And then she would say she loved him, too, and Gavin would never be able to part them.
He had no doubt that Perkins and Baynton’s footmen would physically carry him to the ship. He’d probably be placed in the brig for most of the journey.
Nor did he want to think of facing Governor Strong when he returned to Boston. They’d both had high expectations for this trip.
Now any talk of negotiations was doomed. Jack had no doubt that Lawrence would happily take this tale to Congress. Jack’s treatment would be considered an affront to the United States. The war hawks would be stamping their feet for Madison to declare war—and all because of Gavin’s jealousy.
His twin’s many machinations would have made their father proud.
Jack tried to keep his focus. He was hungry and thirsty. That worked against him, but this was not the first time he’d been a captive and he’d managed his way out of that one.
Sooner or later, they would come for him and when they did, Jack would have an opportunity to break free.
And then what? Would anyone in London care that the duke had locked up his turncoat brother? Most would cheer him on.
Jack sat on the floor, legs bent, his head resting on his knees. He kept his sanity by thinking of ways he could pay back his brother. The hour grew late. Past midnight by his calculations.
He might have dozed, but woke at a sound coming from the door. It wasn’t that of a key turning in the lock but then he heard a click.
In the darkness, the door quietly swung open.
A shadow appeared in the door and a soft voice said, “Whitridge?” She stepped into the moonlight, a slender youth in breeches, shoes without their buckles, and an oversized hat that hid a wealth of glorious hair.
“God help me,” he said under his breath, uncertain if he could believe it was she, and then going into a panic, because itwasshe. Where were the guards? What if they discovered her?
He jumped to his feet, put his hand out in the dark, and felt her. He pulled her into the room, soundlessly shutting the door. He almost choked on his joy. She smelled of the fresh night air and her own sweetness.
“What are you doing here?” he asked.
“I was wondering the same about you,” she whispered. “There are men sleeping in the hall wearing your brother’s livery.”
“That is right. My brother put me here.”
“No,” she shot back. “He told me you left. What is this about? What of your meeting?”
“It is done, my lady. There will be no meeting. Gavin will have me taken to the ship in a few hours and see me gone to Boston. How did you come here?”
“I was angry,” she said. “I came to give you a very angry talking-to.”
“Because?” he prompted.
“You were going to leave. You were going to leaveme—”
He broke off her words with a kiss. He must. Dear merciful Lord, he must.
And she kissed back. Her lips had been together, but at his insistence, they parted ever so slightly, just enough for the kiss to deepen.
Jack had kissed more than his share of the fairer sex but nothing was as pleasing as kissing Charlene Blanchard.
She must have liked it, too. Her body leaned against him. Her breasts flattened against his chest. His hand drifted to her waist and then lower. It couldn’t help itself. From the moment he’d first seen her in breeches, he’d longed to caress the curve of her buttocks...
But, infuriatingly, there was something more important he needed to think about and that was escaping. He brought the kiss to a close. She tried to follow his lips, her body pliant.
He leaned back. “We must be out of here, my lady.”
“Oh. We must,” she agreed, sounding very much like someone returning to awareness. She stepped back. “You kiss much better than the duke.”
“He kissed you? No, wait, don’t answer that. I’ll be forced to tear the lips off of his face, and right now, we need to leave here.” He walked over to the door. “You said the guards were asleep?”
