The Devil's Necklace. Kat Martin

hauled her over his shoulder.

      “What do you think you’re doing? Put me down!”

      “Take it easy. I’m just carrying you down the ladder. You’d never make it in that dress.”

      She didn’t say more, though he thought that she wanted to very badly. She was afraid for the captain, somewhat of a surprise since Ethan hadn’t believed a woman of her morals would give a damn for anyone but herself.

      It didn’t take long to reach the bottom of the ladder. He plopped her down on one of the gunwales, draped a woolen blanket over her shoulders, and took his place at the stern of the boat. The rest of his men scrambled down the ladder, took their seats and picked up their oars.

      “Put your backs to it, lads. We don’t want trouble if we can avoid it. The sooner the lady is aboard the ship, the better for us all.”

      He glanced in her direction, saw that beneath the blanket her body still shook with a combination of shock and fear, but she stared toward his ship with a look of resignation. It was obvious she knew why she was being taken. If he’d had the least doubt—which he didn’t—her silence would have convinced him of her guilt.

      They arrived at the ship without incident. The Lady Anne was an old, three-masted square-rigger, an ungainly old tub in the water. Once the Sea Devil got underway, there would be no chance of the slower boat catching up with them.

      As the wooden boat came up alongside the hull, one of the crewmen tossed up a line to secure the vessel while they climbed the ladder to the deck.

      “I can make it on my own,” Grace said, gazing up at the high rope ladder.

      He was almost tempted to let her try. “You’ll go up the way you came down.”

      She opened her mouth to argue but he didn’t give her the chance, just set his shoulder against her middle, hoisted her over his shoulder and started up the ladder to the deck.

      The instant her slippers hit the holystoned wood, she spun to face him. “All right, I am here now, as you have commanded. You have spouted some sort of nonsense about national security. I presume you intend to take me back to London.”

      A hard smile curved his lips. “Eventually. At present, we’re sailing south along the coast, then heading for France.” Surprise widened those bright green eyes. “Wh-what!”

      “I’ve business to see to before I deal with you.”

      She swallowed, seemed to collect herself. “I demand to know why you brought me here. What do you want with me?”

      It was the question he had been pondering since the moment he had discovered her identity back in London. The question foremost in his mind the instant he laid eyes on her aboard the Lady Anne.

      “That is the question, is it not?”

      Instead of fear, her green eyes flashed with an unexpected fire. The color was back in her cheeks and in the moonlight her hair gleamed like flames. “Precisely who are you, Captain Sharpe?”

      He looked into that beautiful, treacherous face and a sweep of lust rushed through him. “You want to know who I am? Well, I am the devil incarnate and you, my sweet, are about to pay the devil’s due.”

      Three

      Grace stood rooted to the deck of the Sea Devil, fear a living thing inside her. She could hear the thunder of her heart, feel the tightness in her chest that made it hard to breathe. The captain stood in front of her, long legs braced against the roll of the sea, a cold, triumphant smile on his lips. It took sheer force of will not to let him know how terrified she truly was.

      Dear God, she should have fought him! She should have refused to leave the ship, should have shouted for help, begged the passengers and crew to come to her aid. But there was Captain Chambers to consider and she didn’t want him harmed, perhaps even killed because of her.

      She was guilty of a terrible crime, and in that brief, terrifying instant when the raven-haired captain had walked into the salon, it was obvious he knew what she had done.

      Who was he? The devil, he had said, and Grace believed him. If she closed her eyes, she could still see the revulsion in his face as he had looked at her. And the hatred. She had never seen eyes such an icy shade of blue, never seen a jaw so hard it appeared carved in stone.

      He was tall, his legs long and sinewy, the shoulder pressing into her stomach as he had carried her down the rope ladder wide and solid. There was no extra fat over the lean muscles in his back, she knew, her face growing warm at the memory of the intimate contact.

      His skin was dark, has face tanned, little crinkles at the corners of his eyes. Sun lines, not laugh lines, she was sure. She couldn’t image the devil captain ever laughing at any thing except, perhaps, someone else’s pain. Instead, his features were hard and unforgiving, brutal, even cruel.

      And yet he was handsome. With his wavy black hair, winged black brows, and well-formed lips, he was one of the handsomest men she had ever seen.

      “Follow me.”

      The words sliced through her, breaking into her trance. Sweet God, why had she ever let him force her off the Lady Anne?

      She mustered her courage. “Where are you taking me?”

      “You’ll need a place to sleep. You’ll be staying in my cabin.”

      She stopped dead still, the deck rolling just then, causing her to stumble. “And where, exactly, do you intend to sleep?”

      His mouth barely curved. “This ship isn’t all that big. I’m afraid you’ll have to share the cabin with me.”

      Grace shook her head, unconsciously took a step backward. “Oh, no. There is no way you are sleeping in the same room with me.”

      One of his black eyebrows went up. “Then perhaps you would rather sleep on deck. I can arrange it, if that is your wish. Or you can bunk in with the crew. I’m sure there isn’t a one of them who would mind sharing his bed with you. What will it be, Miss Chastain?”

      She stared at those unforgiving features and a wave of nausea hit her. She was completely at this man’s mercy. What in God’s name could she do?

      She glanced frantically around the deck. There was no where to go, no place to run. Half a dozen crewmen stood in a semicircle around them. One man smiled and she noticed the black stumps of his teeth. One of them had a wooden leg, another man was big and dark and covered with tattoos.

      “Miss Chastain?”

      Surely the captain was the lesser evil, though she wasn’t completely certain. At the nod she barely managed, he turned and started walking. Grace forced her feet to move, her legs shaking as she followed him down the ladder that led to his quarters in the stern of the ship. At the bottom of the stairs, he turned and reached for her hand, helping her down with a chivalry that was more mocking than gallant.

      He opened his cabin door to let her pass and she stepped into luxurious quarters far more impressive than the tiny space she had occupied with Phoebe aboard the Lady Anne.

      “I gather you approve.”

      How could she not? The walls were fashioned of polished mahogany, as were the table and chairs, the desk and the bookshelves. A wide built-in mahogany berth stretched beneath a spread of small square windows looking out the stern, and a warm fire burned in a tiny hearth in the corner. The glossy wooden floor, covered with a thick Persian carpet, gleamed in the light of freshly polished brass lamps.

      She forced her gaze to his face. “Your taste in furnishings is quite splendid, Captain Sharpe. One might almost say refined.” She couldn’t keep a trace of sarcasm out of her voice.

      “Unlike my manners, is that it, Miss Chastain?”

      “Your words, Captain, not mine.”

      He picked up a silver letter opener on his desk and turned it over