his neck while he struggled to keep his eyes on hers and not her chest. ‘Mr Rush, milady. I’m to escort you to the Devil’s Rose.’
Cassandra took a steadying breath. She must be brave for Dinah’s sake and for everyone else aboard the Winter Gale. ‘Then let’s be off.’
Mr Rush offered her his arm. ‘Milady, if I may?’
She slid the slender walnut pistol box off the table and tucked it under her arm, wondering why Captain Rose had asked her to bring it. There were more valuable items he could take from her, though two fine weapons were probably of more use to a pirate than jewellery. She placed her free hand on Mr Rush’s coarse, sea-spray-stiffened coat and allowed him to lead her on deck and to an unknown fate.
The Winter Gale crew, guarded by the pirates, watched Cassandra and Mr Rush walk side by side to the wide planks laid between the ships. Pity filled a few of the older men’s eyes, but she ignored them as she’d ignored the vicious stares and whispers of London society. The plank bobbed and rolled while the two ships, held together by grappling hooks and lines, tossed about on the sea. Captain Rose stood on the other side, some of his men flanking him at the balustrade, the change in him from earlier remarkable.
He wore a black frock coat without facing. A row of silver buttons curved down along the front and decorated the bootleg cuffs folded back to reveal his large hands. A red waistcoat hugged his trim torso, the line of it broken by a wide belt pulled down on one side by the weight of his sword. Black breeches tucked into tall cuffed boots covered his long legs. The severity of his dark attire was lightened by the white shirt beneath his waistcoat and the silver embroidery about the edge of the tricorn he wore low over his forehead to meet his mask. His exposed cheeks and jaw beneath the mask revealed a smooth face freshly shaved. If she hadn’t seen him an hour ago, his shirt wild and loose about him, his hair hanging to his shoulders, she might have mistaken him for any gentleman in a ballroom in Mayfair.
When she approached the plank, he examined her with a gaze intense enough to ignite every cask of gunpowder on the ship. Panic gripped her harder than when the pirates had first burst through the door, and her hand tightened on Mr Rush’s arm. She wanted to rush back to the cabin and reload the pistols, but she held her ground, refusing to reveal her fear to everyone, especially Captain Rose.
‘You needn’t worry,’ Mr Rush offered when they stopped before the plank. ‘Captain Rose is a gentleman. No harm will come to you.’
The older man’s faith in his Captain bolstered hers and her courage. With Captain Rose and both crews watching, she couldn’t turn back or betray her word and risk placing the ship, herself and Dinah in danger. ‘Thank you for your concern, it’s very much appreciated.’
‘I’ll hold the box while you cross.’
She handed Mr Rush the pistol case, then took his hand and stepped up on to the plank. The timbers of the ships and the thick ropes lashing them together groaned and creaked with the movement of the swell and every once in a while the hulls banged together, sending up a small spray of water.
Captain Rose stepped up on to the plank on his side. He clutched the rigging in one hand and offered Cassandra the other. She ignored it and took hold of the sides of her dress and began to walk regally across the splintered wood. She didn’t look down, aware that if she fell between the ships they might slam together and crush her. She was halfway across the boards when the Winter Gale lurched, throwing her off balance.
In a flash of black fabric, Captain Rose caught her about the waist and whirled her around to set her on the deck of the Devil’s Rose. He held her close, his arm tight about her waist, his wide chest hard against her stomach. The potent smell of sandalwood shaving soap and leather surrounding him made her dizzier than the near fall. He’d been imposing in the confines of the cabin with little more than the distance of the pistols between them. With his body pressed against hers, the fine wool of his frock coat brushing her bare chest above her bodice, he was overwhelming.
‘The trick is to move quickly.’ His husky voice rumbled deep inside her. She peered up at him, her breath stolen by his closeness. His suntanned skin showed no evidence of the weathered grit of a sailor too long at sea and the fine colour of it heightened the black of his hair. She shouldn’t think a rogue striking, but she did.
‘Thank you.’ She inhaled the spice of wood and salt emanating from him and another memory, faint like the fading scent of smoke, rose up in the back of her mind. It was of Uncle Walter’s Williamsburg garden and the flowering dogwood tree in the centre of it. Beneath it stood Uncle Walter’s young apprentice solicitor waiting to steal a kiss from her. That young man was dead, but this one was very much alive, his chest hard beneath her fingertips, his thigh firm against hers.
She tucked her fingers in against her palms, resisting the urge to slide them up over his stoic chin, across his angled cheeks and under the silk to reveal his face. She wanted to see the gentleman beneath the pirate, to view the full effect of the sharp, straight nose covered by the black silk and the intense blue eyes making her recall so many things she longed to forget.
She lowered her hands and his grip on her eased. She stepped out of his embrace, steadying herself against the roll of the ship and the enticing power of him. He wasn’t a curiosity, but her enemy, and she must remember it and remain on guard.
Mr Rush crossed with the box and handed it to his Captain.
Captain Rose tucked the pistol case under one arm and offered her the other. ‘Shall we?’
‘Yes, please.’
The supple wool of his dark jacket shifted beneath Cassandra’s palm with each sure step of his boots during the walk to his cabin. She matched his stride, holding her head high as if they were parading across Hyde Park and not a pirate ship. The crew stood at respectful attention, with only the weasel Mr Barlow leering as though he expected Captain Rose to ravish her in plain view. She should have shot the nasty man, but heaven knew what repercussions his death would have brought down on her, Dinah and the crew of the Winter Gale. Even now she couldn’t say what fate awaited her. Alone, with the door to Captain Rose’s cabin firmly closed, she would be at his mercy. However, the lives of many depended on her being a pleasant and charming guest, so with purpose she swept across the threshold and into the semi-darkness of his cabin.
A bank of diamond-shaped glass windows made up the far wall of the narrow cabin situated at the back of the ship. A faded, red-velvet curtain graced the top of the window, cascading down each side and edged with faded gold tassels. One end hung next to a small desk, the other end pooled near the head of the narrow bed built into the hull. Her attention darted from the sumptuous pillows and fine coverlet to the small, square table in the middle of the room. A woven rug lay beneath it and two sturdy nail-head-trimmed chairs flanked either side. An assortment of exotic fruits including pineapples covered the well-set table. Everything from the silverware beside each plate to the books arranged on the desk spoke of the refined tastes of a gentleman, not the vulgar clutter of a hardened sailor new to comfort. It was a strange contradiction. He was commanding, but he hadn’t forced her; charming and yet violent; a scoundrel and at the same time a man of station. She wondered what had driven him to this life. Perhaps through witty conversation and grace of manners she could bring out more of the gentleman she was sure he’d once been and appeal to him for her and the Winter Gale’s freedom.
‘Do you approve?’ He set the walnut box down beside a pewter service at one end of the table, then pulled out a chair.
‘It’s far more refined than I expected.’ She sat down, conscious of how close he stood, his hands near her shoulders, the cuffs of his coat brushing against her skin when he slid
