Page 7

While every man within earshot held his breath and waited, Dante stared at Spence, at the wide slick of blood that streaked his throat and spread across his collar.

Something in the fierce, burning topaz of the captain’s eyes made Dante look down to where Beau was still crouched on the deck.

He took a casual step toward her and used the barrel of his musket to lift her chin, and there was no mistaking the similarity in the bright, hot sparks of amber that flared up at him.

His own gaze narrowed in speculation as he glanced back at Spence.

“Such rare coloring,” he mused. “Unlikely there should be such an exact match within a thousand miles … unless the two were related somehow. She appears to be too young and fresh for a sister. A daughter, perhaps? One with a long, shapely throat more than suitable for slitting in order to ease you of some of your stubbornness.”

Spence stiffened perceptibly. But instead of bowing to the implied threat, he allowed a wide, somewhat contemptuous grin to settle across his face as he folded his arms across his barrel chest.

“A clever deduction, Cap’n Dante. And, aye, Beau’s my daughter. The sweet fruit o’ my loins. Mayhap that’s why she doesn’t take any kinder to threats than I do.”

Dante felt a sudden, sharp intrusion of steel next to his skin and his body froze even as his gaze was drawn slowly downward again.

Beau’s golden eyes were still staring up at him, but it was her hand that won his full attention, and more specifically, the stiletto clutched in her fist. The point had already pierced through his hose and was resting like a cold sliver of ice across the impressive bulge of his manhood.

A flick of a slender wrist would reduce that impression considerably.

“We seem to have reached an impasse, Cap’n Dante.

” Spence chuckled wryly. “Unless, o’ course, ye’ve no objection to pissin’ out a hole in yer belly.

She’s a fair hand at carvin’, an’ blow me dry, but look at them eyes ye were so admirin’ of a minute ago—I’d say she were in a ripe fair mood to prove it, would ye not agree? ”

Dante saw no reason to disagree. Her eyes were large and wide with an eagerness that sent the point of the blade nudging deeper into the soft sacs of his flesh.

Geoffrey Pitt held up his hands in a placating gesture. “Captains—I’m sure we can arrive at some amicable arrangement here, can we not?”

“Not with a blade at my throat,” Spence declared flatly. “Does this ugly black bastard understand English?”

“He does,” Pitt replied with a nervous glance at Lucifer. “Rather well, too, I should warn you.”

“Well, then, ye’d best warn him if he does not lower his steel, I’ll be breakin’ off both his hands an’ stuffin’ them down his throat.”

The Cimaroon’s agate eyes stared at Spence without blinking.

His nostrils flared so wide, the tension produced a thin purple line around the rims. In the bright sunlight it could be seen that his face and torso were tattooed with patterns of lines and dots.

The lobes of both ears had holes in them and the flesh had been stretched to form long, hanging loops.

He was the same height as Spence, roughly the same weight, though proportioned differently, and probably could have snapped the one-legged captain in half without raising a bead of sweat.

The only thing he raised now was his lip, curling it back in a bright pink snarl that revealed an enormous rack of shockingly large teeth, all of which had been filed and sharpened into glistening points.

“Lucifer,” Pitt urged. “Not now.” He glanced worriedly at the stone-faced Dante de Tourville. “Simon—?”

He was still staring down at Beau Spence. Her arm had remained as steady as her gaze and both were causing a visible tightness throughout his body.

“Quite the ferocious little corsair, aren’t you, mam’selle?” he asked quietly.

“I have had no cause for complaint.”

“You will,” he promised softly, and turned to the Cimaroon. “Lucifer, put the blade down.”

The Cimaroon obeyed, but not without a final, terse flexing of the huge muscles in his arm. It caused the edge of his scimitar to widen the split in Spence’s skin—not enough to threaten the jugular, but sufficiently bloody to leave a warning.

Spence clapped a hand to his neck and glared at the wetness that came away on his glove. “Do ye always treat the men this way who rescue ye, Cap’n Dante?”

“Only if they stand in my way.”

Spence frowned uneasily over the flecks of cobalt-blue that had turned the Frenchman’s gaze as brittle as glass. “Beau, give the captain some breathin’ space.”

“Must I, Father?” she murmured.

“Aye, ye must show a little faith sometimes, girl. Sheath yer knife like a good lass. A man can’t think clear when he’s standin’ on his toes.”

“Or when he’s holding a musket,” she added pointedly.

Dante met the long-lashed amber eyes again and almost smiled with the rush of promissory menace that flowed through his veins. Carefully, he set the arquebus aside, and carefully, he curled his hands into fists by his sides.

Beau, having seen what the Cimaroon did to leave her father a reminder, dragged the point of the knife across tender flesh as she removed it and was gratified to see a thin ribbon of blood color the Frenchman’s hose.

She tucked the knife back into the cuff of her boot and stood, her eyes still fastened on Dante as she massaged the tenderness in her throat.

Spence cleared his.

“The way I see it, Cap’n, ye’ve another six, maybe eight hours, topmost, before yer ship goes belly down. If I were you, I’d start talkin’ fast. Ye talk bold enough, there’s a certainty, but if ye want our help, ye’ll have to convince me there’s a fine enough reason for givin’ it.”

Simon Dante searched the captain’s weathered features with eyes that had lost none of their cold intensity.

“I’m genuinely sorry, Captain. If I had an hour to spare, I might be able to convince you we aren’t demented fools, but as you already determined, time is of the essence.

You say you want a fine enough reason to order your men to help us?

” He reached around to the small of his back and, quicker than she could react to avoid it, held a pistol out at arm’s length, pressing the nose flush against Beau’s temple. “Will this do?”