while staging Bebain’s defeat.
And this change of guard worried him.
He preceded the sailor across the gun deck to Maximin’s cabin. The lumbering guard turned the latch without unlocking it first.
Not locked?
Steven swung around. The sailor slammed a heavy fist into his chest, yanking the ropes from his wrists. The door swung shut, grazing Steven’s shoulder, and the key ground in the lock.
He turned. Prickling heat spread across his chest.
Trussed in ropes, Valerie reclined at the head of the bed, legs spread, feet tied to either footpost. She wore only a thin shift, ruched to her thighs. Ropes twined between her legs and around her hips, climbing in intricate knots up her body to coil around her neck. A strip of rough cloth between her teeth pulled her lips back. From beneath lowered lashes, she stared at him, shame and pain mingled in the sea-colored pools.
Fury barreled into Steven’s senses, turning his stomach. He crossed the space in a stride. She tilted her head to look up at him and the ropes creaked around her neck.
“Don’t move.” He clenched his fists, for the first time in years aching to use them upon a man. “Did he hurt you?”
She held his gaze steadily, willful denial brimming in her gaze now.
He took a tight breath and reached toward her.
“I am going to remove the gag.”
She blinked once, deliberately. Steven took it as assent. Dropping to his knees, he reached for the rag tied around her jaw. Her sable hair whished across his knuckles, soft and silken. Biting back upon his unwanted spark of arousal, he worked the knot loose and drew the cloth away.
“That was not tied tightly,” she rasped, meeting his gaze from a foot away, awareness clear in her ocean eyes.
“As intended, no doubt,” he replied. “Did he—”
“No.” She swallowed with obvious discomfort, the red marks tapering from her lips dipping into a grimace. She seemed on the verge of saying more, then closed her mouth.
Steven sat back upon his heels.
“And tomorrow morning?”
“He was vague.” Her brow lowered. “He mentioned punishment.”
Pressing down upon his anger, Steven did not need to study the complex series of knots spread across Valerie’s body to know how long it would take him to unbind her, and to understand what Bebain hoped to accomplish with this sick game.
“Punishment if you remain bound,” he said, silently damning the priestly guise that encouraged Bebain’s insane imagination. “When did he do this?”
“Two hours ago. Or three.” For the first time, Valerie’s voice quavered, hinting at the desperation hidden behind her direct gaze.
Steven rose to his knees, forcing a calm to his movements he did not feel. He scanned the elaborate system of knots wrapped around her body.
“Where is your knife?”
“In my shoe.”
He moved to the clothing piled upon the chair, and bile rose in his throat. The madman tied a woman like an animal, yet folded her garments neatly for reuse. Steven drew the tiny weapon from the lining of the costly leather boot and turned back to the bed.
“This will not be of use on most of the knots. They are too close to your skin.” Watching her pale face, he sat at the foot of the bed and grasped the rope stretching from her ankle to the post. He set the knife to it.
“No.” Her voice was rough. “Don’t use it. Then he will know I have it.”
Steven regarded her steadily, a rush of sharp heat sweeping through him. Valerie’s body tensed against the bindings. Color dusted her cheeks. She craved freedom, but from much more than these tethers. She would not let this setback cow her into submission or carelessness. Desire curled in his blood, mixing with respect and fresh anger.
He pushed aside the sensations.
“I should have thought of that.”
“Why?” She scanned his clerical robe. “Are you accustomed to concealing knives from pirate captors?”
He lifted a brow and returned to his task. “I will break the glass on the lamp. It
And this change of guard worried him.
He preceded the sailor across the gun deck to Maximin’s cabin. The lumbering guard turned the latch without unlocking it first.
Not locked?
Steven swung around. The sailor slammed a heavy fist into his chest, yanking the ropes from his wrists. The door swung shut, grazing Steven’s shoulder, and the key ground in the lock.
He turned. Prickling heat spread across his chest.
Trussed in ropes, Valerie reclined at the head of the bed, legs spread, feet tied to either footpost. She wore only a thin shift, ruched to her thighs. Ropes twined between her legs and around her hips, climbing in intricate knots up her body to coil around her neck. A strip of rough cloth between her teeth pulled her lips back. From beneath lowered lashes, she stared at him, shame and pain mingled in the sea-colored pools.
Fury barreled into Steven’s senses, turning his stomach. He crossed the space in a stride. She tilted her head to look up at him and the ropes creaked around her neck.
“Don’t move.” He clenched his fists, for the first time in years aching to use them upon a man. “Did he hurt you?”
She held his gaze steadily, willful denial brimming in her gaze now.
He took a tight breath and reached toward her.
“I am going to remove the gag.”
She blinked once, deliberately. Steven took it as assent. Dropping to his knees, he reached for the rag tied around her jaw. Her sable hair whished across his knuckles, soft and silken. Biting back upon his unwanted spark of arousal, he worked the knot loose and drew the cloth away.
“That was not tied tightly,” she rasped, meeting his gaze from a foot away, awareness clear in her ocean eyes.
“As intended, no doubt,” he replied. “Did he—”
“No.” She swallowed with obvious discomfort, the red marks tapering from her lips dipping into a grimace. She seemed on the verge of saying more, then closed her mouth.
Steven sat back upon his heels.
“And tomorrow morning?”
“He was vague.” Her brow lowered. “He mentioned punishment.”
Pressing down upon his anger, Steven did not need to study the complex series of knots spread across Valerie’s body to know how long it would take him to unbind her, and to understand what Bebain hoped to accomplish with this sick game.
“Punishment if you remain bound,” he said, silently damning the priestly guise that encouraged Bebain’s insane imagination. “When did he do this?”
“Two hours ago. Or three.” For the first time, Valerie’s voice quavered, hinting at the desperation hidden behind her direct gaze.
Steven rose to his knees, forcing a calm to his movements he did not feel. He scanned the elaborate system of knots wrapped around her body.
“Where is your knife?”
“In my shoe.”
He moved to the clothing piled upon the chair, and bile rose in his throat. The madman tied a woman like an animal, yet folded her garments neatly for reuse. Steven drew the tiny weapon from the lining of the costly leather boot and turned back to the bed.
“This will not be of use on most of the knots. They are too close to your skin.” Watching her pale face, he sat at the foot of the bed and grasped the rope stretching from her ankle to the post. He set the knife to it.
“No.” Her voice was rough. “Don’t use it. Then he will know I have it.”
Steven regarded her steadily, a rush of sharp heat sweeping through him. Valerie’s body tensed against the bindings. Color dusted her cheeks. She craved freedom, but from much more than these tethers. She would not let this setback cow her into submission or carelessness. Desire curled in his blood, mixing with respect and fresh anger.
He pushed aside the sensations.
“I should have thought of that.”
“Why?” She scanned his clerical robe. “Are you accustomed to concealing knives from pirate captors?”
He lifted a brow and returned to his task. “I will break the glass on the lamp. It
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