He hadn’t known what to expect when she vowed to “dress the part” of her old self, but nothing could have prepared him for the effect of her full costume. She looked like a lady-pirate-fairy-enchantress. Other descriptors also sprang to mind, but Jason dared not explore them. He was already struggling. He was in so far over his bloody head.
“You look far too beautiful for this,” he muttered, helping her into the tender that would row them to shore.
“You miss the point of a costume,” she said.
They settled on opposite seats while two sailors rowed them to shore.
“If you think I’ve missed a single thing about the way you look, Isobel, you are sorely mistaken.”
He’d not missed her logic or cunning either, not from the beginning. Her plan was brilliant. Efficient, light on resources, and low on violence. Best of all, if she could manage the pirates, the chance of success was high.
At some point—likely right now—he would be forced, as a leader, to let go of his reluctance and anxiety and embrace an attitude of “Go.” In his mind, he would analytically and tactically win. Missions succeeded when every operative did the correct thing at the correct moment, and then did it again and again. There was zero time or energy for worrying about her. It had been unprofessional and sloppy to remain so reticent for so long. Thiswashappening.
Letting out a huff of breath, he took up a silk rope coiled on the bottom of the boat.
“I suppose it’s time,” he said, holding up a frayed end.
“I suppose it is.” She held up her hands, wrists together.
“From the moment we set foot on the dock, the charade will be on.”
Isobel leaned in, extending her wrists.
Jason glanced at the shore. “One kiss,” he said. Not a question.
North, she mouthed, glancing at the sailors churning the oars.
“For luck,” he said. “Or... just in case.”
She bit her lip.
“To remember me by?” he tried. “Until we meet again. For love’s labor’s lost. For King and Country? Dong dong dell—”
“Fine,” she laughed, touching a gloved hand to her mouth.
He took that hand and tugged her against him. She went, tumbling into his lap. He buried his face in her hair.
“I wouldn’t mind seeing this ensemble again,” he whispered in her ear, “without the paid mercenaries or the pirates or my cousin.”
She laughed again. “These garments will be retired to a watery grave as soon as we are safely under sail.”
“You take my breath away,” he whispered.
“North,” she sighed, sounding fraught, which had never been his intent.
“Forgive me,” he said, rising up to kiss her. She threaded her hands around his neck and met his lips. Her hair enveloped him; he breathed in the sweet smell of her, the taste. Sensation washed over him, and he basked in the rhythm of the kiss, at once familiar and thrilling. He held her like she might jump overboard and swim away.
Isobel kissed him but she kept part of herself back. She was tense and reserved.
He growled in frustration.I love you.He said the words in his head. He dared not distress her; he dared not distress himself when she pushed the words away. He would wait. He would send his love for her silently into the universe and wait patiently for it to circle back.
In the meantime, he would bind her hands and drag her behind him like a prisoner.
Chapter Nineteen
Doucette came, as Isobel had known he would.
He was standing outside the little tavern, a phalanx of pirates flanking him, a grimace on his bearded face.
