Chapter 11

Dread held her immobile. She quaked a little.

She'd gone a little far with the business of the making his mark she was the first to admit it. Flint was the most intelligent man she'd ever met. He could read and write perfectly. But it was too late to turn back now, even if she shuddered to think what terms he'd insist on. She ran her tongue around her lips to moisten them.

"And what are they exactly? Hmm?"

His gaze swept the room as it had the hanging of Messalina earlier as if she were very comfortable here, as if she had everything, when in fact none of it belonged to her and there were bills, certain bills in her possession only Susan knew about. Bills from just about everyone in Genoa it was possible to have bills from. Then his gaze swept her. Making her wait. Tweaking her nerve endings. Heightening her anticipation. The old Flint was always a master at doing that.

Well, this was the new Fury, and she had neither nerve endings nor anything left to heighten. She was sorry, yes, that she'd insulted him, because of course, he'd wreak his revenge and he was in a strong bargaining position. But nerve endings? Oh, dear Lord, no. The thought almost made her laugh out loud. She couldn't afford nerve endings in this situation. Actually, she hadn't been able to afford nerve endings for years.

He ambled across to the fireplace. The irritating little smile, which had come and gone with alarming ease, touched his lips as he paused. "What do you think?" He surveyed her.

"I'm sure I don't know." She lied. Of course.

Silence, broken only by the ticking of the mantelshelf clock, cloaked the room.

"An imaginative woman like you? Are you joking?"

All right, perhaps she shouldn't have made up those rules. Only a fool would have failed to see, when the inevitable was upon her, that delay was a bad thing. And the little heap of cinders on the dressing table was a glaring reminder of her folly.

"Isn't it obvious what I'd like? How can a woman have forgotten so much?"

"Imagination is a luxury I'm afraid I have not been able to afford in my position." More lies. But she'd die before she said, Because it pains me to remember. Did it hell.

Her mind raced. What would it be though? Sex, obviously. Which she shouldn't be too upset about, given the Beaumont heir couldn't be conceived without it. She wasn't the Virgin Mary, after all. But sex sex on his terms, what she remembered of those. Was the Beaumont heir worth that? Wouldn't it be better to beg on the streets? Do as Susan suggested and find a protector?

"You, sweetheart? Unimaginative? With what's in your cellar? And that little plan you made over the head of it?"

He tossed his hair back from his face. Something burned very close to the surface in his eyes, in the tilt of his head. Was it slow burning enough to fizzle out? To see what was at stake for him? Or had she made him angry enough to demand anything? To be truthful? That her heart raced, and a tiny part of her leapt at the thought, was shaming. She straightened her spine.

"Go on. Insult me. You think I care about that? Or that you have terms? Just give me them and let's get on with this. As I said before, if it's money, if it's jewels, you'll have to wait. I can't give you what I don't have. Unless you want me to write you a debtor's note? It's the very best I can offer right now."

"Hmm." He drummed his long fingers on the mantelshelf. "Money? Sweetheart, is that as much as you think of me?"

"I don't think of you. You flatter yourself. But money was always something dear to your heart. Perhaps not quite so dear as the Calypso, which was your heart."

His expression sharpened. Ah, so it was what he wanted. How killing it must be for him not to be standing on the deck, the wind ruffling his hair, bossing every member of his crew senseless.

The bargaining counter this gave her was all she needed.

This would be far worse, a hundred times worse, if he actually wanted her. If he'd pined and rotted in the same hell she'd once found herself in. If he'd any feeling in his black, empty heart at all. If the blackguard even had a heart. He didn't. So she might as well get to the end of this.

Again, he twisted his lips into that little sardonic smile.

"Here was me thinking you liked me."

"You? I don't like you any more than you like me. I never did." She lifted her chin. Getting to the end of this didn't involve being nice. Not now she knew what he was after. Anything else was simply prevarication.

"In fact, I'd like to say I wish I'd never met you. As I said already, this arrangement isn't about liking. So, why even say "

"Because you put down an ultimatum, sweetheart."

"Me?"

"Which I burnt in that candle flame, same as I'm going to do with any debtor's note you write me, because I know it won't be worth the paper you write it with. The ink either."

"That's because you're just low-down dog enough to think that, the gutter you crawled out from. I'm asking for your terms. What do you want?"

"All right then, if it's no trouble to you, since you're asking kindly."

"Oh, I am, James. For me anyway. As kindly as I'm going to."

"That little rule you have "

She swallowed. Damn him. "What rule?"

"The one about being fully clothed."

"What about it?"

"It could be difficult, you see, with what I'd like right now."

Her mouth dried. Double damn him. "And how do you make that out?"

"Because I need to take my breeches off, sweetheart."

As if he needed to, from what she remembered of him.

"Really?"

"And that little rule "

"If you wish to undress, so long as you do not expect me to assist--"

"Why should I expect you, unless you want to join me?"

"Well ... I ... I will be doing that. Obviously."

"Really?"

Triple damn him.

"I've said it, haven't I?"

"You got a big enough tub?"

"A tub?"

"I'd like a bath."