The Other Miss Bridgerton (Rokesbys #3)(8)

“Can you be quiet?”

“—I eat a lot too, and—”

“Does she ever shut up?” the captain asked, turning to his men by the door.

Green and Brown shook their heads.

“—I’ll surely be an inconvenience,” Poppy finished.

There was a moment of silence, which the captain seemed to savor. “You make a rather fine argument for killing you,” he finally said.

“Not at all,” she quickly put in. “It was an argument to let me go, if you must know.”

“Clearly, I must,” he muttered. Then he sighed, the tired sound his first sign of weakness, and said, “Who are you?”

“I want to know what you plan to do with me before I give up my identity,” Poppy said.

He motioned lazily to her bindings. “You’re not really in a position to make demands now, are you?”

“What are you going to do with me?” she repeated. It was probably foolish to remain so headstrong, but if he was going to kill her, he was going to kill her, and her display of temper wasn’t going to tip the scales either way.

He sat on the edge of the bed, his nearness disconcerting. “I will humor you,” he said, “since despite your waspy tongue, you’re here through little fault of your own.”

“No fault,” she muttered.

“You never learn, do you?” he asked. “And here I was going to be nice to you.”

“I’m sorry,” she said quickly.

“Not terribly sincere, but I’ll allow it,” he said. “And much as it pains me to inform you, you will be our guest aboard the Infinity for the next two weeks, until we complete our voyage.”

“No!” Poppy cried out, the horrified sound escaping her lips before she could press her bound hands to her mouth.

“I’m afraid so,” he said grimly. “You know where our cave is, and I can’t leave you behind. Once we return, we’ll clear it out and let you go.”

“Why don’t you clear it out now?”

“I can’t,” he said simply.

“You mean you won’t.”

“No, I mean I can’t,” he repeated. “And you’re starting to annoy me.”

“You can’t take me with you,” Poppy said, hearing her voice crack. Good God, she wanted to cry. She could hear it in her voice, feel it in the burning sensation behind her eyes. She wanted to cry like she hadn’t cried in years, and if she didn’t get ahold of herself, she was going to lose her control right here in front of this man—this awful man who held her very fate in his hands.

“Look,” he said, “I do sympathize with your plight.”

Poppy shot him a look that said she didn’t believe him for a second.

“I do,” he said gently. “I know how it feels to be backed into a corner. It isn’t fun. Especially for someone like you.”

Poppy swallowed, unsure if his words were compliment or insult.

“But the truth is,” he continued, “this ship must depart this afternoon. The wind and tides are favorable, and we must make good time. You should just thank your maker we’re not the killing sort.”

“Where are we going?” she whispered.

He paused, obviously considering her question.

“I’m going to know when we get there,” she said impatiently.

“True enough,” he said, his small smile almost a salute. “We sail for Portugal.”

Poppy felt her eyes bug out. “Portugal?” she echoed, her throat strangling over the word. “Portugal? Will it really be two weeks?”

He shrugged. “If we’re lucky.”

“Two weeks,” she whispered. “Two weeks.” Her family would be frantic. She’d be ruined. Two weeks. A whole fortnight.

“You have to let me write a letter,” she said urgently.

“I beg your pardon.”

“A letter,” she repeated, struggling to sit up. “You must allow me to write one.”

“And what, pray tell, do you plan to include in such a missive?”

“I’ve been visiting a friend,” Poppy said quickly, “and if I don’t return this evening, she will call out the alarm. My entire family will descend on the district.” She bored her eyes into his. “Trust me when I tell you that you do not wish for this to happen.”

His gaze did not leave hers. “Your name, my lady.”

“My family—”

“Your name,” he said again.

Poppy pursed her lips, then said, “You may call me Miss Bridgerton.”

And he blanched. He blanched . He hid it well, but she saw the blood drain from his face, and for the first time in the interview, she felt a little rush of triumph. Not that she was about to go free, but still, it was her first victory. A tiny one, to be sure, but a victory nonetheless.

“I see you’ve heard of my family,” she said sweetly.

He muttered something under his breath that she was quite certain would not hold up in polite circles.

Slowly, and with what looked to be great control, he stood up. “Green!” he barked.

“Yes, sir!” the older man said, jumping to attention.

“Kindly fetch Miss Bridgerton some writing materials,” he said, her name sounding like a dread poison on his lips.