Page 3 of Lord of Temptation
Pity? Obviously the man had no standards. She knew she was not a beauty. She lacked color. Her hair was a ghastly white, her eyes silver. Her nose too small, her lips too plump. She knew she should seek help elsewhere, but he had come so highly recommended. Instead, she heard herself ask, “May I sit?”
The chair in front of her wobbled a bit, and she realized that he’d nudged it with his booted foot.Mannerless jackanapes. Still, she could not discount the fact that she had been assured that he was a man she could trust not only with her life, but with her virtue. He wasn’t in the habit of forcing women, but then based on his handsome features alone—not to mention that wicked smile—she suspected women stumbled over themselves clambering into his bed. She, however, would not be one of them. She pulled out the chair farther and sat. “I am Lady Anne.” She halted there. Her father and brothers would not approve of her plans, which was the very reason that she’d chosen to be secretive. “I wish to hire you to take me to Scutari.”
“Not a very nice place for a holiday. What say I take you to Brighton instead?”
“My fiancé isn’t in Brighton,” she snapped. She squeezed shut her eyes as they began to sting. Her family had told her it was a bad idea to go to the place where so many soldiers had died during the Crimean War, to visit the hospital and grounds where Florence Nightingale had fought to save so many lives. But it wasn’t so much that shewantedto go there. It was quite simply that shehadto.
She opened her eyes to the expressionless man sitting across from her. If he thought anything at all about her outburst, he didn’t show it.
“You don’t need me to get you to Scutari. You can purchase passage—”
“I wish to journey on my schedule. I want to get there quickly. I don’t intend to stay long, but it’s imperative that I—” Damn the tears that once again threatened. She was stronger than this. Shewouldbe stronger than this. She swallowed. “—visit with my fiancé and return home before the Season begins.”
A handkerchief, surprisingly white and pressed, appeared before her, held in a large roughened hand. She took the offering and dabbed gently at her eyes. “Thank you.” She looked down at the scarred table, then lifted her gaze. “I didn’t expect this part to be so incredibly difficult.”
“How long has it been since you saw him?”
“Four years, almost to the day. I saw him off at the railway station on the morning that he and so many others in service of the Queen began the journey to the Crimea. He looked so incredibly dashing, so confident. Promised to be home in time to go pheasant hunting ...” She cleared her throat. “I’m frightfully sorry. I’m not sure why I’m telling you all this.”
Especially when his eyes held no compassion, no warmth. She didn’t know why he’d bothered to offer her the handkerchief unless it was simply that he couldn’t abide tears.
“Have you ever been separated from anything, anyone you held dear?” she asked.
He clenched his jaw, and she quickly shook her head. “I’m sorry. That was a silly question. You’re a seaman. I’m certain your life is filled with separations.”
“Where I’m concerned, don’t be certain of anything, Princess.”
“I told you that I’m not—”
She saw triumph light his eyes. He’d baited her, and her anger had shoved her sorrow aside. What sort of man was he? Compassionate one moment, distant the next?
Very primly, she folded the handkerchief and extended it toward him.
“Keep it.”
She shook her head. “I’m sorry. I’ve not handled this encounter at all well. As I said earlier, I wish to hire you to take me to Scutari. I’ve heard you have a remarkably fast ship and you are an exceptional captain.”
“True on both counts. But I transport cargo, not people.”
“I’m willing to pay handsomely for your ship and services: two hundred pounds.”
She’d shocked him. She could tell by the way that he slowly trailed his gaze over her, without insolence, but with a new measure of respect, as though truly seeing her for the first time.
“That’s a good deal of money,” he finally said.
“Enough to make you go to Scutari, Captain—” She shook her head. “What is your last name, if not Crimson?”
“Jack will suffice.”
“I couldn’t be so informal.”
He plopped his arm down on the table, palm up. “Give me your hand,” he ordered.
“Beg pardon?”
“Your hand.”
His eyes held a challenge that she couldn’t mistake. She saw no harm in doing as he asked. She was wearing gloves after all. Taking a deep steadying breath she placed her hand in his.
