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.”

“He sounds like a wonderful man.”

“He is.”

That didn’t account for the sadness he’d revealed when his father was first mentioned. Damon could just miss him, she supposed, but if so, why didn’t he just say that?

“Do you have family in England, too?”

“Yes.”

That reply even produced a sigh! What the devil? “They’ve disowned you, haven’t they, on both sides of the ocean?” she guessed. “And no wonder, considering the occupation you’ve taken up.”

He rolled his eyes at her. “Wrong on both counts. And stealing beautiful women isn’t an occupation, Jack.”

She snorted. “Ah, yes, this must be what you call a minor offense. That is what you said at the ball, wasn’t it? That you’d only ever broken the law one time and it was a minor offense because no one got hurt?”

“You’re here merely as a means to an end, an important end.”

All humor gone, she said furiously, “That’s what you call killing my father?”

“I’m not the one who wants him dead.” Damon’s tone turned sharp. “How much do you really know about your father’s past?”

She stiffened, wondering what he was implying. He couldn’t know about her father’s days on the high seas when he’d been a gentleman pirate. No one outside the family knew about that.

She prevaricated, reminding him, “I already told you he used to be one of London’s most notorious rakes, which resulted in countless duels because of it.”

“What about his ten-year absence from home? Was that because his family disowned him?”

“You’ve been listening to London gossip, haven’t you?” she scoffed.

“There was quite a bit of it that night at the ball, all about him.”

“You can’t believe everything you get from the gossip mills.”

“Except you just confirmed that some of it is true. And answer me this: Do you think I would harm your father when I want you as much as I do?”

Her cheeks lit up with warm color, her breathing stopped.

And it was in his eyes, his beautiful eyes, suddenly incredibly sensual. He couldn’t do this to her again! Couldn’t leave her wishing they weren’t enemies! How dare he stir up her passions like this by saying something that—that provocative?

Chapter Thirty-Three

DAMON WATCHED HER REACTION carefully. He shouldn’t have been so explicit, and yet, he’d definitely caught her off guard. Jack was an open book when it came to her emotions. She could change her tone, she could pretend things she didn’t feel, but when it came to the rage she felt for him, she was never shy about sharing that. But they’d shared that brief moment of passion before she wrapped up her feelings in anger. But it was too soon. If she succumbed now before this played out, she’d have even more reason to hate him. But he hadn’t yet figured out how he could get around his intention to escort her father to a prison cell.