How to Be a Proper Lady

Her pulse skittered. “You carry a great deal of pride along with that arrogance, don’t you?”

He regarded her for a steady moment. “Pride has little to do with it. Good night, Viola.”

She stood for a silent minute in her doorway, listening to the creaking sounds of her ship, largely quiet in the absence of most of her crew. Then she packed a small bag. She had no plans to dine with Aidan. His missive only begged her to take up his offer to rest in comfort tonight at the inn while he tried to clean the house sufficient for her return to the farm shortly. She suspected the Hats would be at the hotel too, and probably dining there as well. But she doubted Aidan would call upon them, not after his promises this afternoon. He had seemed so sincerely sorry for his mistake and so ready to make a fresh start of it with her.

She would go to the inn, indulge in a bath, and wash her hair with soap. Then she would sleep in clean linens on a dry mattress and in the morning wake refreshed. For with the morning came the end of the wager, and she must be fully prepared to argue again with Seton when he demanded she return to England.

This time, she intended to win.

At the dress shop she had also purchased a new shift, one that cinched around the waist with a thin cord and laced up the front with ribbons. In her small, simply appointed bedchamber at the inn, she bathed, then donned the new garment. She combed her wet hair and it sprang into loose curls, but refused to dry completely in the humidity that rose at nightfall on the tropical island. Tendrils stuck to her brow and clung to her neck.

She went to the window and opened the shutter. Breeze stirred in her hair and against her shift, brushing the crisp linen over her breasts. The sensation of Jin’s mouth on her, sending heat through the fabric of her shift, came to her with a sudden weakening of her limbs, then warmth between her legs. She was still tender there, but abruptly the tenderness throbbed. With only the slightest suggestion, her body was eager for him again.

It was unnerving. And… delicious.

Her fingers gripped the windowsill and she gazed out at the sparkling black water of the bay. The April Storm’s masts towered the tallest; no other vessels in the port tonight to match her in size, though there were plenty of other newer ships and boats.

She stared at her father’s old brig across the moonlit water, the familiar pain of fading grief hovering like a shadow inside her. The ship should be scrapped, in truth, but she hadn’t the funds for a new vessel. Without the April, she would be without employment except on another captain’s vessel. That was not an option, of course. Women aboard ships served one role-whore.

She would have to take at least four or five hefty prizes to even begin to imagine purchasing another ship of the April’s size. But prizes were scarce these days now that the wars were well and truly over up north. If she remained in these islands she might take a Mexican or Cuban pirate or two. But against that sort of enemy she was just as likely to get herself killed-or worse-especially in unfamiliar waters.

She needed that ship sitting in dry dock in Boston. Jin Seton’s new ship. She needed him to lose the wager.

He had been irritated with her earlier in the day because he desired her. Clearly. This she was not fool enough to mistake. But he did not want to desire her. Because perhaps he desired her too much? More than he wished? To the point of falling in love with her and losing the wager?

It seemed unlikely. He could have been peevish because of exhaustion, like her. But perhaps not. Perhaps she could still win. Perhaps, if she gave him one more taste of her, he would finally fall in love.

She could at least try.

Her fingers around the edge of the shutter quivered. She drew out her father’s old watch, the gold chain long since traded for some necessary ship supply. Ten o’clock. He must have come to the inn by now. But she’d no idea which room he’d taken.

Her pulse raced. She couldn’t simply go to his room and seduce him. Could she?

She could. If she knew which room. But she couldn’t very well ask the innkeeper.

She went to her bed and curled up on the mattress, her whole exhausted body jittering with nerves. A solution would come to her. She closed her eyes to think. Instead, she pictured his mouth, then for good measure his hands and jaw and eyes. Then she thought of how he had looked at her and touched her like he couldn’t get enough of her. And how she never wanted him to release her. Never wanted it to end. Never…

She awoke with a start to voices in the corridor. The lamp still flickered on her bedside table, but the candle on the mantel had burned to a stub. She shook herself awake and listened.

Her insides melted, then tensed. It was he. And Mr. Hat?

She stole off the bed on silent feet and pressed her ear to the door. A giggle welled up and she stifled it. For pity’s sake, they had attacked each other on a canvas-draped stairway the night before; she needn’t really skulk around at this point.

But tonight was different. Tonight if she went to him and he accepted her, neither of them could claim it was a lustful inspiration of the moment.

No female voices met her strained hearing, only the two men. But she must be certain of what she would be walking into, and she could not delay; it sounded as though they were bidding each other good night. She flicked open the bolt on her door and with trembling fingers turned the knob and peeked into the corridor.

From ten feet away his gaze came directly to her. Then he returned his attention to Mr. Hat.

“Good night, then, Seton. Pleasure making your acquaintance.”

“I wish you and your family a safe journey, sir.” He turned and walked down the corridor to the door at the end, drew out a key, and went within. Mr. Hat disappeared up the stair. Viola closed her door, returned to her bed, and sat on the edge of it. Her hands shook. Her entire body shook.

It was nothing like the night before. She couldn’t do it.

But if she did it, and she won the wager…

Her lips even quivered now, and her lungs seemed to be doing odd, unsteady things. She lowered her toes to the floor, the soles of her feet, her heels. She unbent her knees and went to the door.

Down the corridor lit only by a single sconce in the stair below, his chamber seemed miles away. But she was Violet la Vile. She’d been the one to give herself that name, of course, but it stuck because she’d taken several fat prizes right away. And before that she’d helped her father take any number of enemy ships as well. She had sunk the infamous Cavalier, for pity’s sake! She could conquer its master.

She strode to his door. The knob turned in her hand. Without knocking, she went in.

He sat in a chair by a small table, his sharp gaze fixed on her, his injured hand holding a book, his other wrapped about the hilt of a dagger in the process of drawing it from his boot.

“Don’t throw it!” she gasped. “Though I suppose you might wish to.”

Slowly he withdrew the weapon and laid it on the table. “Not at the present. Although there have been moments.” He set down the book and rose to his feet. He had removed his coat and waistcoat, and a pair of suspenders hung from his trousers. He wore no neck cloth now, the button on his shirt unfastened. Golden candlelight revealed every perfect sinew of beautiful man. She found it difficult to breathe.

“Why did you leave your door unlocked?”

“I did not realize that I had.”

“You didn’t?”

“I am tired. And distracted by thoughts of the evening I have spent. The day.” He seemed perfectly sincere. As always. Except that morning when he’d sounded strange, panicked almost, entirely unlike himself.

“It wasn’t because you thought I would come?”

A glint of wariness entered his eyes. “Why are you awake? You look as though you have been sleeping.”

“I do?”

He gestured. “Your hair.”

She patted a hand to her head. Curls jutted out at an angle and she could feel a bald spot, dried like that during her doze, no doubt. Oh, God. She had no idea how to lure a man in this manner. She’d never had a mother to teach her, or anyone.

But she had her instincts, and from living with sailors for years, she did know what men liked most about women. Her hand slipped to her throat and she untied the bow, then drew the ribbon through the holes and parted the linen.