His Wicked Kiss

by Gaelen Foley

  At once, Eden glanced suspiciously at Martin. His brief pantomime done, the valet looked at her, all innocence. Jack bent his head, suppressing a small laugh. His preference, in truth, was for her to wear nothing at all….

  The delectable image that bloomed in his mind at that thought was the final straw. He stifled a groan and pushed up from his desk, going out with a long-suffering growl to practice his fencing. The mental work was beyond his powers of concentration at the moment.

  A bout of rigorous exercise ought to help him work off the frustration.

  After Jack left, Eden remained in the day cabin working on the sleeve of her new walking dress. Martin was the next to hurry off to see to his regular duties, namely, ironing the captain’s linen shirts down at the laundry. Eden did not mind the time alone, however, for her mind was much preoccupied.

  Ever since their interlude this morning, strange thoughts about Jack had begun flitting through her brain. Though they had only known each other a short time, having had the chance to observe him in his natural habitat, as it were, she had noted much about the big fellow to love.

  She was awed by the noble courage of his mission on behalf of the colonists battling for freedom—something not even his ducal father could do, as he had pointed out. Too, she was moved by the pain that she sensed in his silence on the subject of his family.

  After watching him for a few days now, she was all the more impressed by his leadership, his care for his men, and his shrewd abilities, running his empire from that grand mahogany desk in the day cabin.

  Given his ruthless reputation, she was shocked at how kind, even indulgent he had been to her, and she got the feeling he was a little shocked by it himself. Clearly, he didn’t have to do any of this—feeding her, clothing her, sharing his cabin, protecting her from any possible threat from the crew.

  Most of all, she was amazed at how easy it was to tell him her innermost thoughts, desires, and fears. His manner that night down in the sickbay had been so caring that she had even found the strength to relate to him the whole, upsetting tale of the Indian boy in the woods. He had been the very soul of kindness about it.

  In sharp contrast to Connor, Jack made her feel so safe; and in contrast even to Papa, he listened to her. And so these unsettling questions had begun to revolve in her mind like so many seagulls circling the masts of an anchored ship.

  She had set her sights long ago on dashing Town Corinthians in coats from Savile Row, but ever since Jack Knight had come sailing into her life, her shining visions had begun to feel a bit like gaudy childish fantasies. What if this man was her destiny? The true love that she’d have crossed the world to find?

  She had stowed away to get to London, yes, but what if the journey turned out to be more important than the arrival at her destination?

  Restless with her questions, she got up to take a break from her sewing, and stretched a bit. Rubbing her neck in mild fatigue, she glanced out through the weather-eye window and promptly spotted the captain engaged in fencing practice with tough old Mr. Brody and a few of the other officers.

  Eden held her breath and stared.

  Shirtless, his bronzed body rippling with muscle and gleaming with sweat in the golden daylight, Jack was taking on several opponents at once, while the sun sent blinding flashes off his wheeling sword.

  She stood there motionless, awed by the sheer magnificence of the man and by the beauty of his deadly skill; riveted, she watched him deliver blows of massive power, swift, precise—and ruthless.

  Mr. Brody called a halt and barked more instructions to the men arrayed against Jack. Unaware that he was being watched, Jack took a short break from his exertions, spilling water over his head, and taking a few swigs from his canteen.

  Her gaze slipped down his glistening chest and abdomen, his regal physique inspiring her to wonder if and when she’d get the chance to pleasure him the way he’d done to her. She was certainly happy to try.

  The Nipper marched toward him all of a sudden, wielding a play wooden sword. She could not hear what the wee cabin boy said, but he apparently felt it was his turn to practice with the captain.

  Jack flashed the child a grin and picked up a nearby mop that one of the sailors had been using to swab the decks. He used the blunt wooden handle to parry the Nipper’s blows.

  Little Phineas Moynahan looked positively minuscule battling Jack for all he was worth, a merry David and Goliath match. After playing swords with the boy for several minutes, the big captain let the Nipper get a hit in and dropped his weapon, clutched his body, and pretended to die.

  Down onto the decks he fell, playacting his demise.

  A soft smile touched her lips as Eden watched the pair, transfixed.

  Phineas cheered his own victory over the fallen giant, but when Rudy pounced on his master, licking his cheek, Jack shoved the dog away affectionately. He jumped up again, rumpled the boy’s hair, and returned to his real practice.

  Eden feared she had just fallen in love.

  As a result, when Jack came marching in, his practice done, she couldn’t stop blushing or gawking at the man. She tore her gaze away, her heart racing, and tried to focus on her work, but when she pricked herself with her sewing needle on account of the trembling in her hands, she could only wonder what in blazes was wrong with her. Why could she not act naturally around him all of a sudden? She had not had this problem before. She felt awkward and shy, transparent and smitten. If Jack noticed the change, he gave no sign. Oh, stop it, she ordered herself, clearing her throat.

  “How was your practice?” she asked in what she hoped sounded like a nonchalant tone.

  “Good, except I think I strained a hamstring.”

  She lit up. “I could make a poultice for you!”

  Heading for the storage closet, he sent her a startled glance over his shoulder. “That’s all right. Bit of a soak in the tub should cure me just fine.”

  The tub.

  As he stepped into the closet to retrieve the bathing tub, her face turned scarlet with wildly improper notions.

  But since it seemed plain that he wished to avoid temptation, she realized she had better go. Indeed, it suddenly occurred to her that after days of having her underfoot, the man might actually like some time alone. Cringing at the thought of how she had imposed on him, she put down her sewing at once, pulled on her light, newly made pelisse to ward off the wind, and headed for the door.

  Jack looked at her in question.

  “I’m sure you’d like to relax,” she explained in a halting tone.

  He looked a bit relieved that she did not intend to stay to help him bathe. Clearly, the man could not hold himself responsible for what might happen if she attempted such a thing.

  “Remember to stay near Brody or Trahern.”

  “Aye-aye, Captain.” She gave him a jaunty salute and then managed to walk into the wall as she realized her feelings for him were probably written all over her face. “Blast.”

  He furrowed his brow. “Are you all right?”

  “Er, fine, thank you,” she mumbled, flustered. “Well—good-bye, then.”

  “Good-bye, Eden,” he murmured in a tone of bemusement.

  As soon as she pulled the door closed behind her, she cursed herself for acting like a dolt, but at least she managed to compose herself again before stepping out onto the quarterdeck.

  Outside, she spotted Mr. Trahern caught up in a chaotic bit of wrangling. One of the young sailors up on the mainsail yardarm had managed to make a tangle of some ropes, or rather, sheets, as the crew preferred to call them.

  The lieutenant was in the midst of getting it all sorted out, so she turned aft to look for her other authorized guardian. On the elevated poop deck at the stern of the ship, she saw old Brody checking, cleaning, and putting away the array of weapons that Jack and the others had been using in their practice.

  The fierce Mr. Brody, she mused, watching the leather-tough old warrior at his work for a moment. The master-at-arms was an intimi
dating hunk of gristle, but she had her orders, and besides, he seemed to be a favorite with Jack. She was curious to find out why.

  With her mind made up to brave The Winds of Fortune’s renowned curmudgeon, she squared her shoulders, put on her best smile, and climbed the short ladder up to the poop deck, in the shadow of the mizzen-mast.

  He eyed her suspiciously as he inspected the blade of one of the sabers. He gave the sharp steel an idle polish as she approached, tucking her blowing tresses behind her ear.

  “Good day, sir. The captain is preoccupied in the day cabin. He told me to stay near you or the lieutenant if I walked out, and since Mr. Trahern appears to be busy, I thought I’d pester you.” She beamed prettily at him, clasping her hands behind her back.

  Brody scowled, squinted in Trahern’s direction, and began grumbling under his breath. “Oh, busy, is he? Our fine lieutenant.” A snort emitted from his half-flattened nose. “That young lie-about. Don’t look busy to me….”

  Eden lifted her eyebrows at his querulous commentary. Oh, dear. No wonder the whole crew feared him. Not daring to venture another remark, she lowered her gaze and then made herself useful, helping him to put away the weapons.

  “So,” he muttered, “you’re the stowaway.”

  “Guilty as charged,” she admitted with friendly caution as she wiped one of the blades with the nearby cloth, sheathed the weapon, and handed it to him.

  He harrumphed as he put it in the long wooden case. “Ain’t a decent thing for a young lady to do, stowin’ away.”

  Eden was taken aback. “Well, no. I suppose not. Still, I had my reasons.”

  “Aye, I’ll bet you did.” He thrust the button-shaped safety guard onto the point of the epee and tossed it, too, into the case. “Think you’re mighty clever, don’t you? Trickin’ the lot of us. Stowin’ away. And now ye got him eatin’ out o’ the palm o’ your hand, don’t ye? A pretty bit of business, in all, and very neatly done.”

  “Neatly done? Whatever do you mean, sir?”

  “He’s got a lot of money.”

  “So?” she retorted.

  “Ye don’t like shiny baubles? Fancy gowns? Fine houses? None o’ that?”

  She stopped and turned to him, propping her fist on her waist. “Exactly what are you implying?”

  “Ha! Cap’n thinks ye wanted to get to England, see, but I think it was him ye wanted all along.”

  Her jaw dropped. “Mr. Brody. If you are actually suggesting that I did all this for the express purpose of trying to snare Lord Jack in matrimony, then I fear you are going quite senile and should not be handling weapons.” She turned away in cold fury, her pride stung. “Forgive my intrusion. I don’t wish to trouble you further. If you’ll pardon me, I will seek out Mr. Trahern.”

  “Bah.” A low, gruff cackle rose behind her as she pivoted and began marching away. “Go have yourself a fine sulk, lassie. No matter. You ain’t the first to try to catch him in your noose, and I sincerely doubt you’ll be the last.”

  “I don’t sulk,” she said crisply, turning around with a warning glare.

  But he wasn’t through with her yet, taking her measure with a canny stare. “All you wicked women just want to get your claws in the lad, on account of his gold.”

  Eden narrowed her eyes. A hundred stinging retorts shot into her mind, but suddenly, through her outrage at his baiting insults, Eden realized Mr. Brody was merely trying in his own, hardheaded way, to protect Jack.

  Loyalty was behind all this.

  It dawned on her then that the old cudgel was testing her—trying to see, perhaps, if she was good enough for the captain.

  Aha.

  Though still offended, she decided to hold her ground. Retreat was surely the fastest way to fail in Mr. Brody’s estimation. And for whatever reason, the old man obviously mattered to Jack.

  She took a step toward him, refusing to be chased off. “He’s a good fighter,” she remarked, then tossed him a challenging look. “I suppose you’re going to say you taught him everything he knows?”

  Brody’s leathery face cracked at last in a wary grimace of a smile, as though she had finally won a glimmer of approval from the old cuss by standing up to him. “Nay, Miss,” he said. “I only train the lad. The natural talent he gets from his sire.”

  Well, this was much more like it.

  “You knew his father, Mr. Brody?” she inquired in a civil tone.

  “Knew him?” He snorted. “Went twenty-five rounds in the ring with him at the Oxfordshire matches of seventy-eight. Can’t say I remember it much, though, on account o’ the blows to the head.” He let out a low chortle. “After that, though, the Killarney Crusher and I were the best o’ mates.”

  “The Killarney Crusher?” Eden tilted her head and furrowed her brow in total confusion. Wasn’t that the title of the boxing champion whose name was engraved on the trophy cup hidden away in Jack’s sea chest? “I thought his father was the Duke of Hawkscliffe.”

  Brody’s deep-set eyes widened. He suddenly turned away with a stricken look. “Oh, bloody ’ell!” he muttered under his breath. “I’ve gone and done it now.”

  The next day, after yet another torturous night’s denial in their shared bunk, Jack sauntered out onto the stern gallery in search of Eden. A part of him felt a bit silly seeking her out—wasn’t he the man who claimed the favors of the women he wanted, then sailed on without a backward glance?

  Ah, well. He was past trying to rationalize this to himself. He simply liked being near her, aye, and it made him feel all warm and peculiar inside to gather that she also liked being near him. Certainly, her innocence was new to him. All lust aside, it made a man feel whole and clean.

  Some dark, guarded region of his innermost self was opening ever so slowly, like a clenched fist gradually being relaxed. He wasn’t sure how it all worked, but he knew it was all her doing: the stowaway who had become his fair companion.

  In truth, the strangeness of the changes she had wrought in him felt a bit shaky, but Jack had an instinct for survival, and he sensed that this was good for him.

  She was good for him.

  Stepping into the doorway that led out onto the shady gallery, he spotted her giving the Nipper a reading lesson.

  Eden was seated on one of the outdoor chairs with the boy nestled close beside her, her arm around his skinny shoulders. They were using the Bible for their text. Jack realized abruptly it had never occurred to him to put any children’s books on his shelves.

  Charmed by the scene before him, Jack paused to lean in the doorway and watched for a moment, unobserved. A wry smile softened the lines of his face as he listened in on their lesson.

  The teacher was a lovely thing in her new walking dress. It was long-sleeved and demure, made from the good sprigged muslin he had intended to bring to his sister. Her auburn hair was pinned up in a loose chignon with an array of little tendrils escaping around her face and her nape. It was very pretty, indeed, Jack thought. He had only seen her hair long and flowing until now; the coif made her look more mature and not so wild.

  As for the Nipper, Jack noticed the kid looked tidier than normal. His hair was combed. His face was clean. He was actually wearing shoes. Why, he had never seen the little rapscallion behaving himself with such docile sweetness.

  The wee pupil was trying very hard to please “Miss Edie” with his efforts; never having had a mother of his own, Jack could well imagine that the child was in raptures just to have her attention. Perhaps sensing this need in him, Eden praised him lavishly for every word he got right, doling out encouragement in equally generous doses.

  Jack stared at them intensely, his arms folded across his chest.

  “Reev…rev…ell…”

  “That’s good. You can do it. Sound it out.”

  “Revel…ations,” the Nipper said slowly, then looked up at her with a grin.

  “Excellent, Phinney!” She tousled his hair and gave him a little congratulatory hug. “My goodness, you learn fast!”


  Her praise fired his enthusiasm to take on the next paragraph. Jack watched her watching Phineas and listening to his efforts with a fond, tender smile, stroking his hair now and then and murmuring to him to take it slowly, concentrate; the boy struggled along as best he could, following the lines of text with his grubby finger.

  The whole of this scene turned Jack’s reflections inevitably back to his longstanding need for an heir.

  He had always wanted sons, but as he watched Eden and recalled her devotion to her father, he thought it would be a fine thing to have daughters, too. Sons could run his company, keep it solid, expand it to the ends of the earth, ah, but daughters would take care of him when he was weak and forgetful in his dotage.

  Truly, watching the woman and child now, Jack had to admit that maybe his separate way of life for all these years was not for the best. He could look in through the window, as it were, and see there was a warmth in being associated with others in a deeper way. But a lifetime of wary isolation could not be undone in a day.

  On the other hand, he thought slowly, these children of his were not simply going to appear out of thin air.

  His lust for Eden returned all of a sudden with shocking ferocity.

  Just marry the chit and get her with child. You can worry about the rest later.

  She glanced over at that moment, as though she felt his predatory stare; she looked into his eyes and sent him an intimate smile.

  The boy now noticed him standing there, leaped up from his seat, and ran to him. “Cap’n Jack!”

  “Fair weather, Mr. Moynahan. I see you’re getting practice with your reading.”

  “I better go check on Rudy!” the Nipper blurted out, as though suddenly struck shy.

  Eden peered after her pupil in amusement as he went tearing off through the day cabin in search of his canine playmate.

  Jack looked at her and smiled. “Lesson’s over?”

  “It appears so.” She chuckled, closing the Good Book and setting it on the low table. Then she rose and walked toward him. “Frankly, I’m surprised he lasted as long as he did. It’s not easy for a little fellow his age to pay attention.”