“I believe I asked you a question,” Vane demanded, his palm covering the rest.

“Ah…my family is dead. All died of smallpox, save me.”

The black-bearded brigand shrank as he moved away from the table. “Recently?”

She read another entry—sixty barrels of tobacco. “Would my scars be so faint if I still had the sickness?”

“I reckon not.” Vane’s stance relaxed while he snatched the parchment from his table and rolled it up. “When we reach Jackson’s Hell, you need to look like a woman.”

He marched over to one of his trunks and pulled out a burgundy gown and tossed it at her. “Put this on.”

“Here?”

“Aye here, and if you continue to ask questions, I’ll rip your shirt and breeches off your scrawny body myself.”

She clutched the dress to her chest. “Then turn your back.”

“I think not. I need to know exactly what I’m selling.”

“You will not…” She cast her gaze to the bed, making her tense all the more. Dear Lord, what if he tried to force her?

“Only if you defy me.” He rubbed a hand across his loins, one corner of his mouth twisting upward. “If you were truly a lad, preserving your virtue might be another matter.”

He liked to violate lads? Such a thought did nothing to calm her. Divana quickly removed her shirt, but as she pulled the dress over her head, he grasped the damask and tugged it from her grip. “Remove the bounds from your breasts.”

Divana crossed her arms over her chest. “But I have no stays.”

“Fie,” he cursed, marching back to the trunk and rummaging through it. He held up a set of stays. “These ought to suffice, though the woman I stole them from was a bit larger.”

“You stole a woman’s stays?”

He shrugged, seeming oblivious when the ship pitched so far to port, Divana was thrown against the wall. “She no longer had need of them—met her end in a watery grave.”

Laughing, he shoved the garment into her hands. With a rustle of fabric, she turned her back, trying to keep her balance. “Then what they say is true. You care not if you murder women and children.”

“Only those who defy me.” He approached so near, his acrid breath felt like steam against her nape. “Let that be a warning to you. Never defy me, or you will meet your end—I give you my solemn oath.”

He rocked with the ship’s sway as if he’d been bolted to the floorboards, breathing like a dragon while she unwound the length of linen from her breasts. As soon as the cloth fell to the deck, he grabbed her shoulder and whipped her around, forcing her wrists apart. “Imagine that, love. There’s more there than I would have thought.”

She wrenched away and crossed her arms over her chest. “Leave me be!”

“Ha! A modest tart, have we?” He sniggered with a sneer. “Carry on, then.”

Trembling, she again faced the wall, teetering with the lurch of the ship while she pulled on the petticoats, then began lacing the stays in the front.