“Why?”
“Because you look like an innocent.”
I couldn’t stop the shiver from running through me.
Moments like this happened often—his words repeated themselves in my mind as if I still wasn’t even strong enough to push his memory away. He had no relevance in my life, but he still had a hold on me.
I’d laughed too loudly when the captain said something minimally amusing, using that practiced laugh that was supposed to sound sensual but only sounded fake to my ears. I thought he bought it.
But the truth was, I was the one being deceived.
I knew he planned to hit me over the head when he didn’t haggle a price but only agreed on my twenty shillings for an hour. They always haggled.
I’d been prepared for him to try and capture me to sell as a slave. But I hadn’t been prepared for the real reason I’d be chained up in the hull of a ship with a heavy stare on my skin.
The captain was in his late thirties, probably. He had the experience I did not. He was good enough at what he did that the only thing I had warning me was my gut, but sadly I’d abandoned the feeling.
Walking up the ramp of his ship, apprehension danced in my stomach, but I’d convinced myself I wasn’t weak anymore and forced my feet to continue all the way to his quarters.
“Where you from?” he asked.
I took off my cloak, hanging it on the hook by the door. “Sylvia.” It was my go-to whenever anyone asked me about my background. Alger was so small that I wasn’t sure if most people knew about it, and if they did, then I didn’t want them to associate me with any tales.
“Ah. It’s bloody hot there, too,” he replied, pouring a cup of wine.
“It is,” I said, looking around the spacious quarters. He’d obviously seen the world with all the different artifacts on the built-in shelves behind his desk.
“You’re not into playing games like those Sylvian women, are you now?”
I smiled. “No.”
I hadn’t even escaped their games.
“Now that I think about it, your accent doesn’t sound Sylvian,” he said, leaning against the wall, and watching me with a gaze I wanted to shake off.
I faltered for just a second, and I was sure he noticed. I had wondered why I was so jumpy at the time. Well, because I knew everything was wrong. If only I’d listened to myself, I wouldn’t be back in a position I’d been in once before. I ran my finger over a smooth horn on his shelf, finally replying, “My grandmother and I traveled a lot. Sylvia is the place I remember most.”
He took a drink, but that gaze still remained on me.
I could bloody feel it, and a slight tremor started in my hand.
This is ridiculous.
I chastised myself to get it together. I was in control here. I spun around, meeting his gaze.
My heart beat uneasily in my chest, but I walked toward him. He kept my gaze the entire time, and I let out a small breath of relief—this was going to be easy as pie. I was in; I knew I was in. I could feel the slight give in the air around me. It lightened. The thing I’d always been taught to look for.
“Dress,” he said, nodding to mine.
That meant take it off. I didn’t know why men had to grunt their one-word demands and just assume it made any sense, but a lot of them did. At least, most of the men with the hobby of buying sex anyway. Sounded depressing to me, if I was honest.
“You don’t want me to take it off,” I said.
He crossed his arms. “Yes, I do.”
I faltered, unable to keep my expression from him. What was happening? I pushed the apprehension dancing in my stomach aside, walking a couple of feet closer. It had to be the distance. Everyone was different, some easier to persuade than others.
“No, you don’t.