His Wicked Kiss Part 7

"You almost make me change my mind," he whispered low, so only she could hear.

She noticed, then, with an appalled jolt, that they were caught up in the middle of a standoff.

Connor had arrived.

He had stopped in his tracks farther up the boardwalk and, upon seeing Jack grab her, he had reached for the rifle strapped across his back.

But when the Australian had pointed his weapon at Jack, a dozen sailors on the riverboat had instantly seized their Baker rifles and had taken aim at him in return. Papa had stepped in front of Connor, his arms spread, while Mr. Trahern screamed at his men to hold their fire.

"Good G.o.d!" Eden breathed, but Jack took control with a kingly roar: "Lower your weapons!"

His men obeyed without hesitation, but Connor kept his rifle trained expertly on Jack.

The look on Connor's face told her that he wanted blood.

She had seen that look before, that terrible day in the forest. It was a memory she loathed more than anything.

Barely aware that she had moved in front of Jack, Eden lifted her hands in a calming gesture. "Connor, please. Put the rifle down."

He stared at her in icy stillness: silent accusation.

Fear spiked through her when she read the fury in his eyes-as though he saw and understood just how much she had enjoyed Lord Jack's outrageous kiss.

"Do as she says, man!" her father snapped. "Put the gun down! Are you mad?" Yes, Papa, he is, a little. Hadn't you noticed? Eden thought.

Still poised to kill, Connor flicked a guarded glance in Dr. Farraday's direction.

He suddenly swung the rifle back over his shoulder and sent Eden an icy stare that promised there'd be consequences later. He pivoted on his heel and left the scene without a word, but Eden had turned pale.

A knot formed in the pit of her stomach, for she knew that she would have to face him alone soon, and it appeared their protector's patience with her had just run out.

Jack had no idea who the tedious fellow was who had aimed the rifle at his head, but he was used to people wanting to kill him, and at the moment, he was too drunk off her sweet mouth to care.

Her father was screaming at him, but Jack just stared at Eden, reeling with the unexpected bounty of her kiss, his senses thickened with desire. Those plump, silky lips were every bit as luscious as he'd briefly fantasized, and Jack wanted more, kisses down her neck and arms, kisses up her legs.

He thought of her story of orchids and trees, their sweet symbiosis, and felt the power of this woman shake him. Her unsullied, inward beauty somehow fed his soul.

True, he had wanted to taste her from the start, but he had only succ.u.mbed to the impulse to shove it in her father's face. Victor's words-"Get away front my daughter!"-were ones that Jack had heard before. They had flung him back to another place, another time, another girl.

The Irish b.a.s.t.a.r.d.

Never good enough.

"Stay away from our daughter." Ah, that foolish chit he once had thought he loved. What would he not have done for her at seventeen? He'd have drunk hemlock to prove his love if Maura Prescott had asked him to, but she had thrown him over for a t.i.tle.

It was a lesson Jack refused to forget, a mistake he would sure as h.e.l.l never repeat-caring all out of proportion-but admittedly, he'd gotten more than he'd bargained for when he had taken Eden Farraday into his arms.

Her father marched over and grabbed her by her wrist, pulling her away from Jack and planting himself between them. "How dare you make a move like that on my daughter, you barbaric fiend?"

"Me?" Jack's desire to protect her came out of nowhere, but somebody had to speak up for the girl. "What about you, keeping her here like a prisoner?" he boomed right back at him. "Jesus, man, look around you! Crocodiles, poison spiders, vampire bats! This is no place for a lady!"

"Don't you tell me how to manage my daughter! She could survive in this jungle better than you!"

"Survival? Is that the best you aspire to provide for your child? Eyes down, you lot!" he roared at his crew when he noticed them watching as though it were a stage play. "What are you staring at? Look lively! Trahern!" he bellowed. "Get the d.a.m.ned boat started! We've got a schedule to keep!"

"Aye, sir."

Jack turned back to Dr. Farraday, while Eden stared dazedly at him. "The girl wants out of here, and who can blame her? I can't think how you mean to proceed, in any case, now that you've lost your funding."

Victor froze, then looked at his daughter as though she were a traitor. "You told him?"

Eden faltered, apparently caught off guard, then she offered up a hapless shrug.

Her father glowered.

"Well, don't get angry at her for it!" Jack said impatiently. "She's the only one around here who's got any d.a.m.ned sense! Victor, if you were half the genius you're supposed to be, you would see that getting out of the Delta now is the only intelligent thing to do! b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l." Jack did not have time for this. He was irked and sweaty and insulted, himself, from Victor's tirade, but the sweet thing looked so lost standing there that he at least had to try one possible way to help her-though nothing so foolhardy as taking her with him to England.

"Look," Jack said gruffly, "the coast is very hot right now. I can take you all to Trinidad if you can be ready to go in three hours."

"What are you talking about?"

"Much more than that, and we risk running into the Spanish patrol boats. I would like to avoid an altercation-"

"Since when?" Victor retorted. "You're rather famous for fighting."

Jack gave him a stony look. "You'll take my offer if you're wise. Within six months, this war will be heating up in earnest. This could be your last chance to get out."

Eden sent him a probing look.

"Never mind how I know," he warned her before she could ask.

"For your information, we have no intention of leaving," her father clipped out. "We do not run away from difficult situations, unlike some people."

Jack narrowed his eyes, taking her father's point like the tip of a dagger.

Victor kept on ranting, but Jack just shook his head and lowered his gaze. G.o.d's bones, why was he wasting his time here? Pretty or no, Eden Farraday wasn't his problem. If he wanted a beautiful girl of his own, he would buy one.

He gave her a hard look, but did not know what else to say. G.o.d knew, the whole picture was becoming very clear: the stubborn father who wanted his daughter by his side to look after him, and that other fellow who'd tried to blow his head off.

The blond man's belligerent stance had announced in no uncertain terms that he had staked some kind of claim on Eden Farraday, whether she liked it or not.

Jack shook his head at her father. "You're a d.a.m.ned fool," he said pointedly to Victor, then jumped back onto the steamer and gave the order to move out.

He was instantly obeyed. His outbursts were rare, but they still left his crew walking on eggsh.e.l.ls.

As the boat trundled away from the Farradays' rickety jungle dock, he tried to follow his standard policy of never looking back where females were concerned, but unlike his delectable plaything from last night, Eden Farraday was not so easily forgotten.

In spite of himself, he cast a brooding glance over his shoulder and saw her still standing there, staring after him, her lovely face forlorn.

Though he looked at her without expression, he could not escape the guilty sense that he was abandoning one of his own in this place, very like a pirate captain marooning one of his crew on a desert isle for some nefarious misdeed.

Too bad, girl. Life's tough.

He knew that better than most.

She trusted him? He scoffed inwardly, shaken by the words. n.o.body trusted him. n.o.body should. He was an all-around b.a.s.t.a.r.d and d.a.m.n proud of it.

Hardening his mutinous heart with a will, he looked ahead again toward the unforgiving sea.

"How dare you discuss our private business with him?" Papa demanded, turning to Eden as the riverboat and its burden of lumber receded into the distance. "You have no idea what manner of man he is! Jack Knight is a scoundrel and a blackguard, and whatever he's doing here, stirring up trouble, I guarantee you he's up to no good!"

"What, you don't want me to mate with him, too, Father?" she answered under her breath.

"Mind your tongue!" he thundered, hearing in spite of her low tone. "His behavior here was unforgivable, and as for you, I have had quite enough of your impertinence! You are staying here with us, and that is final!"

Having laid down the law, Papa began marching away, shaking his head and muttering to himself about her mischief, his chest puffed out with parental indignance.

Tamping down her frustration, Eden called after her sire before he was out of earshot. "How did he get past the Spanish, do you suppose?"

"I'll tell you how!" He stopped with a snort and turned around to face her. "Jack Knight cut his eyeteeth running guns and black-market brandy past Napoleon's Continental Blockade. He's nothing but a glorified criminal-which is why you are to forget you ever laid eyes on him! Why do you think he's the b.l.o.o.d.y king of Port Royal? You've heard the stories about that town-a city of pirates and thieves!"

"If he's so bad, then how do you know him?"

Papa gave her a dubious look, shook his head as he debated with himself, then wiped the sweat wearily off his brow. "Your aunt Cecily, in her girlhood, was a companion to Lady Maura Prescott, the young daughter of the Marquess of Griffith-Prescott is the family name. I was mildly acquainted with the girl, since my sister was constantly in attendance upon her. Arrogant chit, I always thought. At any rate, that is how I met Lord Jack. He was devoted to Lady Maura, but the two were not allowed to wed. They were very young and," he admitted reluctantly, "they were in love."

Her father paused, reflecting on those long-gone days.

"My sister told me that when Lord and Lady Griffith ordered their daughter to tell her beau she could never see him again, Jack tried to get her to elope with him. Maura refused," he said with a shrug. "Jack left England in a fury and to the best of my knowledge has not been back since."

Just like you, Papa, she thought. An exile.

"Now, if you will excuse me, I am in dire need of refreshment after this long and tiring day we have had. I shall want my supper within the hour. Oh, and by the way-" he added, already marching back up the boardwalk toward camp. "The shaman's nephew has agreed to take us to the Amazon. We're leaving in three days."

Eden's jaw dropped, but Papa did not look back. She stared after him in horror, the reality of his mad quest dawning on her with a kind of delayed amazement.

It could not be! Reeling, she turned and stared hopelessly after the riverboat dwindling into the distance.

Shading her eyes against the blazing sun, she realized her only hope of ever attaining a normal life was drifting away down the Orinoco. Oh, this was a disaster. She could hardly believe Papa truly meant to go through with it.

Dropping her gaze to the rough planks of the dock, she dragged her hand through her hair and tried to think what to do.

It was then that her downcast gaze suddenly happened across the familiar sight of the dugout canoes. .h.i.tched to the dock. Her churning thoughts halted abruptly.

She stared down at her canoe for a second-and then the idea rolled through her mind like thunder.

Yes.

Papa and Connor both had driven her to this. It was the only solution that remained.

All in one reckless, thrilling flash, she knew what she had to do.

Her pulse pounding, Eden lifted her gaze and stared down the river at the shrinking steamboat. It really seemed she had no choice. Leaving was the only way to stop Papa from carrying out his suicidal quest into the Amazon.

She knew deep in her heart that he would drop everything to follow her, even if it meant facing civilization again. Perhaps if he could just see England for himself after all this time, he would realize the world out there wasn't nearly as bad as he had come to believe. Indeed, her running off now might be the only way to save his stubborn hide.

And then there was Connor. Leaving would also put some distance between the two of them. G.o.d willing, it would help him to see and to accept at last that she did not want to spend the rest of her life out here as his mate. After her kiss with Jack, it seemed he had finally taken the hint, but she knew he was angry.

She did not want to risk a confrontation with him out here in the wild, where there was no code, no rule of law to stop him from overpowering her. Out here, might made right, and Connor was the strongest of them all.

All these years, he had held back his pa.s.sion out of reverence for her, waiting until she was ready, but after today, seeing her return Jack Knight's kiss, she knew that only his fury awaited her now, and she was afraid. She had seen long ago what he was capable of; if his rage broke free, there would be no choice but to give in. Then she'd be his prisoner here for the rest of her life.

She was already in motion, striding up the boardwalk and checking off a mental list of supplies that she would need.

Connor had headed out of camp with his rifle over his shoulder to vent his frustration with work, but she knew she'd have to go quickly before he came back.

Jack had warned her what would happen if she came aboard his s.h.i.+p; ah, but what the captain didn't know wouldn't hurt him. She was stowing away and no one was going to stop her. She could take care of herself, and besides, she planned on staying out of sight until they reached England. A hundred forest animals had taught her how to hide.

Crossing the camp, she slipped into her father's research tent and with trembling hands gathered up the strongest examples of her father's work to show to the new Earl of Pembrooke, just as she had told Lord Jack she'd do. She tucked them covertly into a canvas haversack. Glancing over her shoulder to make sure no one saw, she strode next to the palafito to collect her things.

She knew she had to hurry or The Winds of Fortune would soon set off across the sea without her.

Back inside the stilt-house, she changed into breeches, s.h.i.+rt, and Papa's old brown leather jacket, which she sometimes wore for practicality's sake when she joined the men on their most untamed expeditions to the deepest reaches of the jungle.

Tying a dark blue neckerchief over her hair also helped to disguise her s.e.x in case any of Jack's crewmen should spot her. Moving as swiftly as possible, she threw as many supplies into her haversack as she could carry-including Cousin Amelia's last letter with her Bedfords.h.i.+re address on it, and a few issues of La Belle a.s.semblee.

All that was left to do was to say her farewells, but she dared not risk it. Staring across the camp, she watched her father explaining his plans to the servants, and wavered, sorrowfully torn. But then she shook her head.

Go. A chance like this only comes along once in a lifetime. It was what Mama would have said. Pausing at the bamboo table, she quickly jotted a note to Papa and Connor, telling them what she was doing so that they would not worry too much. She signed with all her love and then, without further ado, slipped out the side of the palafito and took the muddy shortcut down to the dock.

After briskly tossing her haversack into her trusty dugout canoe, she sat down in the little vessel and took up the familiar oars, giving herself no time to lose her courage. She freed her little boat from the dock and shoved off with an oar.

Within moments, she was gliding silently down the cano, pulling on the oars with all her might.

She rowed swiftly, rowed until her shoulders hurt; she spotted terrifying, ridged silhouettes cutting sinuously through the water here and there, vast, dark shapes in the shallows, but she refused to turn back.

And then, about a half hour into her perilous journey, she spotted the lazy riverboat, slowed by its barge piled with lumber. The steamer traveled on the main river, but Eden took the smaller canos that ran parallel to it; thus, she managed to stay hidden by the jungle brush while keeping abreast of the larger vessel.

She made swift progress thanks to the strengthening current as they neared the Gulf of Paria. Soon, mangroves began to appear, and she could taste salt in the air.

She grinned with hearty enthusiasm when she noticed she was actually pulling ahead of the steamer. It had run into a spot of trouble on a sandbar. Though it wasn't a race, arriving before Lord Jack did could only work to her advantage.

She rowed harder.

Before long, she came to powdery white beaches lined with graceful palm trees. Windy white-tops broke against the sh.o.r.e, while farther up the beach, fat iguanas sunned themselves on the rocks. Ahead lay the wide blue ocean, with the island of Trinidad slightly to the north.

In the narrow strait called the Serpent's Mouth that flowed between the island's southern edge and the mainland, a magnificent seventy-four-gun s.h.i.+p rode at anchor on bare poles, revealing the intricate webwork of rigging that supported the three towering masts.

No room? she thought with a snort. Lifting her telescope to her eye, she read the s.h.i.+p's name painted near the jib. The Winds of Fortune. It was his vessel, all right-as big as a floating castle and bristling with deadly armaments.