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    A sudden rap on the cabin door stopped her breath in her lungs. She tried to speak, couldn’t, finally forced out a husky command.
    “Enter.”
    The moment Richard Blake ducked his head under the deck timbers and stood before her, Sarah experienced the same strange, unsettling phenomenon as when he’d left her such a short time ago. Then, his departure had seemed to take some vital aura from the cabin. Now his presence filled the room, as if infusing it with a vibrant life force.
    Perhaps it was his size. He was so tall. So broad of shoulder. His white knit pants clung to muscular calves and thighs. His blue uniform jacket with its standing collar, white facings, and gold epaulets only emphasized his physique. Resisting the effort to swipe her damp palms down the sides of her skirts, Sarah tipped her chin and met his gaze head-on.
    The glint in his blue eyes promised nothing.
    And everything.
    “Need I remind you of the terms and conditions of our agreement?” she asked coolly.
    “I think I have them.”
    “Then…Then let us proceed.”
    His mouth quirked. “As you wish.”
    “Maude, you may leave us.”
    The plump maid threw a last, imploring look ather mistress. “M’lady, I beg of you. Think on what you do here.”
    “You may leave us!”
    The American stepped aside to reveal a tall, spare sailor waiting in the passageway. He looked vaguely familiar to Sarah, but Maude seemed to recognize him instantly.
    “Mr. Jenkins! A bluidy mutineer, are you?”
    “No, ma’am. As I told you that day we spoke at the rail, I’m an American seaman pressed into service aboard this ship against my will.”
    “Huh! A pirate, more like!”
    “Perhaps you and Mr. Jenkins could continue this discussion topside,” Blake suggested. “Jenkins, you’ll stay with Mistress Maude and see to her safety.”
    “Aye, cap’n.”
    The contrast between the American’s concern for her maid and Sir James’s casually brutal treatment of Maude almost— almost! —undid Sarah. Her resolve weakened, and she came within a breath of telling Blake their bargain was off.
    She might have done just that, if he hadn’t bolted the door, strolled into the cabin and pulled his pistol from his belt. Her throat closing, she watched him casually deposit the weapon on the fold-down dressing table. It lay there amid her brushes and combs and pots of powder and paint. The silver scrollwork on its handle gleamed dully.
    Just as casually, Blake removed his sword belt and hooked it over the back of the desk chair. Unarmed, he closed the distance between them.
    “All right, lass. As you so eloquently phrased it, let us proceed.”
    He folded his arms. Stood with legs spread. Surveyed her with a look of polite anticipation.
    Taken aback, Sarah realized he was waiting for her to initiate matters. She stared at him blankly for a moment, her mind whirling. The Notorious Lady S. would know how to proceed at this point. Sarah was somewhat at a loss.
    Men had always pursued her. They’d whispered outrageous compliments into her ear. Held her closer than they should have in the waltz. Tried to steal a kiss on a darkened balcony. She was far more skilled at laughing and turning aside her more persistent admirers’ advances than in initiating them.
    Impatiently, she shook her head. She’d been married for three years, after all. Her infrequent beddings with Ceddie had been rather clumsy affairs at best, but she was no silly, untried virgin. She knew well enough what brought a man to passion.
    Shutting her mind to everything but the pistol lying just out of reach, she stepped forward, slid her palms up the lapels of the American’s uniform and wrapped her arms around his neck.
    Still he stood impassive, unbending.
    Slowly, the sick feeling in Sarah’s stomach gave way to a simmering indignation. She was prepared to endure his kisses, to remain stoic while he undressed her. She was not prepared for him to stand like a lump of oven-baked clay while she