Come the Dawn (29 page)

“B
lasted thief! Rotten scoundrel!”

India’s angry shouts echoed over the deck. But anger was just a defense. The pirate knew her sex and her identity. What in heaven’s name would he do with her now?

Confronted with a problem, India did as she had always done since she was able to walk. She followed the example of her two beloved and thoroughly unruly brothers.

She raised her fists and prepared to fight. “Stay away from me.”

The Frenchman closed the door of the cabin and slid the bolt home.

“Don’t come near. You’ll be sorry if you do, I warn you!”

He turned slowly and angled his back against the door, arms crossed across his broad chest. A single candle flickered on an ornate, brass-bound chest, casting his bearded features into shadow.

India felt a rising wave of panic. “The horse is no good to you.”

No answer.

“You’ll
never
be able to ride him.”

Still no answer.

“So you won’t listen to reason.” She tugged her pistol from her cuff. “Then this will have to convince you.” She leveled the silver barrels. “Stay away. I’ll shoot if you touch me,” she said fiercely.

“Will you, indeed?” the Frenchman said softly. He took a step closer.

India’s fingers tensed. She aimed carefully and sent a bullet cracking off the wall over his shoulder.

“I suggest you be careful where you’re pointing that thing.”

“Where I’m pointing is at
you!”

Silently the pirate closed the gap, shadows dancing around him.

Grimly, India sent a second ball hurtling from the pistol. It took a nick out of the wall, the sliver cutting through the Frenchman’s arm.

He just kept coming.

“Don’t you have ears? The next ball will go through your heart!”

He smiled faintly. “But now you have no bullets left,
petite.”

He was right, India realized too late. She tossed down the pistol and tugged a knife from her boots. “Then you’ll taste my steel instead.”

“Such fire for a woman — and an Englishwoman at that.
C’est fort amusant.”

“Oh, I’m funny, am I? Well, you won’t think so in a minute, cur.”

“No?
Mille pardons.
And me, I think I am being so chivalrous.”

Scowling, India leveled the knife, but the Frenchman caught it away with one smooth stroke. “I have no intention of touching you, little fool.”

“Hah! And I suppose those men out there are in training for a life in the church.”

“My men are well enough. Neither they — nor I — will hurt you.”

India looked at him suspiciously. “You won’t? Why not?”

“Because I like my women to look like women, for one thing. And also because taking partners to bed by force is not a good entertainment.”

India swallowed. “Then what do you intend to do with me?”

“I haven’t the slightest idea.” Shrugging philosophically, he opened a drawer in the desk and pulled out a decanter and two tumblers. “Brandy?”

India crossed her arms defiantly. “I see right through your tricks, snake. You couldn’t frighten me so now you’re going to poison me instead!”

“Poison, you fear.” The Frenchman filled two glasses and then drained one. “Like that?”

India bit her lip. “You must be trying to make me foxed. That won’t work either.”

He shrugged again, took the glass he’d poured for her, and drained it as well. “Now tell me what you are doing alone among those ruffians.”

“My groom was with me, so I
wasn’t
alone.”

“Voyons,
that makes it all different, of course. So let me ask again. What are you doing dressed in boy’s breeches and riding a horse that would cost a lifetime of work for any of my men?”

“None of your business,” India said sharply. “I won’t tell you. Not even if you
torture
me.”

Across the cabin the shadowed face hardened. “There is torture,
petite.”
His voice fell, rough and seductive. “And then there is
torture.”

India sensed the tension in his body. Even more she felt the power of his will, a power that kept his villainous men in tight check. She swallowed. “And just what is that supposed to mean?”

“What do you choose to make of it,
ma mie?”

India’s fingers tightened. “You’re threatening me.”

“Merely stating a fact of the most evident.”

“I am not afraid of you and I won’t be badgered and bullied.” She yanked the second pistol from her other boot and leveled the sights.

The Frenchman’s brow rose. “I don’t? How interesting.” His hands went to his shirt. One button slid free.

“What are you doing?” India rasped.

“I am giving you a chance to satisfy your English threats.” The shirt parted slightly.

“You” — India swallowed — “are?”

“Of course,
anglaise.
One must never make a threat which one does not wish to carry through.” There was an edge of warning to his voice. He moved closer, mere inches from the pistol now, his face in shadow.
“Alors,
you have your opportunity. I offer you my chest as a target. Shoot me now.”

“Sh-shoot?”

“You forget how? Simply aim and press the little trigger with your finger.”

“I
know
how to shoot a gun!”

“Eh bien,
then shoot me.”

India glared at him.

“Ah. So it is not lack of skill that holds your finger back?” he asked innocently.

His calm only added to India’s fury. “Nothing’s holding my finger back! I am simply — taking time to aim.”

“But of course. I make a difficult target at this distance, to be sure.”

India muttered harshly. All she had to do was squeeze the trigger of the pistol her father had given to her in Egypt.

But she couldn’t. Her finger would not move. She could not shoot an unarmed, unresisting man. Every instinct forbade it.

“No?” He gave a Gallic shrug. “Your nerves are — how do you say — in a crisis?”

“I am not having any crisis of nerves!
It’s simply — well, unsporting to shoot someone who is unarmed.”

“Ah, now you speak of sport. You English concern yourselves too much with this. Me, I find it most incomprehensible.”

“You would,” India muttered. “And now I’ll show you exactly how I mean to—”

With a quick chop the Frenchman struck her wrist and sent her pistol clattering to the floor. “Let that be your first lesson aboard the
Gypsy.
Never hold a pistol unless you are prepared to fire it. And you,
ma belle,
though very brave, are not prepared to kill a man. Consider it a blessing that you have never had the need.” The pirate looked away. His voice was grim as he picked up India’s pistol and slid it into his pocket. “And now, we commence again.
Ton nom, ma belle.
You are a Delamere,
non?”

“I won’t tell you. Not a single word.”

“No?” The full lips hardened. “But perhaps there is no need,” he said coldly in his heavily accented English. “After all, I have seen that arrogant nose and those cool eyes before. All you Delameres have them.”

India tried to hide her shock. Dear God, he hadn’t been bluffing. He
knew.
Now there would be no escape. He would demand a vast amount of ransom money. Maybe he would demand even
more
than money.