Duke by Day, Rogue by Night Read Free Page A

He pulled away, breaking contact, and her skin burned where his fingers had been. Shock infiltrated her senses. Had he recognized her? Why, the very idea was absurd. He was a pirate! It wasn’t as if they frequented the same social circles. And yet something had registered between them. She’d felt it in his gaze, his touch. But she was given no time to dwell on her absurd thoughts however, because he turned away and addressed the men in the room.
    He spoke loudly to the brigands. “Search the room. Report whatever you find to me, then the captain.”
    The rogue and his men pilfered through her belongings, scattering petticoats and stockings about the room as if they were rags. Temporarily forgotten, Constance focused on escape. A captain was mentioned. How many others were in charge? And what greater misery waited above deck?
    She followed the leader’s movements. What part had he played in the attack upon the Octavia? The fact that he might have killed Lieutenant Guffald or Captain Collins hit her full force. His size and skill certainly proved him capable of performing such a sickening feat. And yet there was something about him …
    Fabric ripped. Mrs. Mortimer shrieked, startling Constance away from her speculations about the man. But it was too late. The thieves had torn the hem of her green lined riding habit and were only seconds away from discovering her money pouch, which held the last valuable farthing she’d saved to procure transportation to Aunt Lydia’s home. Without those funds, she and Mrs. Mortimer would be destitute.
    The one-eyed brigand cocked his head sideways as she stepped forward to intercept the garment.
    â€œStay back,” he warned. His voice was dagger sharp.
    He stretched out a well-muscled arm to bar her way and Constance watched her future fade before her eyes as one of the rogues ripped into the wool cloth. Grinning, the rotten-mouthed man produced the pouch and threw it into the one-eyed pirate’s hand. Satisfied, the jackal produced a lop-sided grin, tossed the purse, weighed it, nodded, and ordered his lackey to take the money topside.
    With nothing left to distract them, her captors turned away from her to plunder another one of her trunks. Constance stood by helplessly as one by one, men filtered in and out of the room, passing along information to their leader about the melee above. Clothed in black, wearing tall Hessian boots, the overseeing pirate loomed larger than life in her cabin, his dark, wavy hair draping away from his beard at the slightest tilt of his head. His leather eye patch, held in place by a blood-red scarf, gave him a sinful demonic air that made Constance quiver. His facial features, concealed as they were beneath a mustache and beard, kept her from judging the man’s character. From head to toe, the blaggard was a frightening specimen. She knew it would do no good to beg and plead for clemency, though she feared she was but moments away from resorting to those tactics.
    She had to escape. But how? The room was too small to rush by him without getting snagged by an arm. Men shuffled about in the hatchway, preventing her passage. She’d be a fool to think she could outmaneuver men who’d been trained to scuttle a ship and wreak havoc on human life. Was escape even possible?
    â€œPlotting a getaway, eh?” he asked, while studying the state of his fingernail. Had she been that obvious? “Don’t try anything foolish. That could get you killed.”
    Did he think her a fool? Did he expect her to follow him blindly to the side of the ship and obey his command to jump or worse, succumb to a pirate’s lust? No. If she was going to die, she would rather die struggling to survive, like her mother. Her heart sank as she remembered how terribly wrong her mother’s plan had gone. But had she had any other choice? She shivered at the thought as the brigand’s eye bore into hers. He gave his head a negative