Miranda Jarrett - Regency High Society Vol 2 - Sparhawk's Lady / The Earl's Intended Wife / Lord Calthorpe's Promise / The Society Catch

“Fear is respect, m’lady,” he said, watching how the silk slid over her hips as she bent forward at the window. “The only true way to rule other men.”

“And what of your soul?” she asked as she turned back toward him, twirling the flowers beneath her nose. “Is what you gained by converting to Islam worth damning yourself as a Christian for eternity?”

Hamil made a guttural sound of disgust deep in his throat. “When the bloody priests can offer me the same as the pasha, then I’ll go back to the church.”

She sleeked back her hair and tucked the white flower behind her ear. “Then here in Tripoli, Hamil Al-Ameer, it would seem you have all you could ever wish.”

“Aye, m’lady,” he whispered roughly. “Almost.”

He reached to touch her, the curling hair on the back of his hand glinting red gold in the light of the setting sun. As in a dream she watched his hand come closer. A pirate’s hand stained forever with death and sorrow, a hand that had brought such suffering to the ones she loved, ready to mark her with the same sins, closer and closer.…

“You must give the gentleman whatever he desires, Caroline, and that is yourself. Do you understand that much, daughter? Will you ever understand?”

With a hiss Caro jerked beyond Hamil’s reach, her striped skirts swirling about her.

“You think that because you have stolen and killed enough to make you rich that you are a gentleman, too, don’t you?” she cried, panicking. “That is why you want me, isn’t it, an English countess to add to your collection of stolen jewels and plate!”

“What I want, m’lady, is a woman who knows better than to trouble me.” He grabbed her arm and effortlessly twisted it behind her back until she yelped with pain.

“Let me go, Hamil!” she cried, trying desperately to free herself. She could feel his breath warm on her bare shoulder, and the stiff gold threads on his waistcoat prickling into her arm. “Oh, please, let me go, you’re hurting me!”

“That’s what I intended, m’lady,” he said, taking pleasure in her pain. “Countess or whore, all women are the same beneath their skirts. Ye would do well to remember it.”

He shoved her roughly away and she stumbled forward, catching herself on the edge of the table. She turned swiftly to face him, her breathing ragged with pain as she gingerly held her arm. “You’ve no right to do that to me, none at all!”

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