A smile touched her lips. “What would I be frightened of?”
He shrugged, his discussion with Kenmar still fresh in his mind. “Pirates.”
“Pirates are the things of fairy tales, are they not?”
“Pirates are a very real threat, I’m afraid.”
“Are you speaking of a certain lady pirate who attacks ships and eats men?”
Nicholas chuckled. “Lady Anne they call her.”
“Ah, yes. Lady Anne,” Emmaline said with a slight smile.
“I’m afraid tales of her are most likely exaggerated. Especially the man-eating tales.” “You don’t believe in Lady Anne?”
Nicholas hesitated, recognizing the same question he’d asked Kenmar. “I’m afraid not. Sailing is difficult enough for men. It’s not a lifestyle a woman would become accustomed to.”
“But I sail frequently.”
He detected a note in her voice warning that he was treading on unstable ground. Yet, a little devil stood on his shoulder and he felt an unholy need to goad this woman. Not a very gentlemanly thing to do, but that what-the-hell attitude took root again.
“As a passenger. Not as a crewman. The work is strenuous and taxing. Not to mention dangerous.”
“And you don’t think a woman is able to engage in such dangerous work?” Her voice was tight, her shoulders even tighter.
He bit back the urge to smile. What a virago this woman was and what fun it would be to debate with her. He’d met very few men, let alone women, he’d had the pleasure to clash verbal swords with.
“I believe a woman has her place in a man’s world, but not on the sea.”
Silence stretched between them as they completed a circuit of the room and stopped where they’d started. Mrs. Sutherland looked up at him, seeming to assess him. He was relieved to see she wasn’t angry, merely interested, as if she were studying a bug pinned to a board. Or, better yet, an unknown creature pulled from the sea. Her gaze drew him in, made him think thoughts that were entirely inappropriate.
He cleared his throat and stepped back. She’s married, Addison. You don’t dally with married women.
She curtsied, although he had the impression the move was less etiquette and more mockery, which delighted him and had him forcing back a smile he was sure she wouldn’t appreciate. “Thank you for alleviating my boredom, kind sir. Your conversation was … enlightening.”
He bowed, finding it more and more difficult not to smile. She certainly was peeved with him, and he found to his chagrin that he wasn’t at all pleased she was taking leave of his company. He would have liked to debate with her for the rest of the night. But that would be inappropriate. Besides, he was sailing in a few days and had to prepare for it. “My pleasure, Mrs. Sutherland.”
A mere hour later, Emmaline observed Nicholas Addison leave with his brother, the Earl of Claybrook. Both men climbed the stairs, twin specimens of masculinity that had every female eye riveted to their wide shoulders and full heads of black-as-sin hair. Neither wore the wigs that were so in fashion. Emmaline had a feeling that others would soon follow in their footsteps, because the two were decidedly delicious looking without them. Each moved with an animal-like grace, although Nicholas had a hitch to his step that had her wondering what happened to him. The limp was his only physical flaw, although she didn’t consider it a flaw, just another fascinating aspect of a man who captivated her attention.
Inside she was still smiling at their conversation. So, Captain Addison believed sailing too strenuous for women. She couldn’t help herself as she laughed out loud, causing a few heads to turn her way.
Even though she disagreed with his assessment of females, she thoroughly enjoyed their verbal sparring, but something about him bothered her. Normally she was good at sizing up a man’s character. He’d been interested, but the interest in those deep navy eyes definitely cooled when she mentioned a husband. So he had morals.
He’d been a gentleman, sincerely concerned for her safety when he spoke of pirates in that smooth-as-velvet voice. Which meant he was caring.
He firmly believed a woman had no place on the sea, yet he wasn’t harsh about his belief. Merely naïve, as most men were. Unlike most of the gentlemen at the ball, who’d gone soft with drink and too much fine food, she felt his strength in the muscles of his arm, and in his wide shoulders unpadded beneath his coat. He was lean, the bones in his face finely chiseled, the pale skin stretched taut. There was no excess about him, as if he’d gone to hell and back, and the journey had taken everything from him, leaving him with nothing but what he needed to survive.
There were shadows in his blue eyes, a weariness and deep grief. Yet when he spoke of sailing she glimpsed a man who commanded authority and demanded respect. No doubt he was a very good captain.
No doubt she had her work cut out for her.
Kenmar had picked his spy well.
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