Memories of tricking Dag, and water so bitterly cold she had almost considered calling for help. Yet she had set out for shore, and she remembered her mounting fear, as insidious as the icy chill penetrating every fiber of her stricken body, that she wasn't going to survive. The beach was too far, the water too cold, dear God, the heavy coins making it so difficult to swim.
Lindsay tightly closed her eyes and swallowed back the frightening memories, the blazing warmth that had awakened her moments ago not half so oppressive now. It was so much better than the frigid cold—meaning life, not death. Thank heaven someone had come to her rescue . . .
Her eyes flaring open, Lindsay stared once more at the handsome face so near to her own.
No, not someone.
Jared.
She couldn't be sure, she'd been so cold, so numb, so dazed, yet something told her that he had braved the freezing water for her, had risked his life for her. Jared had rescued her again.
Suddenly she couldn't resist, her fingers trembling slightly as she lifted her hand to touch his face. To touch the hard, smooth plane of his cheek, then run her fingertips over the gold stubble along his jaw, the prickly sensation sending a shiver of longing coursing through her.
She even went so far as to move her thumb gently across his lips, so masculine and yet so sensual, until another vivid memory overtook her—of hunger and plunder and a kiss so powerfully possessive that her face began to burn. She snatched her hand back, berating herself even as the near-painful longing swelled mutinously within her.
Of course he had come after her, ninny! And not because he had feared she might drown, but because she knew his precious secret and might gain the shore to shout it to the farthest reaches of the British empire.
Tears springing to her eyes, Lindsay felt even more an utter fool as she blinked them furiously away. Suddenly too warm again, the blankets like a suffocating cocoon, she could see that the main culprit was a black iron stove only a foot or so away from the chair. Dismissing the thought that Jared might be sitting so close because of her, she freed her arms and pushed herself off his lap, but the blankets so entangled her legs that she fell with a startled "oomph" to the floor.
"Would you like some assistance?"
Raising herself awkwardly on her wrists, Lindsay felt her face burn with embarrassment as she glanced at Jared over her shoulder. Wide awake now, he was staring at her with the most curious smile on his face, making her even more acutely aware of how ridiculous she must look.
"No, thank you, I can manage on my own."
Emitting a small grunt, she struggled to her feet, irritably waving Jared back to his seat when he started to rise.
"Then I suggest you hold onto those blank—"
"I said I can manage— Oh!"
It happened so fast, the blankets slipping from her body to pool on the floor, that Lindsay could only stare down at herself in horror, realizing too late that she was utterly, completely naked. With a shriek, she grabbed one of the blankets and plastered it to her breasts, doubly horrified when she glanced up to see that Jared hadn't looked away as a gentleman might, but was still staring right at her. Boldly, blatantly staring, and—and he was laughing, too!
"You—you bloody pirate! What have you done with my clothes?"
He sobered so suddenly, his eyes darkening, that Lindsay almost wished she hadn't shouted at him like a fishwife.
"Curses, Lindsay? You surprise me."
She blushed at the huskiness in his voice, then raised her chin. "And you, sir, are no gentleman, but of course that comes as no surprise to me."
"I tried to warn you—"
"And once again I didn't listen, much to my regret, but I vow I will in the future. Now, if you'll kindly tell me what you've done with my things?"
He seemed to sigh to himself, then said matter-of-factly, "I'm afraid you won't find them serviceable."
Blanching at the unsettling realization that he must have undressed her, Lindsay found her voice had gone somewhat hoarse. "A little dampness won't trouble me, but you should have hung everything to dry above the stove."
"Not possible."
"Not—?" She went still at his arched brow, following his gaze to the bed.
To the tattered shreds of what remained of her gown, her pelisse, her corset—oh, Lord, no, even her chemise.
"You see? Not possible, just as I said. Had to be done, no help for it."
Chapter 16
Expecting another indignant outburst, Jared was surprised when Lindsay merely stared at the wreckage of her clothes, although her cheeks were aflame with color.
Clearly not aware that her fierce hold had loosened on the blanket, the covering sinking low over her breasts to expose the enticing apricot of her nipples, he was hard pressed not to gaze admiringly. With her rumpled blond hair framing her bare shoulders, she looked like the mythic Venus rising from the sea. Yet it chafed upon him that she considered him so lacking in scruples. God knows any man faced with such womanly perfection would gape like a dottering fool.
"Lindsay . . . the blanket."
She glanced down, jerking the covering into place with a gasp as she met his eyes.
"I'm sorry, but your clothing could have killed you. You were chilled enough as it was, so I did what had to be done and rid you of it—quickly. Then I wrapped you in blankets—" He shrugged and rose from the chair. "I'm pleased to see that you're obviously feeling better. You could have drowned out there."
"But I didn't, much as I'm sure to your regret, so now you must find me something to wear."
She had spoken so softly for such biting words, and Jared didn't like how much they bothered him.
"Damnation, woman, do you truly think I would have let you drown?"
When she didn't answer, her blue eyes grown wide because he'd shouted, Jared sighed with frustration. "I may be a privateer, but I'm no barbarian. And if you're concerned that I might have taken some liberty with you while you were—"
He didn't finish, the thought disgusting him even as he recalled how his body had reacted of its own will to her nakedness. Begun to react, too, when he'd felt her fingers softly touch his face and trace over his lips, although he'd feigned sleep, wondering what had possessed her to make such an intimate gesture.
Yet in the next instant he shoved both disturbing incidents from his mind, telling himself that pure lust was no heinous crime. With an inaudible growl, he went to his sea chest and flung open the lid, while Lindsay wound the blanket tightly around her and fled to the stove, keeping her back to the wall.
"I've an old pair of breeches that should suffice, and you can help yourself to my shirts. Your slippers, at least, are still wearable."
He threw the soft doeskin breeches onto the bed, and left the lid open so she might choose any further garments herself. Then he strode past her to the door.
"There are books in the chest, too, that should help you fill your time. Some novels, plays of Shakespeare, a few volumes of poetry—"
"A pirate reading poetry? Now, that truly surprises me."
The sarcasm feeling strange upon her tongue, Lindsay nonetheless told herself that she could hardly be expected to act like herself under such circumstances.
Jared spun on his heel to face her, frowning. "They belonged to my sister, if you must know."
"Elise?"
She could tell she had startled him from the flaring of his eyes, yet his jaw hardened, too.
"How did you come by her name?"
She shrugged lightly, taking care that the blanket remained snug above her breasts. "Aunt Winnie. She and her husband were acquainted with your uncle Alistair—perhaps you weren't aware?"
"I scarcely knew my uncle. How would I know of his friends?"
Lindsay was tempted to say she wasn't surprised, given he'd abandoned what remained of his family to return to India—and to think when she'd first heard the sorry tale she had thought it impossible that Jared could do such a thing! Instead she added quietly, "As I said, Aunt
Winnie told me. I had thought, by asking her if she knew your family, it might be easier for her when you came to call, but it only made matters worse. She thought well of your uncle . . . but the story she had to tell about you wasn't a very happy one."
"No, it's not happy no matter which bloody version you hear."
He had spoken so bitterly that Lindsay was taken aback, and confused, too. "I don't understand—"
"There's no need for you to. Think whatever you will about me, Lindsay, the worse the better. It will probably make things easier for you." His hand went to the door but then he paused, his tone grown ominous. "Trick Dag again and you'll answer to me, woman, that I swear. He's softhearted to a fault, but that's not what brought him to his present state. Yet I'll not have you taking advantage—"
"I did sense that something wasn't quite right about him," Lindsay broke in, although she regretted her honesty when Jared scowled.
"Quite right? Three years ago he took a metal ball in the head that was intended for me, and it's still there—waiting to end his life at any moment. The physicians advised he remain abed, that any undue strain might kill him, but to keep him from what he loves would kill him, too. Like many of my men, he grew up among the fjords of Norway, the sea in his blood. So he sails with us—and we watch over him. I watch over him. Have I made myself understood?"
Lindsay nodded, feeling horribly guilty that she could have upset Dag so. But how could she have known?
"I'm truly sorry, Jared. Sorry, too, about what happened to Dag—three years ago, I mean. It must have been terrible."
He didn't reply, his lips locking together as he once more reached for the door.
"Wait! Don't you want to take any fresh clothes for yourself? Those look damp—here."
She hurried to the chest and dug out some clothes, not sure why she suddenly wished to somehow make amends. It wasn't as if she wouldn't attempt to escape again—but he had saved her life after all. Clutching the blanket with one hand, she held out a clean linen shirt and breeches to him. Silently he took them, yet his next words struck her like a cruel slap.
"If this is some feminine ploy, Lindsay, spare both of us. Games and fanciful illusions won't help you. No matter what you imagined we were romantically to each other, I can assure you that you're merely a prisoner aboard my ship, nothing more."
Wounded more deeply than she could have imagined, Lindsay still made herself lift her head. "Ah, so even simple kindnesses are suspect now? Then I don't suppose I'll share with you some news you might want to know—for the sake of your crew. You'd probably say it was a lie."
She spun around, but Jared caught her arm, twisting her back to face him.
"I said no games, Lindsay. What news?"
She stared bleakly into his eyes, trying not to think that only hours ago she had believed this cold, unfeeling man had wanted her for his bride
"I said what news?"
"A reward has been posted for your capture. It was in The Morning Post yesterday. Ten thousand pounds."
He released his hold, to her surprise a grim smile curling his lips.
"Only ten thousand? Then my men and I haven't been working hard enough, though I already planned this cruise would be different." He sobered, his gaze sweeping her. "Yet God knows I hadn't expected you—"
"So perhaps you're the one harboring illusions if you think no one will be encouraged by such a sum to sail against you. Just because you're known as the Phoenix doesn't make you, or your men, immortal!"
For a moment Lindsay didn't know what Jared was going to do, he was staring at her with such intensity, his blue eyes darkened to a violent hue. She was astonished when he smiled, not grimly as before, but with a calm assurance that chilled her.
"Let them come. It's never been a matter of immortality, but whose ship was swifter. And so far, the Vengeance has always won."
She didn't get a chance to reply, even if she had wanted to, for Jared had pulled open the door. She took a step back when she saw Dag haul himself up off a chair, and she blushed with fresh remorse that the Norwegian's ruddy, bearded face was etched with concern. She threw him the smallest of reassuring smiles but jumped when Jared lashed out at her, his voice filled with irritation.
"Get dressed, Lindsay. I don't want you catching cold, not after I went through such great pains to warm you."
"Oh, yes, you went through pains," she retorted as the door swung shut in her face. "Ripped my clothes to shreds, nearly roasted me to death in front of that stove, wrapped me in so many blankets I almost broke my leg—!"
Sighing with utter exasperation when she realized she'd been shouting at the top of her lungs, Lindsay wondered what Corisande would have thought of such a harangue. It certainly wasn't like her at all, but Jared seemed to be bringing out the very worst in her.
Which made her wonder, too, if he might be purposely goading her. He had said he wanted her to think the worst of him, and she wasn't finding that request at all difficult to oblige. But at the risk of her becoming a veritable shrew, her stomach in knots, her face aflame, her head aching, her hands shaking?
No, that wasn't going to do, it simply wasn't. Obviously if an escape wasn't imminent—and she certainly intended to take full advantage of the next plausible opportunity—at least she had found herself embroiled in more adventure than she had ever bargained for. Why not attempt to enjoy it?
Smiling to herself, Lindsay began slowly to relax as she glanced at the garment tossed upon the bed.
A man's breeches. Now, that was something new. Something unexpected and not a little daring.
And she supposed she could make her Spartan surroundings a bit more livable with a little feminine ingenuity. Humming now, she dropped the blanket and strolled to the bed.
Oh, no, she wasn't going to think the worst of him. She wasn't going to trouble herself about Jared Giles or the Phoenix, pirate or privateer or traitor, at all.
***
"The prisoner says she'd like to come up for a breath of fresh air, Cap'n."
Jared turned from the railing, an incredulous laugh escaping him as he met Cooky's squinting eyes. The old sailor had spent so much time in shadowy galleys among his pots and pans that daylight was almost too much for him to bear, much like a mole, but he'd obviously thought it important enough to surface this bright, sunny morning.
"She what?"
"Wants a bit of fresh air. I went to fetch her breakfast tray—she ate everything I'd brought her, eggs and fried kippers and two helpings of toast and jam—"
"A good thing we took on fresh stores in Sussex," Jared broke in dryly, though Cooky hastened on.
"Well, Cap'n, she thanked me very kindly, said it was the finest breakfast she'd ever tasted and then asked if I might find you and tell you—"
"And I say you go back to my quarters and tell her that she'll have to do without a morning constitutional. She's not on a blasted pleasure cruise."
"I don't see any harm in it, Jared."
He threw a dark glance at Walker while Cooky looked on uncertainly, the sailor lifting a wrinkled hand to shield his pale eyes.
"Have you forgotten we're hunting for fresh quarry?"
"No, but we haven't seen any ships yet. If we do and we attack, it'll be hours before she'll have a chance to leave the cabin, maybe longer." Walker's gaze was piercing. "Or do you plan to just leave her down there and pretend she doesn't exist?"
Jared didn't answer, but waved Cooky away. As the sailor shrugged his scrawny shoulders and turned to go, shaking his head, Walker sighed heavily.
"Dammit, Jared, she's barely more than a girl. I know you haven't forgotten how it felt to be confined in a wretched cell and neither have I—"
"That was for three bloody years, not a single day, and I say she stays. She's disrupted things enough as it is—look at the lot of you! Dag refuses to let another man guard her door; Cowan asked after her welfare the moment I left the cabin last night. By God, Cooky even ventured out of the hold on her behalf, and now my second-
in-command—"
"And what of you, Jared? You're ranting about a simple request as if she'd demanded that we squire her back to London under full sail and turn ourselves over to the Crown!"
Cursing under his breath, Jared scowled at Walker, but the American didn't blink, staring right back as if daring him to deny his charge.
Which, of course, Jared couldn't. He was ranting and raving and acting unreasonably; he knew it. And if Walker could see it so clearly, what of the rest of his men?
"Cooky!"
His roar making more heads turn than the grizzled cook's, Jared lowered his voice, but not by much.
"Tell Dag to escort the prisoner to the quarterdeck."
"Aye, Cap'n!"
Stunned by the gap-toothed smile splitting Cooky's face as the old sailor disappeared into the hold, Jared groaned to himself.
Was the chit planning to cast her spell over every man jack aboard? It was bad enough that he couldn't seem to free his mind of her, what little sleep he'd gotten in Cowan's bunk—his first mate having graciously given up his cabin to sleep in the crew's quarters—plagued by scorching dreams of an entirely carnal nature.
He wished now that he had availed himself more often of Della's generous charms, or those of some other willing wench, but none had appealed after he laid eyes on Lindsay. And if she hadn't been a blasted innocent, he would have kissed those beautiful breasts by now and buried himself in her dusky woman's curls, in the heat of her, the scent of her—
"A guinea for your thoughts."
Jared bristled at Walker's wry smile, but made himself look out to sea at the sunlight glinting off the water. Better that than say something he might regret. Long, silent moments passed while he stewed, frowning.
Blast and damnation, Walker had been right. Confining Lindsay to his quarters and pretending she didn't exist was a lot easier than dealing with this devilish lust.
But obviously his men wanted none of that, the ridiculous chit having charmed even his next in command into championing her cause. If he didn't keep himself and his crew well occupied, before long she'd have them so twisted around her fingers that the Vengeance would more resemble Cleopatra's barge drifting down the Nile, with them indulging her every beck and call, than a ship of war!
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