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He raised a brow. “Then why are you?”

She opened her mouth as though to respond and closed it again. “I’m fine now. You can go.”

He didn’t point out that her hands were still clutching his shirt, and he wasn’t about to ask what had scared her so much she’d been reduced to tears. He did value his life. Instead, he said, “The battle is over. If the storm holds and we have a little luck, we’ve lost the Formidable. Now we just make it through the rain and wind.”

She blinked at him. “The ship isn’t on fire.” She sounded as though she could not quite believe such a thing.

He shrugged. “Small fires here and there. They are under control.”

She shuddered, and he sought to reassure her. “We’re not going to sink. As soon as the storm passes, we make necessary repairs and then sail hard for Isla de las Riquezas.”

She blinked again, seeming to regain focus. “And we will be safe there?”

Nick didn’t answer. He tried to rise again. He needed to pace, to move and work out what he should say to her, but she was still gripping his shirt. And he did not think it was by accident now.

“Lord Nicholas?” she asked, sounding impatient for his response.

He met her gaze. “Is anywhere safe?”

“Yes!” she answered, finally releasing him and propping herself up. “My bed at home, a country fair, a London ballroom—”

He stood and paced away from her. He could breathe again now that there was some distance between them. He could think about something other than pushing her down on the berth and kissing her until he forgot all about the British navy or Isla de las Riquezas or anything but her soft skin and tempting scent. “Is that where you want to be right now?” he asked in challenge? “A ballroom? If that’s what you want, then I’ve sorely misjudged you.”

She shot to her feet, only to sway and stumble before she caught her balance. “What is that supposed to mean? If anyone misjudged, it was me judging you to be anything other than a rake.”

“I deserved that,” he said, feeling her words like the slap of wet canvas in the wind. “But the Ashley Brittany I knew wanted adventure. She wanted to live life, not flutter her lashes in a ballroom and sip orgeat all evening.” He ceased pacing and rounded on her. “Perhaps we had more conversation than I thought.”

“Ha! Not enough. I hate orgeat.”

He lifted a finger and pointed it at her. “Not the point!”

“I did want adventure, my lord. I did, but not this.” She gestured to the cabin as though it were some sort of rat-infested hovel rather than an extremely well-appointed great cabin for which he’d paid dearly.

“This is the adventure we’re on, sweetheart,” he retorted. “You might as well enjoy it because you won’t be welcome into any more ballrooms if that navy ship catches up to us.” He didn’t mention that she’d fare better than he. He’d be hanged as a pirate. She at least would be returned to her family who, if they were kind, would send her somewhere far away to live out the rest of her life quietly. He almost laughed at that. As though Ashley Brittany could ever live quietly. Whether she wanted adventure or not, it would find her.

“I won’t be invited into any more ballrooms as it is,” she bit out. “Ooh!” She balled her fists at her side and stomped a foot. It was a decent show of pique, one he appreciated because of the color it brought to her face. She’d looked too pale for his liking. He’d rather her fight him than faint or weep. She glared up at him, her eyes almost too large for her face. “I hate you. Do you know that? I hate you!”

“No, you don’t. You want to hate me, but you can’t because underneath all that prim and proper training, you love this.” He gestured to the cabin and more expansively to encompass the ship and the ocean, even the storm. “This is what you want, but you don’t know how to take it, to claim it.”

She shook her head, and he grabbed her face with both hands, holding her still. “You hate being afraid, and you were afraid today. You hate not being the one in control, and now I’m the one manning the helm. You hate...” He hadn’t known what he was going to say until it was on the tip of his tongue. He wasn’t even certain it was true, but a part of him wanted it to be true. “You hate that you want to dislike me, but underneath all your bluster, you still want me.”

Her eyes widened with anger, and the color flooded her cheeks. She pushed back with both hands on his chest. She was strong, and he might have stumbled back if the roll of the ship hadn’t put her off balance, lessening the force of her shove. “You arrogant pig.”

“Is that the best you can do? I live with sailors. Their grandmothers use more inventive insults than that.”

“Bastard!”

He shook his head. “Not true, though I’m sure my late father wished otherwise.”

“Coward.”

Nick yawned.

“Rake!”

He inclined his head. “That one hurts. A little.”

“Let go of me!” She grabbed the hands holding her head and tried to pry them off.