My Runaway Heart (16 page)

"Not . . . ?" Lindsay laughed nervously,
thinking she had misheard, although her pounding heart told her otherwise. "Truly,
my lord, as you've made most clear to me, I've caused you enough trouble
already."

"So you have, and I'd like nothing better than to
be rid of you, but that won't be possible. I can't risk you revealing my
identity—"

"But I wouldn't, I swear!" Lindsay blurted
out, the firm set of Jared's jaw filling her with sudden desperation. "I'm
very good at keeping secrets—you could ask my friend
Corie
,
we have a secret pact ourselves . . . oh, dear, but you can't ask her, she's on
her way to Lisbon—but she'll be back within a few weeks and she could tell you
then—I mean, send you a letter—"

"This will be your cabin. And don't try to escape,
for it's no use. Dag will be posted outside the door."

Dear Lord, no, he wasn't listening to her! Lindsay
thought wildly as Jared turned to go. His jaw tensed all the more when she
reached out and caught his arm.

"But you can't keep me aboard this ship, Jared. I'll
miss the London Season! I waited so long to go—"

"Obviously you were willing to forgo it, thinking
I was a spy."

"Yes, but that was different! I thought you wished
to marry me—and when Della told me she'd overheard that you'd gone to Sussex,
and Aunt Winnie had already said your family home was near Seaford, I thought
you'd been sent on a mission and I didn't want to be left behind without you.
But you're not at all the man I believed you were—"

Lindsay gasped in alarm, Jared grabbing her so suddenly
by the shoulders that the candlestick clattered to the floor. She thought he
might shake her; instead he pulled her so close that his breath mingled with
hers, his voice low and harsh.

"That's what I tried to tell you, woman, but now
we're bloody well stuck with each other . . . at least until I decide what's to
be done with you."

He released her as abruptly and strode to the door,
while Lindsay sank to her knees in shock, staring down blindly at her hands.
Yet Jared's muttered oath made her look up to see a squat red-haired fellow,
appearing more a leprechaun than a sailor, jump to his feet from where he'd
fallen when the door was yanked open.

"Damnation, Cowan . . ."

"Forgive me,
Cap'n
, I—I
thought I lost a button from my shirt. Ah, me, there it is! Right where it
belonged all along!"

The Irishman cast a sympathetic glance in Lindsay's
direction and then he was gone, his short legs pumping fast as he disappeared
down the passageway. Meantime, the silent giant named Dag, the top of his blond
head scraping the ceiling, seemed to be frowning at Jared. Another man, with
striking good looks that reminded her of
Corisande's
Lord Donovan and hair as raven-black, hadn't budged from his casual stance
against the bulkhead.

A slow, easy smile stirred the man's lips, his midnight
eyes flickering from her to Jared. "Well, well, friend, this is certainly
interesting—"

"And none of your concern, Walker. Dag, no one
enters or leaves this cabin but you or
Cooky
with her
meals."

Still frowning, the big man nodded and pulled the door
shut behind Jared, but not before giving Lindsay a look she could only describe
as troubled.

Dag's size might have frightened her on the
quarterdeck, but he had been nothing if not gentle with her after throwing her
over his shoulder, although he hadn't said a word when he'd deposited her in
the cabin. Yet suddenly she didn't feel quite so alone; perhaps some men of
reason aboard this ship might consider pleading her cause to Jared.

Either that or they might even agree to help her,
Lindsay thought hopefully, Dag's and Cowan's kind reactions to her plight
having cheered her more than she would have imagined.

As for the man called Walker, who could say? He had at
least seemed curious, and she hadn't sensed any ill will on his part toward
her. And he possessed the same strange accent Jared had used on deck. She
suddenly recalled that the Phoenix was thought to be American, and now she knew
why, although she doubted that Walker's manner of speech was a ruse.

Irishmen. Americans. A mute blond giant who looked as
if he'd just stepped from a Norse saga. Jared's crew certainly was a motley
one, and perhaps therein
lay
some advantage. She could
see already that a few aboard perceived her as a damsel in distress.

"So get
yourself
up off
the floor," Lindsay chided herself aloud, rising to shake out her skirt.
Her gaze fell on the brass candlestick and she picked it up, her face burning
at how roughly Jared had grabbed her and how cruelly he had spoken.

Her sense of hurt was immediate and acute, her spirits
flagging, but this served to bring to mind, like a gentle rebuke,
Corisande's
words to her the night before she had left: "That's
not the indomitable Lindsay Somerset I know."

No, it wasn't. If she was a damsel in distress, then
she would simply have to
effect
her own rescue with or
without help.

So Jared Giles wasn't the man of her dreams. That didn't
have to mean her dreams were ashes or that she must give up her search for the
valiant adventurer she hoped to marry. And she certainly wasn't going to allow
a ruthless pirate, a traitor to his own King and country, to stop her!

Much heartened, Lindsay actually was smiling as she
returned the candlestick to the desk and went to the porthole. Yet she still
felt a poignant pang of regret when she looked out onto the sunlit sea.

***

"Obviously London held a bit more excitement this
time around. Or is that an understatement?"

Jared didn't answer, but instead stared sullenly at the
darkening horizon and the distant smudge of land lying due northwest. He'd kept
himself busy for hours but it was clear Walker was determined to goad
him—damnation, the last thing he wanted was to discuss Lindsay.

"She's lovely, you know."

Jared grunted, saying nothing.

"Beautiful, actually, like a sea nymph with that
silvery blond hair and those big—"

Jared threw his friend a dark glance.

"Blue eyes."

Walker's wry grin did nothing to lighten Jared's mood.
He left the starboard railing and strode toward the prow, very much aware that
Walker followed him. But he also sensed that the American had sobered, too, his
face serious as he stopped beside Jared.

"What are you going to do with her?"

Jared stared out across the rolling waves, steely gray
now that clouds had obscured the setting sun. He sighed heavily.

"Jared?"

"
Dammit
, man, I don't
know what's to be done with her!"

"That's what I thought."

Walker's words grating upon him, Jared turned angrily
on his friend. "So what would you have me do? Make her walk the plank?
Feed her to the fish? Leave her on some deserted island to rot?"

"Easy, Jared. I have no solutions, either. It's a
blasted fix, no matter what we do."

"
We?
I
told you, Lindsay Somerset is none of your concern."

Walker stared at him, his pitch-black eyes narrowing;
then a quizzical smile touched his face. "How long did you say you've
known the wench?"

"I didn't say." Sensing suddenly where Walker
was leading, Jared cursed and went to the port railing, angry with
himself
and somewhat startled, too, at the vehemence he had
displayed. Again his second-in-command followed him, which was no surprise.
Eight years of each other's company had left them both able to discern how far
things could be pushed. But Walker was pushing dangerously close . . .

"So she's a hoyden, is she?"

Pleased that the direction of their conversation had
shifted, if only slightly, Jared gave a snort. "That, a romantic fool and
about as bloody naïve as they come. But obviously you overheard everything, so
I see no reason to continue—"

"I'm curious, is all. That lesson you meant to teach
her—"

"Failed completely, as you can see. The first
night I took her to a cellar tavern and got her drunk on ale, but that didn't
daunt her. The next night she managed to find herself nearly auctioned off at a
boxing match, if I hadn't offered a hundred pounds for the chit and discharged
my pistol into the ceiling for good measure. I even took her to the Boar's Head
and up to my room, but that didn't dissuade her. So I told her three days and I'd
be back—"

"A lie, of course."

Jared threw him another hard look. "Yes, a bloody
lie. I finished my business—there are enough fat cargoes scheduled for shipment
in and out of London to keep us busy for weeks—and then I left the city to make
our rendezvous. But as you overheard, she followed me, and now we've some
Cornish baronet's daughter aboard while the whole of London is probably looking
for her!"

He slammed his fist onto the railing, but Walker merely
shook his head as if perplexed.

"But why go through such trouble—"

"Because I was a rutting fool!" Jared's fingers
tightened on the railing, his voice falling to almost a whisper. "She
reminded me of Elise—I should have taken her home as soon as I realized I'd
misread her . . . but perhaps I saw it as some small way to right the past."
He
laughed,
the sound bitter and raw. "But we
know better, don't we, friend? Revenge is the only way to right the past, and
even that sometimes doesn't seem enough. It can never bring back what is lost."

Walker didn't answer, and when Jared finally glanced at
him, he saw that the American was staring blindly at the sea, his face as grim
as Jared felt.

He didn't need words to know what Walker was thinking.
Each man aboard the
Vengeance
had
endured a common loss and shared a common past as binding as blood. Each man
bore a common hatred against England that sealed their loyalty. And whenever
another British ship was consigned by fire to a watery grave, all of them
shared the spoils and rejoiced in the destruction.

"Start Point,
Cap'n
,
dead ahead!"

Jared pivoted on his heel, his gaze meeting his first
mate's
. Walker abruptly left him to see to his own duties.

"Good
enough,
Cowan.
Order the prisoners brought from the hold."

"Aye,
Cap'n
."

As the stumpy Irishman disappeared into the belly of
the ship, Jared turned and pulled the gold mask from his belt. Yet his thoughts
weren't so much on the merchantman's crew who would soon taste again the
sweetness of freedom, but upon Lindsay confined unhappily in his quarters.

What in blazes
was
he going to do with her?

***

Lindsay peered anxiously out the porthole, her hands
twisting in her rumpled pelisse.

It was nearly dark, but she could still see the rugged
green hills of Start Point beckoning to her like the promised land; she so
wished she were aboard one of the galleys heading to shore with the merchantman's
crew. Yet she knew that wouldn't have worked.

Once she was free of this wretched ship, she had no
desire to be implicated in any way with the Phoenix, so it was best she strike
out alone. Jared hadn't accepted her promise not to reveal his identity, but
she fully intended to live by it as if he had agreed. An oath was an oath. And
she didn't want his capture and execution on her conscience, no matter he was a
brutal pirate.

She shivered at the thought, and focused instead upon
the improvised money belt around her waist which she had fashioned from the
torn hem of her gown.

She had found gold guineas in the desk, a tidy sum she
fully intended to repay, which would buy
her a
new
gown and coach fare back to London. Cornwall might be closer, but she had no
wish to face Olympia. Aunt Winifred and even Matilda, for that matter, would be
much easier to sway with a fantastic story . . . as soon as she thought of a
good one, of course. But there would be time for that later. Right now she
simply wanted to be free of this cabin, and the rest would take care of itself.

She felt a bit guilty about her plan, actually, which
was utter nonsense. Dag might have been kind to her—bringing in her meals
himself while a grizzled old sailor, clearly the cook, given he'd been
swatched
from chin to knobby knees in a soiled white apron,
had watched curiously at the door—but that didn't mean she owed him any special
consideration.

No, not even if he had returned
midafternoon
with a cup of fragrant hot tea, as usual not saying a word, although his light
blue eyes had seemed concerned that she had scarcely touched the meat stew he'd
brought her for luncheon. Oddly, she had sensed then that something wasn't
quite right with him; what, she couldn't put her finger on, but she wouldn't
allow sympathy to sway her, either. Dag was a pirate, like every other crew
member aboard this ship. That fact was all she must keep in mind.

Satisfied that the money belt was tied securely around
her waist, Lindsay took a deep breath and straightened her shoulders. Then she
doubled over and began to moan loudly, praying her plan would work.

"Oh, God, help me! It hurts . . . oh, no, it
hurts!"

The door bursting open made her start, but she moaned
all the louder and writhed dramatically as Dag stared at her wide-eyed.

"I fear . . . oh, no, it must have been something
in the food . . .
ohhh
. . ."

She jerked, clutching at her stomach,
then
spun in a swoon to the floor. Lying perfectly still,
she could sense Dag looming over her, the big man dropping to one knee. She
fluttered open her eyes, her voice no more than a croak.