Capture The Wind by Virginia Brown Page B

into brawling notwithstanding.
    Out of a perverse desire to see her as uncomfortable as she’d made him earlier, he set the lantern on the roof of the coach house and leaned casually against the capstan. Light sprayed over them, illuminating one side of her face and leaving the other in shadow. He studied her with a silent intensity that he knew would be unnerving, letting his gaze rake over her as if measuring her feminine charms. She stared back, and he could see the spark of disquiet in eyes that looked—gray? No, green. Definitely green.
    Oddly, despite her disheveled appearance, she would be considered an attractive woman once she was cleaned up a bit. His first impression of a winsome young chit barely out of the schoolroom altered slightly. Young, yes, but not as young as all that. She was slender, and slightly above average height, though it was hard to tell exactly how tall she was with the crumpled mess of her hat still clinging to her head. The stiffened muslin stuck up at an odd angle that made him want to jerk it off, and he reached out to pull the chin ribbon free.
    The girl gave a startled little leap, like a frightened kitten, then stiffened. Heat flashed in her eyes, amusing him. So, the little cat still had some fight in her. Maybe the situation would afford him some entertainment, after all.
    He yanked the ribbon and tossed her hat aside. The wind caught it and swept it over the rail. Catching her by the chin, he held her face up to the light, ignoring her rebellious glare. A tangled mass of pale hair that had been tortured into curls straggled about her face, partially masking a face with patrician features: straight, pert little nose, full lips that were set in an angry line, and murderous green eyes. He adjusted his grip slightly, still keeping her chin in the wedge of his thumb and fingers as he turned her face in a slow, deliberate motion, studying her at leisure and watching her anger mount. It was fascinating to see the flush of color rise and stain her high, delicate cheekbones and milky skin. Only Englishwomen seemed to have that particular coloring, as if they were exquisitely painted porcelain.
    Intrigued, he stared at her longer than he’d intended to, dwelling on the vagaries of fate that imbued women with beauty on the outside and such deviant natures inside. Beautiful women should be outlawed, really, Kit decided. They should be penned on a desert isle, where they could do harm to no one but themselves. There were enough problems in the world, in his opinion, without men being distracted by willful, deceitful women.
    He wondered just what it was in his face that made this lovely creature stare at him with eyes widening in fear.
    “What do you intend to do with us?” she repeated in a voice that now vibrated with anxiety.
    Kit released her chin. “I could toss you to my crew. None of us have been this close to a woman in the past few months.”
    Her gasp diverted his attention to her open mouth. Lips the color and delicacy of a rose petal parted to draw in another deep breath. Intrigued, he watched as her teeth cut into her bottom lip to steady it. One front tooth was slightly crooked, and somehow, that made her appear more vulnerable. Her voice was surprisingly cool, if a bit shaky.
    “But  . . . you wouldn’t do that, would you?”
    “I might.” Kit didn’t bother to repeat his earlier assurances. Apparently, she hadn’t believed them anyway. When she panicked and tried to bolt past him, he pulled her up short. His fingers bit into her arm. “Don’t be foolish. There’s no place you can hide on a ship that we can’t find you.”
    She struggled vainly. “Let go, you beastly fiend!”
    Kit snorted. “If you allow this to degenerate into name calling, at least be more articulate.”
    Held tightly, she looked up at him with huge, shadowed eyes. “Please  . . . ” Her voice trailed into quivering silence that made his anger fade.
    He felt a spurt of unaccustomed sympathy.