“Card palace,” beamed Raven.
“The pair of them,” Saunders said, “are trying to impress little Merry with the magnificence of their erections.”
Saunders thought he detected the trace of a smile at the corner of Devon’s lips, though the arrogant blond man’s stare was not encouraging. Will Saunders was as intimidated by Devon as any other man on theJoke,but he had promised Merry that he wouldn’t give her away, so he tried again. “Care to try your luck too, then?”
“No, thank you,” Devon said. “The competition is too—”
“Stiff?” suggested Cook with wicked glee.
“Possibly, but I was going to say—too numerous. Will, Tom wants you on deck. I’m going to board the American schooner and see if I can learn anything of interest. Good-bye. And take your”—Devon skillfully readjusted Dennis’s wriggling pig body in Will Saunders’s arms—“swine with you.”
The speed with which Raven and Cook quitted the room behind Saunders laid a faint suggestion that they might include themselves in Devon’s last category. Merry was still deciding whether she was also one of the swine who ought to get out when Devon shut the door and came to stand in front of her.
“Would you care to tell me what that was about?” he asked her. “The four of you weren’t throwing around heavy furniture for no reason.”
So he had heard the chair fall. “People have no privacy on a ship,” she said. “I don’t know why anyone wants to stay on them.”
“Look at me!” he said.
It was best to convince him, if she could, that nothing ofconsequence had occurred. Merry tilted her chin up, willing herself to fully contact his gaze. If his tone had been demanding, his eyes held a caress. There was a fine-edged friendliness about him today that she had barely glimpsed once before, the night at the tavern when she had seen him first. The sweet novelty of it cut like tin scissors through the resistance she had spent the night building toward him, but however attractive the man was, and whatever the graces of his character, this man, this Britishspy,would never be for her.
Last night she had heard him whisper love words to her in long unearthly dreams, and in some empty place in her spirit she had prayed that the seeds of his inclination for her might grow into something more splendid and substantial. But daybreak is a saner time, and at dawn’s first narrow light Merry had tucked away her absurd fairy-tale hopes. Whatever the kindness of his gaze this morning, there was nothing in it so noble as love or even so ignoble as lust; it was as though he had simply decided to dispense with an unsatisfied ardor. He had made a barrier, not because it would protect either him or her, but because it was common sense. In his glowing eyes, in the sensual line of his lips, there was no sign it might be a struggle for him to deny the joyous enchantment of yesterday’s kisses and transform the gentle, playful lover into a temperate companion. Oh, no, Devon was not trembling on the heart-thrilling verge of denouncing piracy and taking up cobbling in her noble honor. It was hopeless, and she had known it even before she learned about his British military connections. Hopeless.
Drawing his thoughtful scrutiny of her to an end, Devon said, “If I had to guess—and it seems I do—I’d guess that Cook wouldn’t lay hands on Raven because Raven was trying to corrupt you, so I’ll have to assume it was the other way around. What would you try to talk Raven into that Cook didn’t like?”
When it came to guessing, there was no one better at itthan Devon. Merry concentrated on showing nothing, and his regard remained steady and quizzical. She had no idea whether or not she was successful. His outstretched hand came to rest on her shoulder, his touch molding lightly to the curving surface. She felt the stroke of his fingers, and his warmth penetrated slowly through her nerve-chilled and unwilling flesh. It was a clear demonstration that he could touch her and still not take her in his arms and do more. When he spoke again, it was to say lightly, “Never mind. Just don’t do anything foolish, Merry friend. If you aren’t who you say you aren’t—and I’m beginning to believe you—you have nothing to fear from me. You see, my mind is changing. I’m checking on one piece of your story, and if the item clears you—then we’ll see.”
“What item?” she said too rapidly.
“Don’t worry,” he said. “I suspect you’ll pass.”
No, I won’t,she thought,especially if it has anything to do with certain pictures I drew of you for the American government. Could you find that out? I don’t want to be here if you do.
It cost her a fiery and humiliating blush, but she said, “About yesterday…”
Attractive creases softly bracketed his smile. “It would take a savant with a micrometer to detect my conscience, Windflower, but you activate it better than most can.”
“Why?”
“I think”—his hand left her shoulder—“it has something to do with the way you fall out of a hammock.”
His words, though friendly, were dismissive; Merry got to her feet and started to walk toward the door. She stopped halfway.
“Devon?” She turned back toward him where he stood, a dusky silhouette against the window’s lurid flare. “What American schooner?”
“You listen closely, don’t you? There’s a two-masted schooner, theGood Shepherd,lying off the lee bow. We’ve been playing cat and mouse with each other for hours now, and they’ve finally signaled that they’re ready to talk.”
“What kind of American schooner would want to talk to pirates?” she said.
“She’s a privateer, probably from Massachusetts, if Morgan’s information is correct.”
It was not safe to ask so many questions; still, surely he couldn’t wonder at her curiosity? “If that’s an American privateer, why hasn’t she tried to blow us out of the water? The bounty on theBlack Jokemust be—”
“In the tens of thousands.” Calmly, “Yes. TheJokewent through a metamorphosis before we came within range of theGood Shepherd. The black caterpillar crystallized into a white moth. The figurehead that was a gorgon has been replaced by a genie in a turban, and the signature of the bow readsArab,which is by no coincidence a letter-of-marque trader with a Baltimore certificate of registry, Commission number six sixty-eight.”
“Then it’s a trick,” she said bitterly. “What happened to the realArab?”
“Captured in the Rappahannock River and sent to Halifax. It’s not common knowledge yet.” Watching her face, he said, “Does this shock you? Your country does it too.” When she would not answer him, he said, this time with amusement, “Ah, yes. I comprehend from your eloquently contemptuous eyes. You’re raptly condemning the hateful trade of piracy. It’s good of you to spare me a lecture. You had better leave the room before your discipline collapses. Good day.”
