When his eyes moved to her, she saw the stormy expression in them. Sitting there with the blanket held up to her neck, she was hesitant to say anything because she wasn’t at all familiar with this side of the man. But as he stared at her, his anger seemed to ease, and finally the tension left his body, too.
He crossed back to the door and closed it, telling her, “My men won’t bother you again, but if anyone other than Mort or my cabin boy enters the cabin when I’m not here, you have my permission to raise hell.”
“As in?”
“Scream really loud until I show up.”
She raised a brow. “How many times do I get to cry wolf before it doesn’t work anymore?”
“I’m serious.”
“You don’t think I’ll do it just to see you come running?”
“I don’t think you’re stupid, no.”
“But it would be interesting!”
He gave her a hard look, but it wasn’t the least bit intimidating after what she’d just witnessed. He seemed more like the man she knew, which meant she could resume her usual goading.
She did wonder why a degree of disgust had been in his voice when he’d called those two pirates “my men,” but she merely pointed out, “Your crewmen don’t seem very happy to take orders from you. Why is that?”
“They’re new” was all he said as he went to his desk, but he shook his head as he passed the dining table. “Your food is cold.”
“My maid wasn’t here to wake me,” she quipped.
“I suppose I can fill that position for the duration.”
Was he joking? She saw his grin as he sat down behind his desk. Carefully. Now all she could see above the desk were his handsome face and wide bare chest. Why the devil hadn’t he put a shirt on? She hadn’t shredded them yet, so he could have. She would have gotten up to get one and throw it at him, but preferred not to expose her bare legs to him. But she simply couldn’t stop staring at him. With muscles like that, no wonder he’d always found it so easy to restrain her.
She finally got her mind and eyes off his chest and arms and asked, “Should you even be out of bed yet?”
“The sawbones didn’t say I shouldn’t leave it.” He shrugged.
“He should have, or is he not a real doctor?”
“Of course he’s not a real doctor. His misnomer should have given you that clue. He’s good at chopping off limbs, but I doubt much else. How bad do you think this wound is?”
“Obviously not bad enough,” she hissed.
He was staring at her too intently, so she glanced at the table and wondered about making a run for it so she could get dressed. But he yelled toward the door, “Mr. Barker, have Jack—well, I suppose we’ll need to call your brother Jackie for the duration—bring my guest another tray.”
“I can eat cold food,” Jacqueline said loudly enough for the guard to hear, though she still stared at her nemesis. “So don’t do me any favors.”
“I do you all sorts of favors. You’re just usually too angry to notice.”
She had no clue what he meant by that, but she gave up waiting for some privacy and shot off the cot to retrieve the clothing she’d spread around his chairs last night. She only blushed a little when she picked up her underclothes and realized they were what that pirate had been inspecting.
“You look adorable this morning, wearing my shirt.”
She crossed back to the cot. “Did you buy this one for me?”
“No, I confess I like that color.”
Pink used to be a fashionable color for men, but that had been decades ago when bright satin jackets and knee-high britches were the choices of dandies, the more gaudy the better. Today men were much more staid in their dress. She was sure she’d laugh if she saw Bastard wearing the pink shirt. And since she’d rather he not think he amused her in any way, she decided not to give it back.
Laying her clothes on the cot, she reached for the rose brocade skirt, only to feel that it was still damp. She had decided on the sturdy traveling suit for the rendezvous for one reason, because even her day dresses were a little too fancy and she hadn’t wanted the Mask, or as she’d hoped, Bastard, to think she was trying to impress him. Why couldn’t that meeting have gone her way instead of his?
But she wasn’t surprised that the heavier brocade hadn’t fully dried yet, so she just put on her white petticoat. Made of fine batiste layered with only minimal puffing, each row bordered with a strip of white satin and dotted with tiny blue bows, it had been her hidden concession to elegance for the ensemble. Now it was no longer hidden.
