could. She would be strong before him. She
must
. "Perfectly well."
He looked at her closely. "Perfectly?"
"Perfectly perfect." She raised her chin a fraction higher and prayed it wouldn't tremble. "As you see, I have lost my hat, and the brightness of the sun in these latitudes struck me for a moment. But I am quite well now. Quite."
"That's because you're English," he said with the hint of a smile that made his dark face briefly, alarmingly boyish. "You're not accustomed to much except fog and foul weather."
She could tell from his eyes that he didn't believe her, but that he wasn't going to bother quarreling about it. At least she could be grateful for that much, and to prove it she wouldn't jump to defend the English weather the way he expected.
Instead she glanced briefly over her shoulder to where she'd last seen the
Commerce
. "You will think me quite presumptuous, I know, but shouldn't we be sailing after them before we're left entirely behind?"
"We haven't been left behind, Miss Everard, because we're not trying to catch them." Restlessly he tapped his fingers on the hilt of his sword, looking past her toward the other ship. "They're bound for Charles Town, and we're not."
Rose gulped. Sweet heaven deliver her, she'd been kidnapped, and it was all her own fault. While she'd been fussing over that infernal trunk, this man with the black hair and the green eyes had carried her off just as he'd captured the
Angel Lily
.
And just like the brig, she was now his prize. No wonder he'd smiled at her like that.
She folded her hands in front of her to keep them from shaking. She told herself she wouldn't panic and she wouldn't weep, no matter how much she wanted to. She would be calm and reasonable and firm. That had always worked for her before. And what other choice, really, did she have?
"Then I must implore you, Captain," she said, her tangled hair blowing back from her face as she lifted her chin so she could meet his eye, "to please change your course to Charles Town, too, so I might join them."
Avoiding her gaze, Nick squinted up at the sails and the men working aloft. Why couldn't those big silver-gray eyes of hers look somewhere other than at him? It wasn't his fault that she'd been sick and unhappy, just as she could hardly blame him because she was the daughter of a wealthy Englishman with influence. She was the one who'd decided to go sailing into the middle of a war. All he'd done was capture the ship in which she'd been a passenger.
"You're my prisoner, Miss Everard," he said evenly, "and you're not going to Charles Town because you're staying here on board the
Angel Lily
with me. That's what you wanted in the first place, wasn't it?"
"But not like this!" Stunned, Rose dug her nails into her palms as she struggled against her panic. "I came to speak to you on my father's behalf, not to be—to be carried off!"
"And because of your father, you're too valuable a prisoner to lose," said Nick, still staring aloft. "You should be grateful that Gideon at least brought over your trunk, so you'll have your comforts."
Aghast, Rose shook her head. "But this is only one trunk! I had more with me in the
Commerce—
much more. What will become of all my other things, my belongings?"
"Enough, Miss Everard." Finally he lowered his gaze to meet hers, his expression as stern as he could make it. He had to end this now; he'd wasted entirely too much time on her as it was. "We are in the middle of a war, not some English country house party, and though I'll treat you as decently as I can, you are still my prisoner. A prisoner of war, mind? The
Commerce
will be condemned by the prize court in Charles Town, and she and all her contents will be sold at auction."
He thought she'd been pale before, but somehow the last bit of color managed to drain from her cheeks.
"Including my things?" she asked in a woefully small voice.
He nodded, though he'd give half his shares not to be having this conversation with her. "This
must
. "Perfectly well."
He looked at her closely. "Perfectly?"
"Perfectly perfect." She raised her chin a fraction higher and prayed it wouldn't tremble. "As you see, I have lost my hat, and the brightness of the sun in these latitudes struck me for a moment. But I am quite well now. Quite."
"That's because you're English," he said with the hint of a smile that made his dark face briefly, alarmingly boyish. "You're not accustomed to much except fog and foul weather."
She could tell from his eyes that he didn't believe her, but that he wasn't going to bother quarreling about it. At least she could be grateful for that much, and to prove it she wouldn't jump to defend the English weather the way he expected.
Instead she glanced briefly over her shoulder to where she'd last seen the
Commerce
. "You will think me quite presumptuous, I know, but shouldn't we be sailing after them before we're left entirely behind?"
"We haven't been left behind, Miss Everard, because we're not trying to catch them." Restlessly he tapped his fingers on the hilt of his sword, looking past her toward the other ship. "They're bound for Charles Town, and we're not."
Rose gulped. Sweet heaven deliver her, she'd been kidnapped, and it was all her own fault. While she'd been fussing over that infernal trunk, this man with the black hair and the green eyes had carried her off just as he'd captured the
Angel Lily
.
And just like the brig, she was now his prize. No wonder he'd smiled at her like that.
She folded her hands in front of her to keep them from shaking. She told herself she wouldn't panic and she wouldn't weep, no matter how much she wanted to. She would be calm and reasonable and firm. That had always worked for her before. And what other choice, really, did she have?
"Then I must implore you, Captain," she said, her tangled hair blowing back from her face as she lifted her chin so she could meet his eye, "to please change your course to Charles Town, too, so I might join them."
Avoiding her gaze, Nick squinted up at the sails and the men working aloft. Why couldn't those big silver-gray eyes of hers look somewhere other than at him? It wasn't his fault that she'd been sick and unhappy, just as she could hardly blame him because she was the daughter of a wealthy Englishman with influence. She was the one who'd decided to go sailing into the middle of a war. All he'd done was capture the ship in which she'd been a passenger.
"You're my prisoner, Miss Everard," he said evenly, "and you're not going to Charles Town because you're staying here on board the
Angel Lily
with me. That's what you wanted in the first place, wasn't it?"
"But not like this!" Stunned, Rose dug her nails into her palms as she struggled against her panic. "I came to speak to you on my father's behalf, not to be—to be carried off!"
"And because of your father, you're too valuable a prisoner to lose," said Nick, still staring aloft. "You should be grateful that Gideon at least brought over your trunk, so you'll have your comforts."
Aghast, Rose shook her head. "But this is only one trunk! I had more with me in the
Commerce—
much more. What will become of all my other things, my belongings?"
"Enough, Miss Everard." Finally he lowered his gaze to meet hers, his expression as stern as he could make it. He had to end this now; he'd wasted entirely too much time on her as it was. "We are in the middle of a war, not some English country house party, and though I'll treat you as decently as I can, you are still my prisoner. A prisoner of war, mind? The
Commerce
will be condemned by the prize court in Charles Town, and she and all her contents will be sold at auction."
He thought she'd been pale before, but somehow the last bit of color managed to drain from her cheeks.
"Including my things?" she asked in a woefully small voice.
He nodded, though he'd give half his shares not to be having this conversation with her. "This
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