“Useful resource—pirates. If someone doesn’t get their way.”
Jason’s brain was ticking through all they’d learned. He’d require far more details to mount any sort of a rescue, and the interrogation with Beddloe was progressing painfully slow.
He glanced at Isobel.
“The answer is yes,” she said.
He’d never meant to put her in the path of living, breathing pirates. When it came time for the actual recovery, only himself and the men he’d hired were meant to approach Doucette. But they were bounding over the discovery and thundering toward the rescue. To be fully effective and efficient, hecoulduse her help.
And she knew it.
“Isobel,” he began cautiously.
“Stop playing nanny,” she said, already moving around him and reaching for the door.
“Wait,” he warned, blocking her way. She collided with him. An Isobel-shaped imprint sizzled on his chest. “You don’t know what I was going to ask.”
“Yes, I speak Italian, and yes, I will translate.”
“I worry I’m taking advantage of you by asking this.”
“You’re not. I am not afraid of pirates.” She reached around him again.
Again he blocked her.
“I beg your pardon,” she said, a challenge. She tipped her face up.
He put his hand on her waist. She was too close not to touch. The motion was familiar, grounding. He’d not touched her since the rainy night on the deck. It felt so very natural. The unnatural thing would have beennottouching her.
He lowered his voice. “Dealing with this man is not essential. I can manage if you don’t want the bother. This is hardly what we discussed.”
“’Tis no bother, I assure you,” she said. “And the ship has long sailed on my doing only ‘things we discussed.’”
Her tone was convincing, boastful almost, and he gave her a little jostle, pulling her close enough to fall against his chest. She stopped the motion with a palm to his pectoral.
“I’ve missed you,” he whispered. Three words, already too much. He should have left it. Any sane, reasonable, respectful man would have left it.
She didn’t break his gaze.
He added, “I want whatever you will give me.”
Perhaps he’d not thought about what he wanted in asmany words, but it was true. He wanted whatever she would give him.
“I will translate, Your Grace,” she whispered. “Please do not ask for more.”
“I’m perishing,” he whispered, surprised at his own poetry. It was not untrue.
“You’re not getting exactly what you want,” she corrected. “It is not the same thing as perishing. Believe me.”
A loud bang from the other side of the door shattered the moment, and Jason released her. He reached for the door and she drew a shaky breath and patted the bun on top of her head.
“He’s not happy about this... interview,” he told her, trying to refocus. “But he’s bound to a chair. And I will be beside you. You are safe. Do not be alarmed.”
“Very little alarms me,” she said. “Although I do wonder who will protect me from you.”
“I’m sorry,” he said. It felt like the correct thing to say. He did not want to irritate her. He did not even want to wear her down. He couldn’t say what, exactly, he wanted beyond simply...her.
“Yes, we’re all very sorry,” she said. “Open the door.”
