Page 18 of Scandalous

Martín squinted, confused. The truth? The truth about what? What could she possibly wish to ask him? When had anyone ever wanted to know something about him enough to make it a stake in a game? Martín looked at her smiling face and frowned. Why did he feel as if he were stepping into a snare? He hesitated, and then was annoyed by his hesitation. This was what came of speaking to smart women.

“Done,” he snapped, irked that she might mistake his hesitation for fear.

The play was quick and quiet, neither of them speaking during the first tense minutes. He’d just taken one of her bishops and was feeling quite confident when her queen swept across the board and he became aware of her knights. He looked from the board to her, but her face was unreadable. He studied the board, mentally playing out the game.

Bloody hell.

He played out the game again, and again came up with the same result: checkmate in five moves, no matter what he did. He looked down at his hand and saw he still held her bishop and was squeezing it. Hard. He set the piece down, unwilling to look at her. His hands clenched and unclenched with the urge to break something. He hated to lose. And losing to a woman?

He reached out and set his king on its side with exaggerated care. “I concede.” He refused to give her the satisfaction of a slow slaughter. He snatched his pieces off the side of the table and began to reset the board. “I want another game.”

She laughed. “Not so hasty, Captain. I thought you were a man of your word.”

“Word? What word?”

“We had a wager.”

Martín gritted his teeth. “What the devil do you want?”

“Just one question.”

He crossed his arms to keep from grabbing the board and throwing it out the small cabin window. “Get on with it.”

Her smile dimmed as the seconds crawled past. “How is it that you cannot read?”

Martín’s jaw dropped. “Read?”

“The book I showed you earlier was not written in Greek, yet you did not recognize that. You cannot read,” she explained carefully, just in case he was stupid as well as illiterate.

A scorching sensation caused the edges of his vision to tinge with red, as if his eyes were cooking. He could not make his jaws form words; he could only stare, watching as her expression turned from curiosity to something else.... Pity?

“You needn’t answer.” She turned away to place the pieces back on the board, the dull red flush on her face telling him that she felt his humiliation keenly.

Something inside him cracked and released a reservoir of rage. He only realized what he’d done when he saw pieces of delicate ivory bouncing against the wall and the girl jumping to her feet at the sudden explosion. Martín was on her in an instant. He pressed her long, slim body against the door of his cabin, not stopping until his face was less than an inch from hers.

“I’m so sorry,” she blurted. “I did not mean to offend you.” Her heart pounded like a small, insistent drum against his chest. Her eyes were wide, and the pitying look in them was the last straw.

He captured her mouth with his, not bothering with finesse, stabbing with his tongue as though it were a sword. Her lips were soft and cool, and they parted easily beneath his onslaught.

Her yielding sweetness was like a dousing of cold water, and Martín closed his eyes against her startled expression and wrenched himself back, drawing a shaking hand across his mouth.

Bloody hell! He had never come so close to doing violence to one weaker than he.

He turned away from her, as if he could turn away from the vision she had forced him to look at: that of an illiterate brute only aping his betters with fine clothes, rich trappings, and books he could not read.

Martín felt a light touch on his arm and whipped around.

“I’m sorry if my question was impertinent. I was merely surprised. You must have worked very hard to achieve your position without being able to read. It is not difficult to learn, you know. Reading, that is.” Her expression was no longer pitying, but tentative and gentle. “I have taught many people to read.”

Martín’s eyes shifted away from hers. He could not look at her and think at the same time. Was she offering to teach him to read? He bristled. Who was she to think he needed her help to do anything? He let his eyes slide back to hers, hoping to find something to fuel his anger. Instead he found those inexplicably kind eyes. It was not the desire he usually saw in women’s eyes. It was something different. It was, he realized with a shock, the same look she’d worn when she fought to save the lives of the mutineers. She viewed him as an object for her mercy, somebody she wished to save.

He felt an unpleasant smile take possession of his face, and he gave in to his baser instincts and inclination to exploit any weakness he encountered. He planted a hand on either side of her body, his palms flat on the mahogany wood paneling, trapping her between his arms. Her eyes were no longer so sure.

“I believe you are engaged in yet another negotiation, mademoiselle.” He didn’t wait for an answer before darting forward to nuzzle her neck. She quivered beneath him, and he felt a surge of pleasure that he could disconcert her the way she had him. “It does not seem right to commence bargaining when you have not repaid your last debt, does it?”

Her throat moved beneath his lips as she swallowed. “I am prepared to honor the bargain I made.”

He took her small earlobe into his mouth and rolled it between his teeth and tongue, nipping her hard, smiling against her neck at her sharp intake of breath.