Falling for the Pirate Read Online Free PDF Page B

viscount still ranked head-and-shoulders above Nate.
    He had the most in common with Jordan Bradshaw, who had been raised in Barbados. But even Jordan attempted to emulate the manners of his betters. Unlike Nate.
    After Sinclair left, Nate found Mrs. Wheaton in the kitchen.
    “Did you send up the tray?” He knew his voice came out surly and unkind. He just didn’t know how to change it.
    “Not yet, sir. Cook’s finishing the porridge shortly.”
    It made something lurch inside, imagining the girl hungry upstairs. Imagining her eating plain porridge. Imagining the look on her face when she’d said, “Thank you.” Christ. He had literally chased her off a twenty-foot ledge. He was now holding her prisoner. And she had thanked him.
    “Forget the porridge. Make hot cocoa instead.” Warm. Sweet. That was what she needed to rest, to heal. “And make a broth,” he added. “Quickly.”
    “It’s already made, sir.”
    Indeed, almost as if she knew what he’d ask before he did. He made a mental note to raise her salary. Either that, or dismiss her. It was never a good thing to be known well. It led to questions. It led to expectations.
    It led to friends .
    He snorted. Shaking his head at Adrian’s show of sentimentality, he carried the supper tray upstairs. Mrs. Wheaton watched him go, her expression faintly astonished. But he wasn’t being kind, after all. He was doing reconnaissance.
    The boy he had stationed at the door still stood there, looking bored and half asleep. He straightened as soon as Nate rounded the corner.
    “Any trouble?” Nate asked.
    “Not a peep, Cap’n.”
    “Go and grab some rest. I’ll take this shift.”
    The boy hesitated, and Nate wondered for a moment if he was worried about the girl. Or maybe he was just curious. He’d know that Nate had carried her home two nights ago, both of them drenched. It would be all the talk below stairs and belowdecks.
    He raised an eyebrow, and the boy scurried along. It was an unusual situation, certainly. On his ship, in the middle of the ocean, the captain’s word was law. Though he ran a tight ship, a quiet ship, there had occasionally been run-ins with other vessels. There had been disorderly crewmen.
    His firm hand had earned him a reputation. It had earned him respect.
    After a light knock, he opened the door and stepped inside.
    She was sleeping. He saw that immediately. Heard it, too, in the hum of her breath as he shut the door behind him. No, he didn’t imagine she’d caused any trouble here. She looked weak as a kitten, her hands curled up under her chin. He set the tray down on the table and walked closer. Closer. Right up to the edge of the bed. And sat down.
    He’d had plenty of time to study her in the thirty-six hours she was unconscious. But he hadn’t been able to enjoy it. He’d been too worried that she might not wake up.
    Now he took his time with his perusal, starting with the silky dark hair that cascaded around her on the pillow, a rich mahogany that went from curly to straight as it dried. She looked incredibly vulnerable, more revealing in sleep than waking. Her eyelids seemed almost translucent, so pale he could see the veins beneath. Her skin was milky white, her features delicate.
    Resentment rose up in his throat. Why did she fascinate him? It was the clothes, he decided. Something primitive and perverse in him had liked seeing her in shirtsleeves and pants, her lovely hair tucked beneath a grimy cap. If it weren’t for the clothes, she wouldn’t have captured his interest this way, even if she was pretty.
    More than pretty.
    Her lashes were fine and lush. He imagined how they’d feel beating against his chest, opening and closing in close proximity, her cheek pressed to his skin.
    His body responded with a rush of heat that embarrassed him. He wasn’t some young sailor. He didn’t get a cockstand at the thought of a pretty young woman. Quite young. The difference between them was marked.
    But not too young.
    No,