His Wicked Kiss

by Gaelen Foley

  He had been found out and he knew it.

  Good thing he had written a will, he thought drily. Nevertheless, there was no harm in trying to play innocent. “How dare you break into my rooms?” he demanded, sounding affronted.

  “Oh, what’s the matter, Lord Jack? Do we fail to show you the proper respect?”

  “What do you want?” he asked in a bored tone.

  “Quit the games, Knight,” Ruiz snarled. “We know now you’re our man. I’ve longed for an excuse to kill you ever since Jamaica, and now at last I get my chance. We’re going to take you someplace and do it slowly.”

  “Well, if you’ll pardon, old boy, I have other plans.” Jack paused, backing up slightly, though the other two were behind him. “What makes you so sure you’ve got the right man this time?”

  “We’ve had a tip from an eyewitness who can place you in Venezuela at the end of February, concurring precisely with when we know the rebels dispatched their representative. Your arrival in London at just the right time was no coincidence.”

  “Oh, really? And who gave you this tip?” he demanded. “Who accuses me?”

  “A scientist who was doing research in the jungle there.”

  Jack paled. If they named his father-in-law as his betrayer, it would not have surprised him, but Ruiz’s answer was worse.

  “O’Keefe is his name. An Australian.”

  When Jack heard his answer, time seemed to stop. Pure horror washed through him the likes of which he had never known, worse, even, than the day he had nearly lost Eden to the cold Atlantic.

  It all came clear. Connor O’Keefe had set him up. Taking the revenge Eden had warned him about.

  Jack knew the Australian’s next move with a bone-deep certainty: He would go after Eden.

  Aye, he might have her already.

  His heart was pumping, his fingers flicking around the handle of his weapon; he had to get out of here, save her.

  If O’Keefe took her away, he might drag her back into the jungle where Jack would never be able to find her again.

  She had Damien looking after her of course, but his brother had been told nothing of this. Jack knew it was up to him to save his lady.

  Time was of the essence.

  But Ruiz and his comrades had no intention of letting him leave here alive.

  Well, perhaps he need not waste his time or his blood here, getting drawn into a fight, he thought, his pulse pounding. “I’m a rich man, lads. Perhaps you’d consider a hefty bribe?”

  The answer was a fist slammed into his ribs from behind—a kidney punch. Jack let out a roar as all three fell on him at once.

  “Stop fighting me! We’re going back to the jungle and we are going to be happy,” Connor said through gritted teeth as he wrenched her up the ladder from the rowboat onto the frigate.

  Perhaps the dose hadn’t been large enough, for the curare had already begun to wear off. Though her head was still quite woozy, Eden fought for her life.

  “Eden, you know this is right! You’re the only one who’s ever understood me.”

  “I don’t understand this!” She was kicking, flailing, but he was so strong and so terrifyingly determined that her struggles had no effect as he lifted her toward the rails.

  “Be still.”

  “Let me go! You’re mad!” She recalled her ongoing jest with Papa that one of them was eventually going to come unhinged from being in the wilderness too long. It was clear now which one of them it had happened to.

  Connor was completely delusional—and from that day in the forest with the Indian boy, Eden knew firsthand how dangerous he could be.

  He hefted her over the rails and she went sprawling onto the torch-lit deck on all fours, wild-eyed, her heart pounding. She looked up through her tangled hair and saw the leering, greasy faces of his evil-looking crew.

  “Stand back!” Connor barked at them as he vaulted over the rails a step behind her, and then helped her protectively to her feet.

  She jerked her arm out of his possessive hold and pivoted to face him. “I want to see my father.”

  “And so you shall. There, there. I promised, didn’t I?”

  “Er, Captain,” one of his henchmen spoke up gingerly.

  She laughed at him. “You call yourself the captain of this leaky tub?”

  Connor eyed her in warning. “If you want to see your father, you had better be a little more cooperative.”

  “Where is he? Where is Papa?”

  “Captain!” the sailor said a bit more insistently.

  “What?” Connor snapped.

  The man braced himself for a blow: “Dr. Farraday escaped.”

  Eden’s eyes widened but Connor flew into a rage. His men scrambled to and fro to escape his wrath.

  “You useless bastards, get us the hell out of here! Lift the anchor and let’s go! Move! He’ll go for help. He’s not a fool! He’ll have the River Police on us any minute!”

  With Connor distracted, Eden seized her chance and made a dash for the rails, ready to dive in and swim to shore, if need be, rather than let him carry her away, but Connor spun around and grabbed her by her hair.

  She screamed and stopped; he gripped her arm. Releasing his brutal tug on her scalp, he swung a lantern off a nearby peg to light their way as he escorted her roughly belowdecks, his harsh face distorted with the twisting shadows.

  In the lower deck, he threw her into a cabin, but when he started to close the door, she rushed at him again, determined to escape. He caught her before she could slip past him, grabbed her waist, and trapped her against the wall.

  “Stop it!” he snarled. “You’re not getting away from me this time! Now sit down and keep quiet. We’ll be underway soon.”

  “Where are we going?” she cried. “I want to go home.”

  “I’m taking you home.” He seemed to struggle for patience. “You’re coming back to the jungle with me and we’re going to be happy as we once were.”

  “I don’t want to. I want to see Papa!”

  “Your father’s gone, Eden. We don’t need him, anyway. He’s weak.”

  “Let me out of here! I don’t love you! Why can’t you just accept that?”

  “Because I love you, Eden, I love you so much. God, I’ve been waiting years to tell you so!” He ignored her clawing his face and carried her over to the bed.

  She kicked and fought. “Let go of me! You’re unhinged, damn you!”

  “Stop it!” he barked, throwing her onto the bed and then pinning her beneath him.

  Eden still struggled, but welling despair washed over her. His grip was unyielding, his steely weight impervious. He knew holds that could subdue thrashing crocodiles; now he pinned her with arms and legs. Eden went still and began to cry.

  “Let me go.”

  “No,” he whispered. “I’ve crossed the ocean to get you back. I’m not losing you again.”

  “I was never yours.”

  “You are now.” He kissed her.

  She shuddered with revulsion.

  “Easy. Steady, girl,” he crooned. “You’re all right now.”

  She struggled to punch him, but couldn’t move an inch. He shifted now to hold her down with one hand, petting her body with the other as if that would help to soothe her. She cringed, squeezing her eyes shut as his hand roamed reverently over her breasts. He tried to kiss her again and she turned her face away.

  He kissed her neck instead as his hand traveled lower. “You’re used to this, aren’t you? I know he probably raped you on the voyage over the sea, but it wasn’t your fault. It doesn’t matter now. He’ll pay. The past is gone, and I will always protect you. You and I have both learned from the Indians how to live only in the present, haven’t we?”

  “Leave me alone.”

  His roaming hand stopped on her belly. His touch changed, not lewd indulgence but a scientific sort of palpation, pressing on the cradle of her womb.

  “You’re pregnant.”

  She froze, suddenly terrified of w
hat he might do.

  He felt again. “My enemy’s planted his babe in your belly.” The darkening quality in his voice chilled her to the bone. He pulled away abruptly, leaving her on the bed. “No matter. We have a potion that will rid your body of it.”

  “I won’t take it.”

  “I will pour it down your throat.”

  Eden was so horrified she could not utter a word as Connor rose from the bed and picked up the lantern on his way to the door.

  “Behave yourself down here, Eden. Don’t make me tie you up. That’s not the way I wish to treat my wife, but if you force my hand, I’ll do it.”

  “Wife?” she echoed barely audibly.

  “Yes, wife.”

  “I already have a husband,” she whispered.

  Connor paused. “He’s dead.”

  He blew out the lantern and pulled the door shut in finality.

  Eden just sat there in a state of shock as she heard the series of locks sliding home.

  A great splashing sound emitted from the dark waters of the Thames across from the docks and warehouses of Knight Enterprises.

  “Captain!”

  “Aye, sailor?” Lord Arthur Knight intoned, hands clasped behind his back as he inspected the process of his men furling the sails now that the Valiant had dropped anchor.

  “Man overboard, sir!”

  “Oh, bother.” Lord Arthur marched to the rails and peered over the side of his vessel at the source of the wild splashing from the river below.

  “Ain’t one of ours, sir.”

  “He’s drownin,’ he is!”

  “Help!” the wretched man croaked as he clawed against the current.

  “Don’t just stand there. Throw him a line,” Lord Arthur commanded in his great, mellifluous voice.

  “Aye, Captain!”

  The bosun seat was immediately lowered into the murky current. “You down there! Take hold!” Lord Arthur instructed from the rails.

  The man did as he was told, and in short order he was dropped unceremoniously onto the deck in a dripping heap.

  Lord Arthur frowned at the mess to his spotless gun deck. “Thought you’d go for a swim, did you?”

  “Ye’ll catch yer death in that sewage,” a sailor muttered, at which the poor fellow retched.

  “Vile!” He coughed and spat, still panting. “Oh, God bless you, sirs—I beg your help! There’s no time!”

  “What seems to be the trouble?” With a flick of his fingers, Lord Arthur summoned a towel, which he handed to their guest.

  The man took it gratefully, dried his face, and then carefully wiped the dirty water off his broken spectacles. Lord Arthur watched him closely and decided that the half-drowned fellow had the bearing of a gentleman, though he was no youngster, perhaps in his fifties. Too old for such nonsense as moonlight swims, he thought with a humph.

  “I have just escaped,” the fellow blurted out, sounding quite frantic and still struggling to catch his breath. “I-I managed to elude them undetected. I was held, you see, held against my will on that frigate!” He pointed to a worm-eaten craft moored about a quarter mile upriver.

  “I say!” Lord Arthur murmured. He lifted his spyglass to his eye and frowned. “Most suspicious. I shall go and have a closer look—”

  “No, no, never mind them! There are too many of them, nearly sixty men, and cutthroats all!”

  “Well, what do you wish us to do, sir? Let me alert the River Police—”

  “No time! I beg you, sir. I have to see Lord Jack Knight, who owns these docks—a brother of the Duke of Hawkscliffe.”

  “And what would you want with him?” Lord Arthur inquired, peering down his nose at the man in suspicion.

  “I must find him! My daughter is with him—she is in dire peril!”

  The plea of parental distress commanded Arthur’s immediate attention—and his complete sympathy.

  He would have been here sooner himself if he had not been delayed by a most distressing, cryptic message from his middle son, Derek.

  That young rogue never wrote to his father, always too busy chasing about on some adventure.

  The moment Arthur had seen Derek’s scrawly handwriting, he had known something serious had happened.

  The short note had reached him in Portsmouth while waiting for the minor repairs on his ship to be completed. Arthur had read it so many times now he had it by heart.

  Dear Father,

  Stay in London. We will come to you. Afraid we’ve had a spot of trouble here and must egress. Gabriel and I have been asked to resign our commands in the cavalry, but rest assured we kept our sister safe. Georgie will be arriving first. We sent her on one of Jack’s ships. I’ve got to stay with Gabriel. He was hurt holding off the palace guards of the maharaja. Pray for us. Will explain all soon.

  Your devoted son,

  D.

  Post-Script: Would be dead if not for that quick-thinking chap, Lord Griffith. Capital fellow. Fancies Georgie, I think. Don’t they all?

  The half-drowned fellow’s pleadings roused Arthur from his own fatherly woes.

  “I beg you, Captain, will you not help me save my child? Both she and Lord Jack are in grave danger. Let your men row me to shore so I can go to the Pulteney Hotel and warn Jack he must protect Eden! O’Keefe is here and he’s coming after both of them. He is dangerous,” he whispered. “Unstable. He must be stopped!”

  Lord Arthur lifted his chin and narrowed his eyes in fascination. “Would you by chance be Dr. Farraday?”

  “Yes! How ever did you know?” He looked amazed.

  “Long story. I’ll tell you on the way. Come with me. Lower a boat!” he bellowed at his eavesdropping men.

  “Aye, Captain!”

  The sailors leaped to attention and scrambled to obey.

  The two seasoned gentlemen rushed to the Pulteney Motel with all due haste.

  When they arrived and located Jack’s suite, they banged on the door, but it was locked and there was no answer. Lord Arthur took charge.

  “Stand aside, my good fellow!” he commanded.

  Farraday, still sopping wet, got out of the way. He went and fetched a candle from the wall sconce in the corridor while Arthur kicked the door in with a few repeated blows.

  When it finally banged open and the light from the candle poured in, both men gasped to find the room littered with the bodies of four dead men.

  It was a scene of pure destruction.

  There was blood on the carpet, blood on the furniture. Even a splash of it up on the ceiling.

  “Good God,” the naturalist whispered.

  Speechless, he and Farraday walked in.

  Then one of the corpses showed a flicker of movement and let out a groan.

  “Jack!”

  Lord Arthur spotted his nephew sprawled facedown on the ground, over by the French doors.

  The other three swarthy chaps were dead.

  Farraday rushed to Jack’s side and touched him, feeling his pulse. “He’s alive.”

  Somehow Arthur wasn’t surprised, but he had never been gladder to have a doctor in the house. Now it was Victor’s turn to give orders. He told Arthur to fetch cold water and find some clean cloths to use as bandages while he turned Jack over and checked the extent of his injuries.

  Fury boiled in Arthur’s veins when he saw the injuries done to his proud nephew. His face was swollen and bloodied. He had been stabbed in several places, and they had even tried to cut his throat, but thank God, they had only managed to nick it.

  His color was terrible and his skin was covered in a clammy sweat after his savage battle, but he was alive. Arthur marveled at his nephew’s bloody victory. He must have fought like a lion.

  After a few minutes, their efforts managed to revive him.

  “There, lad.” Accepting a drink of water from his uncle, Jack finally found his voice. “Eden,” he rasped. “O’Keefe—set me up.”

  “Then that means he may already have her,” Farraday whispered.

  Jack’s
stare homed in on his father-in-law’s face. His aqua-blue eyes were feverish with pure savagery.

  Even Arthur had never seen Jack like this before.

  Slowly, Jack dragged the back of his hand across his mouth, and then rolled forward, resting his weight on his hands. With a sudden, painful heave of effort, he began climbing to his feet.

  Arthur stared at him. Magnificent to behold—a beaten, battered man, pulling himself up from the brink of death and despair, like a half-dead gladiator dragging himself up from the sands of the Colosseum to fight again.

  Jack was on his feet, though his balance was off. He wove a bit after too many blows to the head, but he stopped the motion by a visible clamping down of his will. His jaw was clenched.

  His chest rose as he steadied himself with a deep, noisy inhalation, his nostrils flaring. Rage burned in his eyes.

  “Where is he?” he ground out.

  Farraday took a step backward, equally awed. “I will show you.”

  It was hard to say how much time passed in her lightless cage. An hour? Maybe two? Eden refused to believe that Jack was dead. Quite reversing herself, she now prayed he was on his way to South America to complete his mission. But with every moment she grew more frantic. She could not figure out what to do. The cabin door was hopelessly sealed and banging on it only brought threats of being bound and gagged, so she left off, knowing that would only make her chances of escape even slimmer.

  She had pulled over the three-legged stool that went with the writing desk and stood on it, trying to squeeze herself through the porthole, but the opening was little bigger than a supper plate. It was no use.

  Peering out of the small round window, though, Eden noticed that there was no flicker of ship’s lamps reflecting on the water, nor did she hear any sound of orders given, or sailors’ calls coming from the deck above. The frigate cut through the water in darkness and silence, predator-like: She realized Connor meant to slip away by stealth.

  Accustomed as he was to the inky nights in the deep jungle, she knew he could see very well without the light. She did not know how long it would be before they reached the ocean. But she knew if she didn’t get away from this madman soon, her hope was doomed. Connor might take her anywhere, and if he managed to drag her back to the Orinoco, she was as good as lost to the outer world—and to Jack.