Beautiful Tempest(35)

If he was scarred, she'd gloat. No doubt he deserved every wound he'd gotten. But she had a feeling now that his bedding down in a less than comfortable manner was more for her benefit than his. Did he really not want to offend her sensibilities? That smacked so much of being a gentleman that she couldn't credit it, yet she had seen how he'd behaved at Lady Spencer's ball.

He'd cut a fine figure in his black tailed coat and had known exactly what to do and say that night. And his speech was refined, not fresh out of the gutter. He'd even managed to excite her with his air of mystery. She wondered if he could have been reared gently by English parents. Was that why he'd managed to deceive her that night? And whom was she kidding? Her own father had raised enough havoc on the seas to be labeled a pirate. So it was definitely possible that Bastard had been a gentleman prior to becoming a lying kidnapper.

It didn't change her worse-than-bad opinion of him; she just found it amusing that he'd want to spare her the sight of his nakedness. She ought to do the opposite herself, at least remove her blouse, skirt, and petticoat. She enjoyed the idea of shocking him, but only briefly. He probably wouldn't be shocked and would see it as an invitation, and she certainly didn't want to extend one. She recalled how he'd looked at her on the last voyage after she'd taken off her wilted ball gown and donned one of his white shirts for the sake of comfort. The sensual expression in his turquoise eyes had so unnerved her that she'd punched him in the jaw. Well, she'd tried, but he was quick and had caught her hand, laughing. No, she wasn't going to do anything he might interpret as an invitation. She was and would remain fully clothed, right down to her boots. She would have slept in her spencer jacket, too, if she hadn't already draped it over the back of a chair.

After he turned off the lantern, she asked, "D'you have scars?"

"Not many, why?"

A lot of moonlight was in the room, so she looked in his direction, waiting for him to sit back up to talk, but he didn't.

"No reason." She lay down on her back to ignore him.

"I can guess."

"No, you can't."

"You wonder why I don't sleep naked when that is my habit."

Damned mind reader. "Since I don't know your habits or care to know them, your guess is wrong. But why don't you move me in with your other hostages? The hold would be preferable to your cabin."

"And miss these scintillating conversations with you?"

"Is that where you put them? In the hold?"

He didn't answer, said instead, "I take it you aren't blushing?"

"I have a good imagination. I frequently imagine you walking about naked. It's amusing." After a silent moment, she wondered aloud, "Are you blushing?"

"No," he said in an amused tone. "Just surprised that we have the same imagination."

She drew in her breath and her cheeks got hot. Bloody hell. She turned over loudly to face the bulkhead, but her remaining dagger was strapped to her thigh, so she turned again.

"Sweet dreams, Jack." A definite chuckle.

"They will be, full of gore and you dangling from a hangman's noose and-"

"Spare me the details, please."

The room suddenly blackened when clouds got in the way of the moon, but she wasn't going to let the darkness lull her to sleep. She had to do something tonight before the ship sailed farther away from England. She had to find Jeremy, commandeer the ship while most of the crew were sleeping. Finish off Bastard . . .


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The thought of hurting anyone disturbed her, but this man deserved it. Not only had he kidnapped her twice, he was now holding Jeremy and Percy as hostages. And he was in the employ of some nefarious pirate who was determined to kill her father. She had to do it. It was the only way she could get the key and unlock the cabin door. If she tried to pick the lock with her dagger, she knew he'd hear it and take away her last weapon, rendering her utterly helpless again. She hated that he was such a light sleeper, wouldn't even be surprised if he slept with one eye open.

The moonlight came back, but only for a second. But its absence made her worry that storm clouds had arrived. There'd been none the last time she'd looked out those barred windows, but that had been hours ago.

Rain and a thunderstorm would be the worst luck. There was no way Bastard would sleep through that. But she had no clue if he was sleeping yet and probably wouldn't get one since the man didn't snore.

When enough time had passed to ensure he was asleep and the moonlight had come back, she got her dagger from her thigh sheath before she stood up and tiptoed over to Bastard's bed. The nice weapon had a seven-inch blade, sharp and lightweight, made just for her. She positioned herself at his bedside and bent over him before she reached for the key. It was where he usually kept it, in the right-side pocket of his trousers, but she wondered why her removing it didn't wake him, light sleeper that he was. Then she saw that it had. His eyes were open and locked to hers. The only reason he remained perfectly still was because now that he was awake, he couldn't help but feel the blade she held pressed to his neck. It was now or never.