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Authors: Thief of Hearts
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his sensual pleasure in the boorish act most disturbing.
She narrowed her eyes, trying to deduce why she had taken such an instant dislike to the man. Perhaps it was his disarming size. He seemed to grow larger at each of their meetings. Even now she was huddled against the leather squabs to escape the muscular length of his thighs, outlined all too clearly beneath the clinging doeskin of his pantaloons. Each time the carriage struck a rut in the dirt road, their knees brushed. His very presence crowded her, made her breath come short and fast as if there weren’t enough air in the carriage for both of them to breathe.
Perhaps it was his manners she abhorred—his delicate juggling of insolence and deference. She reminded herself that he was a man of the working class. He was no gentleman and it was unsporting of her to judge him by the standards of her peers. Her innate sense of fairness demanded she offer him a chance to redeem himself.
When her polite sniff failed to draw his attention, she pasted on a stiff smile and asked, “May I inquire what you are reading, sir?”
His gaze remained fastened on the page. “
Robinson Crusoe
by Mr. Daniel Defoe. Have you read it?”
Lucy shook her head violently. “Oh, no. Father doesn’t approve of the reading of fiction. He thinks it weakens the mind.”
Claremont slanted her an inscrutable glance over the spine of the book. “And what do you think?”
Having never had her opinion solicited before, Lucy could only stare at him blankly.
He quirked one eyebrow in blatant amusement. “Are you sure you haven’t been reading novels on the sly, Miss Snow?”
Knowing it might take several minutes before she realized he’d insulted her, Gerard buried his nose back in the book. He was only too aware that the conventional Miss Snow would never have been allowed to venture out unchaperoned with a man of her own class. But his servant’s status effectively emasculated him in the eyes of her father. Probably in her eyes as well. The irony failed to amuse him as it should have.
When Mr. Claremont remained immersed in his book, Lucy resolved to shock him out of his mocking complacency.
“I may very well be the first person abducted by Captain Doom to live to tell of it,” she announced.
Claremont responded with a noncommittal grunt.
“The rogue is utterly ruthless. ’Tis fortunate I was blindfolded, for one look from his evil eye will turn you to stone. His ship comes out of the mist like Satan’s chariot fleeing the gates of hell. Some say he’s the ghost of Captain Kidd haunting the seas to seek revenge against the investors who betrayed him.”
Claremont slowly lowered the book. Lucy knew she was babbling, but now that she had his attention, she was loath to surrender it. She raced on, shamelessly embellishing the tales she’d heard from the sailors on the
Tiberius
. “He wears a hideous necklace of human ears. He plucks the hearts from his victims barehanded and feeds them to the sharks while they’re still thumping. He drinks human blood for breakfast and he’s been known to carve the entire text of the pirate articles on the chests of his captives.”
Claremont’s gaze dropped to the snowy expanse ofskin revealed by the fashionable décolletage of her bodice. “You seem to have remained relatively unscathed. Not even a freckle.”
Unsettled by his scrutiny, Lucy demurely drew her stole around her shoulders. “I was very fortunate.” She gazed into her lap, completely unaware of the dreamy cast that overtook her features or of its jarring effect on her companion. “Doom is utterly merciless when it comes to the pursuit of his own pleasures. Tis rumored he can ravish ten innocents in a single night. Before midnight,” she added, inspired.
Gerard was mesmerized by the haze of pink blooming in Lucy’s cheeks, the voluptuous slackness of a mouth that begged kissing. He realized that it wasn’t her features that had been pinched, but her expression. He’d
She narrowed her eyes, trying to deduce why she had taken such an instant dislike to the man. Perhaps it was his disarming size. He seemed to grow larger at each of their meetings. Even now she was huddled against the leather squabs to escape the muscular length of his thighs, outlined all too clearly beneath the clinging doeskin of his pantaloons. Each time the carriage struck a rut in the dirt road, their knees brushed. His very presence crowded her, made her breath come short and fast as if there weren’t enough air in the carriage for both of them to breathe.
Perhaps it was his manners she abhorred—his delicate juggling of insolence and deference. She reminded herself that he was a man of the working class. He was no gentleman and it was unsporting of her to judge him by the standards of her peers. Her innate sense of fairness demanded she offer him a chance to redeem himself.
When her polite sniff failed to draw his attention, she pasted on a stiff smile and asked, “May I inquire what you are reading, sir?”
His gaze remained fastened on the page. “
Robinson Crusoe
by Mr. Daniel Defoe. Have you read it?”
Lucy shook her head violently. “Oh, no. Father doesn’t approve of the reading of fiction. He thinks it weakens the mind.”
Claremont slanted her an inscrutable glance over the spine of the book. “And what do you think?”
Having never had her opinion solicited before, Lucy could only stare at him blankly.
He quirked one eyebrow in blatant amusement. “Are you sure you haven’t been reading novels on the sly, Miss Snow?”
Knowing it might take several minutes before she realized he’d insulted her, Gerard buried his nose back in the book. He was only too aware that the conventional Miss Snow would never have been allowed to venture out unchaperoned with a man of her own class. But his servant’s status effectively emasculated him in the eyes of her father. Probably in her eyes as well. The irony failed to amuse him as it should have.
When Mr. Claremont remained immersed in his book, Lucy resolved to shock him out of his mocking complacency.
“I may very well be the first person abducted by Captain Doom to live to tell of it,” she announced.
Claremont responded with a noncommittal grunt.
“The rogue is utterly ruthless. ’Tis fortunate I was blindfolded, for one look from his evil eye will turn you to stone. His ship comes out of the mist like Satan’s chariot fleeing the gates of hell. Some say he’s the ghost of Captain Kidd haunting the seas to seek revenge against the investors who betrayed him.”
Claremont slowly lowered the book. Lucy knew she was babbling, but now that she had his attention, she was loath to surrender it. She raced on, shamelessly embellishing the tales she’d heard from the sailors on the
Tiberius
. “He wears a hideous necklace of human ears. He plucks the hearts from his victims barehanded and feeds them to the sharks while they’re still thumping. He drinks human blood for breakfast and he’s been known to carve the entire text of the pirate articles on the chests of his captives.”
Claremont’s gaze dropped to the snowy expanse ofskin revealed by the fashionable décolletage of her bodice. “You seem to have remained relatively unscathed. Not even a freckle.”
Unsettled by his scrutiny, Lucy demurely drew her stole around her shoulders. “I was very fortunate.” She gazed into her lap, completely unaware of the dreamy cast that overtook her features or of its jarring effect on her companion. “Doom is utterly merciless when it comes to the pursuit of his own pleasures. Tis rumored he can ravish ten innocents in a single night. Before midnight,” she added, inspired.
Gerard was mesmerized by the haze of pink blooming in Lucy’s cheeks, the voluptuous slackness of a mouth that begged kissing. He realized that it wasn’t her features that had been pinched, but her expression. He’d
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