His Wicked Kiss (19 page)

At length, he took a deep breath and let it out slowly as sanity finally began to trickle back in. Very well, then. He would resist her allure for the sake of self-preservation—but
she
didn’t have to know that his threat to bed her was an empty one. A shade of sensual intimidation would help to make the unruly creature mind. When he was satisfied that he had brought his raging want of her under control, he turned around and prowled back guardedly into the cabin.

Upon his return, he saw that she had used his brief absence to get out of the tub and dry off, and had donned the clean white shirt he had left on the chair for her. It hung nearly to her knees, and though she had rolled up the voluminous sleeves, the V of the neckline plunged almost to her navel. It did not fit her properly at all, but Jack found himself savoring the sight of her wrapped in his garment; it filled him with a most peculiar glow of possessive satisfaction.

Holding the oversized shirt closed with one hand, she was roughly combing the tangles out of her wet hair with the other. The process looked painful, but as he watched, she averted her gaze, obviously embarrassed after their little adventure together just now. The chit was bright pink beneath her freckles.

Her virginal blush pleased him, too, but he hid his delight behind a stern exterior, lest they get caught up again. “Does your father know where you are?”

“I left him a letter.” She bit her lip and eyed him uncertainly, filial guilt written all over her face.

“Don’t worry,” Jack advised in a gentle murmur. “He’s a grown man. He’ll be fine.”

Her quick, shy glance bespoke t
hank
s for his reassurance. As she finished combing out her hair, Jack swept an inviting gesture toward the waiting food on the table. Eden nodded and approached it cautiously, like some wary forest doe.

“Who was that other fellow that day in the jungle? The one with the rifle?”

“Oh—my father’s assistant. Connor O’Keefe.” She picked up a small plate and surveyed the selection while Jack filed the name away in the back of his mind. “Why do you ask?”

“I don’t like him.”

“I don’t think he likes you, either, Jack.”

“But he certainly seems to like you.”

She dropped her gaze and fell silent for a moment. “Is it my turn to ask you a question now?”

“Depends on what it is.”

She finished arranging her plate with a meditative look, then sat down slowly, watching him. “Are you on the rebels’ side or were you up at Angostura plotting against them?”

He arched one eyebrow, admittedly taken aback by her choice of subjects.

“I know something’s going on, Jack. I may be a female, but that doesn’t mean I haven’t got a brain.” She put the linen napkin on her lap. “I told you where my loyalties lie. I’d rather see Bolivar win.”

“Well, he can’t,” Jack murmured. “Not unless he gets some help.”

Her eyes narrowed in satisfaction. “So, you
are
on their side?”

“What do you think, Miss Farraday?”

She gazed at him intently. “Papa says there isn’t really going to be a war. Because the rebels are too drastically outnumbered.”

“Even a genius is occasionally wrong. After all, situations change.”

She tilted her head. “Isn’t it your company’s claim to fame that you can get anything that anybody needs, from nearly any corner of the world?”

He knew he should put a stop to this, but it was fascinating watching her work it all out in her mind. “That is true. Yes.”

“And the rebels need men.” She leaned forward in her chair. “You’re going to find them extra soldiers, aren’t you?” she whispered. “But where?” she persisted before he could silence her. “England? Oh… but of course! All those soldiers back from the Peninsula—”

He rolled his eyes and let out a sigh. “Eden.”

“But England would never dare step between Spain and her colonies.”

“No. Not in any official capacity. However,” he conceded, giving in to her against his better judgment, “a soldier can change his uniform, can he not?”

“Ohhh.” Her eyes wide, she sat back slowly, lowering her gaze. For a long moment, she said nothing as she tried to absorb it all, then she lifted her gaze to his. “Couldn’t you get into trouble for this?”

“Not if they don’t find out.” He gave her an innocent smile and popped a grape from the silver tray into his mouth.

“I see! So—bringing all these products to market in London is only a-a sort of pretense, isn’t it?”

“Enough. We must not discuss this any further.”

“But why? I’ve already figured it out, Jack. I was
there!”
She searched his face, shaking her head. “How did you get involved in all this?”

He hesitated for a moment, then shrugged it off. Ah, hell. What did it matter now if he told her? It was easy enough to ensure that one young girl didn’t get in the way.

“Do you remember the earthquake that devastated Caracas a couple of years ago?” He bent down, leaning his elbows on the back of the chair across from her at the table.

She nodded. “That was right on the heels of Bolivar’s last attempt to free his country.”

“Exactly. After a series of victories, the rebels had just chased the Spanish out of many parts of Venezuela. They were in Caracas setting up the new government when the earthquake hit. Hate to say it, but their luck is worse than mine,” he added drily.

She smiled with a thoughtful gaze. “Didn’t the Catholic church declare that earthquake an act of God?”

“Aye, condemning the revolution. The
royalist
church. The bishops always side with the king. Naturally, they proclaimed the quake a sign of God’s judgment against the revolution. Hearing that, a lot of Venezuelans thought the bishops might be right. Morale eroded. People lost their nerve. Well, it was the perfect opportunity for Spain to take back the ground they had lost. When they launched another attack, the resistance fell apart.”

She nodded. “Yes, I heard.”

“What you may not know is that, after that defeat, Bolivar and his entourage had to flee for their lives, with some of Spain’s top assassins at their heels.”

“Really?”

He nodded. “They were marked men. Considered traitors to Spain. Now, I had sent a dozen of my ships to take food and medical supplies to Caracas after the earthquake. Apparently, Bolivar and his aides sailed out amid my ships’ formation on their return journey to Port Royal. They wound up in Jamaica—nearly on my doorstep. Well, I have a policy, you see. Nobody kills anybody on my turf, at least not without consulting me first. When I heard about their plight, I gave them my protection. Mr. Brody, my head of security—who I think you may have met—”

“Indeed.”

“On my orders, Mr. Brody set up a ring of armed men around the perimeter of my property for the duration of Bolivar’s visit. As a result, we intercepted the Spanish assassins and sent them packing.”

She stared at him, her eyes round. “You saved Bolivar’s life? You had the Liberator and his council as guests in your home?”

“For a short while—and let me tell you, far from acknowledging defeat, he and his advisers were already planning their next attempt to free their country. That’s when I first got involved. You have to admire a man who gets up every time they knock him down—who keeps on going even despite the supposed wrath of God.”

Eden shook her head; Jack was absurdly pleased that his actions had impressed her. “I don’t suppose the Spanish like you very much after that.”

“Nobody does, Miss Farraday, hadn’t you heard?”

She smiled, blushing a little. “Well, I think it’s entirely noble, what you’re doing.”

He snorted. “Don’t be too sure. I stand to triple my fortune if all goes well.”

“You wouldn’t risk angering two of the most powerful nations on earth just to make money, I think. Besides, you had nothing to gain by sending Caracas humanitarian aid after the earthquake.”

“Maybe I was merely paying off my many sins,” he drawled, growing uncomfortable with her admiring gaze. He rose and went around the table. “Now, my dear, I hope I’ve satisfied your curiosity.”

“I want you to know that I won’t tell a soul about what you’re doing,” she said solemnly, turning to face him as he approached her. “Not even Cousin Amelia.”

“Oh, I’m not worried about that,” he murmured, cupping her face. He gazed at her fondly for a moment, stroking her silken cheek with the pad of his thumb.

What a funny little thing she was, he thought in tender amusement. So serious and true. He gathered by her blushing smile that Eden thought he wasn’t worried about her keeping silent because he trusted her, but she was mistaken.

The reason he wasn’t worried was because the minute she had guessed the truth, he had already decided that he wasn’t letting her anywhere near London until his mission was complete.

The risks were too great. He owned a splendid castle on the coast of Ireland; she could wait there until the job was done, safely tucked away in medieval splendor, far from London, where she could not cause him any trouble with a careless word or a naive admission.

She was going to hate him for it, naturally, but if she had waited all these years to visit London, another six months wouldn’t kill her.

“Come,” he murmured, pulling her chair out for her. “Bring your plate.”

“Where are we going?”

“You can finish eating in my sleeping cabin. The officers need this stateroom to do their work—and you’ll be safest in there, anyway. Mind you are not to leave these chambers unless you are accompanied either by me, Mr. Brody, or Lieutenant Trahern.” Eden grabbed her plate as he tucked her under his arm and steered her over to his private quarters. Opening the door, he shooed her in. “There you are, then. Make yourself at home.”

“Jack,” she said, stealing a brief glance into his cabin. “There’s a cannon in there.” She turned to him, her brow furrowed.

“Yes, a twelve-pounder. It won’t bite you. Run along now.” He nodded toward the room. “Some of us have work to do.”

Stepping past him in wary uncertainty, she entered his spartan cabin. His wood-framed berth was built into the bulkhead, draped with curtains to block out the light and to keep in the heat.

Although there was a washstand in the corner and a large leather sea chest by the foot of the bed, the waist-high cannon did rather dominate the room. Its muzzle thrust out belligerently from the open gun port, as if to keep the world at bay. He folded his arms across his chest.

“I hope you find everything to your liking,” he said sardonically, not deigning to point out that she was, after all, a stowaway.

Beggars could hardly be choosers.

She sent him a contrite nod. “T
hank
you.”

“There’s a series of locks on this door.” He pointed them out and looked meaningfully into her eyes. “I suggest you use them to keep out the men.”

“Will they keep you out?” she asked in a saucy tone.

“No, my dear, I have the keys.” Fighting a smile, he gave her a nod of farewell and turned to go.

“Jack?” He turned around in question at her soft call. She leaned in the doorway and gave him a frisky half smile. “Don’t you want to kiss me good-bye?”

The invitation stunned him, but that just went to prove how dangerous she was.

“No,” he replied in a pleasant tone, hiding his amusement.

She frowned.

He turned away with a low chuckle and grabbed his discarded shirt from the chair back where he’d left it. He pulled it on again as he walked away.

“Captain,” she called after him, her tone not quite so sweet as a moment ago.

“Yes, my dear?” he asked indulgently, tucking his shirt into his snug breeches.

“I want to know, honestly—is it true? Were you really a pirate?”

“Now, Miss Farraday,” he chided as a devilish sparkle crept into his eyes. “You mustn’t believe every idle rumor you hear.”

He gave her a wink. “I’m sure I had those letters of marque lying around somewhere.”

She gasped.

He nodded his command to her to lock herself up in the cabin.

With a scandalized grin, she obeyed, and when he heard the locks turning, he smiled. Maybe now his officers could get back to work—and Jack could at least pretend that life on board
The Winds of Fortune
would now get back to normal.