"No, but I've seen a competent physician at work before, and I know a dirty needle is worse than no needle a'tall."
"But how are you with a needle?"
"I know how to sew, if that's what you mean. My cousin Judy wanted to learn embroidery and I wasn't going to just sit there and watch her do it, so I learned, too."
"I would have thought you'd have been out slaying dragons instead."
"She and I did everything together. I didn't like the sewing, but she was pleased that I tried it with her."
"And then she hunted dragons with you?"
She glanced up at him and noticed his grin. "Is that what you did as a child? Pretend to slay dragons?"
He laughed. "Actually, Mort and I pretended to slay pirates. But then we grew up in the Caribbean. I don't think there are any dragons there. Was that a real smile, Jack?"
It had been, for the briefest moment, but she wasn't going to kick herself about it. "I was just imagining a dragon romping through the islands. But Judy and I didn't need to play pretend. Our family is too big. There was always something exciting happening to occupy us instead."
"Did she reciprocate and try all of your activities as well?"
"Goodness, no. Some of the things I cajoled my father into teaching me, she considered too unladylike for her. But she watched and cheered me on."
"Steering a ship isn't dangerous."
"Fetch me a rapier and I'll demonstrate."
He chuckled. "Lessons of that sort, really?"
"Much more fun than needlepoint."
To have such a normal conversation with him was a little disconcerting. A good start to her plan, but it still felt odd discussing their childhoods in such a whimsical way. But she didn't want to waste this opportunity to find out more about him, maybe even something personal that she could use against him.
So she said, "I would have guessed you grew up in England, not the Caribbean. You certainly sound English."
"Have I intrigued you again?"
"Again? Oh, that," she scoffed, thinking of the masquerade ball. "Any mystery is intriguing, and that's all you were-when you were wearing that ridiculous mask. Were you born in the islands?"
"Yes, of English parents. You'd be surprised how many Englishmen settle in the West Indies on the islands Britain has claimed."
"Which island?"
"If you're trying to distract me from my pain, you're doing a good job." He brushed his fingers softly over the hand she was leaning on his desk.
She jerked her hand away. She was out of her depth, trying to be nice to her worst enemy. She wished her fake relative, Andrew, were here to give her a few acting lessons. She was making a good start at being nice to Bastard, and she didn't want to ruin it by getting angry over his touching her.
"I'll wager your fancy cook has something for sunburns or knows how to make a cream for it. You should ask, because that burn is going to feel worse tomorrow than it does today."
"You know about sunburns, too?"
"I fell asleep in a field one summer and woke up with burned feet and hands. Yes, it can be painful."
"Why were you without shoes?"
"I liked running about barefoot at that age-well, sneaking about. Shoes were too noisy for sneaking. But you ought to treat your sunburn."
He raised a brow. "Your concern is . . ."
When he didn't finish, she did, saying, "Suspect? I recall the cream stinging horribly for a while before it got around to soothing."
He laughed, but then he slapped his chest, leaving a white handprint on the pink skin. "This is nothing, Jack. I grew up under a much hotter sun."
She shrugged. "Suit yourself."
Jackie returned with a lit candle, which he set on the desk next to Jacqueline, reminding her, "Don't let your food get cold again, m'lady."
///
She gave the freckled boy a hard look. "What did we agree on?"
He blushed. "M'lady Jack."
"That wasn't it," she mumbled as the boy quickly left, then said to Bastard, "He really is nervous around you, isn't he? You should put him at ease."
"I haven't adopted him. He'll figure out in due course that I don't bite."
That was debatable, particularly since Bastard's expression implied the remark had been for her rather than the boy. But starting an argument wasn't on the agenda tonight, so she held her tongue and reached for the needle instead, but realized she ought to remove the broken stitch first before she put in neat ones.