His gaze rested on her mouth for the longest time before he abruptly straightened and dropped his arms. “I do.”
“I can’t accept−” she ducked beneath his arms and fled.
“Him,” he finished for her.
From the dock, Devon looked over his harbor. The bobbing anchor-lights of his fleet resembled a myriad of fluttering fireflies. What he hadn’t won in a card game, he’d won through hard work, albeit on the edge of civilization. The rest he built and he was proud of that fact.
He was not in a good mood.
That, of course, owed to his conversation with Claire in the early morning.
She could be yours.
But she had a better life ahead in England. A far cry from what he could offer.
If she stayed, what then? What had he to offer her save a pirate’s life−the shame of his sorry past and the uncertainty of his future? His men needed him. His honor and responsibility to those men were at stake. There stood no answer for his dilemma.
Bloodsmythe broke in on his musings. Devon braced for a lava flow of words. “I’ve been thinking−”
“That’s a bad habit you have, Bloodsmythe. You ought to give it up,” Devon said, knowing where the conversation was headed.
“Why don’t you go up to the house and give the lass the pleasure of ye’r company instead of charming us with your sour mood?”
“I’m busy, neither do I have the inclination.”
Bloodsmythe scoffed. “Oh, aye. I forgot. Ye’r not mortal, like the rest of us.”
“And I’ll be reminding you of minding your own business unless you want the feel of the cat’ on your back.”
“It’s that bad is it? You remind me of a wolf turned into a lapdog looking for crumbs.” Bloodsmythe studied him a long while in silence. “She’s altered your outlook, hasn’t she?”
“Let’s say she’s clarified it.”
“Clarified be damned. Ye’r sick with desire,” said Bloodsmythe.
“Dammit, Bloodsmythe. You attract drama like flies to a dog’s corpse.”
The point is−what are you going to do about her?”
“I don’t know.”
“You must do better than that if you do not want her to know how she affects you,” his friend warned, unsuccessful in hiding his amusement. “You are wound so tight−”
“Go to hell, Bloodsmythe.”
“Well for heaven’s sakes, make up your mind. You’ve always been mooning over the girl. I saw it that first day on the docks in Jamaica. Get it over with.”
“Your memory is superior to your ethics,” Devon growled.
“No doubt.” Bloodsmythe chuckled. “Nevertheless, it’s better than seein’ ye stomp around here like a bear with a thorn in its paw.”
The days came and went. Devon ignored her completely, making himself invisible. Claire explored the house and the island, becoming increasingly impressed with his accomplishments. The people proved industrious and happy. The island thrived, and frankly, Claire admitted, it was owed wholly to their leader.
He had their undying allegiance and respect. She began to understand his dilemma, to almost forgive the life he had chosen. By all accounts, he stood an honorable man. She didn’t know what triggered these changes in feelings inside her yet there emerged an admiration of his accomplishments despite all the hurdles life threw his way. Was there anything he couldn’t do? Nagging at the back of her mind remained a genuine frustration. Who was Devon? Pirate? Doctor? Philanderer? Benefactor? Thief? Savior?
Claire moved to the library, picked a book out. She supposed the entire collection was commandeered and graciously given as Devon put it. Abu Ajir chattered, perched on the desk. She fed him some crumbs she kept in her pocket. “You’re my only companion,” she sighed heavily. The crow croaked his regrets. Animated voices rang from the front of the house. Claire moved to the foyer.
“Lily!” She was so happy to see her cousin. Devon had out sailed theGolden Gull, by a week, making the journey to Paradise at an unprecedented speed. Claire stopped. Lily walked arm in arm with Robert Ames. Would Ames fault her for Jarvis’s brutal attack?
