Raven Saint by MaryLu Tyndall Read Free Book Online Page B

seven days to reach that conclusion?”
    Grace sank back down to the bed, studying his cavalier attitude with curiosity.
    â€œYou seem proud of your boorish behavior.” “I am proud of many things that would not engender your good opinion.”
    â€œOf that we are in agreement, Captain. But as I am sure you know, ‘Pride goeth before destruction, and an haughty spirit before a fall.’”
    He chuckled. “So, do you chastise me for being proud or being a boor?”
    â€œBoth.”
    â€œYet you are the one who has fallen.”
    â€œI have not fallen,” Grace snapped. “I am here for a reason.”
    â€œOui, to line my pockets with gold.” He smiled.
    Grace’s stomach knotted. She hated this man. She knew hatred was wrong. She knew it was as bad as murder, but at this moment, if she had a pistol, she would probably shoot him where he stood. “You are naught but a French rogue.” She struggled to her feet. “I will leave now.”
    Captain Dubois blocked her exit. “This French rogue demands you eat something first, mademoiselle.” He advanced toward her.
    Grace sucked in her breath and retreated. Her foot struck the bed, and she collapsed back onto it.
    Placing one hand on the edge of the mattress, he leaned toward her and laid the other upon her forehead. She flinched. “C’est bon. No fever.” His warm breath wafted over her, bringing with it the smell of brandy. He righted himself. “Never fear, I have no interest in you, mademoiselle. My tastes lie in women plus agréables.”
    Grace tore her gaze from his and stared at the gold and purple sash tied around his waist and the leather baldric cutting across his chest. “I have no doubt in what direction your tastes lie.”
    â€œI have every doubt that you do, mademoiselle.” He retrieved the bowl and handed it to her. “Now will you drink this, or shall I continue to pour it down your throat?”
    â€œIf I drink it, I fear it may end its journey upon your boots.” Grace took the bowl and offered him a cautious smile.
    The taut lines on his face faded. “I shall take that chance.”
    A tap on the door sounded, but the captain did not break the lock his gaze had upon her—an admiring, hungry gaze that set her nerves on edge.
    The door creaked open and footsteps sounded. A man cleared his throat. “Capitaine, s’il vous plaît.”
    Captain Dubois’s features instantly stiffened, and he turned to face the cook. “Father.” He cleared his throat and stepped back from Grace. “See to it that the mademoiselle drinks all of the broth, then escort her back to her cabin.”
    The captain grabbed his rapier from the desk, slid it into his sheath with a metallic chink, and stormed out the door.
    Father Alers shifted sympathetic eyes her way. A stained red shirt hung loosely over his corpulent frame, dangling below his waist where it met black breeches that spanned down to sturdy buckled shoes. He huffed out a sigh of impatience but finally took a seat and scratched his thick beard. “Come along, mademoiselle, finish your broth.”
    With the captain’s exit, Grace’s heart returned to a normal beat. She sipped the meaty soup. The warm broth slid down her throat like an elixir and plunged into her ravenous stomach.
    â€œHis methods may be a bit severe, mademoiselle,” Father Alers said. “He only wishes you to keep your strength so you do not fall ill again.”
    Grace took the last sip and then tested her legs. Though still shaky, she felt her strength returning. “You have been too long at sea, Father, if you think there is an ounce of kindness in that man.”
    Father Alers chuckled and stood with a moan, then offered her his arm.
    She placed her hand in the crook of his elbow. “He only wishes to fatten me up for the slaughter.”
    Father Alers’s only reply was a grunt as he