Page 5 of The Pirate’s Stolen Bride (Cavalier Cove)

CHAPTER FIVE

BOO HOO, POOR YOU

“ I didn’t need rescuing!” Harriet exclaimed. Rémy’s knee knocked against hers. He shifted to sit back in his seat with his arms crossed over his muscular chest. Heat rose to her cheeks as the memory of his naked back flashed through her mind.

Ladies did not ogle pirates. She was ashamed of herself. Or she should be. It was rather difficult to summon any sense of shame when she was righteously furious with the handsome scoundrel.

She groaned inwardly. Her mind was clearly intent upon betraying her by refusing to ignore her captor’s attractiveness.

“Don’t lie, your ladyship. When you told Maggie about your marriage, you looked ready to cry. ‘I am to be married. He’s taking me to Ireland.’” The monster feigned tears. “Boo hoo, poor you.”

She kicked his shin again, harder this time.

“I suppose you think I should be thanking you for ruining my life,” she grumbled.

“You should have seen your face. You looked like you were being sentenced to hang. Moments later, you swept a stack of tankards to the floor, creating a distraction for the handsome scoundrel you’d just met to escape. What was I supposed to think?”

He clasped his hands behind his head and leaned back, with one brow arched and a smirk on his stupidly attractive lips.

Harriet would bet her best bonnet that Rémy didn’t have rancid breath and missing teeth. Oh, wait, her best bonnet was lost to the sea, thanks to him.

Your own clumsiness was the real fault, whispered her conscience. Her innate lack of physical prowess had hindered her in ballrooms, where she was forced to think about each dance step. No matter how many hours of instruction Uncle Monty provided, she never quite managed to achieve gracefulness. She couldn’t help but be impressed by Rémy’s rangy athleticism.

“You were supposed to take the opportunity I’d given you and escape, you idiot.” Fascination was not the same thing as admiration.

“Which I did. I merely assisted you with escaping a fate you clearly dreaded as a gesture of my appreciation.” He sat forward. “You’re welcome.”

His tone strongly implied that she was being an ingrate.

Harriet pressed her lips into a flat line and pounded his shins with her bare feet. The horrible man didn’t even flinch.

“You’re hurting yourself more than you are me,” he said mildly.

“Augh!” She smacked the table with her open palm, rattling the tea set. “I did not want or need your intervention, Rémy. I was fortunate enough to find an Irish earl willing to marry me, and now, unless Lord Lucarran is of a forgiving nature”—which he was not, in her limited experience—“there will be no repairing the damage to my reputation if word gets out that his bride was stolen by a pirate.”

Rémy snorted. “You weren’t lucky to land a lord. You were lucky I stole you away from that tosser.”

The infuriating, arrogant… ooh , she hated him. Mostly, she hated that he was right. Uncle Monty was the one who cared about a man’s title. Not her. She’d simply gone along with his plan because she felt she had no choice.

If her reputation was ruined, she would have even less choice.

“I will thank you not insult my future husband in my presence,” she said primly. Or as primly as one could when one is wrapped in a scratchy wool blanket.

“Why are you defending him?”

“Why are you insulting him? Has Lord Lucarran personally wronged you? Stolen your ship, perhaps?”

Rémy’s lips flattened. “I told you I don’t take other ships as prizes. I am not, despite your obstinate insistence, a pirate. I am a smuggler.”

“And proud of it.”

“Yes.”

“You’re a criminal, no matter which word you choose to describe yourself.”

He shrugged. “I’m not hurting anything but Mad King George’s coffers. Why should goods be so heavily taxed that only the wealthy can afford them?”

Harriet didn’t have an answer to that. Her needs and most of her wants had always been provided for. Hadn’t she thought more or less the same thing, back in the tavern?

“The man you’re marrying. Is he the same Lucarran who hasn’t set foot in Ireland in at least a decade?”

“Until now,” Harriet protested. “He wanted to introduce me to his estate manager.”

“The same Lucarran whose high rents squeeze every farthing out of the land to support his lavish lifestyle in England?”

“I fail to see how I am responsible for the way an earl manages his affairs.” She clutched the blanket tighter. “I am not the one who makes decisions about estate management.”

“But you will benefit from his pillaging of the poor.”

Apparently, Lord Lucarran was notorious. Wonderful. Undoubtedly, Uncle Monty would have been aware of Lucarran’s reputation when he made the betrothal arrangements. Was he simply too enmeshed in high society to care about how one of his peers treated those less fortunate?

That didn’t sound like the Uncle Monty she knew and loved. He had a complicated relationship with his title, but he wasn’t callous. Perhaps he didn’t know. Ireland was far away from Acton Heath, and her uncle wasn’t one to comment upon other people’s private business.

“Perhaps I am the one who will change Lucarran’s dastardly ways,” Harriet smiled.

“Au contraire. You would be subjected to either his cruelty or neglect.”

This smug bastard, believing himself her rescuer. Rage would have made her head explode, if not for a harsh hacking cough that scorched her lungs like hellfire itself. She stood up, but the boat shifted, throwing her off-balance and into Rémy’s lap.

“You need to rest,” he told her, scooping her up and depositing her on the tiny bed. “And so do I.”

To Harriet’s astonishment, he climbed in beside her.

“Oh, no.” She clutched the blanket for dear life and pointed at the door. “Out. I am an unmarried woman. I am betrothed to another man! I cannot share a bed with you!” Her voice rose higher with each word, until the final you came out as an embarrassing squeak.

“I’m not going to touch you, chérie. Now share.” Rémy yanked on the coverlet. Harriet shook her head. He sighed heavily.

“I have been awake since dawn. I will be up again at the next dawn. A lady would allow me a few hours of rest before I risk my life to return her to her family unharmed. I give you my word that I will not touch you. The last thing on my mind is sex.”

She flinched, but her grip loosened.

True to his word, Rémy shook out the blanket and rolled over, taking the only pillow with him.

Well. Sitting around in nothing but his shirt was one option, but considering the tiny cabin was barely warm enough to endure with their one blanket wrapped around her shoulders, and further considering that she would have to abandon it completely to maintain any distance between them, there was nothing to be done but roll onto her side and tuck the edges of the blanket beneath her to keep that wretched pirate from stealing it.

Sleep did not come for a very long time, during which she had plenty of time to contemplate the way his shoulders brushed hers with nothing but a thin linen barrier between them.

Once she was certain he was asleep, she tucked her freezing feet against his calves.