Chapter 4

" S O, INTO KANT ARE you?"

Oh no. Dread filled his body, one shovelful of dirt at a time. He could feel the dirt piling up, heavy, grimy, threatening to tumble out of his mouth. Except it already had tumbled out, in the form of that atrociously horrendous, bacon-brained question.

Had it really been that long since he had tried to woo a woman? This couldn't be considered wooing. This was scaring. Or worse, scarring. The last time he had even attempted to banter with a woman, he was absolutely sure it had been more smooth than this asinine approach. Surely, he had said something more charming about her dress, her eyes, her smile or something. Anything. A large part of him (also known as his dignity) wanted to slap his hand over his eyes and just walk away. At least he could keep his pride intact and recover alone. No one the wiser. She would never even have to know who he was or who had asked the question. The question to beat all ridiculous questions.

What the devil was he thinking? That had to be the worst line he had ever used on a woman. What was he hoping her response would be? There was no great reply to such a dimwitted question. So all things considered, her answer wasn't terrible.

"Can't? What can't I do?" The blank look on her face was nothing like what he had seen when he had observed her speaking with her uncle. Certainly, she hadn't been sparkling or over emotive with him, but she had borne a sliver of a smile. It was obvious that she was comfortable and content speaking with her uncle, whereas right now, here with him, she was awkward and almost irritable.

He wanted to blame it on his moronic question.

"You read Kantian ethics?"

"No." And that bland look that was at first forgivable was now vexing.

"You never discuss his categorical imperative?" He was no longer resenting those shovelfuls of dirt, in fact, he was almost welcoming them. Perhaps if he had enough of a pile, he could be completely disguised underneath it, and then he could burrow a tunnel out of this conversation. And why stop there? It only made sense to continue tunneling right out of this damn ballroom.

Her eyes went wide at his question though, and he thought for a split second that just maybe he had caught her in her lie. Though at this point only God knew two things: one, why she was lying, and two, why he even cared to catch her in it. There was only one thing he hated more than lying and that was ignorance. For this woman to be the bearer of both meant that she may as well have been waving two large red flags in front of a raging bull. (He, of course, being the bull about to charge and she the matador, though why he wanted to assign her that much power over him was beyond bewildering.)

This whole encounter was proving to be disastrous, just like every other run in with a woman at a ball. Or soiree. Or musicale. Or anything .

Bah! It was part of the reason he was a privateer in the first place. Part of it.

But then the vexatious double-dealer grabbed his hand and before he could register what she was saying, she was already pulling him onto the dance floor. He was fairly certain now, absolutely positive actually, that she had asked him to dance, but the question made about as much sense as his, Into Kant, are you? question. Ladies didn't ask men to dance. It was unheard of.

Then again, it was also unheard of for women to be discussing the philosophy of ethics, so really, what did he expect from this woman? What he thought he would get, he didn't. What he didn't expect, he got.

At this point, he wasn't sure he could distinguish left from right, so he went along with the dance. Which was another one of his not-best-ideas because a person really ought to be able to distinguish left from right when embarking on a dance. Even a simple one.

Amidst the befuddlement and therefore extra concentration on his steps, there wasn't ample opportunity for conversation, but he did find himself nodding or answering yes to a few questions. Though he couldn't be sure he recalled the questions, so his yesses might have been better answered as nos.

"So, you're a pirate?"

"Yes." He checked his feet, darted a look up, grabbed her hands and spun her around.

"That means you have a ship?"

Nodding, he passed on her left and checked his feet again. Scanning the couples, he verified that he was indeed executing the right move.

"So you travel around the world?"

"Yes."

"You must see a great many variations in culture? "

He wasn't sure if he nodded to that question or even vocalized an answer because at that moment the man on his right bumped into his shoulder and Jude had to regain his footing. Had that been his mistake or the other man's?

"Are you leaving for somewhere soon?"

"Must be," he mumbled.

"And you enjoy gaining all those new experiences everywhere you go?"

What was she talking about? What kind of new experiences was she alluding to? That smirk led him to believe she was referring to something salacious, but she couldn't be…could she?

Certainly she was not intimating anything scandalous, but Jude was most definitely lost in the conversation. Something about traveling and being a pirate. How had they deviated to bedroom experiences? And really, what was with her smirk?

She hadn't been smirking the whole time. He was absolutely sure of that fact. Well, he was quite sure of it. Or, at least, he was partially sure of it. He might bet his mate's greatcoat on it, but not his own.

Another bump from behind had him pressing his body against hers in a most improper way causing her hand to squeeze his tightly. Relying on him to regain her balance, her eyes met his. Wide. Vulnerable. Curious. The look slammed into his chest, and he coughed to ease the tension.

It was something he so rarely saw in a woman. She seemed…open. When most women viewed their future as a set path that they merely needed to find and follow, he had a sense that this woman was looking to forge her own path.

Her gaze dropped to her shoes, and he thought he felt a slight tremor in her hand. After a deep inhalation, she looked up into his face. And he felt as though she were now wearing two masks instead of one. Then she had to go and do the one thing he abhorred the most.

"Did you see what happened at the Ashbourne wedding?"

Gossip.

"No." He would indulge this single question and that was it.

Her eyes flared at him, and he knew she expected more conversation from him. Even the oh so simple, Did you? would have been more than enough. Damn it. He expected it of himself, but he wouldn't yield on this point. If she had an unstoppable compulsion to gossip, so be it. She could gossip all she wanted for the remainder of this dance. He would nod his head and spin her around. Hopefully spinning her more than enough to diminish the chatter.

Bah! This irritable woman had turned him into one irritable man, and he did not like it one bit. She was just like every other vapid lady. The second this dance was over, he would dash out of here. As courteously as possible, but he'd be gone. Never to see her again.

"Are you all right?"

"Yes."

He must have given her an examining glance because she expounded upon her question.

"It's just that you haven't said much—"

"There's nothing to say—"

"Ow!" she cried out as he realized he just stomped on her toe. And in her delicate slippers that must have been painful.

"Apologies," he grumbled. "Should we sit—"

"I'm fine," she gritted out with an unwavering smirk on her face. "It happens all the time. I have strong enough feet to endure a dance or two with a bumbling oaf—"

"Now wait just a minute—"

"Thank you for the dance. You saved me from an undesirable dance…though I'm not sure how gallantly you rescued me." She dipped her eyes to her feet. "All things considered."

"I said I'm sorry—"

"Have a good night." She tipped her chin and dashed off.

Wait just a minute. He was the one who was supposed to have done the dashing.

No.

No.

No.

This would not do. He was a captain. Of a large ship. With an intimidating crew. Which he led. He was the one who was in control at all times. Not that little slip of a woman who had asked him to dance.

Who the devil did she think she was?

No. This would not do at all. She would not be getting the last word on this. Not now. Not ever.