I flinch at the wordsyou and I, and a tiny crease dents his forehead. “You hate me now, don’t you?” he says.
“I’m angry with you.” I breathe the words into the soft quiet between us. “I despise you for letting innocent people die. I thought you were a good-hearted sailor, and now I find out you’re a magnate of the seas, a ruler over a vast network of ports and pirate ships, lord of Ravensbeck, maker of horrible laws—”
“Laws no less horrible than the cruelty they’re intended to prevent,” he retorts.
“You control, and kill, and punish—you tattoo people with your marks to secure their allegiance—you keep whores—speaking of which, how many women are waiting for you back in Ravensbeck? Do you have an entire harem?” My stomach curdles at the thought.
“I do.” Locke smiles. “They’re wonderful girls. You’ll love them. Katya has big glossy gold ringlets, and Setelle has the loveliest copper skin. Marisse has breasts the size of cannonballs—the big ones, mind you. And Sharay is pale as the moon, with silver hair. With your delightful complexion and auburn hair, you’ll be the perfect addition to the set.”
Pain floods my body, so sharp I can’t move. I can only stare at him, while moisture gathers and wells in my eyes.
Locke’s cocky, sultry smile disappears, and his eyes widen with alarm. “By the powers, Nick, don’t cry! I was only teasing. There’s no one waiting for me—no one regular, anyway. I don’t have trysts in Ravensbeck very often, and when I do I’m usually masked—I don’t have a harem. No need to be jealous.”
“I’m not crying because I’m jealous, damn you!” I launch myself out of the bed. “I’m crying because—because I felt sorry for those poor girls, being slaves to a horrible man like you. And I’m crying because I’m hungry, and I can’t sleep, and I want some clothes, not this robe that reeks of Neelan.”
“Done,” he says, rising from the bunk. “Wait here.”
He leaves the cabin, and I sink limply back onto the mattress, trying to untangle my emotions.
I must have succumbed during my untangling efforts, because the next thing I know, Locke is leaning over me. “Nick, my darling, you have to dress. We’re needed on deck. I’ve brought you some clothes, and food.”
Groggily I sit up. My brain feels tight in my skull, and my eyelids are heavy.
“I chose a few things from the hold that I thought might suit you,” Locke says.
Rubbing my eyes, I gape at the items he brought. Fishnet stockings, scanty ruffled skirts, embellished corsets, gauzy material that’s practically transparent, shoes and boots with chunky heels and a scandalous number of hooks and ribbons.
“These clothes are disgraceful,” I gasp, although I’m secretly curious to see how I might look in them.
“Indeed they are,” he replies heartily. “Eat and dress quickly, Nick. You’ve got an entrance to make.”
41
Once Locke leaves the cabin, I stuff my mouth with bites of sausage and bread while I try on the clothes. I’m not sure why these items were in the hold, but they are fantastically licentious pieces that I’d never have been allowed to wear back home.
Finally I select a tight black corset with tan trim, short enough to show a bit of my stomach. Ruched white lace curls around my upper arms, leaving my neck and shoulders bare. The corset’s padding amplifies my small breasts, shoving them up and giving me a delightfully unexpected amount of cleavage.
A decadently ruffled skirt circles my hips, stopping mid-thigh. Underneath it I’m wearing tiny black-lace pantalettes and a pair of gauzy black stockings fastened with garters. My thick-heeled boots, made of soft fawn-colored leather, give me the height I’ve always craved—enough to look down on most men.
Locke also brought up a selection of combs and hairpins. He clearly didn’t know what they were for—he just dropped them in a jumble into the recessed section of the table. I sort out a few and cobble together a decently feminine hairstyle, despite the ragged nature of my self-imposed haircut.
I’m placing another pin when Locke swings the cabin door wide. He’s wearing sleek black pants, but he’s bare-chested, with a scarf of velvety dark fabric slung around his shoulders and pinned with a red jewel. Gold chains dangle from his ears, and the black crown sits on his head. Morning light floods into the cabin, highlighting the white streak in his wavy dark hair.
He says irritably, “Come on, now, Nick, it’s time to—”
He stops mid-sentence and shuts his mouth tight. A muscle along his jaw throbs, and his Adam’s apple bobs hard.
“Think it’ll do?” I turn slowly, letting him absorb the sight of me in the new clothes.
“I—um—” He swallows again. “Fuck.”
And he leaves the cabin, slamming the door.
That was odd. Should I take these off and try something else? Maybe I went too far with the “captain’s whore” outfit. I should tone it down.
Before I can remove or add anything, Locke flings open the cabin door again. His cheekbones are flushed and his pale eyes are star-bright, white-hot.
“Come,” he snaps.
