"You are a blackguard and
a scoundrel," Bree shrieked.
Justin ducked the candlestick she threw at his head. "Be
reasonable, Smythe. There were no more rooms available."
Bree sat on the bed, her legs tucked under her as she searched for
something to throw. Finding nothing else close, she grabbed one of the pillows and tossed
it. He didn't even bother to duck, but let it bounce ineffectively off his broad chest.
"Did you have to put me in your bed?" she shouted.
Justin doubted she even realized the restraint it had required of him
to lie next to her and not touch her. Even now with her rumpled gown, and her curls
spilling in disarray about her flushed face, she was quite a temptation. But he knew how
fierce she was and intended to keep his distance.
"You're carrying on as if I had taken advantage of you. You were
asleep. As long as I stayed on my side of the bed, what did it matter?"
"It does matter. What am I to tell my betrothed when I see
him?"
He grinned at her. "You could tell him you slept with a
highwayman."
"I fail to see the humor in this," she stated, sweeping the
hair out of her eyes. "Because of you, I'm ruined."
Justin crossed his arms over his chest. "Don't try foisting this
on me, Smythe. First you almost kill Foxworth, then you insist upon running off with the
pirate. My dear, you were ruined before you slept in my bed."
He was right, but she wasn't about to let him off so easily.
"Couldn't you at least have slept on the floor?" she demanded.
"No, but I could have bedded you down with my manservant," he
shouted back.
Bree rose up on her knees and grabbed the other pillow, her blue eyes
two orbs of crystalline fire. "You mean to tell me you have a manservant?"
Justin grinned broadly at the pretty little minx. "Being a
highwayman doesn't mean you can't enjoy a few luxuries."
"And he has his own room?" she asked, wanting to be fair and
obtain the facts first. At least he had the grace to look a bit discomfited, she thought,
but it would not atone for his unspeakable behavior. "Well?"
Justin shrugged. "He does what I ask. He's entitled to his own
room."
She tossed the other pillow. "You could have slept with him
instead of me."
"Not me. The man snores."
If she had had a pistol, she would have shot him. The man's gall was
beyond anything she had ever known before. Didn't he realize what it would mean if St.
Clair were to learn that she'd shared another man's bed? He would think she had betrayed
him.
"What must I do to get my own room?"
As soon as she saw the mischief dancing in the pirate's green eyes, she
knew it was the wrong question to ask. He stepped forward until he towered over her. Her
breath all but lodged in her throat as he leaned down, his gaze locking with hers.
"You could be my servant," he said, a broad grin stretching
across his tanned face.
Bree met his insolence with disdain. "You would enjoy having me at
your beck and call, wouldn't you?"
"It would get you to America," he pointed out.
She didn't answer but he could see that she was considering the offer.
Like the majority of her countrymen, she was not aware of the vast territory America
covered. More than likely she thought once she stepped ashore it would be only a matter of
hours before she found her betrothed and he rescued her.
"It won't take long to draw up an agreement," he offered.
Maybe taking Smythe to America wouldn't be so bad after all.
"You're saying that if I am willing to be your servant, you will
get me to Virginia?"
"Ah, so your lover is from Virginia," he said.
She lowered her head, but not before he saw the bright pink that
flooded her cheeks.
"He's not my lover," she mumbled, embarrassed that the word
was certain to mean more than her innocent arrangement with St. Clair. "He's my
betrothed."
Bree ventured a look at the pirate. Should she tell him St. Clair's
name? What if he should know of him? A familiar knot formed in her stomach. Worse still,
suppose St. Clair had forgotten the promise. Suppose he was already married as Maddie had
suggested. Her father had warned her that she was putting too much faith in a childhood
promise. This pirate would surely enjoy telling her what a fool she was.
Justin watched the myriad of emotions that crossed her face. There was
something she wasn't telling him. For whatever reasons, her father obviously didn't
approve of the betrothal. More than likely because the fiancée was an American, Justin
thought, the old resentment surfacing again. He only hoped it wasn't one of his neighbors.
"What is your betrothed's name?"
Without hesitation, Bree borrowed her book's hero. "Sir
Henry," she lied.
Address | Bio | Home | Links
Pirates And Promises | Scandal’s
Darling | Summer Magic Anthology | Swept Away
This
page updated:
January 12, 2007
I would like to thank my many visitors for their support.
© 2007 Jean Anne Caldwell http://www.annecaldwell.com Email: Anne Caldwell