Page 96 of Traitor in Her Arms (The Scarlet Chronicle 2)

“What is good about it?” Ramsey grumbled beside her. Obviously, she was not the only one who felt this journey had lasted an eternity.

“We’re in the English Channel,” the man said. “You can come up and out of there. Walk on the deck.”

Gabrielle blinked at him, uncomprehending. She could walk in the sunlight?

“Unless you prefer to stay in this rank hold. I’ll tell the cook you don’t need any hot water for a bath in my cabin.”

Gabrielle was on her feet and stumbling toward him. With a laugh, the captain, who had sun-weathered skin and long whiskers on the sides of his face, helped her out then hoisted Ramsey up beside her.

She blinked in the bright sunlight and breathed deeply of the fresh, clean air. They were on a good-size schooner and moving at a fast clip. All around her the crew moved efficiently about their business. She spotted no land before her or behind her, but the sun shone brightly and the wind felt good against her face. She allowed herself to believe, for the first time, she might really be saved.

The captain must have watched her. “You truly were snatched from the blade of the guillotine.” He gestured to her shorn hair. The longer pieces slapped against her cheeks in the sea breeze.

“We were very fortunate,” Ramsey said. “I believe you mentioned a bath.”

The captain laughed. “I’ll show you to my cabin. It’s yours for the remainder of the journey. It’s not much, but there’s a bed and a small hip bath. If you dig through my trunk, you may find some clothing that fits you. You’re not my first refugees, and I find that I usually want to burn the clothing they arrive in.”

“Thank you,” Ramsey said. Gabrielle wanted to thank him as well, but her throat was too parched to speak.

In the captain’s cabin, she gulped water straight from a pitcher and attacked a plate of bread and cheese. Ramsey must have been as hungry and thirsty as she, but he made no move toward the food or water, letting her eat her fill. When the warm bathwater arrived along with the small tub, he helped the cook carry it in and fill the tub. It was barely big enough for her to sit in, and she would have to get out to wash her hair, but she did not care.

Ramsey crossed to her and handed her a towel and soap. “I’ll step outside. Knock when you are finished.”

Then without a word, he left her to her bath. She washed and scrubbed until the water was all but black with the dirt and grime. When she was clean, what was left of her hair wrapped in a towel, she dug through the trunk and donned a clean shift. It was a bit small for her, but it smelled of lavender and linen.

She felt guilty she had taken so long and used all the clean water, and she quickly crossed to the door and opened it.

Ramsey stood on the other side, his hair wet against his shoulders and dripping onto a clean white shirt.

She frowned at him. “How did you—?”

“The water was cold and I had to stand, but I’m clean.” He bent and picked up a plate covered with a cloth. “I brought more food.”

Gabrielle’s eyes widened. “I could kiss you.”

He grinned. “Promises, promises.”

She moved back into the cabin, allowing him inside. When he shut the door behind him, she realized she had forgotten how small the cabin really was. Either that or she’d forgotten how largehewas. How he always smelled of bergamot. How the days’ growth of stubble felt against the skin of her thigh. How when he looked at her with those too-green eyes, she couldn’t seem to look away.

She’d also forgotten to search for a dress. The chemise suddenly seemed far too revealing. His gaze swept over her, resting for a moment on her bare feet, before it returned to her face.

He was acting the gentleman.

Gabrielle reached out and took the plate from him, her fingers brushing against his.

She did not want him to act the gentleman.

Chapter 21

“I was hoping you would share that,” he said, releasing the plate of stale bread and dried apples. Before Paris, he wouldn’t have fed such fare to his dog. Now he’d eat it without another thought. After his childhood, Ramsey could well understand how hunger and poverty fueled a revolution, but he would never understand the bloodlust. What he’d seen in the Place de la Révolution sickened him, and he’d almost lost Gabrielle to it.

Her fingers brushed his, and he forced his gaze to remain on her face, not the thin linen of the chemise or the delectable skin it showed. But when she moved closer, and her hand touched his again and more deliberately, his belly tightened and he sucked in a breath.

“I will share it,” she said, voice low and soft as velvet. “Later.”

Ramsey didn’t dare to move. She couldn’t want him, not after what he’d done to her. Not after what he’d confessed to her about who he really was.

“You’re not angry with me?” he said cautiously.

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