Surrender Read Free Page A

mind that she was very much alone with a
complete stranger now. Shoving her trepidation aside, she did as he asked. Very
breathless now, she slowly faced him.
    He was standing at a large desk covered with charts. For one
moment, all she saw was a tall, broad-shouldered man with golden hair tied
carelessly in a queue, a pistol clipped to his shoulder belt, a dagger sheathed
on his belt.
    Then she realized that he was also staring at her.
    She inhaled, trembling. He was shockingly attractive, she now
realized, in both a masculine and a beautiful way. His eyes were gray, his
features even, his cheekbones high and cutting. A gold cross winked from the
widely open neck of his white lawn shirt. He was wearing doeskin breeches and
high boots, and now she realized how powerful and lean his tall, muscular build
was. His shirt clung to his broad chest and flat torso, and his breeches fit
like a second skin. He did not have an ounce of fat on his hard frame.
    She wasn’t certain she had ever come into contact with such an
inherently masculine man—and it was unnerving somehow.
    She was also the object of intense scrutiny. He was leaning his
hip against the desk and staring back at her, as openly as she was regarding
him. Evelyn felt herself flush. He was, she thought, trying to see her features,
which were partially concealed by her hood.
    She now saw the small, narrow bed on the opposite wall. She
realized that this was where he slept. There was a handsome rug on the planked
floor, a handful of books on a small table. Otherwise, the cabin was sparsely
appointed and completely utilitarian.
    “Do you have a name?”
    She jerked, realizing that her heart was racing. How should she
answer? For she knew she must never reveal who she was. “Will you help me?”
    “I haven’t decided. My services are expensive, and you are a
large group.”
    “I am desperate to return home. And my husband is in desperate
need of a physician.”
    “So the plot thickens. How ill is he?”
    “Does it matter?”
    “Can he reach my ship?”
    She hesitated. “Not without help.”
    “I see.”
    He did not seem moved by her plight. How could she convince him
to help them? “Please,” she whispered, stepping away from the door. “I have a
four-year-old daughter. I must get her to Britain.”
    He suddenly launched himself off the desk and strode
slowly—indolently—toward her. “Just how desperate are you?” His tone was
flat.
    He had paused before her, inches separating them. She froze,
but her heart thundered. What was he suggesting? Because while his tone was
brisk, there was a speculative gleam in his eyes. Or was she imagining it?
    She realized that she was mesmerized, and unbalanced. “I could
not be more desperate,” she managed, with a stutter.
    He suddenly reached for her hood and tugged it down before she
knew what he meant to do. His eyes immediately widened.
    Her tension knew no bounds. She meant to protest. If she had
wanted to reveal her face, she would have done so! As his gaze moved over her
features, very slowly, one by one, her resistance died.
    “Now I understand,” he said softly, “why you would hide your
features.”
    Her heart slammed. Was he complimenting her? Did he think her
attractive—or even beautiful? “Obviously we are in some jeopardy,” she
whispered. “I’m afraid of being recognized.”
    “Obviously. Is your husband French?”
    “Yes,” she said, “and I have never been as afraid.”
    He studied her. “I take it you were followed?”
    “I don’t know—perhaps.”
    Suddenly he reached toward her. Evelyn lost her ability to
breathe as he tucked a strand of dark hair behind her ear. Her heart went wild.
His fingers had grazed her cheek—and she almost wanted to leap into his arms.
How could he do such a thing? They were strangers.
    “Was your husband accused of crimes against the state?”
    She flinched. “No…but we were told not to leave Paris.”
    He stared.
    She wet her lips, wishing she could