Beautiful Tempest(67)

She frowned that he was fixated on one when she'd just mentioned both. "No, but I know they're chivalrous, and men like that will lie to keep a woman from worrying. So I'm only somewhat reassured. I'd still like to actually see them both."

"I don't want to watch you crying over a-suitor."

It was apparent in that moment that he knew he had her brother Jeremy. The pause was too significant. Bloody hell! But she refused to confirm it. He wasn't going to get to gloat to her if she could help it. So she left his chair if that's what he was waiting for and moved to the table to ignore him.

But she couldn't do that when she was still bristling over what had happened with the pirates after she'd spoken with Jeremy and Percy. "I don't believe they're all against you when you work for the same man and share the same goal. It's just Bart Satin who appears to be causing all the trouble for you."

"Your thinking that I'm loyal to that pirate is a misconception."

"Then take me back to London now, before you end up dying over this!"

"Would you care?"

It was a long moment-she actually had to think about it first!-before she said, "Of course not. But if you don't favor Lacross, then why are we here!?"

"For a different reason this time, so leave it go. You'll have answers soon enough."

He left the cabin, clearly telling her that she couldn't pull the information out of him until he was ready. But what was he waiting for?


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Chapter Thirty-Two




SNUG BETWEEN THE WHEEL and Damon's broad chest again, Jacqueline was somewhat mollified over what had transpired yesterday. A freshwater bath that morning instead of the usual ocean water had helped, his way of saying he was sorry, she supposed. Still, just to be ornery, she'd left her hair unbound today so it would flit around his face in the wind. Yet all it got her was his body pressed firmly to her back and buttocks, and his chin resting on top of her head.

She laughed. "Okay, I get the point." She gathered her hair over one shoulder and tried to braid it, which wasn't easy in the wind. "An English gentleman would simply have asked me to stop behaving like a hoyden."

"I doubt a gentleman would be that blunt with you."

She grinned. "Probably not. Definitely not if he's courting me."

"You think I'm English?"

She blinked and turned around to face him now that he'd moved back to his usual position. She'd assumed he was English, but she couldn't recall ever asking him to confirm it. "Aren't you?"

"Born of English parents, raised in the islands, but sent to England to finish my schooling. I suppose I am."

She chuckled. "It was beginning to sound as if you weren't sure. Did you like living in the islands? By the way, which island did you live on? Swimming in warm waters on hot days? Riding on beaches? Pretending to kill-your own kind?"

He laughed at the last question, her reference to his previous confession that, as children, he and Mortimer had pretended to slay pirates instead of dragons. But he only answered one of her questions. "I've never cared much for riding. My mother got me a pony when I was a child, but then she left and I outgrew it."

"That's an odd way to say she passed on. How old were you?"

"Seven. But I don't know if she's dead or alive. She ran off with our neighbor and we never saw her again."

Turning around, she saw the anger on his face. She so rarely saw him angry. Frustrated, yes, extremely so, but never this sort of cold, quiet anger.

"I've never hated anyone so much."

She wished he hadn't added that. She'd never known anyone who hated his or her own mother. It must be an abhorrent emotion to harbor, a contradiction of nature, and it stirred-she realized she felt sorry for him! She almost touched his cheek to comfort him before she caught herself and squashed the urge.

She immediately shook off that ridiculous moment of compassion and changed the subject. "What about your father? Is he still in the islands?" 

"Yes."

It was said sadly, which was better than his anger, but still curious. Other than his annoying good humor, and that brief moment of coldness over his mother's desertion, he didn't usually show her any other feelings.

"Tell me about him?"

"We were close, and he was very supportive after my mother deserted us. He used to drink, perhaps a little too much, but that stopped completely after she was gone. He came up with all sorts of distractions to keep me from thinking about it, but I think they were meant to distract him as well. We loved her. I wonder sometimes if I would have grown up bitter and filled with rage if not for him."