was unwanted.
Hell. She was Fulton’s daughter. In his cabin. At his non-existent mercy. Except he did owe her a debt.
Dammit.
Jacko produced a mirror and a razor. ‘Will you shave today, Cap’n?’
He’d planned to shave on this last leg of the journey to England in an attempt to make himself look more respectable, but the arrival of the prisoners on his ship required he chart a new course. ‘Not this time,’ he said. ‘Scissors, if you please.’
He pulled a clean shirt over his head, drew on his breeches and peered into the glass Jacko held up.
‘Report if you would, Mr Wishart.’ He snipped at the untidy black hair on his jaw.
His second-in-command’s fair brow furrowed. ‘I don’t like this, Michael.’
Michael didn’t blame him. They’d never ventured this close to Britain’s waters nor ventured into the rocky shoal of prisoners before, but Fulton, the bastard, had wandered into Michael’s net. Only a fool would ignore that kind of fortune.
Idiot he was not and besides it was time he enjoyed fortune’s favour. Long past time.
He dragged a comb through his hair and tied it with the black ribbon Jacko had draped over his arm. ‘Report please, David.’
David took a deep breath. ‘The Fulton youth and the female we found below deck are in the hold under guard, along with another male civilian, who has a broken arm. Bones is with them. Hopefully, he has something for hysterics.’
Michael glanced at his friend’s pained expression and winced. ‘That bad?’
David’s blue eyes twinkled. ‘The civilian is doing his best to keep her calm.’ His first officer’s face resumed its troubled expression. ‘Michael, we shouldn’t keep them on board. Send them to Lisbon with the Conchita. Prisoners are a complication we don’t need.’
David Wishart had sailed alongside Michael in one of his Majesty’s stinking frigates for five years. Since then he’d spent another three as Michael’s first officer. This was the first time he’d questioned an order. And blast it, he was right. Michael should send the Conchita’s passengers to port with the prize ship. And yet an uneasy feeling swirled in his gut as he opened his mouth to agree, a sense of something about to go wrong. A knowledge that the Fates would not appreciate him letting their gift slip so easily from his grasp.
He waved a dismissive hand. ‘I assume you found the falsified documents, as well as the log that proves she’s operating under another nation’s flag?’
David sighed. ‘We did. Fulton doesn’t have a leg to stand on.’
‘Good. Name off a crew and send the Conchita back to Lisbon. Let the admiralty decide.’ He shrugged into his waistcoat.
‘Aye, aye,’ David said. ‘But I still don’t like it. We aren’t much better than Fulton, flying an American flag. Those letters of marque you bought won’t stand up under close scrutiny and could land us in trouble if anyone takes the trouble to look.’
‘They won’t. You worry too much.’ Michael clapped his first officer and closest friend on the shoulder.
‘I wish you worried more. I’ll get a crew together.’ David stomped off.
At the sound of the tumbling lock, Alice ceased her pacing and retreated to the window. Her heart drummed. Her tongue seemed to stick to the roof of her mouth, stifling the words she’d practised in her head.
The door swung back.
Perkin, huge in the doorway, searched her out with narrowed eyes. Freshly washed and groomed, he looked magnificent. A wild and untamed restless force not unlike the ocean. How could she ever have mistaken him for a simple cook?
The air in the cabin seemed to evaporate, leaving her nothing to breathe. The thunder of her heart intensified as if her chest had shrunk to half its normal size. She straightened her spine. Lifted her chin. ‘What do you want? Where is your captain?’
His eyes widened a fraction, then white teeth flashed in his bearded face. He looked positively handsome. Her stomach gave an odd kind of lurch. Was she mad? Or just fearful?
It had to be the latter.
He closed the door behind him.
Instinctively she backed up a step, the roar of pumping blood in her ears. Fear. And it was making her knees weak and her mind an empty vessel. All she seemed able to do was stare. At his face. At the width of his shoulders. At the lithe movement of his hips as he stepped closer.
‘Apparently an introduction is required.’ He bowed with old-fashioned grace, almost as if flourishing a handkerchief or a cocked hat. ‘Lionhawk at your service. Captain of the Gryphon.’
He was their captain? Her stomach sank. ‘No wonder you can’t cook.’
A smile lifted his lips, his eyes twinkled. ‘I am sorry for my culinary disasters.’
She wanted to hit him—he looked so pleased with himself. ‘So am I.’
He cocked a dark arrogant eyebrow.
Why couldn’t the captain have been the Viking-looking fellow? Somehow, he’d seemed far less intimidating than this wickedly smiling man. ‘So, Captain Pirate. What is it you want?’
The smile faded. ‘Privateer.’
‘Personally, I can’t tell the difference. It is still stealing.’
‘A privateer operates within the law,’ he said with a scowl. ‘Unlike your father. Sailing a British ship under another country’s flag is illegal.’
She winced. It was so annoying that he should be in the right. Especially when it was her fault they’d flown a false flag in the first place. One of the merchants in Lisbon had suggested the ruse when they couldn’t pay the inflated insurance and she’d persuaded Anderson to give it a try. In hindsight, not a wise choice. Too late to do anything about it now except bluff.
‘My father is carrying on a legitimate business. He is not harming anyone.’
An eerie stillness filled the room. Although he looked relaxed, she sensed a hidden tension in his body and an underlying emotion she could not begin to fathom.
‘No harm?’ he uttered softly.
The chill in his voice sent a shiver down her spine. The fear she’d been holding at bay expanded in her chest. It rose up her throat. She swallowed what felt like broken glass. ‘Where are my brother and Lady Selina?’
‘My other prisoners are in the hold.’
Prisoners. A bone-deep tremble shook her frame. Hearing the words spoken so casually brought home the evils of their position. The nearby chair invited her collapse. She locked her knees, refusing to let him see any weakness. ‘Then I demand to join them.’ Infuriatingly, her words came out a low croak. She swallowed again, vainly seeking moisture and calm.
‘Demand?’
