by Gaelen Foley
She ended the kiss and swept her gaze up to his, meeting his fevered stare in subtle question. His splendid chest heaved as he watched her, his hair tousled. She smiled at his bee-stung lips and kissed him again, lightly. Then she slid off his lap, moving down to the floor on her knees.
He grasped her arm above the elbow, stopping her. He pulled her back up again and gathered her astride his lap. “Put me in you. Now.”
She obeyed with a quiver of anticipation, reaching down to guide his stiff rod to the wet lips of her passage. Jack gasped with pleasure and she held her breath as their bodies joined as one, that perfect lock-and-key fit.
It was like coming home.
“Oh, my God, Eden.”
“I know, darling.” Breathless, she raked her fingers through his wavy hair. “It feels so good to have you inside me.” Then she wrapped her arms around his neck and moved with him in slow, tender symmetry.
“I’ve missed you so much,” he said. “You don’t know. I’ve been dying for you.” His large, callused hands ran up and down her back through the zephyr silk negligée, molding the curves of her waist as she rode him.
She gave him an intoxicated smile, her gaze glittering, worshipful. She petted his cheek. “You’re mine, you know,” she whispered to him.
“God, yes. Body and soul.”
“Oh, Jack—I love you.”
“Sweetheart.” He grasped her nape and kissed her.
A few minutes later, he clasped her hips all of a sudden, stilling her forcibly. When she looked at him, his eyes were closed, his face etched with exquisite torment. “Damn—I can’t last.” He laughed a little.
She thrilled to know that she had him so excited. “Don’t hold back. It’s all right. I want you to come.”
“But I don’t want it to end yet.”
She nuzzled his mouth with a sultry smile. “Jack. You’ve got me for the rest of your life. I’m not going anywhere.”
“But I am,” he whispered sadly as he gazed into her eyes. “I leave the day after tomorrow.”
He watched her reaction as she strove to take the news bravely. She had known this was coming sooner or later and had made a private vow to face it with courage, but a little piece of her heart died to hear it. With all her heart, she did not want him to go, but she refused to complain; she figured she had been enough of a headache for him as it was. She caressed his hair and then kissed his brow.
“Well, then,” she whispered, “we’ll just have to make the best of the time we have.”
He nodded slowly, then they continued making love, resting their foreheads together, adoring each other, reveling in their passion. Denied as they both had been, it wasn’t long before they came together, flushed and damp with sweat, gasping into each other’s mouths, gazing into each other’s souls. The aqua-blue of his eyes would haunt her dreams forever; this man owned a piece of her heart she could never get back.
When the storm of love had given way to the warm glow of satisfaction, they crawled under the sheets to sleep together, enjoying the feel of their naked bodies entwined, all the way down to their feet. Eden rested her head on the curve of Jack’s chest. He draped his arms heavily around her shoulders.
She watched him dozing with a look of bliss.
“You know,” she murmured, snuggling against him, “I just realized something about myself.”
“Hm, what’s that?”
She petted his chiseled stomach slowly. “I think part of the reason I pulled away from you before is that I knew you’d have to go.”
“Aye?”
“I guess I was trying to protect myself from the hurt of when you go away.” She looked up at him penitently. “I thought if I could hold back from loving you to such a crazed degree, then it wouldn’t hurt as badly when you left.”
He tipped her chin upward. “Sweeting, I don’t want you to be hurt.”
“I know. I’ll be all right,” she promised, then nestled against him once more. “You come back safe to me just as soon as you can.”
“I will.”
“Good. Because, Jack—” She paused and took a deep breath. “I think I’m pregnant.”
The ship of the damned at last had come to rest in London. Bound and gagged in the cabin for his refusal to help Connor locate Eden, Dr. Farraday waited in terror for the deranged Australian’s return.
Connor had gone off hours ago to make his foray into civilization. His stated intentions were simple: to find Eden and to kill Jack Knight.
Victor prayed for all he was worth that the man had failed on both points.
Earlier, Connor, now the self-made captain of the hell-ship, had demanded that Victor take him to the places where Eden might be found, but even if he had an inkling of where she might be, the last thing he intended to do was to lead the madman straight to his daughter.
As for Jack Knight, well, he would have to look out for himself. With his famous family, he was easy enough to track down in the heart of London. Even Connor with his terror of civilized places would be able to find him.
Fortunately, Jack Knight was one of the few men Victor surmised had any sort of chance against Connor, who had only grown more hardened on the voyage.
Since none of them knew where Eden might actually be, starting with Jack was the obvious route.
Still, the man deserved a warning, and Victor burned to see the possibility of help so close, yet so far away.
From where the frigate was moored in the river, he could see through the cramped cabin’s porthole the warehouse painted with KNIGHT ENTERPRISES, LTD. in huge letters. It was a good thing the words were so big, for now Victor only had one lens of his spectacles left. But, blazes, seeing it alone did no good. He had no way of reaching it or warning Jack.
Who was to say that Jack would even know where Eden was, anyway? He had no reason to believe that the two of them would still be together, but somehow he prayed that they were, for he knew in his bones that Jack would keep his daughter safe.
Muffled cries of greeting from the ragged crew topside alerted Victor that Connor had come back. His heart pounded, but he braced himself, knowing it wouldn’t be long until his former assistant came down to report to him on his findings, simply out of habit.
Connor soon lurched in, cursing, bleeding from his leg, and looking a bit shaken by his expedition into the realm of men. He cupped his hand around the back of his thigh where he had incurred some sort of wound.
Victor looked at him uncertainly. Connor jerked a nod at one of his thralls. The sailor came over and untied the gag around Victor’s mouth.
“What happened to you?” he asked guardedly.
“Bloody dog bit me. Jack Knight’s dog,” he added acidly.
“D-did you kill him?”
“The dog? Of course not. I could never kill a dog. Victor, what do you take me for?” Connor reached for some bandages in Victor’s medical kit, which they had brought with them all the way from the jungle. “Which one of these salves should I use for a dog bite?”
“If you’d untie me, I could tend it for you.”
Connor studied him for a long moment. “Don’t try anything stupid,” he ordered. Then he hobbled over on his wounded leg with a limp that very much resembled that of the drunken captain who’d been murdered in the mutiny.
Victor leaned forward so his erstwhile assistant, the ingrate, could untie his hands. “Did you see Eden?”
“Yes.” He stared into space. “She is so beautiful. I saw her through the window.”
He turned to him eagerly, shaking the loosened ropes off his wrists. “Was she well? Was she safe?”
“It appeared so,” he admitted. “He is keeping her in a place called the Pulteney Hotel.”
“‘He’? Do you mean Lord Jack?”
Connor sent him a dark look, an obvious affirmative.
“D-did you kill him?” Victor asked, holding his breath.
“No.” Connor sighed and returned to where he had sat before. “I was going to. Couldn’t get
a clear shot. So I followed him instead, and I am so glad I did.”
“Why? What do you mean? And what did you mean when you said he is ‘keeping’ her there at the Pulteney Hotel? Has that blackguard dishonored my daughter?”
“What do you think? I’m the one she loves. And he will pay for everything he had done to her, trust me,” Connor said, then he pulled a folded newspaper out of his coat. “In here it says they are married. She couldn’t possibly have wanted this. He forced her. I know it. And he’s going to die.”
“Connor—”
“Oh, don’t worry, Father. I’m not the one who is going to kill him.”
Victor flinched at the way the obsession had taken his friend over completely, addling his wits—or had they always been addled, and he had just never noticed, so wrapped up in his own pain?
What sane man ever took it into his head to go and live in a jungle, anyway?
“I was thinking back to how angry Eden was after I protected her from the warrior who tried to molest her. I don’t want to go through that again by killing Lord Jack and having her find out it was me. So, luckily, I found another way.”
“How?”
Connor smiled. “I’m not sure I should tell you. You’re very wily, old man.”
Victor said nothing as he knelt down by his medical kit and rolled up his sleeves, preparing to treat Connor’s dog bite. “Well, if you don’t feel you can trust me, Connor, so be it. We’ve only known each other, what, twelve, thirteen years? You’re my daughter’s true love. But I’m just her father—”
“All right,” he conceded, smiling broadly to hear his fantasies affirmed. He leaned nearer. “I followed him to his warehouse. It’s right over there.” He pointed toward the porthole. “Did you see?”
Victor squinted. “I cannot make it out with these broken spectacles,” he lied. “But I will take your word on it.”
“Well, I saw what he’s up to.” He sat back again. “Our Lord Jack is up to some very naughty business.”
“Doing what?” Victor murmured, alarmed.
“He is gathering an army for Bolivar—and won’t the Spanish embassy be interested to know it? Nature is efficient, Victor. I’ll let the Spanish get him for me when the time is right.”
“And, er, when will the time be right, my lad?”
“Soon. Just as soon as I figure out a way to get to Eden. I know she loves me, but—she is confused, you see. Like a wounded doe. She might try to fight me. I can’t have that.”
“Connor. You mustn’t hurt our Edie.”
“Of course not.” Leaning forward, he reached under his cot and pulled out one of the cases containing their jungle samples.
Victor’s heart pounded in trepidation as Connor opened the lid and scanned the collection of curare potions.
“This…” Connor murmured half to himself.
Victor paled but tried to hide his dread. “Listen to me. Those brews are deadly.”
“Not this one.” Connor lifted a small bamboo tube out with a placid smile. “It’s very mild. I made it myself. It’s quite gentle, very fast-acting. I used it to stun the little birds and creatures of the canopy for study. One tiny prick of her finger, and she’ll go to sleep. When she wakes up,” he crooned, “I’ll have her back again, forever.”
CHAPTER
SEVENTEEN
The weather turned foul on the night of the ball, but nothing could have dampened Jack’s spirits with the magic of their little secret.
If the world could have guessed it, he would not have been surprised. He walked with a strut tonight, his chest puffed out, and a lift to his chin. He felt thoroughly unconquerable, and utterly in love.
The physician had been sent for earlier that afternoon, confirming Eden’s delicate condition with a fair degree of certainty.
He was going to be a dad. After all the innumerable times he had thought and spoken about his desire for an heir, having the reality of it confirmed was another matter entirely. They were going to have a child! He had not known how much he had wanted this until his wife had said it. The notion of his firstborn scheduled to join them this autumn had done something to his heart like a canary being freed from a cage.
As for his Lady Jay, she laughed and blushed and scolded him for being overprotective from the second he had heard the news. He had to remind himself this was the chit who could hurl a machete into a bull’s-eye from thirty feet away. She seemed to be taking the pregnancy in stride, as she did most things.
For now, she was rapt with excitement over her first true Society ball, though getting there proved to be no mean trick.
The location was a stately manor in Richmond set in several acres of green parklands. A long line of lamplit carriages waited in the steady downpour for their turn to pull up under the porte cochere and discharge their passengers.
Rain turned the drive to mud; darkened the horses hides’ and made their leather traces chafe; rain dampened the wilting grooms’ wigs until white powder trickled down their matching livery coats.
Through the steady spring shower, however, the cheerful lights shining through the great arched windows of the mansion looked all the more inviting.
As they waited in the line of carriages, Jack pointed out to Eden the large, cupola-topped conservatory off the south corner of the house and asked her if she’d like one just like that to be added onto their house in Derbyshire.
“We’ll go and have a look at it,” she promised, her eyes shining.
Every now and then, he just shook his head and sighed as he gazed at her. She tapped his arm with her fan and gave him a kiss while they waited.
Finally, they made it inside, politely refusing a cup of belly-warming negus in the thronged entrance hall where arriving guests were milling about.
Footmen scurried back and forth with umbrellas, while cloakroom servants took the guests’ endless array of hats, wraps, pelisses, and greatcoats. Ladies exclaimed over the wet as they hurried off to change out of their warm carriage shoes into their dancing slippers for the rest of the evening.
Jack and Eden exchanged a slightly overwhelmed glance. After languishing in the row of carriages, they were both daunted to find another queue to wait in, several persons deep, which snaked up the magnificent staircase into the ballroom.
Above, the majordomo was formally announcing each new arrival to the throng of guests before herding them on to be greeted by their hosts’ receiving line.
The old Jack would have deemed the whole procedure damned excruciating, he reflected, but walking in with his beautiful bride on his arm and seeing how happy the whole thing made her inspired him to endure it, even the always slightly unnerving moment when one’s name was shouted out to the whole throng. He was never sure which was worse, being stared at as one entered or having one’s arrival completely ignored.
He needn’t have worried, he realized. People everywhere turned to look, but even the bony faces of the frightening grand dames who ruled Society softened at the refined beauty of his wife. With her white-gloved hand tucked into the crook of his arm, she lifted the hem of her gown just a touch and proceeded gracefully down the entry stairs beside him.
Coming down the staircase, Jack surveyed the brilliant ballroom in reluctant pleasure. Hundreds of glittering candles lit the soaring space while a charming Mozart rondo lightened the drone of conversation with a little melody that the orchestra and pianoforte tossed back and forth playfully between them, now one, now the other.
He was glad he had listened to Martin and had worn what his valet had prescribed for the occasion. Eden had been complimentary, pronouncing him very smart in his black and white formal attire. His ebony coat of silk was double-breasted, with bright gilt buttons; his waistcoat gleamed as bright as the very cliffs of Dover.
Clean-shaved, white-gloved, and hair slicked back, he stretched his neck a bit, the starchy cravat rather more grand than what he was accustomed to, in a style with some French name he couldn’t even pronounce. What did he know of such thin
gs? But Martin had declared it “all the kick” and had finished it off with a bit of sparkle from the safe: a solid gold vertical cravat pin with a sizable diamond head.
Joining the crowd, he lifted two crystal flutes of champagne off the tray of a passing waiter, but Eden declined the offered glass, casting a hungry eye over the sweets in the large, columned alcove designated as the refreshment area.
Near the wine fountain with four silver dolphins spouting Chardonnay, another liveried footman offered guests confections on a silver tray: candied ginger, licorice, chocolate drops, an array of colored bon-bons that echoed the soft, flower-garden hues of the ladies’ gowns—pink and blue, green and white, lavender and yellow.
So many flowers in an English garden. But none so fair as his little orchid.
Her lithe body had only just begun to show the barest hint of her delicate condition—it hadn’t been marked enough for Jack to notice it last night when she had been naked before him. Dressed in her finery now, the tautening low around her belly was not at all visible yet.
She was, of course, the loveliest female in the room, draped in a gown of lustrous shot silk, iridescent, like the wings of a dragonfly—pale green or lavender depending on which way the candlelight hit the exquisite fabric. Its shimmering quality stood in contrast to the creamy perfection of her skin, the fluid lines cascading down her figure like a secret jungle waterfall.
Her hair, the color of cinnamon, was parted in the middle, her beloved face framed by soft ringlets that fell to either side, with a high chignon on top graced with a clutch of dark pink rosebuds. He couldn’t stop staring at her.
Moved by her beauty and dazzled to know their first child was now more than just a hazy fantasy, Jack had never experienced such a tug of war within him in his entire life.
How could he possibly go to South America now? How could he possibly back out? He had given Bolivar his word. Thousands of people could die if he failed.
Yet if anything went wrong to delay his journey, from uncooperative weather to violent resistance from the Spanish navy, he would miss the birth of his child—and these things did not always go smoothly.
