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But he as he waited, another set of skirts appeared. His gaze travelled up the deep red wine colored gown, to a trim waist, and over an ample set of breasts to the delicate column of a lovely neck.
From there, they rose higher, over ridiculously full lips, and up a tiny little nose to large blue eyes, the sort that might pierce a man’s soul. Framing her face was a halo of thick blonde hair.
He’d met Venus herself, tucked away in the French countryside. His hangover forgotten, he gave her his most dashing bow. “Hello.”
He might be a fighter, and a criminal, but he could charm when he wished. And he wished…
“Hello,” she replied, giving him a wary stare. So much for charm. “May I help you?”
English! Excellent. “Yes. I’d like to purchase some wine for my ship.”
“My father only sells by the barrel,” she answered as the older woman once again appeared behind her, still speaking in rapid angry tones.
Sophie, at least he assumed that was her name, answered in equally quick French. Just a few short words, her gaze casting to the floor.
“I’ll take four,” he said, ignoring the other woman. “Can he deliver? Today?” And he held out a bag of coins he knew would suffice.
The older woman stopped speaking abruptly, as she stepped around Sophie and snatched the bag from his hand.
“He’ll deliver within the next few hours,” she said, her lips pursing into a frown. “Which pier?”
Quickly he gave her all the details, grinning his gaze swept over her again. The loveliest woman he’d seen in some time, he’d like to ask her more, but he had a ship to stock and a villain to catch. Perhaps someday, he’d come back this way… or not.
Life had a way of sorting itself out. With a nod goodbye, he started back down the road toward his ship.
But this time, he was whistling.
He’d catch Gyla. And get his wine. Fulton was sure of it. The sun was shining and if the world didn’t give him what he wanted, he bent the world to his will.
A look back over his shoulder confirmed that the beauty, Sophie, still stood in the doorway, watching him leave.
He tossed her a wink and a rakish grin.
Miss Sophie Dupont watched the arrogant ship captain make his way down the hill from her home, whistling as he went.
She’d like to hate him, coming here all handsome and self-confident, miming like a fool, and still getting his way.
Life wasn’t that kind to everyone, certainly not to her…. What must it be like to be so happy? So free?
She wouldn’t know. Despite the shining sun, and the picturesque home, the noose was tightening about her neck.
“Sophie,” her stepmother called out in the same biting tone she always used. “Finish making the pastry dough. We’ll be hosting one of the most prominent families in Bordeaux tomorrow and there is much to finish.”
She said nothing as she made her way back to the kitchen.
There was little point in saying that she’d rather not cook the food in order to host the DeLongleys. She’d like to see the lot of them just go to the devil. Mean, self-important, and rude, they’d be poor company.
And worse family.
Which is exactly what they were about to come. Her father had signed a marriage contract between Sophie and the oldest DeLongley son, Pierre.
She shivered in revulsion, thinking of his hot breath on the skin of her neck when, just yesterday, he’d managed to corner her by the well off the kitchen.
It had been as repugnant as his stench. “You will be mine, Sophie,” he nipped at her neck. “I always get what I want.”
She snorted as made her way down the stairs to the kitchen. Not this time, Pierre DeLongley.
Not this time.
