One . . . two . . .
Kane picked up the bag and rummaged in it for a moment before pulling out the chest from the Lady. “Damned puzzles. Why can’t the man just have a map with a bloody X on it like a normal person?”
. . . three . . . four . . .
He opened the chest and took out the handful of coins before dropping it back into the open bag.
. . . five . . . six . . .
Finally, he turned and stalked back over to Barton, allowing Jonathan to draw a shaky breath. Sarina watched him closely. He raised a questioning brow at her, and she nodded, indicating that Kane had his back turned. He turned to peer around the edge of the tree, gaze darting to the open bag and back to the two men.
“Renard will be back soon,” Barton said. “You can’t keep him distracted for long. He wants part of this treasure, too.”
Kane snorted as he examined the coins in his hand. “The man’s a lapdog. He’s proven his usefulness with Tremayne, but I no longer need him.”
Jonathan dropped to his knees, then to his belly. He shifted as his sword hilt dug into his stomach, sliding the sheath silently to his side.
“How do you plan to deal with him?” Barton asked. “He won’t go quietly.”
“He’ll get his fair share of Tremayne’s booty, then I’ll make it clear our alliance is over.”
Jonathan eyed Kane’s oilskin bag as he carefully slid forward in the sand. He reached out with the other bag, gaze darting to Kane nervously, then set it down next to Kane’s. Truly, they did look similar. He untied the drawstring a bit and adjusted the sword sheath poking out from the top. It was a good thing Kane hadn’t put the cutlass in the bag hilt up or he would never be fooled by the substitute. Finding another sword with a sapphire in the hilt would have proven quite a challenge.
“Enough about Renard,” Kane said, turning back to the journal. “Help me figure out this damned riddle.”
With a steady hand, Jonathan reached for Kane’s bag, sliding it slowly . . . carefully . . . toward him. The sound of oilskin against the soft sand seemed to blare in Jonathan’s ears, although logic told him there was no way Kane could hear it from where he was. A bead of sweat formed on his forehead, dripping down his nose and landing on the ground with a soft plop. He crawled backward, wincing at the rustle of brush from the movement, until he sat once again crouched behind the tree.
Sarina grinned at him, and he smiled in return. Turning to his left, he spotted Max watching him from between two trees and nodded the order to retreat to the ship. The order was relayed with silent signals and the men moved as one, emerging onto the beach to discover the missing crewmen waiting for them, swords drawn.
Jonathan eyed James suspiciously. “And where have you been?”
He sheathed his sword. “Managed to get away when Renard’s men moved in and have been trying to avoid them ever since. Kane sent them back to the ships, and I found the others just a bit ago.” He jerked his head toward Rafferty. “We were on our way to rescue you, but it appears you’re in no need of rescuing.”
“Apparently not,” Jonathan said flatly, still uncertain about whether he believed Ceron’s story. There was no time, however, to debate it.
“Back to the ship,” he ordered. “We’ll keep two dinghies and sink the rest. No sense in making things easy for Kane and Renard.” The men grinned in response. “We need to get away from this island. It’s only a matter of time before Kane realizes what we’ve done.”
“What of the prisoners?” Max asked as they got into the dinghies and started rowing toward the ship. Rafferty sat next to him, pulling his oar in a steady rhythm. Sarina studiously avoided his gaze, sitting close to Jonathan. He reached out to take her hand in reassurance.
“Keep them for now. We’ll leave them on one of The Dogs perhaps, where they’ll be out of the way.”
Max laughed. “We’re headed to The Dogs, then?”
Jonathan eyed James in the other dinghy, lowering his voice. “Aye. We’ll be able to take cover there and see when Kane leaves Virgin Gorda.”
Rafferty pulled his oar in steady rhythm with Max and spat into the water. “Then what?”
Jonathan grinned. “Then we find the treasure.”
Rafferty’s black smile lit up his face. “Aye. A fine plan, Cap’n.”
“Tell me, Rafferty,” he said, again glancing toward the other dinghy. “What do you think of Ceron?” Sarina tensed next to him, but he squeezed her fingers slightly in reassurance.
“Ceron? What d’ye mean?”
“Just hit me as a bit odd that he’d disappear when Renard’s men showed up. Did you notice anything?”
Rafferty spat again and shrugged, the movement causing him to fall a bit out of rhythm on his oar. “Dunno, Cap’n. When the fight turned ugly, some of us scattered, thought it better to try and regroup and come back later.” He paused, adjusting his rowing to fit Max’s once again. “Didn’t see Ceron, though. Not ‘til about an hour ago.”
Jonathan chewed on that for a moment. “So he could have been anywhere.”
“I suppose. Although . . .” He glanced toward the other dinghy and swallowed.
“Although?” Jonathan prodded.
“It’s probably nothing.”
“What is?” Jonathan asked irritably. “Spit it out, man.”
Rafferty leaned in slightly. “Now that you mention it, I ‘ave seen him about the ship at odd times. On deck in the middle o’ the night when he’s not on duty, that kind o’ thing.”
“Perhaps he just couldn’t sleep,” Sarina snapped, obviously not pleased with the direction of the conversation.
“Per’aps,” Rafferty acquiesced with a leer in her direction. His eyes drifted to her open collar, and Sarina shuddered.
“Watch yerself,” Jonathan warned.
Rafferty grinned sheepishly. “Sorry, Cap’n. I’m just a man, after all. Can’t blame me fer lookin’.”
“I can. And I will.”
Rafferty’s face paled slightly, and he dropped his gaze. “Aye, sir.”
Jonathan sat back, contemplating what Rafferty had told him. He’d thought perhaps Renard was the traitor Charlotte had warned him about, but in fact, he’d never trusted the bastard, and he was in no way close to Jonathan. But Ceron . . .
He glanced at the man again, who was grinning at Sam in the other dinghy as they tried to out-row each other.
James Ceron was another thing altogether. Sarina’s defense of the man had started to chip away at Jonathan’s distrust, but his disappearance and odd behavior certainly made him a prime suspect.
Sarina squeezed his hand, and he turned to find her watching him with a worried look. It was obvious that she still trusted James and considered him a friend. If he was the traitor, she would not take it well.
Jonathan sighed heavily. There was nothing he could do about it at the moment. He had no proof, and Kane was the much greater threat.
So as his men carried out his orders, he watched James Ceron carefully, looking for signs that he was right about him.
All the while, at least for Rina’s sake, hoping that he was wrong.
The moon was full, the ship silent as the master gunner made his way up to the deck, stepping nimbly over a discarded rum jug. The men had been celebrating their victory over Kane, and even the captain had indulged a bit, his wench close by and eventually sprawled on his lap. The captain kept a close watch on her, of course. The men were unrestrained at the best of times. Add some rum and ale to the mix, and any wench was a temptation, even the captain’s.
Rafferty emerged into the fresh salt air, eyes scanning the deck with devastating purpose. He spotted Crawley near the bow and approached him with a relaxed stride.
Crawley nodded at him. “You here for the next watch?”
“Aye. Anything to report?”
Crawley shook his head, looking out over the water with a deep breath, then lifted a spyglass to his eye. “Nothing. No sign of the Lady or the Curse.”
“He
must think Cap’n Tremayne will be back. Waiting ‘im out.”
“Aye. Most likely.” Crawley snapped the spyglass shut and handed it over with a yawn. “You need anything before I turn in?”
“No. Go ahead.” He spat over the gunwale. “Quiet night. Everyone must be sleeping off the grog.”
Crawley laughed. “Should be a sight when the sun comes up.” With a rough pat on Rafferty’s back, he headed belowdecks to his hammock.
Rafferty strolled idly about the deck, coming to a stop when he spotted James Ceron looking out over the stern, a hand resting on the main boom. Rafferty gritted his teeth before approaching the man with a determined stride.
“Couldn’t sleep?” he asked, spitting on the deck and rubbing at it with the toe of his boot.
Ceron jumped slightly, as if he’d been lost in thought. “Oh. Aye. Lot on my mind, I suppose.”
Rafferty’s eyes narrowed. “Oh?”
He shrugged. “Just wondering what the captain’s up to. And with Kane and Renard on our stern, not to mention Stanton—“
“Cap’n can handle it.”
“I’m sure he can.” Ceron reached up to stretch his arms over his head. “Well, I suppose I’ll turn in. Tomorrow’s sure to come quickly.”
“Aye. Best get some rack time.”
Ceron nodded and headed belowdecks without another word. Rafferty watched him go, black eyes watchful and appraising. Tremayne seemed suspicious of the new addition to the crew. It appeared the captain thought Ceron might not quite be what he seemed.
A slow smile lit his face at the thought, and he spat on the deck again, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. James Ceron was proving to be a convenient distraction for Tremayne, and one that Rafferty planned to take advantage of.
He retrieved a lantern from the quarterdeck and resumed his position at the bow once he confirmed he was alone. He opened the spyglass and lifted it to his eye, peering toward Virgin Gorda. He saw nothing, but it didn’t matter. He knew someone was watching.
Striking a match, he lit the lantern, watching with satisfaction as the flame grew and glowed.
Raising and lowering the lantern, he relayed his message. Twice. Then a third time. He extinguished the flame and raised the spyglass to his eye again, smiling when he saw the signal his message had been received.
Yes, Ceron was a happy accident. Because while Tremayne was focused on him, he’d fail to see what was right under his nose.
And by the time he discovered it, it would be too late.
Rina opened her eyes as the first rays of sunshine drifted through the portholes in Jonathan’s quarters. She was warm, even after kicking the blankets off her legs, but it only took a moment to remember why. Jonathan was pressed against her back, an arm wrapped tightly around her waist and his nose buried in the hair at her nape. Their legs tangled over the sheets, his rough and hairy, yet still pleasant against her skin.
She fought the urge to stretch, unwilling to wake him yet, and took a moment to enjoy the feeling of his body against hers. He still wore his drawers, but his chest was bare against the thin fabric of her shift. They had both indulged in a bit of rum the night before and had fallen into bed too exhausted from the day’s activities for more than a few soft kisses and gentle touches before they drifted off to sleep.
Jonathan had left firm orders that he not be disturbed unless Kane or Renard were seen sailing away from Virgin Gorda. Since they’d had an uninterrupted night of sleep, Rina could only assume the bastards were waiting for Jonathan’s inevitable return. She had no doubt they’d be disappointed. Jonathan, she’d come to realize, could be very patient when he chose to be.
“You’re up early, Smith,” he mumbled against her neck, his breath raising goose bumps along her skin.
“Did I wake you?”
He chuckled slightly, low and raspy in a way that sent a surge of heat straight through her. “You were thinking too loud again.”
She rolled over to face him. “Well, somebody has to.”
He squeezed her side in what he’d discovered was a ticklish spot. “Cheeky, aren’t you?” When she tried to roll away, he held her fast, pulling her close so he could kiss her. A soft brush of lips first, but then deeper, hotter, until Rina whimpered in his mouth, throwing a leg over his hip before she even realized what she was doing. Jonathan drew her closer, his hand sliding down her spine to curve over the fullness of her thigh, holding her firmly against him.
If someone had told her a month ago that she would be lying in a pirate’s bed, nearly naked, she would have been too shocked to laugh. It was ridiculous, scandalous, but Rina no longer cared about propriety. Especially when Jonathan was kissing her like this—all hot and wet, alternating between licking into her mouth and sucking lightly on her tongue until her whole body quivered.
Jonathan pulled away abruptly, a bit breathless, and Rina chased after his mouth with her own. He groaned, giving in for a moment, but then pressed her down against the mattress, holding himself above her with a determined look.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
“Sarina . . . I . . .” He rolled away and sat on the edge of the bed, facing away from her.
“Jonathan?” She reached out to run her fingers down his spine. He shivered at her touch and sighed heavily.
“I can’t be the one to take your innocence,” he said finally.
“My innocence?” She got up onto her knees and moved to his side. “Isn’t that my decision?”
He refused to look at her, gaze focused on the floor. “You deserve more—“
“I said, isn’t that my decision?” When he failed to answer, she reached for his chin, pulling his face toward her. Reluctantly, he met her eyes. “What is this really about?”
“I can’t give you what you need!” He jumped to his feet to pace across the floor.
“What I need?”
“A husband! A family!” He threw his hands up into the air to emphasize his words. “Bloody hell, Smith, if you were to become with child . . .”
“Is that what you’re worried about?” she asked. “A child?”
“I could never be a father!” he shouted. He took a deep breath and rubbed his hands over his face before lowering his voice. “What could I give a child, Sarina? A criminal as a father? No. It can’t happen. I won’t let it.”
Rina watched him for a moment, realizing she would have to handle this situation very carefully. In truth, the idea of having Jonathan’s child, although terrifying, also gave her the smallest twinge of excitement. Not that this was the ideal situation, of course, but to have a child—someone part her and part Jonathan—a piece of him once he left her . . .
Well, she would have been lying if she said the idea didn’t have some appeal.
Of course, she would never do that to him, not knowing how he felt about it. Such a thing would be a tremendous betrayal. Still, she wanted to be with Jonathan, here, now, and knew she’d have to tread lightly.
“Jonathan, come here,” she said quietly, patting the bed next to her.
After a moment, he obeyed—much to her surprise—but said stiffly, “You’re not going to change my mind.” Which was not as surprising.
Stubborn man.
“Let me ask you a question,” she said, reaching out to take his hand. “What we’ve done together so far . . . kissing . . .” She leaned in to press her lips to his neck. “. . . touching . . .” She brushed her fingers over his chest, blushing, but pushing through it. “Could that give me a child?”
Jonathan snorted in surprise. “What are you on about, Smith? Of course not.”
“Mmm hmm . . .” She scooted closer to him, resting her chin on his shoulder and wrapping her arms around his waist. “So there’s no real reason we couldn’t continue with that, is there?”
He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. “Aye. I suppose not,” he admitted slowly.
She mouthed at his shoulder, planting wet kisses against his skin. She felt him stiffen as she brushe
d her fingertips across his stomach. “And are there . . . other things we could do that might be equally pleasurable, but without the risk of pregnancy?”
He turned toward her then, a slight smile lifting his lips. He eyed her carefully for a moment, then one hand slid to her knee and up—ever so slowly—under the hem of her shift.
“Aye,” he said, voice low with promise. “Many things.”
“Interesting,” she murmured as he leaned in to kiss her. “Then I just have one more question.”
He tilted his head, nibbling and sucking at her neck as his fingers brushed her upper thigh. “Yes?” he whispered against her throat.
She shuddered, fingers tangling in his hair. “What are you waiting for?”
With a barking laugh, Jonathan picked her up and threw her onto the pillows.
“Saucy wench,” he muttered, just before he lowered his mouth to hers.
Rina still felt a bit dazed as she made her way to the deck some time later. Jonathan had left her with a deep kiss. “You do have some brilliant ideas on occasion, Smith,” he said before heading to take over command, whistling along the way.
He was right. She was brilliant.
And Jonathan? Jonathan was a master.
He’d played her body like a fine instrument, his fingers drawing pleasure and whimpers in equal measure. Sarina had learned a few things, too. She’d asked how to give him pleasure as well, and Jonathan had proven to be a more than willing teacher amidst heady kisses and whispered praise.
She spotted him at the wheel as she stepped out onto the deck and blushed when he caught her eye with a wink and a teasing grin. She realized the deck was busy with preparations to get underway and stepped quickly to Jonathan’s side.
“What’s happening?”
“Kane and Renard left Virgin Gorda about an hour ago. It’s our turn.”
“How do you know they’re not watching for you?”
Jonathan shouted an order to a boy carrying a coil of rope before turning back to her. “We don’t. All we can do is come at the island from the opposite direction. If he’s nearby, hopefully we’ll see him before he sees us.”
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