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appear uneducated? My master of literature was certain I’d never be more than a hulking, semiliterate beast.”
    “But you do not use your education!” she protested. “You—”
    He leaned closer and the spicy hint of sandalwood, the delectable warm smell of his skin, intoxicated her. It spoke of the most intimate things he did—bathe, shave, even sweat.
    “Do not doubt that I use every one of my lessons, Miss Hamilton. I’ve been known to quote Shakespeare while blowing the mast off an English warship.”
    “You never have!”
    He was laughing now, quietly, the sound throaty and deep. “What—the Shakespeare or the warship?”
    “The warship,” Grace answered, her tone sharpened by his teasing. “Wouldn’t you have been hunted down and strung up by now? You are not exactly secretive, are you?”
    “Suffice it to say that I performed some duties for his majesty that made amends.”
    “For destroying ships? What did you do? Capture a continent and stick the flag in the middle of it?”
    “Essentially, yes.” He laughed. It intrigued Devlin that Miss Grace Hamilton was speaking entirely about him. It was something he was not accustomed to—generally he let women prattle on about their worlds, content to listen to the lilt in their voices as they spread gossip.
    He should go. It was his intention to protect her reputation, not destroy it by taking up residence in her bedroom. But as he was about to bow and bid her farewell, he saw the glint of a tear in the corner of her eye and knew her courage was about to fail her.
    “And what can I do?” she asked. “Become a governess? Oh, wait—my schooling is almost nonexistent and most ladies want young women of impeccable reputation for their children. Perhaps I’m qualified to scrub the floors—”
    “Gently bred women rarely are. I’d never employ one to tend my home.”
    “Mr. Sharpe, this is serious. I—” Her lashes swept over her eyes and one sparkling diamond of a tear rolled past her slim nose.
    “Don’t.” He was on his feet in an instant and in front of her, his gloves off. With his index finger, he brushed away the tear, his rough fingertip gliding over her soft, glowing skin. His finger shook. Slightly, but he felt it.
    Unable to resist, he brushed his wet fingertip across the curve of her cheek to her slightly parted lips.
    She arched up on tiptoe and her palm cupped his jaw. Damn, he hadn’t bothered to shave today, enjoying appearing at the ballroom with a day’s growth of beard, though it itched. He hadn’t worn facial hair since he’d sported a neat beard as Captain Devlin Sharpe.
    He had been a pirate, but there were treasures that he refused to plunder. A wide-eyed eighteen-year-old was one. “This is not wise, Miss Hamilton.” He caught her hand, squeezed gently, and drew her fingers away from his face.
    Her moist, full lips parted, leaving him breathless.
    “I want this,” she whispered. “I want to erase the bad with…with—”
    “Grace—”
    She put her fingers to his lips and he, who had captained a ship, who commanded a gang of unruly thieves, shut his mouth. He wanted too much to hear this and his heart was in his throat as she whispered, “With you.”

3
    M r. Sharpe’s hands deftly undid the knot in her corset ties, then slid up to loosen the lacing, and Grace made a simple decision. She would not think. She wanted this. Her body was molten, her arousal slick between her thighs.
    Earlier she had given her innocence to the wrong man, to an arrogant and vicious man.
    Mr. Sharpe was not a vicious man.
    She believed it—
    No. She’d promised she would not think. She would simply do.
    Wriggling out of her loosened corset, she let it fall to the floor. Undressing before a stranger was not something she should feel so comfortable with—
    No. No thinking.
    Grace lifted the hem of her shift but stopped at her upper thighs. Her drawers were gone. Lord Wesley still had her drawers. She had not collected them before