Sea of Ruin

Unless my feral, possessive husband showed up. Then my efforts with the commodore would be for naught.

“What you said about my father…” I pressed my lips together, refusing the next cut of apple. “You were purposefully baiting my temper.”

“And you fell for it. Literally.”

But he wasn’t Priest. He wasn’t vulgar in mind. Wasn’t trying to charm his way between my legs. I guessed he wasn’t even thinking about fornication.

Because they belonged to a cold-hearted philanderer.

An adulterous knave.

A cheater who would cheat again.

“Damn it all, I’m not saying this decently. I was bred to be a damned gentleman, and I don’t know how to be gentle.”

Everything out of his mouth was a blasphemous ululation.

It was widely known that his cock had been under more skirts than a dressmaker’s needle.

“Not lovers. I gave him my maidenhood. He was a gentleman about it. Waited until I was sixteen before he stripped me from stem to stern and made me bleed.”