Page 25 of Scandalous

“It will depend on what the British representative decides. After what I did last night, I may be transported along with you.”

“What happened last night?”

Sarah realized Graaf must have slept through the excitement. She sighed and quickly explained the events of the last day, leaving out both the bargain and the fact that she’d been mostly naked when de Heeckeren escaped.

He burst out laughing before she even finished, unable to speak for several minutes as he alternately laughed and coughed, tears spilling down his cheeks. Well, in this one way, at least, he was like Bouchard.

Sarah crossed her arms and waited for him to regain control of himself.

“I apologize for my behavior, Miss Fisher, but what I wouldn’t give to have seen Bouchard’s expression. How grateful I am not to be the only man on this ship to find himself at the wrong end of his own pistol.”

“I’m so glad to have been of service, Captain Graaf.”

He ignored her sarcasm and chuckled again. “The great Bouchard, held at the point of his own pistol.”

“Why do you call him the great Bouchard?”

“You have not heard of him before?”

“Not until yesterday.”

“I assumed everyone had heard of the Golden Scythe and its famous captain, a former slave himself.”

His words stunned her, flooding her brain with so many questions, she didn’t know which to ask first.

Graaf nodded slowly, as if relishing her shock. “Yes, our captain is a famous man. He started off as a lowly mate under the gentleman pirate One-Eyed Standish, the privateer who was really an English lord, Baron Ramsay. Surely you’ve heard of him?”

She shook her head. “I have spent my life in a jungle, Captain.”

“Baron Ramsay was famous in the Mediterranean for almost twenty years. He was taken by Barbary corsairs and made a slave. He somehow broke free, stole a corsair ship, and spent years as a privateer for the British government. He encountered our Captain Bouchard, a mere slave at the time, somewhere along the way. I don’t know the details, only what my brother Per told me when he learned where our father was sending me.

“My brother saw Bouchard in Alexandria once, in a waterfront bar of the worst kind. Bouchard approached a table of five men, all slave traders, and started a fight with his bare fists. He put one man down before the other four rushed him with swords. He knocked down three of them before others intervened. My brother swears he’s never seen a man deadlier with his bare hands. The man doesn’t adhere to any rules of pugilism that a true gentleman would. How could he? Imagine, an ex-slave? It is no wonder he hates me, is it?” His handsome face was more than a little anxious.

No, Sarah thought, it was not a wonder. She considered Graaf’s story. How much of it was true? She certainly believed the part about Bouchard’s being a fierce fighter. His body, which she’d felt with her own hands, had been solid muscle without an ounce of fat. Bouchard could break the fragile Dutch captain into little pieces with one hand.

But Bouchard a slave? How?

“How could he have been a slave? He looks nothing like the people of my village. His skin is hardly darker than mine, and his hair is actually lighter.”

Graaf shrugged. “That is how it is in America. A man is considered to be a slave even with only a small portion of African blood. I understand some slaves are blue-eyed and fair-skinned, like me.”

They stared at each other silently as they considered the implications.

They were still contemplating their futures, and the man who controlled them, when the door to the sickroom swung open, and Bouchard himself entered. He smiled at their undoubtedly guilty-looking faces, his sly look making Sarah wonder if he’d heard their conversation. She dismissed the silly notion. Bouchard was not the type to listen at doors.

“Good morning, Captain Graaf.” Bouchard’s beautiful lips curved in a cruel smile. “You are feeling much better, I see? Well enough to entertain visitors?”

Graaf colored under Bouchard’s mocking gaze. Sarah looked from one to the other and again marveled at the two different examples of male beauty. The Dutchman looked like a fairy-tale prince with eyes as blue as the sea and patrician features to go with his elegant, gentleman’s body.

Bouchard looked like Lucifer come to Earth, well pleased with the exchange of his eternal status for an opportunity to indulge in endless carnal delights.

The Dutchman inclined his head stiffly, clearly feeling the disadvantage of lying on his back before his vital adversary. “Miss Fisher came to inquire about my health.”

“And stayed to discuss other, more interesting matters, I think?” Bouchard mocked. He leaned against the doorframe, taking up a position that required Sarah to turn back and forth if she wanted to look at both men. “You will excuse us, mademoiselle,” Bouchard said, not bothering to look at her. “I need to speak in private with Captain Graaf.”

Sarah stood at his obvious dismissal and looked at Graaf. “I am glad you are feeling better, Captain.” She turned to the door, which was blocked by Bouchard’s big body. He let the moment stretch before taking a small step back. Even so, Sarah was forced to brush against him.

Back inside her cabin, she found the book Clarissa on her bed. It was the book she’d used to trap Bouchard the night before. She’d forgotten all about it when her attention had been claimed by more interesting matters, namely Bouchard’s clever hands and lips.