The Devil's Necklace

Grace nodded. The evening had been long, occasionally tense and sometimes even taxing. She needed to escape Ethan’s overpowering presence and the mix of emotions he stirred. They strolled along the deck, her arm laced with his, until one of the crew stepped out of the main hatch way in front of them.

“Evenin’, Capt’n Sharpe…miss.”

“Mr. Cox,” Ethan returned the greeting.

The second mate moved out the way so that they might pass. Though Cox was always polite, there was something about him that made her uneasy. His eyes briefly touched her, roamed over her gown and the pearls at her throat, then he ducked his head, made a polite bow and moved away.

Ethan paid the man no heed. His attention remained fixed on her as he walked her to the ladder leading down to his cabin. In the dimly lit passage outside the door, he paused.

“I enjoyed the evening, Grace, very much. I hope you did, as well.”

She couldn’t deny it. She couldn’t remember a more interesting evening than the one she’d just had. “Yes…thank you for inviting me.”

He touched her cheek, bent his head and very softly kissed her. Her hands came up, fluttered helplessly for a moment, then flattened against his chest. Beneath his coat, she felt his muscles tighten. He deepened the kiss, drawing her closer against him, and she felt the hard length of his arousal.

She should have been frightened, and part of her was. He was still her enemy, the man determined to see her cast into prison. Another part reveled in the heat he stirred, the desire she had never experienced with another man.

“Invite me in,” he whispered softly, enticingly. “Let me make love to you.”

Her stomach contracted. It was one thing to experience physical desire. The notion of actually giving him her innocence, allowing him to make love to her, was another matter entirely.

Grace shook her head, feeling the unexpected burn of tears and an odd stab of regret. “I can’t. Please, Ethan. I’m not ready for that.” Why didn’t she just tell him no? That she had no interest in his lovemaking? She wasn’t his wife and she didn’t belong in his bed.

Instead, when he kissed her again, for an instant she pressed herself against him. She breathed in the scent of salt spray and man and tasted the depth of his hunger. An answering need arose, so strong she had to force herself to pull away.

“Thank you again…Captain Sharpe.”

His smile turned hard at her obvious attempt to put distance between them. “My pleasure…Miss Chastain.”

She started to turn and go into the room, but he caught her wrist. Turning her back to him, he reached for the clasp on the necklace.

“I’ll just take these.” He unfastened the clasp and the pearls slid into his palm. “For now…just for safekeeping.” He tucked the pearls into the pocket of his silver-threaded waistcoat, turned and walked away.

And what she would do if he did.

Ethan spent the night on the sofa in the salon, his makeshift berth more than a foot too short for him, worse even than the bunk in Angus’s cabin. Still, he didn’t dare return to his own.

Today he had saved Grace’s life and something indefinable had changed between them. For the past few nights, he had lain beside her, torturing himself with her nearness, aching with lust for her. Tonight he thought that if he went to her bed, perhaps he could have her, but something held him back.

Lying on the uncomfortable sofa, if he closed his eyes he could see her standing near the rail, beautiful and defiant, her fiery hair whipping around her face. Sensing his anger, she had moved away from him, a few unconscious steps, then been helplessly washed into the sea.

It was a moment that burned crystal clear in his mind, the sharp stab of fear, the absolute terror that she would drown in the raging waters. Nothing could have kept him from going in after her. She is mine, the insane thought had occurred. I can’t let her die.

Afterward, with Grace once more safely aboard, he had said a silent prayer of thanks that he had been able to save her.

Even then, he had never thought to allow her into his inner sanctum—she was a criminal, after all—yet he found himself inviting her to supper. The hours had been far more pleasant than he had imagined, a lively discussion of sailing and the sea, along with a bit of science. She was smart and full of life and he wanted her with a passion he hadn’t known he had.

He told himself that tonight he would have her. He would walk her down to his cabin, kiss her into submission and press her to give in to his wishes. Remembering her earlier responses, he’d believed that she would agree.

According to plan, he had kissed her in the corridor out side his cabin and then pressed his suit. But the look in her eyes, the innocent sweetness of her refusal, made anything less than obeying her wishes impossible for him to do.

Ethan sat up on the sofa, damning himself and women in general. He hadn’t pressed her because he didn’t want to destroy her trust. Why that seemed important, he couldn’t imagine. Still, he wouldn’t make love to her un less she invited him into her bed.

Christ.

She had aided the escape of a traitor. The man was responsible for the loss of his ship, his crew and a year of his life. He had brought her aboard to make her pay.

He must be losing his mind.

Seven

“Any word of your cousin?” Victoria Easton, countess of Brant, walked up behind her husband, who sat behind the wide mahogany desk in his study.

Cord turned a little, looked over his shoulder and smiled. “Colonel Pendleton says the mission shouldn’t take all that long. He thinks Ethan will be back in London by the end of the month.”

Tory blushed. Cord was tall and handsome, broad-shouldered and square-jawed with a hard, muscular body. All she had to do was look at the man and her thoughts started wandering toward the bedroom. She forced her mind to focus on the discussion at hand.

“According to the colonel, this will be your cousin’s last assignment. Do you think Captain Sharpe will miss the sea very much?”

She barely knew Ethan Sharpe though she had been aboard the ship that had sailed to France to rescue him from prison. During the single occasion Cord’s family had all been together to celebrate his return, she had thought him cold and distant, but Cord said he had not always been that way.

“The sea has always been Ethan’s life,” Cord replied, “but he is resigned to assuming his duties as marquess. I think part of him is looking forward to the challenge.”

“Do you think he’ll enter the marriage mart? It is, after all, his duty to produce an heir.”

“Eventually, he’ll have to, but not right away.” Cord reached up and tugged a strand of her thick chestnut hair. She was small, but a little less slender now that she was four months gone with child. He turned around in his chair, pulled her down on his lap and kissed her.

“What is this sudden interest in Ethan?”

“Sarah dropped by. She is beginning to worry. You know how she is.” Sarah was Ethan’s sister, the Viscountess Aimes. Along with Cord, Sarah had been a driving force in bringing her brother safely home from France.

“There is no reason for her to worry. Harmon Jeffries has fled. The man is no longer in a position to give away secrets—or sell them, as the case may be. Ethan will complete his mission and return safely home.”

“With the viscount removed from the government, I suppose the voyage will be safer.”

“Which brings me to a question I’ve been meaning to ask. Recently it occurred to me that it was extremely co incidental for your friend, Grace, to decide to visit a relative in the north so shortly after Lord Forsythe’s escape.”

Tory gave him her innocent, wide-eyed expression. “Darling, surely you’re not implying that Grace had anything to do with it?”

“Don’t give me that look. Tell me Grace Chastain was in no way involved in the viscount’s escape.”