Seduced by a Pirate by Eloisa James Page B

separation.”
    Griffin shifted his weight to the other hip. He’d stopped trying to disguise the pain.
    “What happened to you?” she asked. “Was part of your leg eaten by a shark? Or did you lose it in a battle? I can see that it gives you quite a bit of pain. Will that improve, over time?”
    “I still have the whole leg, though it took a slash from a rapier and the wound became infected. But it’s getting stronger every day.”
    She shifted too, as if in sympathetic pain. “I am grateful for your forbearance in the matter of my children. But I do not wish to be married to you.”
    She said it quietly, but emphatically. As if the outcome of their marital debacle were her decision, and her decision alone.
    “You did not buy this house,” she added. “I did. My father left me a great deal of property. You will find that I have never touched the money that Mr. Pettigrew deposited for my allowance.”
    For at least the third time that day, he was struck by the poverty of his vocabulary. What was a man to say upon learning that his wife had taken nothing from him over the years? That she had not only rejected his support but indeed hadn’t needed him at all? Whatever the feeling was, it ran through him like molten steel, taking his breath away. “Why?” he managed.
    She met his eyes with no apology. “I refuse to live on the spoils of piracy.”
    “Then you will be happy to know that the spoils of piracy, such as they were, are long gone. The fortune I bring home with me derives partly from privateering—which is not piracy—but primarily from the proceeds of imports and exports.”
    “I do not wish to be married to a pirate.”
    He started up from his chair. “It’s too late for that, Poppy.”
    “My name is Phoebe!” she hissed.
    He loomed over her. “I forgot.” Her head tipped back, yet there wasn’t a trace of fear in her eyes. For the past decade, grown men had trembled in his presence. They had caught a glimpse of his tattoo and pissed in their breeches.
    Not Phoebe.
    Not his wife.
    “Move aside,” she said. “You cannot bully me!”
    “I see that.” Joy was sweeping up through his veins. With one swift movement he picked her up and dropped her on the bed before the sound of her gasp had left the air.
    She put her hands against his chest and shoved. “Stop it!”
    She smelled like rose blossoms after a rain, an quintessentially British smell that he hadn’t even remembered until now. He braced his arms on either side of her head, gazed down at her furious face, and declared, “I want to stay married.”
    “Not even a pirate gets everything he wants!”
    “Why not?” He bent down and nuzzled her neck. He felt the shock of his touch reverberate down her body. “I like you. And you’re damn beautiful. Why not stay married?”
    “Because I don’t want to !” she said in a near shriek.
    “How can you know until you try it?”
    “I don’t want to try it. You don’t understand. I have a life here. I have children; I have friends. There’s no place for—for you.”
    Her words punctured the sensual haze that had his hands hovering just below her breasts. No place for him?
    There was a faint, hollow ring within his chest every time he heard the word home . He didn’t belong in the world of his father, that of titles, and noblesse oblige.
    Nor did he belong on board ship, not anymore. That life was over.
    Poppy—no, Phoebe—was his home, his new home. Even if she didn’t want to acknowledge that.
    He straightened. Tousled hair spread around her face. She looked vulnerable and unbearably desirable. His fingers trembled to pet and caress her until she was as aroused as he was.
    So much for the impotence of their wedding night. He’d had an erection from the moment she entered the room.
    “Very well,” he said, falling back a step.
    She sat up, stark relief on her face. “You’ll be happier in London, Griffin. People there are more sophisticated than they are here. Why, they