"Maybe we shouldn't let her go, Cap'm," Tim suggested hesitantly. "She said some coves were after her."
Although normally he deplored impulsiveness, Jason had already decided to follow her. Rescuing damsels in distress wasn't his line, but he had no intention of letting her roam the streets alone at night, not in this wretched neighborhood, where thieves and procurers waited to prey on the innocent and unsuspecting. She was singularly lucky to have made it this far; even though the Thames River Police patrolled the docks and the parish constabulary boasted a large force of night watchmen, Jason himself never went unarmed. But in addition to wanting to protect her, he was more than a little curious about her startled reaction to hearing his name.
"I'll see to her, lad," Jason replied, dismissing the cabin boy. "You'd best return to your rounds."
"Aye, sir."
Making his way quickly down the gangway to the quay, Jason vaulted up the steps and crossed the wharf, passing through the wall gate in time to spy the cloaked figure some distance to his right. He had no trouble following her. Not only was she favoring her right leg, which made her easy to distinguish even in darkness, but Jason had experience tracking far more elusive game, having learned the skill from an American trapper during a year spent in the wilderness of the northern territories.
He kept her in sight, pondering her reaction as he strode briskly along the narrow, twisting streets. He found it odd that she had recoiled from him in fear. Women generally responded far differently to him. And to his knowledge, there was nothing in his reputation to make her afraid of him.
He was accustomed to being a target of speculation, of course; to his crew he was a renegade nobleman's son, a rebel and an adventurer. And some of the stories about him were even true. He was the younger son of the wealthy Marquess of Effing, and he had left home to escape his father's dictates— although he hadn't been disinherited when he took to the sea, as was rumored. For a short time Jason had been an officer in the Royal Navy, but his father's influence with the Admiralty had ended his hopes for a career spent in battle. He had gone to America shortly thereafter, where he'd begun building his fortune.
There were any number of rumors about how he had come by the Leucothea—that he had captured her, that he had won her at cards, that he had killed a man in a duel and spirited the ship away. But he had purchased the brig in America with some lucky winnings.
He was young for a captain, even now, when he was a few years shy of thirty. But he had found that command came naturally to him. His powerful physique and air of authority had gained him immediate attention—although he had had to earn the respect of his crew, all seasoned tars who accepted his leadership with wariness.
It was because of his inexperience at sea that he had formed the partnership with Kyle Ramsey and learned how to sail. Although an unusual arrangement, he and Ramsey made a good team. Kyle knew how to outrace a storm and plot a course through shallows better than any captain alive, and Jason knew men.
He had returned to England then, and for two years had fought the war in his own way: aiding British troops by transporting much-needed weapons and supplies across the channel, and harrying French vessels whenever the opportunity arose. His uncanny ability to outguess the enemy, combined with Kyle's navigational skill and their crew's courage, made the Leucothea a deadly adversary in battle.
There had been plenty of battles. Even though the Leucothea was a private vessel, she had seen as much action in the war against Napoleon as most naval ships. Only a week earlier off the coast of Spain, she had encountered two frigates that had eluded the English blockade. Unwilling to endanger his ship by facing the combined strength of longer range cannon, Jason had come about and sailed for Cadiz, leading the unsuspecting French vessels within range of a British squadron. It had been short work for three ships of the line to capture both frigates.
The next day, the Leucothea had exchanged broadsides with a French sloop of war, which mounted twenty-four guns to the brig's ten. In a maneuver that would have done Nelson proud, the Leucothea had swung alongside and inflicted enough damage to ensure the sloop's eventual capture by the Royal Navy.
Remembering the action of the past two weeks, Jason thought again of his odd reluctance to leave the ship this evening. He had no reason for it. His discussion with Kyle had been necessary, but could have been completed in a quarter of the time. He couldn't blame his procrastination on the paperwork or the necessity of finalizing plans for the ship, either. Repairing the damages the Leucothea had sustained would be short work for his well-trained crew, and they could see to it without his supervision.
He wouldn't even need to be present for the loading of the next cargo. The supplies they obtained were generally the best quality and rarely required inspection. There would be no maggots in the flour or spoilage in the dried meats, while the muskets and Baker rifles would be in prime working order, and the bayonets and sabers made of the finest steel. Moreover, his first mate could handle any problem.
And it wasn't as if he were reluctant to reach his destination, Jason reflected, hearing snatches of song and raucous laughter coming from a tavern he passed. It had been some weeks since he had had a woman and he was more than ready for one. Even now a lovely lady of pleasure was waiting for him at the exclusive bordello he frequented. Once the proprietor
Madame Fanchon, had received his message, she would have arranged for the exotic Lila to be free for the evening.
No, he had been waiting for something unexpected to happen. Something such as the arrival of a woman in a hooded cloak. Indeed, he felt almost as if he had been meant to wait for her. Which was entirely illogical, since he had never believed in premonition.
Jason banished his thoughts as the cloaked figure came to a halt. Even as he watched, she faded into the shadows of a side alley that led toward the river and the Wapping waterfront. Without hesitation, Jason lengthened his stride.
When he reached the narrow passage, he could barely make her out in the shadows. Despite her limp, she was moving so rapidly that he had to increase his speed to a jog merely to keep her in sight. She glanced back only once, but when she began to run, Jason realized he had been seen. He gave up all pretense of disguising his pursuit as she disappeared around the corner, and broke into a run himself.
The next moment, he tripped over something in his path and nearly went sprawling. Slamming a shoulder against the adjacent wall, Jason swore violently, while the unfortunate cat under his feet let out a screech that reverberated wildly in the narrow confines of the alley. But even the feline's howl failed to raise the hair on Jason's neck as successfully as the woman's scream that followed. The piercing sound resounded with rage and terror as well.
Jason felt his heart constrict as he raced the final yards of the alley. When he finally reached Wapping High Street and skidded to a halt, he could see the cloaked woman blindly fighting her three assailants.
"No!" she cried as she struggled ineffectually.
"Yer to come with us, missy."
"No! You tried to kill Matthew!"
Although her words were muffled, Jason heard them. He didn't stop to wonder if he might be intruding on a private matter, though, but gave a shout and threw himself into the fray.
It was obvious the three miscreants didn't expect him. Two of the men froze at Jason's shout—but the other one, the one holding a wicked-looking short sword, wheeled about. Jason had a pistol in his belt, but he wouldn't use it for fear of hitting the woman. He did have the advantages of surprise and sheer size, though.
Dodging a nasty thrust, he leveled a well-aimed kick at the first man, sending the hanger clanging to the cobblestones, then delivered a blow to the man's stomach that doubled him over. His grunt of pain was cut off abruptly as Jason's powerful fist contacted his jaw with a bone-crushing jar. He fell heavily to the pavement and stayed there, not moving.
Jason was flexing his aching knuckles in satisfaction when a cry from the woman alerted him to a new threat. He turned ju
st as a second man rushed him. Reacting instinctively, Jason ducked the swinging fist and bent low to grasp the man about the thighs. Then he straightened, sending his attacker hurtling over his left shoulder to land head-first on the cobblestones. The audible crack told Jason that the fellow would be out of commission for a time, and he turned to the third.
The remaining vagrant was having a difficult time with his intended victim, Jason realized with sudden amusement. A moment ago the man had been trying to drag her away, but now it looked as if he were the defendant. The woman was struggling fiercely, scratching and kicking and clutching at his arms, successfully preventing him from either joining the fight against her rescuer or making an escape. She was taller than her attacker, Jason saw with surprise, but she hadn't enough weight behind her for her blows to do any real damage.
The next instant Jason was cursing himself for his hesitation. The man, in an attempt to protect his face from her clawing nails, had raised his arms and spun around, hitting the woman's chin with his elbow and knocking her down.
Jason waited no longer. With a fury he couldn't explain, he leapt after her assailant, tackling him and bringing him to the ground. Shifting his body, Jason drove his fists again and again into the man's face, finally stopping when his opponent was rendered completely senseless. Only then did Jason feel his anger ebb.
He was breathing hard after his exertions and his knuckles were bruised and bloody, but he felt better than he had all evening. Struggling to his feet, he staggered over to the woman. She was still lying where she had fallen, and he stood over her, swaying, trying to come to some decision about what to do with her. The street was hardly the place to go about reviving her. There was his ship, of course, but he had never before allowed a woman on board, nor would he allow his men to do so. That left only Lila, for he doubted if any of the respectable hotels would welcome an unconscious female and a sea captain who had just been in a street brawl, even should he be able to find one quickly. He wouldn't even consider his father's London townhouse in the West End.
Wondering wryly if he was making a big mistake, Jason scooped the still figure up in his arms. She was lighter than he had expected, but well curved beneath the voluminous cloak. As yet he couldn't see her clearly, but he didn't stop to look, for just then a roisterous group of seamen spilled onto the street from another tavern. Quickly Jason turned and made his way back to the alley, slipping into the darker shadows before he could be seen.
He allowed his eyes to adjust to the darkness and carefully skirted the cat who growled in protest at being disturbed again, then set out for Madame Fanchon's establishment.
As he moved away from the waterfront, the neighborhood began to take on a slightly less disreputable appearance. The cobbled streets became wider, though still dark, and the rank smell of the river gave way to other, slightly more pleasant odors.
When he reached Ratcliffe Highway with its prosperous merceries and pawnshops and public houses, the visibility was better because streetlamps had been lit at frequent intervals. He was passing under a guttering lamp when the woman in his arms moaned. Shifting his burden to make her more comfortable, Jason glanced down and saw her clearly for the first time in the flickering light. Instantly his footsteps halted, his forward progress checked as effectively as if an enemy bayonet had been plunged into his heart.
He stood there completely stunned, his attention transfixed by the vision in his arms. His first thought as he stood staring dazedly down at her was that he was holding an angel. The hood of her cloak had fallen away to reveal golden hair gleaming in the lamplight, but it was her face that held Jason spellbound. Shaped in a perfect oval, it boasted a complexion so pale and smooth that the skin seemed almost translucent. Long lashes swept the cheeks like shadows, while arching brows lifted toward the temples as if in flight. It was, Jason was persuaded, one of the loveliest faces he had ever seen. The soft hollows beneath the high cheekbones added depth to the delicate features, while the pallor of the skin lent an ethereal quality.
He stared at her for several minutes before feeling suddenly flowed back into his body with devastating force, making him totally aware of his masculine urges. His gaze fastened on the angel's slightly parted lips. Her mouth was full and provocative without being too wide. Too desirable for an angel, he decided. More like a goddess. A goddess who even in sleep was capable of stimulating sensual fantasies. She was pure temptation, Jason thought with a groan.
It was only her unconscious state that enabled him to suppress the desire to capture her soft lips then and there. And only the vague remembrance that she, this golden-haired Venus he had come across in such unique circumstances, was a complete stranger made Jason resist the impulse to caress the ripe breast beneath his hand. Yet his fierce desire didn't diminish. He found himself wanting to take her somewhere so they could be alone, wanting to undress her and discover for himself if the beauty of her body matched the stunning loveliness of her face. Then he would make love to her and she would belong to him and him only. . . .
Jason shook his head to clear away his chaotic thoughts. Tearing his gaze from her, he kept it carefully averted as he forced his feet to move. His burden was still light, but his arms were aching from the strain of holding her without crushing her soft body against his chest. A thin sheen of perspiration broke out on his forehead, and he realized he was shaking. Vaguely, Jason wondered why she could remain so still and unmoving when the devil was waging a war with his soul. He wanted her to wake and experience the same torment that was gripping him. Would she feel it as well, this raging heat that burned through him like fever?
As he neared another rickety streetlamp, Jason's gaze was drawn compellingly to her face once more. And then he almost laughed, so great was the rush of released tension. He had been holding his breath, expecting to experience that great shock of flowing current again. But now he let the air out of his lungs slowly. She was but a mortal woman after all. And more girl than woman by the looks of it. Definitely younger than he had first supposed from her husky voice and shapely body.
The fever—or whatever it was that he had experienced during those agonizing moments—had died to a glowing warmth. But the madness had passed, and for that Jason was quite thankful, in that state of mind, he could easily have ravished the beautiful girl in his arms and damned the consequences.
As Jason moved through the silent, semideserted streets, he found himself wondering at the unusual violence of his reaction. There was a logical explanation, of course. It was simply that he had seen a vision of loveliness and been turned to stone. No, not stone—for he had never been so aware of the hot fires in his own body. He had been struck by a lightning bolt—that was it—and he was still feeling the aftermath. It was something that had never happened to him before.
But perhaps his response was only natural, Jason reflected. He had been in a peculiar state of bemusement all evening, and then his blood had been excited by the physical exertions of a fight. Surely under those conditions he would have lusted after any beautiful woman he had come across. Certainly he would have known the same urge to protect and defend any helpless creature he was required to rescue. But what of the extreme, intense possessiveness the girl aroused in him? That he couldn't explain. . . .
Jason swore under his breath. Hell, he didn't even know who the girl was. Or who her parents were, for that matter. Or why they should allow her to wander the streets at night alone. He couldn't bring himself to consider what might have happened to her, had he not followed and foiled the plans of those ruffians who had attacked her. The girl's father should be horsewhipped for failing in his responsibility to protect such a vulnerable beauty!
Feeling fury invade his soul, Jason decided that he would derive a great deal of satisfaction from just such an act of violence. But as he made his way up the back stairs of Madame Fanchon's establishment, carefully hiding the girl's face from view, Jason changed his mind. He would use chains, he decided grimly. Being beaten by chains would be a fitting pu
nishment for a man who cared so little about his daughter that she wound up in a brothel in the arms of a stranger.
Chapter Three
Lauren moaned, caught in the grip of a frightening dream about Matthew. But then the nightmare faded and so did her fear. She suddenly felt warm, as if she were swathed in thick down quilts. Her cheek was pressed against something hard yet comforting, the texture against her skin gently abrasive, the unfamiliar scent pleasant. The strange heaviness of her eyelids puzzled her, yet she couldn't summon the strength to rouse herself—not even when a faint rapping reached her ears.
"Jason?" a softly querulous voice asked.
Jason didn't bother to knock a second time on Lila's sitting- room door, but quietly let himself in. The room lay in semidarkness, the fire burning low in the grate a testament to his tardiness.
When he kicked the door shut behind him, Lila Martel gave a start and uncurled her ample form from the chair where she had been dozing. Fully awake now, she gaped in bewilderment at the bundle in Jason's arms.
He flashed her a rueful grin as he strode across the room to the bedchamber beyond. A single sputtering candle showed that the bed had been readied for his visit, its curtains drawn back and covers turned down invitingly. He carefully lowered his precious burden to the mattress.
Behind him, Lila stared at the bed. "Mother of God!" she breathed, quickly crossing herself. "Is she dead?"
Amusement sparkled in Jason's blue eyes as he glanced over his shoulder. "Oh no, she is very much alive—and I hope to keep her that way. This may be rather an unorthodox request, Lila, but would you allow her to stay here just for the night?"
Lila eyed the prone figure uncertainly. "Who is she?"
"I don't know. I found her wandering the streets down by the docks. She was being attacked by three men who—"
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