Page 3 of Scandalous

The Dutchman’s coughing diminished, and he straightened in his chair, his movements slow and deliberate, like those of a very old man. “I apologize, Miss, er—”

“Fisher. Sarah Fisher.”

He frowned at whatever he saw on her face. “I was not aware of your presence in the hold until a short time ago. I am sorry you have been subjected to such indignity. You will be given a cabin and treated as my guest.”

“What of the others?”

His handsome brow wrinkled. “Excuse me?”

“The other people in your hold—what about them?”

He flinched back from the violence in her tone, his eyes flickering about the room, as if searching for answers, a dark red stain creeping over his already flushed cheeks. “Ah . . . that. Buying these people was not my doing—nor was it my intention to—” His voice broke, and, when he drew in a ragged breath to speak, he was wracked by more coughing.

Sarah made an irritated noise and stood. “Give me your wrist.”

Still coughing, he regarded her grimy hand with apprehension.

“Do you wish for my help or not?”

He held out one pale, slim, clean hand.

Sarah snatched up the proffered limb. His pulse was irregular and fast, and his skin hot and damp.

She dropped his arm. “I will need to look in your ears and mouth.”

He leaned forward, and she took his angelic, clean face with her filthy hands and tilted him toward the light streaming through the porthole window. “Open your mouth and depress your tongue with your finger.” He did so, and Sarah looked her fill before resuming her seat and meeting his frightened gaze.

“You have the choking fever,” she lied, adding a silent prayer.

“The choking fever,” he repeated, as if in a trance. “And the cure?” The hope in his eyes was painful to witness, no matter how much he deserved his suffering.

“Only the thorn of Christ will cure it.” Sarah offered more prayers for forgiveness of the lies pouring from her mouth. Surely the dire circumstances would excuse her dishonesty?

“Thorn of Christ?” he repeated.

“Yes, a rare herb.” So rare as to be nonexistent.

“Where can we procure this herb?”

It was the question Sarah had been hoping for.

“It only grows near coastal marshes.” It was imperative she convince him to take the ship back to shore. It was the only chance for her and the people in the hold—if she could get the door open.

Sarah pushed the thought away. First things first.

She examined the room while the captain pondered her words. A pair of dueling pistols hung over the desk, the guns so ornate Sarah could hardly believe they were real. She was imagining ways to get her hands on one when a deafening crack shook the room.

She jumped to her feet. “What was that?”

The Dutch captain gave her a grim look. “That, Miss Fisher, was the sound of cannon fire.”

Chapter Two

“Cannon fire?” Sarah repeated, the words hanging in the air between them like so much smoke.

Graaf uttered several uncivil-sounding words in Dutch and made for the door. “I will return directly.” He slammed the door, and a key scraped in the lock; so, he was not distracted enough to forget to lock the cabin door behind him.

Sarah waited until his footsteps receded before lunging for one of the pistols. She tripped over her sodden skirts and banged into the captain’s heavy teak chair in the process.