Destiny's Magic Read Online Free Page B

tittering, Susan kept quiet, and fantasized about a half-clothed dancer. Even now she blushed, a familiar ache mashing her insides. Her wild passion embarrassed her, yet she simply couldn’t make it go away. Could that be because Orson introduced her to it, then denied her? She thought not.
    â€œThis boat ain’t gonna blow up, is it, Momma?”
    â€œThere’s nothing to be frightened of.” She motioned toward the tousled bedclothes. “Now, young man, for the very last time, it’s off to bed for you.”
    As he did as bade, Susan dug a hook from the carpetbag. The same hook, now wiped clean, that she’d used earlier that night to gain enough time to get away from Orson Paget.
    She refused to think about any of that as she went to the water pitcher and collected Snooky, who put up no fight.
    As she retied the rope, the lad commented, “Momma, I don’t like the cap’n. He’s mean, like Orson.”
    Tucking the sheet under Pippin’s chin, she stroked his precious brow. “You mustn’t mistake irritation for brute force. The captain is merely upset with his workers. As well, it seems we took him by surprise, arriving as we did.”
    A fist pounded the hatch. “Mrs. Paget, are you still interested in sewing my hand?”
    She was and wasn’t. He intrigued her. He frightened her. He appealed to a wanton bent best ignored. But Susan owed the captain. “Most certainly, sir.”

Three
    â€œYou’re very good at this, Mrs. Paget.”
    Susan’s fingers stilled, the needle in midair. She glanced at the docile captain sitting opposite at a small table in his quarters. Fractious, docile. He was a man for moods, yet . . . “I find you brave, sir.” To say the least, which she wouldn’t.
    The scent of man, clean yet sullied by the metallic tang of blood, budded in her nose; she studied the broad, sturdy hand in her palm, as well as the muscular forearm above it. How could a mere arm, dusted with fine black hair and ribboned with prominent veins, be so interesting? Papa Legba, give strength! If she had to ask herself such a question, she was truly ignorant of sensual matters.
    She coerced a chipper tone. “Another fellow might’ve demanded spirits to dull the pain.”
    â€œI’ve dulled enough pain that way. I’m a drunk. Or was.”
    The bottle had surely driven him to the bonfire on the shores of Lake Pontchartrain. He had been free, loose, and had exuberantly enjoyed the companionship of a frothy blonde.
    Susan took the last of seven stitches to close the wound in his hand, then petted his thumb as if he were Pippin. “So you are free of the scourge. Congratulations.”
    â€œYou’re very kind, Mrs. Paget.” One moment seeped into another. “If you were mine, I’d never strike you. You’re too lovely for bruises.”
    She repacked the leather medical kit. “There’s nothing lovely in shame.”
    â€œWe aren’t a bunch of English coxcombs on the Yankee Princess. No one will think ill of you.”
    It had been years since she had been in the company of an Englishman, besides her father and his manservant. Yet the toothless oracle at the traveling show predicted Susan would meet a wonderful Englishman to adore her and the children their love brought. And that good man, tender and kind, would love Pippin as though he were his own.
    Ridiculous. The blackguard known as Orson Paget had ruined her for ever wanting a husband.
    â€œWhy so quiet?” Captain O’Brien gazed at her with assessment. “Studying my faults?”
    â€œSuch self-flattery,” she came back in a tease. “You’ll lead me to believe there’s not a modest bone in your body.”
    He laughed, turning to profile. Susan grinned at his expression. It gave a boyish quality to a manly face of straight forehead and nose, longish on the latter, and strong jaw.
    His green gaze returning to