The pirate was definitely a fox. One that had told her exactly how happy he was with his life.
She would just avoid him. That was all there was to it. Forget her boasts and wager. She didn’t want to even try to win. She just wanted Justin to come and free her from this confusion.
Admit it, old girl, what you really want is another moment of your pirate’s kisses.
Lorelei closed her eyes in an effort to banish the truth. Well, she was certainly old enough for her wants not to hurt her. And Jack Rhys could find himself another pawn. This one was quitting the game.
7
Lorelei woke early to the sound of someone knocking rather forcefully upon her door. Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, she picked up the warm pink velvet wrap from the foot of her bed. Shrugging it on and then belting it, she crossed the room to crack open the door ever so slightly so that she could see who was disturbing her.
“Sorry to bother you, miss,” an older sailor said. He had balding red hair and a leathery face that bore the marks of years of squinting against an unforgiving sun. “We was ordered to bring these things to you first thing like.”
She frowned at the wooden crate in his hands and then her gaze drifted to the other five sailors standing behind him who held various items as well. The boxes appeared to contain art supplies, but how could that be?
“We won’t be bothering you none. We’ll just put them down and be on our way.”
Embarrassed that her suspicion over their motives was so plain on her face, Lorelei stepped back and allowed them to bring in their wares. As the fifth man walked past, she noted the easel under his arm.
“Where did all this come from?” she asked, amazed at the variety and multitude of supplies as the first man placed his crate on the floor beside her bed.
Why, she didn’t have this much in art supplies at her father’s house!
“Henri paints,” the older sailor said, indicating the younger pirate behind him who was busy setting up the easel.
The man he referred to looked up and smiled. He was a handsome man around her own age with laughing blue eyes which twinkled from beneath the overhang of jet-black bangs. His long black hair fell to mid-shoulder and he wore a thick, well-kept beard. “Oui, mademoiselle, the captain, he asked me if I had any canvas or paints to spare, and I told him that there is always plenty to share with a fellow artiste. ’Tis simply my greatest joy that you have all that you need.”
“Merci beaucoup, Henri,” she said, even though the words were quite inadequate for the gratitude she truly felt. “It was so kind of you to bring all of your supplies to me.”
“Ah, non, non, mademoiselle,” he said as three of the sailors left the room. “I assure you this is not all that I have. This is but a bit I had laying around on the third deck.”
“And thank God he found some place to finally put it,” the fourth sailor said irritably on his way out the door. He was around Henri’s age, but with thick brown hair and a permanent frown. “I’m sick of tripping over the blamed stuff. Thought I was going to have to kill him to have any peace.”
Henri snorted and waved his hand at the pirate who continued on his way. “Pay him no heed. Bart is a…a surly fellow who is never happy unless he has something about which to complain. Me, I like everything.” He tapped the center of his chest. “I am a true artiste, not just a boat-rat.”
Bart stuck his head back in the door. “I heard that, you frog.”
Henri stiffened and eyed Bart like he was some disgusting blemish marring his boots. “Smile when you say that or I shall be forced to show you some manners.”
Bart scoffed. “I don’t need you to show me your girlie ways, Hank. And you’d best be getting out of here before the captain catches you eyeing his woman. Remember what he did to that fellow in Greece? I bet they still haven’t found all that man’s parts.”
Henri paled.
“What did he do?” Lorelei asked, wanting desperately to know.
Henri licked his lips, his brows drawn into a stern vee. “It is not the type of thing one discusses with ladies. The captain, he is not always understanding and Bart is quite right. I should be going.”
He moved to the door where Bart waited. “Bonjour, mademoiselle, should you need any more supplies, please do not hesitate to let me know.” Henri turned on his heel and let Bart away from her room.
“Please,” Bart mocked in a horrible rendition of Henri’s French accent as they headed for the ladder, “do not hesitate to let me know. Lord, Hank, but you’re ridiculous with that stuff. ’Tis a wonder you didn’t drown her with your drool.”
“As if you know any better. Tossing a woman over your shoulder and carrying her to an inn is not the way you treat a woman of breeding.”
“Well, I don’t know no women of breeding.”
“And I am sure ladies the world over are now breathing a collective sigh of relief.”
Laughing at their banter, Lorelei closed her door, then moved to examine the contents of the crates. There were brushes and paints, jars and charcoal, sketch pads, conti, turpentine—everything she could possibly need.
Without a doubt, it was the greatest gift she’d ever received. She knew the pirate king had done it simply to endear himself to her, but even so, it touched her.
You really should thank him.
It would be the polite thing to do, she assured herself. Even a scoundrel deserved thanks for a good deed.
Hurriedly, she shed her wrap and nightgown and chose a light yellow day gown. Once dressed, she pulled her hair back into a tight braid and tied it off with a yellow ribbon, then headed out of her room to the captain’s cabin.
She knocked once on the door. At his answer, she opened the door and stepped into his room.
Lorelei hesitated at the mouth of the lion’s den. She hadn’t given much thought as to what his room would look like, but never in her wildest dreams would she have imagined this.
All four walls were lined top to bottom with bookshelves, which were brimming with books. Numerous leather-bound tomes were also spread haphazardly about the room. Three stacks of books were on his desk. Four opened books lay on a chest by his bed, and several crates that held even more books were littered about.
Sunlight poured into the room from open windows that allowed a pleasant breeze to circulate. The wood of his cabin was stained much darker than the light oak of her own room.
She could only see Jack’s long legs, as he was lying in the center of a large four-poster bed which was covered with a rich red velvet spread embroidered with gold leaves and acorns. Thick matching drapes hung from the canopy, obscuring the upper half of his body from her.
There was also a large cherry table to her left and a plush stuffed chair set before it. The room looked more like someone’s library than a captain’s quarters.
Lorelei took a step further into the room so she could see the pirate’s face. He was lying on his side, reading a book. His white, loose-fitting shirt was unlaced and hanging open to show a bounty of tanned, well-muscled chest. It was the most casual, natural pose she’d ever seen him assume.
But what held her attention most was the small pair of reading glasses he wore.
The incongruity of it stunned her.
He looked up at her. A warm, welcoming smile curved his lips. “To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?” he asked, removing the glasses. His hands looked so large compared to the dainty glasses as he carefully folded them up and placed them on the chest beside his bed.
His gaze swept the mattress in front of him. “You haven’t decided to yield victory so soon, have you?”
Resisting the sudden urge to flee, she said simply, “I merely came to thank you.”
“Ah,” he said, leaning his head slightly back. “Henri must have delivered his treasure.” He picked up a small fob watch which was lying beside his book and checked the time. He set it aside and quirked his lips. “I’m surprised he waited so long. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him happier tha
n when I told him we had someone on board who shared his love of painting.”
“It is surprising.”
“What? That a pirate can appreciate art?”
“Yes.”
“Well,” he said cooly. “I’ll certainly credit you with honesty on the matter. You didn’t even blush.”
His statement confused her. “I don’t understand.”
“You shouldn’t judge people, Lorelei,” he said in the same deliberate voice her father used to censure her behavior.
How she hated that patronizing tone, especially coming from a man like him. “But you are pirates. All of you.”
“We are people first. Pirate is merely one small facet of who and what we are.” He closed his book and eyed her for a minute. “Let me ask you a question, Lorelei. Who do you think farmers fear most? A pirate or a banker?”
What a ridiculous question. “A pirate, of course.”
“Nay,” he said solemnly. “A pirate never foreclosed a farm, nor has one ever repossessed someone’s belongings simply because their crops failed. If you were to ask a farmer who makes his blood run cold, he would tell you ’tis the banker he fears.”
The insult he gave stung her deeply. “Do not liken my father to a pirate or a bandit. He is a good man.”
“You say that only because you know your father as a man and not as a banker. I assure you, he has plenty of clients who would say otherwise. Indeed, the night of your party I heard a group of men describing him as a heartless beast who never had an ounce of compassion for anyone.”
Narrowing her eyes, she saw red. How dare anyone say such about the man who’d loved her all her life? Her father was a wonderful man. Kind, gentle, and generous to a fault. “Anyone who would say such a thing knows nothing of my father.”
“True. They only know of a banker named Sir Charles Dupree.”
She opened her mouth to retort, but could think of nothing to say.
Glancing to the floor, she considered his words. He was right. She’d heard those rumors of her father all her life, and she’d always discounted them. Through the eyes of a loving daughter, she saw her father as a shrewd businessman, but perhaps those who dealt with him on a daily basis saw him as something else.
Yet why did it bother the pirate so much that she judged people? “What makes you care so?”
“I have seen the consequences of judging people based on a handful of facts and a moment’s worth of observations. It strips them of their dignity.”
She found him perplexing. “You’ve used such judgmental terms yourself. You called your own mother a prostitute.”
“Aye,” he said. “As I said, I’ve seen the consequences.”
His double standard still baffled her. “Why do you care whether or not I judge people?”
“Because you’re special, Lorelei Dupree.” His answer stunned her. “You’re not like other people and it pains me to see you do something so common when I know there’s much more to you than that.”
“How do you know?”
“I see it every time I look at you. You have a passion for life that burns so bright it almost singes me to be near it. Every time I see you suppress that fire it pains me.” His gaze captivated hers. “I don’t want anything to extinguish that fire.”
“Is that why you sent the paints?” she asked quietly.
“Aye, I want to see you capture that passion on canvas.”
“What if I can’t?”
“You can. I’ve no doubt about it.”
No one had ever said such to her before, nor had they ever encouraged her to do something she wanted to do. Her father and Justin had often indulged her, but never had they offered such support.
To think, when it finally came, it came from Black Jack Rhys. Pirate, rake, and…
She didn’t want to finish that thought. The direction of her thoughts, along with the strange tenderness in her heart for him, was not something she wished to examine.
“All right, then,” she said, deciding not to waste this opportunity. If he wanted her to paint, then she would definitely oblige him. “I’ll just need some fruit and an ornate vase or some sort of container, then—”
“Fruit?” he asked with a sneer. “You want to paint fruit?”
Why did he look so disgusted by her subject matter? Was there something about fruit he found distasteful? “It’s what I always paint.”
He hung his head. “Why does that surprise me?” he muttered under his breath as if exasperated with her. He looked back at her. Louder, he asked, “Did Michelangelo paint fruit?”
Warning bells sounded inside her. Jack was about to propose something to her. Something she would probably object to.
She knew it deep inside.
“He might have,” she hedged.
A wicked, mischievous light shone in his eyes and she knew enough about the pirate to take a step back.
“Come now,” he beckoned in a seductive half-whisper. “Don’t tell me you’ve never wanted to paint forbidden fruit.”
She swallowed in trepidation. Surely he wasn’t proposing what she assumed he was proposing.
In spite of herself, her gaze dipped to the exposed flesh of his chest as an image of the statue David flashed before her eyes.
Heat stung her cheeks. Surely not even he would suggest she sketch him…sketch him…like that!
“Forbidden fruit?” she asked with a squeak.
By the light in his eyes she could see he was leaving her dangling intentionally. Oh, how the man loved to toy with her, and how she hated that she rose so often to his bait.
Just when she was sure her face could get no redder, he spoke, “Haven’t you ever wanted to paint…people?”
Just as she suspected. Oh, he was clever. But if he thought for one instant that she was going to paint him in the altogether, then he was altogether wrong.
“I like fruit,” she said crisply.
“Yes, but fruit is so very boring.”
“Not really. It’s actually rather fascinating.”
He looked at her in disbelief. “What about fruit could honestly be fascinating?”
Well, he had her there. In truth, there was very little about fruit that she found interesting. But there was one thing about it—fruit was never dangerous. Nor threatening.
Come on, Lorelei, think of something or else he’ll know you lie.
“The way light plays on it,” she said at last, pleased with herself for finding an excuse.
Doubt was etched into his face. “And to think I actually assumed you were made of braver stuff.”
Never let a man see your fear. They can sense it and they use it to control you. The words rang in her head. She had to do something to show him he didn’t scare her.
“What do you mean by that?” she hedged again.
“I mean, here you are a grown woman with a man who is more than happy to volunteer himself to be your model and all you can do is request fruit. Really, Lorelei, what would Michelangelo say about it?”
Show them no fear.
“Meet me in my room in half an hour.” Lorelei savored the confused look on his face. A slight frown drew his brows together while he looked askance as if trying to determine whether or not he’d heard her correctly.
“You won’t be late, will you?” she asked, masking her face in pure innocence.
His frown deepened. “Nay. I’ll be on time.”
He thought she was up to something, she could see it plainly.
Let him wonder what.
“Then I shall await your pleasure,” she purred, taking pure, evil delight in the new, stunned look on his face. She left him in his bed and returned to her room.
If the truth were told, she’d always wanted to paint a person, but no one at home would ever hold still long enough to allow her that. This was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to see if she really could paint a person and she wasn’t about to let it go.
Of course, she would have to make sure he stayed across the room from her.
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Yes, over by the wardrobe, perhaps.
She studied the area. She could pull her chair over there and…
No. It would never work. The captain wouldn’t look right sitting in the yellow upholstered Chippendale. Besides, now that she looked at it, she wasn’t sure if he’d fit in it, as large as he was. The straight back and carved daffodils just wouldn’t compliment his true essence.
The bed, of course, was completely out of the question. She could never spend another restful night in it after seeing him on it. ’Twould be disturbing to say the least, not to mention completely scandalous.
Then where?
She turned around slowly, examining every corner of her room and every possibility of where she might put him. But to her dismay, she couldn’t see him anywhere in her cabin.
Nay, when she closed her eyes there was only one place she could imagine him—in his own room. The rich textures and colors were decidedly masculine and decidedly dangerous.
If she truly wanted to capture a pirate’s essence, that was the only room that would do.
“’Tis no doubt just what he wants,” she whispered in warning to herself.
Be that as it may, she couldn’t argue with truth. It was undeniable. Jack Rhys didn’t fit in with yellow daffodils and white lace.
“Just pretend he’s a piece of fruit.”
That might work. Divorce herself from the man and don the true cap of an artist. Surely she could do that. She was, as he so bluntly reminded her, a woman full grown.
She could do that. Really.
Gathering her courage, Lorelei walked the short distance back to his room and knocked timidly.
At his answer, she pushed the door open.
He looked up from where he stood over his table. “Surely it’s not been half an hour.”
She shook her head. “I can’t paint you in my room,” she said simply.
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