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

They all need a lashing for hurting women.” She covered her mouth, hating that her fingers shook. Though she wanted to lie down and sleep off the pain, she stood up straight. "I can't be here, with you looking at me. I see enough pity in the mirror some days."  
    “Stay until morning. You’ll be branded my woman, and left alone by the crew. Then, if you have the foolhardy notion to get some air, you can do it without fear of attack or anything that will have you swinging from the bulwark. Don't be fearful of my help.”
    The pain addled her thinking, but it sure did sound as if it was important to him for her to stay. She rubbed her arm. The pain radiated, more so since she had tried to let it hang normally. “Give me another reason, one that has meaning for you."
    His gaze remained steady, unflinching. “I’ve said enough.”
    She shook her head, glancing at him, daring him to state his real purpose, but he refused to move. “I'll stay in my cabin until we dock at Port Elizabeth. I’ll manage in my room.”
    “Your spirit is too high to be caged, but self-interest may help you make the right decision. Here’s a new bargain for you. I’ll take a year off your servitude if you stay put. It’s worth it to me to not have another confrontation with my crew.”
    Was he so anxious over her safety that he’d ply her with an earlier release from their agreement? Lord Welling didn't seem fearful of his crew. And he'd tossed that big fellow as if he were paper. Perhaps, that fancy-looking man who questioned the baron before was at the root of this. Maybe more was at risk than Precious could surmise.
    "Do we have a deal?"
    His smile was too broad. Lord Welling's offer was cruel. Would he always search for another lever to push, another screw to turn to control her?  
    Thinking hurt now. Why couldn't she lie down in peace in her cabin? She sidestepped him, but he caught her elbow on the hurting side, sending her to her knees.  
    He sprung from the chair and whipped her up into his arms. Her warm cheek smashed against his cold collarbone, but she didn’t care. It felt good to not lift her head.
      “I didn't mean to injure you, Precious.”
    “Not you,” she gasped and tried to blot out the searing pain as she'd done before, but couldn’t. Tears streamed out. “My arm hurts so bad.”
    He carried her to the bed and set her betwixt him and the headboard. With his long fingers, he tugged at one button of her nightgown. Then another. "I need to see the shoulder."
    She couldn't breathe, couldn't stop him. She wiggled a little to keep him from seeing the scars upon her back. “No.”
    "Yes." He undid a final one and opened the gown. He pushed it down, exposing just her arm and more of her neck.  
    With a careful caress, he pushed at her stays and freed her shoulder. “This is bad, Precious.”
    Her arm looked inflamed, twice its normal size. Too scared, too injured to move, she let his fingers trail her arm. He pressed, with his thumb, the high bone on top of the sore flesh and a noise like a wailing tomcat fled her lips.
    His eyes narrowed and grim lines swallowed his mouth. “It’s not broken, but you popped your shoulder out of the socket, either from hanging onto the hull or by hitting the water hard. I have to push it back in. Do you trust me, Precious?”
    She glanced up at him between waves of throbbing aches. The curve of the muscles of his forearms, his solid chest with the horrible scar that looked as if something had tried to cut him in two, all made her feel safe. He knew suffering and perhaps could understand hers. Maybe that was why he was so kind to her. But it still didn't add up, the concern versus the battle for control.
    "Precious, you still there?"
    "Yes. Fix it. I’ve no choice, do I?”
    His fingers stilled from the slight massage of her shoulder. “You have a choice. Do you trust me?”
    As much as she wanted to pretend she didn’t, she couldn't lie about how she felt. “Yes. I