Page 13 of The Princess Stakes
His brows cinched in disbelief. “You have to ask?”
“Rhystan—”
“As you have so cleverly discerned, Countess, might I remind you that the appropriate form of address is ‘Duke’ or ‘Captain.’ And you were about to tell me what you were doing on my ship.” His frown deepened. “Are you alone?”
“No, of course not,” she said.
He pushed off the desk, rolling his shoulders. “Please don’t tell me that Lord Liverhart is somewhere on this ship, or I will be forced to ferret him out and cast him overboard.”
His unwelcome guest worried the corner of her mouth between her teeth in a gesture that made him desperate to kiss her once upon a time. Now, it only made him want to throttle something. He chose the bottle instead and lifted it to his lips to take another long swig. He then turned to lean over the desk, narrowing the distance between them.
Her eyes lowered to his bare chest and jerked away as if scorched.
“For heaven’s sake, can’t you put on a shirt?” Her cheeks flamed with bright spots of color. “You’re indecent.”
“You are in my cabin, Sarani dearest, on my ship.” He smiled and flexed his pectoral muscles. He’d fantasized for years about how he’d receive her if their paths ever crossed, and while this wasn’t one of the creative ways he’d imagined, he still took perverse delight in her maidenly discomfort. “And I was sleeping until you decided to climb into my bed.”
“I didn’t climb into your bed. I simply mistook the cabins because your men were outside,” she snapped. “And it’s Sara now.”
“What?”
“My name is Sara.”
He smirked. “So English. So tepid. Decided to deny your heritage, have you, Countess?”
“Desperate times,” she said flatly.
Something in her voice made his eyes clash with hers, but he didn’t care enough to delve further. At least, that was what he told himself. He was curious why she was running from India, but he would rather castrate himself than ask.
“You have yet to explain why you’re here and whether I need to feed your earl to the sharks.”
“I have…no husband.” She sucked in a breath. “I’m here with my maid, and you’ve met Tej.”
Rhystan blinked, his thoughts momentarily derailed. No husband? If she went by Lady Lockhart, did that mean she was a widow? He frowned. There’d only been a handful of titled English peers in Joor—a few earls and barons—but he hadn’t cared to make their acquaintance or learn their names. No, the only obsession that had consumed him stood not a foot in front of him.
“Where is he then?” he asked and wanted to kick himself.
“Why does it matter?” Sarani—no, Sara—answered. It would be best for him to get used to thinking of her as that. A stranger. One who had conspired to wheedle her way aboard. He supposed he shouldn’t be surprised. She was a master of artifice. He should know—she’d claimed to love him and then left him in the space of two days.
“You’re right, it doesn’t.” Rhystan took another draught. “How did you get on my ship?”
“Tej paid two of your new crew to take their place.”
His eyes narrowed. “Take their place?”
“You hired new men. We offered them more.”
Rhystan couldn’t control the rise of fury. The sheer arrogance of her. Buying off his crew? A logical voice in his head reminded him that they weren’t truly his men, merely deckhand replacements he’d employed in Bombay, but he was too angry to listen. Shoving off the desk with a force that nearly broke it from its moorings on the floor, he strode to the door, grabbing his discarded shirt at the foot of the bed and yanking it over his head.
“Sorry to disappoint you, Princess, but I won’t stand for it. I am turning this damned ship around.”
“I can pay you.” Her voice shook. “Whatever you want.”
He halted, his shoulders stilling, and turned to rake her person with a contemptuous gaze. “You have nothing on this earth to offer, Lady Lockhart. Nothing I would ever desire in this entire fucking lifetime.”
* * *
Sarani pressed a hand to her throat, feeling her fluttering pulse as the door crashed into its frame. That could have gone worse. She was still in one piece. For now.
