Despite Eliza’s firm convictions, however, it took only a sharp rap on the door to shatter her flimsy composure. She tugged at the offensive bodice again, then with a groan of dismay, pulled her unbound hair over her shoulders. Though it provided only a partial shield to her exposed collarbone and upper chest, it was better than nothing. The sharp rap came again and she pushed off the bed. Time to face her nemesis.
“I’m coming,” she muttered, throwing back the door. To her relief, it was Oliver who stood there, not Cyprian. Oliver, whom Cyprian had ordered her to avoid.
“Holy mother,” the young man murmured at the sight of her. His eyes raked her with a bold, appreciative stare. “Holy mother,” he repeated as a grin lit his boyish features. “May I say, Miss Eliza, you are looking quite fetching tonight. Quite tasty, in fact.”
She gave him a withering stare. “If your tastes run toward barefoot peasant girls, I suppose I am passable.”
“Oh, more than passable. Besides, there’s not a man aboard the
Chameleon
that wouldn’t appreciate a
comely peasant wench, barefoot or bare anything else,” he added, a leering gleam in his brown eyes.
She let out a rude noise. “Your manners are worse than deplorable. Can I assume, however, that you are here for a reason?”
“A reason? Now that I see you, it’s clear you’re reason enough,” he persisted, this time waggling his expressive eyebrows in so humorous a fashion she almost laughed. But that would only encourage him so she forced herself to be stern.
“The reason, Oliver. Why are you here?”
“Ah, yes. ’Tis Aubrey. He’d a splinter in his hand, though Cook has removed it. He’s in the galley now, listening to one of the cook’s farfetched tales. I just thought you’d want to know.”
“Oh, dear. I’d better go to him,” Eliza said. “Can you show me to the galley?”
“I can show you anything you want,” he replied, his appreciative gaze sweeping over her again.
“I think I’m the one to do that.”
They both jumped at that dark, imperious voice.
Oliver backed away, and Eliza would have also. But Cyprian stepped into the doorway and caught her by the hand. “See to your duties,” he ordered Oliver without even glancing in the young man’s direction.
Once the second mate left, however, Cyprian’s keen observation of her turned positively unnerving. As Oliver had done, Cyprian’s gaze swept over her, taking in every aspect of her gypsyish dress. But where Oliver’s leering gaze only left her exasperated, Cyprian’s started the most unseemly sort of clamoring inside her. Breasts, belly, thighs. Even her toes seemed to react to his brief but very thorough examination of her, for they curled against the smooth floorboards as if of their own volition.
Then he met her apprehensive eyes and gave her his most sincere smile yet. She felt his hand shift against
hers—the hard, calloused palm slide upon her softer one, and his strong fingers flex around hers.
“Since it appears you are dressed and ready, why don’t we adjourn to my quarters? Now.”
“B
ut I must see to Aubrey,” Eliza protested as Cyprian drew her down the companionway toward his cabin. “Oliver said he—”
“Oliver said he was with Cook and in good hands.”
“Yes, but—”
“And I told you to avoid Oliver.”
Eliza tried to jerk her hand from his to no avail. Although his grip was not tight enough to hurt her, it was still too firm for her to evade. As he strode down the passageway, pulling her willy-nilly behind him, panic flooded through her. He wouldn’t let her see Aubrey; he was dragging her into his private chamber; and his warm grip filled her with both dread and a perverse sort of fascination. It was how she’d felt about Michael, a vague part of her realized, only with Cyprian it was twenty times stronger.
“Wait!” she cried, grabbing the door frame with her free hand. “Wait!”
He stopped, but did not release her. “You agreed to dine with me,” he reminded her, after turning to face her.
In the dim light of the low-ceilinged hall he appeared larger and more imposing than ever before. He was backlit by the lantern burning in his cabin, and his face
lay in shadows. Despite that, she could feel the distinct touch of his eyes upon her.
She took a shaky breath. “If you’re trying to be cruel, you are doing a very good job of it. But I don’t understand
why
you’re doing it.”
There was a short charged silence. “Are you referring to my treatment of you—or of the boy?”
Eliza tried to calm her racing pulse. “Both,” she answered, deciding there was no benefit in hiding the truth from him.
Again there was a pause. Then he lifted her hand and stared at it. To her utter surprise he shifted it to his other hand, gave her an abbreviated bow, and kissed her fingertips.
She jerked her hand away and for one panicked moment they stared at one another. She didn’t understand him, the solitary thought repeated itself in her head. She didn’t understand him at all. But she did know she was in a dangerous situation. This was the same brazen man who’d so boldly stolen into Aubrey’s cabin aboard the
Lady Haberton
and then proceeded to kiss her and fondle her as if he had every right in the world to do so. If he were that daring on another vessel, what might he attempt here?
She drew herself up with an effort. Unfortunately, she had to break the hold of his compelling stare before she could speak, and she feared that weakened her show of bravado. “Are you going to explain yourself?” she asked, hitching the neckline of the blouse higher on one shoulder while she stared determinedly at the dangling ties of his collarless shirt.
But he would not allow her to evade him that easily, for with his thumb and forefinger he turned her face back up to his. Although his touch was light it managed nevertheless to command her attention, to focus all her senses upon him though it was merely that faint press of
his skin to hers. For one insane moment she thought she actually might swoon.
“I had thought our dinner conversation could be more pleasant. But as it obviously means so much to you, I’ll try to explain myself. But not here in the companionway. Come inside and I’ll pour us each a glass of wine. Then we can sit down like civilized human beings and discuss it.” His hand fell away from her chin and he gave her another mock bow. “Will you please join me, Miss Thoroughgood?”
It seemed pointless not to, Eliza rationalized past the thundering pulse in her ears. She stepped tentatively into the captain’s quarters, fighting all the while to regain her composure. She heard him close the door behind her, but he did not lock it. Though she knew it was ludicrous to find any reassurance in that—it was not as if she could actually escape him for long on his own ship—it nonetheless helped her to take the seat he indicated. But she watched him closely just the same.
He took a bottle of wine from a cupboard and two heavy goblets. The bank of diamond-paned windows behind him framed a breathtaking sunset. They were headed northeast, she realized. Back to England? But Cyprian’s excessively masculine form blotted out all thoughts of direction and sunsets. When he approached and offered the full goblet to her, she was conscious only of him. Golden sunlight glinted off his night-black hair. And golden lights seemed to glint as well in his dark eyes.
“To good seas and a fair wind,” he murmured, lifting his pewter goblet half the way to hers.
Eliza gripped the spiral stem of her goblet tighter. “Yes.” She cleared her throat. “I should not like for us to sink.”
She touched her goblet to his, then following his lead, drank. But she watched him over the rim. When he too sat, she drank again in relief. He was so intimidating
when he stood over her—not that he wasn’t almost as intimidating sitting down. Cyprian Dare projected the most overwhelming aura of masculinity, whether sitting or standing, in darkness or in light, on his own turf or someone else’s.
What a swath he would cut in society, she thought, beating down a giggle at the thought. Put those shoulders in an evening jacket, release him into a room full of women, and then just stand back and watch. It was a toss up who would salivate more—the mothers or the daughters.
“I assure you, Eliza, the
Chameleon
will not sink,” he said, sending her a devastating smile that only reinforced her opinion. His teeth were white and straight in a face burned brown by both sun and wind, and when he smiled like that and stared directly at her, it was enough to convince a girl he’d never shared that smile with any woman but herself.
Get a hold of yourself, Eliza, a stern voice ordered. Blinking, she broke the hold of his eyes and drank deeply once more. The wine was cold and of good quality, she noticed. It went down smoothly—he probably hoped to get her tipsy, she realized. With a thunk she set the drinking vessel down on the table.
“You said you would explain yourself,” she muttered, angry at herself for her meandering thoughts. He was trying to distract her and she was obliging him. But no more.
He stretched his legs out and crossed them. The wild beast relaxed in his own den, she imagined as they studied one another.
“Where shall I begin?”
Eliza had to give herself a mental shake. “You can begin by telling me what you intend to do.”
“With you?” He grinned ever so slightly. A smirk, she termed it. Yet it served to remind her how he’d kissed her once before with those same curving lips.
“With Aubrey,” she retorted in rising irritation. “I want to know what you intend to do with Aubrey. For I intend to stay with my cousin.”
He took a slow considering sip of his wine. “I plan to reorder his future, that’s all.”
She let out a frustrated sigh. “What does
that
mean?”
He shrugged. “He shall earn his way in the world, not have it handed to him by his wealthy father.”
Despite her frustration with his deliberate evasiveness, Eliza recognized the subtle emphasis when he said the word
father
. What was she to make of that?
“I take it you do not care for Aubrey’s father.”
The fact that he did not scoff at her carefully understated remark only served to emphasize to Eliza the depths of his hatred for her uncle.
“His father—” Again the same sarcasm, though less veiled than before. “His father can only raise the boy to become as vile and cruel as he is himself. The fact is, the boy will be better served in my care than in his father’s.”
“Oh, but how can you say such a thing? You cannot truly believe such a thing would be best for Aubrey.”
She saw his jaw tense and his knuckles whiten around the stem of his goblet. But he kept his temper under control. Still, the fact that her defense of Sir Lloyd could so infuriate him fed her curiosity more than ever. “All right. All right,” she conceded, unmindful that she took another sip of her wine. “It’s clear you
do
believe it. But why? How do you even
know
Lloyd Haberton?”
“I’ve known him for many years.”
Eliza bit her lip in thought. “For many years. But not in English society, for I would remember a family named Dare. So it must be through his business connections. Have you perhaps sailed upon his ships? Were you unfairly treated by one of his captains?”
He grinned, but it was the cold expression of a ruthless predator. “No, my lovely little meddler. Only by
him. It’s unlikely any of his ships are a worthy match for mine.”
He thought her lovely? Eliza took a restoring swallow of wine and forced herself to ignore that completely unimportant remark. “What exactly has he done to you, then?” she asked, though her throat burned from her hasty gulping.
It was his turn to drink and as he drained the contents of his goblet, Eliza watched in fascination. His throat worked in smooth undulations. When he tipped his head back she could see the shadowed line where his facial hair ended and smoother skin began. When he met her gaze again, however, she saw the hard glint of hatred in his eyes. Not of her though, she realized, but of her uncle.
Anger caused of pain
, she heard Xavier’s words echo. Was the harsh face Cyprian showed to the world just a cover for a more hidden and vulnerable one? Like Aubrey at his most difficult, throwing a tantrum that overshadowed the simple fact that he was frustrated and afraid? Could it be that Cyprian was just like the smooth skin of his throat, well protected when his head was lowered, by the bristles of his beard stubble?
“What he has done is not pertinent to our conversation,” he said in a tone so low and even—so menacing—that it lifted the hairs on the back of her neck. “He has wronged me grievously and now I shall return the favor.”
Eliza averted her eyes from his penetrating stare. “But … but what precisely will you do to Aubrey?” she persisted. Though she feared his answer, she needed to know just how deeply his hatred for her uncle ran, and how much of it would transfer to his hapless child.
He reached for the wine bottle and refilled his goblet, then did the same for her. To cover her case of nerves, Eliza drank again. How was she to get through an entire
meal in his presence when just sharing a glass of wine with him was so difficult?
“Drink up,” he encouraged her in a more pleasant tone. When she glanced at him in surprise he lifted his glass and drank. She did as well, more by habit than anything else. Their eyes held throughout, however, and she rightly guessed that he intended to control his emotions better.
“Your cousin has a choice. He can become a cabin boy on one of my ships. He can work on land—perhaps in a stable or a tavern. I know any number of people who might hire him. Or he—”
“But he can’t walk,” she cried. “You’ve seen him. You know he can’t do those things.”
“If he will not work, then he can become a beggar.”
“A beggar?” Eliza’s anger rose too swiftly for her to control. The cruelty of the man! The arrogance! she leapt to her feet and in the process bumped the table and nearly toppled over her half-emptied goblet of wine. But she could not care about that, not when poor Aubrey’s life was being ruined.
“You are the vilest, most horrible, monstrous man—” She broke off and turned, needing to be away from him —and close to Aubrey. But before Eliza even reached the door, he caught her by one arm and spun her around to face him.
“I did not give you permission to leave here.” He thrust her roughly against the door. “Lest you forget, you are on
my
ship, in
my
cabin, and at
my
mercy.
I
am captain here, and I’m no fop or dandy whom you may control with only your smile.”
Eliza glared up at him. She was terrified and yet fury governed her lips more than fear. “I will fight you,” she vowed. “You may have us at your mercy now, but my father will come for me, as will my uncle and my brothers and … and my fiance too. You’ll never escape their wrath, Cyprian Dare. Never!”
His hands tightened so fiercely around her arms that she thought he might actually crush her bones. “If you want to fight me, fair Eliza, I suggest you choose your battles carefully. Forget your cousin. You can’t win against me when it comes to him. But there are other battlefields between us where your chances are better.”
He moved, just the slightest shifting of his weight. But it settled his hips against hers. Eliza’s eyes widened in shock. His warm weight against her was a threat, pure and simple. He could do things to her and she couldn’t stop him.
Then one of his knees pressed into the space between her thighs and she knew he meant to prove his mastery over her right now.
She shoved at him with a strength born of utter desperation. But it was like trying to move an oak tree. He did not budge.
“No,” she gasped, staring at him in wide-eyed fear. “Don’t do—”
But he cut her off. The firm press of his mouth against hers stifled all her protests.
Eliza tried to turn away, to avoid this beginning to the ravishment he planned. But he slid his long fingers into her unbound hair to keep her still.
She struck at him with her freed arm. Once, then again. But her blows were ineffectual, and anyway, his lips swiftly demanded her complete attention. For instead of forcing her mouth open and possessing it with his tongue as he’d done that other time, he was stroking and caressing her lips in a manner at once both relentless and tender. He wouldn’t let her turn away, and yet he was not forceful. He kissed the corners of her mouth, sucked at her lower lip, and traced the seam of her tightly clamped lips with his tongue.