Heart of Steel - Meljean Brook [108]
He gave a sharp nod.
“If you did not board Lady Corsair two months ago, slaughter my crew, and steal my gold, please say so now.”
She wanted him to, Archimedes realized. Even though this meant she could avenge her crew, she didn’t want it to be Bigor. Respect for him, perhaps—it was easy to respect such quiet strength.
“I did,” he said.
If Yasmeen was disappointed, she didn’t show it. Instead, she hardened. “Ordered by al-Amazigh?”
“Hired.”
“Is that different than ordered?”
A nod. “Only my superiors give me orders. A man who simply possesses money is not my superior.”
“And there’s no loyalty to him, which is why you’re telling me this now.”
Another nod.
Yasmeen advanced on him, crouched a few feet away. “I’ll trade you a story, Mr. Bigor. You tell me why al-Amazigh wants Hassan dead, and I’ll write a letter to your wife and children that doesn’t mention the slaughter of an entire ship, murders that weren’t in service to your king.”
“But they were, Captain Fox.” The big marine stood.
Archimedes drew his gun. Yasmeen might not use hers as a warning, but by God, he would. “One step toward her and I pull the trigger.”
The man didn’t move, his eyes locked on Yasmeen’s face. “They will receive a letter, Captain, but not from you. One that tells them how I was instrumental in assisting the French take their first step back into the Old World. That is an honor that needs no lie—and it is with that honor, I die.”
Without warning, Bigor threw himself backward. What the hell? Archimedes rushed forward as the marine flipped over the rail. He didn’t make a sound as he dropped into the harbor below. A splash swallowed him up.
Archimedes looked back in disbelief. Yasmeen hadn’t moved, her face thoughtful as she looked out over the side of the ship. Her fingers reached for her sash—for her cigarillo case, he knew—and only when they encountered nothing did she shake her head, focus on him.
“It always seems a shame not to let a proud man go his own way,” she said.
“You knew he’d do that?”
“I thought he might. And I am so tired of shooting people.”
“Perhaps you should have.” Archimedes looked over again. “You know what will happen now? He’ll return when we least expect it and take his revenge.”
She snorted. “That only happens in Archimedes Fox serials. His hands are tied.”
“I returned from Venice,” he said.
“So you did.” Yasmeen pursed her lips, approached the side, and looked over. “If he bobs up again, feel free to fire. But don’t wait too long for him to appear—you’ll miss dinner.”
Yasmeen would have been happy to miss the meal itself, but she’d always enjoyed sharing dinner with her passengers—and eating with Hassan and Archimedes for company was just as pleasurable. If she’d planned to stay on as Ceres’ captain, she’d have eventually traded the stiff chairs for pillows around a low table, but this would do for the two or three weeks she intended to remain aboard.
The low thrum of the engines could be heard and felt from all the way aft, the conversation was entertaining, and for a short time, it was almost as if Yasmeen was exactly where she belonged again. In an odd way, Guillouet had put her back in her place.
But this lady wasn’t hers, and so it wasn’t quite where she belonged—and the only perfect thing was that Archimedes was sharing the table with her.
Tonight, they’d share the bed.
She could not stop imagining it. Not when he sat so close, so quick with a grin or a clever reply. Not when he swallowed his wine, and she couldn’t take her eyes from the strong column of his throat, remembering how he smelled, how he tasted. The way he held his fork, the thickness of his hair, his rough jaw—every detail recalling what it was to touch him, to be touched, to be loved.
“You’ve grown quiet, Captain,” Hassan said.
Lusting after my husband. Something that Yasmeen had never imagined herself doing, and yet she enjoyed every delicious second of it.