His Wicked Kiss (44 page)

When he was through here in the pub, Trahern would pick him up in one of the cutters; once Jack was back onboard, they’d journey across the
Irish Sea
to
Cornwall
. There, he would meet next with a few of his past associates who would no doubt be game for a go at the Venezuelans’ offer.

They were fighting men of a particularly fierce stripe, rough-and-ready adventurers from his days in the once-profitable smuggling trade.

Outlaws.

By Jack’s calculation, Bolivar’s army could use a bit of ruthlessness. It would take all the general’s genius to control the sort of troops that he’d be sending, but he had promised to bring them devils, and now he was going to meet with the first batch.

Jack turned and trudged into the tavern to rendezvous with his Irish chums, former captains in
Wellington
’s Peninsular Army.

The quiet local pub was as dim and cozy as a cave, with dark oak paneling on the walls, dingy ivory plaster above it, and low, heavy beams running across the ceiling. A layer of hay had been strewn across the flagstone floor for warmth and to collect the mud and wet from the men’s boots. The wind moaned like a ghost under the eaves.

The dim, peaty-smelling pub was lit with whale-oil lamps, a few tallow candles, and a large, roaring fireplace. As Jack gazed briefly into the flames, an unbidden memory came, of making love to
Eden
in the great hall’s inglenook on a pile of fur throws before a fire just like that. The vision made him quiver. He shook it off with a will. It was going to be a damn long six months.

The men he had come to meet waved at him from their table in the corner. Though no longer in uniform, they had the bearing of seasoned soldiers, ready for anything. Restless as hell on half pay, no doubt.

They grinned when they saw him coming.

“Jackie-boy!”

“The devil himself!”

Jack summoned up a thin smile. “Kirby,
Torrance
, O’Shaunnessy,
Graves
! Where’s that rascal Miller?”

“Here he is now.”

They exchanged hearty handshakes, rude greetings, and claps on the back. Jack gestured for a round of ale as he sat down with them. “How the hell are you, lads? Enjoying your retirement?”

“No!” they cried in roguish unison, and as soon as the first round was done, Jack got down to business.

When he left the pub a couple of hours later, an unlit cheroot dangling from his lips, the sky had clouded over and the temperature had dropped. Trahern was outside admiring Jack’s horse.

“Ho, Captain! Ready to make sail?” the young lieutenant called cheerfully.

Jack gave no reply, tapping his hat restlessly against his thigh as he stalked over to join him with a disgruntled sigh.

“How was the meeting?” Trahern asked in a lower tone as Fleet Apollo nosed his pockets for something to eat.

“Quite well,” he muttered. “They all agreed to the proposition.” He glanced around furtively at the comings and goings around the inn yard. “We’ll give them a few weeks to gather their men, then we’ll be back to pick them up.”

“Excellent! But why do you look so grim?”

Jack shook his head and turned away.

“It’s
Eden
, isn’t it?” Trahern murmured. “She took it hard?”

“Awful.”

“Well—” Trahern took his fob watch out of his waistcoat pocket and looked at the time. “It’s not too late to bring her with you. You’ve got just enough time to fetch her before high tide.”

Shaking his head, Jack ran his hand through his hair, and then gripped the back of his neck. It throbbed with tension. “I don’t know.”

Trahern eyed him shrewdly. “Best decide soon.”

He tossed his head with a snort and prowled away, pacing to the edge of the hillside, where he stared out over the bay.

His uncle’s words preyed on his mind.

Are you really doing this for her sake or is it for yours? Buy her the ton’s affection. You’re not that angry seventeen-year-old anymore…

He looked out at the sea, the wilderness he had escaped to. Maybe not so different from her father, after all. He had always been the sort of man who, when he made a decision, seldom changed his mind. He had devised this plan entirely by his usual mode of thought: logical, precise, effective.

But so much had changed, his whole life had changed after these few days of bliss, and now the old way of thinking didn’t seem to make sense anymore.

She was right
, he thought.
I did deceive her. And I was wrong
. The whole point of the past few days had been to cement the bond between them so that
Eden
would forgive him when he sailed away, but Jack had not anticipated the effect that these days with her would have on
him
.

Ironically, the deepening of their love made it all but impossible for him to go, leaving her behind like this—so hurt, so angry, so alone. Surely he could find another way…

Perhaps she could stay with his family while he went to
South America
. Then at least she wouldn’t be so alone, and he could rest assured that she’d be safe.

He had never meant to hurt her in his desire to protect himself, but he still dreaded the thought of taking her to
London
. If they shamed him in front of her, if they swayed her to view him as a pariah, or, above all, if they dared reject her because of him, by God, he’d take a barrel of black powder and blow their precious Almack’s to high heaven.

But on the other hand, Arthur was right. She was no ordinary woman, his little orchid lady. Indeed, there was an equal chance the ton might fall in love with her as he had. And how happy that would make her.

Jack pivoted, threw down his cheroot, and strode toward his horse.

“Where are you going?” Trahern called in surprise as Jack leaped up into the saddle, taking up the reins before he changed his mind.

“To get my wife,” he clipped out. “I’ll be back anon. We’ll sail with the tide.” He urged the animal into motion, and Fleet Apollo was off like a shot. Jack rode low over his neck, praying he wouldn’t regret this.

Jack had apologized—and he was sorry—
Eden
could tell that he wasn’t just saying the words.

He had come back for her.

He had brought her to
London
.

He had taken the finest suite in the grand Pulteney Hotel for their lodgings, the same opulent rooms where the Czar of Russia had stayed.

But although
Eden
had accepted his apology, her trust in him had been shaken, and her demeanor toward him had cooled.

Every day since their arrival, he had lavished her with extravagant gifts as though she were a princess. First her clothes. The gowns Martin and she had sewn on the ship were good enough for the countryside, he said, but nowhere near fine enough for Town. Jack had dispatched his valet to discover the city’s best modiste, and then gave the woman an enormous bribe and had charmed her into agreeing to put aside her usual clientele to sew a complete Town wardrobe for his young bride. Work on this massive undertaking was begun post-haste.

Jack then procured a small army of ladies’ maids to wait on her and some sturdy footmen, too. A few days after that, he sent a servant up to tell her to look out the window down at the street.

When
Eden
had stepped out onto the wrought-iron balcony, clad in her first finished dress, a floaty thing of airy emerald silk, her husband tipped his hat to her from the driver’s seat of an extravagant cream-colored barouche, which he had just bought for her at Tattersall’s.

It had pink satin squabs, and surely a daintier lady’s carriage had never been made: Elegant enameled flowers were painted in a garland all around the sides, while the wheel spokes were done in colors to match, gold and blue and pink. The barouche was drawn by a team of four white horses with pink plumes on their heads.

Eden
had stared at it, not knowing what to say.

She did not mind the gifts, but the hurt could not be instantly forgotten.

She did not know anymore where she really stood with the man. She felt like a fool for having opened herself to him so completely, holding nothing back; she had thought he had been doing the same, but to her shock, it had turned out that he had been deceiving her.

Now she couldn’t help wondering what else he wasn’t telling her.

She knew that he cared about her, otherwise he wouldn’t have married her, but he was a rich and powerful man of the world, and she had finally figured out that he really didn’t take her all that seriously.

He didn’t really respect her.
Eden
feared that that was her fault, for giving in to him too easily on board
The Winds of Fortune
. Now she learned the price of her weakness for him, her too willing surrender: He did not see her as an equal, the way she had believed he did, but more like a possession, an asset, a
thing
—like some porcelain doll he could bedeck in finery and place safely on a shelf until he had time to play with her again. It made her sick to realize that this might be the extent of her role in his life, when, for her part, she loved the blasted terror of the seas to distraction.

Brooding on it, and stewing in the hurt, left her bruised and unsettled inside. But, truly, he had never offered a logical explanation of
why
he had wanted to leave her in
Ireland
.

He had claimed on the awful morning of their fight that it had all been a question of the danger to her, but
Eden
still saw no evidence that she was remotely in peril. So, she was left not knowing the real reason Jack hadn’t wanted to bring her to
England
with him. All manners of doubts and fears crept in. Maybe he was ashamed of her jungle oddball ways and feared she would embarrass him in front of his family. Maybe all these fancy trappings were being bestowed on her to try to disguise how…
unique
she was, she thought unhappily. For that matter, was it really love or simply guilt that had made him come back for her in the end?