Page 5 of The Pirate's Stolen Bride
“It’s generally frowned upon to marry one’s uncle anyway.” She must be quite a fine lady indeed if her uncle was a duke.
She made a strangled sound. “I wasn’t going to marry Uncle Monty.”
“That’s a relief.”
“Will you shut up?”
“I will if you will.”
Her fulminating glare only made Rémy grin. This lady was no meek little mouse. She was full of fire and he wanted all her passion.
The air chilled abruptly, a sign that they had left the safety of the cavern and were on the open bay.
“Once Benoit decides the coast is clear he will give a signal. We can board my ship and be free.”
She gave a curt nod. Her bonnet sat at an odd angle against the worn wood, its silk flowers miraculously intact after so much abuse. It was a nice hat. The violet felt brought out the green flecks in her eyes.
“Is your uncle really a duke?”
“No, I was making that up.”
“Good.”
“Rémy, that was sarcasm.”
He turned to look at her. A chuckle bubbled out of him. Miss Turner met his eye and glared. “This is the most preposterous situation I have ever been in, do you know that?”
“I aim to please.”
“Shh!” hissed Benoit. They rowed for some time during which her ladyship was suspiciously quiet. At last, his friend said, “We approach theSpectre. I will pull theHaintalongside so you can board.”
A few minutes later, their fishing dinghy pulled alongside the larger cutter. A grizzled man aboard the bigger shim threw down a rope ladder.
Rémy offered Miss Turner a hand up. She took it reluctantly and tugged her clothing straight without meeting his eye. A large swell rocked the boat and nearly sent her sprawling.
“Careful,” he said, catching her.
“I’m not accustomed to boats.”
“You might have to stay below decks for a while.” He indicated the dark gray cloud bank in the distance with a jerk of his chin. “That storm will be upon us within the hour. We’ll head away from Polperro, where the Waterguard are stationed, but we might not be able to avoid the storm entirely. It could be a rough few hours.”
Her plump lips flattened and a thin, worried line pleated her brow. “What if I get sick?”
“There will be a bucket. Don’t worry, Miss Turner, vous serez très à l’aise.”
“Comfortable,” she echoed. Clearly, she understood some French.
“Yes, as I said, you will be quite comfortable. Come. I will show you.” He gestured to the rope ladder. She fumbled with the first rung, gasping when the boat dipped and the hem of her skirt went into the water.
“Don’t fall,” he called out encouragingly.
She managed to hold her skirt aside, cast him an incredulous glare, and pull herself up another rung all at once. Good girl. She could handle this.
There was a strange sensation he couldn’t quite name burrowed deep inside his chest, as if an ancient creature had awoken there. His ribs felt too tight and his skin felt too sensitive. Rémy recognized the physical signs of attraction, but this was a thousand times worse than he had ever experienced. It was a wholly different beast.
He generally avoided feelings, but one of the emotions he identified was simmering indignance bordering on outrage. A pretty, capable young woman didn’t deserve to be forced into a marriage she didn’t want. Rémy didn’t care how titled she was, or how wealthy the man in question. He’d bet her beau was old and hideous, too.
Not that he had enough money to tempt a fine lady like a duke’s niece. Rémy had done well for himself, but there was a world of difference between a successful smuggler and a titled lord.
