Raven Saint by MaryLu Tyndall Page B

my destiny, I accept it. But that is not why I warned you.”
    â€œI do not believe you care for my soul, mademoiselle. In fact, I think you despise me. Am I right?” Rafe laid a finger beneath her chin and tipped her head up to face him, longing to see a glimpse of emotion, a spark of feeling, anything that would prove him wrong.
    But her eyes were as hard as glass. She stepped back, breaking their contact and sending a chill through him. “What do you expect?”
    Rafe studied her. What did he expect? Nothing but the hatred he received. Why then, did he long for something else? Longing made him weak. And weakness was not to be tolerated. So, he attacked her where he knew it would hurt. “Are not Christians supposed to love everyone? Even your enemies?”
    Sighing, she clasped her hands together and hung her head. “I love you as a fellow human being and a lost soul in need of God.” She lifted narrow, spiteful eyes upon him. “But in truth, I loathe you and what you’ve done to me.”
    He tore his gaze from her hatred and feigned a chuckle. “Ah ha, mademoiselle has a crack in her holy armor. But at least you speak the truth and not lies.”
    She flattened her lips. “I am only human.” Stuffing a loose strand of hair into her tight bun, she shifted her gaze to his, then away, then back again. “Why do you stare at me like that?” She retreated a step. “ ’Tis impertinent and rude.”
    â€œWhat do you expect from a French rogue? Is that not what you called me?” He leaned on the door frame and folded his arms over his chest. “I stare at you because you are beautiful.” She was la belle femme, but in truth he did not stare at her for her comeliness. He stared at her because she hated him and he wanted to make her uncomfortable for it. He stared at her because a devilish idea began to hatch in his brandy-drenched brain.
    â€œOutward beauty is fleeting, Captain.”
    â€œPerhaps. But while it is here, I will admire it if I please.” He lifted his brows and tossed any propriety he still possessed to the wind. “Most women would offer themselves to me in the hope of buying their freedom.”
    The mademoiselle’s face flushed to a deep shade of burgundy. Her chest rose and fell. She retreated even further and raised her chin. “I am not most women, Captain Dubois.”
    â€œBut you do want to go home?”
    â€œOf course.” Her bottom lip trembled. “But not at the cost of compromising everything I hold dear.”
    Rafe studied her, desire and admiration warring within him. He nodded, conceding to admiration, then walked out and shut the door behind him before he gave in to the stronger emotion.
    Suddenly five hundred pounds didn’t seem a large enough sum for such an exquisite treasure. En fait, he wasn’t sure any amount would be.

CHAPTER 8
    Grace crept down the lower deck ladder, cringing with every creak of the wooden steps. She didn’t know whether to hold her free hand to her nose to block the stench of rot, mold, and waste or to cover her mouth to stifle her nervous breathing that seemed as loud as the sea purling against the hull. She had hoped that perhaps her second trip to the hold wouldn’t be as horrifying as the first, but as her heart cinched in her chest and her feet rebelled with each shuffle forward, she realized she’d probably never possess the courage of her sister Faith.
    She took another step, and her shoes met the layer of muddy rocks covering the bottom of the ship. In the hold, heat seemed to take on its own persona and cling to whoever dared venture below as if in hope of escaping with them when they ascended. With the sleeve of her gown, she dabbed at the perspiration on her forehead, surprised at the damp chill seeping from the rocks through her shoes.
    Lifting her lantern, she allowed its glowing circle to create a barricade of light around her. Perhaps