Under Her Brass Corset (15 page)

“Without a doubt, Miss Thatch—” He nuzzled his face next to hers.

“Yes?” Her heart beat faster, imagining him confessing love.

“You are a precious wonder.”

The beautiful sentiment fit the moment. “You’re not so shabby yourself, Captain Blackthorn.”

“Hold on.”

She wrapped her arms around his neck and let him lift her to her feet.

“Don’t move.” He let her go with urgency and moved away.

She took a deep breath, confused by his cool tone.

She watched him gather all their scattered clothing and tuck everything into a large canvas bag. Then he lowered the longboat and dropped the bag over the side of the ship.

“Ready?” He turned to her.

She nodded, picked up the bather and went to the rail, expecting to use the platform. Only Jasper took the bather and tossed it to the deck. Then he scooped her up.

“Jasper!” she cried out in shock as he jumped overboard with her.

They hit with a big splash. He released her just enough for her to kick her legs to surface. Her hand remained clutched in his. He towed her to the longboat and she held on to its side.

“Wouldn’t it have been easier to climb down the ladder to get in, or use that platform?” She brushed back her wet hair.

“It would have, but I thought you might like to freshen up.” The hand he had on her hip slipped to her belly and slowly cupped between her legs.

She bit the inside of her lip, fighting off the ticklish sensation caused by his initial touch. Then his fingers parted her. He rubbed lightly, arousing her.

She realized his intent. “Shouldn’t we get to shore?” she asked, determined to keep her emotions in check.

Disappointment dulled his eyes. He seemed to believe her tone of indifference. She wanted that. She needed to know that she had masked her weakness for him.

“Hold on to the side of the boat until I get in,” he finally replied.

She watched him hoist his hard, lean frame up over the side. The sheen of saltwater on his skin glistened in the sunlight. She smiled at the sight of his untanned buttocks, white in comparison to his bronzed back and arms. A giggle rose to the top of her throat. She swallowed it down.

“Ready?” he asked.

Like a naked god above her, he stood tall and majestic. The defined contours and lines of sinewy muscle muddled her thoughts. His physique was breathtaking, and he had showed vigor and agility in their lovemaking. If not for the water, she knew she’d feel a familiar dampening between her thighs.

“You’re prettier than any mermaid I’ve ever known.” He leaned over and held his hand out to her.

She grasped hold, wrapping her fingers around his thumb as his folded around hers. With effortless strength, he brought her up against him.

“Now you’re going to tell me mermaids exist, I suppose.” She grunted with sarcasm to deflect how charmed she was by his compliment.

“They do, but I very seldom run into any in these parts. After that octopus we encountered, I can see the downside of them swimming around here.”

“I suppose you have a story about one of your mermaids to tell me,” she said, dismayed by the return of his lies.

“None.”

She pushed away from him and opened the canvas satchel. “You said you’ve known some. You must have one story to prove it.”

Now she had him right where she wanted him—unprepared.

Jasper avoided staring at the way Abigail moved, blissfully unaware at how her naked body gave him an erection.

“You’re just not going to accept anything I say, are you?” He laughed, glancing at her trying to keep her balance in the center of the longboat.

The image of her sleek wet form was already implanted in his head, so it didn’t matter if he looked or not.

“I don’t know you.” She pulled his breeches from the satchel and thrust them at him.

“Me beauty, you know me in ways no woman does.” He rubbed his ass, remembering the feel of her slaps.

Her gaze flitted down for a second and then back up at him. The color in her cheeks heightened. Raising a brow, she looked him in the eye. He saw her smile before she turned her attention back to the bag.

“Careful with that…” He grabbed the canvas, worried she’d drop it in the water by the way she swung it around. “Here.” He handed over her clothes.

“Thank you, but I could have gotten them out on my own.”

“Just trying to help.” He sat the bag under his seat and worked at putting on his breeches.

From past experience, he had witnessed how slow women managed to dress when a man waited for them in another room. Abigail showed him just how swift a chemise, bloomers, skirt and blouse could be donned in his presence.

“You were going to tell me a mermaid story,” she reminded him and sat on the seat at the front of the boat.

“No. I’m going to row us ashore, and you are going to tell me a story.”

“Me? I don’t know any stories.” She scraped her fingers through her hair, digging into the wet strands and combing them down against her shoulder. Her blouse dampened. He made out the firm protrusions of her hardened nipples. “A mermaid story, please?” Abigail’s persistence made him think.

Each encounter he’d ever had with a mermaid wasn’t a fit tale to tell a woman, especially Abigail. Mermaids were every bit as legend had them—seductive wenches that led men to their death. Good thing for him he had his immortality to fall back on when one had gotten the better of him. Abigail would have enjoyed hearing that story except for the fact he’d also have to explain the scorn of a mermaid came after a three-day affair. Then she’d not appreciate the humor of it at all.

“Mermaids aren’t very interesting. What do you say to hearing all about this island? The tropical breeze, the balmy nights and the magnificent sunrises are quite breathtaking.” He lifted the oars and started rowing.

“I wish England had this kind of weather.” She closed her eyes and tipped her head back. “I really
could
get used to this.”

“It is nice. Of course, we are wet. Wait until you’re dry and have been standing in the heat for hours.”

“Yes, but what’s to stop us from jumping in the water again?” She lifted her head back up and looked at him with a smile.

“A good point.” He watched her rake her hair together and pull it back. Several twists and tucks and wraps, and she actually made it stay bunched up off her neck without pins or combs.

“The island doesn’t look very big. What does your friend do for food?”

“Hungry, aren’t you?”

She gave him a part shrug and a weak nod.

“The villagers fish and gather fruit, raise chickens. Something is always in season since the weather changes very little year round. If that’s not enough, Juan has shipments come from one of the bigger islands with beef and pork, and other staples like flour and coffee beans.”

“He sounds like an organized man. I can’t imagine the two of you as friends.”

“Oh, why is that?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” She kicked at the clutter of canvas, ropes and other items he left in the boat. “And besides this stuff, you have very empty cupboards in your galley.”

Jasper didn’t answer. Abigail seemed in a better mood since leaving the ship and he’d not spoil it by mentioning that his immortality afforded him a great deal of leeway in not having to eat. She’d not accept the truth of the answer.

“Should I get out too?” she asked when he hopped into the surf.

“Not until I secure the boat.” He shoved the long vessel onto the beach and tied it off to a large driftwood log strong enough to keep the boat from floating away.

By the time he had finished, Abigail had left the boat and waded to shore. Like a wick, her skirt soaked up water a foot higher than the depth she stood in.

“Maybe I should have left off my clothing until getting to shore.” She looked around him. “So where is everyone?”

“The other side of the island. Storms on the west side are far less severe. I’ve been here during a hurricane and I can attest to how destructive the winds and waves can be.”

“Why, then, does anyone stay?”

“Habit, familiarity, history with a place. They don’t know that elsewhere could be different or have its own set of downfalls. You like this weather. If this was all you knew, what would you think of England’s climate?”

“England has lovely weather…some of the time.”

“Then you have your answer. Sometimes you don’t agree with the weather there, yet you never moved away.”

Abigail hitched her hands on her hips and gave him a perturbed look of annoyance. “Do you always have to have a logical answer to everything?”

“Do you always have to challenge my explanations, even though you already know I’m right? It’s not necessary for you to act less intelligent than a man, Abigail.”

“I’m doing no such thing. I thought you wanted me to ask about the island. It was a legitimate question and was not directed at the inhabitants. I had the impression your friend wasn’t born here. It was him I meant when I asked about why someone would stay regardless of the formidable weather.”

“Juan’s hut is this way.” Jasper waved her ahead to the path through the palm trees and ferns.

She sashayed past him, prancing through the hot sand with quick, light steps. At one point, she paused and made a pronounced sound of inhaling. He did the same, taking in the tropical fragrance. When he’d expected to see Abigail smile, he noticed instead a frown.

“You don’t like the smell?” he asked.

She looked back. He thought he saw a tear sparkle on her cheek before she swatted it away with her hand as if shooing off a fly.

“Oh no, it’s a very pleasing scent. The strong aroma just reminded me of my perfume bottles broken upstairs in my house. Hmmm…maybe I should be saying the bank’s house. Without me there to contest anything, there could have been a change in the deadline I thought I had to work with.”

She started walking again, a little faster now as if she could get away from remembering.

“Abigail…” He rubbed his chin and considered how best to tell her about his involvement. “I should have said something before now about your house, but you’ve not been—”

“Is that your friend’s hut?” She stopped at the edge of the clearing. “It’s not very big.”

“Big enough.” He stood next to her. “About your house—”

“I’d rather not talk about it right now,” she interrupted again, poking and patting her hair. “I must look a complete mess, not at all civilized for meeting anyone.”

Jasper let go the idea of telling her that her house was always going to be hers. They had more immediate concerns—Eric Teach. How was he ever going to get Abigail’s cousin off their backs without killing him?

Abigail tried wringing more water from her skirt. It did no good. The damp, wrinkled fabric would have to air-dry. She dreaded meeting anyone the way she looked, with rumpled clothing and wet hair, but what choice did she have?

“Shall we?” Jasper took her elbow and escorted her toward the shoddy building.

Made of ferns and branches, the constructed hut didn’t appear very sturdy. Once they were closer, she noticed a dark-skinned woman removing laundry from a clothesline.

“Greetings, Tye.” Jasper nodded to the woman when she turned to them. “This is Miss Abigail Thatch. Is Quito here?”

The woman bobbed her head once as a greeting to her and then answered Jasper with a heavy accent. “In the house, Master Jasp.” She led the way, carrying the woven basket full of colorful fabrics similar to the cloth wrapped around her body.

“Here, let me get that.” Jasper took the basket.

Abigail didn’t miss the way the woman looked up to him, all moon-eyed.

“Would you go ahead and tell Quito I’m here and I’ve brought a guest?”

“Of course, Master Jasp.” Tye twirled away and hurried to the door of the hut.

“She called you Master,” Abigail commented. “Is she a slave?”

“No. Her parents were. They called me that and she grew up hearing it from them. I couldn’t convince any of them to stop.”

Tye waited by the hut. She had plump but pretty facial features. Her lips were wide and full, as was her nose, and her eyes were dark, pitch-black like a moonless night. The oddest attribute was her short-cropped hair forming a wiry black cap on her fairly average-sized head.

A tinge of jealousy nagged at Abigail’s thoughts from the way Tye stood silently aside of the door as if she waited for Jasper to request something of her.

Abigail forced herself to ask, “Do you know her well?”

“Depends on what you mean by well.”

Naturally Jasper had been with other women, probably lots of them. He had that kind of charm about him that could make any woman wet between the thighs with a single look. She glanced over at Tye. Did the woman feel warm and tingly inside? How long had it been since Jasper’s last visit? His answer wasn’t as informative as she’d like. It made her wonder if he was being evasive on purpose. Would he try to sneak off to be with Tye before they left the island?

Abigail folded her arms across her chest. She glared at Tye, waiting for the other woman to notice her unwavering stare, warning her to keep her hands off Jasper.

“Jasper,
mi viejo amigo
!” A man rushed out of the hut and embraced Jasper with a big hug. “
Han pasado tres años desde su última visita
.”

“I think it’s been more like four years since I was last here,” Jasper answered.

Four years!
Abigail stopped her silent vexation toward Tye.

“Where are my manners?” The man stepped back. “Who is this exquisite
niña
?”

“Juan, meet Miss Abigail Thatch, the granddaughter of Blackbeard.”

“Miss Thatch, it is a pleasure, and you can call me Quito.” He gave Jasper a quizzical look.

“She knows of my immortality, Juan.”

Abigail watched the man’s brow lift.

Then he pulled Jasper aside and said low, yet easily heard by her, “I thought we agreed not to let mortals know about us?”

“I had my reasons,” Jasper answered, looking her way with a smile and a wink.

“So what brings you to my
pequeño paraíso
?”

“Your little paradise is just the right place for me to fix the
Illusion
and hide Abigail from Eric Teach.”

“What is that criminal up to now?”

“Same as always—trouble. This time he’s involving Abigail. She’s his cousin.”

“Something I don’t believe,” Abigail interjected.

“Another grandchild of Blackbeard. How interesting.” Juan paced in front of them. “But why? What does she know?”

“Nothing,” Abigail answered.

“Her grandfather sent a treasure map to her grandmother,” Jasper said. “Then the old absentminded fool told Eric, putting Abigail in danger.”

“Still no proof to what you’re saying,” Abigail sang.

“Treasure?” Juan shook his head, laughing. “If that’s all, give it to the boy. Money isn’t worth the effort to keep it.”

“It’s not that kind of valuable,” Jasper replied. “You know how I gave Edward a vial of the water and he didn’t drink all of it, and we think that’s why he’s so forgetful. Well, he buried what was left.”

“And the idiot drew a map to it?” Juan expressed shock.

“He started, but he forgot to finish it. So there really isn’t a map. However, you don’t think Eric will believe that, do you? Ever since he learned his grandfather is immortal, he wants to be immortal too.”

“Why would Blackbeard hide a vial of water once he was immortal?”

“Probably the same reason I kept the water handy—to help someone.”

“Are you sure he hasn’t simply buried his hoard of gold and jewels?”

“Aha!” Abigail exclaimed. “Someone else with some common sense. See, I told you, pirates bury treasure.”

Jasper turned and looked at her.

“I told you I’d not be deceived so easily,” she said smugly. Jasper was a thief who had stolen her snow globe. His claim of immortality was a con artist’s trick. She saw no difference between him and Eric. Both men wanted her and the treasure. Their ways were different, but the outcome was the same.

“We split up the gold and jewels a century ago.” He turned from her to Juan. “I know Edward hid that vial because he told me so. I was there, remember?”

“So let Eric drink the water. If it has the same effect on him as on Blackbeard, the fool will live long and never remember one day to the next.”

“We only think the memory loss Edward experiences is from not drinking enough of the water. There’s no way to know for sure. I can’t take the chance that Eric will become a grim pestilence on the world.”

Jasper’s constant looks in her direction reinforced Abigail’s suspicions about his nefarious campaign to steal her treasure. He had all the right answers, all the right stories. She worked through what else she knew. Was Eric aware of this island? So what made her safe here? Or was Jasper planning on leaving her behind?

“Come inside out of the heat,” Juan said.

Abigail went in first.

The hut was more spacious than outside appearances conveyed. In the one room were several chairs, a table and a couple of cabinets. On the back wall, made of bamboo, were two doors. One was open and she saw a bed and a chair inside. The modest furniture, European in design, looked out of place.

“Tye, get us something to eat,” he ordered the woman still standing outside holding the basket of laundry.

Abigail wanted to refuse out of politeness. Unfortunately her stomach grumbled a horrible reminder of how very little she had eaten during the trip.

“Thank you, Mr.…” She didn’t know how to address him.

“Please, just call me Quito.”

“But I thought Jasper said your name was Juan.”

“I haven’t been able to teach this old dog anything since the day I met him. He claimed to know
everythin
g about
everything.
Stubborn one, he is, and yet thinks it a bad characteristic in young Eric Teach. As for my name, I changed it long ago to hide my identity, unlike my friend here.” Quito slapped a hand against Jasper’s back, shoving him toward the small setting of table and chairs.

“I like my name just fine.” Jasper pulled out a chair at the table and held it for her to sit. “It’s not like many people know me to catch wind of my long life.”

Abigail heard the small hint about immortality again. It seemed so innocent and so natural that she had to hand it to him. He was thorough with his acting.

Tye brought wooden bowls and platters of food, enough to feed a dozen or more people. She served the men glasses of port wine from a bottle that Quito boasted was imported from Spain. Then the woman stopped next to her with the jug.

“Maybe you’d like something cooling instead?” she asked without indicating a choice.

“I’d like that very much,” Abigail replied, not at all anxious to sample the liquor and have a repeat performance of her last intoxication.

When Tye returned, she sat down a glass filled to the brim with milk. Not wanting to be impolite, Abigail lifted the glass. Water would have suited her fine. She took a sip and then a gulp, and then another, finding the coconut flavor appealing to her dry mouth. The soothing liquid glided down her throat, leaving behind a sweet aftertaste.

“More?” Tye asked, hurrying away before she got an answer.

Abigail felt the remnants of jealousy slip away as she watched Tye return and cater to her more than to the men. She relaxed and ate, happy no one else paid attention to her ravenous appetite. Three times she let Tye heap food on her plate. Three times Abigail devoured the abundance of fish and pineapple and fruits she’d never seen before.

Off and on during his conversation with Quito, Jasper glanced at her with an amused expression. She was glad he never commented on her gluttony.

As Jasper talked endlessly about their journey to the rapt attention of his friend, she watched him. His antics and animations were as she had never seen before. Outside the atmosphere of his ship, Jasper appeared different, neither bad nor good. She tried shelving her misgivings about his intentions until he mentioned the troll.

“Bold as day, he was,” Jasper exclaimed. “And not only did he show himself, he had the brass balls to suggest payment.”

Abigail felt the old betrayal returning, starting with the way Jasper’s sweet talk had misled her that night he followed her. How he hoodwinked her into believing he was a gallant knight coming to her rescue, when the troll…
No.
She wasn’t going to believe the ugly short man was anything but a man.

“I took a bullet right here.” Jasper thumped his chest. “Hurt like hell.”

Abigail coughed to draw his attention on the off chance he might confess he made up the story. He stared at her a second, and then went on with his lies. His friend corroborated everything with a nod and a tsk-tsk sound.

She tried picturing the bullet hitting Jasper. He had first said it hit a buckle and ricocheted. That seemed far more the truth than him healing from magic.

Throughout the entire meal, she hadn’t been invited to join the conversation and was glad. Tired from their travels and the many thoughts in her head, it was all she could do to suppress yawning.

“I think, Jasper, you should see to Miss Abigail’s comfort before she falls asleep in her compote,” Quito said. “Show her to the back room.”

Jasper rose from his chair.

She put her spoon down, regretting she hadn’t finished the delicious berry and cream dessert.

“Come with me.” Jasper escorted her to the door of the room she hadn’t seen. “We’ll return to the ship for the night. For now, you can take a nap in here.”

He opened the door and she moved inside. It looked the same as the other room with its bamboo walls and modest furniture, except the furniture was a bed instead of a table, and the chair was padded with cloth and cushions instead of plain wood. On the wall next to the door was a chest of drawers. An ornately framed picture of a man hung on the outside wall and over the bed hung a big wooden cross. She studied the portrait of the surly Spaniard.

“Don Pedro Ponce de León, Juan’s father,” Jasper explained. “I never met him.”

“He looks very stern.”

“Probably didn’t like sitting for the long hours it took to do his portrait.”

Abigail moved toward the narrow bed with its colorful coverlet. There wasn’t room for two. “Where will you rest?”

“I don’t need any. I’ll be out in the other room with Juan.”

“I think he prefers you call him Quito,” she commented, delaying their separation.

“And twenty years ago he wanted me to call him Tomas.” He smiled; a memory seemed to flit through his thoughts. “You get some rest.”

She nodded and sank down to sit on the edge of the bed. Jasper left the room. The door closed, but opened a few seconds later.

Tye entered. She shut the door again.

“Are you comfortable?” She carried her basket to the bed and sat it down. “You can wear this to sleep while I wash your clothes.”

Tye didn’t wait for a reply. She reached for the buttons on Abigail’s clothing.

Surprised and intimidated by the quick work of the young woman, Abigail kept her sights on the door. No lock. Anyone could walk in. Not that Jasper hadn’t seen it all.

In a matter of a few short minutes, she stood naked. Tye had put her clothes in the basket and wrapped one of the colorful cloths around her, knotting the ends together over her right breast. Tye pulled down the coverlet and guided her to get in the bed. Then, as if she were a child, Tye tucked her in. It didn’t matter the woman wasn’t much older than herself. The motherly care touched her. She began to think over the looks Tye had given Jasper. Had she misinterpreted the young woman’s interest in him?

Tye left her alone in the room. With the door shut, she heard the men talking, but the words were unclear. She closed her eyes and tried to fall asleep, except her mind stayed abuzz with too many thoughts. After finding the map and the snow globe, her life had taken on components of a fairy tale.

What was she to think? Her heart wanted to trust Jasper, but her mind reasoned everything he’d said was illogical—a sham to deceive her. None of it made sense, and still, the whole complicated scenario hadn’t produced a big enough flaw for her to one hundred percent dispute it.

Jasper sat down at the table with Juan. “I hope she sleeps,” he said.

“Why wouldn’t she?” Juan pushed the wine bottle toward him.

“She’s had a lot to deal with over the last few days, and I just told her about my immortality. With all that’s happened I can’t picture her relaxing, not in unfamiliar surroundings.”

“Tell me about her. I can see she means a lot to you.”

Jasper poured a full glass of the wine. “I’m in love with her to the point of insanity, and I don’t know what to do about it.” He drank half the glass, feeling the warmth coat his throat and spread to his belly.