Free More Than You Know by Jo Goodman

“That was my brother David. Before you ask, it was Shelby who bedeviled the cat."
    "And your target?” She waited. “You'll have to speak up, Captain. It's a myth that blindness improves one's hearing. It only makes me sensitive to sounds; it doesn't make them louder."
    Rand cleared his throat. “Girls,” he said with some effort at contriteness. “I liked to chase girls.” This confession was followed by a rather prolonged silence, then the unexpectedly fresh resonance of Claire's hearty laughter. Rand felt another wave of heat rush his cheeks even as he found himself grinning. “I liked to pull their pigtails."
    "When you were six,” Claire said, catching her breath. “I suspect your interests changed."
    "They did. But so did theirs."
    "Yes,” she said slowly. “That seems to be the way of things.” Claire wondered if Rand Hamilton was a handsome man, and if she asked him, if he would tell her the truth. She had learned that handsome people generally knew themselves to be so. Her mother had been beautiful and required no mirrors to support that opinion. It was as if she had absorbed the appreciation of others from the time of her birth and needed no further confirmation. A mirror was no substitute for her reflection in the eyes of an admirer.
    "Did you have to force your attentions often?” asked Claire.
    Rand thought of Jennie Ann. He had not forced himself on her, but Mammy Komati had also seen the truth of it. Jennie Ann had not considered that she could properly refuse him. “No,” he said. “There was never any force."
    "Droit du seigneur? Right of the lord? Do they have a name for it in South Carolina?"
    Perhaps they didn't always, Rand thought. Not when it was perpetrated on female slaves. It could be it was one of the things the war had actually changed that the South would be better for. “They call it rape,” he said.
    "That's what they call it here,” Claire said. “I had a need to be clear on that."
    "You have nothing to fear on Cerberus. At my hands or those of my crew. You won't come to any harm."
    Claire believed him but she was compelled to point out that he had already lied to her. “You promised me this morning that you would warn me before you touched me. I expect that consideration from now on."
    "You have it."
    "As for any questions you have about my blindness, I hope they're answered now."
    "Completely."
    "Good.” She nodded once. “You may put your hands down, Captain, and you're free to go. I'm not taking prisoners."
    Rand glanced down at his arms. They had been folded against his chest for some time. “Yes ... thank you. I was getting tired holding them up."
    "I forgot about them."
    "I thought as much."
    "Would you be so kind as to mention to Emmereth that some attention is needed to this room? On your way out, I mean.” She sighed. “I suppose I shall have to apply myself to fabricating a story about the vase."
    Rand watched Claire's face lift and brighten as though the explanation had just come upon her. He winced in anticipation of what he would hear.
    "I know,” she said. “I'll tell Stickle I'm blind. That should serve me well enough. I can't be expected to know the position of every one of his valuables."
    "Miss Bancroft,” Rand drawled softly, "you are a piece of work."
    Claire was stunned into silence as the captain bade her good evening and left the dining room. She stood just where she was, leaning against the table more for support than protection. She stared sightlessly in the direction of the closed doors, a faint frown pulling at her features.
    Claire Bancroft did not think she had mistaken admiration in his tone.
    * * * *
    Strickland closed the lid on his writing desk when he heard the light rap on his door. “Enter!” he called.
    Claire pushed open the door. She was carrying a tray of hot milk and brandy. Behind her one of the servants hovered, anticipating a collision, a spill, or some other disaster. “When you say that so importantly you make me