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over the world there was no need for him to be so crude, yet he’d taken Clare. The sight of her on the deck of the British ship had been surprising enough, but the beauty of her face partially framed by the hood of her cloak took his breath away. By European standards her small nose was too wide, her lips too beguilingly lush, but by his standards just the sight of her stirred his manhood, and therein lay his humbling. She didn’t seem to care that he found her as attractive as the sun setting over the ocean. All she wanted was to go home, and now that he was fairly certain he knew the reason why, and because this was all his fault, it was his responsibility to get her there.
    Sighing, he looked up at the night sky. No moon. Good. If the British Navy was out trawling for privateer prey, the Marie wouldn’t be easily seen. Shivering slightly at the drop in the temperature, he left the rail. After paying his respects to the men on the night shift, he went to his quarters.
    Aided by the flame of the torch burning in the sconce outside his door, he quietly turned the key and opened the door. As he removed the torch to aid his sight in the darkness, his equally quiet entrance showed her asleep on the pallet. Her soft snoring barely ruffled the silence so he carefully closed the door behind him so as not to awaken her. Soundlessly crossing the room, he lit a few candles on the desk off the torch, then used its flame to fire the logs in the small stone hearth. Although the calendar showed it to be late April, the ocean was still cold at night, and the chill in the room reflected that.
    He doused the torch and set it on the hearth’s apron, then moved to the chair at his desk to sit and remove his boots. Glancing her way, he stilled. She was awake, sitting up watching him. Her hands were tightly clutching the cloak, and even in the shadows he could see the wariness and distrust in her face.
    “Good evening,” he said in hushed tones. “My apologies for waking you. I’d hoped I was being quiet.”
    She didn’t respond. As the seconds passed, the light from the fire in the grate had grown strong enough to quell some of the darkness enabling him to see her face and expression more clearly. She looked ready to flee so he sought to reassure her. “The room is cold. Why don’t you sleep in the bed. You’ll freeze with just the cape for covering.”
    “I’m fine.”
    He knew she was lying, even he was shivering in the chill. It bothered him that she was being so stubborn when his sumptuous bed could offer her both comfort and warmth.
    “I’ll not share your bed.”
    “That isn’t what I’m asking, pigheaded woman.”
    “Indulging in name calling is rather childish, don’t you think?”
    He sighed and then chuckled softly. Silently praying for strength, he offered her a gallant inclination of his head. “My apologies. My concern is for your comfort and warmth only.”
    “But the question remains. If I take the bed, where will you sleep?”
    “On the pallet. In a chair. It won’t be in the bed, so don’t worry.”
    “Is this a ploy to stoke my guilt?”
    Amazed and amused by her tenacity, he shook his head and responded, “No.”
    Waiting for her to react further, Dominic knew there and then that taking her home without learning just how truly fascinating she was would haunt him for the rest of his life.
    Clare wasn’t sure if he was telling her the truth but it didn’t much matter. She wouldn’t be changing her mind. Waking up in the dark and in unfamiliar surroundings had startled her, but as the memories of the day came rushing back, they were accompanied by the realization of how vulnerable she was by being alone with him in his quarters, so she remained on her guard.
    “So will you humor me and sleep in the bed?”
    Clare noted that he was handsome even in the dark. The firelight played off the strong lines of his dark features, the smoothed, tied-back hair, and the gold hoop hanging from his earlobe.