The Devil's Necklace. Kat Martin

body her cheeks began to burn, then he walked over to the cupboard and drew out the towel she had forgotten, along with a bar of soap. It was lavender scented, certainly not meant for him.

      “You’ll need this when you finish.” He draped the towel over the back of the chair. “And a little of this might be useful.” She reached up to catch the bar of soap he tossed her way and saw his eyes darken.

      Her cheeks turned a deeper shade of pink as she realized that in reaching up, she had given him a glimpse of her naked breasts.

      “You make quite a fetching picture, Miss Chastain.”

      Grace eyed him warily as he approached the tub and went down on one knee beside it.

      “You’ll want to wash you hair,” he said, his voice a little gruff.

      Grace sat perfectly still as he pulled off the edge of torn lace that bound the single braid she had made of her hair. Using his fingers to separate the heavy strands, he spread them around her shoulders.

      “You’ve beautiful hair,” he said softly. “The color of fire and soft as silk.”

      She said nothing, but something warm filtered into her stomach. She could feel his hands, the long, tapered fingers brushing the nape of her neck, tugging gently on an auburn strand. Goose bumps crept over her skin and the warmth in her stomach filtered out through her limbs.

      “Give me the soap,” he said, plucking it from her trembling hands before she could stop him. “I’ll wash your back for you.”

      Oh, dear God! “You—you can’t possibly mean to do that!” More words of protest formed on her tongue but she couldn’t seem to force them out. And if she tried to move away from him, he would be able to see even more of her than he could already. She stiffened at the feel of his hand moving the bar of soap in slow circles over the skin on her back.

      “Relax, Grace. I’m not going to do anything you don’t want me to…”

      “I don’t want you to touch me.”

      “…aside from helping you wash.” He soaped the linen rag again and the scent of lavender drifted over her. The heat of the water seeped into her stiff muscles, and against her will she began to relax. As if in some sort of trance, she closed her eyes and some of her tension began to fade.

      The cloth moved gently down her neck and onto her back. He soaped her shoulders, moved the cloth down each of her arms. He trickled water over the soap on her back and arms then slowly reached around to soap her throat and chest.

      Her eyes snapped open as the cloth moved lower, circled a breast, slid between her cleavage, circled the other breast, rubbed over her nipples. They peaked beneath the water, and heat and moisture slid into her core.

      “Stop! You…you must stop this instant!” She was trembling. She crossed her arms over her breasts, embarrassed by her unexpected reaction, angry at him for taking advantage. “That wasn’t part of the bargain. I didn’t give you permission to take liberties.”

      He shrugged. “I only wished to be useful.” But a faint smile curved his lips and his pale eyes were darker than she had ever seen them. As she studied him from the tub, her gaze lit on the heavy bulge in the crotch of his breeches. It happened when a man was aroused, she knew, and fear began to rise inside her.

      “Please, I beg you. Let me finish my bath in peace.”

      A long finger skimmed along her cheek. “Are you certain that’s what you want?”

      Grace moistened her trembling lips. “Yes, very certain.”

      For several long moments, he didn’t move, just stayed where he knelt next to the tub. Then with a sigh, he rose to his feet.

      “I’ll make sure you aren’t disturbed.”

      She managed to force out the words. “Thank you.”

      She watched him stride across the cabin. Relief came with a rush when the door closed behind him. Beneath the water, her nipples were still diamond-hard. Her stomach still quivered. It was frightening, what his brief caress had done.

      The water was turning cold before she roused herself from her troubled thoughts, managed to finish bathing and wash her hair. All the while she kept asking herself how she could have allowed such a thing to happen.

      But the answer did not come.

      He couldn’t figure her out. In the past, Ethan had prided himself on his understanding of women. His older brother, Charles, had explained the facts of life when he was just a boy, and having a sister gave him insight into the workings of the female mind. As a youth, he had often spent time with his sister, Sarah, and her friends and he had grown to feel comfortable in the company of women. Over the years, he’d had a number of mistresses.

      But Grace Chastain confused him. He believed her to be a whore, yet she played the innocent. Her bravado rose in contrast to the vulnerable expressions that sometimes appeared on her face, the glimmer of tears she fought to hide. She kept him constantly off balance and Ethan didn’t like it. Not one little bit.

      Last night after the episode with Grace in the tub, he had shared his first mate’s cabin instead of retiring to his own. Angus knew better than to ask questions. Even if he had, Ethan wouldn’t have known the answers.

      Perhaps he was afraid if he had slept beside Grace Chastain as he had the past few nights, the temptation to have her would have been too great. He knew now what lay beneath her borrowed night rail, knew the exact smoothness of her skin, exactly how full her breasts were. He knew the shape of each one and the weight, the rosy color of her nipples.

      It had taken sheer force of will not to lift her out of the tub and take one of those heavy breasts into his mouth. He had wanted to run his hands over her belly, her hips, her thighs, wanted to spread those long, shapely legs and bury himself inside her.

      Ethan took a steadying breath. The kiss he had stolen that first day had been torture enough. Now, just thinking about her slender, luscious curves made him hard, and that was the last thing he wanted.

      Standing on the quarterdeck behind the big teakwood wheel, he looked out over the water. If he slept beside her, he might not be able to resist the temptation to take her. He might not be able to control his lust and it angered him to think she held that kind of power over him. It was never what he had intended.

      And he was determined to take back control.

      Tomorrow they would reach Odds Landing, the tiny seaport village south and east of Dover. He would buy the lady some clothes and use them to strike the bargain he had intended to make from the start—one he hoped would ease his disturbing need.

      He almost smiled. By tomorrow night, Grace Chastain would be sharing her luscious body as well as his bed. “Capt’n?”

      He looked up to see his second mate, Willard Cox, topping the ladder to the quarterdeck. Cox was a man in his forties, a big, beefy seaman, heavily muscled through the chest and shoulders. Apparently, the man had acquired a bit of schooling and the surprising ability to read, write and cipher. Cox had a scar across his cheek and one on the back of his hand, but otherwise he wasn’t a bad-looking man. Ethan had never sailed with Cox before and though he had done a good job so far, Ethan wasn’t ready to rush to judgment.

      “We received the signal, sir. You can see the lantern, there, off the starboard bow.”

      They were close enough to shore to see the glow of yellow light. He’d been expecting the signal. Tomorrow in Odds Landing he had a meeting with a man named Max Bradley. Bradley worked for the British War Office. Along with Ethan’s cousin, Cord Easton, earl of Brant, and another of his best friends, the duke of Sheffield, Bradley had been responsible for Ethan’s narrow escape, after nearly a year, from a filthy French prison.

      “Return the signal, Mr. Cox. Tell them the meeting will take place as scheduled.”

      “Aye, sir.” Cox made his way back down the ladder and Ethan thought about tomorrow’s