Surrender of a Siren (The Wanton Dairymaid Trilogy #2)

“You. Want to tell me. About sacrifices.” Joss took a step toward him, his voice rough. “I reap the benefits, do I? My family reaped the sugarcane that paid for this ship. They lived and died for it. And you may own the damn ship, but you don’t own me.”


Damn it to hell. Whenever Gray thought they’d finally moved past the inequity of their births, he found himself quite rudely corrected. It wasn’t as though Gray could change the fact that he’d been the first born, legitimate son. As the younger brother, Joss would never have had the same opportunities as Gray, whether he’d been born of a mistress, a wife, or in this case, a slave.

“Joss, that’s unfair. You know the fact we’re of different mothers didn’t matter to our father. It’s never mattered to me.”

“It matters to some. I’ve the scars to prove it.”

“As do I.”

Shaking his head, Joss studied the mainmast towering above them. “Go bugger one of your goats, Gray.”

“Joss.”

Ignoring Gray entirely, Joss turned to his second mate. “Mr. Wiggins!

Summon all hands. Prepare to weigh anchor.”

Gray walked away. There wasn’t anything more he could say. At least, there wasn’t anything more he knew how to say. He’d just have to keep quiet, he supposed. Keep quiet, and look after the money. There wasn’t any way he could change the past and little enough he knew to do in the present. He’d never had any talent for morality—that, he gladly left to Bel. But if he looked after the money, everything else would fall into place. Even the goats.

“Sir, you owe me a debt.”

Sophia dodged Mr. Grayson’s elbow as he wheeled to face her. She had him right where she wanted him. With the mast directly behind him, and rigging to either side, he had nowhere to escape.

“Mr. Grayson.” She took a deep breath and clenched one hand into a fist at her side. The other hand she raised into the space between them, brandishing a sheet of clean parchment. “You—and your goat—owe me two leaves of high-quality paper. Heavy stock, free of markings. I expect restitution.”

He rubbed one palm along his jaw, then slid it back to cup his neck. “

“Paper?” One eyebrow arched as he took in her disheveled appearance.

“You’re all worked up over a few sheets of paper?”

Suddenly self-conscious under his gaze, Sophia smoothed a lock of hair behind her ear. After the theft of her paper and the humiliation of landing in a farmyard tangle, she had relied upon her indignation to shield her from Mr. Grayson’s charms. Perhaps she had overestimated the protective quality of pique.

Although she still wore the same bedraggled garment she’d been wearing since the moment of their introduction, he’d changed his attire. His tailored navy-blue topcoat and buff trousers were the height of fashion. His unruly waves of hair had been tamed with a touch of pomade, and the light growth of beard only increased his roguish good looks. The sole defect in his appearance remained the scuffed boots, which had now suffered all manner of abuse, from saltwater to sickness.

He looked unforgivably handsome. The sheet of paper crumpled in Sophia’s grip. Drat him, now he owed her three.

“Paper,” he repeated.

“Yes, paper. It may be just ‘a few sheets of paper’ to you, but to me, it’s… well, it’s paper.” Sophia was painfully aware of how idiotic she sounded.

“I have a very limited supply, you see, and it’s simply too dear to be wasted on livestock.”

“I see.” His brows knit together as he stared at the sheet in her hand.

“No, you don’t.” Sophia felt tears pricking the corners of her eyes. Of all the absurd occasions to cry. She’d told herself she could leave everything else behind—her family, her friends, her belongings—so long as she had her art. Only now she found herself missing everything else a bit more than she’d planned, and to have her creative outlet threatened by this, this beast

—not to mention his goat … She sniffed fiercely. “Of course, you don’t see. How could you? You’re thinking it’s just a bit of paper, but it isn’t at all. It’s…”

“It’s paper.”

Blinking back her tears, Sophia turned to stare resolutely at the horizon.

“Yes, precisely.”

“Now, sweetheart, where’s that lacy little handkerchief when you need it?”

After a furtive swipe at her eyes, Sophia crossed her arms.

“Ho there, boy!” A sharp voice cut through their conversation. “Go aloft and set the fore royal.”

“Aye, aye, Mr. Brackett.”

A youth about Sophia’s height hurried between them and paused at the base of the rigging. She recognized him as the boy who’d removed the unwelcome goat from her cabin.

“First time then, Davy?” Mr. Grayson asked.

The youth swallowed audibly. “First time at sea, sir.”