by Gaelen Foley
“I know something’s going on, Jack. I may be a female, but that doesn’t mean I haven’t got a brain.” She put the linen napkin on her lap. “I told you where my loyalties lie. I’d rather see Bolivar win.”
“Well, he can’t,” Jack murmured. “Not unless he gets some help.”
Her eyes narrowed in satisfaction. “So, you are on their side?”
“What do you think, Miss Farraday?”
She gazed at him intently. “Papa says there isn’t really going to be a war. Because the rebels are too drastically outnumbered.”
“Even a genius is occasionally wrong. After all, situations change.”
She tilted her head. “Isn’t it your company’s claim to fame that you can get anything that anybody needs, from nearly any corner of the world?”
He knew he should put a stop to this, but it was fascinating watching her work it all out in her mind. “That is true. Yes.”
“And the rebels need men.” She leaned forward in her chair. “You’re going to find them extra soldiers, aren’t you?” she whispered. “But where?” she persisted before he could silence her. “England? Oh…but of course! All those soldiers back from the Peninsula—”
He rolled his eyes and let out a sigh. “Eden.”
“But England would never dare step between Spain and her colonies.”
“No. Not in any official capacity. However,” he conceded, giving in to her against his better judgment, “a soldier can change his uniform, can he not?”
“Ohhh.” Her eyes wide, she sat back slowly, lowering her gaze. For a long moment, she said nothing as she tried to absorb it all, then she lifted her gaze to his. “Couldn’t you get into trouble for this?”
“Not if they don’t find out.” He gave her an innocent smile and popped a grape from the silver tray into his mouth.
“I see! So—bringing all these products to market in London is only a-a sort of pretense, isn’t it?”
“Enough. We must not discuss this any further.”
“But why? I’ve already figured it out, Jack. I was there!” She searched his face, shaking her head. “How did you get involved in all this?”
He hesitated for a moment, then shrugged it off. Ah, hell. What did it matter now if he told her? It was easy enough to ensure that one young girl didn’t get in the way.
“Do you remember the earthquake that devastated Caracas a couple of years ago?” He bent down, leaning his elbows on the back of the chair across from her at the table.
She nodded. “That was right on the heels of Bolivar’s last attempt to free his country.”
“Exactly. After a series of victories, the rebels had just chased the Spanish out of many parts of Venezuela. They were in Caracas setting up the new government when the earthquake hit. Hate to say it, but their luck is worse than mine,” he added drily.
She smiled with a thoughtful gaze. “Didn’t the Catholic church declare that earthquake an act of God?”
“Aye, condemning the revolution. The royalist church. The bishops always side with the king. Naturally, they proclaimed the quake a sign of God’s judgment against the revolution. Hearing that, a lot of Venezuelans thought the bishops might be right. Morale eroded. People lost their nerve. Well, it was the perfect opportunity for Spain to take back the ground they had lost. When they launched another attack, the resistance fell apart.”
She nodded. “Yes, I heard.”
“What you may not know is that, after that defeat, Bolivar and his entourage had to flee for their lives, with some of Spain’s top assassins at their heels.”
“Really?”
He nodded. “They were marked men. Considered traitors to Spain. Now, I had sent a dozen of my ships to take food and medical supplies to Caracas after the earthquake. Apparently, Bolivar and his aides sailed out amid my ships’ formation on their return journey to Port Royal. They wound up in Jamaica—nearly on my doorstep. Well, I have a policy, you see. Nobody kills anybody on my turf, at least not without consulting me first. When I heard about their plight, I gave them my protection. Mr. Brody, my head of security—who I think you may have met—”
“Indeed.”
“On my orders, Mr. Brody set up a ring of armed men around the perimeter of my property for the duration of Bolivar’s visit. As a result, we intercepted the Spanish assassins and sent them packing.”
She stared at him, her eyes round. “You saved Bolivar’s life? You had the Liberator and his council as guests in your home?”
“For a short while—and let me tell you, far from acknowledging defeat, he and his advisers were already planning their next attempt to free their country. That’s when I first got involved. You have to admire a man who gets up every time they knock him down—who keeps on going even despite the supposed wrath of God.”
Eden shook her head; Jack was absurdly pleased that his actions had impressed her. “I don’t suppose the Spanish like you very much after that.”
“Nobody does, Miss Farraday, hadn’t you heard?”
She smiled, blushing a little. “Well, I think it’s entirely noble, what you’re doing.”
He snorted. “Don’t be too sure. I stand to triple my fortune if all goes well.”
“You wouldn’t risk angering two of the most powerful nations on earth just to make money, I think. Besides, you had nothing to gain by sending Caracas humanitarian aid after the earthquake.”
“Maybe I was merely paying off my many sins,” he drawled, growing uncomfortable with her admiring gaze. He rose and went around the table. “Now, my dear, I hope I’ve satisfied your curiosity.”
“I want you to know that I won’t tell a soul about what you’re doing,” she said solemnly, turning to face him as he approached her. “Not even Cousin Amelia.”
“Oh, I’m not worried about that,” he murmured, cupping her face. He gazed at her fondly for a moment, stroking her silken cheek with the pad of his thumb.
What a funny little thing she was, he thought in tender amusement. So serious and true. He gathered by her blushing smile that Eden thought he wasn’t worried about her keeping silent because he trusted her, but she was mistaken.
The reason he wasn’t worried was because the minute she had guessed the truth, he had already decided that he wasn’t letting her anywhere near London until his mission was complete.
The risks were too great. He owned a splendid castle on the coast of Ireland; she could wait there until the job was done, safely tucked away in medieval splendor, far from London, where she could not cause him any trouble with a careless word or a naive admission.
She was going to hate him for it, naturally, but if she had waited all these years to visit London, another six months wouldn’t kill her.
“Come,” he murmured, pulling her chair out for her. “Bring your plate.”
“Where are we going?”
“You can finish eating in my sleeping cabin. The officers need this stateroom to do their work—and you’ll be safest in there, anyway. Mind you are not to leave these chambers unless you are accompanied either by me, Mr. Brody, or Lieutenant Trahern.” Eden grabbed her plate as he tucked her under his arm and steered her over to his private quarters. Opening the door, he shooed her in. “There you are, then. Make yourself at home.”
“Jack,” she said, stealing a brief glance into his cabin. “There’s a cannon in there.” She turned to him, her brow furrowed.
“Yes, a twelve-pounder. It won’t bite you. Run along now.” He nodded toward the room. “Some of us have work to do.”
Stepping past him in wary uncertainty, she entered his spartan cabin. His wood-framed berth was built into the bulkhead, draped with curtains to block out the light and to keep in the heat.
Although there was a washstand in the corner and a large leather sea chest by the foot of the bed, the waist-high cannon did rather dominate the room. Its muzzle thrust out belligerently from the open gun port, as if to keep the world at bay. He folded his arms across his chest.
�
�I hope you find everything to your liking,” he said sardonically, not deigning to point out that she was, after all, a stowaway.
Beggars could hardly be choosers.
She sent him a contrite nod. “Thank you.”
“There’s a series of locks on this door.” He pointed them out and looked meaningfully into her eyes. “I suggest you use them to keep out the men.”
“Will they keep you out?” she asked in a saucy tone.
“No, my dear, I have the keys.” Fighting a smile, he gave her a nod of farewell and turned to go.
“Jack?” He turned around in question at her soft call. She leaned in the doorway and gave him a frisky half smile. “Don’t you want to kiss me good-bye?”
The invitation stunned him, but that just went to prove how dangerous she was.
“No,” he replied in a pleasant tone, hiding his amusement.
She frowned.
He turned away with a low chuckle and grabbed his discarded shirt from the chair back where he’d left it. He pulled it on again as he walked away.
“Captain,” she called after him, her tone not quite so sweet as a moment ago.
“Yes, my dear?” he asked indulgently, tucking his shirt into his snug breeches.
“I want to know, honestly—is it true? Were you really a pirate?”
“Now, Miss Farraday,” he chided as a devilish sparkle crept into his eyes. “You mustn’t believe every idle rumor you hear.”
He gave her a wink. “I’m sure I had those letters of marque lying around somewhere.”
She gasped.
He nodded his command to her to lock herself up in the cabin.
With a scandalized grin, she obeyed, and when he heard the locks turning, he smiled. Maybe now his officers could get back to work—and Jack could at least pretend that life on board The Winds of Fortune would now get back to normal.
CHAPTER
SEVEN
Aha, so, he was once a privateer! Eden thought as she closed the door. Well, why hadn’t the rogue simply said so in the first place? At least that was reasonably legal, unlike piracy. She had a sneaking suspicion, as she turned each of the seven locks, that he enjoyed letting people fear the worst about him.
As an afterthought, she wondered what sort of paranoia led a man to put seven iron locks on his door, anyway—as if he feared a mutiny. But clearly, there was no danger of that. From all that she had seen up on deck, his men held him in the deepest awe.
Eden was rather awed herself.
Ambling over to his built-in berth, which was more than six feet long and nearly as deep, she sat down warily on the sturdy mattress. Well, she thought as she looked around at the stark simplicity of his quarters, the head of Knight Enterprises certainly didn’t live like a millionaire.
All his ambition was obviously not aimed at acquiring a life of luxury, for she saw no evidence that he had taken to spoiling himself. She picked up her plate again, and slowly finished eating, half listening all the while to the busy officers on the other side of the door.
She heard muffled talk of winds and currents, degrees of latitude and schedules for the crew. Finished eating, she put her ear to the door when she heard Jack’s kingly baritone. The captain was apparently dictating a letter to a business associate.
Hanging on his every word, she found herself wishing she could have gone out there and participated somehow, but she was quite indecent, wearing only his shirt, and besides, she had not been invited.
No doubt Jack felt she would only be a distraction to his men. Even she could admit she had caused enough trouble for one day. With a sigh, she leaned against the door.
Boredom quickly crept in.
“What to do, what to do.” Her gaze traveled around the cabin.
Jack had ordered her to rest, but she was wide awake, indeed, jittery after the scandalous way he had touched her in the bathing tub. She closed her eyes, a hot shiver coursing through her body at the all too vivid memory. She could almost still feel his warm, wet mouth at her breast.
Blowing out a frustrated breath, she thrust off the sensation with a will and pushed away from the door. Pacing across the cabin, she examined the great iron cannon a bit, then grazed her hand along the drapes that framed his oversized berth.
Gazing somberly at the captain’s huge bed, she could only wonder what might happen there when he came back tonight, as promised. He had threatened from the start to make her pay her way with her body; earlier, he had sworn that she’d be willing when he came to collect his price.
Today’s little demonstration proved he did not lack the power to rob her of her wits and her better judgment.
What had made him stop, she did not know.
Maybe she was just too much of an eccentric jungle oddball for him, she thought. But, no. She lowered her gaze. That was just insecurity talking. She had seen his lust for her burning in his turquoise eyes—thrilling, a little scary. Something else had made him pull away and spare her virtue today.
But for how long would his self-restraint hold?
Wrapping her arms around her waist, Eden turned and gazed in the direction of the stateroom, where she could still hear him handing down commands. Her cheeks heated merely to ponder what the night might hold, for she had a feeling that when he came through that barricaded door after dark, he was going to do things to her, delicious things, that would make it impossible for her to resist. And then the freedom she had enjoyed for so long would be lost in the blink of an eye.
If things went too far, she’d have no choice but to marry him, and marriage, of course, gave a husband total legal control over his wife. She trembled at the thought of the mighty Lord Jack for her lord and master, with his iron will and countless secrets. She’d be no more than a thrall to him.
She had to resist. But how?
Given his reputation, he might not even offer marriage once he had his way with her. He might simply prefer to leave her ruined.
No, she thought with a chill, Papa would never let him get away with that. Connor would kill him if he disgraced her.
At any rate, she could not bring herself to believe that Jack would ever do something that cruel.
Still, the train of her thoughts had begun to unnerve her. She padded silently across the cabin, desperate for some means of distracting herself, but try as she might, she could not stop thinking about Black-Jack Knight.
The man fascinated her. Well, she had never met anyone on a secret mission before.
Of course she forgave him now for refusing that day in the jungle to escort her back to England. It was obvious in hindsight that he couldn’t have told her the real reason why he had declined her request, even at the risk of looking utterly ungallant.
Indeed, now that he had told her how dangerous his true goal was, she was already worried about what could happen to him once they reached England. Most of the countries of Europe had embassies in London, and that included Spain. They would be watching him, she realized. They would all be watching him.
It was hard to decide in that moment which of them was madder: Papa or Jack. Papa, with his quest into the deadly Amazon to find medicines for the good of all mankind, or Lord Jack, risking everything to back a cause he believed in, freeing a nation.
Thinking of her sire, she hoped that by now Papa, too, was at sea. She had to believe that upon finding her missing, he would have abandoned his lunatic quest in order to come after her instead. Guilt gnawed at her, and filial anxiety, as she pondered his certain wrath at her when they next met.
She had dashed well better find a new patron in London or he might never speak to her again, once he realized she was safe.
The important thing was that he’d be alive—not that he would ever thank her for it. As for Connor…well, she was happy to conclude that the big Australian wasn’t her problem anymore. Surely by now he had taken the hint.
Drifting over toward the mahogany washstand in the corner, she glanced at herself in the mirror and frowned at her bony reflection.
Then, with a sudden surge of curiosity—why not?—she opened the top drawer of the washstand to see what it might hold.
Inside lay a slim silver case of cigarillos along with an array of grooming items: a comb, a bristly toothbrush, a shaving razor with a stropping stone, small scissors for his nails. She found a tiny bottle of cologne shoved into disuse in the back of the drawer; she took it out and sniffed it, smiling. Very nice. Putting it away, she closed the drawer again.
All right, bored again. Now what? Glancing over her shoulder, she eyed the sturdy leather sea chest over by the bulkhead, then sent a surreptitious glance toward the door.
Hmm. The captain hadn’t said anything about her not being allowed to look around, she reasoned. Scientific curiosity drew her over to the great leather trunk.
She crouched down before it silently and, much to her surprise, found the brass closure unlocked. She inched the lid open and peered inside. Nothing too exciting at first glance.
On the top lay an extra greatcoat of black wool, unneeded in the tropics. Beneath it she found a pair of pistols holstered in a belt and a large knife in an ornate sheath. These sprawled atop messy piles of papers and books, one of which proved to be a copy of Travels in the Orinoco Delta, by one Dr. Victor Farraday. With a startled but tender smile, Eden lifted her father’s book out of the trunk, absurdly pleased that Lord Jack had read it.
Just holding it in her hands made her feel closer to Papa. In truth, this past fortnight had been the longest they had ever been parted. She thumbed through the pages fondly. Reading a paragraph here and there was almost like having Papa here, talking to her.
It is but Nature’s way, my dear. All creatures take a mate upon reaching reproductive age….
Shaking her head quickly, she set Papa’s famous narrative aside and dug around in the trunk to see what else she might find. A bulky lump beneath some letters turned out to be a silver-plated winner’s cup mounted on a small polished block of white marble. How very curious. It was heavy as she rolled it onto its side and read the inscription:
SAM O’SHAY
“THE KILLARNEY CRUSHER.”
