Since Captain Blackstone was already chuckling along with the innkeeper as if he saw humor in her words, Merideth smiled. Obviously the innkeeper was so enamored of Captain Blackstone he would not believe anything she said. Besides, she doubted he could be much help against the captain. But that didn’t mean she wouldn’t find someone later who could.
At least Monsieur Gerald turned his attention toward the captain after her “joke.” Merideth drank her tea and surveyed the room while the innkeeper questioned his guest about the prizes he’d brought to port.
Most of the patrons spoke French, and spoke it much too quickly for Merideth to follow their conversations. Years ago, she had tried to teach herself the language in anticipation of going with her father to Paris. But learning without the aid of someone who spoke the language had been difficult. Miss Alice, her governess, had not known French, and her father had seen no need for a tutor.
Even when she’d proudly displayed her hard-earned knowledge during one of his visits home, and he’d laughed at her accent, he’d refused to hire a tutor.
“Someday I shall take you with me to France. Then you can learn to speak the language,” he’d said before riding off.
But, of course, they had never gone anywhere together.
By the time the coach for Paris arrived, Merideth concluded it was not a great deal cooler in the inn than out in the sun. Still, she refused to slip the cloak from her shoulders and display herself in the gaudy gown.
The coach was cramped, so much so that the captain decided to rent a mount to ride alongside. And, Merideth suspected, to allow himself a more comfortable trip. At any rate, she was happy not to be subjected to his presence.
But after a day of traveling she had to admit to feeling a little different. No one else packed into the coach spoke more than a word or two of English. Though, to Merideth’s disgust, every time they stopped to change horses and rest, her traveling companions all seemed to flock around Captain Blackstone.
“How do you know all these people?” she finally asked as they were sharing an evening meal. Though he seemed pleasant enough... for the captain... around the French, he certainly wasn’t the gregarious type.
“I don’t know them.”
Merideth paused, a spoonful of beef soup suspended in midair. “Well, they certainly seem to know you.” One young lady, whose dress Merideth thought more revealing than her own, had nearly swooned when she’d talked with the captain.
“Of me, perhaps.”
“Of you?” Merideth returned the spoon to her bowl, untouched.
Jared shrugged, then leaned back against the paneled wall. “I’m a privateer. We’re a popular lot in France for now.”
Merideth sat very still for a moment. When she met the captain’s gaze, her eyes were thoughtful. “I suppose France will join the war on the colonists’ side.”
“I don’t think it’s been decided, though my guess is yes. However”—Jared tossed his napkin aside and stood—“if it’s secret information you’re after, I can’t help you. I’m only a sea captain.”
“Information?” Merideth jerked her arm away when he touched her elbow to help her rise. “I’m not trying to get information from you. Of all the—”
“Perhaps we should continue this conversation outside.” This time when Jared took her arm, he held her fast. Already several patrons were watching them, and Jared didn’t wish to make any explanations. He was able to laugh off her insistence to the innkeeper in Morlaix that she’d been kidnapped, but Jared didn’t want another such incident. The French might be fond of American privateers, but they didn’t approve of abductions.
“What are you doing? Let go of me.”
“When you keep your voice down and cease making a spectacle of yourself, I shall.” Jared steered them into the rear courtyard. Ivy-covered walls enclosed them, throwing shadows across the cobblestones. The area was secluded, the noise from the inn a distant murmur.
“I am not making a spectacle of myself, unless it’s by wearing this, this... gown.” Merideth flipped the cloak off her shoulders, baring a good deal of her breasts to Jared’s view in the process.
“Put the damn thing back on.” Jared scooped up the garment, clenching his teeth and trying to ignore the ache in his groin that hadn’t completely disappeared since she’d walked into his cell.
“I shall not. I’m hot and weary and sick and tired of wearing it.” Merideth couldn’t recall ever throwing a tantrum before, but she was on the verge of one now. Her life, while difficult when her father had been alive, was now bordering on the impossible. Merideth tried to comfort herself with the idea that when she got to Paris a change for the better was almost certain. But it no longer helped.
Jared was in no better spirits as he flung the cape around her, closing it with fists gripping the fabric. “You will wear this, and do as I say.”
“Or what?” Eyes flashing in moonlight filtered through the oak trees, Merideth faced him. “Will you kill me as you did my father? Is that what is to happen to me?”
“If murder were to my liking, I would be sorely tempted.” Jared tightened his fingers, pulling her closer to him. “As it is, I shall have to console myself with seeing that you follow my orders.”
“I will n—” Merideth’s words were cut off as his hold on her tightened.
“Aye, Lady Merideth, you will. For if you don’t keep yourself covered, I shall not feel obliged to rescue you when one of your ‘admirers’ becomes too amorous. And I don’t suppose even a woman such as you would welcome some of the men you would no doubt attract.”
“Let go of me, you disgusting... Whatever do you mean, a woman such as I?” Merideth could feel his knuckles against her breasts with each breath she took. It had such an unsettling effect she needed to concentrate on his answer.
“Come now, Lady Merideth, you don’t think I believe you limit your espionage technique to smiles and sweeps of your big blue eyes?”
Those eyes widened. “You’re not suggesting that I...?” Merideth clamped her mouth shut. “Never mind. You seem to be convinced that I’m a... a...”
“A traitor? Someone willing to sell out their countrymen for coin?” Jared loosened his grip, letting her shift slightly away. But he could still smell her fragrance. And the memory of her flesh against his fingers heated his blood.
“Whatever you think I’ve done, it can’t be as bad as murder.”
“Ah, the murder of your fellow conspirator.”
“You mean my father.”
Jared’s fingers splayed, pressing into the creases of his cloak. At that moment he came close to apologizing to her for his words. Whatever she might be, she loved her father. In the frail dusting of light from the moon, he could see the sorrow etched on her lovely face. His voice grew low. “I think we both know I didn’t do that.”
“You’re forgetting I found you with his body, a spent pistol in your hand.”
Hard proof indeed, she thought. Enough to condemn. But as Merideth stood close to the man she accused of murder, she found herself doubting the obvious. He said nothing more, no heated denials, but she found the wall of her conviction cracking.
They stood in the courtyard, surrounded by a smattering of night sounds. The chirp of distant crickets, the lonely hooting of an owl. It struck Merideth that if someone were to happen upon them, they’d be looked on as lovers sharing an embrace in the moonlight. Not as the adversaries, the captor and captive, that they were, exchanging oft repeated accusations and denials.
His gaze held hers, drew her like a lodestone. Closer. Till the whisper of his breath brushed across her face. His lips touched hers, softly at first as he and she stood in the cocoon of night, then with a dark, demanding hunger that Merideth could do naught but match.
His hands clutched the cloak, pulled her toward him. Through the layers of silk and doeskin Merideth could feel steely hardness, and she melted around him like hot wax.
Tongues met, mated, and mimicked the dance of love as Merideth
worked to free her hands from the confines of billowy wool. To touch became her desire, and when she did, when her fingers finally burrowed beneath his waistcoat, his pleasure-drugged moan was her reward.
Hers followed as his mouth tore away, forcing an erotic path under her jaw. He nibbled and caressed, his whiskers scraping her soft skin, causing shivers of anticipation to course through her body.
The cloak was torn open before his mouth met the restraints of fabric. Now he was free to feast upon her flesh, the warm, tingling skin of her breasts. He skimmed, he suckled. When the lazy sweep of his tongue dipped between her breasts Merideth thought she might swoon, so intense was her pleasure.
And all the while he nudged, his chin, then his teeth, forcing the lace-trimmed edge of her décolletage lower. The anticipation was exquisite torture, and Merideth, squirming in the clasp of his large hands, nearly tore the offending fabric away herself. Then it was gone, pulled below her nipples, offering the torrid tips to his greedy mouth.
Her knees grew weak, and Merideth’s head fell back, spilling moon-silvered curls down across the black cloak still skimming her shoulders. This was intense pleasure, more darkly satisfying than any fantasy. Merideth became swept up in it, writhing and moaning as he feasted on first one and then the other taut nipple.
Behind the brick wall the tavern door opened, filling the night with raucous laughter. Merideth, her mind passion-drenched, didn’t care until the moist heat of his mouth was removed. She made a low sound of protest, startled when he grabbed the cloak.
As suddenly as he had earlier yanked the cape’s folds aside, the captain now forced the garment shut. He removed from sight her pearl-toned breasts, their nipples rose-tipped and wet, glistening from the touch of his tongue.
As he glanced toward the noise, a scowl darkened the captain’s handsome features. He remained close, so close Merideth could feel the heat radiating from his body. But a gulf of embarrassment and shame slowly seeped between them. And it grew wider with each vivid memory that flashed through her head.
Merideth couldn’t believe it. Was it possible that moments ago, nay, not even that long, she slid against him, pressing her breasts into his mouth? Wanting. Aching.
Careful to avoid looking him in the eye, Merideth tried to pull away, to get away. Anywhere that she wouldn’t have to face the captain’s icy green stare. But he would have none of it. He held on tight, wrapping her in the voluminous depths of the cloak. The satin lining skimmed across her sensitive nipples, a poor substitute for the sweet roughness of his mouth, and Merideth longed to readjust her bodice.
But he allowed her no time as he hustled her toward the inn. Once inside he guided her toward the steep stairs, following so close behind as she climbed that she had no choice.
They were headed toward the rooms he’d taken earlier. One for him and one for her. Merideth remembered how relieved she’d been when he’d requested them from the innkeeper. The thoughts of sharing a room with him had seemed abhorrent then.
What were they now?
Even the comparative glare of candlelight hadn’t penetrated the hazy glow of arousal that clung to her. She ached in places that instinct alone told her he could assuage. But that would mean... Merideth could scarcely conceptualize what it would mean, let alone attach words to it. Yet she knew she was torn. Knowing what she should do, and knowing how opposite that was from what she wanted.
At the top of-the stairs, he took her arm from behind, the hallway being too narrow to walk by her side. The key was out of his pocket and into the door before Merideth could catch her breath from the rapid climb. The door creaked open. Merideth was propelled inside and less than gently placed in the one chair gracing the room.
A pair of brass sconces on either side of the tiny window splashed light across the bare wood floor. Merideth kept her eyes trained on the knothole blemishing one of the wide planks. She could just see the toe of the captain’s boot, and she could sense him looming over her. Merideth fought the urge to look up until he spoke. Then she couldn’t help herself.
He appeared angry and as confused as she felt, but his voice was firm. “I’ll see you in the morning,” was all he said before turning on his heel and leaving her alone in the room.
Merideth let out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding as the lock clicked behind him. Then she sat in stunned silence. Making sense of what had happened was her first priority. She could accept her feelings if only she understood them. But she couldn’t, and finally, exhausted from the day’s journey and the evening’s encounter, Merideth prepared for bed.
She lay awake long into the night, disgusted with her inability to sleep. The crowd below in the tavern had long since departed when she finally drifted off. But even then her rest was not peaceful. Her slumber was full of dark, dank caves and men of the night, who taunted and teased, offering but a glimpse of a dimpled grin.
Then there was but one man, coming toward her through the darkness. She could hear him, his breathing, the stealthy way he moved, all one with the shadows.
She didn’t want him. Merideth had decided she was glad the captain had turned away from her. But he was here in the room with her. His presence making her tense.
Slowly Merideth opened her eyes, focusing into the darkness. Relief washed over her. Captain Blackstone wasn’t in the room. She realized, with a sigh, it was only a dream.
It wasn’t till her lashes started to drift shut that she caught a glint of moonlight off the knife blade.
Chapter Eight
The scream woke him, loud and shrill and full of fear.
Leaping from bed, Jared grabbed the pistol from the small table and flung open the door. The candle at the end of the hall sputtered, offering more smoke than light, but Jared found his way to Merideth’s door. It was locked... just as he’d left it. But he could swear the scream had come from her room.
“Merideth!” His pounding caused Monsieur Flaubert, one of the coach’s passengers, to crack open his door. He mumbled a few questions in French while scratching at his nearly bald pate. Jared ignored him.
From the far side of the panels he thought he heard sobbing. “Dammit, Merideth, answer me.” His hand reached instinctively for the key. He’d stuck it in the pocket of his breeches. But, of course, he wasn’t wearing his breeches. He wasn’t wearing anything but thin cotton underdrawers, and those rode low on his hips.
Hell.
Two more doors opened, and he thought he heard a gasp coming from one of them. But he paid little heed because he knew he heard a keening sound from behind Merideth’s door.
The thud as his bare shoulder slammed into the wood shook the jamb. The second thrust splintered it and he fell into the room.
It struck him first how normal everything looked. He didn’t know exactly what he’d expected after waking to that scream, but certainly one or more rough intruders. But though he brandished the pistol, seeking out the shadows for the person bent on harming Merideth, she was the only one in the small room.
She was backed up as far as she could get against the headboard on the bed, her eyes wide as saucers, the blanket clutched in her white-knuckled fists. Golden hair tumbled over her bare shoulders. Jared took a moment to prop the broken door against the opening, blocking out the curious faces that peered into her room.
“What is it? What’s wrong?” Jared rested his hip against the bed. He reached out to touch her, thought better of it, and busied himself with lighting the candle on the commode.
“There was a man... with a knife.” Merideth hated that her voice quivered. She took a deep breath, forcing her fingers to relax. The captain was looking at her the same way he did whenever she denied knowing the name of the traitor.
“A man with a knife,” he repeated, saying the words without inflection.
“Yes!” Merideth tossed down the blanket she was clutching, then remembered she wore only her shift and pulled it up again. Her jaw tightened, but she lowered her voice. “Yes, there was a man. And he had a knife
. If I hadn’t screamed—”
“The door was locked,” Jared pointed out.
“He must have used the window. I don’t know. But he was here.”
With a casualness that raised her ire, the captain moved to the open window. He glanced out into the darkness, then back at her. “ ‘Tis a fair drop. Not to mention climb.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“Not a thing.” Jared turned back toward her. “Merely an observation.”
“Well, I don’t like the way you’re acting... as if I’m making it up. There was a man, and he did have a knife.” When the captain did nothing but stare at her, Merideth continued. “Perhaps he used the door.” Merideth held up her palm when he started to respond. “And don’t tell me the door was locked. I’m aware of that. I also know that you have the key.”
“Then I sure don’t know why he didn’t use it,” the innkeeper said in his halting English as he pushed aside the door to face Jared and Merideth. “What’s all the commotion up here? And what happened to my door?”
“There was an intruder,” Captain Blackstone replied before Merideth could answer. “Now, as you can see, the lady is not dressed for visitors.” After turning the grumbling innkeeper out into the hallway, and promising to compensate him for the damages, Jared repropped the door shut. When he looked back at Merideth his arms were folded across his chest. He did nothing but stare.
Merideth felt like a rabbit caught in a snare.
She wet her lips. “I thought it was you... at first.” She ignored his arched brow and continued. “But then I knew it wasn’t.”
“This man, what did he look like?”
“I don’t know. It was dark.”
“But you are sure it wasn’t I?” His tone was cynical.
Merideth ignored the question. “He was dressed in black, and he stood over my bed. Then... then I saw the knife.”
“Was he big? Little?”
“I don’t know, I tell you. It happened so quickly.” Merideth searched her memory. “I awoke from a dream and sensed someone was here. Then my eyes focused and I saw him.”
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