let their prejudices weaken me. I never swooned, cowered, or submitted in the shadow of masculine strength. I never allowed anyone to see me as anything but a hardened, ruthless pirate captain.
With the exception of two.
I’d let two men inside my very vulnerable, very feminine heart. And they chewed it up, one behind the other.
Hadn’t I always wanted to be just like my father? Well, I was as it turned out.
I’d fallen into impossible love.
Twice.
The hardest lessons left invisible scars. At the rate I was going, that was all my heart would be. Just a twisted, hideous, unfeeling knot of tissue in my chest.
But it wouldn’t kill me.
At age fourteen, I survived the deaths of my parents. At age eighteen, I survived the thrust of a sword in my belly. At age nineteen, I survived the worst pain of all—the betrayal of the man I loved more than all else in the world.
Now, at twenty-one, I would survive this, too.
Somehow, someway, I would escape the madness of this ship, with or without the arsehole who commanded it. But first, I needed medicine. A healthy dose of rum to heal the pain. There was a whole chest of it in the dining cabin.
Grabbing a linen coverlet, I draped it over my shoulders and lit a lantern. Then I trudged through the chambers, past the desk, around the table, and veered toward the coffer of liquor. As I bent to open it, a shadow moved in my periphery.
My blood chilled.
Near the exit, the darkness seemed murkier. I narrowed my eyes. My vision adjusted. My breath stopped short, and my heart took off.
A silhouette sat on the floor, its broad back against the door and head hanging in the clutch of hands.
He hadn’t left.
An eruption of doubt, relief, and distrust ran riot through me. Why was he here? On the floor?
Without his shoes and frock, he wasn’t armored to walk among his men. Perhaps he was too shaken to maintain the elegant veneer he wore beyond that door.
Was he wearing a mask now?
I drew in a steady breath and stepped toward him, just close enough to examine him in the moonlight.
His arms dropped to his bent knees, and he lifted his head.
And I saw him.
I really saw Ashley Cutler for the first time.
I pulled the coverlet tighter around my nude body, shivering in the grip of Ashley’s unguarded stare.
More than just his soul shone in those luminous blue eyes. I saw the wreckage of his true self, the terrifying depths of his fears, the corruption of his desires, and his deepest regrets.
He must have heard me sobbing when I’d thought I was alone, and that shamed me deeply. But he wasn’t without his own shame. The bewailing, contemptible things he’d done and left undone had bled the color from his face, drawing deep creases there, heavy with shadow.
His expression showed everything. His stately demeanor gone. His armor destroyed. His impenetrable walls floating adrift like flotsam.
I wasn’t sure if all that emotional carnage was connected to me. But I’d blown the veneer off his elegantly constructed bearing, and he didn’t seem to know how to repair the damage.
As he regarded me, his eyes begged for forgiveness. My heart pleaded for justice. Perhaps we both wanted mercy, but I had none to give.
“I botched this.” He scraped a hand through his hair. “Rather spectacularly, I’m afraid.” His voice sounded strange as he rose to his feet, holding my gaze. “It wasn’t my aim to expose you to my unseemly manners.”
“Unseemly manners?” I backed away, boiling with outrage. “You viciously fucked my arse, Ashley. You took care of yourself and just left me there without so much as a pat on the head. Even Madwulf would’ve shown me more decency than that.”
He flinched, his features contorting in pain. It was startling how much he didn’t look like himself. Oh, he still had that gorgeous innocent-looking face, but it was softer now, almost younger, if that were possible. He didn’t wear the mien of a commodore and lord. He looked like a lost man in the throes of anguish.
He stepped toward me on a whisper. “Forgive me.”
Two words and my shields erected. They were no ordinary shields, for they’d been welded in a fire of lies and hammered with betrayal. They’d defended me against those words only a week earlier when they’d dripped from the mouth of the last man who hurt me.
“I will not.” I retreated, walking backward.
“I thought you were plotting against me.” His gaze