Free This Perfect Kiss by Melody Thomas Page A

away from those penetrating eyes, aware of the burn in her cheeks as she resumed folding in an effort to pretend composure. She wished he would go now. She didn’t understand his presence, especially after their conversation last night. He’d done his duty by her, had reassured himself that she had a place to go once in Scotland. There was nothing else to say. She had meant it when she’d said she wanted nothing from him.
    â€œWhy are you not married?” he asked.
    It was an impertinent question and he clearly knew it. She presented him an offhand reply. “No man will have me, my lord. I have been quite happily on the shelf for years and intend to remain that way.”
    His mouth crooked slightly and his teeth shone white against the dark bristle on his face. “And what exactly is the age one is considered on the shelf these days?”
    â€œWhen a woman learns how to use a saber as well as a man.”
    He looked mildly amused. “I should have guessed no mere colonial would have the bollocks to properly manage you.”
    â€œPah! No mere Englishman had the bollocks to try, my lord. In fact, was I to pit the two factions ’twould probably end much like the war.”
    He surprised her by laughing. “A colonial to the core.”
    â€œI am half Scots.” Her mouth curved up in a smug smile. “So are you, my lord.”
    Taking a step toward her, he stopped so near that she could feel his breath stir her hair. He smelled of wind and salt and an icy sea.
    â€œNow that we have finally found common ground between us to both our satisfactions”—plucking something from her hair, he presented her with a feather—“I should return to my duties.”
    She took a casual step backward. “I could not agree more, my lord.”
    After he left, she shut the door behind him and leaned against it for solid support. She could credit that while she disliked her reaction to him, she could not deny the stir of long-suppressed awareness coming to life any more than she could deny his beauty, his height and heat that seemed to emanate from him.
    She reminded herself to be more cautious. He had been Saundra’s husband. Not hers. She thought she knew him. She did not.
    But for now, they seemed to have struck a fragile truce.
    â€œT here she is again, my lord,” Bentwell said over the lashing wind. “She’s flying the revenue ensign and commission pennant.”
    Camden raised the brass telescope to his eye to see for himself. She was canted over steeply to starboard, every inch of canvas spread, giving him a full view of her profile against the churning sky. “The same ship just outside Dover?”
    â€œAye, my lord. She’s been weatherin’ on us. Dangerous at best in these winds. The captain is a fool to risk his ship in such a manner. But at that pace he will cross our path in the next hour.”
    There was only one reason a ship would weather on another, to maneuver into a superior position just before one initiated an engagement.
    â€œFlying the signal flags of a revenue cruiser could be a ruse,” Bentwell said.
    â€œShe’s clench built. Typical British lines for a revenue cruiser. Probably constructed in Liverpool.” Camden snapped the spyglass shut. “I would prefer she be French.”
    The crew of a naval revenue cruiser hunted and hanged smugglers pursuant to enforcing the navigational acts originally designed to keep the newly independent Americans out of the West Indies. Now the policy was enforced anywhere Britain considered her sacred waters. Camden was familiar with the fact that the captains of such vessels rarely asked questions before seizing a ship and pressing its crew into service. Pirates, privateers, and other ne’er-do-wells he could outrun and maneuver around to escape. The Royal Navy was another matter entirely.
    His gaze swung upward. Visible just below England’s bold red-and-blue