Stronger Than Passion by Sharron Gayle Beach

information; and since she received little of either from Brett, she was determined to gain all she could from the boy, particularly where her captor was concerned. Through him she learned of the wary respect in which Brett was held by the Captain and officers of the ship, who would, apparently, do whatever he asked. Mark was of the impression that Lord Michael was an important man somewhere. The rest of the crew were resentful of his high-handedness in using their ship for his own needs; and curious, of course, about her The only female on board ship . . .
    Mark knew little else about Brett, except that he slept in a cabin next door to her and spent his time on deck with the Captain.
    When Brett did choose to visit her, she retained an attitude of haughty disdain. She made demands: for clothing, for a female chaperone, for permission to write a letter to her father-in-law (instantly denied). She refused to show fear in his presence, and either that or his own preoccupation, kept him from insulting her or assaulting her further during this journey. However, what he had in mind for her for the rest of the voyage, and once they reached Washington, she couldn’t know. It was anxious dread of the days and weeks ahead that kept her restless most nights, and in a taut condition of expectancy.
    On the morning Mark informed her that Cuba had been sighted, Christina made her scanty preparations to leave the ship and waited, gazing out through the porthole at the gently lapping sea, trying to calm her nervousness. She wondered if any escape were possible here where Felipé once had friends. If any opportunity presented itself, she must make an effort. . .
    The cabin door was unlocked and swung open. Michael Brett came in, dressed formally for daytime in a tan waistcoat. He surveyed her, as she stood by the porthole, out of assessing blue-gray eyes, that noted her appearance with amused disfavor.
    “When we reach our hotel in Havana, I want you to throw that gown away.”
    “Not until I have another to replace it.”
    “You will. That dress never did become you. Now, of course, it’s a wreck.”
    “Oh, of course! I’ve only been wearing it for two weeks.”
    “There’s no need for sarcasm, Christina; I’m well aware of that. I’ll buy you dresses.”
    “I want a companion, as well! I won’t travel any farther with you alone.”
    “Oh, won’t you?” He stepped closer. She stood firm, refusing to press herself against the wall.
    “You’re in no position to make demands, love.”
    As he looked at her, his light eyes darkened to the same glinting surface of the sea outside. He touched her face, his rough hand sliding along her chin. “Unless, of course, you want to bargain with me.”
    “I don’t.” The coldness of her tone gave the two words more force. His hand dropped away, but on his terms, his level gaze said; not hers.
    He shrugged and turned away, walking back to the door.
    “We’ll drop anchor in a few hours,” he said, glancing back at her, one hand on the knob. “Be ready to go. We’ll head straight for a hotel, where you’ll stay until we board a steamer, tomorrow or the day after. And I don’t plan to give you the chance to make any trouble, so you can forget any crazy ideas abut running away.”
    After he was gone, she cursed him - using new words learned from Mark. At least this voyage was proving educational.
    *
    It wasn’t until dark that Brett finally came for her. Blinking in the early evening lantern light. Christina wished she possessed a mantilla or a reboza to wear against the warm coastal breeze - and the curious gazes of the assembled sailors on the Lady Jane’s deck, and in the jolly boat that rowed them to shore. Michael seemed oblivious to all the stares, and even to her company. His eyes roved the harbor and its moored boats with an assessing gleam. An unapproachable stranger, he looked off, dark hair blowing in the wind, jaw line set ruthlessly.
    Once they reached the dock and were