Unfortunately, he wasn’t kidding.
Looking up at the miles of rigging, Jack wondered just how seaworthy the damnable ship really was. With his luck, she’d break up just out of harbor and they’d end up swimming back to shore. But beggars couldn’t be choosers. He walked to where he’d tossed his shirt over the ship’s railing and picked it up, shrugging into it.
“I’ll go see if we left one.”
“Send Shorty,” Kell suggested. “He knows where to go.”
“No, he’s saying g’bye to his gal, and everyone else has his own job to take care of. I’ll go.”
“You shouldn’t have to.”
Jack tried not to sound impatient, considering Kell’s loyal defense of him. “Shouldn’t, oughtn’t—they’ll drive you nuts if you’ll let them, Kell.” He didn’t bother buttoning his shirt. Half the men on the docks worked shirtless on a day like today. The sun was so hot a bald man could fry an egg on his head. All that was missing was Satan and his damnable pitchfork. Hell couldn’t possibly be hotter.
“There are a deuced lot of things that shouldn’t be that just are,” he added. “You just do what you have to, and to hell with the shouldn’t be’s.”
Kell shrugged. “Maybe. I’ll get these inspected while you’re gone,” he said. “But I’ll need some help to set the rigging and hoist them.”
“I’ll be back,” Jack promised him. “Don’t go off saving the world while I’m gone.”
Kell was that sort of man. He bore the weight of the world on his shoulders—always pulling for the underdog. There wasn’t a finer man Jack could have at his side.
Kell shook his head. “No chance of that. It’s gone to hell already.” He peered up at the sun, shielding his eyes. “Blasted heat’s gonna kill us!”
Jack took one last look at the rigging, and his blood began to simmer with excitement.
Almost there.
As soon as the sails were hoisted and they made one final inspection of the ship and supplies, they would raise the anchor and be on their way. He couldn’t wait to see those sails billowing and rippling in the wind—his proud lady of the sea with her breasts puffed in pride. He could almost feel the wind in his hair and the undulation of her sweet lithe body beneath him. Once the sails were up, the little imperfections and repairs would be all but invisible. Old as she was, rickety as she was, she was all his, and the pride he felt in that moment as he gazed up at her choked him. To hell with Penn and his sugar daddy-in-law.
This tremendous feeling of accomplishment was worth the struggle. In fact, he felt damned near invincible right now, and it showed in his stride as he left the ship to retrieve the last of the sails.
They had precious little to say about Jack MacAuley at the university, but from what Sophie had gleaned from sources close to her father was that he was a pretender of sorts.
An Irish immigrant, his father had belonged to Boston’s growing fraternity of new money. Mr. MacAuley had apparently received his inheritance this past year, on his father’s death, and had already squandered most of it on this venture, deemed politely, by his peers, as reckless.
Sophie didn’t give a fig whether his comrades respected him or not. Nor did she care if his theories were poppycock, or if he was taken seriously by respectable academia. None of that was any of her concern.
She only wanted passage aboard his ship.
Jack MacAuley himself was of no consequence to her—nor was any other man for that matter. She’d had quite enough of them all. They could go to the devil!
The Miss Deed, they’d informed her, was scheduled to depart sometime today or tomorrow, and Sophie fretted she would miss it.
Just to be certain she didn’t give Jack MacAuley any reason at all to waver in his consideration, she came prepared with her bags packed. She wasn’t about to go home without having accomplished what she’d set out to do. Somehow it was crucial to her sense of self-worth that she salvage her pride. She also had tucked away in her purse a considerable sum that she intended to use as persuasion, and she was prepared to offer quite a bit more if necessary. In fact, she felt so confident that she had gone so far as to open a small account in Jack MacAuley’s name and had already placed the sum of five thousand dollars in it. And there was more where that came from if she should need it, but she had learned a thing or two in all these years of watching her father’s ruthless negotiations. She intended to offer enough and no more. It was good business sense all around, she decided. Jack MacAuley needed the money, and she needed passage. It would be a mutually beneficial arrangement for both.
She’d left her trunks in the carriage, under the driver’s watchful eye, while she’d set out on foot to find the elusive Miss Deed, and she was heartily glad she had done so because the docks were a crush. She scarcely could move amid the swarming crowd of workmen, passengers, fishermen and pickpockets.
A particularly dirty little boy of about thirteen latched on to her purse and tugged with all his might. With such a precious lot of money in her possession Sophie was far too vigilant to fall victim to his thievery. She jerked her purse back and the boy went stumbling onto his backside. He peered up at her in surprise. Before she could say a thing, he scampered to his feet and scurried away.
“You ought to be ashamed of yourself!” she shouted at his back, and then guilt pricked her. She had so much and the poor boy had so little. If there hadn’t been quite so much money involved she might have just given it to him. He disappeared into the masses, leaving behind only a greasy stain on her silk ivory purse where his grimy hand had been.
“Damnation,” she muttered to herself, brushing off her purse. Good girls didn’t curse, but she was privately picking up the habit and it felt quite good somehow. She would feel even better once she plucked her darling fiancé’s head as bald as a baby’s bottom!
During the struggle she had dropped her address card on the ground and she bent to retrieve it. They had given her a port address that seemed to be all wrong. Lifting the card, she inspected the ships at anchor ... The Lady Ann ... The Alaskan ... The Prodigious ... no Miss Deed ... but the address was near, she was certain.
“Pardon me, sir,” she said to a passing gentleman.
Apparently he was in too much of a hurry to be bothered, because he kept walking, though not without casting her a harried glance.
Sophie glared indignantly at his back, loathing men all the more in that instant.
The caw of seabirds filled the air as she turned once more to inspect the crowd. Spying someone who appeared as though he belonged on the docks, Sophie lifted her skirts and hurried after a shortish fellow with sun- bleached hair who stood leaning against a lamppost smoking a cigarette.
“Sir!” she called out, waving at him. As she neared, he tossed down his smoke and tamped it out, then turned and walked away, blatantly ignoring her.
Sophie gasped in outrage, unaccustomed to such outright rudeness!
“Sir!” she shouted a bit louder than before, and started after him, deciding he must not have heard her. No one had ever just ignored her! Still he didn’t turn, merely continued along his merry way, walking at a brisker pace, and Sophie couldn’t keep up. She spun abruptly, confused, and smacked into something solid that hadn’t been there previously.
She banged her cheekbone against a chin. “Ouch!” she cried. A strong arm caught her before she had the chance to bounce back onto her rear.
It was a man.
“Oh my!”
Very definitely a man!
His shirt was unbuttoned and left undone. That was the first thing she noticed, blinking. For an instant she was transfixed by the sight of a very well-defined, very muscular chest, smooth and bronzed by the sun.
The summer heat dizzied her—at least she thought it was the heat. “Oh my!” she said again.
She stood there an instant too long, dumbfounded, rubbing her cheek with one hand while clutching the address to her breast with the other.
“Pardon,” he said, with some sur
prise.
“Pardon m-me,” Sophie stammered, but had yet to look into his face. His bare chest held her transfixed.
Good Lord, didn’t they arrest people for running about that way? Her cheeks warming, she glanced up finally, peering into the most vivid green eyes she had ever seen in all her life ... green eyes that were crinkled with amusement—at her expense, no doubt.
Sophie wasn’t in the mood. And yet it was her fault. She had run into him.
She knew she must appear addle-pated, but she couldn’t help it. Not even her father had bared himself so shamelessly before her and as an only child she had no brothers.
Flustered, she stared up at the man who held her steady in his arms, despising him if only for his gender.
He had the audacity to grin at her.
“Oh!” she exclaimed, wriggling free of his scandalous embrace. “Do you mind, sir!”
His hands dropped at his sides and she cast him a disapproving glance.
“Not at all,” he answered much too glibly, and he had the audacity to wink. “Indeed, it was my pleasure,” he added, and his lips curved into the most infuriating smirk she had ever spied.
Sophie gasped softly, her cheeks flaming. Outrage tied her tongue. She hated being reduced to an impotent rage.
“Sir, you are no gentleman!” she exclaimed, narrowing her eyes at him.
“Madam,” he replied, mocking her, “I never claimed to be.”
Sophie took a step backward, gathering her composure. Somehow it didn’t give her the distance she needed.
“I do believe they’ve a phrase for your state of undress,” she said as coolly as she was able. “It’s called indecent exposure! And I believe you could be arrested for it!”
His grin widened. “Oh, really?” His tawny brows arched in obvious amusement, irritating her all the more.
Cad!
Sophie cocked her head in reproach. “I suppose you think that’s quite amusing?”
“Actually,” he replied, affecting a mock-serious expression and tone, “yes, I do.” But his eyes fairly twinkled with good humor and she wanted nothing more in that instant than to box him in the nose! If there had ever been anyone in her life that she had taken an instant dislike to, it was this man without a doubt!
“You are an arrogant churl!”
“And you are blushing, Miss ...”
“My name is none of your concern! I most certainly am not blushing!” Sophie countered, but she was, in fact, because she could feel it. Her hand went to her cheek and she rose on her tiptoes to face him squarely. “However, even if I were, sir, you are quite rude for pointing it out!”
He swiped at his chin, and lifted a brow. “Are you aware that you spit when you yell?”
“Ohhh!” Sophie exclaimed, infuriated. “I most certainly do not!, spit” She shuddered with outrage. “Why am I talking to you?” she asked herself, frustrated, and dismissed him at once. “If you will excuse me, sir, I have business to attend!”
She didn’t bother to ask him about the address she was looking for. She attempted to go around him to the left, but he apparently had the same instinct. When she moved to the right, so did he.
Exasperated, Sophie glared at him and, without thinking, lifted her hand to his bare chest, standing him off.
“Please, sir!” she begged, and realized at once where she had touched him. She jerked her hand away as though his flesh singed her.
He merely chuckled in reply, and Sophie felt hot with indignation. She glowered at him, and if she could have barreled through him in that instant, she would have. She slid past him and didn’t look back, even as his robust laughter followed her.
She’d be quite glad never to set eyes on that man again! Rude, infuriating creature!
Even if he did have the most incredible green eyes she had ever had the misfortune to peer into, he was the most common wretch she had ever met!
“Miss!” he called after her. Sophie’s heart fluttered at the sound of his voice, but she refused to turn. She kept walking, clutching her ... purse—oh, God, where was her purse!
She spun about, her heart leaping into her throat, and found him standing there smiling incorrigibly, dangling her purse, with its precious burden, from a single finger.
“I think you dropped something,” he said, his tone rife with repressed laughter, his green eyes glinting.
Without a word, Sophie marched toward him and snatched her purse from his hand, then turned and left.
It was men like that, she decided, that made her eternally grateful to be a woman! She didn’t know why Harlan was so obsessed with discovering primitive man. All he had to do was look about him: In Sophie’s estimation, mankind had not progressed very far!
Chapter 3
As it turned out, The Miss Deed could scarcely have passed for a ship, more like an oversized boat.
Sophie discovered it nearly hidden between two bright shining vessels, a fossil of days gone by, with its sails stripped bare, the rigging dangling like long thirsted vines.
She frowned at the sight it presented.
Several men were working aboard the vessel, but one in particular stood out, kneeling over yards and yards of material, inspecting it... or so it appeared.
“Excuse me,” she interrupted, “I am trying to locate one Jack MacAuley.”
A reply seemed to die on his lips as he turned to acknowledge her. For an instant he merely stared, as though he were somehow dumbstruck by her presence. Sophie hardly thought of herself as the sort to render a man speechless, so she concluded it must be her manor of dress. Judging by his own attire, she doubted he was accustomed to seeing a lady call on a man so boldly—certainly not here on the docks.
Stepping carefully down onto the deck without an invitation, Sophie approached him, though warily. She had heard horror stories of women abducted, their bodies discarded into the river, never to be heard from again. But she had to trust the man if she intended to take passage aboard his ship. Really, she told herself, there was nothing to be afraid of ... except this rotting deck.
She grimaced as she stood looking down at the weathered plank, half-afraid it would give way and she would plunge down into the decaying bowels of the vessel.
Her stomach rioted a bit and she experienced an instant of panic, but she took a deep breath and stared the man in the eye.
He had yet to speak.
“Hello?”
Maybe he couldn’t speak English, she decided. Many of those who found work here on the docks were immigrants who hadn’t the linguistic skills to work elsewhere. Dark-haired and dark-eyed, he could easily be of Latin descent, and it certainly would make sense that Mr. MacAuley would employ a Spanish-speaking crew, considering the destination.
“I …” She pointed to herself. “Am looking …” she pointed to her eyes for Mr. Jack MacAuley,” she repeated more slowly, enunciating her words more carefully.
“He’s not here,” the man answered without any accent at all.
“Oh, good!” Sophie said. “You speak English quite well!”
He gave her a bemused sort of look.
Smiling reassuringly, Sophie approached him once more. “Do you know where I might find him?”
“Jack?”
Sophie clutched her purse before her, taking comfort in the persuasive nature of its contents. “Mr. MacAuley, yes. Have you any idea where he might be?”
The man had yet to rise to greet her, but Sophie excused his ill manners ... considering.
Someone must introduce good manners, she decided and extended her hand toward him. “I am Sophie Vanderwahl, and I wish to speak to Mr. MacAuley concerning a business matter of sorts.”
The man blinked, his big brown eyes looking wary. “Vanderwahl?” he said.
Sophie kept her smile broad and nodded, though he appeared distinctly guarded suddenly.
“Damn. Sorry,” he said, rising finally, seeming to remember himself at last. After wiping his hand first on his trouser, he shook her hand. “Not sure
where my manners ran off to. Kell Davenport, Miss Vanderwahl. Nice to meet ya.”
Sophie nodded. “And you,” she countered politely.
“Jack’s not here, but he’ll be back soon if you’d care to wait.” He motioned for her to sit perhaps, but there wasn’t any place Sophie cared to seat herself. Her gaze swept the deck, and she suppressed a grimace of disgust. Somehow she felt transported to a distant past, where comfort and the barest necessities were practically nonexistent. “Yes, thank you,” she replied, but stood, clutching her purse to her breast.
He interpreted her reluctance correctly. “It’s an old ship,” he said in explanation, although it didn’t really seem to be an apology. Instead there was a note of pride in his voice.
Sophie nodded pleasantly and tried not to sound too disdainful. “Oh, really?”
“Yep.” He swept a reverent glance over the ship. “An old warship, we believe, reconstructed to serve as an exploratory vessel. We found it nearly unseaworthy, and restored it. It turned out well,” he told her, and clearly believed it.
Sophie had doubts as to whether it would even remain afloat. She tried not to look as skeptical as she felt.
“Why yes, it did,” she agreed, swallowing at the lie. She looked about, trying to envision what he saw. “Very quaint,” she relented, and decided the man was utterly blind. Still, if he had faith in the vessel, who was she to question it?
What was she getting herself into?
“I just didn’t expect it to be soooo...” She tried to find the right word to express her uncertainty without hurting his feelings.
“Ancient?” He laughed, and the sound somehow put her at ease.
Sophie let out a breath. “Yes, that’s it!”
“She is at that, but she’ll do.” He smiled at her, and Sophie decided she liked Mr. Davenport well enough. He might not have the finest manners in the world, but his presence was quite affable. “She’s a beaut if you consider her age. It’ll feel almost nostalgic out there. Can’t wait to get the sails up.”
He stared up the masthead, and Sophie took the opportunity to walk over and inspect a baby cannon, one of two that adorned either side of the aft of the ship. Her fingers brushed over the blackened hull, and she couldn’t help but wonder ...
Three Redeemable Rogues Page 4