Free Falling for the Pirate by Amber Lin Page A

though he spoke kindly to the servants.
    While she…was a criminal. There was no reason for him to give her gowns and smile at her across the candlelit table.
    “Did you remember anything at all?” he inquired, so earnestly she had to marvel. Almost as if he actually cared.
    “Actually, yes.”
    He looked surprised. “What’s that?”
    “There was a horse.” She paused, embarrassed for a moment. It highlighted the difference between who she had been and who she was now—a fallen woman. Perhaps not in the moral sense—although she couldn’t be sure about that. But certainly fallen in fortunes.
    “A horse?” he asked.
    “My horse,” she amended. “At least, I remember him as mine. I guess he must have belonged to my family.”
    He stared at her, his expression faintly…distrusting. Didn’t he believe her?
    She blushed. “I suppose my memory wouldn’t be very reliable, would it? He just seems so real to me now that I’ve remembered him.”
    “What was his name?”
    “I called him Stockings. Poor horse had to be named by a child. I hope the other horses didn’t tease him too badly.”
    She’d meant it as a joke, somewhat, only now the pirate was looking almost worried. As if maybe she’d bumped her head on the way downstairs. Well, she was babbling.
    “What about when you went away to school?” His voice reminded her of the leather on her saddle. It looked rough on the outside, but when she ran her fingers over it, it felt smooth. He seemed impossibly harsh, almost regal, at the head of the small table, but his voice flowed over her like a benediction.
    “I don’t know where we kept him.” Her laugh was wobbly. “I’m not even sure where he is now.”
    “I’m sorry.” He sounded sincere.
    She wiped a tear from her cheek. Foolish. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be maudlin. Did you have a horse you loved?”
    “I didn’t have a horse,” he answered slowly. “My family didn’t have one, either.”
    “Oh.” She winced inwardly. As if he didn’t already see her as spoiled.
    He seemed to take pity on her. “Besides, I found my sea legs early. Not everyone has them, but I was climbing the top mast when I was six years old.”
    “Mercy. Were your parents in shipping, too?”
    He froze. He had picked up his glass to take a drink, but now the crystal hung in the air, his hand stuck in place. His gaze glued to hers. “What did you say?”
    Sudden nervousness assailed her, though she wasn’t sure why. He was in shipping, wasn’t he? He had talked about captaining the ship, about the boys who apprenticed there. He’d pulled her out of the channel, of all things.
    “I’m sorry,” she murmured. “Forget I asked.”
    He bared his teeth again in a mockery of a smile. Who did he think he was fooling? He was clearly angry with her. She wished he’d just say so. It felt like there was an entire conversation happening beneath the surface that she wasn’t privy to—a shadow that lurked beneath the water, blurry and indistinct and dangerous.
    “Are you finished?” he asked with extreme politeness.
    It took her a second to realize he meant her meal. The food had been rustic and delicious. She had enjoyed it with a fervor new for her, unlike the careful sips she took in bed. But the dessert sat untouched. She hadn’t even taken a bite of the honeyed confection.
    “I can’t even remember the last time I was this full.”
    She thought his lips curved in faint humor. “Good,” he said. “You have to keep your strength up.”
    She struggled to hide her recoil. Why did that sound like a threat? God, she was going mad. Perhaps she had hit her head. At least that would explain why she saw danger everywhere, even in the one person who was trying to help her.
    Abruptly, she stood. He stood too, in the way manners would dictate. And yet she was almost sure it wasn’t good manners that compelled him around the table, that had him take her elbow in support. Especially when he smiled down at her. The