His Wicked Kiss (63 page)

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 knew 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.

“Edie, my darling child! I’m here!” Waving frantically, her father came running across the decks to her.

Jack let her go and stood at a respectful distance while she ran into her father’s arms.

She laughed with tears in her eyes. “Papa!”

The two bedraggled Farradays held each other tightly.

“Oh, Papa, I’m so sorry for all I put you through.”

“No, my darling. You were right to go. I broke my promise and I’ve been a fool! I should have listened to you better, about so many things.” He caught her lovely face between his hands and kissed her forehead. “My brave girl. You make me so proud, Edie. Don’t be sorry one jot. You had a dream for your life and you had the courage to pursue it, my darling.”

She hugged him again. “Well, I found my dream, Papa,” she said after a long moment, wiping away a tear. She turned and pointed to Jack. “He’s standing right over there.”

Jack gazed at her with eyes that glowed as blue as the St. Elmo’s fire, and a heart ablaze with love so fierce and tender.

“He doesn’t dance,” she said softly, “but I can live with that.”

Holding her stare, he spoke up barely audibly: “I could learn.”