“Bitch!” He was so angry then that he pushed her from him, not at all certain that he wouldn’t strike her if he remained too close. “Never did I desert you, Brianna, never did I leave you! You sent me away without even telling me!”
She stood still, the blood draining from her face. God, they had become bitter enemies! But still she could only think of all she remembered about him: his scent, fresh and male and reminiscent of the sea and storms and waves and radiant sun and musky darkness; his face, so familiar she could feel again, without touching him, her fingers over his cheeks, his mouth; his eyes, that sizzle of jade, cold stone, burning fires. If he reached for her, she would know exactly how to fit into his arms, she would know the giddy, heated feel of her body when his pressed to it like steel. If…
They had become strangers and enemies, she reminded herself.
“I did not know when you left!” she cried out.
Sloan sank suddenly down on the settee, placing his booted feet on the small table before it. He cast her a dry glance of contempt and she shivered at his tone.
“Am I to believe that?”
“I don’t care what you believe,” she snapped out, spinning around to leave.
He was no longer on the sofa. She was suddenly staggering back and he was blocking the door, rigidly standing with his legs wide apart as if sailing the ship, his hands upon his hips and his eyes seeming to rip through her like green blades.
“Not so fast, Goodwife Powell. Since you are here now, I think we have a few things to discuss.”
“There’s nothing more to discuss. I came here for help and I can tell I shall get none.” She tilted her head to the side, determined not to cry, or beg. “Don’t you recall?” she taunted him politely. “I remember a day when you told me I might come to you if ever I found that I was in need.”
“Ah,” he returned in mocking kind, “but I loved you then. Fool that I was, I loved you.”
Her lashes fell, her heart felt as if it were slowly crumbling. She had been the fool, to love on when love had been lost.
She raised her head again. “Could I please step by, My Lord Treveryan?”
“I’ve yet to hear what you have in mind.”
Brianna took a step back, narrowing her eyes while her breath seemed to catch and rasp. “What game are you playing, Lord Treveryan? I told you—”
“You told me that you wished to leave Salem. Am I supposed to drop everything and take you away—you and your husband, andyourson—is that it?”
His tone was too polite; she had not seen him for a long time, but once she had known him well, and his quiet tones were still, it seemed, his most dangerous.
“Yes—and you’ve refused me, so let me by.”
He backed against the door, crossing his arms over his chest. “Oh, I’ve not refused you—yet.” He lifted an arm toward the settee. “Sit, Goodwife Powell.”
She turned, and sat once again upon the settee. Sloan went down upon one knee to pick up the remnants of the glass she had dropped. She stiffened, feeling his dark head near her knees.
“How is Lady Treveryan, my lord?” she queried with quiet and caustic rebuke.
“Dead,” he answered bluntly, not looking her way.
Her heart seemed to catch in her throat. “How convenient for you,” she murmured.
He jerked up, swinging an arm back with such murderous loathing in his eyes that she cried out, scrambling to the edge of the settee. Dark lashes fell to conceal his eyes; his arm dropped to his side and he walked to the hearth and tossed the fragments of crystal into it.
“I—I’m sorry,” Brianna said at last, miserably. She did not turn to look at him.
Silence came between them and then he spoke again. “Well, madam, I can’t say that I quite understand why you are here. There are other ships.”
“I cannot pay for passage.”
“Can’t you?” he queried cruelly. “I seem to remember that you are not averse to hiring out—in desperation, that is.”
She rose again, her heart and mind a tempest, wishing she could tear him limb from limb. She stared at him then, watching his casual, negligent stance against the mantel, clenching her fingers into fists at her side to keep from lashing out.
“Or,” he persisted, “did you come to me specifically knowing that I just might be an easy mark?”
