Chapter 19
Sweating from his labors, Christian made his way back to his cabin.
He’d not intended for the Mistral to set sail again so soon, and so there had been a number of things he’d had to see to before leaving Charlestown harbor.
It had been a near miraculous feat to resupply his ship in the course of a day, without earning suspicion, and he wouldn’t have been able to accomplish the task at all without the generous help he’d received from the men of the Wilkes club.
Ben was obviously well thought of among them, for they’d rallied together without thought for their own safety, procuring supplies and hauling them aboard.
His intent now was simply to sail down the coast to the West Indies, collect a payload, then return to Charlestown, arriving in the dead of night.
Fortunately, because it was hurricane season, they wouldn’t be the only ones departing the harbor, and his only true concern was that he was sailing directly into hurricane territory, but there was nothing to be done for it. He’d have to take his chances.
And then there was the matter of their return...
They would be back long before the harbor became congested once more, and because Jessie and Ben were to have sailed for England, he’d need to steal them down the Ashley to Shadow Moss as quietly and covertly as possible.
He chuckled suddenly, for it would likely mean muzzling Jessie until they arrived at his plantation house—impudent wench that she was.
And then again, he reconsidered, for Shadow Moss was nowhere near to completion, and Jessie would likely squawk all the louder when she discovered that fact—most females would, he didn’t doubt—so perhaps he would consider leaving her gagged until Ben healed. ..
He turned the knob to his cabin door, gave a little shove, and then again to be certain before slamming his fist upon it. Locked!
Damn it all! “Jess! Open the blasted door!”
The deafening crack startled Jessie, rousing her at once, though she remained disoriented, having awakened to foreign surroundings.
It took her a full moment to regain her faculties.
The room swayed gently and swells of water could be heard smacking the side of the ship. They were no doubt at sea by now.
“Jessie!”
Recognizing Christian’s thunderous voice, Jessie smiled triumphantly and stretched lazily, refusing to be cowed merely by the sound of his voice.
Raking her hair from her face with her fingers, she rose and went to the door as quietly as she was able, smiling at her ingenuity.
She’d used Christian’s very own sea chests against him, piling them against the door, and then further braced them with her own hefty trunks.
It had taken much time and toil to accomplish the master-work, but now she was certain the only door to the cabin was truly impenetrable.
To her mind, it was a fine job... and this was precisely the moment she’d been awaiting. She fully intended to savor it.
Using the bottommost trunk as a step, she carefully climbed the stack to place her ear against the wooden door. Christian pounded the door unexpectedly, ringing her ears with the unholy vibration, and Jessie leapt away, nearly tumbling from her carefully laid mountain to the floor.
“Damn you, Jess! I demand you open this door! I’m not in the mood for games,” he warned.
She gave him no response.
“Jessamine? Do you hear me? I desire my bed!”
God forgive her, but she couldn’t resist baiting him. “I suggest you seek it elsewhere, then,” she told him flippantly, “for I’ll not be giving this one up! Nor will I share!” And that was that, she swore to herself, slapping her hands in a definitive manner, smiling with self-satisfaction.
“The devil you say, woman! That is my cabin you would have me give up, and I’ll not do so,” he apprised her.
“Oh, but you will,” she demurred sweetly, “for I doubt I shall ever allow you entrance. I did not ask to be brought aboard this thieves’ den, and because you seem to have so little regard for my wishes, nor will I for yours, my nefarious Prince of Smugglers—Lord Christian, hah! What a farce!”
Her words brought a smile to Christian’s lips.
It was the my that settled him so quickly.
His grin was smug as he disclosed, “Perhaps you don’t realize, as yet, but you’ll need come out of that cabin sooner or later, love. You’ll need to eat sometime, and when you do—”
“Camp by the door then,” she suggested. “Though I fear you’ll have quite a long wait. Your cabin boy—Peter, I believe is his name—was quite accommodating, you see.”
Christian shook his head, disbelieving his ears.
“I simply told the dear boy that I was feeling under the weather,” Jessie told him, “and that I preferred to take my meals in my cabin. He understood perfectly and gave me enough provisions to last, well... a few days at least.” She giggled suddenly, and added, laughter in her tone, “How very tired of waiting you shall grow!”
Christian was no longer amused; the thought of waiting days for his bed was wholly unpalatable. “Damn you!” he bellowed. “You little hoyden!”
Losing his patience all over again, he slammed his boot against the door.
She had it bolted from within, he was certain, but it seemed too solid a barrier to be simply barred.
It was as though she’d placed something before it.
.. His brows furrowed. What the devil could she have moved to bar it with?
he wondered. Most everything was nailed firmly to the floor in protection against the movement of the sea.
And damn her, for she sounded so very self-satisfied; it rankled to the bone.
Releasing the full magnitude of his temper, he agitated the doorknob, nearly detaching it in his fury, and shook the cabin door so violently that Jessie had to wonder whether her barricade would even hold against him—yet hold, it did, even if the trunks seemed somewhat the worse for wear.
Another string of vile curses stung the air, and then utter silence fell between them.
Had he given up at last?
Jessie doubted it; somehow she had the distinct impression Hawk, odious Prince of Smugglers, never simply gave up at anything.
But then... where had he gone to suddenly?
It was entirely too quiet on the other side of the door.
More important... what was he planning?
When there was no more sound from behind the door, Jessie had to assume victory. Yet it had come too easily...
Her brow furrowed. Unsure of what to do next, she paced the cabin floor, clasping her hands at her back to stop them from quaking.
After a long interval, when there was still no sign of him forthcoming, she decided to pour herself a goblet of Christian’s fine Madeira to calm herself.
God’s truth, but her nerves had never been more frazzled than they were this instant, and were becoming more so by the second.
Finishing it quickly, she gave a choked little cough.
God knew, all she needed now was to drown herself in his good wine—probably stolen or smuggled!
she reflected resentfully. With a ragged sigh, she poured herself another brimming goblet-full and then wandered to the cheval glass.
The woman staring back at her was haggard looking; hair mussed from slumber, and faint shadows darkening the hollows beneath her eyes.
And the neck of her gown choked her, strangled her breath.
She drew at the neckline irritably, and gave a derisive little laugh, for the gown had surely had its desired effect above deck; Christian had not so much as glanced at her untowardly.
He was quite obviously unaffected by her.
He didn’t care.
He’d never cared.
Yes, his threats had been lecherous, but there had been no heat to them, no feeling. No intent. God, what was wrong with her? Surely she wasn’t thinking... that she wanted...
She shook her head vehemently, and took another sip, refusing to continue her present vein of thought.
Stay out of his way indeed.
So she had won this round, after all. Against whom? a little voice niggled. She raised her goblet in silent acclaim clinking it gently to the silver mirror—against herself, it would seem, for if she could be honest... it was not Christian she feared at all... but her own wicked yearnings.
Standing before him there upon the foredeck, she had found herself wishing he would silence her raving with his soul-weakening kisses—that he would take her into his arms and tell her he loved her, beg her forgiveness.
God help her, she had baited him, wanting only that he would lift her up into his arms and sweep her back to his cabin—she shuddered—in truth, back to that day beneath the elm tree. ..
How long could he possibly be kept at bay?
She glanced back at the door...
It was not made of iron, after all. If he truly wished to come after her... She shook her head, for then again... he was quite obviously not trying overly hard. Perhaps he would leave her be, after all.
With a very unladylike snort, she lifted her goblet and quaffed down the rest of her wine, then set the crystal gently down upon a small table beside the looking glass. With a sigh, she unbuttoned the topmost button of her gown, and then the next, and the next.
She stared at her image, trying to see herself as he might, and then irritably turned from the mirror.
She wandered to the drapery-covered window with the intent of drawing it open to the fading daylight, and then it dawned on her suddenly that she’d forgotten to procure flints with which to light the lanterns tonight.
She sincerely hoped she could find some within the cabin itself, for she had no desire to remain in total darkness.
Shuddering at the thought, she tugged open the blasphemously dark window coverings, and gasped aloud at what lay beneath.