by Hatch, Donna
“Are you? Why is that?”
She paused, unwilling to reveal too much. “We spent much time discussing how well we’ve adapted to widowhood and how we never planned to wed again and give up our independence. Her change of heart seemed sudden.”
“Widowed?” His mouth curved up a rather satisfied gleam entered his eyes. He shifted, bringing his leg near enough that his warmth seeped into her thigh.
A stirring arose deep inside, so basic, so elemental in its origin that it seemed at once familiar and foreign. Lowering her gaze, she inched away.
“Have I done something to offend you, Mrs. Berkley?”
Keeping her eyes averted, she shook her head. “No, of course not.”
“Why do you look distressed?” he persisted.
“You are far too attentive.”
He leaned in close. “I don’t think I’ve ever been accused of being too attentive before. I have, however, been accused of just the opposite on more than one occasion.” His breath fanned the tendrils at her neck.
Her heart fluttered. She made the mistake of looking at him. The twinkle in his eye and irrepressible grin should have disarmed her. Instead, annoyance flared that he could so easily sweep away her sensible nature.
“You are bold, sir,” she hissed through clenched teeth.
“I am,” he agreed in a low voice. “So bold that I hope to hear you call me Jared some day.”
She shivered at the indirect caress of his warm breath on her skin and kept her gaze downcast rather than meet that unnervingly direct stare. What had happened to her defenses? Resisting his presence was like trying to ward off a hurricane’s blast with a mere parasol. “Sir, that is hardly appropriate.”
“Then I shall persist until it becomes appropriate.”
Her gaze shot to his, her breath catching. If her heart beat unevenly before, it positively raced now with his mouth only inches away. A longing to move closer and feel the passion of his kiss surfaced once again. Horrified at her shameless desire, and the guilt that reared its accusing head, she looked away. The other guests’ laughter and chatter seemed far removed.
His eyes glittered as he shifted closer.
“You’re infuriating,” she managed through clenched teeth as she tried to put on what others would see as a lighthearted smile so as not to betray anything was amiss.
He grinned wickedly. “Are you sure it’s I who infuriates you? Or is it your unwilling attraction to me?”
Her smile tightened. “Arrogant, as well.”
“I believe the word is ‘perceptive.’ Although, bold, infuriating and arrogant are all words that no doubt fit. Trust me; I’ve been called things much less flattering. You do owe me an apology, you know.”
Taken aback, she stared. “Oh?”
“You led me to believe you are married, Mrs. Berkley.”
“And so I was. For five wonderful years.”
“I’m very glad to learn that I shall not have to duel your husband for you.”
She swallowed her initial shock at his outrageous statement and lifted her chin. “Since you would surely have lost to my husband, it is fortunate for you no such thing will happen.”
He grinned, handsome and dangerous. “I might surprise you.”
She truly hoped he was joking. At the moment, she could not be certain of anything. Even herself. She bit her lip.
Lady Standwich stood and invited anyone interested to join a game of whist. She directed players to tables, making sure people were paired as she wished. She partnered Elise with Mr. Bradford, and as Elise took her place, she noticed both gentlemen at Elise’s table were widowed. Determined to be polite, but wishing she could escape, Elise played the most miserable hands of whist ever. However, Mr. Bradford remained perfectly gracious about their losses.
Finally, Elise rose, bid them all good night, and signaled a footman to ready her carriage and bring her wrap.
“Lily, thank you for inviting me to your dinner party. I had a lovely time.” She almost added ‘despite your attempts to foist me off on the bachelors and widowers’ but she held her tongue.
“Thank you for coming, Elise. It meant the world to me.”
Elise turned to Mr. Harrison next to Lily. “Again, congratulations and I wish you both much happiness. Good evening.”
They bid her good night and returned to their guests. As she waited near the door for her coach, she felt a presence.
“Mrs. Berkley, I’m sorry to see you leaving so soon.”
Bracing herself, she turned to Mr. Amesbury.
“I had hoped you would partner me for the next game.” The gentle seductiveness in his voice chased away any retort she might have made.
He raised her hand to his lips and actually kissed the back of her hand. She pulled her hand from his. Heaven help her if he ever kissed her hand without the protection of her gloves!
“Please don’t do that,” she pled weakly, too tired to spar with him.
He paused, the humor leaving his face, and he studied her carefully. “Why are you afraid of me?”
She looked away before she got so lost in those beautiful eyes that she forgot herself. “Anyone who calls herself a lady would be foolish not to fear you.”
When he remained quiet so long, she dared to look up at him, expecting to see anger. Instead, his expressive mouth curved. In place of its usual sly wickedness, his smile was soft, regretful, earnest. “I would never hurt a lady.”
She remembered his strangely powerful kiss and her foreign reaction to it. Their eyes locked and the intensity in his gaze penetrated so deeply that her soul lay bare. All her loneliness, those long, sleepless nights, and her efforts to remain strong rose up to taunt her.
“Good night, Mr. Amesbury.” She fled to the safety of her waiting carriage. A quick glance out of the window proved that he watched her departure.
Elise closed her eyes, refusing to look up at the sky and risk seeing another falling star lest she be tempted to make a wish. An involuntary smile stole over her face, and for just a blissful moment, she allowed herself to bask in the warmth of his attention. Something about his outrageous behavior appealed to the suppressed adventurer in her. She should have been appropriately horrified.
She promised herself the moment she arrived home she would repress it, never to indulge in it again.
How was it possible that a stranger stirred her womanly desires more powerfully than Edward had in five years of marriage? And what did that say about her loyalty to her beloved husband?
CHAPTER 4
Jared lounged in an armchair beside the fire in his bedchamber and picked up a book. “Thank you, Gibbs. That will be all.” He opened the book and pretended to read.
“Very good, sir. Rest well.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Jared saw the valet leave. Alone now, he took a candle to the dressing room and kneeled next to a sea chest beside the clothes press. After unlocking the chest, Jared retrieved a bag and pulled out its contents.
Grimly, he fingered the clothes he’d worn as a pirate. He could not explain why putting them on tonight seemed distasteful; they were comfortable and familiar, and for a change, clean. He should be grateful to have them. Best of all, the pirate’s garb did not require the cursed cravat.
He swallowed his revulsion and dressed. After all, he couldn’t very well meet with his former shipmates dressed as a gentleman; they’d have trouble recognizing him as it was without his wild hair and scruffy beard.
After donning a cloak, he tucked his usual assortment of guns and knives about his person.
At the door he listened. No one stirred. He blew out the lamps and stepped into the corridor, waiting until his eyes adjusted to the gloom before he crept forward.
Careful to keep his weight evenly distributed lest he cause the floor to squeak, Jared left the house and moved to the stables. He whistled.
An answering whistle came and a child’s voice called out, “Cap’n?”
Jared let out his breath in frustration.
“José, lad, you can’t call me that here on land.”
The boy stepped out of the shadowy interior of the stables leading Jared’s blue roan. “Sorry, sir.” He rubbed Aries’s muzzle. “He don’t scare me no more, sir.”
For a lad who’d spent most of his short life on board a ship, he’d taken to the horses well. Jared hadn’t dared leave the boy in the company of his crew in Port Johns; no telling what might happen to him or how many ways he’d be corrupted or harmed.
Of course, Jared hadn’t managed to keep the boy safe on land, either. Leandro had seen his weakness for the lad and it nearly cost both José and Jared their lives.
What in the world had he been thinking when he so openly pursued Elise Berkley the other night? She was exactly what he did not need. He wouldn’t make the mistake of forming any kind of attachments again. Worrying over José’s safety was enough. He did not need another weak spot where his enemies could strike.
Jared took the reins and patted Aries. “Well done, José. Now go to bed. I’ll untack and rub him down when I return.”
José nodded and trotted off as Jared mounted and headed toward the nearest village. On the outskirts of Brenniswick, Jared slowed his mount as a shadow detached itself from an alley. Jean-Claude Dubois’ familiar form boosted Jared’s confidence. His first mate would guard his back. As Jared continued to the tavern, Dubois followed at a discreet distance.
As he approached the tavern, Jared glanced about cautiously and paused to listen before he dismounted. Inside the tavern, he found a seat where he could keep an eye on the door and windows. One never knew when a quick escape would be necessary or when an ambush lay in wait.
Moments later, Dubois took up a defensive position in the opposite corner. The barkeep barely glanced at either of them as he brought drinks.
Jared took a long drink of cheap, watered-down ale and waited for his quartermaster. He didn’t have to wait long. Another cloaked figure slipped in quietly. Jared noted with satisfaction that Dubois remained alert and had not missed the new arrival.
His quartermaster slid into a chair at Jared’s table and peered into his face. “Jack? I hardly recognized you all cleaned up,” he said with a lilting islander accent.
“Anakoni.” Jared rubbed his smooth-shaven face where his beard had once been.
The Hawaiian fixed a searching stare upon Jared. “You wanted to see me?”
“Leandro paid me a visit.” Jared omitted mention of Leandro putting a noose around his neck.
Anakoni started and then frowned. “He’s here?”
Jared had made a career out of knowing when people were lying and when they were truthful. Anakoni clearly had no knowledge of Leandro’s appearance. Which meant someone else had sold him out. And he had yet to discover how Leandro found Jared, or why he’d recognized Jared without his pirate’s guise. As Jared sipped his ale, he speculated on possible traitors.
Anakoni digested the news momentarily and then pinned Jared with an accusing stare. “He’s still after you for killing Macy?”
“It gets worse. He thinks I hid part of the booty somewhere. At least that’s his excuse for leading his crew on a merry chase for me.”
As Anakoni’s eyes bored into his, Jared imagined the man reaching for his knife under the table. “Did you? Hide part of the booty?”
Jared suppressed a wry smile. Killing one’s captain paled in comparison to the crime of stealing another’s fair share of plunder.
“No. You were there. We went back for it, and it had been dug up. Someone double-crossed us.”
“I’ll see what I can find out,” the islander said. “I don’t suppose you’ll tell me where you’re staying?”
Jared looked at him askance. He’d only trusted Dubois and José with his whereabouts and his dual identity, although his story to them lacked a number of telling truths.
A brief smile twitched the other man’s face. “Right. I’ll send word through the normal channel if I need to contact you.”
After Anakoni left, Jared made eye contact with Dubois. His first mate nodded once and slipped out of the room. Jared waited a moment and then slapped down his coin on the table. With his hands resting on his weapons, he stepped outside and paused to listen and to scan the area, waiting for the prickly feeling at the back of his neck that warned him of danger. Nothing.
Jared retrieved his horse and rode to a darkened field with a clear view of the countryside for miles around. The small dark lump in the middle of the field might have been mistaken for a rock. At Jared’s approach, the lump rose and sprouted legs.
“Mon capitaine.”
“Dubois. It wasn’t Anakoni.”
“Non. I didn’t think it would be.” His French accent lightly touched his words.
“To be honest, I didn’t, either. Any other ideas?”
“It could be any member of the crew.”
“None of them know I’m in Brenniswick.”
“It’s possible Leandro might have tailed us, but we were careful to avoid that.”
The thought chilled Jared. He’d gone to the family estate to visit Cole and his new bride, Alicia, before coming here. If he’d been tailed, then he’d unwittingly led dangerous men literally to Cole’s door.
No. He’d been very careful. More likely, someone had stumbled onto one of the crew in Port Johns. But how they’d gotten to José this far inland remained a mystery. Jared hated that kind of mystery.
“I’ll find out who tipped him off and how much he knows.” Dubois paused, eyeing Jared shrewdly. “Something you want to tell me, Mon Capitaine?”
Jared shook his head. This near the end, he could not afford the luxury of trust. He only hoped when this was all over, he could convince his crew to cooperate with the authorities and be spared the noose.
Soon, he would be free. But free to be whom?
He’d assumed so many roles over the years that he wondered if he knew who he really was. Or who he would become if he had no role to play.
Jared Amesbury, second son of the Earl of Tarrington, had been pretending to be others for so long, he wondered if that man existed.
Would he shed all his personas, only to discover no one there?
****
Days later, the sun shone on Jared as he sauntered along the main street of Brenniswick. As his thoughts tumbled, he strolled as if he were nothing more than a country gentleman out for a bit of fresh air. He nodded absently to people he passed and forced himself not to tug at his cravat.
He stepped into a cool shadow and looked up at a church. He cringed. The last time he’d been in a church was in Havana where he’d impersonated a priest and helped rob the place. Plundering the church had been a bit extreme, however his men had certainly enjoyed themselves. Jared grinned at the fond memories.
He missed the sea. At first, the thought of being landlocked had seemed horrible, and while it had not proven as bad as he had feared, he missed the freedom of commanding his own ship and having nothing barring his way.
Of course, he’d been playing a role then, as well. What surprised him was that he actually missed his mates. Though thieves and scoundrels, most of them were surprisingly decent men. All had secrets and pasts they never discussed, and Jared had found unexpected kinship in them. He had fit in with relative ease, once he got over his fear of waking up to find his throat slit. Even his brother Cole had thrived in the freedom outside the strictures of the navy’s discipline.
“Hold my hand and remain close, my love.” A feminine voice brought up Jared’s head.
A slender figure in an understated blue gown moved into Jared’s line of sight. Elise Berkley’s lovely face and pleasing form enraptured him. Her attention remained fixed upon a small boy whose hand she held, and she did not see Jared.
Drawn to her, Jared maneuvered himself into better position to watch.
The child looked up at his mother. Mrs. Berkley smoothed the boy’s pale blond hair and touched his cheek in a tender gesture that took Jared’s breath away.
>
Underneath a tasteful bonnet, her carefully braided hair had been wound into a large coil, hinting at its length and thickness. Jared pictured it loose, blowing in a sea wind, swirling around her back and waist. Her modest, subdued gown failed to hide her appealing, womanly curves. He wondered if he could encircle her waist with his hands. Then, as his eyes moved downward, following the curves of her body, he wondered a great deal that no gentleman ought to imagine about a respectable lady.
He let out a strangled breath. What made him think he could ever pass himself as a gentleman if, every time he saw this lady, all he wanted to do was throw her over his shoulder and carry her off?
Mrs. Berkley looked in his direction. Alarm replaced her soft expression. Women recoiling from him in fear had been the worst part of piracy. Jared’s stomach twisted to see fear in Mrs. Berkley’s face.
His heart froze. He glanced down, half expecting to see himself clad in only a pair of breeches and boots with a cutlass in his hand. No, his suit looked perfect for the part of an earl’s son; tasteful and expensive, and his boots boasted a shine that made Gibbs stick out his chest. Even the cursed cravat remained in place. He looked back up at Mrs. Berkley. Her alarm had vanished, replaced by cool reserve.
He cursed himself. He should not have kissed her. And he had not improved matters by his forward behavior at Lady Standwich’s soirée. He’d spent the better part of the last fifteen years in the company of villains and was out of practice for the more perilous kind of lifestyle to which he endeavored to return. He’d never earn her trust. And why should he? He was a scoundrel. Only a foolish woman would ever feel safe in his presence.
He took command of his thoughts and swept off his hat. “Good day, Mrs. Berkley.”
For an instant, he thought she would give him the cut direct, but her gentle nature, or perhaps impeccable manners, won.
“Good day, Mr. Amesbury.” Her tone was painfully cool.
Jared inwardly winced. Instead, he diverted his attention to the boy holding her hand.
She stepped protectively closer to the child, as if she feared Jared would snatch him up and spirit him away. “My son, Colin. Colin, this is Mr. Amesbury.”