Once a Pirate Read Free

witless,” Andrew said, chuckling.
    “I may have been knocked out,” she shot back, “but I’m not witless.” Gingerly, she probed the matted hair above her right ear and winced. “And I’m not Amanda.”
    “I see. Then how do you suppose you came to be swimming in the middle of the ocean?”
    Talk about witless.
“My plane went down near your ship. You must have heard the crash.” She pointed to the patches sewn on her flight jacket. “Look. Says right here—
Lieutenant C. Callahan. U.S. Navy pilot.”
    “I am in no mood for this child’s play,” he said, bringing his face close to hers.
    She caught his scent—masculine, a hint of sweat, brandy, the sea. His unkempt brown hair curled around his collar, and she doubted he’d seen a razor in at least a week.
    “Your time would be better spent pondering the seriousness of your situation, Lady Amanda.”
    She tore her gaze from the whiskers on his jaw and met his glare. His pupils were dilated, turning his disconcerting blue eyes into unyielding black orbs. Her heart skidded to a stop.
    Oh, God, he was a drug runner. Or maybe he wanted to salvage the downed jet and sell the parts. One thing was certain: She wasn’t going to stick around long enough to find out.
    She shoved the blanket to her waist, pushed herself upright. He reached for her. She blocked him with her arm, and he grabbed her wrist.
    “Taking your leave already?” he drawled.
    Run!
her senses screamed, but there was no way around him.
Okay, Carly, time to think your way out of this—and fast.
She swallowed, cleared her throat. “I’d like to use your radio to contact my carrier.”
    His scowl deepened. “Who is Ray Dio?”
    “Radio,” she repeated, as though to a child.
    They looked at each other long and hard, then shook their heads in identical displays of bafflement. He released her wrist, but only after gaping at her wristwatch as though he’d never seen one before.
    Several shouts echoed from the deck, reminding Carly of the sinking sailboat. “By the way, what happened to that other ship? Was there an explosion?”
    “Not that I am aware of.”
    “Were there any survivors?”
    “You.”
    She stared at him blankly—then she opened her mouth.
    He held up one hand. “Enough! You will send me to an early grave with your ceaseless babble.”
    Andrew could not imagine what her father, Lord Paxton, had been thinking when he’d hired this girl’s governess. The woman must have been an uneducated native of the colonies, no doubt; that would explain Amanda’s odd accent. Jamming his fingers through his hair, he paced briskly, no small feat considering the narrow space between the bed and the wall. Blast her incomprehensible chatter! He reached for his decanter and filled his glass with brandy, pausing to contemplate the woman in his bunk, who was anything but fifteen. Hair the color of moonlight spilled from her braid, a few silvered strands sticking to her moist, flushed cheeks. Her fine-boned hands were clenched.
    ’Twas disconcerting, but he felt as though he knew her, although, to his knowledge, they had never met. “Milady,” he said quietly, “when you are not reciting gibberish, you are quite an enchanting creature.”
    Her golden-brown eyes darkened with fury.
    Andrew smiled and took a sip of brandy. After sighting the
Merryweather
off the coast of Spain, he’d dispatched two men to Malta on one of the longboats. By now, they were well on their way to London—and Richard—with the ransom note. It was long overdue, but the duke would pay. Aye, he would pay for the lives he had destroyed. Finally, Andrew had gained the upper hand, possessed what the duke so desperately wanted. Ah, how he looked forward to dangling the sweet bait all the way to Emerald Isle.
    First, however, he must determine whether a second ship had accompanied her. If he could cripple another of Lord Paxton’s vessels, it would further disgrace Richard, demonstrating that the cur was incapable of