Page 67 of An Imperfect Scoundrel
One lamp flickered, hanging on the wall behind the desk, and cast ominous shadows across the room. Behind her, the door closed and locked. Her heart dropped into her stomach.
What would he do when he discovered she was a woman?
“I’m an impatient man, Dubois. I have other duties to attend to.” Captain Shaw’s menacing voice crawled over her shoulders.
“If you are in a hurry to kill me, then do so and prevent me from suffering the embarrassment of undressing in front of you.” Turning around, she forced a smile.
Shaking his head slowly, he leaned against the door, folding his arms across his chest. “I won’t shoot an innocent man.”
She exhaled slowly, her heart hammering. “I have a confession.”
“Where will I find the gold?” He stepped forward, the shadows sliding with him.
“I don’t know. I didn’t steal from you,” she replied, a sharp edge in her voice.
He paused, curiosity lighting his eyes. “What do you wish to admit?”
“Turn around again.” She stared at him, widening her eyes. “Please, it would be easier for me.”
“I’ve never met such a peculiar man in my whole life.” He shrugged, rolling his eyes, and complied with her request, turning his back to her. “Will this exercise take much time?”
“No, Captain.”
One more deep breath followed.
She was about to die.
Slipping her shirt from her body, she dropped the material to the floor, her trousers followed, then her remaining undergarments.
“You may search me.”
Whatever Captain Shaw meant to say was lost the moment he realized he was staring at a woman’s naked body. He froze, his mouth agape, and stared at her as though he thought she was an apparition.
She blushed, her eyes cast down, uncomfortable under his scrutiny.
He roused himself, shaking his head, and stepped forward, his hand stretching toward her, but just before his fingers brushed over her skin, he stopped. Several curse words followed.
“You’re a woman! Why are you a woman? What were you thinking?” He circled her slowly, his eyes blazing. Passing behind the desk, he rounded the corner, keeping the solid mass between them. “You should have told me.”
“I can’t swim,” she replied, twisting to stare at him.
“You can’t swim,” he repeated, then groaned. “So, you lied.”
She nodded.
“And cut your hair.”
She nodded again.
“I hit you.”
“I know.” A ghostly twinge of pain shot across her face.
“Many times.”
“Yes.”
“I’ve never struck a woman in my life,” he muttered to himself, dragging a hand through his hair.
