Virgin Star by Jennifer Horsman Read Free Book Online Page B

it appeared in the color rising on her cheeks.
    Color he mistook for passion. "Aye, there's the pinch of it again." His tone changed completely. "Actually, it's rather surprising to me, too. I'd never suspect you could incite much more than my aggravation. You're really too young...” And he could feel, “How slim you are!" Regaining his composure, he added, "But being a generous sort, if you just lift up about an inch, I might be kind enough to return the pleasure.” He watched as something strange entered her eyes. Suddenly he realized it was fear. "Of course, the alternative is begging for my mercy. And put some sincerity into it."
    A neat row of small gritted teeth concealed a fierce and swift panic as she spat, "I beg for no man's mercy!"
    With her arms and legs trapped and with a small pained cry, she threw her head back and smashed her forehead into his nose. An abrupt, deep grunt sounded as he released her arms and legs. Instantly she rolled in a circle off the bed, landing catlike on the floor.
    Breathless and dizzy, she listened to original and very colorful curses, mixed with warm amusement, ending at last in, "I deserve no better, I suppose, for not throttling you from the start." He chuckled again and reached out to pick up an apple from the fruit bowl. Looking her over he asked, "Really, I'm curious. I never heard of any woman being accepted for the training. Where did you learn it?"
    She made no response. Her eyes widened as he pulled himself up, easing his back against the headboard before returning his gaze to her. Large white teeth bit into the succulent fruit. All the while, she waited, poised and tense and ready to defend her life against his next attack.
    "I was in the Japan Isles," he said, thinking to ease her distress first, before he hung Tilly over a pit of snapping gators for allowing this. What time was it anyway? He looked past her to the mechanical clock on the hearth. Kyler already had ten men watching the bastard at the Connaught. Cherry Joe and Knolls would have gotten the dynamite by the tenth bell. They'd set the explosion on the duke's ship, the White Pearl, for the twelfth bell, so as to leave no doubt of timing. They'd give his French duke the rest of the afternoon to think about it. He'd exchange introductions later this evening.
    His trigger finger ached even now with eagerness.
    Kill first, wonder later, and curse the bloody consciousness that sparked doubt! If he didn't shoot the duke, then according to Wilson, in order to get O'Connell his seat in Parliament and four years of shipping free of all British tariffs, he'd have to spend the next several months in the South China Seas until he somehow managed to blow up this mountain-high supply of opium.
    Odds were he'd probably kill the duke first. Never mind the precious parliamentary seat, 'twill be for you, Joy, for you. He still had trouble imagining a man so stupid, so utterly mad as to threaten the life of Joy. Joy! Of all the women in the world! He knew maybe a thousand men who would kill anybody for looking sideways at the girl; himself and Ram included.
    There were still many hours to wait. He forced his thoughts back to the immediate circumstances, trying to keep in mind the girl's fear.
    "Yes. Well. A number of years ago the boys and I—my crew," he explained casually as if they now sat chatting over tea and cakes, motioning with the apple as he spoke, "were sailing the Orient, the Japans specifically, exploring possible trade opportunities and routes. We sailed into a tiny port at a remote fishing village for some repairs and whatnot. On one of its sandy beaches we saw a group of men performing a strange dance, each man synchronized with the next and the whole thing remarkable for how very slowly it transpired. As if time itself had ceased. Always curious, I inquired as to the nature of the queer dance form. I was told the men were monks of an old temple housed nearby, that they practiced tai chi, the ancient Oriental art