“Early summer storms. You must have sailed these waters a hundred times.” She set a suspicious glare upon him.
“Not recently. I have spent a great deal of my time during the past several years on the other side of this ocean. Along the coast of England, principally.”
He spoke with such ease, as he did everything. She’d never met a sailor so competent and purely confident, perfectly settled in who he was and what he intended. It stirred a frisson of memory in her, of a time when the men of her world walked with a sense of entitlement. In her child’s recollection those men treated women not only with deference-as her crew did now-but with consideration. Men who not only did as one told them, but anticipated a girl’s wishes.
On her seventh birthday, the baron had walked her to the old oak and showed her the swing he’d installed there. Without even asking, he knew she’d wished it above all things. He’d held her hand, her tiny one in his warm palm, and she’d looked up into the smiling face of the man she loved like a father, because he’d been that to her, even though all along he knew he was no such thing.
Strange how a former pirate should seem familiar to her in the same manner as her former father. But there was something uncannily gentlemanly about Jinan Seton, a manner that bespoke cultivation despite his ungentlemanly profession. Perhaps that was how he’d gotten his royal nickname. And his arrogance.
He seemed to be studying her, almost as though he were waiting for her reaction. As he did so, his gaze grew oddly intent, and warm, as in the corridor the day before.
“Whatever the case,” she said, ignoring her tripping pulse, “you know how common sailors can seek to inveigle their captains into doing what they wish despite the negative consequences.”
His brow creased. “What sort of negative consequences-”
“Cap’n!” A shout came from the lookout. “Spar’s loose off the foremast.”
“Again,” she muttered. “It’ll have to be refitted when we dock at Trinidad.” She began to make for the stair.
Seton put out a hand to stay her. “I’ll see to it.” His clear eyes did not question but looked once again carefully at her.
She nodded him on.
He saw to the dislodged yardarm. She watched as best she could between the full sails, impressed as always with his calm command of her men, their ready acceptance of his orders. Difficult task completed, he returned to her post at the helm as though she had called him back. Which she had not, although a demon in her had been wishing it for no apparent reason other than she liked to be goaded. Or simply merely to see him up close. At certain angles, the sight of him made her a little breathless.
At all angles. She couldn’t ignore his lean physique she’d seen unclothed, his gorgeous mouth. If she were a regular woman, she would probably be falling all over him.
Her tetchiness redoubled.
“What do you want, Seton?”
“Further orders.”
“No you don’t. You want to annoy me.”
“Seems like you are taking care of that well enough on your own.” He folded his arms over his chest, and his perfect mouth tilted up at one corner. He wore only a waistcoat over his shirt, and the beauty of pure male muscle stretching the linen tight muddled her wits.
“It’s the men.” She admitted a partial truth. “Little more than a sennight out and they’re eager to be back on shore.”
“They have only recently returned from your last cruise. Perhaps you are a bit hard on them?”
“Well, I may be that after all.” Not much of a retort. But it made his grin broaden slightly. Viola found herself seeking for more not-so-clever ripostes that might stretch that grin into an actual smile.
“You needn’t deal with any of this.” He seemed to speak slowly. “Ever again. You could cash in the
She released a tight chuckle, struggling not to stare at his arms. But his crystalline eyes were compelling enough, a fall of dark hair shadowing them.
“Why would I wish a thing like that?” She made an effort at a scoff. “Sun getting to you, Seton?”
“Perhaps only your men’s vain wishes.”
Again with the brothel.
“The men don’t need a stopover in Bermuda this week.” She rushed the words because the sudden notion of his clear blue gaze fixed on her while she was wearing nothing but net stockings and lace wiped her mind clean of all else. “They need a golden beach under swaying palm trees three weeks from now.”
For a moment he said nothing. Then, “And what do you need, Viola Carlyle?”
Her every muscle went still as stone.
“Your sister still believes you are alive, Miss Carlyle.” His steady gaze did not waver. “I have searched you out and come here to bring you home.”
Chapter 6
Viola’s throat seized up entirely.
“I don’t have a sister.”
“You do, and she has been waiting for you to return for fifteen years.”
“You’re mistaking me for someone else.”
His brow lowered. “Why haven’t you?”
She twisted her lips to control her sudden quivers. “Mistaken-?”
“Returned home.”
She had no response that she could share with this man. She’d barely even told her father as he lay dying, when finally after thirteen years he had asked her that same question.
“You could have returned to England at any time these past years. You have a ship of your own, and sufficient funds.” Seton’s regard remained constant. He had a way of doing that, holding her gaze as though he could wait an hour, a day, a fortnight for a reply.
Except in the corridor below three days earlier, when for a moment he had looked-strangely-impatient.
“I don’t have sufficient funds for anything. Why do you think I work for rich American merchants?”
His gaze seemed to sharpen. “So you admit to being English.”
“I admit to being born in England. But that doesn’t make me who you say I am.”
“You cannot deny it.”
“I can. Do you have any proof?”
“I need no proof. You give yourself away every time you open your mouth.”
She opened her mouth then snapped it shut. He leaned back against the rail, as though he had all day to pursue this conversation. Which he did. He had trapped her on her own ship in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean. Criminally clever, the Pharaoh.
“Your accent is nearly as flat as an American’s,” he said, “but inflections, certain vowels bespeak your origins.” He ducked his head. “And you speak words no lowborn sailor would know.”
“I don’t.”
“The first time I came aboard your ship you used the word
“I read quite a bit.”
“Why is that?”
“Why shouldn’t I?”
“You should. You are the daughter of a gentleman. A nobleman-”
“Everyone knows my father was a smuggler.”
“-and a lady.”
