Page 12 of Scandalous

Captain Graaf was attractive, but he paled in every sense of the word when compared to the exotic Captain Bouchard. Sarah blushed just thinking the man’s name. It had taken all her strength not to begin gibbering when he’d entered the small wardroom.

His eyes alone were enough to make him breathtaking. They were deep-set and heavy-lidded, fringed with lashes that looked in danger of tangling. But it was their molten gold color that was most striking. Sarah had looked into those liquid depths and seen no sign of his thoughts.

But if his eyes were unreadable, his mouth betrayed him. His full, sensual lips—the only soft thing about him—had shifted from amused to displeased to mocking all in a matter of seconds, just like a willful child’s.

Sarah had taunted him about his clothing because he’d blinded her with his masculine elegance. His coat, breeches, and boots were tailored so intimately to his muscular frame that her own body had responded in unnerving ways when she looked at him. His clothes were those of a gentleman, but they could not hide the powerful physique they covered. He was broad-shouldered and brawny, and his fingers had been calloused when he’d touched her chin, demonstrating that he was no stranger to work. His hands were big and scarred, completely unlike those of Graaf, whose slim white hands were so soft they could have belonged to a woman. Sarah glanced down at her own hands and frowned.

Well, any woman’s but hers, which were as scarred and rough as Bouchard’s.

The two captains were a fascinating contrast. Graaf had the face of an angel, but was willing to traffic in human misery. Bouchard was sin in human form, but became enraged at the mere mention of slavery. Sarah tried to convince herself his refusal to tolerate slavery was merely expediency—after all, he made his living confiscating slave ships—but she knew that wasn’t true. No, Martín Bouchard would not enslave and sell the people on Graaf’s ship. He had turned savage in an instant, his veneer of amused arrogance dropping away to reveal the rage inside him: a rage that strained like a provoked and maddened beast against its tether.

And she’d bartered herself to such a man.

“Dear God,” she whispered.

Her hands shook as she pulled the sash of her robe tighter.

Well, if Captain Bouchard wanted physical coupling, at least Sarah would not be entirely ignorant. She did have eyes, after all, and the people in her village had not been prudish. She had always envied her neighbors their spouses and children, but no young man had ever looked at her with yearning, a fact that had become increasingly difficult to bear after first her parents and then Abena had died, leaving her on her own.

The sickness that killed Abena and Sarah’s parents had killed many others in the village. Anyone who could leave had done so. Less than two dozen remained and many of them old or infirm. The thought of years of loneliness stretching before her had made Sarah chafe against the promises she’d given her parents two years before.

How could they have asked such things of her? How could they expect her to fill both their shoes with no helpmate, no husband?

Sarah shied away from the anger and guilt that always accompanied the memory of her last words with both her parents and steered her mind to the evening ahead—to Captain Bouchard and what he wanted from her.

Just because she knew what occurred between men and women, it didn’t mean she wasn’t frightened. Even so, she could not regret the deal she’d made. It was ridiculous to value virtue above human life.

Sarah knew her mother would not have agreed, but she suspected her father would have. She had saved dozens of men’s lives by giving Bouchard the thing he had asked for—a thing nobody else seemed to want from her.

But why did he want such things from her? She’d seen the way he’d looked at her, and it had not been admiration or lust in his gaze. His gaze had been dismissive more than anything else. That was not surprising. After all, a man with his physical beauty was probably accustomed to coupling with women as attractive as he was. Sarah was not such a woman.

She was tall and spare with no soft curves to speak of. Her chest was woefully flat when compared to those of most of the young women in her village. Her skin had freckled in the harsh tropical sun, and her straight hair was thick but dirty blond in color. Her best feature was her eyes, which were large with long lashes, although an indeterminate shade of brown. Sarah could only suppose Bouchard was bored to want her.

She was four and twenty and had never even kissed a man. She’d long ago accepted that she was not attractive, but she’d never stopped yearning to know love or have children. Not that Captain Bouchard was offering her either of those choices, of course.

She recalled his amused response to her choking fever lie and smiled. If the man had been attractive in repose, he was stunning when he smiled.

Sarah shook her head at the foolish observation. What did it matter how beautiful he was?

Instead of fantasizing about the arrogant captain, she should be considering her future. Unfortunately, that, too, led back to Bouchard. What would happen to her? Would he give her to the authorities along with all the others?

Sarah grimaced as she realized how much her life, as well as everyone else’s on this ship, depended on one capricious man.

A knock on the door made her jump, and she swallowed.

It was time for dinner.

Chapter Five

Mr. Daniels’s lips parted and his eyes widened as he took in Sarah’s altered appearance. It was by far the most flattering reaction she’d ever elicited from a man.

“You look beautiful, miss.”

Sarah laughed. “Well, hardly that, Mr. Daniels. But thank you.”

He led her a short distance down the corridor before halting in front of a door that was larger and more ornate than any of the others. He raised his hand to knock, but paused. “The captain is . . .” He flushed. “Well, I know he can seem a bit harsh, but—”

The door swung inward to reveal the exquisitely dressed Captain Bouchard.