by Gaelen Foley
Holding back terror, Eden felt her way blindly through the cabin, seeking anything that might help her plight. It was too dark to make sense of most of the objects her hands discovered, but then, in a drawer of the writing desk, she unearthed a small stump of candle with a tinderbox built into the bottom of its pewter holder.
She struck the flint without success time after time, losing patience with her shaking hands, and then cursing with frustration when she scraped the knuckle of her thumb with the flint’s sharp corner. She gripped it harder, focused entirely on the simple task, when, all of a sudden, a deep, reverberant sound reached her from the dark distance.
Tra-la!
She lifted her head and turned slightly toward the sound, holding her breath.
Again: Tra-la!
A flicker of memory stirred. She had heard that sound before….
The deep echo of the ship’s horn blew across miles of river.
She flew to the porthole and stood on the stool again to peer out the little round window. Then she drew in her breath at the sight of the large vessel gliding slowly into view from around a great broad meander some distance behind them—it was difficult to judge how far, in the dark.
But Eden made out one detail that made her heart suddenly lift and begin to soar.
The ship’s huge whale-oil lamps illuminated the bold red mark on the mainsail proclaiming it the property of Knight Enterprises.
The Valiant!
Rescue was on the way! Connor had been right, then—Papa had escaped and gone for help! Her hope reborn, she found herself fiercely roused to action. She could not say if it was Lord Arthur alone come to rescue her, or Papa, as well, or Damien and the rest of the formidable Knight brothers; she only knew that, first off, she had to let them know where she was.
This time, when she struck the flint, she managed to capture the spark at once on the bit of linen rag, which she transferred at once to the candle wick. A small flame rose.
Why, if Connor thought that they were going to steal away under cover of darkness, then he was sorely mistaken. One paltry stump of candle, however, was not going to be enough to draw her rescuers’ attention, providing little more than a firefly’s glow.
Hurrying to search the contents of the jumbled, messy cabin, she held the candle up, trailing its flickering illumination slowly across the array of odds and ends the cabin offered. The small, light frigate did not have the luxury of the Winds’ capacious cargo holds, but the wheels in her mind turned swiftly.
She saw fisherman’s netting.
Some extra wood planking in case of damage to the boat.
Black tar for sealing the deck.
Tra-la!
Her smile grew as a plan crystallized in her mind. Several minutes later, the stump of candle still burning nearby, she began trying to kick down the cabin door.
“Let me out of here, you blackguards!”
Each kick jarred all the way up to her hip, but with less than ten blows, she had the thing half off its hinges in her determination to get out.
When Connor sent one of his lackeys scurrying belowdecks to deal with her, she was ready for him, fisherman’s netting in hand.
“Scurvy wench, quiet down!” The moment the sailor yanked the mangled door open, Eden threw a wide length of fishing net over him and pushed him backward hard.
The sailor stumbled over his heels fighting the net and then fell back onto his rear end in the cramped passageway. Eden paused to light her makeshift torch of pitch and wood from the stump of candle, and then went dashing out of the cabin. Just as the sailor got free of the net, she bent with an apologetic look and set the passageway on fire, barring him from coming after her. Then, still carrying her torch, she strode up the companionway and burst out onto the deck.
As the crew’s shouts erupted, she set it all on fire, everything in arm’s reach—the rails, the helmsman’s wheel, and the shirt of a man who tried to grab her.
He dove overboard with a shriek to douse the flames that licked at his clothes.
“Eden!” Connor came marching toward her with wrath carved across his stony face.
She swung the torch in an arc at Connor to hold him at bay, but he grabbed her shoulder.
Transferring the torch to her other hand, she threw it as hard as she could, straight at the mainsail. The largest stretch of canvas on which the frigate relied burst into flames.
Now the Knights would know just where to find her!
There was only one small problem.
The next step of her plan was to dive overboard, but she could not get away, for Connor held her fast by her shoulders.
And this time, he was angry.
“There! What is that fire?” one of Arthur’s men cried, pointing.
Jack’s heart pounded as he stared through the folding telescope. His gaze swept the deck of the frigate, homing in on Eden just in time to see her throw her torch into the canvas.
Good girl, he thought with surging pride in his little lioness. Then Connor O’Keefe grabbed her by her shoulders, and Jack tensed, starting forward at the sight of their struggle.
“Come on, girl, shake him off. Get out of there,” he urged her under his breath. O’Keefe’s men were working fast to put out the fire. Jack did not intend to let them get away. “Send a ball across the bow,” he ordered. “That ought to get his attention.”
“Aye, sir!”
Jack joined the gunner beside the carronade on the fo’c’sle, every inch of his body aching, but he ignored it. He adjusted the trajectory, and after the crew had loaded the cannonball, he took a torch and personally lit the fuse.
The warning shot went screaming through the night in a rain of fire, arcing across the frigate’s bow.
It plunged into the river, sending up a plume of water where it landed. Lifting the spyglass again, Jack watched the reaction on deck.
Confusion broke out. Taken off guard, O’Keefe half turned to see if the cannonball had hit his vessel, and Eden used the opportunity to wrench free of his hold.
A pirate smile curved Jack’s lips as his lady dashed to the rails, climbed up on them, as quick as a cat, and made a perfect dive into the deep river, leaping free of the ship.
Fearless.
God, I love her. The river swallowed her into its blackness as O’Keefe ran to the rails, bellowing her name.
“Lower a longboat,” Jack commanded. “I’m going after her. Uncle?”
“Aye, Jack?”
“The minute she’s out of the way, you blow that bastard out of the water.”
“With pleasure, my lad.”
“Let me go with you!” Dr. Farraday implored him. “Jack, I can’t bear to lose her—”
“Neither can I.” He moved the scientist gently aside. “I will bring your daughter back.”
Farraday watched him in anguish as Jack descended into the longboat. In moments, he was rowing swiftly with the current, fighting the pull of the river as it tried to drag him toward the burning frigate. O’Keefe’s vessel had caught in earnest now, towering flames reaching toward the night sky.
Jack had to look continually over his shoulder as he rowed to make sure that he cleared the burning debris and fiery streamers of the sails falling from above as the frigate slowly disintegrated.
Smoke drifted across the scene, making it hard to see. Putting all of his muscle into the oars and pouring on the speed, he noted grimly that instead of muddy riverbanks, this section of the Thames had been contained by high smooth walls to stave off the tidal river’s occasional flooding.
Eden was in the water somewhere but there was no place for her to go to land. Until he could find her in the dark current and scoop her up into his longboat, she had no choice but to keep swimming in this filth.
Speeding toward the levy wall, Jack heard a sound that made his blood run cold.
Bang!
The crack of a rifle.
He whipped his head around and stared, aghast, over his shoulder. By the blaze’s glow, he saw O
’Keefe standing at the rails of the burning frigate with his rifle in his hands. He took aim and shot again into the water, pausing to reload.
Good God, he is trying to kill her. Jack drew breath to scream to draw the madman’s attention to himself, scarcely minding that he would make an easy target, exposed as he was in the longboat.
But his scream was drowned out by the barrage that went slamming into the frigate as the Valiant unleashed hell.
Boom!
Boom!
The mainmast cracked and crashed earthward, tearing down lines, yards, and rigging as it fell. Where O’Keefe had gone to, Jack did not know.
He had rounded the crippled vessel and now spotted a small, pale face in the cold, dark river. She was treading water as hard as she could and fighting to keep her head above the swirling current.
“Eden!” He roared her name and threw his all his might into the oars.
“Jack!” she sputtered. Through the smoke and chaos, she heard him calling to her and answered frantically. “Jack! Jack! I’m here!”
She was weakening. The cold, slimy river continued dragging her away in its powerful current, the high retaining wall leaving her no place to crawl ashore.
It was all she could do not to gag on the smell and taste of the vile water—she tried not to think about the refuse of a million people, horses, fish markets, potteries and worse, all of which got dumped into the Thames and had done, since the time of the Romans.
She would have preferred piranhas.
She was so cold, treading water with dwindling hope as the river continued whisking her through the darkness as it wound toward the sea. Her wet clothes were weighing her down, but none of this posed much concern compared to the island of burning debris that was drifting straight toward her as the frigate broke apart. She couldn’t swim fast enough to get out of the way.
“Eden, talk to me! Where are you?”
“Jack!” She realized he couldn’t see her because of the smoke. “Jack! Jack! Here!” she shouted with the last of her strength.
He emerged at that moment from the darkness and the gray, choking billows, his beloved face etched with grim rage as he maneuvered the longboat swiftly toward her.
Rising to his feet aboard the small approaching craft, Jack knelt at its side and thrust an oar in her direction.
“Grab hold!”
When she did so, clinging to it with all her strength, Jack pulled her toward the boat. He leaned down and grasped her hand. “I’ve got you.” Then, using his own body as a counterweight to steady the wobbly craft, he hauled her up into the longboat.
While she collapsed on the boat’s damp wooden bottom, panting heavily, Jack grabbed the oars again and in the nick of time sped them out of the way of the mountain of burning debris heading right for them.
Eden looked up at him and thought she had never beheld a more beautiful sight.
When Jack leaned toward her, she threw her arms around his neck. “You came back,” she choked out.
“Oh, Eden,” he whispered, holding her close. “I couldn’t leave you.” He cupped her head against the crook of his neck. “Shh, I’ve got you now. Are you all right? Did he hurt you?”
“I’m fine, as long as I’ve got you. He said you were dead!”
“Almost,” Jack said ruefully.
She pulled back to gaze at him and then cried out when she saw how battered he was. “You look terrible! What happened to you?”
“Ruiz. It’s over now.”
But it wasn’t.
At that moment, the longboat rocked violently. Eden gasped and Jack tensed as O’Keefe sprang into the boat with one swift, powerful heave of his muscular body.
“You son of a bitch,” he said to Jack, glaring at him as dirty water dripped down his face. “She’s mine.”
Jack pushed Eden behind him as Connor unsheathed the jungle machete at his side with an evil metal hiss.
“Stay down!”
Eden shrieked as Connor swung the knife at Jack in a savage sideward arc, but Jack blocked it with the oar and then took a swing at Connor with it. Connor ducked and slashed out again at Jack; Jack grabbed his arm and twisted it, wrenching it up hard behind him.
Connor looked momentarily astonished to experience an enemy equal to him in sheer brute strength.
“Release the weapon,” Jack ordered.
“Go to hell!”
“Have it your way,” Jack muttered.
Eden dodged aside with a cry as they twisted around. Jack slammed Connor’s hand against one of the chunky metal hooks that held the oars. With a loud bellow, Connor dropped the knife. It fell into the river, lost. He kicked Jack off him, thrusting his heel into his stomach, but Jack soon recovered, and a full-out brawl ensued.
As the two big men exchanged shattering blows, Eden continually threw her weight this way and that to keep the longboat from capsizing.
All the while, the boat was rushing sideways down the river, one oar lost in the fray, the other dangling. She looked on in distress, her heart banging behind her ribs.
Then Connor was strangling Jack, his powerful fingers squeezing, viselike, stopping Jack’s air. At first Jack tried to pry Connor’s hands off his throat, but when a few seconds passed without success, he slammed his fist into Connor’s ribs.
The Australian’s grip slipped. Jack took a gulp of air and then punched Connor in the face with the force of a flying cannonball, spinning the man around so that he fell facedown, sprawling on the bottom of the longboat.
Before the stunned Connor could recover from the blow, Jack swooped down and grabbed his arms, pulled them up hard behind him, and planted his foot squarely on Connor’s spine, no words needed to warn the man he’d break his back if he made one false move.
Eden was unutterably grateful Jack did not kill Connor, at least not right in front of her. Apparently, he’d already had enough killing for one night.
With flames in his eyes and blood trickling down the side of his rugged face, Jack held him subjugated in that position as the Thames River Police glided up alongside them and placed Connor under arrest.
Back on the Valiant, Jack did not remember much of the fight in the Pulteney Hotel. Victor told him he had a mild concussion.
His injuries were extensive, though he was walking around; he was only just beginning to feel them as the pumping rush of violence began to wear off. He’d been stabbed three times—leg, arm, shoulder. His jaw felt a bit off, his ribs were bruised, he had a black eye, a ghastly cut on his neck where Ruiz had nearly succeeded in slitting his throat, and he’d probably be pissing blood for the next few days from the kidney punch, but all things considered, he had never been happier in his life.
Eden was safe.
That was all that mattered.
Meanwhile, the River Police were rowing around picking up the remainder of Connor’s sailors who had jumped into the Thames to escape the burning ship. All of the miscreants were being placed under arrest.
Victor and Lord Arthur were being questioned separately by Bow Street Runners and men from the River Police to give information about everything they had witnessed that night.
Jack hoped Wellington really was as influential as he claimed, with his promise to keep Jack out of legal trouble insofar as his mission was concerned. Ruiz and two of his underlings, after all, lay dead in Jack’s suite back in the Pulteney Hotel.
He was still shaking all over with the aftermath of violence, but Eden’s small, delicate hand on him helped to calm him down. She wasn’t much better off, in truth—bedraggled, exhausted, and soaked to the skin with the river’s unhealthy water.
But they stood together at the taffrail, refusing to let any power under heaven part them ever again.
“Jack,” Eden whispered, turning to him. “I want to say I’m sorry.”
He looked over at her and felt a lump in his throat at her earnest gaze. So pure. He shook his head. “I’m the one who should apologize for the awful things I said.”
“No. I kn
ew you were only speaking out of pain, my love.” She started to cup his face, but it was all so swollen and sore that she stopped herself. “I don’t want you ever to think that I care more for the ton’s silly at-homes and such than I do about you. I love you. You are the center of my life. I can see how you would have wondered if I was really on your side, the way I’ve been acting—but I am, and I’m going to stop all that now. I promise you that. And if I hurt you, my lion, I’m so sorry. We can leave London if you want to, Jack. I’ll go anywhere you can be happy.”
He hadn’t imagined he could’ve fallen any more deeply in love with her than he already was, but her artless pledge positively enslaved him. He took her hands in his own as he gazed at her. “Sweetheart. I have to be honest. The truth of it is, I have always wanted to belong here. You know, this is my home, London. I was born here. My family’s here. I’ve been running from all of this for a very long time. But you helped me see that it wasn’t just them judging me, I was pushing them away, too. But you gave me a reason to at least try to participate, be a part of the world. You gave me a reason to stay.”
Then he briefly told her about the rumor Lisette had started about them, since no one had had a chance to explain it to her yet, and how that had made him fear for their unborn child’s future standing.
“But Jack,” she chided with a tender smile. “We’re going to be together now, and we’re not going to let anybody treat our child the way they treated you. Besides,”—with a very delicate touch, she smoothed his hair back—“there is nothing to worry about. When they see my baby and he’s the spitting image of you, they’ll know who his papa is.”
It hurt to smile, but her words slowly coaxed a big grin across his face.
She hugged him, clinging around his neck and trying to find one spot that she could kiss without causing more pain.
“Edie! Edie! Halloo? Enough, man, let me see my daughter!”
“Papa?” she breathed, turning in answer to the call, though she did not release Jack from her embrace. He smiled tenderly, watching how she lit up before his eyes. “Papa!” she cried. She had been waiting for her sire to come out from the room with the lawmen and interrogators.
