and then
proceeded to . . . to . . ."
"To teach you a lesson in manners you don't
appear to have retained very well. I am beginning to grow tired of reminding
you that neither you nor His Lordship are at all special on this ship. For all
anyone knows, the pair of you drowned in the storm and lie at the bottom of the
sea."
"A fact which makes you doubly cruel and
heartless," she cried. "Sir Lionel is not a well man. How do you
think the news will affect his health when he hears that his only son is
drowned?"
"Perhaps it will improve his disposition when he
hears the boy is alive. Whether he thanks me for returning you or not remains
to be seen. I cannot see that your temperament would be of any benefit to his
health."
Summer clamped her mouth into a thin, uncompromising
line. There was no way to argue with the man. He was baiting her and enjoying
it! Michael's bright idea was beginning to fray badly around the edges. As a
governess she would have to realize her own expendability and suffer the
brigand's remarks in silence. She balled her fists and with a visible effort
bit back any further comments.
"Well, now," he murmured. "You may have
learned a thing or two after all."
He turned his back for a moment and thereby missed the
expression on Summer's face. She was saved from committing a fatal error in
judgment by a quick knock on the door.
"Come," Wade barked, shutting the lid on the
humidor. Summer's hand fell away from the heavy brass bookend as Thorny poked
his head around the door.
"Come ter see 'bout victuals," Thorny said.
"An' I brung yer rum."
Wade glanced up over the flame he held to the tip of
the thin black cigar. "I'll take my supper in here. Find the lad and send
him down; he'll join us for the meal."
"Aye." He set a small earthenware jug on the
dining table.
"Tell Mr. Monday I'll be taking the eight o'clock
watch."
"Aye. Supper's on its way."
Wade crossed to the dining table and selected two
crystal glasses from one of the wire-fronted bookcases on the wall. Summer
looked at him with some surprise as he filled both with rum and held one out to
her.
"No, thank you."
He grinned past the cigar clamped between his teeth.
"Suit yourself, but it might relax you."
"I am quite relaxed," she retorted. "If
I were any more so, I fear your attempts at civility would put me to
sleep."
He drew deeply on the cigar and exhaled a cloud of
bluish smoke as she presented him with her back. The air from the open gallery
windows blew the hair back from her shoulders but did nothing to ease the
discomfort of feeling his eyes boring into her.
Wade, conversely, was enjoying a sight he had not seen
many times in the past dozen years. Her hair had dried into fine strands of
spun silk, curling thick and soft over her shoulders to reach well past her
waist. The light was behind her, etching the wisps into silvery threads. The
oversized clothes did absolutely nothing to conceal the various curves and
contours of her body; if anything, they emphasized the more tempting areas and
made his hands burn with the recent memory of exploring them.
Wade drained his glass and poured himself another just
as Michael Cambridge knocked discreetly on the door.
Summer whirled instantly and ran to his side. She
started to hug him, caught herself in time and instead squeezed his shoulders
affectionately, hoping he could read beneath her restraint.
He looked changed somehow in the few short hours since
she had seen him last. The ever-present smattering of freckles across the
bridge of his nose had expanded to cover both cheeks. His eyes were bright, his
face tanned and healthy—not at all what one would expect to see on a boy forced
to toil unmercifully three decks below the sunlight.
"Good evening, Captain Wade," he said
formally. "Thank you for the invitation to dinner."
"No trouble," Wade shrugged. "In fact,
you can save me some trouble by telling your governess here that we haven't
whipped you into servitude. She seems to think I've