Chapter Thirty-One
YOU DIDN’T NEED TO manhandle me,” Jacqueline growled as soon as Mortimer released her. “A simple explanation would have sufficed.”
“That was a really risky thing for him to do, taking you down there with most of the pirates on that lower deck. And look where that’s got us, me punished and you—whatever you are.”
“How are you punished?”
“Getting stuck with you for the rest of the day, that’s how.”
She snorted. The man truly didn’t like her. As if she cared. But she was back inside Damon’s cabin, back behind a locked door, and that was intolerable, especially since the danger was already over. Or was it?
“What the devil is the plan you mentioned?”
He didn’t answer. He’d gone over to Damon’s desk to open the locked drawer and pulled four pistols from it. He sat down at the desk to check that they were loaded.
She waited for him to get around to answering when he was done, but when he didn’t, she demanded, “Take me to Damon so I can ask him.”
“You bedevil him enough.”
“I want to know—!”
“Good God, woman, shut up. You are the most stubborn, ill-tempered she-devil I’ve ever—”
“You’re too kind,” she cut in sweetly as she moved to a chair at the table and sat down facing him.
He was giving her a fierce look. “I’m only going to tell you this once. Behave, be very quiet, and you can probably go back on deck tomorrow—if we survive the day.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Again he was ignoring her, which made her yell, “I want to know why we’re being punished!”
“Damnit, lower your voice! And stop asking questions. You aren’t even being punished. You’ve got things to do in here now. I know, because I helped find some of those bloody books he wanted for you.”
“How would you like it if you were buried in a black hole?”
“Eh? There’s nothing dark about these quarters.”
“I meant the hole you’ll be in after I kill you,” she said nastily.
“Save your threats for someone who cares. If you make me shut you up, no one’s going to like that, least of all me, so for the last time, be quiet.”
“For the last time, tell me why I need to be or get Damon in here to tell me!”
He got up to do as she asked. Finally! But he didn’t cross the room to leave to get Damon. He took her by surprise instead, yanking her out of her chair and setting off all sorts of warning bells in her mind so her reaction was normal—for her. And the punch caught him nicely near his eye before she dodged out of the way of any retaliation. But his arms were just as long as Damon’s. He got a handful of her hair and pulled her over to her cot and shoved her facedown on it.
“You couldn’t make this easy, eh?” Mortimer growled as he put a knee in the center of her back. “How in hell he puts up with you is a bloody mystery. I wouldn’t. I’d chain you to the damn bulkhead!”
“And that surprises me?” she hissed, then louder when he got her hands together and started wrapping a rope around them, “What are you doing?!”
“Following orders,” he smirked.
“Liar! He wouldn’t tell you to do this to me!”
She would have railed more at him, but he stuck a wadded cloth in her mouth. She started to push it out with her tongue, but he finished off the gag with another strip of cloth, tying it behind her head, catching enough of her hair in it to bring tears to her eyes.
When he was done, he leaned down near her head to say angrily, “No, he wouldn’t, but I had orders to keep you quiet, even warned you to shut up, twice, but you just wouldn’t listen, would you? Count yourself lucky I didn’t return the black eye you just gave me.”
He tucked the four pistols in his belt and left, locking the door behind him. She waited until she heard the door close before she turned over and maneuvered her feet over the side of the cot to stand up. At least Mortimer hadn’t tied her ankles, too. Damned man could have just answered her questions instead of doing this!
She glared at the door next, wishing she could latch it to lock them all out of the cabin, but the latch was too high for her bound hands to reach. She ended up sitting uncomfortably in Damon’s chair so he’d get the full brunt of her murderous gaze when he opened the door.
But it was a long time before that happened. When it did, all Damon did was tsk at the look she was giving him. Jackie followed him in with their dinner tray, but hurriedly left.
Damon locked the door again before he said, “Mort can be a clod sometimes, but I did get an earful about your retaliation, so I’m going to assume your blackening one eye is enough for today?”
Damon walked toward her as he asked that. Considering her scalp was still smarting, she disagreed, but she couldn’t say so yet due to the gag and couldn’t even shake her head no without it hurting even more. And then he swore when he was standing behind her and could see for himself how entangled her hair was.
“I apologize for my friend. He had limited options to keep you quiet. This was the harmless one, or so it was supposed to be. To be fair, I highly doubt Mortimer realized that he tangled your hair in this knot. It will take a few minutes to undo.”
It took longer than that, he was being so careful in untying the knot without pulling out any more hair. The second the tied strip came loose, his fingers began to massage her scalp. It felt heavenly, so good, that she was quite tardy in spitting out the rest of the gag or recalling that she still didn’t have the use of her hands. But he untied them a moment later.
“So has Mort been added to your kill-on-sight list?”
She could lean back in his chair now and did so as she rubbed her chafed wrists. “An-eye-for-an-eye style of revenge would mean plucking out every one of the hairs on his head.”
Damon chuckled. “Not quite even, but—so, the black eye is sufficient?”
“I suppose.”
He came around to partially lean on the side of his desk, facing her, before he asked, “Would it be sufficient payback to me?”
“Certainly not,” she huffed. “Your tally of transgressions is far too long. And it’s going to get you hung—or worse.”
“There’s worse?” He raised a dark brow. “And here I thought we’d moved beyond that.”
“Whatever would make you think that?” she asked with feigned sweetness.
“You don’t kiss me like you want me dead, Jack.”
She didn’t have an excuse for that. She felt herself blushing but said sharply, “Nothing about this was harmless. The harmless approach would have been to explain to me the necessity for quiet. What the hell was plan B?”
“A precaution. I made a move today that I’m not ready yet to back up. There was a possibility that it might have provoked the pirates to make their move now, before I’m ready for it. I wanted you safe in case they came up en masse for a fight. Your making noise would have incited them further because you’re what they want. Your yelling and screaming would have given them an excuse to break in and ‘rescue’ you. You could have stayed quiet, you know.”
“Why couldn’t Mortimer just tell me that?!”
“He doesn’t know how far we’ve progressed. He probably thought I wouldn’t want you to know.”
She was speechless, but only for a moment. “Whatever progress you think we’ve made has been reversed really far today. You could have told me what was going on. You could have told him that he could have told me! Instead I spent the day gagged and with my hands tied!”
“I apologize—”
“Not helping!”
“This is odd thanks for allowing you that visit today, which is directly responsible for what you’re in a snit about now. Are you at least reassured that they’re not dying?”
“They’d say they’re fine even if they’re bleeding to death.”
“You know him that well?”
She frowned that he was fixated on one when she’d just mentioned bo
th. “No, but I know they’re chivalrous, and men like that will lie to keep a woman from worrying. So I’m only somewhat reassured. I’d still like to actually see them both.”
“I don’t want to watch you crying over a—suitor.”
It was apparent in that moment that he knew he had her brother Jeremy. The pause was too significant. Bloody hell! But she refused to confirm it. He wasn’t going to get to gloat to her if she could help it. So she left his chair if that’s what he was waiting for and moved to the table to ignore him.
But she couldn’t do that when she was still bristling over what had happened with the pirates after she’d spoken with Jeremy and Percy. “I don’t believe they’re all against you when you work for the same man and share the same goal. It’s just Bart Satin who appears to be causing all the trouble for you.”
“Your thinking that I’m loyal to that pirate is a misconception.”
“Then take me back to London now, before you end up dying over this!”
“Would you care?”
It was a long moment—she actually had to think about it first!—before she said, “Of course not. But if you don’t favor Lacross, then why are we here!?”
“For a different reason this time, so leave it go. You’ll have answers soon enough.”
He left the cabin, clearly telling her that she couldn’t pull the information out of him until he was ready. But what was he waiting for?
Chapter Thirty-Two
SNUG BETWEEN THE WHEEL and Damon’s broad chest again, Jacqueline was somewhat mollified over what had transpired yesterday. A freshwater bath that morning instead of the usual ocean water had helped, his way of saying he was sorry, she supposed. Still, just to be ornery, she’d left her hair unbound today so it would flit around his face in the wind. Yet all it got her was his body pressed firmly to her back and buttocks, and his chin resting on top of her head.
She laughed. “Okay, I get the point.” She gathered her hair over one shoulder and tried to braid it, which wasn’t easy in the wind. “An English gentleman would simply have asked me to stop behaving like a hoyden.”
“I doubt a gentleman would be that blunt with you.”
She grinned. “Probably not. Definitely not if he’s courting me.”
“You think I’m English?”
She blinked and turned around to face him now that he’d moved back to his usual position. She’d assumed he was English, but she couldn’t recall ever asking him to confirm it. “Aren’t you?”
“Born of English parents, raised in the islands, but sent to England to finish my schooling. I suppose I am.”
She chuckled. “It was beginning to sound as if you weren’t sure. Did you like living in the islands? By the way, which island did you live on? Swimming in warm waters on hot days? Riding on beaches? Pretending to kill—your own kind?”
He laughed at the last question, her reference to his previous confession that, as children, he and Mortimer had pretended to slay pirates instead of dragons. But he only answered one of her questions. “I’ve never cared much for riding. My mother got me a pony when I was a child, but then she left and I outgrew it.”
“That’s an odd way to say she passed on. How old were you?”
“Seven. But I don’t know if she’s dead or alive. She ran off with our neighbor and we never saw her again.”
Turning around, she saw the anger on his face. She so rarely saw him angry. Frustrated, yes, extremely so, but never this sort of cold, quiet anger.
“I’ve never hated anyone so much.”
She wished he hadn’t added that. She’d never known anyone who hated his or her own mother. It must be an abhorrent emotion to harbor, a contradiction of nature, and it stirred—she realized she felt sorry for him! She almost touched his cheek to comfort him before she caught herself and squashed the urge.
She immediately shook off that ridiculous moment of compassion and changed the subject. “What about your father? Is he still in the islands?”
“Yes.”
It was said sadly, which was better than his anger, but still curious. Other than his annoying good humor, and that brief moment of coldness over his mother’s desertion, he didn’t usually show her any other feelings.
“Tell me about him?”
“We were close, and he was very supportive after my mother deserted us. He used to drink, perhaps a little too much, but that stopped completely after she was gone. He came up with all sorts of distractions to keep me from thinking about it, but I think they were meant to distract him as well. We loved her. I wonder sometimes if I would have grown up bitter and filled with rage if not for him.”
“He sounds like a wonderful man.”
“He is.”
That didn’t account for the sadness he’d revealed when his father was first mentioned. Damon could just miss him, she supposed, but if so, why didn’t he just say that?
“Do you have family in England, too?”
“Yes.”
That reply even produced a sigh! What the devil? “They’ve disowned you, haven’t they, on both sides of the ocean?” she guessed. “And no wonder, considering the occupation you’ve taken up.”
He rolled his eyes at her. “Wrong on both counts. And stealing beautiful women isn’t an occupation, Jack.”
She snorted. “Ah, yes, this must be what you call a minor offense. That is what you said at the ball, wasn’t it? That you’d only ever broken the law one time and it was a minor offense because no one got hurt?”
“You’re here merely as a means to an end, an important end.”
All humor gone, she said furiously, “That’s what you call killing my father?”
“I’m not the one who wants him dead.” Damon’s tone turned sharp. “How much do you really know about your father’s past?”
She stiffened, wondering what he was implying. He couldn’t know about her father’s days on the high seas when he’d been a gentleman pirate. No one outside the family knew about that.
She prevaricated, reminding him, “I already told you he used to be one of London’s most notorious rakes, which resulted in countless duels because of it.”
“What about his ten-year absence from home? Was that because his family disowned him?”
“You’ve been listening to London gossip, haven’t you?” she scoffed.
“There was quite a bit of it that night at the ball, all about him.”
“You can’t believe everything you get from the gossip mills.”
“Except you just confirmed that some of it is true. And answer me this: Do you think I would harm your father when I want you as much as I do?”
Her cheeks lit up with warm color, her breathing stopped.
And it was in his eyes, his beautiful eyes, suddenly incredibly sensual. He couldn’t do this to her again! Couldn’t leave her wishing they weren’t enemies! How dare he stir up her passions like this by saying something that—that provocative?
Chapter Thirty-Three
DAMON WATCHED HER REACTION carefully. He shouldn’t have been so explicit, and yet, he’d definitely caught her off guard. Jack was an open book when it came to her emotions. She could change her tone, she could pretend things she didn’t feel, but when it came to the rage she felt for him, she was never shy about sharing that. But they’d shared that brief moment of passion before she wrapped up her feelings in anger. But it was too soon. If she succumbed now before this played out, she’d have even more reason to hate him. But he hadn’t yet figured out how he could get around his intention to escort her father to a prison cell.
She wasn’t going to forgive him for that, any more than she would if he did what she thought he intended to do. It wouldn’t matter that her father was guilty of piracy and had escaped justice until now. She would see it as a betrayal and it would be. But he hadn’t anticipated wanting her this strongly, or wishing they could have met under different circumstances. And the more time he spent with her, the more he was conflicted. But he wasn’t going to tak
e advantage of her passionate feelings for him before she knew the whole truth. That would make him as bad as she thought him to be.
He was relieved when she walked away from him to stand at the railing behind him. It was far enough away to make any further conversation difficult, yet she couldn’t get off the quarterdeck without walking past him. At least she didn’t try to use his revelation about wanting her against him. Jack Malory seductive would be his undoing.
He could no longer wait to get Jack and her brother on his side. They were getting too close to the Caribbean, where he would have his parley with their father. Lacross’s men had to be dealt with before then, before they got anywhere near James Malory. Jack’s brother could certainly help with that, but not unless Damon explained a few key elements of his true mission to Jeremy and Jack. But not all. Damon wondered if the two siblings even knew that their father used to be a notorious pirate?
It had been a shock to spot Captain Hawke in London four years ago when Damon and Mortimer were celebrating the end of the university term. Barely changed, still big and menacing, but dressed like a gentleman now. The very man who’d taken his mother away from him and his father. And he’d seen it happen.
He had been seven years old at the time. The day had been hot and sultry despite the trade winds, and his mother had been behaving so nervously. She’d been dressed to go to town, even had a large bag with her, but all she’d told him was “We’re going for a walk.”
He loved walking with her, spending time with her. She always smelled wonderful and looked so pretty in her fancy dresses. She’d taught him to read, to ride, to swim. His father wanted to make a planter of him, but she never let Damon forget that he was a gentleman first, and gentlemen didn’t tend the soil, they had workers to do that. He knew his father spent almost all his time in the fields alongside his workers because he simply loved to be outside and make things grow. Damon’s mother never scolded him for joining his father because she understood that planting was fun for a boy his age. But he enjoyed walking with her the most, down their long drive, sometimes to town, or along the beach, but they’d never before walked through the sugarcane fields between their plantation and their neighbor’s, at least not when the cane was tall—or when the neighbor was at home.
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