by Jayla Jasso
He sighed, his expression soft and mirthful. “The captain must go to work, querida. But if you desire, we will continue this later tonight.” He bent to kiss her lips softly.
When he pulled back, she focused on his ocean-blue irises for a wonderful moment before he rose to leave. As he walked away, her gaze slid down over his hips and legs clothed in black leather trousers and boots, then back up over the fullness of his shirt blousing over the waistband. He opened the door, looked back and gave her a wink, and then was gone.
Jolie squeezed her eyes shut and fought the urge to squeal with joy.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
“Puck gave Bottom a donkey’s head. And when the beautiful Fairy-Queen Titania awakened, the nectar on her eyes made her see Bottom the donkey as handsome, and what do you think? She fell madly in love with him.” Jolie finished sketching Titania as Joaquin gazed intently down at the parchment on the rug between them where they sat.
“This is what she probably looked like, with her beautiful wings... And she is embracing Bottom, with his ridiculous donkey head! Isn’t that funny?”
Joaquin giggled and nodded. “What happen then?”
“What happened then is that the Queen of the Fairies appointed the other fairies—Peaseblossom, Cobweb, Mote, and Mustardseed—to pamper Bottom and see to his every wish, and he accompanied the queen to her forest hideaway.”
“Is that the end?”
“Oh, no. There is much more. But now you tell me, who changed Bottom into a donkey?”
“The Fairy…Puck.”
“Yes, good,” Jolie smiled. “And what was the name of the Fairy Queen?”
“Titania,” he supplied.
“You have a good memory, Joaquin!”
A light knock sounded at the door. The door opened and Captain Marcano’s face appeared from behind it before he strode in.
Jolie smiled at him, unable to quell the blush that rose in her cheeks. She hadn’t seen him all day, but he had certainly been the chief subject of her thoughts. He’d sent Joaquin to her cabin numerous times throughout the morning to ask if she needed anything—more tea, hot water, a clean towel. Now he stood before her at last, gazing down at her with a decidedly pleased expression.
“I did not intend to interrupt your lessons.” He smiled.
“Oh, no, it’s all right.”
“Joaquin, go down to the galley and fetch Jolie’s supper.”
The boy scrambled to his feet and left them alone.
Jolie sat still on the rug, staring up at him, noting for the umpteenth time how handsomely the whiteness of his shirt contrasted with his tanned olive skin and ebony hair. He moved forward and lowered himself to the rug beside her. He lay on his side and propped his upper body up on one elbow. From this position, he inspected her drawings for several seconds while Jolie watched him from beneath her lashes.
He pointed at Titania. “Who is this?”
Jolie regarded him self-consciously, a faint smile at her lips. “It’s the Fairy Queen Titania from Midsummer Night’s Dream.”
“I see. Very nice drawing. And this one?” He pointed at the man with the donkey’s head.
“Bottom, the weaver. Puck changed him into a…” Her mouth was going dry for some reason, and she was having trouble focusing. “…a donkey.”
Marcano’s gaze traveled over her face and down to the neckline of the yellow day gown dotted with lilac flowers she wore. Jolie glanced down. Her breasts were bulging slightly over the top, and when she looked back up, he was openly staring at them.
He cleared his throat and looked down at the sketch. “She looks to be kissing him. This must have been a very interesting story, indeed.” He grinned at her, his eyes shining mischievously. “I wish I could have heard you tell it.”
Jolie smiled and looked down to pick at a thread in the rug.
“I wish I could stay and dine with you, Jolie,” he said after a moment, “but we are only a half hour’s time from docking in Kingston. As soon as we arrive I must go after the stolen cargo using the letter you wrote for me.”
“What if they can see it’s forged?”
“Let us pray they do not.”
She frowned. “Could you be in danger?”
“Every day at sea I am in danger, querida. This is nothing out of the ordinary.”
“Well, how long do you think it will take to get the cargo back?”
“If all goes well, not long. I would like to speak with you about something later tonight.”
His words sent a pleasant tingle dancing along Jolie’s spine. If they talked, she might be able to muster the courage to tell him how much she loved him and find out if he was beginning to feel the same way.
Someone knocked on the door.
Marcano rose to his feet in a lithe movement. “Adelante.”
Joaquin strode in with her supper tray and set it on the table, then turned to the captain for further instructions.
“Joaquin, I will be going ashore as soon as we reach port. You are strictly charged with the safety and care of this young lady.”
Joaquin straightened his shoulders. “Yes, sir.”
Jolie rose to her feet, reluctant to see Marcano go. He regarded her with gentleness in his eyes. “I will return soon, querida. Never fear.”
She nodded, and he turned to leave. At the door, he glanced back at her and grinned. “Until later tonight.”
The door closed behind him. Jolie stared at it a moment, then turned around to find Joaquin standing near the table eyeing her with a look of amazement. She looked down, cleared her throat and moved to the table, then seated herself, folding her hands in her lap.
Joaquin was still scrutinizing her face intently.
“What?” she grinned.
“He call you querida,” the boy said.
Jolie shifted in her seat. “Yes. He did. Why is that—what does that word mean in English?”
“My love.”
Jolie’s smile widened. “Well, that’s all right with me. Is it all right with you?”
“You love him too?”
“Well, I—yes, I believe I do.”
Joaquin sat down in the chair opposite her. “Then is fine with me. I mean, it is fine with me.”
“I’m glad you approve, my little man.” She giggled and reached for a hunk of bread.
“Captain Marcano like a father for me. I always hope he find good wife.”
“Well, let’s not be too hasty; I mean, he hasn’t asked me to marry him or anything.”
“I can see in his eyes, he has strong feeling for you, Señorita,” Joaquin insisted. “I never see that look in his eye before.”
“Really?” She stuffed a large bite of bread into her mouth, but couldn’t stop another massive grin from spreading across her face, and they sat chuckling at each other for several seconds while she tried to chew. She finally managed to swallow the bread to speak. “Well, let’s not talk of it any longer. I am afraid that if I become too sure of myself something bad will happen.”
Joaquin shook his head, still giggling at her antics.
Jolie grinned and pushed the bread plate toward him. “Eat some bread and stop laughing at me, will you? And did you get the map, by chance?”
“Yes.” He pulled it out from where it was tucked into his waistband in back, under his shirt. “Señor Guillarte never suspect a thing.”
Jolie unrolled it and examined it for a moment. “Perfect.”
#
The warehouse rose three stories above the dark street across from where Captain Marcano and his men stood hidden in the shadows. Marcano scanned the exterior of the large building, touching the pocket of his gold-trimmed officer’s coat for the umpteenth time to ensure the letter was there.
“Captain, are you certain this is the place?” Guillarte whispered.
“This is it. Everyone listen.”
His men leaned in closer.
“Guillarte and I will go to the door. Trujillo is in charge. Stay out of sight. Do not make
a move under any circumstances unless I or Lieutenant Guillarte give the signal. Understood?”
They nodded. “Aye, Captain.” Trujillo motioned his men into the dark alley nearby.
Marcano glanced at Guillarte, who gave him a quick nod. They placed their feathered tricorns on their heads and walked together across the street, up to the small door at the side of the warehouse. Marcano made eye contact with his first mate one last time before rapping on the door.
They waited, but there was no response.
Marcano scanned the windows above. “Surely they don’t leave the warehouse unattended at night,” he whispered.
Guillarte shrugged as the captain knocked again, louder.
A small window in the door flew open, causing the two Spaniards to jump. A plump, ruddy face appeared, the glow of a lantern illuminating his bushy gray eyebrows as the fellow eyed them suspiciously. “Wot?”
Marcano cleared his throat. “Ah, yes, sir, we are here to pick up the silks and coins bound for England.”
“Hah?” The doorman moved his lantern a little higher, trying to get a better look at them through the small window. “Wot’s that you say?”
“The Earl of Surrey has commissioned us to carry the cargo of silks and coins to England for him, sir,” Marcano explained.
“Two Spaniards? Sent by the Earl?” The bushy eyebrows knit together in a frown. “And you’re expecting me to believe this rubbish?”
“I have a letter of commission from the Earl.” Marcano reached up to put his hand into his jacket, but the Englishman jabbed a large pistol through the window, leveled it at Marcano’s face, and cocked it. Marcano froze and raised his hands in the air, as did Guillarte.
“Sir, I assure you, we am unarmed—there is no cause for alarm.”
“We’ll be the judge of that,” the man bellowed, slamming his little window shut. The door swung open; two impossibly gigantic men filed out and promptly searched Marcano and Guillarte for weapons. One of them withdrew the letter from Marcano’s jacket and held it up.
“Give it ’ere, Timmons,” the warehouse keeper barked, and the henchman handed it to him. The keeper tucked his pistol into the back of his waistband in order to unroll the parchment. While he read it, the guards blocked the door, folded their arms across their broad chests, and eyed the Spaniards distrustfully.
Marcano and Guillarte exchanged glances.
“Bah,” the Englishman snorted. “I don’t believe this letter for one bleeding minute. You Spanish villains are going to be hung for this, forging a letter, pretending to be working for the bloody Earl of Surrey.”
“No, look—” Marcano protested, but the guards seized him and Guillarte by the arms, nearly lifting their booted feet up from the ground.
“Unhand them this instant, you mannerless barbarians!” a feminine voice pierced the night’s calm, in a high-handed and commanding tone.
Without releasing Marcano and his first mate, the guards turned their heads to stare at the young woman who was charging toward them with a boy at her heels.
Marcano’s jaw dropped as he registered that it was Jolie marching up, dressed in the rich burgundy silk gown, her chin haughtily aloft. Her lips were taut, her expression indignant, her brown eyes flashing. She glared up at the two guards, then at the startled keeper.
“I demand an explanation, and be quick about it, sir. What is your name?” she demanded.
The keeper blinked, speechless.
Without moving his head, Marcano glanced sideways across the street toward the shadows, lifting a finger slightly to warn Trujillo to hold.
“All right,” Jolie snapped when the man made no reply. “Write that down, Joaquin. Father will be very interested to know this blackguard refused to give me his name.”
Joaquin scribbled furiously on a scrap of parchment paper he held in his hand.
The keeper frowned in confusion. “What is the meaning of this? Who’re you?”
“I came here to ask the same of you, sir. What do you mean to accomplish by abusing my captain and my crew? My father won’t be pleased about this at all—no, no, no.” She folded her arms and pursed her lips, shaking her head.
“And may I ask, miss, who your father is?”
Marcano’s gaze shifted from the keeper’s face to Jolie’s, awaiting her response, his heart pounding in his chest. Had she lost her ever-loving mind?
“Yes, you may, you ill-mannered lout. His name is Malcolm Henry Howard the Third, Earl of Surrey to you, sir. And I’ll thank you to address me as ‘Your Ladyship.’” She turned again to Joaquin, ignoring Marcano’s incredulous stare. “Write that down, Joaquin. He addressed me as ‘miss.’”
“Look ’ere, young lady—”
“Be quiet!” Jolie screeched, causing Marcano to flinch. “I’ve had quite enough of your ill-bred savagery. Now unhand the captain of my cargo ship before I truly lose my temper, sir. My father will have your head!”
All the men, English and Spanish alike, stared at her. She stepped up to the monster of a man who held Marcano practically aloft, his huge fists encircling Marcano’s upper arms.
“Release him, you addle-pated fool!”
The guard dropped Marcano to his feet. His knees buckled a bit, but he quickly regained his balance, rubbing his arm where the gunshot-wounded area ached from being gripped by the guard, and regarded the crazed girl irritably.
Jolie glared up at the guard. “What is your name, pray tell?”
“Timmons, milady. Thomas Timmons.”
“Thomas Timmons,” Jolie repeated to Joaquin. “Put down that Mr. Timmons was the first to show some manners.”
As Joaquin scribbled, she turned her furious gaze on the other guard. He released Guillarte and bowed slightly. “Samuel Bright, Milady.”
“Very good.” Jolie turned back to the keeper. “And you, sir? Have you the bollocks to give me your name so that I may report to my father of your treatment of us?”
“My dear Lady—er, Howard,” the man said cautiously. “How were we to know that these here Spaniards were hired by the kind earl? An English nobleman hiring Spaniards is, well, extremely rare in these parts.”
“Oh, and I suppose you will claim to be unaware that the Spanish are the least costly, most experienced sailors available in the Atlantic? My father, whose business sense is exceeded only by his impatience, will never hire an English crew again after what happened the last time. Fools lost their way, shipwrecked on a little-known island north of Trinidad, and the entire crew was found three months later with all the flesh picked off their bones by scavengers.”
The keeper stared at her.
“No, my dear man, Father insists upon hiring only Spaniards now.” She flashed a glance at Marcano, who shot her an angry glare in return. “Didn’t they show you their papers?”
The warehouse keeper glanced down at the rolled parchment in his hand. “Well, yes, Your Ladyship, but—”
“And seeing this, you refused us? You roughly handled my poor, unarmed crew and frightened my servant boy.” She hugged Joaquin’s head to her hip.
Guard Timmons piped up. “We didn’t mean to handle ’em roughly, milady, or scare the boy.”
Marcano broke in stiffly. “We were not injured, Your Ladyship.”
“Father won’t be pleased, nonetheless,” Jolie asserted. “Before I left, he assured me that the warehouse keeper here in Kingston was one of Britain’s finest, that I wouldn’t have a bit of trouble retrieving the silks and coins you were so kindly holding for us.”
“Oh, yes. Surely we can repair any damage we’ve caused, Lady Howard,” the warehouse keeper said quickly, smiling. “Perhaps it won’t be necessary to inform the earl of our little misunderstanding, eh?”
“I don’t know about that, sir. The earl is a perfectionist, you see; he likes to know exactly what sort of English privateers are representing His Majesty here in the Indies. When I told him of that rude fellow in San Juan—” She broke off, shuddering visibly. “He was so upset he shot his
prized stuffed badger off the fireplace mantel.”
“Now, now, Your Ladyship.” The warehouse keeper sidled closer to Jolie carefully. Marcano stood poised for action should he make a false move and glanced in Trujillo’s direction again.
“We’ll do everything in our power to see that you get your cargo nice and quick. We’ll even help you load it. I believe I can throw in a couple of barrels of gold Jamaican rum for the kind earl, perhaps a couple of rubies we snatched from a vessel coming back from the Spanish Main?”
“Joaquin,” Jolie called out, and the boy snapped to attention. “Put down that the warehouse keeper did cooperate very nicely after I fully explained the situation to him. Yes, put that down, and say that he turned out to be quite polite”—here she paused to smile charmingly at the man—“once we got to know him better.”
The warehouse keeper blushed and grinned at her sheepishly.
“And what was your name, sir?”
“George Harding, Your Ladyship,” the man supplied. He clutched Marcano’s letter to his heart and peered down at Joaquin as the boy scribbled on his parchment. “H-a-r-d-i-n-g. At the Earl’s service.”
“Hmm, well,” Jolie murmured. “We shall see, sir, we shall see. Now, I trust that I can turn everything over to my captain here, and things will go more smoothly from here on out?”
“I am your servant, milady,” the man vowed.
“Good man. Joaquin, escort me back to the ship, dear boy.”
Marcano stepped in front of her, halting her. “Wouldn’t Her Ladyship prefer an adult escort? It is getting very late.”
“Thank you, Captain, but we can take care of ourselves.” With that, she glided past Marcano, Joaquin at her heels.
Marcano turned back to the warehouse keeper with a taut smile. “Charming, isn’t she?”
“I can’t believe the earl allows her to go out to sea,” the warehouse keeper muttered, shaking his head.
Marcano’s jaw tightened. “Yes, I can hardly believe it either.”