Miss Lavigne's Little White Lie Read Free Page A

floor. “Well, madame. I wish you luck in securing passage on another ship. The Cecily doesn’t carry women passengers.”
    He pushed away from the table; freedom was slipping through her fingers.
    “Please, sir.” She grasped his forearm. “Name your price. I’ll give you anything.”
    He pulled from her hold and sank back into his seat, smirking. “Anything? Take care what you promise.”
    “I can afford any price you propose.”
    Resting his forearms on the table, he raked his gaze from her head to her waist and back again. “Madame, are you a widow?”
    She started in response to his unexpected inquiry. Her mourning attire could be misleading. Did the captain concern himself with procuring her husband’s permission to travel? Lisette hesitated only a second before nodding.
    “You’re no innocent then,” he said.
    “By the saints! The nature of my, my past is none of your concern.”
    He shrugged as he settled against the seat back. “Neither is your dilemma my concern. How splendid we should go about our evenings, neither of us concerned for the other.”
    This was going horribly wrong, and she had little left at her disposal. Lifting her chin, she nailed him with the evil eye as Grandmamma had been wont to do. No field hand, house servant, nor tradesman had dared to defy Grandmamma when she unleashed the evil eye.
    Captain Hillary chuckled. “Is everything all right, madame? Are you suffering from apoplexy?”
    “Oh, you are a beastly man.” She slapped her hands against the table and bolted from the chair. “I will locate another ship, Captain, and may yours go to the bottom of the sea.”
    Lisette marched across the room, retreating to a far corner to nurse her wounds. She hadn’t reached her destination before the weight of what she’d done hit her. Not only had she failed in her endeavor to ensure their escape, she had flung curses at the only man who could help her. What would she do now?
    The captain was still lounging at the table, looking at her, his expression unreadable. When her bottom lip trembled, she clamped her mouth closed and turned away. She would sooner walk through the gates of hell than cry in front of the scoundrel.
    ***
    Madame Lavigne’s attempt to recover from her outburst mesmerized Daniel. Her full breasts strained against the black silk of her widow’s weeds as her chest rose then fell in rapid sequence. The woman had proven arrogant, believing she could change his mind by offering more blunt, as if he were a pauper. If she had compensated her representative as well, perhaps he would have taken care to discover Daniel was the owner of the Cecily .
    The only factor nearly to sway Daniel’s decision had been the delicate curve of her neck and an overwhelming desire to place his lips against her bronzed skin. Her exotic beauty beckoned to him, and he wanted to pluck her like a hibiscus blossom and sample her nectar.
    Daniel snorted.
    He had been listening to his brother’s fiancée read from Shakespeare every night for the last few weeks. Apparently, the bard had turned him into a sap. Daniel didn’t employ ridiculous analogies when it came to shagging a wench. Ever. Yet somehow, his familiar crude language felt disrespectful in relation to the widow, even if she possessed a vulgar tongue herself.
    Merde , indeed.
    His gaze skimmed her diminutive waist and the flare of her hips. If her pleasing figure above her skirts piqued his interest, what lay underneath begged for his exploration.
    He sighed and signaled for another tankard of ale, abandoning his plan to return to his room in favor of further observation of the lady.
    The serving wench placed a tankard in front of him before weaving through the tables with two more clutched in her hand. He took a draft of the bitter malt, a perfect accompaniment to his bitter mood.
    Paulina was responsible for his near blunder with Madame Lavigne. Had his blasted mistress— former mistress—satisfied his needs as she usually did