Read Online Sparhawk's Angel by MIRANDA JARRETT - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: MIRANDA JARRETT
Ads: Link
gowns on top of stockings and her hairbrush. The thought of these strangers pawing through her personal belongings sickened her, as if they'd touched and defiled her the same way, and again she felt tears sting her eyes when she remembered how cavalierly Captain Sparhawk had disposed of everything else.
She untangled the shift with the hem that had been shut into the lid and torn, the ragged strip hanging forlornly, dirty and damp, from the otherwise spotless linen. She closed her eyes and pressed the fabric to her cheek, smelling the faint fragrance of lavender that still clung to it, the scent that Lily had so favored. The shift had belonged to her sister, as had so many of the other garments and even the trunk itself, all of it ordered for the bride that Lily had planned so confidently to be.
And now, instead, the wedding clothes and the lace-trimmed linens belonged to Rose. It had been easy enough to alter the garments to fit her, but with a little shiver Rose wondered again if Lily's bridegroom would prove as accommodating.
With the shift still clutched in her hand, Rose curled on her side on the bunk, fighting the fear and misery that at last threatened to claim her now that her anger had cooled. Think of Lily, she ordered herself as she breathed the lavender scent on the torn linen. Think of what Lily would do. Lily would not be afraid; Lily hadn't been afraid of anything, especially anything male.
But then Lily wouldn't have insisted on being brought to this ship to speak to the captain, for Lily wouldn't have cared a fig if Papa had been robbed of every last ha'penny he owned.
And Lily most certainly wouldn't have quarreled with Captain Sparhawk. She would have tipped her chin, peeked up at him from beneath the brim of her hat—for she wouldn't have lost her hat, either—and charmed him so thoroughly that he might have given back the
Angel Lily
without a fight, just for the privilege of having her smile at him. Men had always given presents to Lily. Rose had never quite figured out why, but she was sure that it wasn't because she hit them in the jaw like an indignant fishwife.
Rose groaned at the memory of how she'd slapped the American captain. She was supposed to be the clever Everard sister, not that anyone would guess it from how she'd behaved with Captain Sparhawk. Ladies who were prisoners didn't hit their captors. True, she'd been shocked when he had seized her face and she'd reacted from pure instinct alone, but she was lucky that was all he'd done.
He certainly wasn't the first man who couldn't believe that she and Lily were sisters. That familiar startled look had been in his eyes the instant she'd turned and faced him, and there'd been moments when he hadn't even been able to meet her eye, he'd been so eager to look away.
Because Lily had loved her, she'd tried to convince Rose otherwise, but Rose knew the truth. There wasn't any help for it. She
was
plain and small and insignificant, and she always would be in the eyes of gentlemen. But it still hurt to be reminded.
Especially by a man like Nickerson Sparhawk, the handsomest man she'd ever seen. A traitor who'd stolen the ship with her sister's name and face, a lawless rogue who'd robbed her father and kidnapped her, a powerful, ruthless man from whom she'd somehow have to escape if she wanted to reach St. Lucia in time for her wedding and spare her poor father even more disgrace.
With a smothered sob Rose pressed her face into her sleeve, and wished to heaven she were the one who was dead instead of Lily.
"Lily!" roared Nick as he slammed the door to his cabin shut. "Damnation, woman, show yourself!"
"I should be the one to swear at you, sir, and not the other way around!" Lily's image sharpened into focus instantly, framed by the stern windows as she stood with her arms folded defiantly across her chest and her wings twitching with anger. "How dare you behave so barbarously toward my sister?"
"Oh, it's to be my fault now, is it?"
She untangled the shift with the hem that had been shut into the lid and torn, the ragged strip hanging forlornly, dirty and damp, from the otherwise spotless linen. She closed her eyes and pressed the fabric to her cheek, smelling the faint fragrance of lavender that still clung to it, the scent that Lily had so favored. The shift had belonged to her sister, as had so many of the other garments and even the trunk itself, all of it ordered for the bride that Lily had planned so confidently to be.
And now, instead, the wedding clothes and the lace-trimmed linens belonged to Rose. It had been easy enough to alter the garments to fit her, but with a little shiver Rose wondered again if Lily's bridegroom would prove as accommodating.
With the shift still clutched in her hand, Rose curled on her side on the bunk, fighting the fear and misery that at last threatened to claim her now that her anger had cooled. Think of Lily, she ordered herself as she breathed the lavender scent on the torn linen. Think of what Lily would do. Lily would not be afraid; Lily hadn't been afraid of anything, especially anything male.
But then Lily wouldn't have insisted on being brought to this ship to speak to the captain, for Lily wouldn't have cared a fig if Papa had been robbed of every last ha'penny he owned.
And Lily most certainly wouldn't have quarreled with Captain Sparhawk. She would have tipped her chin, peeked up at him from beneath the brim of her hat—for she wouldn't have lost her hat, either—and charmed him so thoroughly that he might have given back the
Angel Lily
without a fight, just for the privilege of having her smile at him. Men had always given presents to Lily. Rose had never quite figured out why, but she was sure that it wasn't because she hit them in the jaw like an indignant fishwife.
Rose groaned at the memory of how she'd slapped the American captain. She was supposed to be the clever Everard sister, not that anyone would guess it from how she'd behaved with Captain Sparhawk. Ladies who were prisoners didn't hit their captors. True, she'd been shocked when he had seized her face and she'd reacted from pure instinct alone, but she was lucky that was all he'd done.
He certainly wasn't the first man who couldn't believe that she and Lily were sisters. That familiar startled look had been in his eyes the instant she'd turned and faced him, and there'd been moments when he hadn't even been able to meet her eye, he'd been so eager to look away.
Because Lily had loved her, she'd tried to convince Rose otherwise, but Rose knew the truth. There wasn't any help for it. She
was
plain and small and insignificant, and she always would be in the eyes of gentlemen. But it still hurt to be reminded.
Especially by a man like Nickerson Sparhawk, the handsomest man she'd ever seen. A traitor who'd stolen the ship with her sister's name and face, a lawless rogue who'd robbed her father and kidnapped her, a powerful, ruthless man from whom she'd somehow have to escape if she wanted to reach St. Lucia in time for her wedding and spare her poor father even more disgrace.
With a smothered sob Rose pressed her face into her sleeve, and wished to heaven she were the one who was dead instead of Lily.
"Lily!" roared Nick as he slammed the door to his cabin shut. "Damnation, woman, show yourself!"
"I should be the one to swear at you, sir, and not the other way around!" Lily's image sharpened into focus instantly, framed by the stern windows as she stood with her arms folded defiantly across her chest and her wings twitching with anger. "How dare you behave so barbarously toward my sister?"
"Oh, it's to be my fault now, is it?"
Similar Books
