Beautiful Tempest

by Johanna Lindsey

  She brought her eyes back to his before she began to unfasten her blouse. Her fingers slowed. It wasn’t intentional, she was just fascinated by what she saw in his eyes. She’d seen that look once before, the last time her calves had been exposed to him. She’d been too enraged then to wonder if she might utilize that he liked what he saw, too enraged to wonder if she could get close to him without swinging her fists. She still didn’t think she could, so it was moot, but it was still fascinating that she could dazzle him, however briefly.

  She removed the blouse and held it in her hand as she made a full circle so he could see that nothing was tucked into the back of her drawers or inside her thin chemise. “Have you embarrassed me enough?”

  He raised a brow. “I expected to, but as usual you surprise me. You don’t seem the least bit embarrassed. You are a lady, correct?”

  “I’m my father’s daughter,” she said offhandedly. “He used to be a rake of the worst sort, you know.”

  “Please tell me you aspire to be the same?”

  She snorted. “I used to when I was a child. I wanted to be like him in every way. But I grew up. I’m aware I can’t follow in all of his footsteps.”

  “I’m devastated to hear it.”

  “No, you aren’t. If I were just like my father, you’d be dead right now.”

  He smiled. “There is that, and later we’ll discuss why you spared—”

  “I still wounded you!”

  “It’s a paltry wound. But come here, Jack, if you want to leave that on.”

  She knew he was talking about her chemise, which she wasn’t about to take off when he was gazing at her so sensually. She stepped out of the pile of wet clothes and bent over to pick them up and took them to the dining table, where she draped them over the chairs to dry. She started back to the cot, hoping he’d forget about any more disrobing.

  “Mort will be returning. You might want to get this over with before he comes in. I repeat, come here.”

  Get what over with? But she swung about and marched to his bed and glared down at him. He didn’t notice the glare, he was so intent on her breasts. He lifted his hand and dipped a finger under the low neckline of her chemise, running it slowly over the tops of her breasts. Her nipples tingled as they hardened, but she was still incredulous. Did he really think she’d keep a dagger between her breasts? She almost laughed. But him touching her like that . . .

  There was an easy way to stop it, and she even surprised herself when instead of backing away, she pulled the neckline of her chemise right down to the edge of her nipples, telling him, “See? There’s nothing there.”

  It sounded as if he was choking before he said, “Oh, there’s definitely something there, but I accept defeat graciously. You no longer have any weapons—that can do physical damage.”

  What other sort . . . ? She stopped the thought. Really? He considered her attributes a weapon? That was so interesting that she was slow to raise the edge of her chemise again. And meeting his eyes . . .

  She swiftly swung about again and returned to her cot to grab his shirt. She put it on before she untied her chemise and drawers and, after turning her back to him, let both undergarments fall to the floor. Then she quickly fastened the shirt down to the last button. She still heard his groan. Ha! He didn’t expect that, did he? But really, she wasn’t sleeping in wet underwear just for modesty’s sake. She even draped those undergarments on the chairs, too. But remembering his warning that Mort would be returning soon, she quickly got under the covers.

  Chapter Eighteen

  DAMON ENJOYED WATCHING JACK sleep, a little too much. So much fury in such a small bundle, but not when her eyes were closed. But he knew she wouldn’t like his taking advantage of her slumber, even innocently, so he pried himself away from her side before she woke.

  The morning sun blinded him for a moment when he left his cabin and locked the door. He took the two guards that he’d stationed outside his quarters with him as a precaution. He wished he could trust his own crew, but he couldn’t yet. These two new crewmen at least appeared to be following his orders, but nothing had yet occurred to test their loyalty. Nor would it, he vowed, until he was ready.

  He headed down the stairs to the lower deck. Two of the three cabins located there were occupied, and the new cook had demanded yet another cabin for his personal culinary supplies. Damon grabbed the key from the wall and opened the first door to his left. Mortimer had been too generous. He hadn’t restrained these two, was giving them the freedom of his cabin, if not the ship. Which probably wasn’t a good idea, considering how big one of the men was.

  Damon leaned against the doorframe, a pistol in his hand, the two guards behind him, also armed. He should have paid Jack’s hirelings a visit yesterday before he’d been wounded. He wasn’t exactly going to strike fear into either of them today with a bandage wrapped around his torso, not that he cared to go that route.

  The younger of the two, the bigger one, was quite injured, his face bruised and swollen. Damon imagined the rest of him hadn’t fared much better. It was too bad it had taken so long to knock him out. Damon should probably send the pirate’s doctor in to check on both of them, if Mortimer hadn’t already seen to that, not that the pirate sawbones was anything close to a real doctor. Actually, the man might make matters worse. Not for the first time, Damon wished that Dr. Caruthers, whom he had obtained for Andrew, hadn’t abandoned them as soon as they’d reached London.

  The larger man who had chaperoned Jacqueline was sitting on the edge of the narrow bed, half bent over, an arm protectively about his middle, and he didn’t change his position when the door opened. His friend had pulled a chair over to the bedside next to him. This fellow, who looked older and was rather portly, was a little too well dressed for destitute gentry, but Damon supposed even poor ones would want to keep up appearances.

  Both men were staring at Damon, not wary, not bothering to hide their antipathy for him. Damon supposed he wouldn’t either if the situation were reversed. But then the younger man suddenly pushed off the bed and lunged at Damon.

  “Where’s Jack? If you’ve hurt her—!”

  Damon cocked his pistol, a loud sound between them that stopped the young man’s hand from reaching for his throat. “You’re injured enough,” Damon warned the man coldly. “Do you really want to make it worse?”

  “Answer me?! You’ll get off one shot but I’ll still snap your neck before your guards get off theirs.”

  “You can try, but there’s no reason for anyone here to die. Sit back down and you’ll have your answer. I’ve already gotten mine. She tried to convince me you’re not her brother, but you have the same temper. You’re obviously a Malory.”

  “I’m not,” the younger man denied sharply, but he backed up and sat down again carefully. “How is she?”

  “Fine, and the least of your worries.”

  Damon’s assurance only relaxed the man a little. His glare and antipathy remained potent. His risking his life merely to find out how Jack was faring convinced Damon that both Malorys were lying to him. This one might not be her brother since there was no remarkable family resemblance, but he did strongly resemble Anthony Malory, so he was sure they were somehow related. But for the moment Damon could play along with their denials to humor his illustrious prisoner.

  “You won the toss for the bed?” he said to the younger one, who was sitting on it.

  “We’ll be taking turns.”

  “I confess I didn’t plan on capturing you, so there are no spare cots aboard, but there might be extra hammocks. I’ll have one brought round if there are, and some books to help you pass the time.”

  “We don’t want any favors from you,” the younger man snarled back at him.

  “A little too late for that, when I asked my first mate to give up his cabin for you. He wasn’t at all pleased about it, so other accommodations can be arranged if you’d prefer, though I doubt you’ll like sleeping with the livestock, which would of course require so
me chains, too, since we can’t have you doing damage down there. You might have noticed you aren’t restrained in here?”

  “Appreciate it,” the other man said. “ ’Deed I do. But I insist you return us to London.”

  “My friend speaks for himself. I’m staying right here as long as Jack is here.”

  “You both are, but restrained or unrestrained is the question. Did you miss that it was a question?”

  “If you think I’m asking for bloody chains, I’m not.”

  “Excellent,” Damon replied. “I agree that wouldn’t be a pleasant way to spend the next month. All that is required to keep these accommodations is that you don’t try to vacate them. If you can restrain yourselves, then you won’t be restrained—no pun intended. Now then, it’s time for you to tell me who you are.”

  “Who did Jack say I am?”

  Damon laughed at the cautious reply. The man was making it hard for Damon to humor him with answers like that. But he didn’t need confirmation when neither of these two would come to further harm on his ship.

  “I’d still like an actual name, but Jeremy will do if you’re hesitant to give one. She says you look like her older brother. Do you?”

  “From a distance, I suppose I do. That name is fine, if you have to call me anything.”

  “And you?” Damon asked the other.

  “Lord Percival—”

  “Percy talks too much,” Jeremy interrupted in a warning tone.

  “So a couple of destitute lords, after all?”

  “Eh?” Percival said quite indignantly.

  “We’re not all rich like the Malorys,” Jeremy said quickly.

  Before Damon could reply, the man elbowing his way past the guards poked his head in the cabin, then complained bitterly, “That’s the toff who nearly broke me jaw. Why’s ’e being treated so royally when ’e ought to be in chains down in the ’old, eh?”

  Damon walked the intruder backward by not giving him any choice but to move or get knocked over. “Did I ask for your opinion?”

  “No, but—”

  “Tolerated but silent, that was the deal. Stay out of my way or you will find out just how unnecessary you are to the completion of this mission.”

  “That goes both ways—Captain,” the man sneered before he scurried up the stairs.

  Damon closed his eyes for a moment. It was telling by the pirate’s answer that he was confident he and his cutthroat friends still held the upper hand. Damon couldn’t protect Jack if he gave in to his rage and failed to rid his ship of its infestation. He turned back to the open door, but his eyes passed over the two guards. One looked indignant on his behalf, the other looked uneasy. It was still too soon to try. And considering what had just happened, the key to this room probably shouldn’t be left where anyone could grab it.

  “Trouble with your pirates, Captain?” Jeremy asked, nodding toward the bandage on Damon’s side.

  A logical assumption after what the hostages had just overheard. “No, that’s Jack’s handiwork. Quite the hellcat she is.”

  “Did you hurt her?” Jeremy tried to get up again.

  “Be easy, man, I told you she’s fine. And you mistake the situation. She’s very precious cargo. She won’t be hurt no matter how many times she tries to kill me.”

  “Then we’ll hope she has better luck next time,” Jeremy sneered.

  “I’m sure you will.”

  “You mentioned a month,” Jeremy said next. “Where are you sailing to?”

  “Warmer waters.”

  “A whole month at sea?” Percival said, looking appalled.

  “You could work your way across, if you want exercise to alleviate the boredom. Although you”—Damon paused to stare at Jeremy for a moment—“maybe not. It took quite a few men to take you down. Reminds me of Jack’s father.”

  “You still think I’m somehow related?”

  “You could be, even though you don’t look like her or her father.”

  “There’s a reason—” Percy stopped talking before Jeremy could kick his chair over.

  Damon raised a black brow. “Maybe you and I should have a talk?” he suggested to Percival. “Would you like a spot of fresh air?”

  “Leave him be!” Jeremy snarled. “He’s not used to pirates.”

  “But you are?”

  “I want to see Jack. I need assurances that she’s all right.”

  “Perhaps another time. For now, you’ll have to take my word for it.”

  “I will need the exercise. You can’t keep me locked in here for a whole bloody month.”

  “Of course I can. However, I’ll consider the request after you’ve recovered sufficiently. But you’ll need to bargain for it.”

  “With?”

  “With a promise of no trouble, and no attempt to rescue your employer, relative, or whoever she is to you. And you won’t be let out together. One at a time or neither of you. By the way, I’m not a pirate.”

  Jeremy snorted. “If you look like one and act like one, then you are one.”

  “Really? Then that would make you Jack’s brother, wouldn’t it, considering you look like him and are certainly acting like him?”

  “Point taken. So not all spades are spades.” Jeremy then guessed, “But I’ll wager you’re Bastard. Warmer waters as in the Caribbean? You might as well fess up to it.”

  “That I’m a bastard or that it’s the name Jack picked for me from our previous voyage together? I put up with it from her . . . well, I put up with most things from her.” But then in a darker tone Damon added, “I won’t put up with it from you. You can call me Reeves or Captain Reeves, take your pick.”

  “Cap’n!” someone yelled from the top of the stairs. “You’re needed topside before this argument comes to blows!”

  Damon quickly closed and locked the door on the hostages. His nervous guard drew his pistol and headed up the stairs cautiously.

  The other man, Paul Jensen, put a hand on Damon’s arm. “You have an unusual crew, Captain. I’ve noticed they seem to only behave while you’re on deck. They’re a rowdy bunch, otherwise.”

  “When I hired you, Mr. Jensen, I warned there might be problems and asked if you were prepared to deal with them.”

  “And I am, sir. But are they your men or not? I’ve got your back, but I need to know who I’m guarding it from.”

  Damon smiled. “Thank you, and no, half of them are not mine. You’ve probably already guessed which half. We’ll discuss this further, but in the meantime, I need to make sure none of the real sailors aboard get hurt.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  WAS THERE A FIGHT?” Jeremy asked the first mate, who opened the door a while later.

  “None of your business,” Mortimer replied with his usual curtness. He dropped a small stack of books on the little eating table, then tossed a rolled-up hammock on the floor in the corner.

  “Come now, Mr. Bower,” Jeremy persisted. “A mutiny would most certainly be of concern.”

  “Mutiny?” Mortimer rolled his eyes. “Where the devil did you get that idea?”

  “We heard the shouts. Nothing so grand then? A pity.”

  “You fish well, but when Damon wants you to know something, he’ll be the one to tell you.” Mortimer snorted and left.

  Jeremy sighed.

  Percival observed, “You are determined to goad him, aren’t you?”

  “He does prickle nicely, doesn’t he?”

  “Yes, but he also brings our food while it’s still nice and hot. Quite tasty, too, if you ain’t noticed, dear boy. Might I suggest we keep it that way?”

  “He doesn’t strike me as a vindictive sort. Definitely disgruntled though. I wonder why.”

  “Ask.”

  “Asking gets nothing from him.”

  Percival moved over to examine the books. Jeremy read a few of the titles and wondered aloud, “What’s a pirate doing with classical literature?”

  “Pirated?” Percy suggested with a smile for such a brilliant thou
ght.

  Jeremy did chuckle over Percy’s word for “stolen.” “Possibly, yet he says he’s not a pirate.”

  “We’re to believe him?”

  “I haven’t decided yet. But something definitely doesn’t add up here. What sane pirate talks to his captain like that belligerent one did earlier? The nasty little chap should’ve got knocked on his arse at the very least, and it even sounded like Captain Reeves wanted to do just that. I wonder why he didn’t.”

  “Some men fastidiously avoid violence.” Percival dusted off his sleeves.

  Jeremy laughed, but groaned when it hurt and finally got out, “Yes, we know your druthers, old boy. But Reeves is capable of it. I saw it in his eyes briefly when I reached for him. He bloody well would have shot me if I didn’t back off. At least he gave me fair warning.”

  “Oh, I say, I know that name, ’deed I do.”

  Jeremy raised a brow. “Reeves?”

  “Yes.”

  “You waited this long to say so?”

  “It only sounded familiar when he said it, but I’ve just recalled why. There was a scandal a while back, well, longer than a while, over twenty-five years ago, actually, when I was a young buck going around with Nick and Derek. Lady Reeves’s daughter, who was quite a beauty, went on holiday to the West Indies and briefly returned with a husband with whom she’d eloped. Her family didn’t approve of the chap because he was only a planter, so she returned to Jamaica and was never heard from again. Her family assumed she died, but it was whispered they disowned her and that’s the real reason she never came back again.”

  “You sure it was Jamaica and you’re not remembering that name from me, because I lived there briefly with my father and his first mate, Connie?”

  “I’m not confused, dear boy. You told Derek and me that story long ago.”