by Gaelen Foley
“No matter,” she said with an airy wave of her hand, dismissing the topic as though she did not wish to make her guests uncomfortable. “It’s of no concern to me if you help the rebels. Frankly, I hope they win, though Papa insists that science is neutral.”
“Nobody said anything about helping the rebels, Miss Farraday. We’re here on business,” Trahern corrected her with a charming smile, still mistaking her, Jack suspected, for a female who could be managed. “We do a large trade in tropical hardwoods, you see. We merely came to collect those trees you might have noticed on the barge.”
“Ah, yes. About those trees.” She sent Jack a questioning glance that expressed her well-founded skepticism that the head of Knight Enterprises should have come in person to collect a mere haul of timber, but she did not press the matter, shrugging it off with the noblesse of a Town hostess. Jack watched her, fascinated. But as she wiped the corners of her mouth daintily with her fingertips, he realized this new subject proved no safer.
“I saw they’re mostly rosewoods and mahoganies,” she said, “but I noticed a few zebrawoods among them, and I do hope you didn’t cut too many of them down.”
“We didn’t cut down any of the trees, Miss Farraday,” Trahern said. “We bought them from a local dealer.”
“Yes, but they are so very rare, you know. The zebrawood takes fifty years to reach maturity. If too many are cut at one time, the groves cannot replenish themselves.”
“Their rarity is what makes them so valuable, Miss Farraday,” Jack spoke up in a cynical tone, irked by a fraction at her chiding. “The fine furniture-makers of London will pay handsomely for them.”
“London?” she breathed, coming away from the post all of a sudden. Her eyes widened as she took a step closer. “Is that where you’re headed to next?”
He nodded. “Why do you ask?”
She stared at him intensely, then bent her head, as though growing tongue-tied all of a sudden.
He lifted his eyebrow. “Is something wrong, Miss Farraday?”
“Oh—no. I-it’s nothing, it’s just I—have so often wished that I could go there.”
“To London?” he drawled. “Whatever for? The weather is cold and so are the people.”
She lifted her astonished gaze to his. “No, they’re not!”
“Of course they are. ’Tis a miserable place. I’m only going ’cos I have to.” His tone was idle, but he was speaking more candidly than she might have known.
“Why do you have to?” she demanded.
“Got to get rid of those trees, o’ course.” He could not resist teasing her a little. It wasn’t as though he could tell her the truth. “God knows, if Prinny gets a zebrawood table, so must every hostess in the ton have one to grace the entrance hall.”
His jaded words roused a chuckle from Trahern, but Miss Farraday did not look at all amused.
“I’m sure they’re not as bad as you say.”
“No, indeed, they’re worse,” Jack murmured, his eyes dancing with his newfound sport of baiting her. “Pompous, idle. Trust me, love. I know that lot like the back of my hand. My elder brother is a duke, after all. Trahern, maybe Hawkscliffe’s duchess would like a zebrawood table, what do you think?”
“Charge him double.”
Jack laughed, then winced as pineapple juice dripped into his splinter. “Ow.”
Miss Farraday frowned at him, looking a little unsure about whether it had been a good idea to invite him for a visit, after all. “What is the matter?”
He mumbled it was nothing.
“Did you hurt yourself?”
“Just a splinter from loading up the wood.”
“Let me see that.” She marched over to him and seized his hand, prying his closed fist open. She inspected the pin-like fragment of wood buried beneath his skin, then sent him an arch look. “Zebrawood, I warrant.”
“Well, I do try to keep in the fashion.”
“You deserve this splinter, I daresay. Nevertheless, I am going to help you, Lord Jack. Sit down, please.”
“No, thanks. It’s nothing. I’ll attend to it on my ship—”
“Sit!”
Jack lifted his eyebrows at her tone that brooked no argument.
“No open wounds in the jungle,” she stated. “That is a rule.”
“Open wounds?” He scoffed. “It’s barely a scratch.”
“It’s a large scratch, and it’s deep. Trust me. If you don’t take care of it right away—well, you don’t want to know what can happen.”
“What can happen?” Trahern asked, blanching.
“I’m sure you don’t want me to tell you. Gentlemen, trust me, it’s very disgusting.”
They stared at her expectantly.
She relented with a sigh. “Even small scratches can become infected quickly in the jungle. If you must know, there’s a tiny insect that likes to lay its eggs in any open wound it finds. After that, the only remedy is amputation.”
Jack sat down at once on the stool she had indicated and gave her his hand. “I’m all yours, my dear. Just tell me this doesn’t involve your machete.”
She shot him a chiding smile and went to fetch her sewing basket.
Eden could feel him watching her with his predatory stare, but her heart still pounded at the news that he and his crew were heading next to England.
Surely this was the miracle she had been praying for. Now all she had to do was to find the nerve to ask the notorious Black-Jack Knight if he’d take her along for the ride.
He had no reason to oblige her, she knew, and if he was as wicked as the rumors claimed, she might be safer accompanying Papa into the Amazon. Even if he was an ex-pirate, she did not wish to seem pushy or rude, imposing on him.
Oh, it was so very lowering to know he had millions and she hadn’t pennies for the trip. She had her pride. Nevertheless, she was determined to show him that she could be useful. Perhaps her skills would help to gain her the favor she so desperately needed. Bolstered by that hope, she returned and sat across from him while Mr. Trahern anxiously searched himself for any small open wounds or odd insect bites that he might have overlooked.
Eden dragged her stool closer to her patient’s and pulled his large, warm hand onto her lap, turning his palm upward; his knuckles rested on her thigh.
His smoky stare homed in on her, as though he, too, had felt the shock of electricity that jolted through her when they touched. Eden’s heart skipped a beat. Her cheeks colored as she bent her head to assess his splinter, her sewing needle poised between her fingers.
Lord Jack frowned when she used it to poke the heel of his hand. “I do hope you know what you’re doing.”
“Of course I do. I’m a physician’s daughter. And do you know what you are?” she murmured with a cautious smile, brushing a stray lock of her hair behind her ear.
“Do tell,” he purred, watching her.
“Just a big, grumpy lion with a thorn in his paw.”
A rueful smile spread across his face. “Yes, Miss Farraday, I’m afraid you’ve summed me up rather neatly.”
They exchanged a smile that lasted just a moment too long, then she turned her attention back to her task, trying to ignore the girlish flutter of her heart.
The little sliver of wood had worked its way in deep. It looked like it hurt. As Eden ran her thumb across his palm, marveling privately at how big and full of strength his callused hands were, again she sensed him staring at her. The potent male interest in his gaze was a bit unsettling; she did her best to ignore it and willed her hands not to shake. With a murmured warning, she pricked his skin gently, and widened the incision a bit to go after the splinter.
“So, Lord Jack—” She cleared her throat. Papa always said it was best to distract the patient during such proceedings. “You don’t plan to cross the ocean in that steamer?”
“In the steamer? No, Miss Farraday—”
“Eden,” she interrupted softly, glancing up to meet his gaze.
A speculative l
ook filled his aquamarine eyes. “Eden,” he corrected himself barely audibly. He paused before continuing in a more casual tone: “My ship is waiting for me off Trinidad. We’re to rendezvous at the coast.”
“Is it a big ship?” she asked, wondering if there might be room for her.
“Very big,” he replied in silken innuendo, and gave her a wicked smile.
She felt her face heat. “What’s it called?”
“The Winds of Fortune.”
“That’s—a nice name,” she said a bit breathlessly.
“Thank you.”
Exchanging the needle for the tweezers, she sent another wary glance his way and this time caught him staring point-blank at her mouth, the drift of his thoughts perfectly plain on his handsome face.
Her heart pounded. “I thought most ships were named for ladies.”
“Not my ships.”
“Why is that?”
“My ships are reliable.”
“I see. And your ladies are not?”
His only answer was a world-weary flick of one eyebrow, along with a dry half smile.
Eden laughed quietly and lowered her head again. “I fear, Lord Jack, that you are a cynic.”
“Born that way.”
Spurred on by an almost scientific curiosity, she leaned closer and asked the supposedly forbidden question of Jack Knight. “You know,” she confided in a daring murmur, “they say you used to be a pirate.”
“Do they?” he whispered.
Her naughty smile widened. “Is it true?”
His eyes danced as he considered for a moment. “It is, my dear, shall we say, a matter of perspective.”
“Ah.” She nodded sagely, only realizing after a moment that he hadn’t told her anything. His evasive answer only whetted her interest.
Meanwhile, his dark, longish hair was already drying from the rain; gazing at him, she was filled with the impulse to run her fingers through its soft, tousled waves. She fought the urge to touch his face, as well, his skin so deeply tanned from an adventuring life lived outdoors, on the deck of a ship.
No, she conceded, still studying him at close range, he was no elegant Town dandy like the ones who went strolling through her daydreams, but there was something positively thrilling about this man.
She remembered the ball in Jamaica where she had first seen him; he had been the most riveting man in the room, drawing the stares of every woman present, while most of the men simply stepped out of his way.
Gazing openly at him a moment longer, Eden decided that what she liked best were the faint, smiley crinkles at the outer corners of his deep-set eyes. He had kind eyes, she thought, and wondered if he knew it.
“Eden,” he said softly. Her name sounded delicious on his tongue. “You’re staring at me.”
Caught. She bit her lower lip and blushed. “But, Lord Jack,” she replied just as gently, “you’re staring, too.”
He knew, of course; his slow grin was decidedly sly.
A hot wave of pure, visceral attraction rushed through her, a fevered contagion that she caught directly from him.
Fighting to maintain her wits, she cast about for a neutral topic. “How do you intend to get past the Spanish?”
“Oh, I have my ways.”
“I’ll bet you do,” she murmured.
He leaned closer. “You’ve got very good hands.”
Eden held her breath, her pulse racing. As he stared into her eyes, she thought he was actually going to kiss her.
She was motionless, dazzled—waiting—but then, with a look of regret, he eased back in his seat again.
It was another moment before she could breathe, let alone continue. She scoffed privately at the foolish staccato of her pulse, and the twinge of disappointment that the notoriously bad ex-pirate had decided to be good.
Of course, a real lady should have considered his attentions outrageously rude. Cousin Amelia, a proper young miss of the Quality, would have fainted by now. Dismayed that she could not even manage to feel properly offended, Eden lowered her head with renewed concentration and finished removing his splinter.
She caught the tiny shard of wood between her tweezers, and, maneuvering with gentle precision, finally got it out.
“Good news,” she announced, looking at him again with well-recovered poise. “You’re going to live.”
“More’s the pity. Eden?” he said abruptly. “Why does he keep you hidden away like this?”
“You mean Papa? Oh, he thinks he is protecting me.” She tidied up the small incision with a splash of brandy on a cloth. “He isn’t a genius in all things, Lord Jack, especially matters of the heart.” Saddened by the admission, she stood up to put her things away.
“But it’s a crime, his stranding you here like this.” His stare tracked her with an intensity that she could feel from across the room. “You should be in Kingston, being worshiped by the sons of wealthy planters.”
She turned around abruptly, shocked and flattered and above all thrilled to think that, at last, somebody understood. Why, she had just met the man and somehow he knew her heart better than Papa did.
She stared at him in amazement.
Folding her arms across her chest and leaning her hip against the table, Eden was wildly encouraged all of a sudden to think that if he liked her so well, then surely he would help her.
There could be no doubt that lordly male chivalry would compel him to escort her safely home to England, if she only asked. He was obviously a gentleman, no matter what the rumors said; he could have kissed her moments ago, after all, but had done the decent thing and refrained. Besides, she had just done him a favor, hadn’t she, removing his splinter and possibly saving his hand? Surely he would be happy to do a good deed for her in return.
Yes, she thought, she could ask him now. Pirate or no, her excellent instincts told her that she could trust this man.
She bit her lip and summoned up all her nerve. “What would you say,” she began slowly, “if I asked you for a favor?”
“A favor?” His eyes narrowed in sudden wariness. “What sort of favor, exactly?”
Her confident smile did not waver, though her heart was in her throat. Eden lifted her chin and squared her shoulders: “Take me with you to England.”
CHAPTER
FOUR
Take her…?
Jack stared into her hope-filled, emerald eyes, thought of his vital secret mission—his highly illegal secret mission—and let out a curse.
“No.” He shook his head and rose with a shudder. “Absolutely not.”
“But why?”
“Because it’s a mad idea!”
“No, it’s not!” She took a step toward him and seemed to force her coaxing smile. “You’re going there anyway, aren’t you?”
Bloody hell. “Is that why you asked me here for a visit?” he asked crisply. “To butter me up so you could get what you wanted?”
She lowered her head at the question; Jack scowled.
He glanced at Trahern. “Ready?”
“Aye, sir.”
“Oh, please don’t go—you only just got here!” Miss Farraday jumped in front of Jack, blocking his path. She seemed undaunted by his famous glower, though she only came up to his chest and had to tilt her head back to meet his irked gaze.
Her anxious smile refused the quashing effect of his glare. “You said your ship is big—very big. There must be room on board for me!”
“There’s not.”
“I don’t take up much space, as you can see.”
“Thank you for the pineapple, Miss Farraday—”
“Eden,” she insisted, trying to drag him into a familiarity that he did not desire, the better to make him do her will. Aye, that was how they got their claws into a man.
She was a most determined creature, darting left and right to block his path as he tried to step past her.
“I’m sorry, Miss Farraday,” he said through clenched teeth, “but my ship is not equipped to take passengers. It
is a merchant vessel, a cargo ship. I have no place to put a young lady—”
“I don’t require any special accommodations. I could sling my hammock anyplace! In fact—” She gulped with an air of desperation behind her dwindling smile. “That, er, brings me to my next point.”
Jack set his hands on his waist. “Oh, there’s more, is there?”
“Um, yes, well, you see, I-I have no money, actually. Terribly embarrassing. I’m afraid I can’t pay for my passage. But I will work,” she added stoutly. “I could help in the sickbay or the galley. I’m a hard worker, just tell me what to do. I won’t complain. I’m quite cheerful.”
“Yes, I can see that,” Jack said through gritted teeth.
Trahern stifled a cough.
Jack shot him a fierce look.
“I’ve heard about press gangs, so I know that every ship can always use an extra pair of hands—”
“Not yours, my dear.” A quiver of lust shot through him only to imagine where he’d like those skillful, pretty hands to work on him.
“But why?” she asked with a sorrowful, doe-eyed blink.
“Because I said so,” he growled. “Now will you please get out of my way?”
“No! I don’t mean to be a pest, but it’s just that I need so badly to get back to England.”
“Why is that?” Jack demanded, though he swore to himself he did not care and didn’t really want to know. He was not taking her to England, and that was that. There was too much at stake to risk adding a feckless young beauty underfoot.
“Father’s patron died,” she exclaimed. “His heir has cut the funding for our research.” This instantly flared Jack’s instinct for lucrative opportunity as Eden continued: “I intend to return to England so I can speak to the new earl and convince him to reinstate our grant.”
He raised an eyebrow. “You’re going to speak to the earl?”
“Yes,” she declared with a firm nod.
He stared at her. “Nobody’s going to listen to you, a mere slip of a girl.”
“Oh, yes, they will.” She planted her fists on her waist. “I’ll make them listen.”
He found himself fighting a wry smile, damn her. Jack eyed the redhead warily, a trifle amused in spite of himself as he realized that, indeed, the chit had made him listen.