Chapter 9
“Wherein sparks fly.”
“Dammit!” he cursed, picking a shard of glass from the palm of his hand.
Henri bit her lip, torn between amusement at having seen him hit the floor in such an ungainly fashion and guilt as she watched blood drip down his arm from the wound on his hand.
“Was that really necessary?” he demanded, showing her the cut as blood fell to the floor with a steady drip, drip that Henri found a little unnerving.
“In the circumstances, yes.” Henri folded her arms and looked down her nose at him.
She would not feel guilty. He may be pretty to look at, but she knew all too well he was the Devil in a Sunday hat, and she wasn’t as green as he might imagine.
“You must think me a fool indeed to suggest such a thing. And you can put any thoughts of seducing me far from your mind. I may be ruined but I haven’t lost my wits with my reputation.
Frankly, based on all I have seen, you are the last man on earth I would consider falling for, even if I simply meant to take a lover. ”
Warming to her theme she decided to twist the knife a little deeper.
“In fact, I can’t imagine how you’ve gained such a colourful reputation. I can only think that the women you have encountered to date have been a very poor sort indeed and already inclined to sluttish behaviour.”
To her satisfaction he seemed quite taken aback by her words which had been spoken with no little force. For a moment she thought she saw a glimmer of some unnamed emotion in his eyes, but it was so quickly replaced by what was obviously dented male pride that she felt no remorse.
“Is that so?”
Something in her stomach did a nervous somersault as so many things seemed to be encompassed in the tone of those three words.
They held everything from accusation, the acceptance of a challenge, and a clear promise he would make her eat her words if it was the last thing he did.
Belatedly Henri wondered if she had once again mis-stepped and treated him in the wrong manner.
His blue eyes were staring at her with such intensity that she felt her mouth go dry.
“Y-you must see I’m in a perilous situation here, sir,” she stammered with as much dignity as she could. “I mean no disrespect, but I will not lose my honour to pay for your help. Just because I’ve lost all else does not mean I am a cheap amusement.”
He snorted at that, looking away from her at last to wrap his bloody palm in a handkerchief.
“Cheap?” he exclaimed, shaking his head. “You expect me to spend hours and days and weeks helping you and get nothing in return. No, lady, indeed you are not cheap.”
Henri felt her cheeks burn with fury. Never in her life had she been spoken to in such a fashion and the injustice of her position rankled.
“I do not intend to be a burden upon you for a moment longer than necessary,” she said, keeping her voice cold and devoid of emotion for fear she would cry if she stumbled now.
“We will part company as soon as you make port and until that time, I will pay my way as I can. I can cook a little if you would send me to the kitchen, or mend clothes, clean your cabin ... I do not care how menial the task. I will earn my keep.”
The curiosity was back in his eyes now as he watched her. She raised her chin, holding his gaze, defiant.
“You would prefer to be a skivvy than learn everything I have offered you? Just to keep your maidenhead intact?”
Fury rolled over her at his words. The ignorant, cold-hearted, arrogant bastard.
“Just?” she repeated. The word may have been said quietly but the atmosphere in the tiny cabin was electric as though thunder rolled between them, and lightning would strike at any moment.
Her chest rose and fell too fast, her heart thundering and she wished she was close enough to attempt to take his dagger, for she would gladly drive a knife into that black heart of his.
With deceptive calm she got to her feet, moving carefully around the broken glass on the floor. He stood also, mirroring her, watching her with careful attention.
“You believe you offer me a boon, don’t you? You think you are all charity in offering to teach me your ways?” she sneered. “But it wouldn’t matter how much I learnt, it wouldn’t matter how well I accomplished everything you taught me. It would change nothing, for the world will change not at all.”
She looked at the deepening frown on his face and knew he didn’t understand what she meant. Why would he, he was a man.
“For me to gain your men’s respect I would need to do far more than match your skills and bravery, your cunning and ruthlessness.
I would have to far exceed those qualities before I gained their admiration, for a woman must always fight for every scrap of respect that is handed so easily to a man for the mere sake of his biology.
And where your ruthlessness would have you described as fierce and brave and everyone would commend those as admirable traits in a Captain, I would be cursed as being a cold-hearted, sly bitch and everyone would despise me for it,” she raged.
In her anger she had crossed the room, stepping closer to him as her temper had risen beyond her control.
Now she found she stood so close to him she could see his blue eyes were flecked with green and was reminded forcefully of the view from her bedroom window on a clear fine day when the sea glittered so enticingly.
Now that her anger had been vented, she didn’t know what to do or say and waited for him to retaliate, to return her anger with harsh words of his own.
She could see the need to do so burning in his eyes.
So, when his hand reached out and traced the curve of her jaw, she jolted with surprise.
It was the barest touch as though he wished to gentle down some skittish woodland creature before it ran from him.
She drew in a sharp breath and watched as the anger receded from his eyes, to be replaced with something else she dared not name.
“You are ... magnificent,” he breathed, something close to wonder lingering over the words.
They seemed to settle in her chest, a warm weight that soothed away all the jagged edges of her fury.
She searched his eyes, looking for mockery, for duplicity, but before she was certain there was nothing of the sort to be found, his head lowered, and his lips pressed against hers.
Her mind stalled, caught like a rabbit in a snare, too beyond panic now to even struggle, too lost to know if she wanted to.
His lips were every bit as soft and warm as she had remembered, and his kiss was as gentle and tentative as the touch of his fingers had been. He brushed her mouth once and pulled back a little, enquiring, waiting for her to protest.
Henri waited too but found nothing to say.
Perhaps her honour wasn’t as precious to her as she had implied, the idea a faint panic that she chose to ignore .
.. for the moment. He moved closer again to repeat the exercise, twice, three times, and then over and over until she was dizzy.
It seemed to her as though each brush of his lips was a drug, the cumulative effect of which was far more devastating when the simplicity of the act was so sweet and apparently innocent.
Again, came the barest touch of his mouth against hers, before moving away, leaving her trembling and wanting more and more with every repetition.
He had not touched her further, had not drawn her into his arms as he had in the dark privacy of the curtained dressing room. His fingertips still lingered at her jaw; a barely there touch that she felt was the only thing keeping her upright.
Finally, he did pull away from her and she looked up at him, too shaken to utter another word.
Those blue eyes were dark with desire, heavy with such need it made her chest ache to know he had felt everything she had, with just as much intensity - that he was just as shaken.
And then, without another word, he turned and left the cabin, slamming the door behind him.