Using the bottommost trunk as a step, she carefully climbed the stack to place her ear against the wooden door. Christianpounded the door unexpectedly, ringing her ears with the unholy vibration, and Jessie leapt away, nearly tumbling from her carefully laid mountain to the floor.
“Damn you, Jess! I demand you open this door! I’m not in the mood for games,” he warned.
She gave him no response.
“Jessamine? Do you hear me? I desire my bed!”
God forgive her, but she couldn’t resist baiting him. “I suggest you seek it elsewhere, then,” she told him flippantly, “for I’ll not be giving this one up! Nor will I share!” And that was that, she swore to herself, slapping her hands in a definitive manner, smiling with self-satisfaction.
“The devil you say, woman! That ismycabin you would have me give up, and I’ll not do so,” he apprised her.
“Oh, but you will,” she demurred sweetly, “for I doubt I shall ever allow you entrance. I did not ask to be brought aboard this thieves’ den, and because you seem to have so little regard for my wishes, nor will I for yours, my nefarious Prince of Smugglers—Lord Christian, hah! What a farce!”
Her words brought a smile to Christian’s lips.
It was themythat settled him so quickly.
His grin was smug as he disclosed, “Perhaps you don’t realize, as yet, but you’ll need come out of that cabin sooner or later, love. You’ll need to eat sometime, and when you do?—”
“Camp by the door then,” she suggested. “Though I fear you’ll have quite a long wait. Your cabin boy—Peter, I believe is his name—was quite accommodating, you see.”
Christian shook his head, disbelieving his ears.
“I simply told the dear boy that I was feeling under the weather,” Jessie told him, “and that I preferred to take my meals in my cabin. He understood perfectly and gave me enough provisions to last, well... a few days at least.” She giggledsuddenly, and added, laughter in her tone, “How very tired of waiting you shall grow!”
Christian was no longer amused; the thought of waiting days for his bed was wholly unpalatable. “Damn you!” he bellowed. “You little hoyden!”
Losing his patience all over again, he slammed his boot against the door. She had it bolted from within, he was certain, but it seemed too solid a barrier to be simply barred. It was as though she’d placed something before it... His brows furrowed. What the devil could she have moved to bar it with? he wondered. Most everything was nailed firmly to the floor in protection against the movement of the sea. And damn her, for she sounded so very self-satisfied; it rankled to the bone.
Releasing the full magnitude of his temper, he agitated the doorknob, nearly detaching it in his fury, and shook the cabin door so violently that Jessie had to wonder whether her barricade would even hold against him—yet hold, it did, even if the trunks seemed somewhat the worse for wear.
Another string of vile curses stung the air, and then utter silence fell between them.
Had he given up at last?
Jessie doubted it; somehow she had the distinct impression Hawk, odious Prince of Smugglers, never simply gave up at anything.
But then... where had he gone to suddenly?
It was entirely too quiet on the other side of the door.
More important... what was he planning?
When there was no more sound from behind the door, Jessie had to assume victory. Yet it had come too easily...
Her brow furrowed. Unsure of what to do next, she paced the cabin floor, clasping her hands at her back to stop them from quaking. After a long interval, when there was still no sign of him forthcoming, she decided to pour herself a goblet of Christian’sfine Madeira to calm herself. God’s truth, but her nerves had never been more frazzled than they were this instant, and were becoming more so by the second.
Finishing it quickly, she gave a choked little cough. God knew, all she needed now was to drown herself in his good wine—probably stolen or smuggled! she reflected resentfully. With a ragged sigh, she poured herself another brimming goblet-full and then wandered to the cheval glass. The woman staring back at her was haggard looking; hair mussed from slumber, and faint shadows darkening the hollows beneath her eyes. And the neck of her gown choked her, strangled her breath. She drew at the neckline irritably, and gave a derisive little laugh, for the gown had surely had its desired effect above deck; Christian had not so much as glanced at her untowardly. He was quite obviously unaffected by her.
He didn’t care.
He’d never cared.
Yes, his threats had been lecherous, but there had been no heat to them, no feeling. No intent. God, what was wrong with her? Surely she wasn’t thinking... that she wanted...
She shook her head vehemently, and took another sip, refusing to continue her present vein of thought.
Stay out of his way indeed.
