Beautiful Lies by Emilie Richards Page A

father-in-law. You want me because, in trade, I’ll give you whatever you want most.”
    â€œAnd that is?”
    â€œSorry, princess. But I don’t have that part figured out.”
    â€œThen how do you know you can give it to me?”
    â€œBecause if I can’t, I’ll die trying.”
    She had a tinkling laugh. “I want to leave Broome and never, ever return. Will you give me that?”
    â€œThe very moment I can. Because I want the same thing.”
    â€œI want a husband with property. I want to be the mistress of a station, not a man. Do you have property?”
    â€œI don’t have much of anything, but that’s going to change, and soon.”
    â€œReally?” Her tone dropped several degrees. “Come back if it ever does.” She lifted her chin, and sweeping the hem of her nightdress away from her feet, she started toward the door.
    â€œPrincess?”
    She turned her head and stared icily at him.
    â€œMy name’s Archer Llewellyn. You can embroider bridal handkerchiefs while I’m out at sea.”
    â€œAnd my name’s Viola Somerset. You can dream about me until the day they bury you forty fathoms deep.”
    He was laughing when she closed the door behind her.

4
    â€œW hale him badfellow. You-me no come-up long pearling grounds.”
    Bernard, the Odyssey ’s tender, a massively built Koepanger from Dutch Timor, shook his head philosophically and went to take the tiller to continue steering the little lugger away from the waterspout spraying the waves ahead of them. Tom remained where he was to stare at the unmistakable evidence that the crew was not alone at sea.
    â€œIf it’s not one thing, it’s everything put together.” Archer joined Tom, folding his arms over his chest like a sultan issuing orders to the royal executioner. The boat groaned as Bernard and two crew members adjusted their course.
    Silently Tom turned to watch the waterspout growing more distant as the sails of the Odyssey snatched the wind. They were well away from the uninterested whale before the lugger changed course and continued toward the pearling grounds. The crew, a mixture of nationalities that stretched from Japan to Malaysia, knew exactly what wasexpected of them, and each man worked quickly and quietly at his job, only trading words when absolutely needed.
    â€œHave you ever seen so many thugs and murderers gathered in one place before?”
    Tom inclined his head toward Archer. He saw the diversity of the crew as an adventure. “These thugs and murderers can make or destroy us,” he said, quietly enough that no one else could hear. “Best if we try to get along with them, don’t you think?”
    Archer went on as if he hadn’t heard him. “And what exactly do you make of Bernard? Yesterday he and Ahmed argued, and he lifted him three feet off the deck with one hand. Mark my words. He’ll gut us while we sleep if he can get the rest of the crew to go along with him. Not that any of them speak English well enough for a mutiny.”
    Tom thought the crew communicated well enough, using their own sort of pidgin, to plot any number of heinous acts. But unlike Archer, he doubted they were interested. “Did you get any sleep last night?”
    â€œNot a wink.”
    Tom wasn’t surprised. By day the lugger was comfortable enough, but by night it became the playground of a thousand winged cockroaches that dined on the remnants of oyster gristle in the hold and—if they felt the need for variety—on the toenails and calluses of the crew. Every night since he had come on board, he had felt feet skittering and wings whispering over his bare skin. And if that wasn’t bad enough, the air below was thick with the smothering odor of rotten fish, Oriental curry and mildew. He and Tom had been sleeping in the mainhold on planks laid over hogsheads of water. The rest of the crew slept on deck beneath an