Chapter Four
Ashley lay awake, watching as the first gray streaks of the dawn’s light penetrated the cabin. Nick slept beside her. He’d tied her, just as he’d threatened, but she supposed it might have been worse. Her left hand was secured to his right, not to the bed or one of the other furnishings. True, she would have to free herself without waking him in order to escape. While he continued to doze, she considered her options. Where would she go if she were free? She certainly didn’t relish sleeping in a hammock with the crew. She supposed Nick—Captain Robin Hood—had given some orders concerning her, but could she trust a bunch of lawless pirates to adhere to any rules? When she considered where she was and with whom, Nick seemed a safer bet than the pirates outside the captain’s cabin.
And for the moment, Nick appeared very safe, indeed. He must have been exhausted, as he’d claimed, because he had fallen asleep almost instantly last night and had not moved.
Except once.
She knew it was once because he’d fallen asleep on his back, ensuring that she had so little of the berth to herself she could barely draw a deep breath, and then while she was still debating the possibility of escape, he’d rolled on his side, gathered her in his arms, and draped one leg and one arm over her. She’d protested, but she didn’t think he even woke. Her elbow to his abdomen did nothing except make him snuffle and go back to snoring softly.
She’d sighed deeply and tried to make the best of it. At least she could breathe, even if the scent was a mixture of Nick’s laundered linen shirt and sea spray. Surely, he would wake soon. It was almost sunrise. Then maybe she would be given something to eat and drink. Now she regretted throwing the food and wine in Mr. Fellowes’s face yesterday. She should have eaten it, especially since she didn’t know when she’d eat again.
On the whole, she regretted much of the past few days. She’d been impetuous and impulsive and acted out of anger rather than good judgment. And where had her rash behavior led her? She was married to Lord Nicholas Martingale. If that wasn’t bad enough, she was his captive on a pirate ship bound for some island or other where he expected to find trouble.
This was not how her life was supposed to turn out. She was supposed to enjoy the London Season, attending every ball and soiree, dancing until dawn, and being called a diamond of the first water. She was supposed to have so many beaux she could not count them. She was supposed to discreetly choose among them for generous lovers until she was a spinster and did not have to be quite so discreet any longer. Then she would fall in love with a wild and poetic man and travel the world with him.
How was any of that going to happen now? Even if she managed to find an escape from this marriage—and she knew little of the law, but what she did know was marriage was difficult to escape—she wouldn’t be accepted into any decent house. Not that she cared so much, but those deemed decent usually had the best ballrooms and most eligible gentleman attending. She wouldn’t be received anywhere. She wouldn’t even be received at home! How was she going to afford to live? Forget ball gowns. She would have no means to feed herself.
She sighed loudly as the truth became more and more apparent. She was stuck with Nick Martingale.
“What are you sighing about?” a deep voice rumbled in her ear.
She let out a small squeak of surprise. He hadn’t so much as moved to indicate he was awake. “I’m sighing because you have me trapped.” In more than one way. She pushed at his arm, and he obediently withdrew it and his leg. For a moment, she almost missed his warmth.
“There was a time you welcomed my embrace,” he said.
She sat, grateful to shift positions and glared down at him. “That was before I knew the real you. That was when I was under your spell.”
“Spell?” His brows rose. “Are you insinuating I used some sort of magic to make you want me? I assure you my natural charm and charisma are all I need.”
She could not bear to listen to his arrogant remarks any longer. “Pardon me if I must escape your oozing charm for a moment.” She stepped over him and flounced away, only to find her arm tugged back and her body with it. Dam—dash it all! She’d forgotten about the rope.
“Untie me,” she demanded.
He was still lying on his back, his bound wrist on his chest, and his other hand curling the rope that connected them around and around, so she was all but dragged back to the berth. He had a devilish grin on his lips she did not care for.
“I said—”
“I heard you.” He continued to drag her to him. “But something just occurred to me.”
“What’s that?”
“I haven’t even had the opportunity to kiss my bride.” He grasped her bound hand and held it in his warm one.
“Do not call me that.”
“What should I call you? Sweetheart? Darling? My love?” His voice was sneering, almost as though he found the whole idea of love amusing. Ashley wished she felt the same. Once she’d thought she was in love with him. What a fool she’d been.
“Do not call me anything. Do not speak to me and do please release me!”
He’d pulled on her arm so she was bent at the waist, her long hair falling around her shoulders and framing his face. “Not even one kiss?” He pulled her a fraction closer, and her gaze focused on his lips. She remembered kissing his lips. She remembered how soft and sweet and inviting they’d been.
She made herself speak, made herself refuse him. “Not even one.”
“You are a cold woman, Ashley Brittany.”
“I am cold?” A brief image of Nick holding another woman in his arms in Lord Rundale’s library flashed into her mind. He’d been laughing at her, waiting for her to find him. And he called her cold... “Let me go this instant or I will—” She could not scream. No one would come to her aid. “Or I will employ the defense against unwanted suitors my brothers taught me long ago. I promise a kiss will be the last thing on your mind then.”
His hand released her quickly, almost as though the touch of her flesh burned him. “No need to be nasty. I’ll leave you to your own devices.” With a few practiced movements, he loosed the knot on his wrist binding her to him. She was free.
