Page 23 of Cocky August Rake

She had looked angry.

Miss Rose Darling.

Too enchanting a name to be real. Much like the woman herself.

At last alone, Reginald looked around the office that had once belonged to his brother. It was elegant in the irritatingly effortless way of all Malum’s possessions. Dark paneled walls. Shelves of books without a trace of dust. A fire laid but not lit.

The desk was broad enough to command a fleet from, its surface polished to a dark gleam.

Reginald moved behind it and planted both hands upon the wood.

The workings of a ship made sense.

Everything aboard had a purpose. Every man knew his duty. Every danger could be named.

Weather. Rot. Hunger. Mutiny. Enemy fire.

Those, he understood.

A ship smelled of salt and tar and men who had worked too long in close quarters. Familiar things.

This place smelled faintly of beeswax, polished wood, perfume, and something sensual that he couldn’t identify.

Instead of a deck shifting beneath his feet, thick carpet cushioned his boots in a way that somehow felt less stable.

It did not make sense.

Nor, apparently, did Rose Darling.

It took him only a moment to recognize the woman behind Mrs. Smith as the masked beauty he’d made a fool of himself over in the garden.

At the masquerade, her hair had been pale blond, almost white beneath the candlelight. This morning, it was black and smooth, falling around her face like silk.

Which color was real, he could not say.

But no wig could disguise that mouth.

Or those dark and sultry eyes.

Watchful. Knowing. Capable of warmth and sensuality, though they had held none for him this morning.

No. They’d been particularly cold. Suspicious. And cunning.

He wasn’t fool enough not to realize she believed his promise was a concession.

But he’d need that long to arrange the sale, and the extent of the ship’s repairs was still being assessed.

He’d given her thirty days because doing so cost him nothing.

And damn it, he would not be swayed by those eyes.

By her.

There was nothing she—or anyone else—could say that would change his decision.

Reginald had seen too much of such places in foreign ports. Too many women stripped of their humanity. Too many men justifying cruelty and lust with coin.

His father had been one of those men.