unendurable. With her attentions she would force him off her ship and he would leave her alone. Then she would take up with Aidan exactly where they’d left off last when he held her and told her she was the best thing that had ever happened to him.
But the notion of embracing Aidan again didn’t speed her heartbeat now. Not Aidan at all.
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Viola Carlyle was shameless.
Overnight her prickly combativeness transformed into sloe-eyed glances and lowered lashes. Jin might be amused if she weren’t so good at it. Convincing. As though she truly wished for his attentions. She enacted the role of a demure female throwing out lures like an actress trained for the stage, but with a great deal more finesse and the advantage of a pretty face and perfectly shaped body.
The body he was now able to fully appreciate again.
She discarded the sacklike coat, donning instead a fitted waistcoat that hugged her breasts and narrow waist and emphasized the delicacy of her form. The sash slung from shoulder to hip bore a single small pistol, the hilt of a short dagger pointing at an angle designed to draw a man’s attention where it should not linger. The ungainly hat went too, replaced by a brimmed cap when she was atop and nothing when she was belowdecks. Her thick tresses, bound only in a queue as he had first seen on the dock weeks earlier, shone like satin in the sunshine and tangled in the wind, brushing across her lips.
She did not make the mistake of giving up her command to him. She maintained firm control over her ship and her crewmen’s activities to a reasonable degree, leaving to Jin his regular duties. But now she proffered her commands without taunting or insults, instead with modulated tones that suggested she had every faith in him to carry out his responsibilities.
She was beguiling, gracious, and not in the least bit obsequious or overly retiring. She was damnably alluring, like a gently bred female withholding favors she would eagerly relinquish to a man worthy of her-but only that man.
She was a conniving, manipulative she-devil.
More than anything as yet, all of it went further toward convincing him that she belonged in English high society. Beauty and subtle flirtation combined with a quiet, confident mastery of her realm marked her as the aristocrat she was meant to be-her mother’s daughter if not her father’s.
But for two decades Jin had played games far more perilous. He knew how to handle this. He kept his distance.
She made it difficult. She began taking her meals with the men. When he was atop, she made it her business to be there as well. She clearly believed proximity was the key to her success. He found himself walking away from her more often than he liked. No man dictated his actions, and certainly no woman. Not for twenty years. But her nearness distracted him. Too much.
Following the clouds and high winds, then the single sunny day on which he had agreed to the wager, rain finally came. He was settling into his cabin preparing for bed when Becoua appeared.
“Clouds parted a bit, sir. There’s a few stars showin’. Thought you’d like to know, seein’ as the captain’s asleep already.”
“Thank you, Mr. Maalouf.”
Becoua turned, then paused. “Master Jin, Captain’s smelling of flowers lately, ain’t she? Perfumey like?”
“I had not noticed.”
Becoua met his gaze with a bemused question in his own.
Jin shook his head. “Back to work, sailor.”
The boatswain grunted and shuffled off. Jin passed a hand across his face, then gripped the back of his neck. He must assess the ship’s direction by the stars. It might not clear again for days.
She stored the sextant in her cabin.
She was there now. He had known it since she walked past his door earlier, trailing the scent of flowers mingled with rich herbs. She had indeed taken to wearing perfume, an East Indian attar of roses and golden champa. A heady, lush fragrance that mingled with her woman’s scent and even at a few paces away seemed to reach out and touch a man precisely where he most needed it.
Blatant.
Shameless.
And it was having its effect. The rest of the ship smelled like sweat and unwashed men and its master smelled like a lady’s boudoir. Jin now fully regretted eschewing the Boston brothels before embarking upon this journey. With her soft, dark-eyed glances and beguiling scent she had him hard, and hard put not to teach her a lesson in what it meant to tease a man who had gone too long without a woman.
If he was frustrated, her crew members must be as well. Becoua’s confusion proved it.
Irresponsible she-devil. Or perhaps merely insane as he had first thought.
He went the few steps to her cabin door and knocked. It opened on a woman as unlike a shipmaster as could be. Her unbound hair fell about her face in waves like costly Russian mink. She wore only a thin white shirt, its laces untied and parted over the cleft of her breasts, and breeches. An open book rested in her palm.
Slowly, her wide, hazy eyes seemed to focus. Her lashes flickered, a rose veil suffused her cheeks, and for a moment she looked flustered. Then she lowered the book and offered him a feminine smile with a mile of calculation behind it.
“Calling so late, Mr. Seton. What a pleasure.”
“Do you always answer the door to your sailors dressed like that?” He gestured to the creamy expanse of soft womanhood visible at her parted shirt, perfect swells of temptation.
He was.
Tempted.
One corner of her smile lifted. “Not at all. I was expecting you.”
“You’re more likely to drive me to jump ship with further insults and transparent bravado than with this.”
“There are two ways I can win this wager.”
“There are two ways I can as well.” He leaned his shoulder against the doorjamb. “You will not endure my indifference for long. Your pride will get the better of you. You will throw me off the ship out of sheer
