he snatched it easily out of her grasp and turned her, squirming and whimpering, over his knee smacking her bare rump until all her pride and defiance left her and she screamed for mercy.
After that, she was tame—in a fashion. When he felt inclined to take her she submitted limply, without showing any reaction, keeping her eyes tightly closed and her teeth clenched against his kisses. And in this way, by her very passivity, she defeated him and gained her own small victory when, swearing, he rolled off her body.
She resisted him by not resisting, and Dominic found himself staying away from his own cabin, scowling and watching the cloudless blue skies while his crew kept their distance, eying him and shaking their heads. Even Donald had nothing to say out loud, although his reproachful eyes spoke volumes. Mr. Benson muttered under his breath and quoted passages from the Bible. ‘Damn her!’ Dominic mused. A cold, unresponsive child-woman—he must have been out of his mind or blind drunk to have felt himself attracted by her in the first place.
If he’d had any sense he would have allowed her to continue her masquerade as a cabin boy, made her work until she dropped from weariness, and let her bunk with Mr. Benson and listen to his Bible-reading all night. That would have taught her a lesson!
She was the first woman he’d had to rape—and she’d been a virgin. She had seemed acquiescent enough, curse her! And then she’d turned up again, after he’d put her out of his mind as an unpleasant memory. What a bedraggled little scarecrow she’d looked that first night when he’d discovered her stumbling across the deck, all wet and sticky with salt water. But since then he’d made her wash her hair, and, although it was still far too short, it had begun to curl in ringlets all over her head in a style that ladies of fashion were beginning to emulate all over Europe. She was a mixture of defiance and surrender, naivete and cynicism. And someone, somewhere, had given her an education, so that she spoke like a lady. No doubt that would prove useful to her later, when they got to France. She was hardly inexperienced any longer—he had seen to that; and with the right clothes she should have no difficulty finding herself a rich lover—or more than one. The best whores were women who didn’t permit themselves to feel….
And he must be out of his mind to wonder what her future might be once he was rid of her. He had never given any woman a second thought, nor exerted himself to conquer one, since Lizette. Lovely, false Lizette, who had betrayed not only him but also his friends to the cursed British one long-ago night in Ireland.
“I’ll be glad when we sail into Nantes harbor,” Donald McGuire muttered from the side of his mouth to the long-faced Isaac Benson. “Captain’s not been hisself since—”
He did not have to complete his sentence. Mr. Benson, who had thought the same, merely grunted.
“Women!” he said succinctly. Then hastily drew himself up and began bellowing unnecessary orders as their captain strode by, his face like a thundercloud.
“He’ll be wanting his dinner, I don’t doubt,” Donald muttered hastily. “I’d best see to it, or he’ll be in a worse mood than this.”
When the cabin door banged open, Marisa was sitting up in his chair, reading a battered volume of Shakespeare he’d picked up somewhere on one of his voyages. Fascinated, she hardly looked up, and her voice held more animation than he’d heard in it for a long time.
“I had no idea you would be interested in reading. And you know, I wasn’t allowed to read anything but religious literature—or geography, which I hated!”
“Get up!”
She looked up then, sighed, and rose obediently to her feet, putting the book down reluctantly. What was the matter now? He was so moody and bad-tempered!
She was naked, her small crimson-tipped breasts teasing him in the half-light. And in spite of the fact that she had not been out in the sun, her body retained a faint golden tint all over—a legacy, no doubt, of a Moorish ancestor.
She had given up trying to hide her body from him; in fact, she seemed quite unconcerned as she gazed curiously at him. How dared she?
“You look like a strumpet waiting for her first customer,” he snarled cruelly. “For God’s sake put something on or get into bed. Donald will be bringing dinner in soon—or did you hope to seduce him as well?”
“But I thought that’s what you were training me to be—a strumpet. But must I lie on my back all day just in case you might come in and want me?”
Her words acted like a glass of cold water thrown in his face. It was only when she spoke in such cynical fashion that he realized how naive and innocent she had really been at first. Until he had changed her. Controlling himself with an effort he walked behind the desk, turning up the lamp.
“Such a painful sacrifice on your part isn’t necessary, mademoiselle. Please wrap a sheet around yourself at least—improvise a Roman toga, if you can. I can assure you that a little modesty and even coyness at times can be much more appealing to a man than such a blatant display of nudity.”
“Oh!” He had managed to make her angry at last. “And what makes you think that I am interested in making myself appealing to a man? If I am to judge all men by you, it wouldn’t matter; all you think of is your own selfish pleasure even if it has to be forced on an unwilling victim!”
He looked at her consideringly, the reflection of the lamp’s light in his eyes making them appear as golden as hers for an instant.
“Am I really that selfish? Poor little victim! But then, you see, I’ve been used to taking women as they come—and go. Do you want me to make you an exception?”
“I want nothing from you except my freedom!”
Sullenly Marisa turned her back on him, snatching a sheet off the unmade bed to wrap around herself. How she detested him! And what subtle new form of torment did he plan to use on her this time? What she had flung at him was true. She only longed to be free, and especially of him!
7
An obviously disapproving Donald brought dinner, sniffing loudly as he laid the table and setting down steaming covered dishes with an unnecessary clatter that caused his captain to raise an eyebrow and inquire politely if perhaps he was getting too old for life at sea.
Marisa sulked in the farthest corner of the big bed, keeping her back stubbornly turned; but she could not help overhearing the conversation. She could almost imagine Donald’s long face, and the way his lips must be pursed. Well, at least Donald was on her side, and as soon as they reached France she’d beg him to help her….
“And why would ye be wanting both wine and champagne?” Donald was asking in a gruff voice. “I can’t recall as ye’ve ever displayed much liking for the vile, wicked stuff before. All bubbles, it is, and only meant for—”
He cast a pitying glance towards Marisa who was smothered under the bedcovers, and he was angry enough to glower at the captain. He had no right to treat a young, unprotected child as if she were some dockside trollop picked up for his pleasure!
Dominic Challenger, reading what was in the older man’s mind, gave him a sarcastic smile. “Why should I need to seduce her when both you and she keep reminding me that she’s ruined already? And I happen to have a taste for champagne tonight—and none at all for your preaching, you old reprobate!”
Donald opened his
