The Sea Hawk by Brenda Adcock

the deck of the Viper . She was tall, dressed in a dazzling white shirt with flowing sleeves over formfitting black pants. Calf-high black boots completed her attire and the effect was one of elegant panther-like sleekness. A sheathed cutlass hung from her wide belt and a pistol was anchored in the waist of her pants. The woman glanced around at the people assembled on the deck and leaned back against the railing, crossing her arms over her chest to watch the proceedings.
    As the man in black and tan continued his conversation with Captain Bentham, the woman looked bored and smiled crookedly as she scanned the people around her. When her eyes came to Julia, they paused for the briefest of moments before continuing their movement. The lightness of the amber eyes meeting hers stunned Julia and caused her to look away. The woman appeared to be almost a head taller than Julia's own five-six and, although she couldn't tell much about her otherwise, Julia was willing to bet good money there was a perfect body beneath the clothing. Blushing at her thoughts, she cleared her throat quietly.
    "You have attacked a ship of the Royal Navy on the high seas without provocation while you flew the British standard," Julia heard Bentham say loudly.
    "Please forgive us, mon Capitaine ," the man in tan said with a shrug, accompanied by a smile. "We cheated."
    Julia tried to suppress a laugh at the absurdity of the Captain's attitude. She covered her mouth and looked around, finding light amber eyes on her again.

    SIMONE MOREAU WAITED for Henri Archambault, her second in command, to finish his discussion with the ignorant and pompous British captain. It gave her time to assess the situation. She couldn't believe how easily the Captain had fallen for her ruse. Despite a few cuts and bruises, the crews of both ships had come away virtually unscathed. Now she found herself with another vessel, a group of men who were apparently prisoners, and four passengers, one of whom was incredibly attractive. Despite her beauty, if this one was like other British women of her acquaintance, she was certain to be cold and totally devoid of passion.
    Growing bored with the pointless discussion with the ship's captain, Simone pushed away from the railing and strode toward the prisoners. She suspected who they might be, but wanted to confirm her suspicions.
    "Who is your leader?" she asked in careful French-accented English.
    A middle-aged man dressed in filthy torn clothing and sporting at least two weeks of beard growth pushed his way through the small group and stopped in front of Simone. "I believe that would be me, madam, although I have no rank."
    "You are captured American sailors, are you not?"
    "That's correct. I believe we are being taken to Jamaica for detainment."
    "No longer, mon ami ," Simone said as she patted him on the shoulder.
    Turning away from the sailors, Simone walked toward Bentham and Archambault. As she passed the blonde with short hair she stopped and turned to look at her, taking her in from head to toe, her eyes pausing briefly at the revealing cleavage. She noticed the woman's hands clench while her body stiffened under the close scrutiny. When their eyes met, Simone saw quiet defiance in them. Without speaking, she raised her hand and trailed it down the woman's face.
    "Take your filthy hands off her," Bentham demanded as he stepped toward them. A brief smile crossed Simone's lips as she swung her arm, backhanding the British officer hard enough to knock him down. As he fell to the deck, the man in black and tan drew his cutlass and pressed it to Bentham's throat.
    "No, don't!" Julia shouted.
    Simone glanced over her shoulder at the blonde, looking at her darkly as she held up a hand to stay the other man's actions. "He is someone special to you?" she asked casually.
    "He is a human being."
    Simone laughed as two crewmen picked the captain up from the deck.
    Henri Archambault stood next to Simone. "What are you going to do with the