"Rather, bring the lamp, Sophia."
"But we are going to sleep, Jack."
"All in due time, sweetheart. For now, bring the lamp."
She brought the lamp and put it on the table alongside the bed, looking at him out of the corner of her eye.
So he made her nervous after this afternoon? Excellent. Before the night was finished he had every intention of making her nerves scream, or at the very least, her scream for his touch.
"Take off your gown, Sophia."
She frowned at his tone of voice, but he just watched her, and waited. She began unbuttoning the high neck, working her way down the front of the gown. When it was undone she hesitated.
"Off. Now."
She straightened her spine, shrugged her shoulders, and the gown slipped off to puddle at her feet. She stood there, hand on her hip, boldly watching him.
It was a good act. And he knew it was an act because even the oh-so-experienced Miss Sophia Deford couldn't hide the slight blush that even now spread across her cheeks.
"Very nice, Sophia. Get into bed."
She climbed in, staying on her side of the mattress, watching him warily. He climbed out of bed and fetched a few items from the chest, and then returned.
"Come closer."
She didn't move, so he reached over and wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her up against him.
"Let me make something clear to you, Sophia. If you were only my wife in name before, this afternoon you became my wife in fact. In all ways. And that means, Mrs. Burrell, I have every intention of enjoying all the rights and privileges that go with being married."
"You intend to force yourself on me?" his wife said in a chilly voice.
She was so rigid in his arms he could have used her for a spar, but he just smiled down at her in the lamplight.
"Force you? I am not going to force you, Sophia. But I also will not allow you to discourage me by dismissing my lovemaking as merely 'a pleasant interlude.' Now, how can any self-respecting husband walk away from a challenge like that? No, clearly I have an obligation to convince you—repeatedly, if necessary—that one of the benefits you will enjoy in this marriage are my skills in bed."
"Your skills in bed? You pompous, conceited, overbeari—"
He put his weight on top of her, and his hand over her mouth. His reach was longer than hers so it was not difficult to retrieve the lengths of cloth he'd taken from the drawer where he kept his cravats. In short time his sailor's skills were brought into play and her wrists were neatly tied with an admirable knot. Of course, he'd had to take his hand off her mouth during this operation, and a steady stream of abuse was pouring into his ears.
"...and remember how I said you had to go to sleep sometime? Just you wait, Luck—"
He used the last cloth to gag her.
"Whew! That's better," he said, sitting up astride her hips, her legs trapped between his so she couldn't bring her knee up and damage him.
She glared up at him, her cat eyes narrowed with rage.
"Now, here's what's going to happen, Sophia. I am going to make love to you. No, you don't have to thank me, it's all part of my husbandly obligations."
Muffled noises of outrage leaked from behind the gag.
"I would like to remove the gag so I can enjoy that luscious mouth of yours. Will you cooperate if I do?"
She glared at him a moment longer, then nodded once.
"Untie my hands!" she demanded as soon as her mouth was free.
"Oh, I don't think I want to do that just yet, Sophia. It would spoil
my surprise."
Her eyes narrowed again.
"What surprise?"
"If I tell you, it is not a surprise. I will make a deal with you, Sophia. If you are not completely satisfied when this evening is finished, you may shoot me."
"Anywhere I like?"
"I am not worried. You will be completely satisfied."
She looked at him with an unreadable expression. In the lamplight her skin glowed like ivory, her cheeks brushed with pink from her exertions. She looked adorable and delectable and dangerous, and when she ran her tongue over her dry lips he gave in to temptation and kissed her, her bound hands between them, easing her lips apart with his tongue and stroking inside until he felt her melt against him.
When he raised his head her eyes were dark and half-lidded. She lifted her bound hands and put them around his neck.
"I suppose I am willing to try something different, Lucky Jack," she said huskily. "And I do like a good wager."
By this point he was dealing with his own need to spread her legs and pound into her, willing or no, but he held back. Instead he took her bound hands and looped the cloth over the spindle decorating the board at the top of the bed, and put himself to work.
Lucky Jack Burrell also was a wagering man, and this one was a sure bet. He knew it as he ran his tongue across Sophia's throat, the delicate skin flushed with warmth, the pulse fluttering beneath his lips. When he leaned up on his arm her lips were parted and her breath coming faster, her hair so fair against the pillows that it made her eyes dominate her face, her little pointed chin practically begging to be kissed also, so he did, and then worked his way down her throat again to the alabaster mounds threaded with blue, the stiff buds there also in need of kissing, and sucking, and stroking with his tongue.
He was glad he'd removed the gag because his little cat was purring beneath his tongue, then urging him on in a throaty voice, letting him know what she liked, and telling him without words by her shivers and the arch of her back how she was responding to his mouth, and his touch.
He kissed his way down her body, the violet scent of her filling his head, the satin feel of her skin beneath his lips as he nibbled on her, savoring each whimper, every moan, the sounds and movements refuting any notion of a "pleasant interlude."
He was aching to be inside her, but he could hold back, he had to hold back, until he was sure that she would never, ever dismiss his lovemaking again. Even if he suffered the torments of the damned by holding off his own release, it would be him and only him she dreamt of, only him she turned to.
When he finally reached the core of her, she was all liquid heat, blossoming open as he paused, his mouth hovering over her.
"Jack?" she whispered.
"Surprise," he murmured, putting his mouth on her and sliding his tongue in.
Sophia curvetted off the mattress. Had her hands not been tied to the rail and Jack's hands holding her hips, he feared she could have ended up on the ceiling, but he wouldn't let her go, not now, not when he had her at his mercy.
But mercy was not what he had in mind. He used his lips, and his tongue, and his fingers, and the scrape of his teeth to show her what he intended was not pleasant at all, but instead was earthshaking and heart pounding and carried a razored edge of danger in the night. He had no idea how this adventure of theirs would end, but he was sure of one thing. Sophia Deford Burrell would never dismiss his lovemaking again as pleasant, and she would go to her grave remembering how he made her scream.
And scream she did when he moved up her body to thrust himself inside her, pausing only to release her hands so she could hold onto him as he gave in to the desire driving him to pound into her, imprint himself in her, make her his in a way that would never let her go.
She gained her release but he was relentless, driving her again to a fever pitch, holding her, whispering in her ear hot words enticing her to go over again, and she did, moaning against the taut skin of his neck. He was ready to explode inside her, but he needed more from her, a total surrender, and he slipped his hand between them and fingered her on the trigger that brought her relief in the hammock. She cried aloud one more time and then he did explode, barely pulling out in time to spill against the bedding, fighting his own straining desire to stay within her at the finish.
Jack rolled off and held Sophia in his arms, stroking her hair as her breathing settled. He was tempted to say something like, "Was that pleasant e
nough for you?" but prudence won out, and he just held her and knew she would not think of him as a biddable lapdog any more.
CHAPTER 17Sophia slapped at another mosquito sucking blood from her neck and scowled at the man riding ahead of her. She knew she needed Jack Burrell, or someone qualified to take her into the backwoods of East Florida, but she was convinced he planned this trip to be as insect laden and uncomfortable as possible.
"Stop slapping at them, Sophia, it just riles them up," he said without turning around.
Sophia gave in to a childish indulgence and stuck out her tongue at him. She still wasn't used to the gait of this mule and asked again why they could not have taken horses on this journey.
"Because mules are easier to deal with in the backwoods. Horses are too much trouble. A mule is stubborn and not much to look on, but it gets the job done."
Sophia almost muttered "like you" just to be childish again, but that would have been a lie. You could say a great deal of negative things about Lucky Jack Burrell, and she'd said most of them in the course of this journey, but you could not say he was "not much to look on." Seeing him from the back now, his broad shoulders covered by a respectable brown jacket and a blue kerchief tied casually around his neck, she couldn't help but remember what he looked like the night before, those broad shoulders blocking the light and glistening with sweat as he loomed over her in bed.
She squirmed on her seat on the placid mule, some from soreness and some from memory, and damned if that scoundrel didn't look over his shoulder and grin at her like he knew exactly what was making her
twitch.
There was a third mule laden with rope and camping supplies and Sophia had been surprised by its addition to their train.
"Won't we travel faster if it is just the two of us?"
"We'll reach Picolata by midday," Jack said. "But I don't know what we'll find there. It's good to be prepared. And a sailor always has rope with him," he said with a smile. "You never know when you'll need to tie a strong knot."
Now as they rode along Sophia patted the pocket in her boy's jacket where her pistol rested along with its accessories. Jack had a rifle and his own pistol, and she knew he was keeping a sharp eye on the pine woods surrounding the road to the river. This was the route used to transport goods from the river to St. Augustine, and where there was commerce there were those lying in wait for the unwary, river thieves and bandits and displaced Indians seeking vengeance and supplies.
Early in their journey this morning they passed a burnt-out homestead, its brick chimney all that remained of a family's dreams. Vines were already encroaching and moving in, but there had been a gardenia bush in bloom near what must have once been the front door, and Sophia paused to snip off a bloom. The lush fragrance filled her senses, but it was also a reminder of the dangers lurking in paradise.
When they got to the river there was a fort, a few homes and businesses including the ferry across the river, and docks out into the water. Jack helped her off the mule and Sophia put her hands at the base of her spine and arched backward, stretching out the kinks from the mule ride. Jack's eyes twinkled in sympathy.
"Mrs. Reaver inside the store there will show you where you can freshen up, Sophia. We'll join them for our meal and then figure out where we go from here."
The Reaver's shop was a cramped and dark establishment carrying farming supplies, ammunition, some household goods and trade goods for the Indians. The family kept its own quarters upstairs. Martha Reaver was a little bird of a woman, her bright black eyes and tawny skin hinting at her own Indian heritage. She was almost desperately eager for another woman's conversation as she led Sophia to the detached kitchen behind the store.
"All day long I'm surrounded by young'uns and menfolk, soldiers and river trash," she said, working around her burgeoning belly while she stirred a pot on the fire. Sophia had freshened up and sat in the kitchen, lending a hand by shelling peas while Jack and Luke Reaver
talked in the shop.
"Up!"
There was tug on Sophia's skirt and she looked down to see a grubby urchin clutching at her, one hand on her skirt, the other attached by the thumb to a rosebud mouth. The child had a mass of sunny hair and her mother's black eyes.
Sophia froze. She wasn't used to the company of children and wasn't sure what one did with them.
"Go ahead and pick Katie up if you want." Martha chuckled. "That gal doesn't have a shy bone in her body and I swear, she'll run off with a traveling drummer some day if I don't keep her tied to my apron."
"UP!" Katie removed her thumb from her mouth long enough to demand imperiously.
"But... what if she starts to cry?" Sophia asked with a hint of panic.
"UP!" Katie demanded again, and since her mother was ignoring what Sophia perceived as an incipient crisis she acquiesced, hoisting the toddler under the arms and hauling her into her lap with a grunt. The child was more substantial than she looked. Sophia sat stiffly, wondering what happened next, but apparently Katie knew what she was about, because she squirmed on Sophia's lap for a moment finding the right spot, and then busied herself babbling while she waved a peapod in the air.
Martha went back to her stirring and the two women chatted about the doings in St. Augustine and the fashions in England, but Sophia was aware of the armful she held. The child's curls smelled of fresh air and sunshine, and Sophia's arm tightened about Katie when a grab after an errant pea almost sent her tumbling off her perch.
Something made Sophia look up at that moment to see Jack in the doorway to the kitchen, watching her with the child. There was an arrested expression on his face and she ducked her head and removed Katie from her lap.
"If you will excuse me, Mrs. Reaver, I will return shortly."
Sophia stood and turned to go, but there was another tug at her skirt.
"'iss!" Katie demanded, holding her hands up.
"She means 'kiss,'" Martha said, without turning around from the fire.
Sophia turned away from watching Jack to the waiting child, and leaning down gave her a peck on one sticky cheek. Katie chortled with glee and clapped her hands at having manipulated the big person so smoothly, and Sophia hurried out of the kitchen with Jack following
behind.
"Luke says it's not a good time to be poking around the bluffs," Jack said without preamble. "Martha's kin to the Alligator Clan and when they bring in deerskins to trade they tell her they're unhappy with the settlers stealing their cows and encroaching into their hunting grounds."
"I am more concerned about our treasure, Captain, and where that key goes. Were you able to find out anything from Mr. Reaver about that?"
Jack sighed and rubbed a hand over his face, smearing the dust that settled there from the trail ride. He took her by the arm and led her under the shade of an oak near the river, the Spanish moss hanging from its broad limbs dancing in the sunlight as the breeze stirred it.
"Sophia, I know there's a great deal of money at stake here. You do not have to remind me again. But I also know I value keeping my hide intact, and," he hesitated and looked out at the river, "I value keeping your hide intact also."
He looked down at her, his eyes serious.
"Seeing you in there with that baby on your lap set me thinking. What if I got you with child, Sophia? Would you want to risk yourself and the babe for a few pieces of gold?"
"I am not with child, Jack. Despite what happened in St. Augustine, you helped ensure that."
"I didn't pull out every time," he said coarsely, "and accidents happen."
"I am not going to have an accident, Jack," she said. "And if that is your concern, we can make sure there are no accidents by not repeating our encounters!"
Jack's lips tightened. "This isn't the time or place to discuss this."
"You brought it up. And you have not answered my question. Did you learn anything from Mr. Reaver?"
Jack took off his hat and ran his sleeve over his face, then put his hat back on. It shadowed his e
yes and Sophia had a hard time reading his expression.
"Yes. South of here on the western side are the ruins of an old Spanish mission, Santiago de Laca."
Sophia looked at him quizzically.
"Santiago is St. James in English."
"So that is 'St. James Place'!"
"I believe so. Luke can rent us a boat, and we'll sail upriver to the
ruins and see if there's a lock that fits our key."
"You would rather do that than take the mules on the ferry?"
"We'll leave the mules here for now and travel light. I want to scout out the land first, see what's there. Might be we won't need the mules if this is just another of Captain Garvey's stupid clues, and not the location of the treasure."
Sophia's excitement over coming closer to the treasure must have shown on her face, for Jack scowled at her.
"I still think this is a fool's quest, Sophia, and I am only willing to risk so much. If there are consequences to our lovemaking, then this treasure hunt ends. And I can read a calendar, so do not think to deceive me on this."
Some of the brightness went out of the morning. Jack, like most men, would care a great deal if she were carrying his heir. It wasn't about her, or what they shared together, but it was about what she was capable of doing for him.
"Of course, Jack. I understand. There will be no consequences.”
***
Jack watched Sophia slowly walk away and wanted to kick himself for the poor way he'd handled that. It was the sight of her with that baby on her lap. It terrified him and at the same time roused something in him, made him realize there was more at stake here than just the two of them and the treasure.
But she looked so right with the baby, the two fair heads so close in shade, and the idea of Sophia bearing his baby was something he hadn't thought about beyond trying to pull out in time to make sure that didn't happen. A voice in his head whispered that if she was pregnant she couldn't leave him, the marriage would be more than the temporary diversion she believed it to be. He wasn't sure of that though. Little cats abandoned their kittens all the time, and he didn't know how far Sophia would go to stay free and go after her treasure.
The Bride and the Buccaneer Page 19
