My Runaway Heart (18 page)

"You—you bloody pirate! What have you done with my
clothes?"

He sobered so suddenly, his eyes darkening, that
Lindsay almost wished she hadn't shouted at him like a fishwife.

"Curses, Lindsay? You surprise me."

She blushed at the huskiness in his voice,
then
raised her chin. "And you, sir, are no gentleman,
but of course
that
comes as no
surprise to me."

"I tried to warn you—"

"And once again I didn't listen, much to my
regret, but I vow I will in the future. Now, if you'll kindly tell me what you've
done with my things?"

He seemed to sigh to himself,
then
said matter-of-factly, "I'm afraid you won't find them serviceable."

Blanching at the unsettling realization that he must
have undressed her, Lindsay found her voice had gone somewhat hoarse. "A
little dampness won't trouble me, but you should have hung everything to dry
above the stove."

"Not possible."

"Not—?" She went still at his arched brow,
following his gaze to the bed.

To the tattered shreds of what remained of her gown,
her pelisse,
her
corset—oh, Lord, no, even her
chemise.

"You see? Not possible, just as I said. Had to be
done, no help for it."

Chapter 16

Expecting another indignant outburst, Jared was
surprised when Lindsay merely stared at the wreckage of her clothes, although
her cheeks were aflame with color.

Clearly not aware that her fierce hold had loosened on
the blanket, the covering sinking low over her breasts to expose the enticing
apricot of her nipples, he was hard pressed not to gaze admiringly. With her
rumpled blond hair framing her bare shoulders, she looked like the mythic Venus
rising from the sea. Yet it chafed upon him that she considered him so lacking
in scruples. God knows any man faced with such womanly perfection would gape
like a
dottering
fool.

"Lindsay . . . the blanket."

She glanced down, jerking the covering into place with
a gasp as she met his eyes.

"I'm sorry, but your clothing could have killed
you. You were chilled enough as it was, so I did what had to be done and rid
you of it—quickly. Then I wrapped you in blankets—" He shrugged and rose
from the chair. "I'm pleased to see that you're obviously feeling better.
You could have drowned out there."

"But I didn't, much as I'm sure to your regret, so
now you must find me something to wear."

She had spoken so softly for such biting words, and
Jared didn't like how much they bothered him.

"Damnation, woman, do you truly think I would have
let you
drown
?"

When she didn't answer, her blue eyes grown wide
because he'd shouted, Jared sighed with frustration. "I may be a
privateer, but I'm no barbarian. And if you're concerned that I might have
taken some liberty with you while you were—"

He didn't finish, the thought disgusting him even as he
recalled how his body had reacted of its own will to her nakedness. Begun to
react, too, when he'd felt her fingers softly touch his face and trace over his
lips, although he'd feigned sleep, wondering what had possessed her to make
such an intimate gesture.

Yet in the next instant he shoved both disturbing
incidents from his mind, telling himself that pure lust was no heinous crime.
With an inaudible growl, he went to his sea chest and flung open the lid, while
Lindsay wound the blanket tightly around her and fled to the stove, keeping her
back to the wall.

"I've an old pair of breeches that should suffice,
and you can help yourself to my shirts. Your slippers, at least, are still
wearable."

He threw the soft doeskin breeches onto the bed, and
left the lid open so she might choose any further garments herself. Then he
strode past her to the door.

"There are books in the chest, too, that should
help you fill your time. Some novels, plays of Shakespeare, a few volumes of
poetry—"

"A pirate reading poetry? Now,
that
truly surprises me."

The sarcasm feeling strange upon her tongue, Lindsay
nonetheless told
herself
that she could hardly be
expected to act like herself under such circumstances.

Jared spun on his heel to face her, frowning. "They
belonged to my sister, if you must know."

"Elise?"

She could tell she had startled him from the flaring of
his eyes, yet his jaw hardened, too.

"How did you come by her name?"

She shrugged lightly, taking care that the blanket
remained snug above her breasts. "Aunt Winnie. She and her husband were
acquainted with your uncle Alistair—perhaps you weren't aware?"

"I scarcely knew my uncle. How would I know of his
friends?"

Lindsay was tempted to say she wasn't surprised, given
he'd abandoned what remained of his family to return to India—and to think when
she'd first heard the sorry tale she had thought it impossible that Jared could
do such a thing! Instead she added quietly, "As I said, Aunt Winnie told
me. I had thought, by asking her if she knew your family, it might be easier
for her when you came to call, but it only made matters worse. She thought well
of your uncle . . . but the story she had to tell about you wasn't a very happy
one."

"No, it's not happy no matter which bloody version
you hear."

He had spoken so bitterly that Lindsay was taken aback,
and confused, too. "I don't understand—"

"There's no need for you to. Think whatever you will
about me, Lindsay, the worse the better. It will probably make things easier
for you." His hand went to the door but then he paused, his tone grown
ominous. "Trick Dag again and you'll answer to me, woman, that I swear. He's
softhearted to a fault, but that's not what brought him to his present state.
Yet I'll not have you taking advantage—"

"I did sense that something wasn't quite right
about him," Lindsay broke in, although she regretted her honesty when
Jared scowled.

"Quite right? Three years ago he took a metal ball
in the head that was intended for me, and it's still there—waiting to end his
life at any moment. The physicians advised he remain abed, that any undue
strain might kill him, but to keep him from what he loves would kill him, too.
Like many of my men, he grew up among the fjords of Norway, the sea in his
blood. So he sails with us—and we watch over him.
I
watch over him. Have I made myself understood?"

Lindsay nodded, feeling horribly guilty that she could
have upset Dag so. But how could she have known?

"I'm truly sorry, Jared. Sorry, too, about what
happened to Dag—three years ago, I mean. It must have been terrible."

He didn't reply
,
his lips
locking together as he once more reached for the door.

"Wait! Don't you want to take any fresh clothes
for yourself? Those look damp—here."

She hurried to the chest and dug out some clothes, not
sure why she suddenly wished to somehow make amends. It wasn't as if she wouldn't
attempt to escape again—but he had saved her life after all. Clutching the
blanket with one hand, she held out a clean linen shirt and breeches to him.
Silently he took them, yet his next words struck her like a cruel slap.

"If this is some feminine ploy, Lindsay, spare
both of us. Games and fanciful illusions won't help you. No matter what you
imagined we were romantically to each other, I can assure you that you're
merely a prisoner aboard my ship, nothing more."

Wounded more deeply than she could have imagined,
Lindsay still made herself lift her head. "Ah, so even simple kindnesses
are suspect now? Then I don't suppose I'll share with you some news you might
want to know—for the sake of your crew. You'd probably say it was a lie."

She spun around, but Jared caught her arm, twisting her
back to face him.

"I said no games, Lindsay. What news?"

She stared bleakly into his eyes, trying not to think
that only hours ago she had believed this cold, unfeeling man had wanted her
for his bride

"I said what news?"

"A reward has been posted for your capture. It was
in
The Morning Post
yesterday. Ten
thousand pounds."

He released his hold, to her surprise a grim smile
curling his lips.

"Only ten thousand? Then my men and I haven't been
working hard enough, though I already planned this cruise would be different."
He sobered, his gaze sweeping her. "Yet God knows I hadn't expected you—"

"So perhaps you're the one harboring illusions if you
think no one will be encouraged by such a sum to sail against you. Just because
you're known as the Phoenix doesn't make you, or your men, immortal!"

For a moment Lindsay didn't know what Jared was going
to do, he was staring at her with such intensity, his blue eyes darkened to a
violent hue. She was astonished when he smiled, not grimly as before, but with
a calm assurance that chilled her.

"Let them come. It's never been a matter of
immortality, but whose ship was swifter. And so far, the
Vengeance
has always won."

She didn't get a chance to reply, even if she had
wanted
to,
for Jared had pulled open the door. She
took a step back when she saw Dag haul himself up off a chair, and she blushed
with fresh remorse that the Norwegian's ruddy, bearded face was etched with
concern. She threw him the smallest of reassuring smiles but jumped when Jared
lashed out at her, his voice filled with irritation.

"Get dressed, Lindsay. I don't want you catching
cold, not after I went through such great pains to warm you."

"Oh, yes, you went through pains," she
retorted as the door swung shut in her face. "Ripped my clothes to shreds,
nearly roasted me to death in front of that stove, wrapped me in so many
blankets I almost broke my leg—!"

Sighing with utter exasperation when she realized she'd
been shouting at the top of her lungs, Lindsay wondered what
Corisande
would have thought of such a harangue. It
certainly wasn't like her at all, but Jared seemed to be bringing out the very
worst in her.

Which made her wonder, too, if he might
be purposely goading her.
He had said he wanted her to think the worst
of him, and she wasn't finding that request at all difficult to oblige. But at
the risk of her becoming a veritable shrew, her stomach in knots, her face
aflame, her head aching, her hands shaking?

No, that wasn't going to do, it simply wasn't.
Obviously if an escape wasn't imminent—and she certainly intended to take full
advantage of the next plausible opportunity—at least she had found herself
embroiled in more adventure than she had ever bargained for. Why not attempt to
enjoy it?

Smiling to herself, Lindsay began slowly to relax as
she glanced at the garment tossed upon the bed.

A man's breeches. Now, that was something new.
Something unexpected and not a little daring.

And she supposed she could make her Spartan
surroundings a bit more livable with a little feminine ingenuity. Humming now,
she dropped the blanket and strolled to the bed.

Oh, no, she wasn't going to think the worst of him. She
wasn't going to trouble herself about Jared Giles or the Phoenix, pirate or
privateer or traitor, at all.

***

"The prisoner says she'd like to come up for a
breath of fresh air,
Cap'n
."

Jared turned from the railing, an incredulous laugh
escaping him as he met
Cooky's
squinting eyes. The
old sailor had spent so much time in shadowy galleys among his pots and pans
that daylight was almost too much for him to bear, much like a mole, but he'd
obviously thought it important enough to surface this bright, sunny morning.

"She what?"

"Wants a bit of fresh air. I went to fetch her
breakfast tray—she ate everything I'd brought her, eggs and fried kippers and
two helpings of toast and jam—"

"A good thing we took on fresh stores in Sussex,"
Jared broke in dryly, though
Cooky
hastened on.

"Well,
Cap'n
, she
thanked me very kindly, said it was the finest breakfast she'd ever tasted and
then asked if I might find
you
and tell you—"

"And I say you go back to my quarters and tell
her
that she'll have to do without a
morning constitutional. She's not on a blasted pleasure cruise."

"I don't see any harm in it, Jared."

He threw a dark glance at Walker while
Cooky
looked on uncertainly, the sailor lifting a wrinkled
hand to shield his pale eyes.

"Have you forgotten we're hunting for fresh
quarry?"

"No, but we haven't seen any ships yet. If we do
and we attack, it'll be hours before she'll have a chance to leave the cabin,
maybe longer." Walker's gaze was piercing. "Or do you plan to just
leave her down there and pretend she doesn't exist?"

Jared didn't answer, but waved
Cooky
away. As the sailor shrugged his scrawny shoulders and turned to go, shaking
his head, Walker sighed heavily.

"
Dammit
, Jared, she's
barely more than a girl. I know you haven't forgotten how it felt to be
confined in a wretched cell and neither have I—"

"That was for three bloody years, not a single
day, and I say she stays. She's disrupted things enough as it is—
look
at the lot of you! Dag refuses to let another man guard
her door; Cowan asked after her welfare the moment I left the cabin last night.
By God,
Cooky
even ventured out of the hold on her
behalf, and now my second-in-command—"

"And what of you, Jared? You're ranting about a
simple request as if she'd demanded that we squire her back to London under
full sail and turn ourselves over to the Crown!"