The Rogue’s Prize Read Online Free

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    bargaining with pirates. Her mother’s
    final words cut her to the quick. Some
    lessons weren’t meant to be learned.
    The demon moved. He stood face
    to face with her now, though he was a
    head taller. His height posed a strategic
    problem. Should she try to resist, there
    would be no way to get around him.
    “You’re a beauty,” he admitted.
    “Perhaps a physician should check
    your good eye,” she snapped.
    He tossed his head back with
    laughter, then moved back toward the
    center of the room and quirked his brow.
    “Do you intend to slay your enemy with
    wit or a bed warmer?”
    Censored by his amusement of her
    predicament, Constance sheathed her
    arms about her like a protective cocoon.
    He was but a few steps away. She was
    not safe by any means. He could attack at
    any time. Fearing that possibility, she
    watched him closely as he leaned on one
    of her trunks, his thigh straining against
    the dark fabric of his breeches. She
    closed her eyes, revolted that she’d been
    caught staring. But he was incredibly
    big, large enough to kill her with one tap
    of his hand. The fact that he could
    overpower her in seconds toppled any
    hopes she had of knocking him
    senseless.
    “What is your name?” he asked,
    interrupting her thoughts.
    “Who is doing the asking?”
    His loud guffaw only exasperated
    her stubborn streak. The man was
    arrogant, a character trait similar to her
    father’s. Constance understood pleading
    for her life, for Mrs. Mortimer’s, would
    be useless. But she had few options left.
    If she expected to live, she would
    eventually be expected to give in to the
    rogue’s
    demands
    or
    perish.
    She
    understood this better than most. Forcing
    a pirate into a bargain had backfired on
    her mother. Yet, this night she’d come
    full circle. It was now her turn to
    choose. Her mother had given her that
    right, shown her the true measure of
    courage. Could she do the same for Mrs.
    Mortimer, the woman who’d shown her
    every kindness and taken her mother’s
    place in every way but one?
    “It’s customary to answer a
    question before asking one,” he parried.
    He stood, his body a lithe predatory
    element she would be smart not to
    ignore. He moved closer, his eye never
    wavering from hers. Under his close
    scrutiny, she was vaguely aware of the
    struggling crew overhead, of the rocking
    of the ship beneath her, and the four
    walls of the cabin closing in. She was
    aware of his smell — musk, smoke, and
    wood, not like the grease, sulfur, and
    filth of the other men. The closer he
    ambled, the bigger, more daunting he
    became. Eventually, she had to crane her
    neck to look up into his face.
    “What’s your name?” he asked
    again.
    Constance felt compelled to answer
    but her lips failed to comply. He was too
    close. He did not fit into the mold of her
    mother’s attackers, men she vividly
    remembered through a child’s eyes —
    dirty, toothless, and vile. This man, this
    blackguard, was dark where Lieutenant
    Guffald was light. He was menacing and
    willful, where her father exemplified
    dignity and social breeding. Constance
    shivered and pulled the wrap he’d given
    her closer together. Fearing the next few
    minutes, hours, she longed for her
    mother’s strength. She was a lady, the
    daughter of a proud nobleman, a man
    who happened to be destitute but not by
    his own design. She’d been sheltered
    from cruelty, protected from diabolical
    men, until her father had been forced to
    make a deal with Lord Burton — until
    now. She could not give her real name.
    If it ever became known, the disgrace
    would be irreparable to her father’s
    already tarnished image. But what
    answer could she give to appease this
    man’s curiosity? And if she lied, and he
    discovered her ruse, what then?
    “I expect a reply,” he stated.
    Daring to hope she could buy
    herself more time, to find a way to
    escape her mother’s same agonizing fate,
    Constance held her tongue.
    “There is no place for you