"I definitely agree," she said, glancing up at Dane. The smoldering look that passed between the couple made men squirm in their seats. "So —what do you have to say for yourself, O'Keefe? This time?" she stressed.
Ram laced his fingers behind his back, looking at the floor. "I fear I've no defense, lass."
"Forget it, Ram. The little-boy act doesn't cut it. Fess up."
Ram grinned, adoring her honest retorts. "If you must know, I've a wedding gift—for Dane." Ramsey
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braced the package on the chair, carefully removing the strings.
"If you believe this will soften my anger, O'Keefe-"
She dug her elbow into Dane's side. "Be nice. It's our first wedding gift. And I'll soften your anger," she promised out of the side of her mouth, her gaze on the present.
Ramsey drew the cloth away.
Tess sucked in her breath and stumbled back against Dane, an icy chill snapping down her spine.
Propped on the rustic chair before her was the sole reason she was in this century.
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CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
The portrait. The same painting she saw in the Rothmere Building, Tess realized, the night she stole the diamonds. And the woman in green was her!
"Ahh, Ramsey. Tis beautiful," Dane said, unaware of her reaction. "The likeness is amazing." Men shuffled, craning their necks for a better look.
As if in a trance, Tess stepped closer, extending a hand.
"Nay, Tess," Ramsey said, gently blocking her touch. " 'Tis still wet."
Her arm fell slowly to her side, her eyes scanning the portrait. She'd forgotten all about it.
" 'Tis a first, I believe, gentlemen," Ramsey laughingly addressed the group. "The lass is utterly speechless."
No response from Tess.
Dane and Ram exchanged puzzled looks.
"Tess?"
Dane's hand touched her shoulder, and she flinched violently, whirling about. She looked like a startled animal, gray eyes round, blank, staring straight through him. Then slowly she focused, her features softening as she was, it seemed, drawn
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back into the room with him.
Dane glanced briefly past her to the roomful of men, then said, "What ails you, love?" and gently pulled her from earshot.
"I've seen that painting before, Dane." She gripped his biceps. "In my time. The night I stole the diamonds."
Dane's skin prickled with cold, his features pulling taut. His gaze shot to the painting as if trying to see beyond the heavy oils, then to Tess and back again to the canvas. His eyes went sharp and narrow; Tess could see his mind clicking the facts into place. His smile nearly lit the room when he returned his gaze to her.
"Did I not say you were destined to be here?" he whispered, slipping his arms about her and pressing her soft curves to his body.
"That sounds suspiciously like an I told you so.'" A black brow rose slowly, his clear pale eyes daring her to contradict him. God, he was male arrogance supreme. And she decided it was best to ignore it. "You know, I was just as shocked then." She rubbed the fabric covering his arms, wondering how a gift from Ramsey to Dane ended up in the hands of a jackass like Phalon Rothmere. "That" she nodded to the painting—"is the only reason I was seen and forced to run."
"To me." His smile broadened.
She sighed with mock tiredness. "Have it your way, Blackwell."
"Be most assured, Blackwell, I usually do." He kissed her, a hard press of his mouth and tongue,
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swift and full of possession, then looked over the top of her head. "Thank you, Ram," he said sincerely. " 'Tis a gift I will cherish."
"My pleasure." Ram bowed slightly to his friend.
Tess turned in Dane's arms, leaning back against her husband. "Thanks, Ramsey." She examined the painting. The^image had a sensual quality, soft and mysterious, her gown molded to her by the breeze, the ocean's mist surrounding her bare feet. "Aside from being truly flattered, you'll never know how much this — " Her gaze dropped to the signature. "You painted this?" she burst incredulously.
"I am offended, Tess," he said, straightening his waistcoat and lifting his chin with an injured air. "One would assume by your tone you believe all my talents lie in — "
"Your breeches," she finished with a cocky grin. Masculine laughter filled the kitchen.
"Ann, the sharp tongue of a wife," Ram chuckled, settling his rear against the table ledge and folding his arms. " 'Tis most fortunate 'tis you who must suffer the barbs, Dane, and not I." His smile was sad, a touch envious, and no matter what he spoke, Ram's eyes mirrored his emotions. Dane recognized the hollow ache, for he'd seen it in his own reflection these past years.
The danger and adventure were losing their appeal, the constant defense to the death robbing a man of his more tender feelings. Ram thirsted for something closer to the heart and was fain to forgo his rakehell existence to discover women—beyond the pleasures of his bed. After five and thirty years,
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that the secret to capture this still escaped Ramsey's grasp was eating him alive. Dane looked to the canvas. The man had rele'ased his heart in the work; it showed in the tender strokes of the brush. Dane had been ready to love when Tess swept into his life, and now 'twas Ramsey's turn. He need only find a lass willing to endure that lusty arrogance. Or, Dane thought with a half smile, gently set it in its place.
" Twas bloody near brimming, Dane, every frig-gin' crate bearing the markings of French, Spanish, English, and American imports. Christ, even the Portuguese have been attacked!"
"Calm down, Ram, we'll get him." Tess patted his shoulder, then leaned over to pour him some more rum. "There's no use in getting your garters in a twist over things you can't change," He made a face at her theory. "Yet."
Dane followed the gentle sway of her hips as she moved toward the kitchen to check on something she called a "pizza." She was certain they'd all love it, yet swore each officer to secrecy. Dane understood 'twas not a family secret, but that Tess had no desire to change history. All Dane knew was that the aroma wafting from the kitchen was heavenly.
"Chow's on," she called out as she entered the parlor, Higa-san and Duncan trailing behind her, each carrying a platter. She set the trays on the table, then arranged napkins and flatware. The officers stared at the red mess on bread dough, cautiously glancing at Dane. It looked repulsive, Dane had to admit, but would not dream of insulting her.
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Her flour-dusted appearance spoke the difficulty she'd undergone to prepare the—the—pie?
"Ohh, Jeez, you big babies," she said when no one made a move. She snatched up a slice and slid it onto a plate. Then, to Dane's horror, she picked it up with her* fingers — something she never did— and chomped into it. Her eyes closed, and she smiled, cheeks bulging. "You don't know what you're missing," she said around the pizza, then chewed. Dane followed suit. His brows shot high into his forehead at the first sample.
"I thought you said you could not cook?" he reminded her after swallowing the first bite.
"I said without electricity," she whispered behind a napkin. "I lived alone, Dane, for over nine years. I had to learn for myself."
Tess served up another slice, then held the plate out to Ramsey. The dare was clear.
He groaned, settling into a chair and obediently taking a bite. His eyes widened, his tongue snaking out to catch the sauce.
" Tis utterly sinful, lass," he mumbled.
"Well, you ought to know all about that," she returned tartly, and he winked at her.
Gaelan moved forward, the remaining men following their captain, assuming if he were still standing, 'twas fine enough.
Tess nodded to the fountaining praise as men devoured slice after slice. She'd worked hard all afternoon, peeling tomatoes for sauce, begging Higa-san for spices, slicing vegetables, pounding the hell out of dough, and even conceding to adding sausage to
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/>
the pizzas, Duncan insisted it needed meat. It was the cheese she had to substitute, but whatever kind it was, did the job. It snapped and dripped like mozzarella, though the taste was a bit sharper.
Plates in hand, Dane and Ramsey moved to the low table before the sofa, examining the map. "We can set charges here, and here," Ramsey's finger left a stain. "The office is here." Another stain and he licked his fingertip, then blindly reached for another slice. Tess slapped his hand, then, having gained his attention, gestured for his plate. He looked like a little boy asking for another cookie.
"Are we to blow it up, sir, all of it?" Gaelan was clearly astonished.
"I see no other choice. We are not to let the goods be sold for profit. Nor traded for weapons."
"I can't believe you have to waste all those supplies. Just think of the people it would help," Tess said, handing Ramsey the pizza.
Dane glanced up, his gaze slipping over her from head to toe. "I sympathize with you, love. But 'tis all or naught. We cannot take on so much cargo. Escape would be far too risky if we are below the water line. The Witch is fast, but not if her pursuers are riding high."
"There's got to be a way." Tess settled her hip on the arm of the couch, leaning down to look at the map. "Look, station men forward and port." She pointed to the front and side doors. "One man cracks the locks, lets the others in from inside, and have a bucket brigade to carts outside." She pointed out the route, then leaned back, her hand braced
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on the sofa back. "It's on the docks and the Triton is already there or the Witch could easily slither up to the pier. High tide's at two bells; that should be enough time. Load what you can afford as ballast, then torch the place."
She was learning, Dane thought, smiling at her use of nautical terms. "I cannot involve anyone else beyond Ram."
"Aye, and I nearly had to bludgeon the sot to be
included."
"This mission was for all of them, Dane. The creep who killed your sister is your problem." A rumble of agreement rounded the parlor, and Dane shot Tess a look of annoyance. "Don't look at me like that. It's not like you don't have enough trained men, and I'd bet the farm they'll be there whether you order it or not."
Ram grinned. "Your wife is right, Dane."
"I know, blast it all!"
Tess slipped onto his lap. "The plan's not perfect,
but-"
"Do you propose to destroy it with my men inside?"
She shoved at his chest. "Be nice to me. I sleep with you," she threatened, and the room burst with deep chuckles. "You can set off a charge from outside." Dane frowned, shifting her from his lap, clearly interested in what she had to offer. "Roll a keg or two of gunpowder in, then toss in a Molotov cocktail."
"What the ruddy hell is that?" Ramsey asked. "It's a bottle filled with something ignitable, like
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lamp oil or a high proof of liquor, and a rag stuck in the neck, just enough to soak up a little of the liquid. That stuff—"she pointed to the bottle of black rum —"ought to do the trick. You light it, toss it in, and when the bottle breaks—kaboom."
"And it will ignite the gunpowder," Dane finished, relaxing back into the sofa and pulling her with him.
"Or catch anything on fire. You can place the remaining crates near the gunpowder, set off the crate, and wait for them to catch the powder that way, too. It's difficult to time, of course, but we can do the job without much noise. Or you can set a fuse. Kegs inside, long line of thin rope to the outside, but you risk the chance of the fuse burning out on its own."
Dane rubbed his chin thoughtfully, then glanced to his side. "This just came to you?"
"No." She pinched him. "I've been thinking about it since I first saw the floor plan."
He looked down at the woman nestled close to his side. "I believe mayhaps we would have won the war years earlier if you were on our side, love."
"I want to go."
"You cannot."
"Give me one solid reason?**
Dane's lips tightened. "Because I do not want you there."
"Not good enough, Blackwell." She folded her arms over her breasts, which served only to force the abundant flesh nearly free from captivity. Dane
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averted his gaze. She'd no idea of the sensual picture she presented.
"Tess, love."
"Don't you dare use that with me now, pirate. I'm going!" She started to take off her gown. Dane glanced up, elementarily entranced by the sight of her shimming out of the dress and the bare leg she exposed.
"You know I can help. I can bust the locks." "Your expertise as a thief is not required," he
nearly snarled, priming his weapons, then sending a
shot home.
"Sarcasm doesn't become you, Dane," She marched over to the dresser, pulling her black cotton Lycra suit from the drawer.
He grabbed it, tossing it aside. "Nay! You are my wife, Tess, and I order you to stay here!"
Her head turned slowly, her eyes piercing and sharp. "Excuse me?" "I forbid you to leave this room." "You forbid, you forbid," she repeated softly, the storm brewing. "Listen up, Blackwell. I won't be treated like some possession! Ordered? Hah!" She thumped his chest. "You've got a rude awakening coming, buddy, if you think you can talk to me like that! I am my own boss. No one, no one, tells me what to do! Just because we're married doesn't give you the right to take over my life whenever you damn well please." God, she was glorious in her rage, Dane thought as she yanked on his shirt, pulling him down to meet her face. "If you want one of those milquetoast wives who wait around for a man
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to tell them what to do and where to go, give the right response, stand at the door with pipe and slippers, you, Captain Blackwell, married the wrong woman.'
Dane knew exactly what kind of woman lie married. Just as he knew he couldn't win this argument now. He was pressed for time. "I cannot complete this mission if I am constantly worried for your safety."
"And what the hell am I supposed to do? Twiddle my thumbs?"
"You could wait for me."
The idea was not high on her list.
"I could go along, too."
"God's teeth. Will you never give in on this?"
"Will you?"
"Ughhh! Blast you, woman!" he raged at the ceiling, then stormed to the door, jackboots thumping. He paused, his back to her, his hand on the latch. "I love you, Tess. More than my own life."
His shoulders slumped when she did not respond. He opened the door and ordered the guards to allow no one to pass, then glanced back over his shoulder. The raw pain in her eyes ripped him apart. But he had to do this for her own good and his. He quietly stepped out.
Through the red haze of anger, Tess reached for the black bodysuit.
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Hanging on the outside of the sill, Tess looked once more toward the door. She knew Sikes stood on the other side, his burly form blocking her path, She'd done everything just short of sexual favors to get past. Sweet talk didnt work on the Marines this time. Damn you, Dane! She wouldn't have to resort to this if he'd listened to reason. She'd been in on everything since the beginning and wasn't about to be excluded now, whether he liked it or not. Hell, they'd still be sitting in the living room wondering how to get out of this mess if not for her!
She glanced back over her shoulder, then pushed off, twisting sharply, her arms outstretched to catch the tree limb. She met the mark and instantly tightened her muscles, trying hard not to sway. The branch groaned, leaves rustled, and she released, dropping to the ground and crouching into the shadows. The guard posted at the corner of the house twisted at the soft sound, peering in her direction. Crap, she thought, holding her breath as he started walking. He moved closer, and she tried not
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to burp or something as vile and give her position away. But he walked right past. She rose slowly, grabbing a handful of soft -earth as she straightened, smearing it "on
her face, then wiping her hands on the seat of her tattered breeches. She scanned the area, then took off in a run toward the docks, lock picks jammed down the tight lycra sleeve concealed beneath her husband's shirt, bare feet padding silently against the deserted road.
Continental Marines with their musket barrels pointed in all directions guarded the street like a pinwheel of firepower as carts rolled slowly away from Whittingham's warehouse and down the pier. Cloth had been wrapped around the wheels to muffle any noise, goose grease soothing any squeaks. Armed men were posted at strategic spots, ready to give the signal if the others were heard or if anyone should approach. Laughter and boisterous song from a nearby tavern drifted on the humid breeze. Waves gently sloshed against the stone embankment, a calming familiar sound to nerves yanked tight as rigging.
Dane hefted a crate onto his back, his stride slow and cautious. Sweat trickled down his temples, muscles straining to hand over the wooden box as quietly as possible.
"Careful, Dane, your bride will be in a fit if you injure something essential." Ramsey grinned, white teeth flashing in the dark.
"My bride is in a fit now," he muttered softly. And no doubt ready to claw my eyes from my skull,
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Dane thought, the look on her face repeating in his mind with annoying clarity. He would make it up to her, of course, if she chose to speak with him again. "Where have you been for the past hour?" Dane asked suspiciously, his hands on his hips. Rani's expression was mischievous, as usual, "Forget the inquiry," Dane waved before he could answer. "I do not believe I wish to know." He then went for another box.
The last of the crates for ballast were loaded onto the Triton when Gaelan signaled for the kegs of gunpowder. It took two men to carry in each of the four squat barrels. The ignitable dust was uncorked—Dane chose to do this himself—and he poured small piles on the remaining crates, then left the opened kegs near the largest and most costly containers of spirits and silks and spices. Ramsey blocked his path as he went for the crate of Tess's "cocktails."
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