Free Capture The Night by Geralyn Dawson

sitting up. “I will.” She blew her nose. “He’s out there somewhere, and I simply have to look around a bit to meet him.”
    Then she’d show Brazos Sinclair. She’d prove to him just how wrong he was. The man of her dreams would propose to her. He’d be drowning in desire to have her in his bed. He wouldn’t flee it as if the hounds of hell were nipping at his heels. He’d…
    She stopped. Lowering the handkerchief to her lap, Madeline stared through the porthole at the white-capped sea. Faced with the sting of Brazos’s rejection, she had forgotten his conduct during the previous night. “The hounds of hell were after him,” Madeline murmured.
    Slowly, she climbed from her bed, thinking past this morning’s incident to the events of the previous evening. As she dressed, she made a decision. She’d be magnanimous. She would remember that he, too, had a cross of some sort to bear, and she’d forget the hurtful words he’d spoken to her this morning.
    But a lingering ache made her realize she still had some memories to lose. Where Brazos Sinclair was concerned, some things were easier to forget than others.
     
    TWO DAYS later, Brazos searched the deck of the Uriel with a package in his hand and a notion in his mind. It was time to apologize to his wife. His behavior the other morning had been deplorable. The cruel, dishonest words he had spoken had hurt someone who’d been more than kind to him during his hour of need. Although he’d numerous excuses, he’d allow himself none. He considered himself an honorable man, and he’d acted with dishonor. So, the only option he had was to apologize.
    Then he planned to go after what he really wanted.
    Sleep. Warm, comfortable, uninterrupted sleep. The type he’d enjoyed before boarding the Uriel , the kind he’d known only one night since—the night he’d spent in Madeline Christophe Sinclair’s bed.
    He’d talked his way right out of that pleasant little heaven, and he felt ashamed as he remembered the words he’d hurled. He’d mean every word of this apology when he offered it. But that didn’t suggest he wouldn’t use every available resource to move right back into Madeline’s bed.
    Platonically, of course.
    True, he had every right to demand a place in her cabin. She’d offered him the floor when she first mentioned the idea of this marriage. But Brazos had given the idea careful consideration, and he’d decided that any attempt how to strong-arm his way in would undoubtedly lead to war. A man didn’t get much rest when he was fighting battles.
    Brazos was tired, exhausted. A bedroll and blanket simply weren’t enough protection against North Atlantic nights, and the nightmares he’d suffered since the storm weren’t helping the situation. Neither were the memories of how he’d made a fool of himself in Madeline’s cabin.
    So he pondered a bit and arrived at what he believed to be a foolproof plan for talking his way back into the beauty’s bed. At least, he hoped it was a good plan. He had based his ideas on a concept every man with any sense held close to heart. If you want something from a woman, you tell her what she wants to hear first.
    Brazos had been exposed to the idea at an early age, watching his father with his mother, his uncles with his aunts. He’d employed it for the first time at the age of eleven when he’d been intent on stealing a kiss off of Sarah Jane Davis. Today he planned to tell Madeline what he figured she wanted to hear:
    “Let’s hope I’ve got it figured right,” he muttered, stepping over a coil or rope.
    It was shortly after eight bells, twelve o’clock, when he found her playing with Rose on a blanket spread atop an out-of-the-way section of the deck. The baby lay on her back, arms and legs all in the air as she tugged on a knitted green bootie. “You do have a problem with shoes, don’t you Miss Magic,” Brazos said, sitting down beside them. “Afternoon, Maddie.”
    She turned her head, looked