A dog chases him—brown fur, ungainly on its legs, tongue dangling. When it reaches Isabel, it begins to dance around the velvet armchair she has occupied the past hour.
“Jib! Down, girl!” Jack calls. The dog is wagging its tail so hard its entire body shakes. “Down!” Jack says again, and then he has the dog by its collar and is pulling it away, out of the room.
A small whine sounds behind the door when he comes back in. “Sorry about the dog. She’s still a pup.”
Isabel rises, surreptitiously placing the book she’s been picking through on the seat of the chair behind her. “Good morning,” she says, and falters, casting about for a clock, then for the sky outside the window. The sun is high, set in a backdrop so pale it’s nearly white. “Good afternoon, I mean.”
Jack tosses his hat onto the books on the desk and crosses the space between the door and her chair in four strides, and then he’s bowing and holding out his hand to her and she slots her own into it as if it’s the last piece to complete a puzzle. He presses his lips against the back of her hand where her fingers meet her knuckles and holds them there a few seconds. She feels every one of those seconds deep in her stomach. When he lets go, she looks at him a little dazed and he smiles and holds her gaze, long enough she feels she needs to sit down again.
“We had the same idea,” he says. “I was at the old pilchard shed waiting for you. I wanted to talk to you. After a while, I realized I was on a fool’s errand—Lady Darby might well have asked you to stay another day or you may have decided to linger long enough to secure a second dinner.”
She blushes at the insinuation; yes, she enjoyed the food immensely,because at home she only had her badly peeled potatoes, bone-filled fish, and mismatched soups.
Watching her expression, Jack says gently, “I understand the fare you’re accustomed to is not the fare you get in your present situation. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.” He wipes his brow. “By God, it’s hot for May. In any case, I rode back and Tom told me there was a lady waiting for me. I knew it must be you. You’ve come straight from Weatherston, then?”
“I have,” she says. “It pleases me that we each thought to meet the other. May I call you Jack again now?”
“You may call me that anytime. Though you were right to take care last night. That Lieutenant Sowerby is a sharper knife than he appears.”
“You seemed to gain quite a lot of information speaking with him.”
He smiles ruefully. “You see why the dinner was important.” He reaches behind her and lifts the book from the seat of the chair.Voyage de La Pérouse autour du monde, publié conformément au décret du 22 avril 1791,the title page reads. “You read French?”
“I try.”
“He’s been all over the world, La Pérouse. It’s an interesting story.” He sounds wistful.
“Is that what you’d like to do?” she says. “Sail across the world?”
“Only men sponsored by His Majesty’s Navy get to do that, if they don’t end up on blockade for years on end. Or ones who have the capital to finance such a voyage.”
“Is that why you’re a smuggler, so you may raise the capital for a journey of exploration?”
He laughs. “You’ve a too-romantic picture of me, Isabel. I smuggle so that I may repair the roof and my tenants may put bread in their children’s bellies with their share of the profits. Many of them are a part of my crew; they can use the extra income, especially if we have another poor harvest.” Still laughing, he hands her the book. “Youmay borrow it, if you’d like to continue reading about La Pérouse’s adventures.”
“Thank you. I should like that.” She runs her fingers over the leather cover, then looks up at him again. “You really shouldn’t be riding about the country. You should be resting.”
“I’m fine. I sail to France in five days.”
“So soon?” she says, ignoring the flutter of nerves. She’s going to have to ask him. No, she thinks, not ask—demand. Secrets come at a price.
“We need to be back in time to land the cargo when the moon is new. Now, before we discuss business matters, let me ask you this. Has Tom offered you any refreshment?”
“He has, thank you.”
When she doesn’t say anything else, he asks, “Well, what did you have? Tea? Coffee? Brandy? I don’t believe it’s too early in the day. We’ve plenty of that, though most of our recent cargo has been watered down and sold.” At her look, he hastens to add, “It’s not what it sounds like. We ship it overproof so we can get more across in one run. It’s too strong to drink—it’d burn your throat. So what did Tom get you and can I get you some more?”
“I enjoyed a glass of water.”
“You enjoyed it, did you? The scoundrel. Should you like a glass of coffee or port? We have some things to discuss. Chief among them the fact that you’re now one of the few people not actively part of our operation who knows I’m the captain of theRapide.”
Ten minutes later they’re sitting in two brocade armchairs by the empty hearth in the drawing room, which like Jack’s study looks out across the sea. The dog, Jib, lies at Jack’s feet. The breeze wanders in through the window, accompanied by the crashing of the waves. The coffee smells a little burned. The weather is almost too hot for it today.
“Here’s what I propose,” Jack says.
The way he keeps resting his gaze on her is distracting, as is the look in his eyes and how it makes her feel. There’s something raw in it, as if something about her makes him hungry.
“Isabel?”
