Total pages in book: 173
Estimated words: 163328 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 817(@200wpm)___ 653(@250wpm)___ 544(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 163328 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 817(@200wpm)___ 653(@250wpm)___ 544(@300wpm)
He was, quite unfortunately, a handsome son of a bitch. Inarguably handsome, but in a rigid, chillingly regal manner. His hair was trimmed close to his scalp on the sides, leaving a short length of inky etiquette on top. His blunt jawline, with all its right angles, was so porcelain-like and hairless I wondered if he could even grow whiskers on that rock-hard face.
But the longer I gazed into those menacing blue eyes, the more I realized his youthful features were deceiving. He held himself with the confident, hardened stance of a man who had more experience than me on the sea. If I had to guess, he was in his early thirties. At least ten years my senior.
He reminded me of my father with that jaded look in his stare. The one that confessed he could inflict suffering without being affected by it. Only my father hadn’t been able to retain that vicious air around me.
I wondered if anything or anyone could rattle Lord Cutler’s insensibility.
My blood thrilled at the challenge.
Tense silence measured the passing seconds until I realized his reticence was a weapon he used to terrorize his enemies. I wished I could apply the same tactic, but his stillness made my skin itch.
I raised my chin and held his gaze. “If saving drowning women is your way of soliciting female companionship for dinner, you’re trying too hard.”
“Bennett Sharp, you’ve been taken into custody for piracy and murder. I shall transport you to England, a month’s journey thereabouts, where you will stand trial for your crimes.”
His deep aristocratic voice pronounced every syllable with perfect English inflection. But his arrogance made him complacent. He hadn’t considered the possibility that I’d arranged Jade’s escape, set up my own rescue, and had a backup plan or two in the event that Priest failed.
By the time I ran this warship off course, the commodore wouldn’t know what hit him.
I studied him a moment, trying to glean his true self beneath the polished veneer.
Who are you, Ashley Cutler?
I recognized the surname but couldn’t place it. “Your father resides among the Peerage of England?”
“Lord John Cutler is the first Viscount Warshire and serves as the Secretary of State for the Northern Department.”
A lower rank than my grandfather but a prominent peer of the realm, nonetheless. Yet, at the mention of his father, there’d been no pride in his tone. No attachment. He’d sounded as if he were reading the title off a visiting card.
Oh, how I longed to know what inspired this man. Was he deeper than his career aspirations? Weaker or mentally slower than he appeared? Was he married or betrothed? Loved by some or despised by all?
Everyone had a vulnerability. I just needed to find his.
His strong jaw, sharp cheekbones, and noble nose supplied a blank canvas for the brilliant blue of his eyes. But I found myself focusing instead on his shapely chiseled mouth. The pinkish lips added an alluring contrast to his impeccable English complexion.
And when those lips moved, every man on the ship stopped breathing to listen.
“Put the pirate in the hold.” He flicked a finger against the front of his coat, giving an invisible speck more attention than he gave his captive.
Multiple hands fell upon me, restraining my arms behind my back. No sense in fighting. I was outnumbered four-hundred men to one. Besides, when I’d designed this plan, I expected to spend weeks, if not months, in irons.
As Lord Cutler strode toward the gangway ladder, the lieutenants pulled me along behind him. With my arms shackled by immovable fists, my attention narrowed on the snug coat that draped the commodore’s impressive shoulders and hinted at a hard, tight arse. Long legs flexed in tailored white breeches. Defined calves stretched the wool of his pristine stockings.
The man was immaculately dressed, accentuating all his best assets. But he had dreadful taste in footwear. The buckles on his square-toed shoes were made of pure gold with embedded jewels. I didn’t care how fashionable they were. If he did any sort of work on this ship, they wouldn’t last a day.
I focused on those ridiculous shoes because the rest of him was just too compelling. His physical beauty defied the laws of nature, and I wanted nothing to do with that. My opinion of him needed to ferment in the back of my throat until all I tasted was repulsion.
Down the companionway and along the windowless passages, he stopped at the door to his private quarters. The lieutenants kept moving, shoving me onward to the ladder beyond.
“What do I call you?” I twisted my neck, finding his ice-blue eyes over my shoulder. “Commodore Prick? Lord Sweet Lips? My favorite arsehole?”
His expression remained empty, his carriage rigid.
“You’re clenching it, aren’t you?” I glanced at the vicinity of his arse and cocked a brow.