Free Sparhawk's Angel by MIRANDA JARRETT

gentleman would never be so quick to judge a lady. Or didn't your mother teach you that?"
    Nick grumbled to himself as he shook the water from his black hair like an oversize spaniel. His mother had in fact taught him exactly that about ladies, as well as a good many other things he'd tried equally hard to forget over the seventeen years since he'd left home. Twice now today he'd been reminded of his family and his past, jarring loose the memory of how he'd been born into a genteel family, with expectations of him that he'd never been able to fulfill. But why should he care? He liked the life he'd made for himself just fine.
    At least he had before the Everard sisters had come careening into the middle of it.
    "She didn't care for me any more than I did for her," he said defensively. "Nigh sliced my head off."
    "What did you expect, bullying her the way you did? She's lost and frightened and grieving and lonely, and though she's betrothed to a man she's only met once, still she's determined to wed him to please Papa." She stepped closer, beseeching, her silk skirts rustling softly. "Rose needs a friend, Nick, not another enemy."
    "Then she doesn't need me." He raised his jaw, wary of her intentions. "You're her sister, or leastways you were. If her life's such an all-fired disaster, then why don't you go and start arranging things for her and leave me alone?"
    "Because I can't," said Lily sadly. "Since I always scoffed at her advice while I lived, she in turn will never be able to hear me now, or even see me. It's my—well, it's my punishment, I suppose, for being so headstrong. As much as Rose needs me, I can only change things for her through you."
    Nick sighed. "So that's why you had me capture her? To brighten her cheerless life with a little gunfire and brimstone from Black Nick Sparhawk?"
    "You needn't be flippant. It doesn't become you." She sighed, too, a breathy rush behind her fan. "All I ask is that you be civil to Rose while she's in your custody. You could invite her here to your cabin, say, for a light collation."
    "
'Collation'
?" Nick cocked one scornful black brow. "Oh, aye, why not? Next you'll be expecting tea and currant scones with clotted cream. Your wretched little sister should consider herself fortunate if I ever invite her here for grilled onions and toasted cheese."
    "Ah, my dear captain," said Lily, her smile beatific. "What a perfectly wondrous idea."
     
    "The folded white paper shot beneath the cabin's door and across the deck, the messenger who'd brought it gone before Rose had lifted her head from the pillow. For a long moment she stared at the white square on the smooth-sanded planks. She knew no one on board who would write to her, and she could not imagine that these wild, rough Americans corresponded with their prisoners on white vellum.
    She leaned off the bunk to reach the paper, lifting it carefully as if she feared it might somehow explode in her hand. She turned it over and traced her fingertips over the seal stamped into the frozen puddle of carmine wax that held the letter shut. An eagle with outstretched wings perched on a branch—a symbol, perhaps, of the American cause?
    Frowning, she tipped the seal toward the lantern's light and gently slid one finger beneath it to crack it free. The handwriting was bold and confident, broad, black slashes across the white paper, and immediately she knew who had written it. Not an eagle graced the sealing wax, then, but a hawk, not a branch from a tree but a bit of ship's timber, a spar.
     
    Miss Everard, will you do me the honor of joining me in my cabin as my guest for a light collation.
    Yr. S'v't N. Sparhawk
     
    Her frown deepened. She wouldn't have expected such civility from Captain Sparhawk. A light collation in his cabin? Was this some form of apology for all the ill he'd brought her, or only a mockery, another way for him to goad and torment her? She touched the seal, remembering how he'd tried so purposefully—and so