jack Moody. He poured a fistful of golden guineas into his palm, a dark smile lifting a thin pair of lips.
“It’s all there,” Grace said, trying to ignore the bawdy jokes and coarse laughter of the men at the table next to them, glad they were mostly occupied with their drinking and the lusty tavern wenches who seemed to keep them entertained. The smell of greasy mutton made her stomach roll and Grace felt a sweep of nausea. She had never done anything like this before. She prayed she would never have to again.
Jack Moody counted the coins, then dumped them back into the pouch. “As ye say, seems t’all be there.” He rose to his feet, his features partly shadowed by the narrow brim of his hat. “The plan’s been set. Soon as I give the word, t’will be done. Yer man’ll be well outta London come mornin’.”
“Thank you.”
Jack hefted the pouch, making the coins rattle. “This be all the thanks I need.” He tipped his head toward the door. “Best get along now. Later it gets, more chance of trouble findin’ ye.”
Grace said nothing to that, just rose from the chair and cast a cautious glance at the door.
“Mind ye keep yer silence, lass. Them what talks when they shouldn’t don’t live very long.”
A chill went through her. She would never mention Jack Moody’s name again. With a faint nod of understanding, she drew her cloak around her and made her way silently out the back door.
The alley was dark and smelled of rotten fish. Mud squished beneath the soles of her ankle boots. Lifting her skirt and the hem of her cloak out of the way, she hurried through the darkness, her gaze darting back and forth in search of trouble. Once she reached the front of the tavern, she caught sight of the hackney carriage and the old man sitting on the driver’s seat, and released a momentary sigh of relief.
The trip home seemed an even longer journey. The lights were still blazing in the windows of her family’s town house as she made her way through the garden. Hurriedly climbing the servants’ stairs, she slipped down the hall and into her bedchamber. The orchestra had stopped playing, but she could still hear a burst of occasional laughter as the last of the guests departed.
Grace sighed as she untied her cloak and returned it to its hook beside the door. At the end of the week, she would be leaving the house herself, traveling to Scarborough to visit Lady Humphrey, though the two of them had never met. If the escape tonight went as planned, the outrage that would erupt all over London in the morning would be of momentous proportions. Though she wouldn’t leave for a couple of days, a lengthy journey seemed propitious.
Grace thought of the man in Newgate prison, Viscount Forsythe, who languished in a dank cell, counting the hours until dawn when he would climb the wooden stairs to the gallows. She didn’t know whether he was innocent or guilty, didn’t know whether or not he deserved the sentence he had been given.
But the viscount was her father and though no one knew the truth of their relationship, nothing could change the fact. He was her father and she simply couldn’t abandon him.
Grace stared up at the ceiling above her bed and prayed she had done the right thing.

Two
One Week Later
“I see her, Capt’n! The Lady Anne! She’s there…just off starboard, left o’ the foremast.”
Standing next to his first mate, Angus McShane, Captain Ethan Sharpe swung his worn brass spyglass in the direction Angus pointed. Through the darkness, the lens caught the gleam of distant yellow lights shining through a row of windows at the stern of the ship.
Ethan’s fingers tightened around the glass as he surveyed his quarry. An icy wind blew over the deck, ruffling his thick black hair, numbing the skin over his cheekbones, but he barely noticed. At last his prey was in sight and nothing was going to keep him from it.
“Come about, Mr. McShane. Set a course to intercept the Lady Anne.”
“Aye, Capt’n.” The weathered Scotsman had been in his employ since Ethan had commanded his first vessel. Carrying out Ethan’s direction, the old sea dog ambled across the deck spouting orders to the crew, and the lads set to work. The sails began to flutter, luffing, then refilling with wind. The rigging clattered and clanked as the Sea Devil came about; the heavy ship’s timbers groaned, then the hull settled into its proper course and sliced cleanly through the water.
The schooner was eighty feet long, sleek and fast, skimming through the waves as effortlessly as the sea lions who followed in her wake. She was built of seasoned oak in the best shipyard in Portsmouth, designed for a merchant unable to come up with the funds once the schooner was complete.
Ethan had stepped in and purchased the vessel at a more than reasonable price, though he knew he would only have brief need of it. One last mission, one final assignment before he assumed the duties of his newly acquired position as marquess of Belford.
One last bit of personal business that wouldn’t let him rest until he saw it done.
His jaw hardened. The Sea Devil was the second ship he’d commanded since he had relinquished his naval commission eight years ago and begun a career as a British privateer.
He had commanded the Sea Witch then, a similarly well-equipped vessel manned by the best crew a man could have. His men were gone now, lost in battle or dead in a stinking French prison, the Sea Witch rotting in an icy grave at the bottom of the sea.
Ethan closed his mind to the memory. His men were gone, all but Angus, who had been away in Scotland caring for an ailing mother, and Long-boned Ned, who had managed to escape the French pigs who had taken the ship and make his way back to Portsmouth.
Ethan’s men captured and killed, his ship gone, and though he still lived, eleven months of his nine-and-twenty years stolen from him. He carried a slight limp and the scars of his endless months in confinement. Someone would pay and pay dearly, Ethan silently vowed as he had a thousand times.
His hand unconsciously fisted.
And that someone rode now aboard the Lady Anne.

Grace Chastain took the high-backed, carved wooden chair held for her by Martin Tully, earl of Collingwood. The earl, a slender, attractive man in his early thirties with light brown hair and a fair complexion, was a fellow passenger. Grace had met him on her first night aboard the Lady Anne, the packet carrying her from London to Scarborough, where Grace planned a long stay with her great-aunt, the Dowager Baroness Humphrey.
Lady Humphrey, Grace’s father’s aunt, had extended an offer of assistance should it ever be needed. Grace had never expected to accept such an offer, but the matter of her father’s imprisonment had drastically altered her circumstances, and she had accepted her great-aunt’s help and money enough to free her father.
Grace prayed that by the time she returned to London, matters would have settled down. She prayed no word of her involvement in her father’s escape a week earlier had surfaced and she would be safe.
The door of the salon swung open. She looked up to see Captain Chambers enter the elegant, wood-paneled room. An older man, short and stout with thinning gray hair, he waited till the rest of the passengers were seated, then took his place at the head of the linen-draped table, the signal for a pair of uniformed crewmen to begin serving the meal.
“Good evening, everyone.”
“Good evening, Captain,” replied the group in unison. Since Grace and her lady’s maid, Phoebe Bloom, had been traveling aboard the packet for the past several days, the shipboard routine was no longer daunting. And the passengers, especially Lord Collingwood, had all been agreeable company.
Grace flicked a glance at the earl, who sat beside her at the long mahogany table, chatting pleasantly with the woman to his right, Mrs. Cogburn, a plump matron traveling north to visit her brother. Mrs. Cogburn was a widow, as was Mrs. Franklin, her companion. Also seated at the table were a wealthy silk merchant from Bath and a newly married couple on their way to visit relatives in Scotland.
Lord Collingwood laughed at something Mrs. Cogburn said then casually shifted his attention to her. His eyes ran over her aqua silk gown, took in the auburn curls swept high on her head, lingered a moment on her bosom, then returned to her face.
“If I might say so, you look particularly fetching tonight, Miss Chastain.”
“Thank you, my lord.”
“And those pearls you are wearing…they’re quite unusual. I don’t believe I have ever seen a string so perfectly matched or of such a rich color.”
Unconsciously her hand came up to the strand of pearls at her throat. The necklace was worth a fortune, a gift Grace probably should have refused, but Tory had insisted, and the necklace was so lovely. The moment Grace had put it on, she simply hadn’t been able to resist.
“They’re very old,” Grace told the earl. “Thirteenth century. There’s a rather tragic story behind them.”
“Really? Perhaps you will tell me sometime.”
“I would be happy to.”
The captain began speaking just then, relaying the progress they had made so far on their journey, then listing the delights on the menu for supper. Wineglasses were filled and silver dishes appeared with an array of vegetables, meat and fish.
“So, my dear Miss Chastain, how did you pass your day?” Lord Collingwood leaned back as a uniformed waiter scooped a plump piece of chicken in lemon sauce onto his plate.
“If the weather had been less inclement, I would have enjoyed a stroll.” But the February day was overcast and chill, the seas choppy and rolling. Fortunately, she had never suffered mal de mer, as did her lady’s maid and several other passengers aboard. “Mostly, I read.”
“And the book?”
“A favorite volume of Shakespeare. Do you also enjoy reading, my lord?”
“Why, yes, I do.” He had slightly crooked teeth, yet the smile he gave her was not unpleasant. “And I, too, enjoy the Bard.” The remark was followed by a discourse on King Lear, his lordship’s favorite work.
Grace joined in, saying that she most enjoyed Romeo and Juliet.
“Ah, a romantic,” the captain said, entering into the discussion.
Grace smiled. “To tell you the truth, I never really thought of myself that way, but perhaps I am a bit of a romantic. And you, Captain Chambers? Which volume of Shakespeare do you favor?”
There was no time to reply as the salon door swung open and a burly seaman appeared at the top of the ladder. He made his way down to the salon and hurried over to speak to the captain.
She couldn’t hear what was being said, but after a minute the captain pushed to his feet.
“If you will excuse me, ladies and gentlemen, it appears duty calls.” At the murmur that went round the room, Chambers gave them a reassuring smile. “I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about. In the meantime, please continue to enjoy your meal.”
The stout, gray-haired man departed and conversation resumed. No one seemed unduly concerned, though it was obvious the passengers were curious about what might be occurring.
“If it’s anything of import,” the earl said, “I’m sure we’ll find out when the captain returns.” The group chatted amiably throughout the meal and after they finished dessert, Lord Collingwood invited her for a stroll round the deck.
“Unless, of course, it’s too chill for you out there.”
“I would love a walk. A bit of fresh air sounds just the thing.” As supper approached, there had been a slight break in the weather, and though it yet remained cold, the seas appeared somewhat less formidable.
Lord Collingwood escorted her across the deck to the rail and she took a deep breath of the brisk sea air. She could feel the pitch and roll of the sea, but the ocean was less hostile and a thin sliver of moon rose over the water, casting a silver trail toward the horizon.
Grace tilted her head back to admire the crystal-white stars glittering in the black night sky. “Do you see that cluster of stars overhead?” She pointed into the darkness above the tall ship’s mast. “That is Orion, the hunter. Those three stars form his belt. Beside him, just there, that group is Taurus, the bull.”
The earl’s brown eyebrows went up. “Very impressive, my dear. I have studied the stars a bit myself and you are exactly correct. You enjoy stargazing, Miss Chastain?”
“Why, yes, I do. Very much. It is a hobby of mine. In fact, I have a small portable telescope packed in my trunk. I hope to do a bit of amateur astronomy while I am in Scarborough.”
He gave her a slightly crooked smile. “That sounds entertaining. I shall be traveling back that way on my return. Perhaps I might pay you a call.”
Grace cast the earl a look. He was handsome and well groomed, wealthy and a member of the aristocracy. She had sensed the man’s interest from the start, yet any interest on her part remained lacking. Though she enjoyed a man’s company, there were few she found appealing enough to consider more than a friend. At times, she wondered if something might be wrong with her.
“You would be welcome at Humphrey Hall, of course. I’m sure a visit would be pleasant.” Pleasant, indeed, but little more. She thought of the great love between Romeo and Juliet and wondered if she would ever know such a love.
The breeze picked up, tugging a strand of auburn hair loose from its pins and whipping it against her cheek. There was an icy chill in the air and beneath her fur-lined cloak, Grace couldn’t stop a shiver.
“You’re cold,” Lord Collingwood said. “I think it is time we went in. Perhaps you would care to join me in the salon for a game of whist.”
Why not? She had nothing better to do. “That would be lovely—” She broke off at the sound of men’s voices, members of the crew moving around the deck. Something seemed to be happening on the opposite side of the boat.
The earl’s head came up. “Look! It appears another ship is approaching.”
“Another ship?” A thread of worry slipped through her. They were at war, after all. A ship approaching in the dark ness might not bode well for the Lady Anne. She let Lord Collingwood lead her toward the bow so they might get a better view. “You don’t suppose the vessel is French?”
“I heartily doubt it. We are sailing fairly close to the coast.” He glanced back the way they had come. “But per haps we should return to the salon.”
Grace let him lead her in that direction though she didn’t really want to go. In the moonlight, she could see the white gleam of sails just off the port side of the ship. The vessel had nearly reached them and her worry crept up another notch.
“Looks like a schooner,” the earl said.
The ship was long and low to the water, its tall, twin masts rising majestically above the sea. The earl spotted the British flag flying at the rear of the sleek black craft at the same moment Grace did and she could hear his sigh of relief.
“Nothing to fear after all. The ship is one of our own.”
“Yes, so it would seem….” But thinking of the reason for her journey, her unease did not lessen.

“I’m sorry to interrupt your voyage, Captain.” Ethan Sharpe stood at the rail, speaking to Colin Chambers, captain of the Lady Anne. “But I’ve come on a matter of importance concerning one of your passengers.”
“You don’t say? What sort of matter are you talking about?”
“One of the passengers aboard your ship is wanted for questioning in regard to a breach of national security. She’s to be returned to London immediately.”
“She?”
“I’m afraid the passenger is a woman.”
He frowned. “And you say this woman is wanted by the authorities?”
“I’m afraid so, yes.” Not exactly the truth. The government had never heard of Grace Chastain. Ethan was one of the few who knew the woman was responsible for the escape of the traitor, Harmon Jeffries, Viscount Forsythe, the man who had betrayed him to the French and cost him his ship and his crew.
But his sources were completely reliable. The Chastain woman had hired someone in the underworld to arrange for two of the guards at Newgate to turn their backs while Jeffries escaped. According to his sources, Grace Chastain was the viscount’s mistress. She was the woman responsible for saving the man from the gallows.
No, the government didn’t want her for questioning.
Ethan did.
He was determined to find Jeffries—and sooner or later he would. At present, Ethan believed the man was safely living a life of luxury and ease in France, but he needed to know for sure. Aside from that, until he found a way to re capture the man, someone had to pay for what the viscount had done.
That someone would be Grace Chastain.
“I’ll need to see your papers, Captain Sharpe,” Chambers said.
“Of course.” He was prepared to cooperate as much as he reasonably could. He didn’t want trouble—he wanted the woman who had aided a traitor. He showed the man his charter as an English privateer, placing him in the service of his country. It seemed enough to satisfy the captain.
“And the name of this passenger?” Chambers asked as they walked along the deck toward the salon.
“Grace Chastain.”
The captain stopped dead in his tracks. “There must be some mistake. Miss Chastain is a young woman of quality. She couldn’t possibly be involved in something as heinous as—”
“Aiding the escape of a traitor? Freeing the man responsible for the loss of dozens of lives? That is among the questions that need to be answered. Now, Captain, if you would be so good as to take me to Miss Chastain, we will proceed with our business and you may be on your way.”
The captain still looked doubtful.
A few feet behind them, Angus McShane rested a thick hand on the grip of the pistol stuffed into his wide leather belt. Ethan made a faint movement of his head, telling Angus to signal the boarding party to be ready. Grace Chastain was leaving the Lady Anne—one way or another.
“This way, Captain Sharpe, if you please. Let us see what the lady has to say.”
Following the captain, Ethan made his way down the ladder to the main salon. Passengers sat in their opulent surroundings, three of them perched on a tapestry sofa, two of them seated in front of an ivory chessboard. Others read or played cards. A man rose as the captain approached the gaming table.
“What is it, Captain?”
“Naught that involves you, my lord. This is Captain Ethan Sharpe of the Sea Devil. Apparently the captain re quires a word with Miss Chastain.”
For the first time, Ethan focused on the woman seated at the gaming table, a fan of cards spread open in a slender hand. He had expected the woman to be attractive. She was, after all, the paid companion of a wealthy man.
But Grace Chastain was far beyond pretty. She was stunningly beautiful, with jewel-green eyes and skin like day-old cream. Her hair was auburn, dark copper streaked with gold, and even in her demure silk gown, a hint of full bosom rose enticingly above the modest neckline.
She was younger than he had imagined, or at least appeared so, yet certainly no girl just out of the schoolroom. Still, she didn’t carry the usual world-weary look of a seasoned whore.
No, Grace Chastain was beautiful and feminine, pale now as she rose to her feet, a tall, slenderly built young woman who, under different circumstances, he would have found incredibly attractive.
Instead, all he felt for her was loathing.
“Might we step outside, Miss Chastain?” Ethan asked, forcing a polite note into his voice, his faint bow only slightly mocking.
“May I ask what this is about, Captain Sharpe?” she asked.
He glanced at the tall aristocrat across from her ready to come to her defense. “As I said, I believe this conversation would be better spoken in private.”
Her face went even paler, and yet a delicate rose still bloomed in her cheeks. “Of course.”
“Perhaps I should come with you, my dear,” her companion volunteered.
She managed to give him a smile. “That won’t be necessary. I’m sure this won’t take long. I shall be back very shortly to finish our game.”
Like bloody hell.
She started for the ladder and the captain and Ethan fell into step behind her. Once on deck, Captain Chambers briefly explained why Ethan had come.
“I’m sorry, Miss Chastain, but Captain Sharpe claims you are wanted for questioning in a matter of national security.”
Her burnished brows drew together and a confused look appeared on her face. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”
Ethan fought to control his temper. She knew why he was here, yet clearly she meant to continue her deception. Well then, so would he. “I’m sure you haven’t the slightest notion about any of this. Still, the matter requires clarification. I’m afraid you will have to come with me.”
The last hint of color drained from her face. She looked as if she might faint dead away, and he swore beneath his breath. A swooning woman would only make the inevitable result more difficult for all of them.
Grace Chastain did not swoon.
Instead, her shoulders subtly straightened. She had resolved to brazen it out, to play the innocent victim. In a way he admired her courage.
“I’m a passenger aboard this ship. I cannot believe you expect me to simply leave. That is clearly impossible. I am on the way to visit my aunt, Lady Humphrey, in Scarborough. Should I not arrive, my aunt will become quite distraught.”
“Captain Chambers can make your explanations. Once the matter is resolved to everyone’s satisfaction, you will be allowed to resume your journey.” He urged her forward, toward the rope ladder slung over the side of the ship that led down to a small wooden dinghy waiting to return them to the Sea Devil—eager to get her there before any real trouble ensued.
Captain Chambers stepped forward, blocking their escape. “I’m sorry, Captain Sharpe. I am forced to agree with Miss Chastain. I’m sure you have a valid reason for all of this, but I simply cannot allow you to remove this young woman from my ship. As long as she is aboard the Lady Anne, Miss Chastain is under my protection.”
A noise sounded behind them, a shuffling of feet on the deck. Six armed members of the Sea Devil crew stepped from their hiding places, pistols loaded and pointed at the captain’s chest.
“I’m afraid, Captain Chambers, that you have no choice.” Ethan reached for Grace Chastain, slid an arm around her waist, and dragged her back against his chest. The guns remained leveled in the captain’s direction.
Ethan spoke to Grace Chastain. “As I said, there are questions you need to answer. The truth will be better ferreted out aboard my ship.”
He dragged her backward till he reached the rope ladder. He could feel her trembling, feel the icy chill of her skin, yet she made no attempt to escape. Perhaps she felt the captain’s life would be endangered should she make any sort of move.
Perhaps she was right. He intended to take the woman no matter the cost.
“What…what about my things?”
“There isn’t time. You’ll have to make do without them.” He hauled her the last few feet to the ladder. She gave a little gasp of surprise as he spun her around, bent and set his shoulder into her middle and hauled her over his shoulder.
“What do you think you’re doing? Put me down!”
“Take it easy. I’m just carrying you down the ladder. You’d never make it in that dress.”
She didn’t say more, though he thought that she wanted to very badly. She was afraid for the captain, somewhat of a surprise since Ethan hadn’t believed a woman of her morals would give a damn for anyone but herself.
It didn’t take long to reach the bottom of the ladder. He plopped her down on one of the gunwales, draped a woolen blanket over her shoulders, and took his place at the stern of the boat. The rest of his men scrambled down the ladder, took their seats and picked up their oars.
“Put your backs to it, lads. We don’t want trouble if we can avoid it. The sooner the lady is aboard the ship, the better for us all.”
He glanced in her direction, saw that beneath the blanket her body still shook with a combination of shock and fear, but she stared toward his ship with a look of resignation. It was obvious she knew why she was being taken. If he’d had the least doubt—which he didn’t—her silence would have convinced him of her guilt.
They arrived at the ship without incident. The Lady Anne was an old, three-masted square-rigger, an ungainly old tub in the water. Once the Sea Devil got underway, there would be no chance of the slower boat catching up with them.
As the wooden boat came up alongside the hull, one of the crewmen tossed up a line to secure the vessel while they climbed the ladder to the deck.
“I can make it on my own,” Grace said, gazing up at the high rope ladder.
He was almost tempted to let her try. “You’ll go up the way you came down.”
She opened her mouth to argue but he didn’t give her the chance, just set his shoulder against her middle, hoisted her over his shoulder and started up the ladder to the deck.
The instant her slippers hit the holystoned wood, she spun to face him. “All right, I am here now, as you have commanded. You have spouted some sort of nonsense about national security. I presume you intend to take me back to London.”
A hard smile curved his lips. “Eventually. At present, we’re sailing south along the coast, then heading for France.” Surprise widened those bright green eyes. “Wh-what!”
“I’ve business to see to before I deal with you.”
She swallowed, seemed to collect herself. “I demand to know why you brought me here. What do you want with me?”
It was the question he had been pondering since the moment he had discovered her identity back in London. The question foremost in his mind the instant he laid eyes on her aboard the Lady Anne.
“That is the question, is it not?”
Instead of fear, her green eyes flashed with an unexpected fire. The color was back in her cheeks and in the moonlight her hair gleamed like flames. “Precisely who are you, Captain Sharpe?”
He looked into that beautiful, treacherous face and a sweep of lust rushed through him. “You want to know who I am? Well, I am the devil incarnate and you, my sweet, are about to pay the devil’s due.”

Three
Grace stood rooted to the deck of the Sea Devil, fear a living thing inside her. She could hear the thunder of her heart, feel the tightness in her chest that made it hard to breathe. The captain stood in front of her, long legs braced against the roll of the sea, a cold, triumphant smile on his lips. It took sheer force of will not to let him know how terrified she truly was.
Dear God, she should have fought him! She should have refused to leave the ship, should have shouted for help, begged the passengers and crew to come to her aid. But there was Captain Chambers to consider and she didn’t want him harmed, perhaps even killed because of her.
She was guilty of a terrible crime, and in that brief, terrifying instant when the raven-haired captain had walked into the salon, it was obvious he knew what she had done.
Who was he? The devil, he had said, and Grace believed him. If she closed her eyes, she could still see the revulsion in his face as he had looked at her. And the hatred. She had never seen eyes such an icy shade of blue, never seen a jaw so hard it appeared carved in stone.
He was tall, his legs long and sinewy, the shoulder pressing into her stomach as he had carried her down the rope ladder wide and solid. There was no extra fat over the lean muscles in his back, she knew, her face growing warm at the memory of the intimate contact.
His skin was dark, has face tanned, little crinkles at the corners of his eyes. Sun lines, not laugh lines, she was sure. She couldn’t image the devil captain ever laughing at any thing except, perhaps, someone else’s pain. Instead, his features were hard and unforgiving, brutal, even cruel.
And yet he was handsome. With his wavy black hair, winged black brows, and well-formed lips, he was one of the handsomest men she had ever seen.
“Follow me.”
The words sliced through her, breaking into her trance. Sweet God, why had she ever let him force her off the Lady Anne?
She mustered her courage. “Where are you taking me?”
“You’ll need a place to sleep. You’ll be staying in my cabin.”
She stopped dead still, the deck rolling just then, causing her to stumble. “And where, exactly, do you intend to sleep?”
His mouth barely curved. “This ship isn’t all that big. I’m afraid you’ll have to share the cabin with me.”
Grace shook her head, unconsciously took a step backward. “Oh, no. There is no way you are sleeping in the same room with me.”
One of his black eyebrows went up. “Then perhaps you would rather sleep on deck. I can arrange it, if that is your wish. Or you can bunk in with the crew. I’m sure there isn’t a one of them who would mind sharing his bed with you. What will it be, Miss Chastain?”
She stared at those unforgiving features and a wave of nausea hit her. She was completely at this man’s mercy. What in God’s name could she do?
She glanced frantically around the deck. There was no where to go, no place to run. Half a dozen crewmen stood in a semicircle around them. One man smiled and she noticed the black stumps of his teeth. One of them had a wooden leg, another man was big and dark and covered with tattoos.
“Miss Chastain?”
Surely the captain was the lesser evil, though she wasn’t completely certain. At the nod she barely managed, he turned and started walking. Grace forced her feet to move, her legs shaking as she followed him down the ladder that led to his quarters in the stern of the ship. At the bottom of the stairs, he turned and reached for her hand, helping her down with a chivalry that was more mocking than gallant.
He opened his cabin door to let her pass and she stepped into luxurious quarters far more impressive than the tiny space she had occupied with Phoebe aboard the Lady Anne.
“I gather you approve.”
How could she not? The walls were fashioned of polished mahogany, as were the table and chairs, the desk and the bookshelves. A wide built-in mahogany berth stretched beneath a spread of small square windows looking out the stern, and a warm fire burned in a tiny hearth in the corner. The glossy wooden floor, covered with a thick Persian carpet, gleamed in the light of freshly polished brass lamps.
She forced her gaze to his face. “Your taste in furnishings is quite splendid, Captain Sharpe. One might almost say refined.” She couldn’t keep a trace of sarcasm out of her voice.
“Unlike my manners, is that it, Miss Chastain?”
“Your words, Captain, not mine.”
He picked up a silver letter opener on his desk and turned it over with long, tapered fingers. “I’m intrigued, Miss Chastain. Earlier, when we first met, you seemed only mildly surprised by my arrival. I presume that is be cause you were aware there might be consequences to the actions you took in London.”
She kept her expression bland and prayed he wouldn’t notice that her hands were trembling. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. I came with you because you made it clear your men would shoot Captain Chambers if I did not.”
“So you were concerned for the captain’s welfare, not your own.”
“That is correct.”
“Why do you think I came for you?”
“I have no idea.”
“Really.”
“None whatsoever.”
“Perhaps you thought I meant to solicit a ransom for your return.” He strolled toward her, tall and dark, a panther on the prowl.
“Do you?” Hoping her numb fingers would work, she reached up to work the clasp on her necklace. “If that is the case, perhaps you will take this in lieu of money. I as sure you the necklace is quite valuable.” And difficult as blazes to unfasten, as if the pearls had a will of their own.
The captain walked toward her. “Perhaps I can assist you.” The clasp unfastened almost instantly, the necklace falling gently into the captain’s hand. “Lovely.” His fingers smoothed over the pearls. “I wonder how you got them.”
“The pearls were a gift. Take them as payment and return me to the Lady Anne.”
He laughed, a harsh, unpleasant sound. “A gift. From an admirer, no doubt.” He rolled them from palm to palm, testing their weight, feeling their creamy texture, then dropping them carelessly onto his desk.
“I’m not interested in your money, Miss Chastain.” Cold blue eyes swept her from head to foot, and a chilling smile lifted the corners of his mouth. “There are, however, other forms of payment I might consider.” His pale blue gaze came to rest on the curve of her breast, barely visible above the top of her aqua silk gown. “I’ll be busy for a while. I suggest you make yourself comfortable while I’m gone.”
He plucked the necklace up off the desk, his long fingers curling around it. “Until later, Miss Chastain.”
Grace watched him cross the cabin and close the door behind him. At sound of the latch falling into place, she re leased the breath she had been holding. The tears she had been fighting welled up and began to roll down her cheeks. Grace hurriedly wiped them away, determined no one would see them and especially not him.
She had thought he meant to take her back to London, that he intended to return her to the magistrates to face charges for aiding a traitor’s escape. She had known it could happen, that she could be caught and imprisoned for what she had done.
But she couldn’t abandon her father. Though she barely knew him and didn’t know if he were innocent or guilty, she simply could not stand by and let him hang.

Ethan stood with his legs braced apart and his hands curved round the rail. He stared out at the inky water, his mind filled with images of Grace Chastain. Thoughts of her mingled with memories of the men in his crew, brave men, some of them married with families, men who had fought beside him over the years.
He could still hear their screams through the walls of the prison.
“The girl is no’ what I imagined.” He hadn’t heard Angus walk up beside him. “Just a lass, is all, no’ much more than three-and-twenty, maybe even less.”
“Her age is hardly important. She set a murderer free. It is possible she was in collusion with him from the start. And there is a chance she may know where to find him.”
Angus nodded. “Aye, that seems ta be the way of it.”
Ethan stared back out at the water. A thin trickle of moonlight speared toward them as the ship cut through the sea. An icy wind whipped across the deck, slicing through his breeches, his heavy woolen coat and the full-sleeved shirt he wore underneath.
“Perhaps she loved him.”
Ethan’s jaw hardened. “The man had a wife and children. The girl is a whore.”
Angus leaned his thick body against the rail. “I suppose that’s true, as well.” He fiddled with a bit of lint on the front of his heavy wool coat. “Now that ye’ve got her, what will ye do with her?”
Ethan turned. “She was Jeffries’s whore. Tonight she’ll whore for me.”
Angus said nothing, but Ethan didn’t miss the look of disapproval in his eyes. “Will ye force her?”
He shook his head. “I won’t have to. She’s for sale, isn’t she?”
Angus tugged his stocking cap a little lower over his wide forehead. “If she pays yer price, will ye set her free?”
Ethan stared at him as if he had lost his mind. “Set her free?” He scoffed. “When I’ve had my fill—when I’m satisfied she can be no help in finding him—I’ll take her back to London and turn her over to the authorities. She’s committed a crime, Angus. She deserves to be punished for what she’s done.”
The older man grunted. “I’ve a feeling the lass will be punished well and good before she ever gets back ta London.” Angus turned away and ambled toward the ladder leading down to his quarters.
Ethan softly cursed. Angus hadn’t been with them on that last, fateful journey. Only Ethan and Long-boned Ned had fought alongside the crew of the Sea Witch against the thirty-five-gun frigate that had been hiding in wait off the foggy banks of France. The warship had known exactly where to find them. Her captain had been provided with secret information that would result in the capture of the Sea Witch’s captain and crew.
Harmon Jeffries had sold out his country, and his mistress had arranged his escape.
Ethan thought of the woman in his cabin. It was well after midnight. She would probably be sleeping. He imagined her lying naked in his bed, spread like an offering beneath him, and his body stirred to life. Desire pulsed through him and his shaft went hard.
He would have her. He would bargain for her favors and pleasure himself until she begged him to stop.
Until this night, he had never behaved as anything but a gentleman where a woman was concerned. The mistresses he had kept over the years had been treated well and fairly.
But Grace Chastain was different. She deserved to pay and he intended to see it done.

Frightened and uncertain and exhausted clear to her bones, Grace fought to stay awake. After the captain’s departure, she had curled up in a chair near the door and listened to every sound, certain her enemy would return any moment.
The devil had made his intentions clear. He meant to take her innocence, to ravage her like the barbarian he was. But she would not make it easy. He was tall and strong, but she was smart and determined. She would fight him to the last, resist him with the last breath in her body.
The hours ticked past. She could hear the chiming of the ship’s clock, marking every half hour, still he did not return. The roll and sway of the ship began to lull her, the soft rush of the waves against the hull. She tried to keep her eyes open, pinched herself to keep from falling asleep.
But time crept past and sleep beckoned like a siren calling to an unwary sailor. Her eyes slowly closed. She never heard the door swing quietly open, never heard the sound of the captain’s tall black boots as he walked through the door.

Ethan stood in the center of his cabin. If he had expected to find Grace Chastain undressed and comfortably settled in his bed he was sorely mistaken.
Instead the girl huddled in the hard wooden chair in front of his desk, his silver-handled letter opener gripped defensively in her hand. Her head slumped forward onto her chest and the blanket around her shoulders had slid off onto the floor. Her hair was slightly mussed, her lips softly parted in slumber. She looked young and innocent and more enticing than any woman he had ever seen.
He told himself to wake her, to strike a bargain for the use of her luscious body, but something held him back. That she was exhausted was written in every line of her face. That she was frightened, though she had done her best not to show it, seemed more than clear.
He should be happy that she suffered, he told himself. It was what he wanted, the reason he had brought her aboard his ship. He meant for her to pay and he would not be satisfied until she did.
And yet he found himself crossing the room, slipping the letter opener out of her hand, lifting her into his arms and carrying her over to the bed. He tossed back the covers, set her down on the mattress still fully clothed and pulled the blanket up over her.
He was nearly as tired as she. Perhaps it was better to wait, he told himself. Tomorrow they would strike their bargain and he could take what he wanted. Quietly undressing down to his smallclothes, bare-chested, he blew out the lamp and lay down on the opposite side of the bed, plumping the pillow behind his head.
Tomorrow, he thought, the image returning of her naked body spread beneath him. Anticipation mingled with fatigue as he drifted off to sleep.

Tomorrow came earlier than he expected. The sun was not yet up when Ethan’s eyes cracked open and the feeling that something was out of place trickled through him. It took only an instant to remember that his lovely prisoner slept beside him, the soft, warm feel of a woman’s body pressing against him not something that happened all that often.
Though she still slept like the dead, Grace Chastain’s bottom nestled snugly into his groin, her soft heat penetrating the thin layer of her aqua silk gown and his smallclothes. He was hard, he realized, aching with the need to be inside her. What would she do, he wondered, if he lifted her wrinkled dress and began to gently caress her? The woman had a temper as fiery as her hair. He wondered if he could arouse that same sort of passion in bed.
She wasn’t new to the game, which could help his cause or hinder it, depending on the sort of lovers she had known over the years. He skimmed a hand lightly over her hip, enjoying the sweetly feminine curves, the roundness of her bottom. He ran a hand along her thigh, down her calf, reached for the hem of her gown—
The shriek of outrage that erupted from the opposite side of the bed made his ears start to ring. She leaped out of the bunk as if it were on fire and whirled to face him, slim feet braced apart, hands out in front of her as if she faced a monster from hell. He almost found himself smiling.
“Don’t you touch me!”
“I believe you’ve made your dislike of touching more than clear.” He rolled to the side of the bed and reached for his breeches, dragged them on over his hips and began to work the buttons up the front.
She raced over to the desk and began a mad search for the letter opener. He cursed himself as she snatched it up and held it protectively in front of her.
“You don’t need that. I’m not going to hurt you.”
“You were…you were…trying to…to…”
“Take it easy. The way you were curled up against me, I thought we both might enjoy ourselves.” God, she was beautiful. With her auburn hair tumbled around her shoulders and her cheeks flushed with anger…Christ, just looking at her made him hard all over again.
He moved a little closer but not enough to frighten her. “Actually, I was hoping we could come to some sort of an arrangement.”
She eyed him warily, the letter opener still gripped in her hand. “What kind of arrangement?”
“I’m a man, Miss Chastain. Men have certain needs. I’m sure you’re well aware of that.”
The letter opener trembled in her fingers. “Are you…are you saying you expect me to service your…your needs?”
His mouth faintly curved. “I wouldn’t put it exactly that way. As I said, I think it could be pleasurable for both of us. And beneficial for you, as well.”
Her eyebrows drew warily together. “You’re talking about some sort of deal.”
“I am. If you agree and I’m satisfied with your performance, I might be willing to intercede on your behalf with the authorities when we get back to London.”
She swallowed. For the first time he realized she was fighting not to cry. Why that bothered him he could not say.
She moistened her lips and he noticed that they trembled. “No.”
“That’s it? Just no?”
She simply shook her head. She looked innocent and vulnerable, and seeing her that way made his chest feel oddly tight.
“If you try to force me, I’ll fight you with every ounce of my strength.”
She would. He could see it in her face. The determination was there, behind the faint shimmer of tears.
“I won’t force you,” he said softly. “That was never my intention.” But neither would he let her off so easily. She was Harmon Jeffries’s mistress and he wanted her. Badly. Sooner or later, he would have her.
“How…how do I know you are telling me the truth?”
“I’m many things, Miss Chastain, but a liar isn’t one of them. Put the letter opener down.”
Her fingers merely tightened around the handle.
“I said put it down.” He moved closer, beginning to get annoyed. He wasn’t used to people disobeying his orders. He wasn’t about to tolerate it from Grace Chastain.
“Stay back—I’m warning you.”
“And I am warning you. Put the letter opener down or suffer the consequences.”
She bit her plump bottom lip and it made him want to kiss her. Christ, he couldn’t remember feeling such lust for a woman. That she belonged to Harmon Jeffries made him want her even more.
He circled to the left and Grace circled right, the blade still gripped in her hand.
“You are begging for trouble, Miss Chastain.”
“Perhaps you are the one in trouble.”
He did smile then. A rare, sincere smile that felt odd on his face. He feigned left, dove right, caught her wrist and snatched the letter opener from her hand. He tossed it across the room at the same instant he hauled her hard against his chest, buried his fingers in her heavy auburn hair, and dragged her mouth up to his for a deep, plundering kiss.
Heat washed through him in a powerful sweep of lust. He kissed her a moment more, then let her go and stepped away, saw that her wide green eyes were huge with surprise and disbelief. His heart was pumping, his erection throbbing. He was pleased to note from the rise and fall of her breasts and the high color in her cheeks that he wasn’t the only one who had been affected.
“Think about what I said,” he told her softly. “Perhaps a bargain with the devil wouldn’t be so bad.” Turning away from her, he snatched up the rest of his clothes, picked up the letter opener and headed out the door, closing it softly behind him.

Grace stared at the door where her captor had disappeared. He was a savage. A barbarian. She didn’t trust him to keep his word, had no reason to believe he would.
Dear God, how she wished she were back on board the Lady Anne.
Unconsciously, her fingers came up to her lips. Though his kiss had been brief, it had been extremely thorough, a hard, punishing kiss that should have repulsed her. Instead, her heart pounded and her head swam until she feared she might swoon. There had been no gentleness, nothing sweet or tender. Still, it was a kiss she would never forget.
How could that be?
She thought of the bargain the captain had proposed. It was obvious he knew of the escape from Newgate that she had engineered and yet they sailed not toward London but away. She knew she should be frightened—and she was. But there was something inside her that refused to cower before him.
Her stomach growled. Grace shoved back her tangled mass of hair and walked over to the cheval glass in the corner. Heavy auburn curls hung limply around her shoulders and her aqua gown was a dreary, wrinkled mess. She lifted her gown, tore a length of lace from the hem of her chemise, and used it to tie back her hair. She longed for a bath and something to eat and wondered if Captain Sharpe intended to punish her by starving her to death.
As if her thoughts had been transported, a soft knock sounded at the door. Thinking of the protection offered by the letter opener, she cast a wishful glance at the desk but the weapon was gone.
She sighed and started toward the door. If the captain or his men had wanted to hurt her, they could have done so last night. Pausing for an instant, she took a steadying breath and pulled the door open.
The last thing she expected was the sight of a young blond boy standing in the corridor, holding a breakfast tray in his hands.
“Mornin’, miss. Capt’n thought ye might be hungry. He sent this down for yer breakfast.” The smell of freshly cooked porridge drifted up from the bowl in the center of the tray. A large round orange, nicely sliced into manageable pieces, sat next to the bowl, along with a steaming mug of tea, a pitcher of cream and a jar of molasses for the porridge. She could hardly believe it.
Her mouth watered. “Well, the captain was entirely correct—I am hungry. It was generous of him to think of sending the tray.” Generous—unless it was merely a ploy to secure her agreement to his proposal. In which case, his strategy would fail.
“What is your name?” Grace asked the boy, no more than twelve years old and small for his age, with eyes as green as her own. For the first time she noticed the carved wooden crutch tucked under his left arm.
“Freddie, miss. Me name’s Freddie Barton.”
Grace ignored the disturbing crutch and pasted on a smile. “Well, Freddie, you may set the tray down right over there.” She pointed to a small round Sheraton table with two matching chairs, thinking how odd it was that the devil captain would employ a crippled cabin boy.
“Yes, miss.” Freddie started for the table and Grace frowned as she noticed the bent, twisted shape of his left leg. Then a noise sounded in the passage behind him and something shot into the cabin through the crack left in the door, brushing so close to the boy’s malformed limb he nearly toppled over.
“Blast ye, Schooner!” He set the tray on the table a bit unsteadily and Grace followed his gaze to the yellow-striped tabby that had settled under the chair.
“Ye like cats?” he asked, his glance sliding toward the animal who was hidden out of sight except for its tail.
“Why, yes, I do.”
Freddie looked relieved. “Schooner won’t bother ye none. And ’e’s a very good mouser.”
She bit back a smile. “Then I suppose I won’t have to worry about mice in the cabin.”
“No, miss.” He looked over at the orange-striped tail, swishing back and forth beneath the chair. “Schooner’ll let ye know when he’s ready to go back out.”
“I’m sure he will.”
“Capt’n says I’m to look out for ye. If there’s anything ye need, ye just need to tell me.”
There was plenty she needed—like getting off the ship—but she didn’t think Freddie would be able to manage the trick. She walked over to the table and surveyed the tray of food, her stomach growling again. She was hungry, but she needed information more than food and the boy could be a well of knowledge.
“How long have you worked for Captain Sharpe?”
“Not long a’tall, miss. Capt’n only just got hisself another ship. Me pap sailed with him, though. Got hisself kilt along with the rest o’ the crew sometime back.”
“I’m sorry, Freddie. What happened?”
“Well, ye see, miss, they was fightin’ the Frenchies. The bloody bastards captured the ship and tossed the capt’n, me pap and the rest into prison.” He reddened as he realized he had used several colorful swear words. “Beg pardon, miss.”
“That’s all right, Freddie. It sounds like they were bad men, indeed.”
The boy leaned on his crutch. “Capt’n lost the Sea Witch and his men—all but Angus and Long-boned Ned. Ye should hear the tales Ned tells. Ned says Capt’n Sharpe fought like a demon. He says the capt’n—”
“I think the lady knows as much as she cares to about the captain,” said a deep voice from the doorway. “Run along, Freddie. Angus has need of you.”
The boy flushed guiltily, turned and stumped on his crutch out of the room, working the long wooden device so skillfully it seemed attached to his body. Freddie closed the cabin door and Grace forced herself to face the tall man standing just inside the threshold.
“Your porridge is getting cold.”
She flicked a glance that way. “Yes…thank you for sending it.”
His dark look said he wished he hadn’t. “I thought you should keep up your strength. I can tell you firsthand, the food in prison is less than palatable.”
Her stomach twisted. She had to remember this man was her enemy. She had committed a crime, yes, but Ethan Sharpe wasn’t a magistrate. He had no right to sit in judgment.
Her appetite now gone, she walked over to the table and sat down to eat. Ignoring the sound of his footfalls moving about the cabin, she managed to finish the porridge, but her stomach rebelled at the thought of eating the orange.
The captain walked over to the table, stopped right be side her. “Eat the orange. You wouldn’t want to get scurvy and lose all those pretty white teeth.”
Her lips thinned at the effort to hold back a nasty retort. It was none of his business what she did or did not eat. On the other hand, she had heard about the perils of scurvy. She devoted herself to the orange.
It was sweet and wet and delicious. With a sigh of pleasure, she wiped her mouth with the linen napkin on the tray and shoved back her chair. The captain was seated at his desk, writing in some sort of ledger.
Grace walked up behind him. “I want to know why you brought me here. I want to know what you are planning to do with me.”
He turned, unfolded his tall frame from the chair, and stood towering above her. She felt as if she had goaded a panther while standing in its cage.
His pale blue eyes bored into her. “And I want to know why you helped a traitor escape the gallows.”
There it was, out in the open at last. “What makes you so certain I did?”
“I have my sources…very reliable sources. Just as Harmon Jeffries had his.”
The sound of her father’s name, spoken with such venom, tightened the knot in her stomach. She had only recently discovered her father’s existence, only come to know him through the letters he had sent her over the years, letters her mother had hidden away. The letters had touched her; they’d proven that instead of abandoning her as she had believed, he had never truly forgotten her.
She had helped him escape, committed a heinous crime in the eyes of the law, and now she couldn’t afford to be goaded into any sort of admission. She had no idea who the man really was or what his intentions might be.
She ignored his question as flatly as he had ignored hers. “I demand you take me to Scarborough. That is where I was headed when you so vilely abducted me. That is where I still wish to go.”
He laughed without humor. “You are quite an amazing young woman, Miss Chastain. Surprisingly resourceful and infinitely entertaining. I find I am beginning to enjoy our little cat and mouse game.”
“Well, I am not enjoying it—not one bit.”
“No?” His eyes ran over her, icy as the sea, yet she could feel the heat in them, the hunger. “Perhaps in time…”
Her breathing hitched. She turned away from him, suddenly conscious of her dishevel. She smoothed an errant strand of hair, wishing desperately for a bath and fresh clothes.
The gesture must have betrayed her thoughts.
“In a day or two, we’ll be stopping for supplies. I’ll see what I can do about finding you something to wear.”
She raised her chin and looked into his face. “I have all the clothes I need—in my cabin on the Lady Anne.”
The captain’s jaw hardened. “Unfortunately for you, you are no longer aboard the Lady Anne.”

Four
Two more days passed. Grace sat on the captain’s wide bed in her rumpled aqua gown, Schooner nestled in her lap. The big orange tabby purred loudly, an oddly comforting sound. She was trapped aboard what could only be called a pirate ship, sailing God knew where, her fate as yet undetermined.
She couldn’t figure out why she wasn’t more afraid.
Grace sighed as she absently stroked Schooner’s fur. Perhaps it was because she had survived thus far unharmed and her treatment had not been too ill. Wearing the man’s cotton night rail that Freddie had brought her, still unwilling to trust her captor, Grace had fallen asleep each night as she had the first, sitting in the straight-back chair behind the captain’s desk. Each morning she had awakened in his bed, curled on her side beneath the covers. The only difference was, each of those mornings, she had awakened alone.
Grace knew he had been there, sleeping next to her as he had that first night. She could see the indentation of his head on the pillow, smell the faint, masculine scent of him, something that reminded her of the sea.
Her real fear lay not in what the captain might do, but what would happen if he returned her to London and handed her over to the authorities. So far, the ship continued a course that carried her away from the city and as long as they weren’t sailing to London, there was always a ray of hope.
At least he had been decent enough to loan her a brush and comb. It was an exquisite set, silver inlaid with mother-of-pearl. Probably a gift for one of his paramours. Grace was simply grateful to be able to brush and braid her hair.
In the past two days, she had rarely seen the devil captain. She was grateful for that, as well. With his hot glances and cool disdain, the man was hardly fit company. Still, even with Freddie and Schooner to help pass the time, she felt restless and confined. She paced the cabin, feeling as if the walls were closing in, her irritation building. The cabin wasn’t a prison cell and yet it felt like one.
The next time she saw him she was going to demand he take her up on deck. She was used to a good bit of exercise, walking along the shops on Bond Street or strolling in the park. During the day, she cracked open one of the portholes above the bed, but it wasn’t the same as being out of doors, feeling the salt spray against her face and filling her lungs with brisk sea air. If it weren’t for the motley crew aboard the ship, she would have gone up by herself.
Grace made a turn at the foot of the bed and started pacing back the other way. She heard the light knock, recognized Freddie’s small hand and went over to open the door. Surprise hit her at the sight of the steaming copper tub being carried by two men in the crew, one of them the dark man with all the tattoos.
“’Tis rainwater, miss.” Freddie stumped out of the way so the men could bring the tub into the cabin. “We hit a squall last night. Gave us a chance to refill the cisterns. Capt’n thought ye might like a bath.”
She nearly sighed at the notion.
“Where ye want it, miss?”
“In front of the fire would be nice.” She hurried that way, stood back while the men set the tub on the floor in front of the low-burning flames.
“There’s linen towels in the cupboard just there.” Freddie pointed. “Shall I get one for ye?”
“I’ll get it. Thank you, Freddie.” The boy and crewmen left the cabin and Grace turned her attention to the tub. In the evening, she had been forced to remove her clothing in order to put on the night rail and done the reverse in the mornings. But sitting naked in a tub in the middle of the captain’s cabin would take far more courage.
Grace eyed the small copper bathing tub. She could almost feel the heat shimmering up from the water, feel the steam against her skin. Her decision was made. Reaching behind her back, she began to unfasten the buttons closing up her dress, but the buttons were small and hard to reach.
“Damn thing,” she muttered, wishing Phoebe were there to help her. She twisted herself into a knot, trying to work the last few buttons.
“Perhaps I might be of assistance.” The deep voice reached her from across the cabin. She had been so preoccupied with her gown she hadn’t heard him come in.
He didn’t wait for her answer, just strode toward her in his gleaming knee-high boots. There was a faint hesitation in his stride that she had noticed before, an old wound per haps. Though he hid the slight limp well, when he got angry or upset it became more pronounced.
It didn’t seem to be bothering him now as he stripped away his woolen coat and tossed it onto the bed, leaving him in snug black breeches and a full-sleeved shirt. He looked like a pirate, a Black Bart or maybe Captain Kidd, and perhaps he was.
He had taken her by force, had he not? Abducted her against her will from the Lady Anne?
She felt his fingers on her gown, working the buttons with a skill that told her he was no stranger to the feminine wardrobe. The minute the gown fell open, she walked away from him, holding the dress up over her breasts.
“Thank you,” she said stiffly. “Now if you will excuse me, I should like to enjoy the bath you so thoughtfully sent down.”
He gave her one of his ruthless smiles. “Of course. I’ll just stand out of the way over here.”
Her eyebrows shot up. “Surely you don’t intend to stay here while I disrobe?”
But one look into those hungry blue eyes said that was exactly his intention. “I’ve provided the bath. I want something in return. As a man who appreciates the beauty of the female form, I wish to watch you bathe.”
“You’re insane.”
“Actually, I think I’m being quite reasonable. We’re sharing this cabin. Sooner or later, we will both need to use that tub.” She blushed, thinking she needed to use it now. She had never been so unkempt in a gentleman’s presence. Of course, the captain was scarcely a gentleman. “And it isn’t as though you have never been naked in front of a man before.”
The blush deepened. How dare he think such a thing! She had been kissed by two different men—three including him. She had wanted to know what it felt like. But that was as far as her physical experience went.
She could tell him that, though he probably wouldn’t believe her. So far she had been holding her cards close to the vest. It was beginning to look as if he knew less about her than she had first thought. For the present, it might be to her advantage to keep it that way.
“Well, I have never been naked in front of you and that is the way I wish to keep it.”
He shrugged those wide shoulders. “As you wish. I’ll have the men remove the tub.” He started for the door.
“Wait!” She worried her bottom lip, eyeing the tub, yearning to be fresh and clean again. “Perhaps we could compromise.”
One dark eyebrow went up. “How so?”
“Well…if you turned round until I got into the tub, per haps I wouldn’t feel quite so exposed.”
He glanced from her to the water, looked at her and smiled. “All right, if it makes you feel better, I’ll turn my back till you get in the tub.”
He did so, crossing his arms over his chest. Grace closed her eyes, trying to summon her courage. She needed that bath. She wasn’t about to let the devil captain keep her from it.
Hurriedly stripping off her clothes, she climbed into the small copper tub, drawing her legs up beneath her chin. The splash of water alerted him. He waited a second more, giving her time to get settled, then turned.
The man made such a thorough inspection of her body her cheeks began to burn, then he walked over to the cupboard and drew out the towel she had forgotten, along with a bar of soap. It was lavender scented, certainly not meant for him.
“You’ll need this when you finish.” He draped the towel over the back of the chair. “And a little of this might be useful.” She reached up to catch the bar of soap he tossed her way and saw his eyes darken.
Her cheeks turned a deeper shade of pink as she realized that in reaching up, she had given him a glimpse of her naked breasts.
“You make quite a fetching picture, Miss Chastain.”
Grace eyed him warily as he approached the tub and went down on one knee beside it.
“You’ll want to wash you hair,” he said, his voice a little gruff.
Grace sat perfectly still as he pulled off the edge of torn lace that bound the single braid she had made of her hair. Using his fingers to separate the heavy strands, he spread them around her shoulders.
“You’ve beautiful hair,” he said softly. “The color of fire and soft as silk.”
She said nothing, but something warm filtered into her stomach. She could feel his hands, the long, tapered fingers brushing the nape of her neck, tugging gently on an auburn strand. Goose bumps crept over her skin and the warmth in her stomach filtered out through her limbs.
“Give me the soap,” he said, plucking it from her trembling hands before she could stop him. “I’ll wash your back for you.”
Oh, dear God! “You—you can’t possibly mean to do that!” More words of protest formed on her tongue but she couldn’t seem to force them out. And if she tried to move away from him, he would be able to see even more of her than he could already. She stiffened at the feel of his hand moving the bar of soap in slow circles over the skin on her back.
“Relax, Grace. I’m not going to do anything you don’t want me to…”
“I don’t want you to touch me.”
“…aside from helping you wash.” He soaped the linen rag again and the scent of lavender drifted over her. The heat of the water seeped into her stiff muscles, and against her will she began to relax. As if in some sort of trance, she closed her eyes and some of her tension began to fade.
The cloth moved gently down her neck and onto her back. He soaped her shoulders, moved the cloth down each of her arms. He trickled water over the soap on her back and arms then slowly reached around to soap her throat and chest.
Her eyes snapped open as the cloth moved lower, circled a breast, slid between her cleavage, circled the other breast, rubbed over her nipples. They peaked beneath the water, and heat and moisture slid into her core.
“Stop! You…you must stop this instant!” She was trembling. She crossed her arms over her breasts, embarrassed by her unexpected reaction, angry at him for taking advantage. “That wasn’t part of the bargain. I didn’t give you permission to take liberties.”
He shrugged. “I only wished to be useful.” But a faint smile curved his lips and his pale eyes were darker than she had ever seen them. As she studied him from the tub, her gaze lit on the heavy bulge in the crotch of his breeches. It happened when a man was aroused, she knew, and fear began to rise inside her.
“Please, I beg you. Let me finish my bath in peace.”
A long finger skimmed along her cheek. “Are you certain that’s what you want?”
Grace moistened her trembling lips. “Yes, very certain.”
For several long moments, he didn’t move, just stayed where he knelt next to the tub. Then with a sigh, he rose to his feet.
“I’ll make sure you aren’t disturbed.”
She managed to force out the words. “Thank you.”
She watched him stride across the cabin. Relief came with a rush when the door closed behind him. Beneath the water, her nipples were still diamond-hard. Her stomach still quivered. It was frightening, what his brief caress had done.
The water was turning cold before she roused herself from her troubled thoughts, managed to finish bathing and wash her hair. All the while she kept asking herself how she could have allowed such a thing to happen.
But the answer did not come.

He couldn’t figure her out. In the past, Ethan had prided himself on his understanding of women. His older brother, Charles, had explained the facts of life when he was just a boy, and having a sister gave him insight into the workings of the female mind. As a youth, he had often spent time with his sister, Sarah, and her friends and he had grown to feel comfortable in the company of women. Over the years, he’d had a number of mistresses.
But Grace Chastain confused him. He believed her to be a whore, yet she played the innocent. Her bravado rose in contrast to the vulnerable expressions that sometimes appeared on her face, the glimmer of tears she fought to hide. She kept him constantly off balance and Ethan didn’t like it. Not one little bit.
Last night after the episode with Grace in the tub, he had shared his first mate’s cabin instead of retiring to his own. Angus knew better than to ask questions. Even if he had, Ethan wouldn’t have known the answers.
Perhaps he was afraid if he had slept beside Grace Chastain as he had the past few nights, the temptation to have her would have been too great. He knew now what lay beneath her borrowed night rail, knew the exact smoothness of her skin, exactly how full her breasts were. He knew the shape of each one and the weight, the rosy color of her nipples.
It had taken sheer force of will not to lift her out of the tub and take one of those heavy breasts into his mouth. He had wanted to run his hands over her belly, her hips, her thighs, wanted to spread those long, shapely legs and bury himself inside her.
Ethan took a steadying breath. The kiss he had stolen that first day had been torture enough. Now, just thinking about her slender, luscious curves made him hard, and that was the last thing he wanted.
Standing on the quarterdeck behind the big teakwood wheel, he looked out over the water. If he slept beside her, he might not be able to resist the temptation to take her. He might not be able to control his lust and it angered him to think she held that kind of power over him. It was never what he had intended.
And he was determined to take back control.
Tomorrow they would reach Odds Landing, the tiny seaport village south and east of Dover. He would buy the lady some clothes and use them to strike the bargain he had intended to make from the start—one he hoped would ease his disturbing need.
He almost smiled. By tomorrow night, Grace Chastain would be sharing her luscious body as well as his bed. “Capt’n?”
He looked up to see his second mate, Willard Cox, topping the ladder to the quarterdeck. Cox was a man in his forties, a big, beefy seaman, heavily muscled through the chest and shoulders. Apparently, the man had acquired a bit of schooling and the surprising ability to read, write and cipher. Cox had a scar across his cheek and one on the back of his hand, but otherwise he wasn’t a bad-looking man. Ethan had never sailed with Cox before and though he had done a good job so far, Ethan wasn’t ready to rush to judgment.
“We received the signal, sir. You can see the lantern, there, off the starboard bow.”
They were close enough to shore to see the glow of yellow light. He’d been expecting the signal. Tomorrow in Odds Landing he had a meeting with a man named Max Bradley. Bradley worked for the British War Office. Along with Ethan’s cousin, Cord Easton, earl of Brant, and another of his best friends, the duke of Sheffield, Bradley had been responsible for Ethan’s narrow escape, after nearly a year, from a filthy French prison.
“Return the signal, Mr. Cox. Tell them the meeting will take place as scheduled.”
“Aye, sir.” Cox made his way back down the ladder and Ethan thought about tomorrow’s rendezvous.
He had agreed to a final mission for the British government. For years, there had been concern about the strength of Napoleon’s naval forces, but lately that concern had in creased. The military believed the Little Corporal was amassing an even larger armada and that once the ships were completed, the fleet would be used to invade English shores.
It was Ethan’s job to prowl the coast, to search for information until he could discover the truth of the matter, one way or another.
He glanced toward the coastline, saw tiny lights flickering in the windows of the distant town of Odds Landing, and thought of Grace Chastain. For the second night in a row, he would sleep in his first mate’s cabin. He imagined the purchases he would make on the morrow and the con cession he intended to receive in return for them, and vowed it would be the last night he spent in a bed other than his own.

“I want to go with you.” Grace faced the captain as he collected his things and prepared to leave the ship. “I can’t stand another day confined to this cabin.”
He glanced her way. “You would prefer a prison cell, perhaps?”
She blanched but pulled herself together and held her ground. “I need some sort of exercise. I am unused to this kind of confinement.”
“I thought most women preferred to stay in out of the sun.”
“Yes, well, I am not most women.”
One of his black eyebrows went up. “That is more than clear.”
Grace ignored the note of sarcasm. “If I promise not to try to escape, will you let me go with you?”
He scoffed. “How much is the promise of a traitor worth?”
Her heart started pounding. “A traitor? That is what you think? That I am a traitor?” Dear God, she had never considered her crime would result in such a charge! For God’s sake, they hung traitors! As Grace knew only too well.
The captain frowned. “Your face has gone pale. You did not realize that helping a traitor escape might lead you, yourself, to be viewed as a traitor?”
She swallowed, shook her head. “No, I… He was…” She couldn’t tell him that Harmon Jeffries was her father, the man who had sired her, but not the one who had raised her. The viscount, her biological father, had a wife and children, and there was her mother and her husband to consider. The scandal would be unbearable for all of them. She had vowed to keep the secret to her grave and she intended to abide by her word.
“He was a friend,” she said. “I couldn’t stand by and let him hang.”
She couldn’t miss the hint of disdain. “He must have been a close friend, indeed, for you to take such a risk.”
For the first time it occurred to her that she had just admitted her crime. Dear God, what had she been thinking? Ethan Sharpe was hardly a man to trust.
She walked toward the row of windows above the bed, trying to calm her fears. The ship was anchored some distance offshore. She could see the tiny village on the hillside above the cove. “I should still like to come along. I am desperate for a little fresh air and a chance to stretch my legs.”
“I can’t take the risk. But I’ll tell you what I’ll do. From now on, at least once a day, I’ll take you up on deck. Will that make you happy?”
She hadn’t really expected him to let her go ashore, not after the trouble he had gone to in order to get her aboard in the first place. She should be happy for the concession. “I suppose that is better than nothing.”
He finished loading his gear and left the cabin, and Grace looked back out the window. A handful of crewmen settled aboard a pair of wooden dinghies and began to row for shore, undoubtedly to refill the ship’s larders. The captain sat in the stern of one of the boats and Grace wished again that she could have gone with them.
Still, the fact that the ship was stopping gave her hope. Sea Devil had anchored in the cove to restock supplies. The vessel would certainly make other stops along the way to wherever it was headed. Eventually, the captain might agree to take her ashore. If he did, she might find some means of escape.
It was obvious she couldn’t go back to London, but Lady Humphrey knew her circumstances and had agreed to help her. Perhaps the baroness could arrange a way for Grace to leave the country.
Grace’s mother had explained that Lady Humphrey, Harmon Jeffries’s widowed aunt, had raised her father after his own mother and father had died. She loved him like a son, and though the viscount had never claimed Grace as his daughter, he had told his aunt about her. Grace wondered what the baroness would say when she discovered Grace had been taken from the Lady Anne.
She sank back down on the captain’s berth. Whatever happened, she had survived thus far and she refused to give up hope.
It simply wasn’t her nature.

A damp, chill wind blew across the water as the small boats drew up beside the dock at the end of High Street. A cloudy, gray, overcast sky hung over the tiny village that morning, keeping people indoors, out of the in clement weather.
With the collar of his woolen coat turned up against the wind, Ethan stepped out of the boat and left the men to complete their assigned duties. His first priority was his scheduled meeting with Max Bradley and he started walking up the hill toward their rendezvous spot, a tavern near the end of the main road called the Pig and Slipper.
As he shoved through the tavern door, entering the smoke-blackened, low-ceilinged taproom, he spotted Bradley sitting at a battered wooden table in a corner near the hearth, finishing the last of his breakfast.
Ethan crossed the room, pulled off his jacket and tossed it over the back of a chair next to one he pulled out for himself.
“Good to see you, Max.”
“You, as well, my friend. I see you have finally put some meat on your bones. Have you had breakfast? The steak-and-kidney pie is excellent.” Max was as tall as Ethan, with the same black hair, though Bradley’s was straight, not wavy, and grew well over his collar. He was perhaps ten years older, somewhere near forty, his face weathered, his features harsh and gaunt. All in all, he had the look of a man other men avoided.
“No, thanks, I ate before I left the ship. What news do you bring?”
“Not much. No word of Jeffries, if that is what you are asking.” Max worked mostly on the Continent. His French was flawless and he moved like a wraith through the taverns, gaming halls and brothels of the French underworld, collecting information useful against Napoleon’s army.
“The man’s a clever bastard,” Ethan said. “Probably tucked away, leading the good life in some château somewhere.” He considered mentioning Jeffries’s mistress, a prisoner aboard his ship, but Bradley was a government man, and the matter of Grace Chastain was personal, and not yet resolved to Ethan’s satisfaction.
“What about you?” Max asked. “Have you run across anything new in regard to the growing French fleet?”
“Nothing so far. I’m heading toward Brest. Rumor has it there is some shipbuilding going on down there.”
“Word also has it there are ships moving toward the south, possibly as far as Cadiz.”
“I’ll see what I can find out.”
“Be careful, Ethan. Jeffries may no longer be a threat, but that doesn’t mean the French are uninformed. They have their spies, just as we have ours. You’ve enemies in France. Your escape made them look like fools. If they catch you again, they won’t let you live till sunrise.”
“Sea Devil is the fastest ship I’ve ever sailed. She’s light and incredibly maneuverable. Still, I’ll not ignore your warning.”
Max rose from his chair and clapped Ethan on the shoulder. “If you need me, leave word here. The owner is a friend and completely trustworthy. I check for messages as often as I can.”
Ethan just nodded. He watched Max Bradley slip quietly out the door and disappear into the street as if he had never been there. Though Ethan would heed his friend’s warning, he needed to discover how many ships were being built and where they were headed.
Once his mission was complete, he would return to London to take up his duties as marquess of Belford, and Grace Chastain would face judgment for what she had done. In the meantime, he had his own personal score to settle with Grace, one that required a different sort of mission than the one he was currently involved in with Max.
Walking down High Street, he surveyed the row of shops along the lane, Dalton’s Meat Market, Emory’s Bakery, a hatmaker’s shop with the sign, Blue Bonnet, on the other side of the street. At last he spotted the dressmaker’s abode, The Apparel Shop. Ethan strode in that direction.
The bell rang above the door as he stepped up to the counter in the tiny receiving room and a buxom woman with too much rouge on her cheeks waddled out to greet him.
“Good morning, sir. How might I be of service?”
“I’m looking to outfit a lady. Her trunk was lost and she has only the dress she was wearing. I was hoping you might be able to help me.”
“Well, of course. If you bring the lady in, we can have her outfitted in no time. In a couple of weeks—”
“I’m afraid that won’t do. We’re sailing this afternoon. I need the dresses by then.”
The pink circles in her cheeks turned a bright rose. “Why, that’s impossible! I couldn’t possibly fashion even a single gown in such a short time.”
“I realize it’s a good deal to ask, but I’m willing to pay for the inconvenience. I’ll give you double what you usually charge.”
“It isn’t a matter of money, Mr…?”
“Captain Sharpe. My ship, Sea Devil, is anchored just offshore.” He still wasn’t used to using his title, marquess of Belford, though it occurred to him it might come in handy right now.
“Well, Captain Sharpe, such a sum would certainly be useful…” She cast a glance toward the curtained room be hind her. “I’m sure the lady must be frantic, without even a change of clothes.”
“She is quite unhappy about it, as you have rightly guessed.” He held his hand up to demonstrate Grace’s height. “The lady is fairly tall, about this high, and slender—except for her breasts.”
The dressmaker blushed, making the pink circles brighten again. She smiled knowingly. “I see. Well, I sup pose any sort of clothing would be better than doing with out.” She leaned over the counter, shoving her pendulous bosom nearly out of the top of her gown.
“I sew for an assortment of different patrons,” she said confidentially. “There is a lady of the evening who purchased a number of items several months back, but ran short of the funds necessary to pay for them.”
A lady of the evening. A hard smile curved his lips. Grace was Jeffries’s mistress. It seemed perfectly fitting.
“The gowns won’t be exactly her size, but with a little alteration, she might make do.”
“I’ll take them.”
He sat down on a damask-covered settee to wait until his purchases could be readied, and a few minutes later, the dressmaker pushed back through the curtains and walked in carrying a stack of boxes. Ethan paid the bill, noting the double amount as he stacked the boxes against his chest.
“It’s been a pleasure,” she beamed at him. “Do come back any time, Captain.”
“I’ll do that.” Though he doubted he would ever again have use for the clothes of a whore.
It was late afternoon by the time the crew had finished transporting fresh kegs of water, salted herring, ale and myriad other foodstuffs back aboard the ship. Ethan was tired but eager to get there. Eager to see what Grace’s reaction would be to the clothes he had brought her.
Thinking of the red satin gown trimmed with black lace he had glimpsed in one of the boxes, somehow he didn’t think the bargain he’d had in mind was going to be as easy to strike as he had hoped.

Five
Grace paced the cabin. Twice she had left the room and climbed the ladder to the deck, only to find the weathered old Scot, the captain’s first mate, Angus McShane, standing at the rail. Each time he had looked at her and simply shook his head.
“Sorry, lass. Capt’n says yer ta stay below in his cabin.”
“And no one dares to disobey the captain’s commands, is that right?”
“Aye, lass. No’ unless he wants ta wear a set o’ strips across his back.”
Grace turned around and marched back down to the cabin, slammed the door, and sat there silently seething. This constant confinement was driving her mad. If she didn’t get out of the cabin soon, she couldn’t be held accountable for her actions.
It was another hour later, the afternoon fading, when the cabin door swung open and the captain strode in. She tried to ignore the way his presence filled the room, the way her heart started to clatter the moment she saw him. He set the stack of boxes he carried down on top of the bed.
“This was the best I could do. They’ll probably take a little alteration, but I imagine you can manage.”
“You brought me some clothes?” she asked excitedly. “Oh, thank God.”
“I’ve a couple of things to see to. I’ll be back a little later.” He left her with the clothes and she hurried over to lift off the lids.
The first box held several white lawn chemises. The woman who wore them must have been taller for when she held them up, they barely covered her breasts. But she could shorten the straps without a problem. Odd though, once she did, they would barely cover her behind. There were long black gloves in the box and a red feather boa, along with several pairs of lacy garters. One set was black, the other red. She frowned. She had never seen garters those colors before.
She took the lid off the box underneath. A swatch of scarlet satin glowed up at her. She caught a handful of fabric and lifted it out of the box, saw that it was a gown fashioned of red satin with small black satin sleeves and black piping.
It was the ugliest, gaudiest gown she had ever seen.
Grace tossed it onto the bed and opened the next box. There were two gowns inside, one of sapphire silk edged with black lace, the other of orange crepe also edged in black. There were hideous little orange puffed sleeves and when she held it up, she saw that the scalloped bodice was so low it would expose the edge of her nipples.
Grace shrieked in outrage. How dare he! She tossed the orange gown on the floor and stomped on it, twisted it beneath her feet. She picked it up and started tearing out the silly looking sleeves, her satisfaction growing at the sound of the ripping fabric.
He had bought her the clothes of a whore!
She would die before she would wear them!
“What the bloody hell do you think you’re doing?”
She marched toward him, shoved the orange dress under his nose. “These might be the fashion for the other women of your acquaintance, but they do not suit me!” Reaching for the opposite sleeve, she brutally ripped it out of the arm hole and tossed it in his face. When she reached for the neckline, the captain caught her arm.
“I told you these were the best I could do. It cost me a bloody fortune to get them for you.”
“These are the clothes of a whore. Find someone else to wear them.” She caught the neckline between her fingers and started ripping the bodice of the dress in two.
“Put it down.”
“I’ll be happy to put it down.” She tossed it onto the floor, stomped on it several times, then marched over and grabbed the red-and-black satin.
“You rip that dress and I swear you will wish you hadn’t.”
She gave him a vicious smile. “Oh, I think not. I think I will be extremely glad to be rid of it!” She held up the sleeve, taunting him with it, ready to rip out the offending puff of black satin.
“Don’t do it,” he warned softly.
She thrust out her chin and took a firmer hold. The fabric ripped loudly and a ragged hole appeared where the sleeve of the gown had been.
“Damn you!” The captain charged forward. Grace shrieked as he gripped her arm and started dragging her to ward the bed. She pulled free of his hold, drew back and slapped him across the face as hard as she could. Instead of fear, she felt a glorious rush of satisfaction.
The captain looked stunned. For several seconds he just stood there with his mouth agape. Then his jaw clenched and his eyes turned the color of a frozen sea. “You’re going to be very sorry you did that, Grace.”
Eyes widening at the fury in his face, Grace bolted for the door. He was on her in an instant, dragging her back across the room and over to the bed. He sat down on the edge and hauled her over his lap. She was tall and fairly strong but he controlled her easily. Grace shrieked at the sting of his palm, coming down hard on her bottom, the sharp blow penetrating the thin fabric of her aqua silk gown.
“Let me go!” White-hot fury engulfed her. Another stinging swat landed before she regained her wits enough to grab hold of his leg and bite down hard on his calf.
“Bloody hell, woman!” Surging to his feet, he jerked her up beside him. He was breathing hard, his eyes full of fire.
Grace faced him squarely, her breath coming fast, every bit as angry as he. She had been itching for a fight since the night he had dragged her off the Lady Anne. She wasn’t about to back down now.
“I vow you are the damndest woman I have ever met! I am twice your size and you are my prisoner! God’s breath, woman—don’t you know enough to be afraid?”
“I am afraid! I am also sick and tired of your high-handedness. And I am sick unto death of being trapped in your bloody cabin! I think I am going mad!”

Ethan stared at Grace in disbelief. His cheek still stung where she had slapped him. He could feel the imprint of her teeth on his leg. There wasn’t a man on board this ship who would have the courage to fight him as she had.
His mouth twitched with unexpected amusement. He took in her dishevel, the slightly wild, utterly determined look in her eyes, and thought he had never seen a more beautiful creature. He could still remember the shape of her lush curves as he had dragged her over his lap, the warmth of her bottom beneath his hand. He was hard and aching for her. He couldn’t remember wanting a woman so badly.
“I can’t decide if you are the bravest woman I have ever met, or the most foolish. Do what you will with the clothes. Perhaps you can salvage enough to come up with at least something to provide yourself a change. I’ll see you have needle and thread, if you are interested.”
In their struggle, her hair had come unbound and now hung in thick curls around her face. Her gown was wrinkled and stained and yet she faced him regally, her head held high, looking more like a duchess than the criminal she was.
He cleared his throat, trying to regain some semblance of authority. “Perhaps later on, if you wish, I’ll come and get you, escort you round the deck.”
Her shoulders remained stiff, but he could see the relief in her face. She managed a nod. “I would appreciate that.”
Ethan made a slight bow of his head, turned and left the cabin. Once outside, he took a deep, steadying breath. If Grace Chastain had confused him before, she had done an even more thorough job this afternoon. She had fought him like a tigress, as few men were willing to do, and yet some how retained her dignity.
He found himself smiling one of his rare, sincere smiles. He couldn’t help admiring her courage. Or enjoying her fierce display of passion. If only he could harness that passion, put it to a far more pleasant use.
It seemed even more urgent that he do so. The idea he had been mulling over the past several nights returned with even more clarity. As much as he desired her, he wasn’t the sort to use force. As he came to know her better, to appreciate her spirit, the idea appealed even less.
Seduction, however, was an entirely different matter.
He hadn’t forgotten her response when he had kissed her, or the sight of her nipples stiffening beneath the cloth when he had caressed her in the tub. The more he thought about it, the more the notion of seducing her appealed to him. In the end, the lady would warm his bed and having her there willingly would make the victory all the sweeter.
And there was the added possibility that once he had gained a little of her trust, she might confide the viscount’s current location.
His decision was made. He had promised her a stroll round the deck. Ethan intended to keep his word.
It would be the perfect time to put his plan into motion.

At the knock on the door, Grace sat up straighter in her chair. She had been working on the sapphire silk, using the black lace from the orange crepe, which matched the lace on the blue, to modify the neckline, adding a fichu and narrowing the silly puffed sleeves, making small capped sleeves that were much more flattering.
Still, it was a gown one would wear for evening, not day. Fortunately, at the bottom of the last box, she had discovered a simple gray muslin skirt and white cotton blouse, something her benefactor might have worn round the house when she wasn’t working. The hem would have to be let down but the waist fit perfectly. And the blouse had a drawstring, making it somewhat adjustable. She had donned the change of clothing with some relief and done her best to freshen the aqua silk.
Dressed in the clean skirt and blouse, Grace set her needlework aside and went to answer the knock at her door, wondering who it might be. She knew Freddie’s light knock and the captain did not bother.
She was surprised to find her nemesis patiently waiting in the corridor, as if he were a suitor instead of her jailor.
“I promised you a walk. The clouds have lifted and the stars are out…if you are still interested.”
She had already finished a heavy supper of roast mutton, cabbage, pudding with gravy, and ale. Getting out of the cabin sounded divine.
“Thank you, I would like that very much.” If he could be formal, then so could she. When he presented his arm, she placed her fingers on the sleeve of his coat and let him guide her up the ladder to the deck.
“I see you found something to wear after all.”
She smoothed the front of the skirt, reminding herself not to be grateful. If he had brought her trunks along, she wouldn’t have been without clothing in the first place. “Not exactly high fashion, but they are better than nothing.” There was also a serviceable woolen cloak that at first she had not seen. He took it from her hand and draped it over her shoulders. “I suppose I should thank you after all.”
He smiled, reached down and rubbed the spot on his calf where she had bitten him. “I only wish you had opened that box first.”
Her lips quirked reluctantly. He was teasing her—she could scarcely believe it—and she couldn’t help being amused. “I suppose it would have been better. In truth, it was the confinement not the clothes that was mostly the problem.”
“Then I’m glad I came to help in that regard.”
They strolled the deck, Grace on the captain’s arm, cir cling the perimeter of the ship at least three times. It felt good to stretch her legs, to feel the salt spray on her face and breathe the fresh sea air.
She studied the man beside her, taller than most of the men she knew. With his slashing black brows, straight nose, and sensuous mouth, she had to admit the man was incredibly handsome. His limp was barely noticeable as they walked companionably along, and she wondered how he had got it.
There were dozens of questions she wanted to ask. Who was he? How had he discovered her part in the prison escape? What was he going to do with her?
But she was afraid that if she did, they would argue and she would wind up back down in his cabin. She wasn’t yet ready to return.
“Freddie says you’re a privateer.”
They paused next to the rail. “Freddie talks too much.”
“A privateer is a ship or a man approved by the government to pirate enemy ships. Is that not correct?”
“I work in the interest of Britain, yes.”
“You’re a pirate, then.”
A corner of his mouth edged up. “Of a sort, I suppose.”
“Freddie worships you. He thinks you are incredibly brave.”
“Freddie’s a child.”
“I was surprised when I first met him, surprised you would have a young boy aboard with such a disability.”
He shrugged those wide shoulders. “The lad does his work. That is all that matters.”
But she thought that few men would take on the care of a handicapped child and wondered if there might be a side of the captain that wasn’t as hard as he seemed.
She looked up at the stars, determined to keep the conversation light, hoping to gain as much time on deck as she could. “Lovely night. Do you see that constellation there?” She pointed to the right. “That is Taurus, the bull. In Greek mythology, the bull is Zeus in disguise, swimming through the Hellespont to fetch Europa, his lady love.”
One of his dark eyebrows went up. “You have an interest in Greek mythology?”
“Only as it pertains to the stars. The heavens have long been an interest of mine. Believe it or not, I even know how to navigate using a sextant.”
“How did that come about?”
“My father’s brother was the navigator aboard a ship called the Irish Rose.” Not her real father, but Dr. Chastain, the physician married to her mother, the man who had raised her. “The ship carries passengers along the Irish coast. At any rate, Uncle Phillip taught me when I was much younger.” Her uncle, kinder to her than her father ever had been. It was only these past few months that she understood the reason why. Understood that another man had actually sired her, and that because of it, her mother’s husband had resented her all her life.
“If you know the stars, then you recognize that group there.” He leaned close and her gaze followed the direction he pointed.
“Perseus.”
“Yes…” he said softly. “He lies close to his future mother-in-law, Cassiopeia.”
She smiled, oddly pleased that he knew. “And also Andromeda, his future bride.” She could feel him beside her, tall and lean, exuding unmistakable power and strength. He was standing so close she could feel the heat of his body, see the gleam of moonlight on the inky hair at his temple.
She was studying his profile when he turned and looked down at her. For an instant their eyes met and held. Grace wondered at the turbulence she read there the instant before his mouth settled softly over hers.
Her entire body went rigid. She started to pull away, but instead of the hard, taking kiss she imagined, there was only the merest brush of his lips against hers before he ended the contact.
He took a deep breath, let it out slowly. “It is time I took you back,” he said.
She hadn’t noticed how cold it was, hadn’t really felt the biting force of the wind that had begun to build as the evening progressed. “Thank you for bringing me up on deck.”
“I keep my word, Miss Chastain. That is something you will learn. From now on, you may come up whenever you wish, as long as Mr. McShane or myself accompanies you.”
A rush of relief swept through her. Her imprisonment, at least below deck, was over.
She gave him a grateful smile. “Thank you.” It seemed a powerful concession. She was a criminal, after all. He could lock her up in the ship’s brig if he wanted.
He didn’t say more and neither did she. She steadied herself against him as he guided her down the ladder to the quarters they shared.
It wasn’t until well after midnight that she heard him enter the cabin. She was dressed in her borrowed night rail, lying on her side at the very edge of the bed. She heard him begin to remove his clothing and her heart started pounding at the thought of what he might do.
But he merely removed his outer garments and climbed into bed on the opposite side of the mattress as he had done before. She tried not to think of his feather-soft kiss, or wonder at its meaning.
But it wasn’t until just before dawn, after the captain was dressed and gone, that she finally fell into a troubled sleep.

Angus McShane ambled across the quarterdeck on his way to speak to the captain, who stood behind the big teak wood wheel. He had known Ethan for years, served with him aboard his first ship. Eight years later, they were still together, though the captain had become a far different man.
The months he had spent in France, beaten and tortured in a stinking French prison, had changed him, hardened him into the man he was today, made him seem far older than his years.
He was troubled now, Angus could see on this cold February morning, had been since he had brought the lass aboard.
Inwardly, Angus sighed. Revenge had a way of eating at a man. And it was never as satisfying as a man believed it would be.
“Ye wanted ta see me, Capt’n?”
“Aye. I wanted to let you know I told the girl she could come up on deck whenever she wished, as long as you or I came with her.”
Angus raised one of his bushy gray eyebrows. “I thought ye meant to punish her.”
He shrugged. “She hasn’t the disposition to stay cooped up. I suppose I understand that better than most.”
And treating a woman badly, no matter how much she might deserve it, just wasn’t in the captain’s nature, Angus thought.
“Ye did right, lad.” Angus turned to look out over the water. A flock of albatross winged overhead, heading for the coast. Sunlight glinted like jewels on the water and the sky was blue as the wildflowers in the highlands of a clear spring morning.
“Ye’ve been sore-tempered of late,” Angus said. “I’m thinkin’ ye haven’t yet bedded the lass.”
The captain raked a hand through his dark hair. “You said once, she is not what you imagined. Well, she is not what I imagined, either, Angus. She’s a good deal more naive. Jeffries must have seduced her. I’ll wager he’s the only man who’s ever touched her and not all that often.”
“So ye plan ta leave her be?”
The captain’s jaw hardened. “She owes me. She owes the dead men in my crew for aiding the traitor responsible for getting them killed. Her innocence is gone and I mean to have her. It’s only a matter of time.”
“Then what will ye do?”
He looked out over the water. A big silver fish arched into the air and splashed back into the sea. “I’ve got to find out if she knows where Jeffries is. And I need to know more about the woman herself. Then I’ll make up my mind.”

A week crawled past. As the captain had promised, Grace was given free access to the deck, as long as the first mate, Mr. McShane, or the captain himself accompanied her.
The brawny old Scot was sweet, she discovered, a longtime friend of the captain’s who wasn’t afraid to voice his opinions. Or ask probing questions.
“Why’d ye do it, lass? Didn’t ye know what would happen if ye helped the man escape?”
Grace sighed as they stood at the rail. “I had to help him. He was…a friend. I couldn’t just let him hang.”
“Did ye love him, then?”
She knew he was asking a far different question but the answer remained the same. “I suppose in a way I did.” It didn’t seem possible to love a father she had met only weeks before. But every year he had written a letter, telling her about his life, telling her how much he wished that they could be together.
Though her mother had hidden the letters away, three months ago the truth had finally come out. Her real father had cared about her, sent money for her education. He had wanted to raise her as his own. Though he was never part of her life, he hadn’t forgotten her.
How could she turn her back on him?
Captain Sharpe asked questions as well, though he usually went out of his way not to broach too volatile a subject. “Do your parents live in London?”
“Yes. My father’s a physician. We don’t really get on very well.”
“Why not?”
Because I’m not really his daughter and he hates me for it. “He doesn’t approve of me. He thinks I’m too outspoken.” Among other things.
“You are outspoken. More than any woman I’ve ever met.”
Her cheeks went warm. “It’s a bad quality, I suppose.”
“Not necessarily.” He lifted her chin with his fingers. “I’m beginning to find I like a woman unafraid to speak her mind.”
She looked into his eyes, wondering if what he said was the truth, or if he was merely trying to win her confidence in order to gain information.
“You rarely mince words yourself,” she said, and he smiled. He seemed to be doing that a little more often, she thought, wondering at the cause.
“I don’t suppose I do.”
It wasn’t until the following afternoon that he brought up the subject of the prison escape. “We both know you’re guilty. You’ve admitted as much. If you would tell the authorities where to find Jeffries, they would be far more lenient in dealing with you.”
She arched an eyebrow in his direction. It was the question she had expected him to ask long ago. “Is that the reason you let me come up on deck, the reason you’ve been so agreeable lately? Because you want me to tell you where the viscount is hiding?”
He glanced away. “Part of the reason, perhaps.”
“At least you are honest.”
“Do you know where he is? If you do, for your own sake, you would be better off to divulge the information.”
“I don’t know where he is. Even if I did, I wouldn’t tell you. The truth is I haven’t the slightest clue.”
He eyed her as if trying to decide whether or not to believe her. Then his expression subtly changed. “You’re telling the truth, aren’t you? You have no idea where Jeffries is hiding.”
“I never spoke to him after he was arrested. He has probably left the country. That is what I would do. Why is finding him so important to you? You believe he is a traitor. I can understand why the government would want to find him, but this seems personal in some way. What did the viscount do to you?”
His jaw clenched so hard she almost wished she hadn’t asked. He took a steadying breath and released it slowly. “I had a ship before this one. Sea Witch. We were on a mission for the War Office. Jeffries had access to information that revealed exactly where the ship was headed. He sold that information to the French.”
“You don’t know that for certain!” She was shocked at the accusation.
“He was the only man who knew, the only one who could have betrayed us. Sea Witch was captured and sunk, my men killed or died in prison. Only one of them escaped.”
“Long-boned Ned—and you.”
“That’s right. The French kept me alive. They thought prison would be worse than dying and they were right. Fortunately, I had friends, people who refused to give up until I was free and they could bring me home. The rest of my men weren’t so lucky.”
She didn’t say more. She could see the anger seething beneath his surface calm, read the fury in the ice-blue of his eyes. “You must be mistaken about the viscount. I’m sorry about your crew but—”
He turned on her, halting her words with a frozen glare. “Are you? If you are truly sorry, you will tell me how to find Harmon Jeffries.”
“I told you, I have no idea where he is.”
He took her arm, none too gently. “Come, it’s time to go in. Believe it or not, I have work to do, matters more important than entertaining my guest.”
She ignored the sarcasm dripping from his voice. He was angry that she wouldn’t help him. What little she knew of the viscount would probably be useless, even if she told him. Which she would not. Harmon Jeffries was her father. She had decided to aid him and she wouldn’t alter that decision.
Nothing could change what she had done or the captain’s contempt for her.
In a way she couldn’t blame him.

Six
A storm blew in. Great waves washed over the bow. The ship pitched and rolled, dropped into huge troughs and climbed up the opposite side. Sheets of water pummeled the decks and washed into the scuppers. The sky was so dark, day and night seemed to meld into one.
For three long days, the storm raged, tossing the schooner about like a bit of flotsam and forcing Grace to remain in the cabin. Mal de mer had threatened several times, but so far the crackers and beef broth Freddie brought her had kept the illness at bay.
Dear God, she needed to exercise her limbs and breathe in some clean sea air!
When a slight break came in the weather, Grace paced the room impatiently, waiting for Captain Sharpe or Angus McShane to come for her, but the hours slipped past and no one appeared. Disgruntled and sick unto death of being confined, she lifted her cloak off the brass hook next to the door and swept it round her shoulders. Surely she could find one of the two men and ask for his escort.
Though the wind had lessened, Grace discovered an icy breeze still blew across the deck as she climbed the ladder leading up from below and poked her head through the hatch into the open air. The decks themselves were slippery and wet. She had tied her hair back with the scrap of lace, but the stiff breeze whipped long tendrils around her face.
She stopped the brawny second mate, a man named Willard Cox. “I’m sorry to bother you, Mr. Cox. Have you seen Mr. McShane?”
“Aye, miss. He’s workin’ below.” His gaze skimmed over her in a way that was slightly too familiar. Except for the scar on his cheek, he wasn’t bad-looking. She thought that he saw himself as a bit of a lady’s man, which she found faintly amusing. “You shouldn’t be up here, miss. You’d best go back to your cabin.”
Her chin edged up. Who was he to be giving her orders? “Perhaps you have seen Captain Sharpe.”
“He’s just there, miss, comin’ up the ladder from the hold.”
She spotted him walking toward her, bearing down on her with a scowl on his face and his jaw clamped tight. At his angry expression, she took an unconscious step backward.
“Damnation!” he shouted as he approached, and she stepped back again. At the same instant, the ship dipped into a trough, and Grace struggled for balance. Her slipper caught on a coil of rope, and her foot went out from beneath her. She flailed her arms and tipped sideways as a great wave washed over the deck, the water scooping her up and sweeping her away.
“Grace!” she heard the captain shout. Then the massive wave carried her over the side of the ship into the sea.
Grace screamed as she hit the freezing water and plunged beneath the surface. Her nose filled with brine, which started to burn her lungs, and it was all she could do not to open her mouth and gasp in a lungful of air. Instead, she held her breath and fought for the surface, but her hair had come unbound and long strands wrapped around her face. The gray skirt seemed to weigh a thousand pounds, and no matter how hard she swam, the surface grew farther away.
She was going to drown, she realized, and began to kick with all her strength. Unlike most women, she was a very good swimmer, having learned in secret along with her friend, Victoria, when they were away at boarding school. She could see faint light near the top of the water. If only she could reach it.
But the dress pulled her down, seemed to undo each small gain she made. The air in her lungs began to burn. She couldn’t hold her breath much longer. Dear God, she didn’t want to die! She gave another frantic set of kicks and for an instant her head broke the surface. She caught a breath of air before beginning to sink again. She thought she heard something swimming around in the water beside her, but her air supply was diminishing and she was growing dizzy.
She fought madly for the surface one final time, but couldn’t quite get her head above the water and the last of her strength began to wane. Something brushed against her. She felt the strength of a man’s hand at her waist, shoving her upward. Grace kicked with all of her strength and together their heads popped out of the sea.
One of the ship’s cork life rings floated nearby and the captain grabbed it and wrapped her arm around it.
“Hold on!” he shouted. “We’ve got to hang on until they can reach us!”
She gasped and sputtered, managed a nod, and hung on with all of her strength. She could see the ship in the distance, one of the wooden dinghies being lowered over the side as the ship came about, trying to stop its forward momentum through the turbulent seas.
She could see the small boat pulling away from the hull, beginning to head their way, the men rowing with all of their might. It took a while for the dinghy to reach them, plowing through the whitecaps, disappearing into a trough, then reappearing again. The big second mate, Willard Cox, a sailor named Red Tinsley, and the thin sailor, Long-boned Ned, manned the oars.
They spotted her and the captain clinging to the life ring, and drew the boat up alongside. Working together, the three men hauled Grace into the boat, then reached down for the captain. He sprawled next to her in the bottom of the dinghy, both of them shivering uncontrollably.
Ned tossed a blanket over them. “We’ll ’ave ye back aboard the ship quick as we can,” he said to her. “Ol’ Angus backed the sails and hove to. He’ll slow ’er down and be waitin’ fer us to catch up ta him.”
She swallowed and nodded, the fear she had held back beginning to creep over her, clogging her throat with tears. But the minutes in the icy sea had sapped her strength and she was too frozen to make her lips work.
And grateful just to be alive.
It took a while for the dinghy to battle its way through the pounding waves and reach the ship. Angus paced near the rail, his rugged face lined with worry as the men helped her aboard.
He came to a stop just in front of her, reached out and touched her cheek. “So ye made it, did ye, lass?”
Her eyes welled with tears as she thought of how near death she had come, how Ethan Sharpe had risked himself to save her.
“Aye. The lad saved yer life. Coulda been the death o’ ye both.”
She swallowed past the lump in her throat. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know the seas were still so rough or the decks quite so slippery.”
“Ye need ta get out of those clothes,” Angus said, guiding her down the ladder to her cabin. She looked back for Ethan, saw him right behind her.
“I’ll take care of her,” he said, following her into the room. “Send down a hot bath. She needs to get warmed up.”
“And ye, as well, lad.”
“Soon,” Ethan said. He closed the door and turned to face her.
“I’m sorry,” Grace said again, tears burning.
Instead of the anger she expected, he simply reached out and swept her into his arms.
“Sweet God, Grace, I thought we’d lost you.”
She clung to him, grateful for his warmth, the solid feel of his body, the steady beat of his heart, holding him as tightly as he was holding her. “I’m so sorry. Oh, Ethan, you could have been killed.”
He tipped her chin up and saw the tears rolling down her cheeks. “Christ…” And then he was kissing her, taking possession of her mouth, and he crushed her against him. He molded his lips to hers, shaped them, tasted them, kissed her one way and then another, as heat washed over her. His tongue plunged in and fire seemed to scorch through her veins. She found herself clinging to his neck, kissing him back as wildly as he was kissing her.
She told herself it was just that she was alive. That he was a man and she was a woman and they had survived death by inches. Whatever it was, heat and need swept over her, unlike anything she had known. He was tall but so was she, and they seemed to fit perfectly together. His chest was a hard wall pressing into her breasts and beneath her wet garments, her nipples tightened and began to throb.
She felt light-headed, almost giddy, and her heart was racing, pounding so hard she wondered if he could hear. Her fingers slid into his wet black hair and she could feel its silky texture, the soft wisps curling against the nape of his neck.
He kissed her and kissed her, and insane as it was, she didn’t want him to stop.
“Dear God…Ethan…”
A noise sounded and awareness began to sink in. Someone was knocking at the door. He turned, his blue eyes full of emotion. For a moment, she thought he might send them away.
With his body heat gone, she began to shiver. Cursing, he walked over to the door and pulled it open.
“The lady’s bath,” one of the crewmen said.
He flicked her a glance, must have noticed how pale she was. “Set it in front of the hearth.”
The two crewmen set the steaming tub on the carpet and quietly left the room. Ethan walked over to where she stood shivering and pulled the string on the front of her blouse. “The bath will warm you,” he said softly, and she thought of the first time that she had undressed with him in the room.
He must have read her thoughts for he sighed. “All right, I’ll turn my back if it makes you feel better.”
Her fingers were cold and clumsy. When she didn’t manage to undress fast enough, he walked over to where she stood, caught the hem of the blouse and pulled it off over her head, leaving her in only the skirt and her wet lawn chemise. She covered her breasts as he unfastened the button at the waist of the skirt and slid the clinging fabric down over her hips, leaving her in a garment so transparent he could see right through it, so short it barely covered her bottom.
His eyes were dark and hot. She had always thought them pale and glacial, but there was nothing cold about them now.
“I would advise you to get into that tub before I do what I am thinking.”
With his breeches wet and plastered to his body, she couldn’t miss the thick ridge that marked his desire. Cheeks flushed from more than just embarrassment, she climbed into the water quickly, leaving the chemise in place even after she was seated in the tub.
She looked up to see Ethan pulling fresh garments out of his wardrobe. He strode toward the door with the clothing draped over his arm. “If I had my way, I would lift you out of that tub and carry you over to the bed. I wouldn’t leave you until morning. But you have had a very bad experience and you need to rest. Sleep for a while and once you are feeling better, perhaps you will join me for supper.”
She looked up at him from the tub. She could still feel the lean strength of his body, taste his mouth as it moved over hers. He wanted her. He had made the fact no secret. She should be frightened. Somehow she was not.
“I would like that very much.”
Ethan seemed pleased. He made a slight bow and quit the room. Grace sat in the tub till the water turned cold, trying to understand what had just happened.

He was standing in the passageway, freshly bathed, his hair clean and neatly combed, when Grace answered his knock several hours later and opened the cabin door.
His eyes ran over her, taking in the sapphire gown she had altered to fit her, making it look almost respectable, though even with the black lace fichu, the bodice was extremely low. The gown was high-waisted, with an edge of black lace beneath her breasts and a slender skirt slit modestly up the side, thanks to her handiwork.
“You look lovely. I don’t believe the dresses were a waste after all.”
She felt the pull of a smile. “Perhaps not. Thank you for the compliment.” She had washed and dried her hair but the fire was out, though the storm was beginning to lessen, and the strands were still slightly damp. She had used the mother-of-pearl inlaid combs she had been wearing the night she had been taken from the Lady Anne to sweep the heavy mass up into curls atop her head, and his gaze lingered there before moving back to her face.
“I usually dine in the salon.” He offered his arm and Grace rested her hand on the sleeve of his navy blue tailcoat. “Tonight, Cook has gone to extra trouble in honor of my guest.”
He was dressed as a gentleman, a white stock perfectly tied beneath his lean jaw, an expensively tailored coat fitted perfectly to his broad shoulders. His waistcoat gleamed with faint silver threads, and snug black breeches outlined his long legs and flat belly. He was incredibly handsome and yet he still looked every inch the pirate that he was.
A little shiver of awareness went through her as he settled a hand at her waist and led her toward the ladder leading up on deck. She had never been invited into the formal salon, a room that seemed to belong solely to him.
She found it even more elegant than his cabin. Lamplight flickered behind crystal chimneys in gilt sconces on the walls, which were paneled in smooth dark wood halfway up then papered in watered silk. There was a built-in, marble-topped sideboard, and a lovely oval Queen Anne table and chairs. A dark green brocade sofa sat before the tiny hearth, which she noticed had been relit and flickered with low-burning flames.
“For a pirate, you certainly have expensive tastes.” She cast him a sideways glance. “Then again, perhaps that is the reason you are a pirate.”
His mouth faintly curved. “I don’t plunder enemy ships for treasure, if that is what you think. I collect information. In a way, I’m in the same business as your friend, Lord Forsythe. Except that I am loyal to my country.”
She blanched at the venom that had slipped into his voice. “Whether or not you believe it, I, too, am a loyal English citizen. Helping Lord Forsythe was a personal matter.”
A muscle jumped in his cheek.
“Please, you have invited me here to enjoy the evening. I have no wish to spoil it by speaking of unpleasant subjects. Could we not call a truce, Captain Sharpe, at least for tonight?”
There must have been something in her face. She didn’t want to fight with him; she owed him her life. Had she not vowed secrecy in the matter of her father, she would have told him why she had arranged the viscount’s escape. At least he might have understood her motives. But she simply could not break her word.
Some of the tension left his features. “A truce. I believe that is a very good idea. On one condition.”
She arched a brow. “And what might that be?”
“From now on we dispense with formalities, at least while we are alone. You will call me Ethan, as you did this afternoon. And I will call you Grace.” As he had done that afternoon. Her skin prickled with heat at the memory of the fiery kisses they had shared. Even now, she found the recollection disturbing. There was something about Ethan Sharpe, something that attracted her as no man ever had.
The thought was as dangerous as it was intriguing. But then, Grace had never been afraid of danger.
“I suppose, considering I would not be standing here now if it weren’t for you, there is no longer a need for us to be formal.” And in truth, she had begun to think of him that way, as Ethan, not Captain Sharpe.
His eyes ran over her, came to rest on the soft swells of her breasts above the neckline of sapphire silk. Inside the bodice, her nipples tightened. She caught a glimpse of hunger before his gaze became shuttered once more.
“Would you like a glass of sherry?”
“Thank you, yes.” Anything that might help defuse these odd sensations just looking at him stirred in her body. She watched him walk over to the sideboard and pour the amber liquid into a glass for her, then a brandy for himself. The cuff of his white shirt appeared beneath the sleeve of his coat as he returned and handed her the drink.
Grace took a sip, praying it would help dissolve her building nerves. She didn’t know exactly what was happening, but she had a feeling she was experiencing her first physical desire for a man.
“As I said before, you look exceptionally lovely this evening, yet something seems to be missing.” He set down his brandy glass, walked over to a small ornately carved silver box on the top of the Queen Anne table, and opened the lid. When he turned, her beautiful pearl-and-diamond necklace dangled from his long dark fingers.
“The gown needs something. I think these will do.” He moved behind her, draped the necklace round her neck and fastened the clasp. His fingers brushed her nape, lingered a moment, and tiny goose bumps appeared on her skin.
As he stepped back to look at her, she reached up to touch the pearls, testing their smoothness, their familiar warmth as they absorbed the heat of her body.
“Yes…” he said, “much better.”
Her fingers traced the facets of the glittering diamonds, the single stones set between each of the pearls. There was something about the necklace, something strangely comforting in wearing it around her neck. And yet she knew the disturbing legend that accompanied the jewelry.
“They’re quite magnificent,” he continued. “A gift, you said.” A faint edge crept into his voice. “From Forsythe?”
She shook her head. “They came from my dearest chum. We went to academy together. She hoped it would bring me good fortune. There is a legend about it, you see. Per haps you would like to hear it.”
“I would, indeed.” He took a sip of brandy, his manner once more relaxed. He led her over to the dark green brocade sofa and both of them sat down.
Grace fingered the pearls. “The necklace—the Bride’s Necklace, it is called—was commissioned in the thirteenth century by a wealthy lord named Fallon. It was a gift for the woman he loved. The pearls were sent to his bride to be worn on the day they were wed. But that fateful day, on his way to the ceremony, Lord Fallon was set upon by brigands and he and his men were killed. When his bride, Lady Ariana, heard the news, she was so distraught she climbed the castle parapet and leaped to her death.”
“Not a pleasant tale.”
“She died wearing the necklace. It was later discovered she was enceinte.”
He sipped his drink. “And the legend that follows?”
“It is said that whoever shall own the necklace will receive great happiness—but only if his heart is pure. If not, great tragedy will befall him.”
One of his black eyebrows went up. “You own the necklace. You believe your heart is pure?”
Except for a few of the impure thoughts she had been entertaining that evening. “I hope that it is. Though I am certain you would disagree.”
He studied her with speculation, but made no further comment. “It’s getting late. Perhaps we should dine.”
Maintaining his polite facade, he helped her up from the sofa. Grace pasted on an equally polite veneer and let him guide her over to the table.
They supped on a table covered with fine white linen, ate off gold-rimmed porcelain plates, and drank expensive champagne. The conversation returned to less volatile subjects and little by little, both of them relaxed. They talked about his ship, obviously his most prized possession, and about her interest in astronomy.
“I have a friend named Mary who shares my passion,” she told him. “We met in school. One of the teachers sparked our interest in the constellations and helped us learn about them. Mary lives in the country. It is far easier to observe the night sky from her house than it is in the city. Of course out here, the sky seems to go on forever and the stars are like diamonds spread out on a cloak of black velvet.”
“They’re beautiful out here, aren’t they?” But he was looking at her as if the stars were in her eyes and not the sky, and her stomach floated up beneath her ribs.
The hours passed swiftly and she had to admit she enjoyed herself. Ethan Sharpe, she discovered, could be quite a charming man.
She found herself smiling at something he said and took another drink of expensive French champagne. “I suppose this is plunder?” She held up the crystal goblet, her gaze on the bubbles rising in the glass.
“Actually, it is.” He lifted his glass and flashed one of his rare, unguarded smiles. It was so beautiful it left her breathless. “I took it off a French brigantine and for that I enjoy it all the more.” His eyes slid down to her breasts and she couldn’t miss the hunger. Her heartbeat increased and her stomach fluttered and she thought that perhaps she was beginning to understand a little of what he felt.
“To pleasure,” he said softly.
She could almost feel where his hot gaze touched. “To life… Thank you for sparing mine.”
Ethan smiled, clinked his glass against hers, and both of them drank deeply.
One of the cook’s helpers, neatly dressed in dark breeches, a white shirt and a dark brown jacket, arrived to remove their dishes. He cleared away the last of a sophisticated meal of filet of freshly caught fish sautéed in butter and wine, scalloped potatoes, a mélange of seasoned vegetables, and camembert cheese and lemon tarts for dessert.
Grace had savored each bite. She couldn’t help wondering at her host’s elegant tastes, and what kind of man Ethan Sharpe really was.
Scarcely just a pirate. He was a man of intelligence and charm who wore a gentleman’s clothes with the same ease as those of a sea captain.
Who was he? She wondered if she would ever find out.
“It’s getting late,” he said. “I’ll walk you back to the cabin.”
Grace nodded. The evening had been long, occasionally tense and sometimes even taxing. She needed to escape Ethan’s overpowering presence and the mix of emotions he stirred. They strolled along the deck, her arm laced with his, until one of the crew stepped out of the main hatch way in front of them.
“Evenin’, Capt’n Sharpe…miss.”
“Mr. Cox,” Ethan returned the greeting.
The second mate moved out the way so that they might pass. Though Cox was always polite, there was something about him that made her uneasy. His eyes briefly touched her, roamed over her gown and the pearls at her throat, then he ducked his head, made a polite bow and moved away.
Ethan paid the man no heed. His attention remained fixed on her as he walked her to the ladder leading down to his cabin. In the dimly lit passage outside the door, he paused.
“I enjoyed the evening, Grace, very much. I hope you did, as well.”
She couldn’t deny it. She couldn’t remember a more interesting evening than the one she’d just had. “Yes…thank you for inviting me.”
He touched her cheek, bent his head and very softly kissed her. Her hands came up, fluttered helplessly for a moment, then flattened against his chest. Beneath his coat, she felt his muscles tighten. He deepened the kiss, drawing her closer against him, and she felt the hard length of his arousal.
She should have been frightened, and part of her was. He was still her enemy, the man determined to see her cast into prison. Another part reveled in the heat he stirred, the desire she had never experienced with another man.
“Invite me in,” he whispered softly, enticingly. “Let me make love to you.”
Her stomach contracted. It was one thing to experience physical desire. The notion of actually giving him her innocence, allowing him to make love to her, was another matter entirely.
Grace shook her head, feeling the unexpected burn of tears and an odd stab of regret. “I can’t. Please, Ethan. I’m not ready for that.” Why didn’t she just tell him no? That she had no interest in his lovemaking? She wasn’t his wife and she didn’t belong in his bed.
Instead, when he kissed her again, for an instant she pressed herself against him. She breathed in the scent of salt spray and man and tasted the depth of his hunger. An answering need arose, so strong she had to force herself to pull away.
“Thank you again…Captain Sharpe.”
His smile turned hard at her obvious attempt to put distance between them. “My pleasure…Miss Chastain.”
She started to turn and go into the room, but he caught her wrist. Turning her back to him, he reached for the clasp on the necklace.
“I’ll just take these.” He unfastened the clasp and the pearls slid into his palm. “For now…just for safekeeping.” He tucked the pearls into the pocket of his silver-threaded waistcoat, turned and walked away.

And what she would do if he did.

Ethan spent the night on the sofa in the salon, his makeshift berth more than a foot too short for him, worse even than the bunk in Angus’s cabin. Still, he didn’t dare return to his own.
Today he had saved Grace’s life and something indefinable had changed between them. For the past few nights, he had lain beside her, torturing himself with her nearness, aching with lust for her. Tonight he thought that if he went to her bed, perhaps he could have her, but something held him back.
Lying on the uncomfortable sofa, if he closed his eyes he could see her standing near the rail, beautiful and defiant, her fiery hair whipping around her face. Sensing his anger, she had moved away from him, a few unconscious steps, then been helplessly washed into the sea.
It was a moment that burned crystal clear in his mind, the sharp stab of fear, the absolute terror that she would drown in the raging waters. Nothing could have kept him from going in after her. She is mine, the insane thought had occurred. I can’t let her die.
Afterward, with Grace once more safely aboard, he had said a silent prayer of thanks that he had been able to save her.
Even then, he had never thought to allow her into his inner sanctum—she was a criminal, after all—yet he found himself inviting her to supper. The hours had been far more pleasant than he had imagined, a lively discussion of sailing and the sea, along with a bit of science. She was smart and full of life and he wanted her with a passion he hadn’t known he had.
He told himself that tonight he would have her. He would walk her down to his cabin, kiss her into submission and press her to give in to his wishes. Remembering her earlier responses, he’d believed that she would agree.
According to plan, he had kissed her in the corridor out side his cabin and then pressed his suit. But the look in her eyes, the innocent sweetness of her refusal, made anything less than obeying her wishes impossible for him to do.
Ethan sat up on the sofa, damning himself and women in general. He hadn’t pressed her because he didn’t want to destroy her trust. Why that seemed important, he couldn’t imagine. Still, he wouldn’t make love to her un less she invited him into her bed.
Christ.
She had aided the escape of a traitor. The man was responsible for the loss of his ship, his crew and a year of his life. He had brought her aboard to make her pay.
He must be losing his mind.

Seven
“Any word of your cousin?” Victoria Easton, countess of Brant, walked up behind her husband, who sat behind the wide mahogany desk in his study.
Cord turned a little, looked over his shoulder and smiled. “Colonel Pendleton says the mission shouldn’t take all that long. He thinks Ethan will be back in London by the end of the month.”
Tory blushed. Cord was tall and handsome, broad-shouldered and square-jawed with a hard, muscular body. All she had to do was look at the man and her thoughts started wandering toward the bedroom. She forced her mind to focus on the discussion at hand.
“According to the colonel, this will be your cousin’s last assignment. Do you think Captain Sharpe will miss the sea very much?”
She barely knew Ethan Sharpe though she had been aboard the ship that had sailed to France to rescue him from prison. During the single occasion Cord’s family had all been together to celebrate his return, she had thought him cold and distant, but Cord said he had not always been that way.
“The sea has always been Ethan’s life,” Cord replied, “but he is resigned to assuming his duties as marquess. I think part of him is looking forward to the challenge.”
“Do you think he’ll enter the marriage mart? It is, after all, his duty to produce an heir.”
“Eventually, he’ll have to, but not right away.” Cord reached up and tugged a strand of her thick chestnut hair. She was small, but a little less slender now that she was four months gone with child. He turned around in his chair, pulled her down on his lap and kissed her.
“What is this sudden interest in Ethan?”
“Sarah dropped by. She is beginning to worry. You know how she is.” Sarah was Ethan’s sister, the Viscountess Aimes. Along with Cord, Sarah had been a driving force in bringing her brother safely home from France.
“There is no reason for her to worry. Harmon Jeffries has fled. The man is no longer in a position to give away secrets—or sell them, as the case may be. Ethan will complete his mission and return safely home.”
“With the viscount removed from the government, I suppose the voyage will be safer.”
“Which brings me to a question I’ve been meaning to ask. Recently it occurred to me that it was extremely co incidental for your friend, Grace, to decide to visit a relative in the north so shortly after Lord Forsythe’s escape.”
Tory gave him her innocent, wide-eyed expression. “Darling, surely you’re not implying that Grace had anything to do with it?”
“Don’t give me that look. Tell me Grace Chastain was in no way involved in the viscount’s escape.”

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