Katharine Ashe - How to Be a Proper Lady

“Good God.” He scowled. “What do you take me for, a complete fool?”

“A man must be foolish to fall in love with me?”

“That, and nearsighted and bereft of the capacity for rational thought, not to mention in possession of a death wish.”

That stung, and she didn’t like that it stung. She struggled for a retort and words tumbled through her lips.

“I’ll wager I can make you fall in love with me.” Oh, God.

He cracked a hard laugh. “I dare you to try.”

“Do you?” Her cursed tongue! “All right. What shall we wager?” The unbidden words just kept popping out. But there was something exciting about the idea, something dangerous and tempting that she should not feel.

His mouth actually hung open. But holy Magdalene, what a mouth. She could nearly taste him with her imagination, male heat and smooth command. Pity he was looking at her like an escapee from McLean Hospital. And of course, pity she couldn’t stand him.

“You are mad,” he said in wondering tones. “Aren’t you?”

“I never back down from a dare. How do you think I got here? A mere woman?” She gestured aft to the quarterdeck.

“You are serious.” His eyes narrowed. “You cannot be serious.”

“Afraid I’ll win?”

“Patently, no.”

“Then let’s agree to terms. If I win, I get your new ship.”

“No.”

“And if you win, I will return to England with you.”

He went perfectly still. Viola struggled to breathe evenly. She didn’t know where her words had come from. She did not wish to return to England.

On the other hand, it might be worth it to watch him squirm while she hung all over him in an effort to seduce him. She would not meet with success. He had a heart of stone and a will of iron and he would win. But she could always turn right around and come home afterward. After seeing Serena. Her half sister. The countess.

Oh, good God, what had she done?

“The duration of the wager?” he finally asked.

“A fortnight.”

“A fortnight?”

She lifted a brow. “Men have fallen in love with me in minutes before.” Aidan always claimed he had.

He looked at her with clear disbelief. “I have no doubt that some men are equally as mad as you.”

That was rather lowering. And more than a sting. It actually hurt.

Her ire flared. “Perhaps you are as well, pirate scum.”

“Again with the insults. You are losing your moral high ground.”

“My high ground is well enough. Will you take the wager?”

He studied her for a silent moment, his ice eyes enigmatic now. “Yes.”

She found it a bit difficult to breathe. But she’d gotten herself into this. And she now would have to touch him, and feel the heat simmering beneath his skin again, as she had in the corridor. A touch that had left her sleeping fitfully every night since.

His eyes glimmered. “Regretting your impetuosity already, Miss Carlyle?”

Her pulse stumbled. “I said do not call me that aboard my ship.”

His perfect mouth slid up at one edge, and this time the grin was purely confident. “Name your terms.”

Terms? He must speak to her with deference and allow her all sorts of liberties with his person.

Her cheeks flamed. His gaze shifted across them and the slightest crease appeared in his cheek.

“You must remain aboard at all times,” she said in a rush, “even when we come into port, until the end of the fortnight, unless I disembark as well, and then you go with me where I go.” Goddamn him for doing this to her, for making her tongue say things it should not and for being so arrogantly gorgeous she was quivering with anticipation.

“All right.”

Beneath his steady gaze, her thoughts tangled. But she must see this through. Her pride was at stake. “If you disembark for any other reason, you forfeit the wager and I win automatically.”

“And the corollary terms? If you throw me off, you forfeit the wager and I win?”

“Exactly.” She would not. She had borne his unnerving presence for a fortnight already. But in his light eyes now was calculation. This was a foolish mistake. Her gaze dropped to his lips. A colossally foolish mistake.

“And at the end of the fortnight you must tell the truth,” she added. “No lying about it just so you will win.”

“Of course.”

She thrust out her hand. “Agreed?”

He encompassed it, and her entire body got hot. His grip was strong and she wanted to feel that strength elsewhere. To feel his hands on her. She was a disloyal tart, daring a man to touch her while her heart belonged to another.

“At the end of the fortnight, Viola Carlyle, you will board my ship and sail to England with me.” He spoke quietly and steadily, entirely unlike her shaking insides.

“At the end of the fortnight, Seton, you will regret that you ever came within a league of Violet Daly.”

He released her and walked away, completely at ease, unaware of the shimmering air about him. She stood immobile, staring at his back until he descended belowdecks, cursing herself and him. She would make his life unendurable. With her attentions she would force him off her ship and he would leave her alone. Then she would take up with Aidan exactly where they’d left off last when he held her and told her she was the best thing that had ever happened to him.

But the notion of embracing Aidan again didn’t speed her heartbeat now. Not Aidan at all.

My lady,

My father, brother, and I are delighted with your latest pamphlet on the Despicable Conditions that Manchester textile workers are forced to endure. Your prose exhortations continue to inspire the people of Britain to seek justice.

With the most sincere apologies, however, I must beg you to remove The Mermaid from the office. Her size and State of Undress have caused discomfort to our clients and not an insubstantial Lack of Focus among the press operators. If you prefer, I will be most happy to arrange for her disposal.

Josiah Brittle

Brittle & Sons, Printers

Dear Mr. Brittle,

I am terribly sorry for the inconvenience the statue has caused. Pray arrange for her Return to Sender to the following address: Mr. Peregrine, The Falcon Club, 14½ Dover Street, London.

A siren belongs where she will wreak destruction most effectively-not on poor laborers but on the indolent rich who best deserve it.

Sincerely,

Lady Justice

Viola Carlyle was shameless.

Overnight her prickly combativeness transformed into sloe-eyed glances and lowered lashes. Jin might be amused if she weren’t so good at it. Convincing. As though she truly wished for his attentions. She enacted the role of a demure female throwing out lures like an actress trained for the stage, but with a great deal more finesse and the advantage of a pretty face and perfectly shaped body.

The body he was now able to fully appreciate again.

She discarded the sacklike coat, donning instead a fitted waistcoat that hugged her breasts and narrow waist and emphasized the delicacy of her form. The sash slung from shoulder to hip bore a single small pistol, the hilt of a short dagger pointing at an angle designed to draw a man’s attention where it should not linger. The ungainly hat went too, replaced by a brimmed cap when she was atop and nothing when she was belowdecks. Her thick tresses, bound only in a queue as he had first seen on the dock weeks earlier, shone like satin in the sunshine and tangled in the wind, brushing across her lips.

She did not make the mistake of giving up her command to him. She maintained firm control over her ship and her crewmen’s activities to a reasonable degree, leaving to Jin his regular duties. But now she proffered her commands without taunting or insults, instead with modulated tones that suggested she had every faith in him to carry out his responsibilities.

She was beguiling, gracious, and not in the least bit obsequious or overly retiring. She was damnably alluring, like a gently bred female withholding favors she would eagerly relinquish to a man worthy of her-but only that man.

She was a conniving, manipulative she-devil.

More than anything as yet, all of it went further toward convincing him that she belonged in English high society. Beauty and subtle flirtation combined with a quiet, confident mastery of her realm marked her as the aristocrat she was meant to be-her mother’s daughter if not her father’s.

But for two decades Jin had played games far more perilous. He knew how to handle this. He kept his distance.

She made it difficult. She began taking her meals with the men. When he was atop, she made it her business to be there as well. She clearly believed proximity was the key to her success. He found himself walking away from her more often than he liked. No man dictated his actions, and certainly no woman. Not for twenty years. But her nearness distracted him. Too much.

Following the clouds and high winds, then the single sunny day on which he had agreed to the wager, rain finally came. He was settling into his cabin preparing for bed when Becoua appeared.

“Clouds parted a bit, sir. There’s a few stars showin’. Thought you’d like to know, seein’ as the captain’s asleep already.”

“Thank you, Mr. Maalouf.”

Becoua turned, then paused. “Master Jin, Captain’s smelling of flowers lately, ain’t she? Perfumey like?”

“I had not noticed.”

Becoua met his gaze with a bemused question in his own.

Jin shook his head. “Back to work, sailor.”

The boatswain grunted and shuffled off. Jin passed a hand across his face, then gripped the back of his neck. He must assess the ship’s direction by the stars. It might not clear again for days.