Lord Trent: Love's Price Part 14

She flashed her most innocent smile. "Where would I go?"

"Who the h.e.l.l knows, but if I come back and find you're out wandering the s.h.i.+p, I'll paddle your bottom."

"You wouldn't."

"I would, so don't push me."

"Why can't I take a walk up on the deck?"

"Because it's not safe."

"But I'm getting claustrophobic down here."

"It can't be helped. My men aren't saints. If one of them catches you off by yourself, there's no predicting what might happen. I won't hang a member of my crew simply because he couldn't resist your dubious charms."

"I'm not afraid of your crew," she boasted. "I'm not afraid of anything."

"That, my dear, is precisely the problem. You're too brave for your own d.a.m.n good."

He spun and left, off to do whatever it was he did in the long hours he was up top. She, on the other hand, had to putter around in the stifling, small room, and the solitude was driving her batty. She had no one to talk to, no one with whom to break up the monotony.

They'd been at sea for days, and she could tell they were sailing south, because there was a tiny window that let in a bit of air. The temperature was changing, a balmy breeze blowing in. It brought an odor Harriet had never smelled before, but she recognized it as the aroma of warmer climes.

The cabin was growing hot and stuffy, and in order to cool down, she'd started removing her petticoat and unb.u.t.toning the top b.u.t.tons on her dress, which made her feel scandalously unclad.

She tiptoed to the door, listening to ensure that Harcourt was gone, then she went to the table and gobbled the last of his breakfast. They were engaged in an odd truce. She wouldn't divulge her surname or why she'd hidden on his s.h.i.+p, so he refused to feed her, but he was too much of a gentleman to let her starve.

When he dined, he always had a hearty meal delivered, but it was much more than he could eat. He'd leave the leftovers on the tray, pretending they were for Riley to cart away, but the instant Harcourt departed, Harriet wolfed them down.

His behavior annoyed and intrigued her. It had her thinking about him too much when she didn't want to think about him at all. His generosity provided one important clue as to his character. Deep down, he was very kind.

He might bark and snap, but he wasn't deliberately cruel, and with his true nature revealed, it was easier to bear up through his scolding and warnings. He might threaten flogging and other punishment, but he would never carry them out.

With her breakfast finished, she crept to the door again. Hearing nothing, she hurried to his bookshelf and pulled down the strongbox where he'd secured Bentley's purse. She sat on the floor, fussing with the lock.

To relieve the tedium, she'd explored every nook and cranny of his cabin, and she'd actually found a woman's hat pin. As to what it was doing there, she wouldn't hazard a guess, but she'd concealed it until she might have the opportunity to use it.

She poked and prodded at the lock, and with very little effort, it sprung open. She smirked, amused by how she'd bested him, by how angry he'd be when he realized her money was gone, but her glee was short-lived.

The box contained his personal papers, as well as piles of gold coins and some ornate jewelry, but though she searched and searched, there was no sign of Bentley's pouch. She took everything out, put it back in, took it out again.

The pouch wasn't there!

When had Harcourt removed it? How had he done it without her knowing? It had to have transpired while she was sleeping. The rat! The despicable, sneaky rat!

She closed the lid and rose, setting the box on the shelf. Morosely, she gazed at it, her shoulders slumped in defeat.

"Looking for this?" Harcourt suddenly asked from behind her, having sneaked in without her noticing.

She jumped and whipped around. The oaf was huge as a house. How could he be so light on his feet?

A smug smile curving his lips, he dangled Bentley's purse at her, taunting her with how the coins clanked together.

"Give me that."

"No."

He stuck it inside his coat.

"Give it to me!"

"I will if you tell me where you got it."

A wave of fury washed over her, and she was stunned by its virulence. If she'd been clutching a pistol, she'd have shot him through the middle of his black heart.

"That money is mine. I earned every b.l.o.o.d.y penny."

It was a minor lie, but she wasn't sorry for uttering it. Hadn't Bentley tried to rape her? She viewed the money as compensation for the fright she'd suffered.

"You earned it?" he sneered. "How? Flat on your back?"

Being a maiden, it took her a second to understand what he was implying, and once she grasped the insult, she exploded with rage.

"You slimy, contemptible weasel. How dare you say such a thing to me!"

She rushed at him, fists clenched and swinging crazily. He hadn't expected an a.s.sault, so she caught him off guard. He stumbled to the side, which gave her a chance to pummel him.

"Stop it!" he commanded, but she continued hitting him and hitting him.

She felt as if she was striking at every wrong ever committed against her, at every man who'd ever betrayed her. From her grandfather, to her Uncle Richard, to Captain Harcourt and every male in between, they'd never brought her anything but misery.

She kept on and on, and it occurred to her that she wasn't really hurting him. He let her rail until she began to tire, then he grabbed her wrists and forced them behind her back, but she refused to quit fighting.

She kicked at his s.h.i.+ns and tried to b.u.t.t him with her head, and when she narrowly missed smacking his nose, he grew angry, too.

"That's enough, you little wildcat!"

He wrapped her in a bear hug and wrestled her onto his bunk. She was pinned beneath him, and though she wanted to carry on the battle, his weight was crus.h.i.+ng her, so she had no leverage. They lay still, breathing hard, and he glared down at her, trembling with wrath.

"I am going to release your hands," he spit out, "and if you swing at me again, I swear to G.o.d, I will beat you within an inch of your life."

"You don't scare me."

"I don't? And why is that?"

"You'd never hit a woman."

"Well, if you keep pus.h.i.+ng me, you may be the first."

"I only want what's mine," she said. "One blasted time, I'd like some justice."

The high drama of the moment had waned, and to her disgust, tears filled her eyes. On seeing them, he frowned.

"You better not start crying."

"What if I do? Will you flog me? Will you starve me?"

"Don't tempt me."

"You think you're so grand-with your fancy s.h.i.+p and your fancy brother. You have no idea what it's like to be me. My life has been one disaster after the next, and if I want to cry about it, I will."

He snorted, some of the tension leaving his body, and he eased away, watching her, waiting to learn if she'd lash out again. But the tempest had been spent, and she didn't have another outburst in her.

She studied his handsome, expressive face, and she observed-with no small amount of consternation-that as his fury abated, something more dangerous took its place.

She recognized the look. It was desire, fueled by his realization that he was a man, and she was a woman, and they'd been crammed into close quarters for over a week.

Every inch of his torso was pressed to hers. Her b.r.e.a.s.t.s rubbed his chest, her nipples alert and excited by the sensation. Down below, her thighs were widened, and his legs had dropped between them. The position situated his loins directly against her own, and she could feel his enlarged phallus, which she understood to be an indication of rising l.u.s.t.

She was aware of the details of fornication, though she was a bit hazy on the actual mechanics. She'd worked in aristocrats' houses for years, had listened to the other maids expound on male anatomy and physical behaviors. Few of them had been virgins, and most claimed the s.e.xual act was very pleasant. Some even claimed that-once initiated-they couldn't live without it.

Harriet didn't know what she believed, but she wasn't eager to try it, and she definitely wasn't ready to submit to an arrogant a.s.s like Captain Harcourt.

Would he take her against her will? If he forced her, she hadn't the strength to fight him off. What would become of them?

"You're going to be the death of me," he murmured.

"I certainly hope so."

"I can't abide a woman with a temper."

"Then you shouldn't constantly hara.s.s me. You're the one who lures it to the fore."

"So I am to blame for your being a madwoman who insists on proving-over and over-that she's insane?"

"Why is it that you feel compelled to advise me of all the things you loathe about me?"

"I don't know."

"You never say a word unless you're cataloguing my faults."

"That's because it's such a long list, I never get to the end."

The silence settled in again, and he scowled as if he wasn't sure how she'd come to be lying beneath him.

His ardor was growing more blatant, and she braced, positive her ravishment was about to commence, but instead, he dipped down and kissed her.

His lips covered hers, his mouth warm and soft, and she was stunned to find that it was the sweetest, most wonderful thing that had ever happened to her. He was very gentle and not in any hurry, and he simply kissed her, then kissed her some more.

She couldn't have said how long it lasted, but when he drew away, her limbs were rubbery, and she couldn't lift her arms or move her legs.

She sighed with pleasure.

"I guess"-he was smirking-"I finally figured out how to shut you up."

"I guess you did," she replied, too content to quarrel.

He kissed her again, and this time, it was more urgent, more exhilarating.

A hand was fisted in her hair, his fingers on her breast, and there seemed to be a spark of energy flowing from his body to hers. Matters were spiraling out of control, and she should have ordered him to stop, but she didn't want to.

She thought she hated him. Didn't she? How could she permit him to take so many liberties? Why would she enjoy it? What was wrong with her?

There was no telling what might have transpired if a knock hadn't sounded on the door.

Harcourt frowned and pulled away, and he glared over and snapped, "What is it?"

"Sails, Captain," the gruff Mr. Riley responded. "Off the stern again. You asked to be notified."

"Dammit," Harcourt muttered, then he called, "I'll be right there."

He slid away and leapt up, in an instant, breaking their physical contact so completely that it was as if he'd never touched her at all.

"What is it?" Harriet queried.

"Nothing."

Riley stomped away as Harcourt went to a trunk he kept under the table. It was always locked, and Harriet hadn't been able to open it, so she hadn't ever looked inside.

She watched, unnerved, as he reached in and retrieved a saber and two large pistols. He strapped them to his waist.

She sat up.

"Will there be trouble?" she inquired.

"No."

His curt answer infuriated her.

Since she was a prisoner in his cabin, she had no method of gleaning information about what was occurring up on deck, and it wasn't as if she could get him to talk like a normal human being.

When he deigned to show his face, he was either surly as a goat or they were bickering. They couldn't seem to interact in any other fas.h.i.+on.

He stepped toward the door, as if to leave without another word, and she jumped from the bunk and beat him to it. She stood in front of it, her back pressed to the wood, a paltry barrier to his exiting, but a barrier nonetheless.

"What's going on," she demanded.

"I told you: nothing."