Page 12 of The Pirate's Stolen Bride
She was not quite as appalled as she should have been by her proximity to a stranger as an almost-wedded lady ought to have been, but that was all right, because this was only a dream. If touching him made her stomach flutter and an unfamiliar heat coil low in her belly, there was no real harm it in.
Desire sent a feverish flush through her body, followed by a wave of chills so intense she couldn’t breathe. Then she was flying—which was how she knew for certain it was a dream—and then back in the horrible small boat the pirate had taken her captive in.
After more flying, she landed in a soft bed…
Where she awoke with great confusion and sat bolt upright.
“Where am I?”
“Still in Cornwall,” a male voice like warm whisky informed her. “We are staying at the Windswept Tides Inn.”
Alarmed, Harriet yanked the sheet up to her chin and stared at the man standing by the window. He wore a knitted vest over his partially buttoned linen shirt. The rough homespun clothing did more to emphasize his innate attractiveness than fine wool and silk could possibly have done.
Lord save her, none of it had been a dream.
“How long have we been here?”
“Two nights, verging into a third.”
Her gut filled with acid. She was going to be sick. Three nights, alone with a man she barely knew. Poor Uncle Monty must be frantic. She hadn’t done anything wrong, yet she would be the one punished. Ruined. Forsaken and abandoned, yet again.
Harriet glanced down and found herself wearing only a thin nightgown, one she didn’t recognize. It wasn’t as if she’d had a moment to grab her trunk when thisblasted pirateabsconded with her.
“Who undressed me?” she demanded.
“I did.” Her groan of dismay prompted him to turn away from the window, toward her. “I told the innkeeper that you were my wife. My very sick wife, who needed care and tending.”
Care and tending.Ha! Despite her instant rejection of the idea, the queasy feeling settled, replaced by a warm flush of embarrassment.
Uncle Monty had taken care of her in his starchy, distant way, but it was impossible for her to imagine him jumping into the ocean to save her. He certainly wouldn’t undress her. There was taking care of, and there was caring for, and Harriet felt the difference keenly.
Still, Rémy had kidnapped her and this was all his fault. She wasn’t inclined to let him off the hook quite so easily.
“You know it was highly inappropriate of you to do that.”
“Like all of the appropriate things we’ve done since our encounter at the Cock and Bull?” He raised one eyebrow.
Any burgeoning affection that had sprouted in her heart for this man withered instantly. Harriet closed her eyes and wished she had let the sea take her. Better to drown than endure this endless humiliation. What had she said and done in her delirium? If she had confessed to thinking him handsome, she would throw herself off the nearest cliff. Cornwall was full of cliffs. Shouldn’t be difficult to find a suitable one.
“I hate you,” she said, her fury deepening when his mouth ticked up at the corner. “You have been nothing but a curse ever since we met. I wish you’d never been born to plague me.”
Harriet kicked back the covers and clambered out of bed. What was the point of trying to preserve her modesty if he’d already undressed her and put her in a nightgown? The dratted man had already seen everything there was to see.
“You’re not the first to say that,” he snapped. “No doubt you won’t be the last.”
He stormed out.
Harriet froze in the middle of knotting the ill-fitting wrapper. How could she have said something so brutal, even to a horrible pirate? She knew precisely what it felt like to be reviled for existing, yet that was the insult she had reached for in her anger.
She had every right to be furious with him, but she did not have a right to be cruel. She finished tying the knot with trembling fingers. The silence stretched, freighted with the weight of everything she couldn’t figure out how to say.
After a minute, Rémy smiled thinly and said, “You haven’t eaten anything since we arrived. I presume you would also like to wash. I shall request a bath to be brought up.” He made a mocking bow. “Your ladyship.”
She deserved that moniker.
Harriet’s belly churned with a half-sick, half-famished feeling. She couldn’t recall a time when she’d felt so out of sorts. Not even during the first few days of travel with Uncle Monty, who insisted upon personally escorting her to Ireland. He’d chosen to go the longest way possible, ostensibly to visit his old friend, Viscount Prescott, in Cavalier Cove, for reasons he hadn’t deigned to explain.
She hadn’t objected, for she was in no hurry to become Lucarran’s bride in truth. After getting used to the vagaries of travel, she’d rather enjoyed their long journey. In fact, she had spent much of the time trapped in a traveling coach wishing for a dashing man to rescue her from her fate. This fantasy paragon would see her for who she truly was—unlike any other person in her life.
