Free Across a Moonlit Sea by Marsha Canham

your skin?”
    Beau took an involuntary step back but kept the gun aimed squarely in the middle of the broad chest. “I do what I have to do, Captain Dante, even if—as you say—it is not my original intention.”
    “No,” he mused. “Your original intention was to castrate me.”
    She glanced down out of reflex and although the hem of his shirt covered him to midthigh, the light from the gallery windows was beside him, giving substance to the shadows beneath. He was, she was shocked to see, impressively large all over.
    “Put the gun down, Mistress Spence,” he ordered softly. “Before I get truly angry.”
    She adjusted her grip, using both hands to balance the heavy weapon. “Find yourself a pair of breeches, Captain, before I get truly angry.”
    “I might like to see that.”
    “I don’t think you would.”
    “Why not? What happens? Do you spit and hiss like a hellcat?”
    “Come a step closer and you will find out,” she promised.
    He took the step, measured carefully against the darkening flush in her cheeks.
    “I will shoot,” she declared evenly.
    He shook his head slowly. “I don’t think you will.”
    Beau sucked a breath between her teeth and cursed itfree as he took another step. She jerked the gun downward, switching her aim from his chest to the uninjured leg.
    “Maybe I won’t kill you. Maybe I will just shoot out one of your knees.”
    Dante stopped and pursed his lips consideringly. Soft, ominous flecks of cobalt were beginning to shimmer in his eyes but he only broadened his grin and took another step forward. “Remind me not to make any more brilliant suggestions in your presence.”
    “Captain—!”
    He took another step and Beau’s finger tightened on the trigger. She pulled it until the mainspring released, causing the wheel to spin against the piece of iron pyrite and create a small burst of sparks. Another part of the lock worked a brass coverplate, pushing it aside to expose the powder pan to sparks, but where there should have been a deafening explosion of gunpowder and a violent recoil from the discharging shot, there was only a loud rasp and a small puff of acrid smoke.
    Dante halted again.
    “By Christ,” he exclaimed with genuine surprise. “I didn’t think you would do it. I took the precaution of removing the prime, of course, but I truly did not think you would do it!”
    Beau gaped at the gun, then cursed and threw it disgustedly at the dark, grinning face before she darted for the door. He caught her with effortless ease, hooking one long arm around her waist, and clamping a hand over her mouth to cut off the scream of outrage. She felt herself lifted and crushed back against the wall of muscle. She kicked and flayed and tried to scratch at his hands, his eyes, his ears, but he only swore and upended her, swinging her dizzily around and slamming her down hard on the top of the desk, unmindful of the flurry of papers and letters herthrashings scattered to the floor. As she writhed like a fury, the breath driven out of her lungs, he leaned over her, restricting her movements with the weight of his body.
    “Stop it,” he hissed. “Stop it right now, before I—”
    Her hand, raking the top of the desk, closed around the gold replica of the
Virago
and she swung it hard and fast, missing his temple and eye by the slightest of miscalculations.
    He cursed again and grabbed her wrist with his free hand, grabbed the ship, and twisted it roughly out of her grip before wrenching both of her hands above her head and pinning them flat on the bed of papers. Her legs were swinging over the edge of the desk, and while she wriggled and squirmed to gain a good, clean kick, Dante was able to wedge his hips firmly and forcefully between her thighs.
    Her body bucked against the pressure, her scream was a muffled combination of rage and pain as his weight all but crushed the breath and fight out of her. Her eyes were squeezed tightly shut, her chest was rising and falling as if