Scandalous Read online

  It hadn’t been until later, when Sarah was setting foot onto the privateer vessel, that she had questioned the wisdom of accompanying the Dutchman to the parley. She had just escaped one boatload of slave-trading filth; what was to say she was not giving herself to another? Well, it had been too late by then. And when they’d found themselves sitting in the wardroom—waiting for Bouchard—she’d asked Graaf, “If slaving is so lucrative, why would these privateers return the people to Ouidah?”

  “Most likely they will take them to Freetown. That is where they will hand me over to the authorities.” The Dutchman had been shivering and sweating, his eyes dull with self-pity and suffering.

  “Might these privateers take the slaves and sell them themselves?”

  The captain had shrugged, as if he were too consumed with his own fate to care about anyone else. “Anything is possible, I suppose.”

  Sarah considered the Dutchman as she soaped her hair in the cooling bath water. It had been wrong to lie to him about a cure, but she couldn’t feel much guilt about what she’d done. Her lie had made all the difference in the world to her and the people in the hold. Besides, only time and rest would cure most of the jungle fevers that ravaged the area, and Graaf was better off in Bouchard’s custody than on his mutinous ship. Her lies might have actually saved the man’s life.

  Cheered by the thought, she stood and used the water from the pitcher to rinse the soap from her head and body. She wrung out her hair before stepping out of the tub and toweling her hair dry. She glanced at the remaining towels and hesitated.

  “Oh, why not?” she muttered, snatching up a fresh towel for her body.

  Once she was dry and wrapped in a towel she took up the comb the second mate had left and began the unpleasant task of removing tangles.

  She examined the clothing Bouchard had sent while she combed. Sarah knew very little about fashion, but even she could see the garments were not the kind a proper woman would wear. One of the gowns was made of nothing but black lace, and she blushed to think what such a thing would look like on her. It was positively scandalous.

  She settled on the least revealing article, a beautiful robe of heavy black silk, embroidered with silver dragons. The robe covered her from neck to feet and was large enough that she could wrap it around herself before belting it. A pair of plain black slippers completed her outfit and hid her large, battered and sunburned feet from view.

  Bathed, dressed, and ready, she sat on the bed and stared at nothing in particular. She was left breathless and bemused by the bargain she’d made with the most beautiful person—male or female—she’d ever seen.

  Captain Graaf was attractive, but he paled in every sense of the word when compared to the exotic Captain Bouchard. Sarah blushed just thinking the man’s name. It had taken all her strength not to begin gibbering when he’d entered the small wardroom.

  His eyes alone were enough to make him breathtaking. They were deep-set and heavy-lidded, fringed with lashes that looked in danger of tangling. But it was their molten gold color that was most striking. Sarah had looked into those liquid depths and seen no sign of his thoughts.

  But if his eyes were unreadable, his mouth betrayed him. His full, sensual lips—the only soft thing about him—had shifted from amused to displeased to mocking all in a matter of seconds, just like a willful child’s.

  Sarah had taunted him about his clothing because he’d blinded her with his masculine elegance. His coat, breeches, and boots were tailored so intimately to his muscular frame that her own body had responded in unnerving ways when she looked at him. His clothes were those of a gentleman, but they could not hide the powerful physique they covered. He was broad-shouldered and brawny, and his fingers had been calloused when he’d touched her chin, demonstrating that he was no stranger to work. His hands were big and scarred, completely unlike those of Graaf, whose slim white hands were so soft they could have belonged to a woman. Sarah glanced down at her own hands and frowned.

  Well, any woman’s but hers, which were as scarred and rough as Bouchard’s.

  The two captains were a fascinating contrast. Graaf had the face of an angel, but was willing to traffic in human misery. Bouchard was sin in human form, but became enraged at the mere mention of slavery. Sarah tried to convince herself his refusal to tolerate slavery was merely expediency—after all, he made his living confiscating slave ships—but she knew that wasn’t true. No, Martín Bouchard would not enslave and sell the people on Graaf’s ship. He had turned savage in an instant, his veneer of amused arrogance dropping away to reveal the rage inside him: a rage that strained like a provoked and maddened beast against its tether.

  And she’d bartered herself to such a man.

  “Dear God,” she whispered.

  Her hands shook as she pulled the sash of her robe tighter.

  Well, if Captain Bouchard wanted physical coupling, at least Sarah would not be entirely ignorant. She did have eyes, after all, and the people in her village had not been prudish. She had always envied her neighbors their spouses and children, but no young man had ever looked at her with yearning, a fact that had become increasingly difficult to bear after first her parents and then Abena had died, leaving her on her own.

  The sickness that killed Abena and Sarah’s parents had killed many others in the village. Anyone who could leave had done so. Less than two dozen remained and many of them old or infirm. The thought of years of loneliness stretching before her had made Sarah chafe against the promises she’d given her parents two years before.

  How could they have asked such things of her? How could they expect her to fill both their shoes with no helpmate, no husband?

  Sarah shied away from the anger and guilt that always accompanied the memory of her last words with both her parents and steered her mind to the evening ahead—to Captain Bouchard and what he wanted from her.

  Just because she knew what occurred between men and women, it didn’t mean she wasn’t frightened. Even so, she could not regret the deal she’d made. It was ridiculous to value virtue above human life.

  Sarah knew her mother would not have agreed, but she suspected her father would have. She had saved dozens of men’s lives by giving Bouchard the thing he had asked for—a thing nobody else seemed to want from her.

  But why did he want such things from her? She’d seen the way he’d looked at her, and it had not been admiration or lust in his gaze. His gaze had been dismissive more than anything else. That was not surprising. After all, a man with his physical beauty was probably accustomed to coupling with women as attractive as he was. Sarah was not such a woman.

  She was tall and spare with no soft curves to speak of. Her chest was woefully flat when compared to those of most of the young women in her village. Her skin had freckled in the harsh tropical sun, and her straight hair was thick but dirty blond in color. Her best feature was her eyes, which were large with long lashes, although an indeterminate shade of brown. Sarah could only suppose Bouchard was bored to want her.

  She was four and twenty and had never even kissed a man. She’d long ago accepted that she was not attractive, but she’d never stopped yearning to know love or have children. Not that Captain Bouchard was offering her either of those choices, of course.

  She recalled his amused response to her choking fever lie and smiled. If the man had been attractive in repose, he was stunning when he smiled.

  Sarah shook her head at the foolish observation. What did it matter how beautiful he was?

  Instead of fantasizing about the arrogant captain, she should be considering her future. Unfortunately, that, too, led back to Bouchard. What would happen to her? Would he give her to the authorities along with all the others?

  Sarah grimaced as she realized how much her life, as well as everyone else’s on this ship, depended on one capricious man.

  A knock on the door made her jump, and she swallowed.

  It was time for dinner.

  Chapter Five

  Mr. Daniels
’s lips parted and his eyes widened as he took in Sarah’s altered appearance. It was by far the most flattering reaction she’d ever elicited from a man.

  “You look beautiful, miss.”

  Sarah laughed. “Well, hardly that, Mr. Daniels. But thank you.”

  He led her a short distance down the corridor before halting in front of a door that was larger and more ornate than any of the others. He raised his hand to knock, but paused. “The captain is . . .” He flushed. “Well, I know he can seem a bit harsh, but—”

  The door swung inward to reveal the exquisitely dressed Captain Bouchard.

  He filled the doorway, his disconcerting yellow eyes flickering between Daniels and Sarah.

  “That will be all, Daniels,” he said, his intense gaze finally settling on her. “Come in, Miss Fisher.” He ushered her inside and closed the door in his second mate’s face.

  Bouchard’s lair was as sensual and lush as the man himself. It was nothing like Graaf’s, which had been elegant, but spare. An ornate, carved desk stood against the wall just inside the door. Above the desk was a built-in mahogany bookshelf that contained dozens of books. Sarah’s breath quickened at the sight of such riches and her hands twitched to browse their contents. She’d had only a half-dozen well-used books in her possession and those had been destroyed when the slavers burned down the small mission school. She restrained the impulse to gorge on books and looked around the rest of the room.

  A huge bed occupied the entire right side of the cabin, the masculine lines of the dark wood softened by layer upon layer of brown and gold bedding. It was a bed designed for something other than sleeping. Wicked, unbidden images of the man behind her leapt into her head and Sarah flushed and turned away.

  A table surrounded by wooden benches took up most of the other side of the cabin. Brown leather cushions padded the benches, and the table was covered with a fine linen cloth and set for two, complete with a small pair of brass candle holders and tapered white candles. Sarah reached out and fingered one of the snowy linen napkins, marveling at the beauty of the scene.

  “Wine?” Bouchard asked.

  Sarah turned, no longer able to avoid looking at him. Like her, he had bathed and changed clothes. His robe was a dull gold and tied loosely over a sand-colored tunic and trousers. Sarah’s gaze fixed on the flesh that was exposed by his collarless shirt. His smooth brown skin was still damp, and she could smell the clean, fresh scent of soap, the same as the cake she’d used.

  She looked up to find him watching her, his full lips pulled into a knowing smile. He oozed an arrogant confidence that told her he was used to female adulation and viewed it as his due. He was indeed a perfect physical specimen, but Sarah forced herself to recall the man who occupied the body: a man who would cut off another person’s head as easily as he would smash a fly.

  He placed a glass in her hand and took a drink from his own vessel, his eyes watchful.

  Sarah had never tasted wine before and took only the smallest of sips. The dry, tangy taste was not unpleasant, but it was not what she’d expected. She put down the glass, refusing to allow alcohol to turn her into a babbling fool.

  “You have a fine selection of books, Captain.” She inched around him and went to the bookshelf. “May I?” she asked, unable to keep the excitement from her voice.

  “My cabin is your cabin.” Bouchard managed to imbue the innocent words with a carnality that made her blush.

  Sarah ignored the innuendo and motioned to a volume by Pope. “Tell me, Captain, why do you keep some of your books upside down?” She turned around when he didn’t answer.

  Bouchard’s eyes flickered over the shelf, and an odd expression crossed his face. He shrugged. “Perhaps Daniels or Beauville borrowed one and put it back that way. You like to read?”

  Sarah turned back to the selection, more than one of which was upside-down. “Yes, I do,” she murmured, her attention on the books. “Oh, you have Herodotus in Greek.” She skimmed past it and plucked a different volume from the shelf, a book she’d not heard of, Clarissa.

  Bouchard came to stand beside her, looking at the book she held in her hands.

  “I do not read Greek. That one was here when I took the ship.” He stared somewhat fixedly at the book she held, his jaw tense.

  Sarah frowned and turned the book’s spine toward him, so the title, Clarissa, was clear. “I should like to borrow this—do you mind?”

  He glared at the book, a small line of annoyance forming between his eyes. “I already said I do not read Greek. Take it and keep it—consider it a gift.”

  He turned away, as if tired of the subject of books. “Come, let us sit and enjoy the food my cook has prepared for us.”

  Sarah’s jaw sagged and she stared at his broad back as the realization struck her.

  He could not read and was trying to hide it.

  An almost suffocating wave of pity welled up inside her for the handsome, arrogant man. How terrible it would be not to be able to read. How did he manage to function as captain of this fine ship? Did he have a man of affairs to manage his business? Why had he never learned to read?

  Bouchard gestured to a plate arrayed with unrecognizable foods, and Sarah decided it would be wise to dismiss such questions from her mind. The matter did not concern her. She had plenty of her own problems—many caused by the man in question.

  She took a seat and pointed to some hard-looking yellow slabs. “What are these?”

  His brows rose. “You have not had cheese before?”

  “I have heard of it, but never tasted any.”

  “That is a type of cheddar.”

  “Before I eat, Captain, the people who were in the hold—”

  “Luckily we resupplied only ten days ago, so Mr. Beauville was able to bring ample food, water, and supplies from my ship to make sure the captives have what they need.” He frowned. “Understandably, most have chosen to sleep on deck. They are crowded, but it does not make sense to transport people onto this ship, where there is actually less available room given the number of my crew. The weather is pleasant and should stay so for the next few days. Also, our ship’s surgeon has gone over and examined a few of the captives who were very weak and ill. Those have been put in crew cabins and are being treated.”

  “I should like to go over tomorrow and see if I am needed—to translate, if nothing else.”

  He nodded. “That can be arranged.”

  “I wonder, did your man happen to mention a newborn? She is not quite—”

  “I know of the child. She and the father and nursemaid are in a cabin of their own.”

  Sarah exhaled, so relieved she felt weak. Yesterday at this same time she’d been certain they would all perish in the hold of that ship. “Thank you for your kindness. I am very—”

  He made a dismissive gesture. “Eat,” he ordered, turning to the table and filling a small plate with delicacies.

  She looked at the top of his head, her mouth open.

  Was he . . . embarrassed?

  Sarah realized she was hungry, too, and dropped the matter. She picked up a piece of cheese and took a small bite.

  “This is delicious,” she said, forcing herself to eat slowly.

  The smile he gave her was the first genuine one she’d seen on his face. She’d not thought he could look more attractive. She’d been wrong.

  “How is it that you do not know cheese?”

  “We had nothing like this in our village. Perhaps the closest thing would be a type of paste we sometimes received in trade from a neighboring village. The people with whom we lived were quite poor. My father said they were poor even in comparison to the other villages in the area.”

  “Your father? Where is he now?”

  “He died almost two years ago, shortly after my mother.”

  “And you have been living in this village alone since that time?” His frown showed what he thought of such an idea.

  “I was born there. It is the only home I’ve ever known. Well, u
ntil the last few weeks.” She nibbled on something that looked like meat, but was dry and quite salty. “This is very good, also.”

  “That is cured meat from Italy.”

  “Oh, have you been to Italy? Is it wonderful?”

  Bouchard smiled tolerantly at her enthusiasm. “Yes, Italy is quite beautiful, at least what I saw of it. Tell me, why were your parents in such a remote place?”

  “They were missionaries and came to the area over twenty years ago. The church that funded them was among the first to send people to Africa. They used to send us supplies four times a year; then it dropped to twice a year. Three years ago we received one shipment, and the following year, nothing.”

  She took a sip of wine. It was actually quite delightful when paired with the salted meat and cheese.

  “Your father did not think to leave when this happened?”

  “My parents sickened and died shortly afterward. They died within weeks of each other. By that time there was no way to leave even if I had had someplace else to go.”

  “How did you come to be on the Dutch ship?” Bouchard refilled both their glasses before leaning back and crossing his arms over his chest. The movement did distracting things to the front of his robe.

  Sarah tried not to stare. She looked at her plate and told herself to be calm and take this opportunity to befriend him. Perhaps she could find out what his plans for her might be.

  “The slavers came to my village—N’goe—and captured everyone who was left.” She shrugged. “I went with them.”

  Bouchard’s jaw dropped, and his lips parted in shock. “Graaf bought you?”

  Sarah bristled. “Along with hundreds of others—or are they not worthy of mention because of the color of their skin?”

  Bouchard held up a hand. “Sheath your claws, Miss Fisher—you will get no argument from me on the issues of slavery and skin color. I was simply making a point that his behavior was rather odd. Enslaving whites is not unheard of, of course, but he was likely headed for Spanish Florida, and it would be difficult to sell a white woman there.” His eyes flickered over her in a way that said especially one as homely as you.