Wicked Little Minx (Brazen Bluestockings #2)

Chapter 11: A Game of Chicken

She knew.

Adrian paced the length of his cabin after finishing his food, excitement and trepidation fuelling his steps in equal measure. There wasn't a shadow of a doubt that Oliver knew he was aware she was a woman. He had seen it in her eyes, in the flicker of panic that had crossed her face when he accidentally called her pretty.

She knew that he knew, and now it was just a matter of who would break first.

And it wouldn't be him.

He had challenged Oliver, expecting her to baulk at the idea of assisting him with his bath and confess, but she had held steady. She was as unwilling to back down as he was.

This was the most fun he'd had in years. It was improper, of course, to engage in these games. Especially with a young lady who might know very little about that side of things. He had seen her with Rain, but he didn't know how they knew each other. Was she a member of the ton or a servant? A young country miss the duchess had taken under her wing? It was impossible to know.

But despite the impropriety of his actions, he couldn't help himself. Oliver fascinated him more than anyone he could remember, and he itched to find out exactly who she was and why she was on his ship. And with this bath...he might finally get her to confess. He'd be lying if he said the thought didn't excite him.

The sound of the cabin door opening drew him from his musings. Oliver and Tom entered with buckets of steaming water, which they poured into the waiting copper tub. It was their third trip, and the tub was finally filled enough. With a quick grin and nod of his head, Tom disappeared, leaving Adrian alone with a fidgeting Oliver.

With a smirk, he leaned against his desk as he watched her. She was doing her best to ignore his presence, busying herself with pouring in the last bucket. There was a tension to her shoulders, a slight tremor in her hands. She was nervous, no matter how hard she tried to hide it. A trickle of guilt niggled at him, but he was determined to see this through. Surely she would fold before he could take it too far.

As the steam rose from the tub, she set the buckets to the side and glanced at him before averting her gaze.

"There, sir. Your bath is ready." She still refused to look at him. "If there is nothing else, I will take my leave."

"Oh, no." He pushed off from the desk and sauntered over to her. "I told you I will need your assistance today. Sadly, I still feel rather weak from the blow to my head."

It was a lie, and they both knew it. Still, she didn't call him out.

Fighting hard to hide his grin, he leaned a little closer. "I will need some help to undress."

She stiffened and there was a momentary flash of something he couldn't define—probably anger—in her eyes before she masked it with a look of dutiful obedience. "Of course, Captain," she said blithely. "As you wish."

Oh, he did wish. A little too much. He had to give her credit. She was putting on a good show of not caring, but he could see the cracks in her armour, the slight tremble in her fingers as she reached for the buttons of his shirt.

Standing perfectly still, he barely dared to breathe as she worked, her hands brushing against his chest as she slipped the buttons free and pulled the garment over his head. It took every ounce of his control not to react. The simple touch was more enticing than he had expected, and he seriously considered the wisdom of this challenge.

When she moved to his breeches, he nearly jumped out of his skin as her fingers grazed the bare skin of his hips. This wasn't doable. Apparently, there was a line he wasn't ready to cross, after all. With a grunt, he grabbed her hands and moved them away.