The Notorious Lady Anne by Sharon Cullen

Author:Sharon Cullen
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: Loveswept
Published: 2013-02-11T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Sixteen

Emmaline woke with a start, but remained still, her senses searching her bedchamber. There had been no sound to wake her, but something alerted her she wasn’t alone. Another’s quiet breathing. The certainty the room wasn’t quite empty.

Eyes closed, breathing even and deep, she slowly moved her hand toward her pillow and the stiletto she kept beneath it.

“Relax. It’s only me.”

Her eyes flew open and she rolled over. Nicholas sat in the chair beside her bed. Moonbeams fell over his face, bathing him in an eerie, bluish light. His hair was mussed, his shirt untucked from his breeches, and he was barefoot. For some reason, she couldn’t pull her gaze from his naked feet. It wasn’t uncommon for a sailor to shed his boots while sailing. She’d seen many a pair of naked feet before. These shouldn’t snag her attention. So why did they?

“What are you doing here?” she asked.

“Checking on you.”

She blinked the sleep away. Checking on her? He’d never seen the need to check on her before. Since her mother died, no one had checked on her.

He sat back and kicked his legs out, crossing his ankles and settling in. His brows were pulled down, his tight muscles belying his relaxed pose. It was as if he were angry, but she didn’t get anger from him. More confusion and contemplation.

Of course, it’d been a confusing day. His abrupt announcement of their betrothal bothered her, until she’d convinced herself it was made merely to divert Lansing. Of course it wasn’t a real betrothal.

“I’m well, as you can see.”

His angry gaze raked her body, causing her nipples to pucker into points, and a low hum to center in her nether regions. Her breathing quickened, but she controlled it. This man would not do this to her. She wouldn’t let him.

Her gaze skipped to his feet again, up to the wet hem of his breeches, detouring around his lap until she was looking into his eyes. Without the benefit of light, they were black, bottomless pools. Unreadable, and therefore disconcerting. But his smirk told her he knew exactly what she’d been thinking. She quickly looked away.

“What does a pirate wear to bed at night, Emmaline?”

She scooted up, pulling the bedsheets with her, covering the overly large, well-worn shirt, very much conscious of her bare legs beneath the covers. Even though he couldn’t see her legs, she still felt exposed.

“It’s none of your concern what I wear to bed at night.”

“We’re betrothed. That should make it my concern, shouldn’t it?”

His words were slurred. She sniffed and wrinkled her nose. By the smell of him, he’d apparently been at the Elegant Sword—the only decent pub on the island.

“You’re drunk.”

A shoulder rose, then dropped. “Mayhap. You didn’t answer my question.”

She’d never seen him so out of control and yet controlled at the same time. Her mind slid to the one memory she couldn’t erase, the one that continued to pop up when she least expected it. Of him kissing her in his cabin, right before Alphonse’s attack.

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