“We’re cousins.”
Another long interval of silence before Ben gave his grudging reply. “Damn you, Jean Paul, you’re getting on my nerves—shut up, already!”
Having heard enough, Jessie knocked faintly upon the door, somewhat shaken. “’Tis me,” she called out, trying to sound nonchalant.
There was a long, impenetrable silence, then Jean Paul’s voice rang out clearly. “Come in, come in,ma petite. Come in!”
She opened the door to find Jean Paul at the port window, facing her, looking drawn, but well enough.
Ben, on the other hand, sat upon his pallet, propped against the wall, his expression grim. The coverlet had been hastily tossed over his limbs, and his shirt was agape. In his hand he held a long, slim piece of oak, and he pretended to study the length of it, ignoring her.
Jessie’s first thought was that Jean Paul should not have risen so soon. But then, unable to help herself, she quickly returned her gaze to Ben. She’d never seen a man unclad before, and couldn’t help but stare. She found herself wondering if that were the way Christian looked without his shirt. Theywere similar in build, after all. As though suddenly realizing the direction of her gaze, Ben clasped his shirt together, turning a shade of crimson as he concealed himself from her scrutiny. Chagrined by her brazenness, Jessie managed a hasty apology, and before either of them could protest her leaving, she turned and left them, closing the door swiftly behind her.
Going in search of Christian, for she fully intended to demand he take her home, she made her way above deck, only to discover it bustling with activity. The one detail in particular that caught her immediate notice was that the mainsail was being hoisted. As understanding dawned, it took mere seconds for her anger to resurface.
Christian, the cur, stood upon the foredeck, his legs set imposingly apart as he overlooked the preparations for sail, barking orders to his men. Enraged, she marched toward him, fists clenched. “Just what do you think you’re doing? And why have you brought so many of my belongings aboard this—this smuggler’s den of yours? I do not intend to remain!”
His eyes glinted with amusement. For a long moment it seemed he wouldn’t reply at all, and then when he did, his tone mocked her. “It seems to be obvious,m’mselle, I am readying the ship for sail.” He eyed her gown and lifted the corners of his mouth. “As for your belongings,” he told her somewhat scathingly, “I believe you’ll find that you will indeed need them”—his brow rose—”unless, of course, you prefer to wear your nightwear instead.”
“Oh yes! Of course,” she replied in an acid tone. “I love to parade about in my nightgown! More than that, even, I love to be abducted in the middle of the night and brought against my will to a den of thieves! Indeed I do!” God help her, she wanted to slap the self-satisfied smirk from his face.
He gave her a quelling look, narrowed his eyes, then glanced away as though to remind her that his men were listening, as well. “Watch your tongue,” he warned. “I’d loathe to have to?—”
“Cut it out?” she demanded indignantly. “Famous! Smuggler, traitor, ravisher of innocents—and butcher now, as well! You would, wouldn’t you?”
“Kiss you?” he murmured low. His lips curved slightly, taunting her. “What do you think,mon amour?” His smiled deepened, though it never reached his eyes. “Wouldn’t I love to, indeed?”
Jessie shuddered at his veiled warning. “Nay!” she said quickly, “I-I meant that you would cut out my tongue!”
“Don’t tempt me,” he said drolly, lifting a brow, and cocking his head.
“You! I insist you take me back to Charlestown at once! Now! You don’t need me here! Nor do I wish to remain.”
“Nay.”
“Nay?” she repeated incredulously.
He nodded. “I believe that is what I said.”
“But you cannot keep me here!”
“Can I not?” Once again he cocked his head and lifted a brow in challenge.
“Nay, you cannot!” she countered, bristling. “I can do no more for Ben—or Jean Paul—than anyone else aboard this accursed ship—and I will not remain to be abused by you!”
He eyed her sharply. “M’mselle, I’ve not so much as lifted a finger against you, but I warn you, I’m sorely tempted this moment to put you over my knee and paddle that delightfully tempting derriere of yours, audience or nay.” He lifted his chin, indicating the scrutiny of his men. By now, all had suspended their chores in order to watch them with unconcealed interest.
Jessie followed his gaze, mortified to have been threatened in such an intimate manner before so many watchful pairs of eyes—and ears! “Oh!” she gasped. “You just bloody well try!”
He crossed his arms over his chest. “Threats,m’mselle?” He actually laughed then.
Jessie narrowed her eyes at him. “I’m not completely at your mercy, you realize,” she reminded him, chafing at his arrogance. “Ben remains below deck.” In an angry whisper, she confided, “I would need but tell him what you did to me back in your cabin, and he would surely find cause enough to call you out!” In truth, it was the very last thing Jessie intended for her cousin to do—particularly in his present state—but it seemed the only thing with which to threaten the incorrigible beast.
Christian never blinked an eye at her dire proclamation, but said quite amiably, “That would be a rather unfortunate mistake on his part.” Though his tone was casual, his eyes seemed to bore through her with brilliant intensity. And then he said soberly, “If you care at all for his life... you’ll do no such thing. Ben’s a good man—a bit green about the edges perhaps, but even so, I’d like to see him live long enough to get over loving you. You see, my love, he doesn’t realize it yet, but you’re unequivocally the worst thing that could ever have happened to him.”
Jessie’s eyes widened at his cruel words.
“Aye,” he said low. “Don’t tell me you didn’t know.” His arms crossed, his legs set arrogantly apart, he challenged her to deny it.
