‘Barely,’ she agreed. He heard the clear longing in her voice and his belly fluttered.
Blanche had brought him to this private spot for a reason, and after their embrace his mind filled with possibilities. He could kiss her now and no one beyond the screen would be any the wiser. Maybe she was hoping he would. She had warned him when they first met not to touch her without permission, but he had done so on a number of occasions without consequence.
‘I find I do not object to your touch,’ Blanche murmured.
Jack realised she was giving her assent to the question he hadn’t asked aloud. He leaned forward and cupped the back of her head, drawing her close and finding her mouth with his.
She tasted of the wine they had shared. This time he didn’t pull away instantly but let his mouth linger, tasting the sharpness of the fruit on her yielding lips. Blanche’s lips parted in response to his touch and all Jack’s intention to remain chaste until he knew who he was crumbled. It troubled him momentarily, but when her fingertips rested on the flesh beneath his ear, tickling enticingly, his mind emptied.
He’d once stroked a cat on a thundery day and a sharp crackle from its fur had stung his fingers. The sensation that jolted his heart as their tongues brushed felt almost the same. The kiss was brief, but all the sweeter for it, tantalising him with a glimpse of what he was denying himself. Blanche slid her hand from behind his head and brought it to his chest, pushing him gently away. Reluctantly, he obeyed, but the loss of her touch was like a burst of winter after the warmth of summer. Blanche’s cheeks were suffused with a soft pink that made Jack think of early roses.
‘Do you remember now?’ she asked. No, not asked. Purred. Her voice was creamy and sending vibrations through his limbs.
Jack shook his head. He forced himself not to put his hands to his lips or the spot on his neck where Blanche’s fingers had rested. He didn’t think mentioning that his only stirring recollection had been of the cat would be complimentary to her.
‘I wish more than anything I could say yes,’ he sighed. ‘It is no reflection on you.’
She gave a gentle laugh. ‘I have had worse failures.’
They smiled, sharing the jest. It seemed the safest thing to do, in Jack’s mind, because he sensed that attempting to repeat the kiss as he wanted to would not end in the same way. He would find it harder to stop at a kiss and he suspected Blanche’s tolerance of his touch would only stretch so far before snapping back.
‘What happened after we kissed?’ he asked.
Blanche smoothed her hair down, then placed her hands in her lap. She looked past him, eyes distant. ‘You called me an angel. Then you closed your eyes and I thought you were dying.’
‘I remember none of that. Nothing until I awoke with you in my room,’ Jack admitted. He wanted to weep. There was nothing in his mind. He looked at Blanche, thinking of all the ways she had been good to him, despite her clear wish to be left in solitude in her house.
‘I don’t think it was me you were thinking of,’ Blanche whispered.
Her words crushed him. Whom had he been thinking of? Kissing Blanche had been a betrayal of the unknown woman, but now even trying to bring a face to mind felt like disloyalty to Blanche. As he tried, nothing came to him beyond a lingering despondency, tinged with the habitual frustration that he could not remember.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I wish I could remember.’
‘You will, in time.’
He nodded, but without enthusiasm, because he was aware that once he did, he would have no further need to remain a guest in Blanche’s home. He stared towards the window, picturing the sea beyond, and beyond that, England. Somewhere he knew was his home, or had been once, but to where he felt no ties. When he knew who he was, he would have to leave. He would want to, surely, but the thought of tearing himself from Blanche who, after only a few days, he wanted to know better was an impossible thought.
‘What are you thinking?’
He realised he had been staring silently for a long time.
‘Whether people are waiting for me. Maybe missing me.’
Was there a mother or wife weeping for him? A father who thought him dead? Hoped he was alive?
‘If you have friends and family, they will surely be missing you,’ Blanche said gently.
‘Why?’
‘Because I think you are a good man.’
The simplicity of her answer and the certainty of her tone almost undid him. He buried his head in his hands so she would not see the emotion her words caused him.
‘I just wish I knew.’
Blanche drained her wine and put the cup down with a firm bang.
‘Jack, will you go to your room and wait for me there?’
Jack’s scalp prickled. Was she intending to offer herself to him? Blood coursed through him. He felt the awakening between his legs and shifted awkwardly. She obviously saw what he was thinking and smiled.
‘Not for that reason. There is something I must show you, but this is too public. It must be in private. I will come to you shortly.’
He did as she instructed. A few moments after he had entered, he heard her foot on the stair as she passed without stopping. He stuck his head round the door.
‘Where are you going?’
She half turned, looking over her shoulder. Her slender silhouette twisted and Jack longed to run his hands over the full mounds of her breasts and down to the curve of her belly. ‘To my room. What I need to fetch is there.’
He put his hands on the door. ‘Wouldn’t it be easier if I came up there with you, to save you coming down again?’
‘No. My room is my sanctuary and no one enters.’
Jack sat at the desk. Stood immediately, pacing around in anticipation of what Blanche was about to reveal. Sat down again. He counted, picturing her turning the stairs, up and down. He was beginning to think she was not returning when a soft knock came at the door and she entered.
Jack leapt to his feet. Blanche halted, taken by surprise, and he saw apprehension flit over her face before her expression settled.
‘I have something for you,’ she said. ‘I think it is yours.’
In her hands was a small box of dark wood, bound with leather and hinged in brass. She offered it to Jack.
He took it between his hands. It was instantly familiar, like an old friend. The weight and shape fitted into his hand. He lifted it and caught the smell of oil and wood and knew without question it was his. He closed his eyes and ran his fingers over the lid, probing the knots and scratches in the wood. A candlelit room. The strong bitterness of ink and sealing wax. Scents and sounds danced around his head.
‘I know this,’ he murmured. ‘Where did you find it? Why did you think it was mine?’
Blanche looked nervous again. ‘It was on the beach. Caught in your cloak.’
Jack’s temper flared like a brand dipped in oil. There was a lock, but it had been forced and crude scratches had dug into the wood.
‘You took it from me?’ he said angrily. He held the box close to him, as if she might snatch it away once more.
‘I did.’ Blanche held her head high, though there was anxiety in her eyes and she took a step back from him. ‘I didn’t want it to be destroyed. Then I lost sight of it. When you said you hoped there might be something that could help you, I remembered and went in search of it.’
He thought back to earlier in the day. She had been agitated when he had met her coming from the cellars. Even now he could recall in exquisite detail the way her body had cleaved to his as they held each other. Her dress had been dusty and Jack had smelled mustiness on her hair when they had embraced. She must have been looking, but without success. Then he recalled what she had told him she was going to do and it must have been late when she returned because he had missed seeing her.
‘Was this your errand?’
The pulse in Jack’s temple throbbed. ‘Who had it? Was it that bastard Bleiz Mor?’
‘It was Ronec.’
The distaste in her voice was clear and Jack’s throat tightened. She’d brought him what he needed and he had responded with anger and accusations. ‘Was that the neighbour you were visiting?’
She nodded and something in the way her lip curled sent Jack’s senses ringing with warning.
‘What did it cost you to get the box?’ he asked.
Blanche walked abruptly to the window and looked out. ‘That doesn’t concern you. All that matters is that you have it now.’
Jack put the box on the table. The contents called to him, but discovering them could wait. He reached for her shoulder and pulled her round to face him.
‘That isn’t all that matters. You should have told me where you were going. I would have come with you.’
She tipped her head on one side. ‘As my protector? I told you I don’t need one.’
‘Your manner now suggests otherwise,’ he retorted. ‘You should have given me the choice.’
‘What if I had told you and then he didn’t have the box? I didn’t want to do that to you.’ She turned her sharp eyes on him, filled with challenge and not a trace of remorse. ‘And would you have given me the choice to refuse your company if you had known who I was visiting?’
He shook his head. No power in the universe could have kept him from accompanying her into Ronec’s presence.
‘What did he ask of you?’ He fixed Blanche with a stern gaze, folding his arms across his chest, partly to show her he was serious and partly to resist his all-consuming urge to take her in his arms and belatedly protect her from whatever had occurred. ‘If he hurt you...’
‘He didn’t.’ Blanche put her hands on Jack’s cheeks, turning his face to hers. The shock of being touched so intimately sent him reeling. ‘He didn’t hurt me. He only demanded a kiss.’
Demanded.
‘And you gave him what he wanted?’ The thought of Ronec holding Blanche, kissing her, of her kissing him back, sickened Jack. Had Ronec found her lips as willing as Jack had, or had he sensed her distaste and ignored her reluctance? Jealousy wound sharp fingers around his throat, constricting his breath. Relief prised them free that she had not been forced to submit to anything more intimate.
‘Don’t scorn me for what I did!’ Blanche’s eyes flashed with anger. She had misunderstood his meaning. Jack held a hand out to her and gave a gentle smile.
‘I don’t scorn you. I’m not angry at you for doing it. It is the thought of him exacting such a price that boils my blood. Why did you agree?’
‘It was the only way I could see of getting what I needed.’
Blanche drew in on herself, an uncharacteristic air of vulnerability shrouding her. Jack shivered even as his limbs grew hot and his blood raced. He wanted more than anything to wrap his arms around her and hold her to him. Would she reject him or cleave to him as she had done in the courtyard? Either outcome would unsettle him in different ways, but the thought of her turning from him was not worth the risk. He settled for touching her gently at the elbow, hoping that the comfort he wanted to pour over her could somehow find its way through that insignificant gesture.
‘The price was too high,’ he said firmly.
She gave him a faint smile and touched his hand with her fingertips.
‘No, it wasn’t. You needed the box and it was my fault you didn’t have it. As I have gone to the trouble of retrieving it, you had better open it.
She was right and he was being ungrateful, but the cost had unsettled him. He looked at it, the knowledge of what it might contain sullied by the method in which he had it returned. He picked it up and sat on the bed, holding it in his lap. Blanche walked to the chair and began to pull it across to him. She stopped as he looked up at her questioningly.
‘Should I leave you?’
‘No. Stay, please.’
She dragged the chair over, sat opposite Jack and folded her hands neatly in her lap. Her presence was so distracting that Jack almost put the box to one side again. The need to touch her was almost as powerful as the desire to discover his past. He took her hand and squeezed it. Her fingers curled, the long nails grazing his palm.
Jack took a deep breath and opened the box. It had been well crafted as the seal on the lid was tight and fitted into an inner groove with no gaps. He wondered how rich he was to have owned such a possession.
Inside were leather-wrapped packets. Jack picked up the top one. With trembling fingers, he undid the cord and opened it to pull out the contents. They were letters. Thanks to the double protection of their leather wallet and the tight seal on the lid of the box, they had escaped most of the sea’s damage. He unfolded the first and read it.
Once he had finished, he refolded the letter and put it to one side.
‘My name is Jack. Jack Langdon. It appears I am a wine merchant’s agent,’ Jack said. ‘I was in France bidding for contracts on behalf of a company called something ending in tin and Rudhale from Bristol.’
‘Do you remember the people who the names belong to?’ Blanche asked.
Jack shook his head despondently. The names meant nothing to him.
‘If you make your way to these people, they will recognise you and your memory is sure to return.’
A wine merchant. Not what he had expected to discover. He was no closer to finding his home, but at least now he had the address of people who would surely help him when he arrived in England. People who would know him and might help him. If he saw the faces they belonged to and walked the streets, then surely his memory would come back to him. More than that, another question had been answered. He laughed with relief.
‘There was nothing sinister in my past. I wish I could see the arrogance wiped from Bleiz Mor’s face if he could see this.’
‘He would say he was still right to take precautions,’ Blanche said sharply.
Once again, Jack felt a stab of jealousy that she would defend the pirate’s behaviour. He turned his attention to the second packet, which was weightier and rigid. It turned out to be a double wax tablet. Two plain wooden sheets had been bound at one edge to make a book with the wax layers between kept safe. Scratched into the first and half of the second sheet in small, careful script was a series of symbols and letters.
‘Is that English?’ Blanche asked. She leaned around to look at the sheets. ‘What does it say?’
‘Not English.’ Jack shook his head. It was clearly a code or shorthand of some sort. ‘I don’t know. I must have been able to once, but no longer.’
His previous relief shrivelled. He had spoken too soon. Why was he writing in code? Who was the recipient? The fact that it was unfinished suggested Jack had been interrupted, or the notes were compiled over a period. His scalp prickled.
‘I don’t know why I have these.’
‘Look at the others,’ Blanche said. Her voice was low. Was she considering what to do if he proved to be a spy or enemy? Surely now she would not betray him to the Sea Wolf?
Blanche ran her fingers over the surface of the wax. ‘Some of these are sentences, some are a list. If you work for a wine merchant, could these be a list of purchases?’
Her voice was hopeful and Jack realised she didn’t want him to be a spy any more than he did. Could the coded writing be a list of orders or was Blanche grasping at chaff on the breeze? It gladdened his heart to think she cared enough to try explaining it away.
‘It’s possible, I suppose, that I might have wanted to record transactions without anyone else knowing.’ He closed the tablets and fastened them together once more. ‘I must have brokered some particularly good agreements if they involve this much secrecy.’
Jack tipped the rest of the contents out. The papers that had not been in the leather wallets
had not fared well. They were crinkled from being soaked and dried and were illegible. There was something on finer vellum that might have been a letter of safe passage, but the ink had run beyond reading.
‘You have an address and names,’ Blanche reminded him. ‘So now you can go home.’
His heart sagged at her words. Knowing Ronec was lurking nearby made his spine tingle with anxiety. He couldn’t leave her. Not yet. ‘Yes.’ His voice sounded dull in his ears. ‘I can go home.’
He took Blanche’s hand. It was a gesture of friendship, but his stomach clenched with desire as she laced her fingers through his and pressed it tightly. He felt a shiver run up and down his arm from wrist to neck, as if she had actually traced her fingers all the way across his bare flesh.
‘Thank you for what you did to get the box for me,’ Jack said.
‘When will you leave?’ Blanche asked. She added hastily, ‘You’re welcome to stay as long as you like. Do you feel strong enough to travel?’
Jack flexed his arm, testing the muscles. Blanche’s eyes followed, then she looked quickly away, but couldn’t hide the spark of hunger that had ignited in them. Jack tried not to imagine crushing her to his chest with the arms that were feeling more powerful.
‘I’ll stay for a day or two more at least. I need to decide what plans to make.’
Blanche gave him a warm smile and twisted to face him. ‘In that case, I have an idea. Tomorrow is the market day in Benestin, the town not too far from here. Would you like to come with me?’
He looked at her in surprise. She’d been careful to keep him mostly hidden.
‘There will be dancing and food. It’s usually a pleasant day,’ she continued, a blush rising to her cheeks. ‘I’d like your company.’
‘I’d like that, too.’
She looked at him through her eyelashes in a manner that made his heartbeat pound in his ears. He caught the scent of her perfume again and realised how dangerously close to kissing her he was and, here on his bed in privacy, he would not be content with stopping at a kiss. Perhaps she realised it, too, because she withdrew her hand slowly and glanced at the box.
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