“Yes. That’s a . . . a bad scar. I’m sorry it happened.”
“The woman I received it from was her.” His eyes shot over to the painting.
“I see.” She couldn’t look.
“Nay, you don’t see. You’re not even looking.” He grabbed her by the shoulders and turned her to face the painting. “Take a good look.”
With her back to his chest, she closed her eyes, not wanting to be reminded of the horrible thing she had done by posing for that wretched painting.
“Sister? You’re not looking.” He whispered in her ear, causing a fire to burn deep in her belly. Then, to her surprise, he started kissing her neck. She froze, unable to move or even talk, not knowing what to do.
“You like this, don’t you?” he asked in a sultry whisper. She felt a delicious shiver run up her spine. If she didn’t stop him soon, there would be no turning back.
“Stop it,” she commanded, turning to look at him now. When she did, he leaned forward and pressed his lips against hers.
Once again, she experienced the tantalizing kiss of the handsome pirate, and her knees became weak beneath her. Desire spiraled through her, making her feel shame. She should never have these feelings about a cutthroat pirate. Especially one that not only stole from her, but killed her bastard of a husband. Their lips parted only for a second before he dipped back down and kissed her again. This time, his tongue parted her lips and entered her mouth. He filled her completely. She heard a moan of desire and realized it came from her! Her thoughts were spiraling out of control. She dug her fingers into his shoulders and pushed him away.
“What are you doing?” she cried. “You can’t kiss a nun like that! What is the matter with you?” She backed away from him, her eyes interlocked with his beautiful, bright blue orbs. His intense stare pulled her in, and she was unable to look away.
“True, I can’t,” he told her. “But then again, you’re not a nun, are you?” He took another step forward, reaching out and ripping off her wimple, throwing it to the ground. Her long tresses spilled out around her shoulders.
“I knew I’d seen you somewhere before, even if you denied it.”
She continued to back away from him. He stalked her like a wildcat, slowly moving toward her. His bare chest was all muscle and sinew and his waist was slim, his legs long. She tried not to want him, but she couldn’t stop the feeling that lodged deep within her. Emmaline wanted this man more than she’d ever wanted anyone or anything in her entire life. She craved to feel his gentle caress, and taste the essence of his lips gliding across hers once again.
“I – I told you who I am. My name is Sister . . . Emmaline.”
“Drop the act, love. We both know you are Lady Emmaline de la Croix, the widow of the Frenchman I killed when I stole that painting.” His head jerked as he motioned toward the infamous painting.
“Nay!” she cried. “That was who I used to be,” she told him. “But since my husband’s . . . murder . . . I’ve joined the convent back here in England. I am no longer the woman in the painting.”
“Murder?” One side of his lips lifted in amusement and he blew air from his mouth. “I think you’ve got it wrong, my dear. The man came for me with his sword. I killed him in self-defense only.”
When she took another step away from him, her back hit the wall. He continued to stalk her, making her heart beat faster. Her hand reached for the dagger she had tied to her leg, but then she remembered that she’d dropped it. Her eyes shot over to the floor beneath the painting. She could see the hilt of the dagger sticking out from under a trunk. She had to get it. It was her only protection.
Breaking away from him, she ran to the dagger, diving to ground and scooping it up. When she felt his arms clasp around hers, she slashed out at him, but he moved quickly, knocking the blade from her hand.
“Don’t think I’m going to fall for that again,” he ground out, pulling her to her feet. “Now, tell me, why are you here on my ship?”
“You asked me to come with you, unless you’ve already forgotten,” she retorted. “You need me to steal some stupid treasure.”
“That bloody treasure is not stupid,” he said. “It’s my inheritance.”
“Inheritance? Hah! I hear it was stolen from our king.”
“True,” he said with a nod of his head. “However, I wasn’t the one to steal it. It was taken by my late father, and rightfully belongs to me and my brothers now.”
“That’s ridiculous!” She struggled against his hold, but his hand clamped tightly around her arm. “Just because you or your family steal something, it doesn’t make it yours.” She couldn’t help looking at the painting when she said it.
“That’s why you agreed to come on my ship,” he said with a low chuckle. “You’re after that painting, aren’t you?”
“Nay, of course not. Why would I even want the horrid thing?”
“Because, it embarrasses you, doesn’t it?” he asked. His hold loosened and he took a step closer. “Well, you don’t need to feel ashamed about your naked body. You’re beautiful,” he whispered, dipping down and kissing her again.
“Cap’n?” The door burst open and in entered Ramble.
Mardon quickly released Emmaline, making distance between them. “What is it?” he growled.
“Cap’n?” Ramble looked at Emmaline and then back to Mardon. “Did I just see ye . . . kissin’ the nun?”
“Nay. You must be mistaken.”
“And why are ye half-naked?”
“I’m getting dressed.” Mardon grabbed the first tunic he found and pulled it over his head. He looked over to see Emmaline hurrying across the room to get her wimple. She quickly pulled it over her silvery hair. “What the hell do you want, Ramble?”
“I came to tell ye that Aaron spotted another ship from the lookout basket. He wanted me to tell ye. He’s got Stitch headin’ toward it. He said we’re goin’ to raid it.”
“Another ship? What kind of ship?” Mardon jammed his feet into his boots. “Is it Nereus?”
“Nay, there are no black sails. Aaron said he thinks the flags they fly are those of France. Should the crew get the grapplin’ hooks ready?”
Mardon looked over at Emmaline, wondering if the ship was somehow sent to look for her. She had told him she’d been sent to live at the nunnery, but he wasn’t sure what to believe. Mayhap she was still working with the French and this was all some kind of plan to ambush him.
“Nay, I’ll handle this,” he said. “Tell Aaron to have the crew meet me on the main deck.”
“Aye, Cap’n,” said Ramble, hurrying out the door. Mardon started to leave, then stopped and turned back to look at Emmaline.
“This better not be some kind of trick.”
“Trick? What do you mean?” Her eyelashes batted innocently. “You think I have something to do with this French ship?”
“I wouldn’t doubt it,” he spat.
“Well, I don’t,” she told him. “I have no idea who it could be.”
“Stay here,” he told her, starting out the door and then stopping once again. He spoke to her over his shoulder. “We’re not done here, yet. Even though I know who you really are, I don’t want the crew to find out. Keep up your bloody act of being a nun . . . for now.”