“If you think to demand more money in France, think again.”
“That’s where you’re taking me, France?” Merideth tried to mask the panic from her voice. But he seemed to notice neither her tone nor her words.
“I’ve a notion you’ve already been paid. And I wish to know the name.”
“I’ve been paid nothing, and for the last time there is no—”
“I carried gold when I came ashore. I still had it when I met with your father.”
“You mean when you killed my father!” Merideth swung her fist, but never knew the satisfying feel of flesh against hated flesh. He caught her wrist as easily as if she’d told him what she intended to do. Her fury—and fear—mounted as he yanked her up against him. She could see the prisms of fiery green radiating from the center of his eyes.
“I did not kill your father.”
There it was again. The temptation to believe him. But what he said was a lie. It had to be. He’d lied about everything else. Her father. The money. If there had been gold, they would have found it.
Besides, there had been a trial. The magistrate had found him guilty. He was guilty. He had to be. There was no one else.
“Now, if we could get on with this.” He scowled down at her, and Merideth wondered if he could hear her heart pounding. “Just tell me what you know and I shall be done with you. I might even manage to put you ashore on this side of the channel.”
She raised her chin. Her eyes met his. And she wished—oh, how she wished—that she could tell him something. At that moment, with him scowling down at her, his hair dark as a raven’s wing, his expression hostile and untamed, she could readily believe his earlier claim that the blood of pirates ran through his veins. But she knew nothing. In the end that’s all she could say.
Damn her to hell.
She was afraid. It was obvious she tried to hide it, but the trembling of her full bottom lip gave her away. She was afraid, yet she still defied him.
He should be in control. He knew he wasn’t. Not only did she refuse to tell him what he wanted to know, he could feel the tiny fissures of desire cracking away at his anger. Nay, more like fueling it.
Jared didn’t want to see her as a woman... to think of her as one. She was the enemy. A traitor. But the smell of her was intoxicating. The feel of her soft body stimulating. His jaw relaxed and his breathing quickened and he knew... knew she felt it too.
It was like when they were on the cliff, when his body had covered hers. This same something had drawn them then. He had fought it then and failed. He didn’t even want to fight it now.
Besides, there was more than one way to persuade.
Intimidation.
Seduction.
Jared ruthlessly shoved aside the sting of guilt as his lips moved toward hers. She was a spy after all. A traitor. And wasn’t all fair in love and war?
A gasp, a puff of air, escaped Merideth as he bent toward her. She had feared his touch on the cliff, and ever since. She jerked, trying to put space between them, and managed only to press them closer.
Wriggling only rubbed her breasts against his broad chest. Fighting only made him lean into her, a devilish gleam in his green eyes.
“You wouldn’t dare,” she began, and knew by the slight lifting of his brow that he dared this and more. “Let me go.”
“I think not.”
“I don’t want you to—”
“You make such a practice of lying, ‘tis no wonder you’re so good at it.”
“I’m not ly—”
But she never had the chance to finish the word. His mouth crushed down on hers, hot, hard, and hungry. She tried to fight him. Tried to twist her face away. But fire raced from him to her and muddled her resolve.
And it sparked an explosive reaction in her. One that shocked her nearly as much as the feel of his lips on hers.
With a growl he deepened the kiss, forcing her mouth open. Merideth’s mind went blank. Tingles of anticipation raced across her skin and she sagged against him. Too shaken for rational thought.
Letting loose of her arm and wrist, Jared let his hands roam over her. His fingers tangled in the depths of her golden hair, tugging for better purchase. Passion burned in him like a white-hot fever, fast and furious. Steeling his determination, Jared strove to control it before he gave in and drowned in the sensation.
His seduction had a purpose. He must remember that.
But oh, when she opened to him so easily, so completely, it was hard to remember. She was sweet and womanly, wanton and alluring. Everything a man could want.
With a yank Jared opened the front of her riding habit and shirt, sending buttons flying. Neither of them seemed to notice. Still covered by the sheer linen of her shift, her breasts teased and tantalized, soft, pink-tipped, and puckered in anticipation. Her head fell back when his callused hand covered her.
He squeezed, and she moaned, the vibrations humming across his lips as he followed the curve of her exposed neck with his mouth. He had never tasted skin so erotically flavored. He had never wanted a woman so desperately. Jared’s mouth clamped over the straining tip of her breast and her legs spread, welcoming his hard body. He rubbed his aching tumescence across her and she trembled.
Her desire matched his. Her surrender was complete. She responded to him without reservation, without hesitation. Quickly. So quickly.
Too quickly.
The words echoed through Jared’s passion-drugged mind, taking hold and forcing him to think. She professed to hate him, to believe he murdered her father. Yet she writhed, moaned... seduced.
Tearing his mouth from her soft skin, disgusted at his reluctance, Jared held her at arm’s length. Her eyes blinked open, those blue angel eyes. It took a moment for them to focus, longer still for her breathing to slow.
He had meant to seduce her, to use sex if he must to learn her secret. But he’d underestimated her. And he’d very nearly been seduced himself.
“Don’t think I don’t know what you are,” he said. “Or what you were doing.” With that he turned on his heel and stormed from the cabin, leaving Merideth to wonder what in heaven’s name she was doing.
Chapter Five
The door wasn’t locked.
Merideth had noticed last night, not long after Captain Blackstone stormed out of his cabin. But she hadn’t done anything about it... until now.
At first, she was too stunned. Whatever had happened between them had shocked her completely. Not his behavior. She expected no better from him. He was obviously an uncouth colonial unfamiliar with gentlemanly behavior.
But what of herself? Merideth was honest enough to admit that beyond the initial contact, she hadn’t been forced to do anything. Not kiss him back. Or clutch his shoulders. Or writhe against him wantonly. She also knew in her heart that he was the one who had stopped. Stopped, leaving her bewildered and feeling like an abandoned toy.
“That’s just plain foolish,” Merideth mumbled to herself as she lifted the latch and heard the door squeak open. “The entire thing is foolish.” And she wasn’t about to let it bog her down. She would simply put it behind her.
Whatever she’d felt when Captain Blackstone had held her would be forgotten, thrust from her mind. For she had far more important things to think about.
Like the cannon fire that still echoed in her head.
The booming sound had woken her this morn with a suddenness that slashed away any grogginess caused by a near-sleepless night. She’d scrambled from the window seat, where she’d perched when her legs had grown too heavy to continue her pacing. A quick search out the transom windows had told her nothing except that whatever they were firing at wasn’t in their wake.
There had been few shots. The battle, if that’s what it had been, was over almost before it began.
And now Merideth was going to see what was happening. She peeked into the companionway, found it empty, and walked toward the hatch. Slowing her pace, she listened to the noises overhead. Was it too much to
hope that an English cruiser had captured the Carolina? Merideth hoped not, for she wished it with all her heart.
But it was not to be. As she came above deck for the first time in daylight, Merideth realized it was the Carolina who had been victorious. Her crew, not a one of which appeared wounded, was busy securing an English merchantman to its side with grappling hooks.
At the sound of the only voice on board she recognized, Merideth turned, brushing back her hair when it was caught by the stiff breeze. She found Captain Blackstone on the quarterdeck yelling orders to some of his men as they scrambled over the deck railing onto the captured ship.
Tall and imposing, with his dark-blue jacket flung open by the wind, her captor stood with his legs spread, his arms clutched behind him. He appeared very much in charge and even more intimidating with the sun banishing the shadows from his handsome face.
He’d yet to notice her, and for one cowardly moment Merideth considered backing down through the hatch and slipping back into his cabin. But she didn’t. Her chin held high, her resolve but a tad shaky, Merideth moved through the sailors who seemed to pay her little heed.
It wasn’t the captain who saw her first, but the man standing by his side. He was nearly as tall as Jared Blackstone, with deep-auburn hair, and a pleasant expression. His blue eyes sparkled and an engaging grin split his face when he spotted Merideth.
She watched as he nudged the captain, an elbow in the lean ribs beneath the billowing white shirt. Jared stopped his study of a chart to follow the other man’s gaze.
Captain Blackstone seemed to find her presence less than amusing.
A scowl blackened his countenance as he took a menacing step toward her. “What in the hell are you doing up here?”
She would not be intimidated. She wouldn’t. Merideth stood her ground on the gently rolling ship. “I came up to see what was happening.”
“What does or does not go on upon this ship is no concern of yours. Besides,” Jared added, annoyed that this had been his first concern when he saw her, “ ‘tisn’t safe. We’ve just captured a British vessel.”
“I’d rather hoped it might be the other way round. And I seriously doubt I’ve good loyal Englishmen to fear.”
The other man chuckled at her remarks, which earned him a frown from his captain. “Don’t encourage her, Paddy. She’s difficult enough as it is. As for you...” He faced Merideth again, those green eyes that reminded her of the sea near sunset boring into her. “You are to get below and stay below. Lord only knows how you managed to escape through a locked door,” he finished, turning back to his chart.
“Easily enough, since you failed to lock it when you left last evening.”
At that the man he called Paddy let out a loud guffaw, and Merideth realized the captain hadn’t truly been angry before, merely annoyed. Now, however, he was furious. But before he could reach her, the other man stepped forward.
“We’ve yet to be introduced. I’m Padriac Delany, at your service. And you must be the lovely Lady Banistar of whom I’ve heard so much,” he said, his words embossed with a Gaelic lilt.
He took her hand, and he smiled so charmingly as he brought it to his lips that Merideth couldn’t help but respond. Perhaps here was someone she could turn to. Ignoring the captain, she moved with him to the rail when he suggested she might have a better view of the proceedings.
“Don’t bother yourself, Jared,” he said. “I’ll see Lady Merideth back to the cabin when she’s had a look.”
Expecting a verbal rebuke at the very least, Merideth slanted a glance under her lashes. But the captain’s only response was a brief shrug of his broad shoulders before he went back to work.
And though Padriac Delany seemed very courteous, he soon had her below deck. And as soon as the door closed behind her, Merideth heard the unmistakable click of the lock.
“What in the hell was that about?” Jared met Padriac at the top of the ladder. He’d already sent a prize crew aboard the merchant ship, which had been bound for Waterford from London with a cargo of iron and dry goods. With any luck both vessels would reach Morlaix in three days.
“What was what about?” Padriac began, but thought better of playing coy after gauging his friend’s mood. “I simply thought it better if you didn’t throttle the wench in view of the entire crew.”
“Have you gone daft?”
“More to the point, have you? From the look of you when she mentioned your failure to lock the cabin door, I thought you would strangle the poor girl.”
“That ‘poor girl,’ as you call her, can take care of herself. She’s a liar and, unless I miss my guess, an accomplished spy.”
“You’ve let your imagination run amuck.”
“Have I?” Jared’s brow arched. “Or have you simply let her beauty cloud your common sense. I told you her history.”
“Aye, you did.” Padriac shrugged. “But she does have the look of an angel about her.”
“Deceiving as hell.”
“I gather she didn’t give you the information you sought.”
“Nay, and you needn’t look so amused. I doubt she reveals anything until the gold is sufficient.”
“So you’re giving up?”
“Hardly. Since we spotted this prize off our bow this morn”—Jared gestured toward the captured British schooner, now trailing behind them—“I’ve had scant time to think of Lady Merideth.”
“Really?” Padriac arched a bronzed brow. “I should imagine her hard to forget. But since she’s taken a shine to me, I shall be only too glad to get what I can from her—information, of course.”
“She’s my problem, and I shall handle her,” Jared said before clambering down from the quarterdeck. He failed to see any of the humor Padriac found in the situation.
The knock, a faint brushing of knuckles against wood, stopped Merideth in mid stride. Kicking aside a waistcoat, her attention flew to the sword. With a sigh she dismissed the idea of fighting off whoever stood in the companionway.
“Who’s there?” she queried, and realized how ridiculous her precaution was. She was the one locked in.
“ ‘Tis Tim, yer Ladyship. Cap’n Blackstone sent me.”
He sounded like a child. “Come in, then.”
There was a fumbling with the lock and the door veed open. A narrow, boyish face peered around the edge. He shyly studied Merideth a moment with big brown eyes, then glanced around the cabin.
His eyes grew round as saucers. “Gawd, what happened? Cap’n said his cabin needed straightening, but I never thought... Did ye do this?”
The inquiry was so sincere that a wave of guilt rushed over her. “I did,” she answered, then hastened to explain. “I was searching for a weapon.”
“Cap’n keeps his pistols under the bed,” Tim began. “But they ain’t loaded,” he continued when Merideth instantly doubled over to see that under the mattress there was a box large enough to hold a brace of pistols.
Sighing, Merideth plopped onto the bed. It was probably just as well she hadn’t found them earlier. As she watched, the boy, whom she imagined to be no older than ten, began picking up the captain’s clothing and folding it. Or, rather, attempting to fold it. He mostly wrapped things around his thin arms till there was no material left. Then he transferred them to the open chest.
“Why are you on this ship?” Merideth leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees.
“Me? Why, I’m the Carolina’s cabin boy, I am. Cap’n Blackstone picked me out special for the job.”
“He did, did he? Don’t you think you’re a little young for such a job?”
“No sir... I mean yer Ladyship. I be nearly twelve.” Tim picked up a boot and, after polishing the toe on his sleeve, laid it on top of a clean but wrinkled shirt.
She hated gambling, but in this case she’d make a hefty wager that the boy was lying about his age. Years of living with her father had given her clues to the telltale signs. And Tim was showing all of them. His eyes darted around the room, ref
using to meet hers. His hands, judging from the way he rubbed them down his sagging breeches, were sweating, and his voice was too firm.
But there was something else there, fear possibly, and Merideth decided not to pursue it. Perhaps he was afraid that Captain Blackstone would throw him off the ship if he knew the boy’s true age.
Of course, he might be thrown off when the captain saw his wardrobe stuffed into the sea chest.
Picking up a shirt that lay strewn across the foot of the bed, Merideth folded the shoulders together. When she had Tim’s attention, she proceeded to fold it neatly. “There,” she said, placing the garment in the other chest she’d dumped earlier. “That should keep the wrinkles at bay.”
Tim picked up another shirt and tried to copy her actions.
“Arms together,” she said. “Like this.” She proceeded to fold another. The captain’s scent drifted up to her, and Merideth tried to ignore the memories it evoked.
“Ye think I should refold them others?” Tim asked after they had cleaned up most of the shirts and breeches strewn around the cabin.
“It probably would be best.” Merideth sat back on her heels. She was straightening into a neat pile the charts she’d scattered. She watched Tim fumbling with the deerskin hunting shirt. “How can you know so little about folding clothes if you take care of the captain’s?”
“Don’t usually have to do none of this. He takes care of hisself for the most part. ‘Course Mr. Padriac, he done told me that the captain has a blackamoor to care for his needs when he’s at home. But he don’t bring him on the ship.”
“How very democratic.”
“Huh?”
“ ‘Twas nothing.”
“Ye make messes like this often?”
“Actually, this is my first.” She was far more used to cleaning up messes her father made.
“Was it fun?” Tim asked, his pinched little face so intent Merideth laughed.
“Well, yes,” Merideth began, surprised at her admission. “It actually was.” She was searching for something, true enough, but she was also mad at Captain Blackstone for bringing her aboard and telling her nothing. More angry than fearful, which under the circumstances was foolish.
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