The Bargain: A Port Elizabeth Regency Tale: Episode 2 by Vanessa Riley

burst, but that was nothing compared to his anger. What was he going to do…to her?  
    His boots planted on the flooring, but he swayed a bit as the boat moved. “You shall be a delight, my dear.” His words were loud, almost as if he intended others to hear.  
    He paused, as if he considered dumping her in the cabin she shared with Jonas and Mrs. Narvel, but that surely was wistful thinking. The taunting and the trouble she’d caused had pushed him too far.  
    Passing by her door, she wished she had just stayed inside and heeded her shipmate’s warning. Then she’d still claim some dignity and maybe a small portion of the baron’s respect.
    Slam ! Lord Welling kicked open the door to his cabin.  
    The room bore little light, just the small glow of a hurricane lamp. A bed made for two sat in the center. He strode inside and dumped her onto the firm mattress. Groaning, he marched away and bolted the door.
    He laid his head against the paneled and trimmed wood. His fists flattened on the smooth part near the brass plate. With his shoulders sagging, he didn't seem so angry now. No, he looked more defeated. “Couldn't stay below, could you? It's hard enough traveling with women, but a hardheaded one is too much.”
    She looked to the footboard and counted the carved leaves notched on the frame. What was she to say to his back?  
    Sorry.  
    I didn't mean to fall.  
    I didn't want folks questioning your leadership.  
    Instead, she pushed herself to sit. Sucking in at the sting of her arm, she dropped the blanket and pried off her wet robe.  
    He turned. His angry face began to twist. His nose wrinkled, as if he smelled something horrible. “What are you doing?”  
    Her heart started pounding, but she worked the first button on her nightgown. She wasn't going to be a victim this time. No tears. She forbade them from coming. She’d allow him his due and get it over with. “At least you won’t kill me, or threaten me when you take all I have.”
    His eyes scrunched up, and he plodded to the light, rolling the knob to make the room blindingly bright. “Well, if you intend to give me a show, I might as well see everything.”
    She swiped at her eyes. “No jokes. Just come here and be done with it.”
    He inhaled a long breath. Then a chuckle crept out of the grim lines of his mouth. “I think you need a little more practice at looking enticing, or at least interested.”  
    With a shake of his head, he undid the ties to his shirt and pulled the wet thing free, exposing the hardened planes of his chest. The wet cotton plopped onto floor with a slap.
    The light made his skin looked tanned, with tufts of dark hair in the valley below his throat.  
    A gasp left her, not just from the sheer strength hidden by his London clothes, but the horrid scar zigzagging below is heart, extending beyond the waistband of his breeches.
    He plodded near and clasped the headboard, his eyes surely studying, measuring her. “Call me crazed, a man of sense and expectation, but a frightened woman doesn't make me feel romantic.”
    Trying to not look at him or wonder about the scar, she folded her naked feet up under her. “You’re crazy. Men will do what they do.”
    He stretched and tugged the blanket back around her. The smell of him, woodsy and salty, reached her nose. At least he wouldn't reek when he got around to touching her. “You look chilly. I’ve been dunked in the ocean more times than I care to remember. I’m used to the cold.”
    How long would he let her agonize, thinking of being forced, of being told it was her fault, and the hopin’ no babies birthed of the evil would come? Counting, sipping slow breaths, she again tugged the blanket down to her waist.  
    He sat in a chair, tapping the small table to his left. “Well, I should close up this Bible. Wouldn't want passages of caring for the weak or doing unto others slipping out and ruining this seduction.” The leather book closed with a thud. He must’ve