Page 51 of Scandalous

But it was even more agonizing when she realized it would never happen again.

Sarah looked at the pile of books and chewed her lip. She’d used his books, but had had nothing to do with the man himself, outside of lessons, for weeks. She’d ignored every overture and comment he’d made that was not related to reading or writing. Not that he’d appeared to notice any difference in her behavior.

Sarah sighed. Really, what was the point? He barely noticed her existence; why should she expect him to consider her feelings and how he’d hurt them? He behaved like a child, and it was up to her to be the adult. She picked up the books and made her way to his cabin.

She knocked on the door and waited so long she thought he might not be in. She’d just turned away when he answered. He wore only his shirtsleeves and a pair of old, worn breeches. His curly hair stood at odd angles, as if he’d been running his hands through it, and his spectacles were still perched on his nose.

“Mademoiselle?” he asked, distracted. Sarah glanced behind him and saw his desk piled high with ledgers.

“What are you working on?”

For a minute Sarah thought he was going to tell her to mind her own business. Instead, he opened the door wider and stepped back, closing it behind her before going to his desk and staring down at the open books.

“I am trying to follow the bookkeeping and see if we are carrying as effectively as we could.” He scrubbed his hand roughly through his hair and shook his head. “I cannot understand what Beauville means by using all these short words.” He pointed to one of the pages, and Sarah leaned closer to look. “They are on every page. I have searched for them in the dictionary, but they are not there.”

“These are abbreviations.”

“Abbreviations? I do not know that word.” He frowned at the page and leaned closer, the action bringing his shoulder next to hers, close enough that she could smell him. He smelled of soap, sweat, and Martín Bouchard. She took a deep breath and held it.

He glanced at her, his look questioning.

Sarah exhaled. “Oh, yes. Abbreviations are shortened forms of words. For example, this one means gross.” She turned and found the side of his face only inches from hers. He was staring at the page, his brow furrowed in concentration. Small lines bracketed his full lips, and tiny bits of hair glinted on his jaw. He must shave twice daily if his beard grew so quickly.

“And this?” He pointed to something else on the page.

His hair was made up of hundreds of shades of gold, each strand so thick she could see the hairs individually.

He turned when she didn’t answer, and Sarah found herself staring into eyes the color of old gold. She would later tell herself that she leaned closer to get a better look at those eyes and he misunderstood the action.

His arms snaked around her, and he bent her body into an almost painful arch with the force of his embrace. He captured her mouth, parted her lips, and stroked into her in one fluid motion. She sucked his tongue deeper and he moaned before tightening his grip on her body until she gasped.

He pulled away roughly and put her at arm’s length, his grip on her shoulders almost painful. “What do you mean by coming here?” His voice was ragged and husky, but his eyes had gone as hard as two guineas.

It was no use lying; she hadn’t come to return books. She wanted him. She couldn’t bear the thought of never seeing him again without ever having . . . Well, without ever experiencing at least a physical joining with him. It didn’t matter that it would never go any further than a bed. It didn’t matter that her parents would spin in their graves. She’d fought herself for months, but nothing worked to loosen the hold he had. Each time she came up with a new argument to resist him, her brain offered ways around it. The truth was, she would most likely find a place with a missionary group and return to Africa and live out her days as a spinster. Was it so bad to want one experience to treasure over the decades to come?

“I want to make love with you.”

His mouth hardened. “You don’t know what you are asking, Sarah.” The sound of her name in his mouth made the place between her thighs tighten, which in turn sent waves of pleasure spiraling from her womb. “You have come here without thinking.” He spoke with certitude, rather than smugness. His hands loosened their grip. It was her chance to step away, but she ignored it.

“I know more than you think.”

A slow smile curved his lips, and Sarah realized she’d turned down a road that soon would allow no return. “Are you telling me you wish to give me your virginity?”

His superior smile jarred her into recklessness. “Whatever made you think I was a virgin?” Something flickered across his face at her words: Surprise? Disappointment? Relief?

“Are you saying you aren’t?”

She snorted. “My parents died two years ago, Captain. I’ve had plenty of experiences since then.”

His eyelids dropped low, concealing his thoughts. For a moment Sarah thought he would put her away from him, push her out the door, crush what was left of her pride and her heart. And then his expression shifted. A taut sensuality shaped his lips as his eyes swept up and down her body, making her very aware of her old muslin dress and how thin and worn it was.

“Unbutton my breeches.” The sound of his voice shocked her almost as much as his words.

“What—”

“You may stay, or you may go. If you stay, you will do as I tell you.” He wore the same cool, expectant look she’d seen on his face when he’d given his crew an order and knew it would be obeyed.

Sarah willed her shaking hands to steady. The old buckskins were butter soft and tight, and there was no hiding what was inside them. She fumbled with the catches before the fall opened and exposed a short row of buttons. She worked the first button, and he inhaled sharply at the pressure of her hand against him. The sound gave her strength. He was not as indifferent as he chose to appear.