23. Home #2
She smiled against him, at the way he held her to himself, firmly in control but gentle enough that he would let her pull away if she wished.
No part of her wanted him to let her go, but to hold her closer, tighter.
She only wanted to be with him, to belong to him, as though it had been longer than a day.
It had, if she considered the time on the pirate ship and three weeks spent yearning.
Weeks spent wanting him, and now she could have him, he was hers, and—
As though he sensed her thoughts trailing, Jack kissed her deeper, lightly biting her bottom lip in a silent request. She parted her lips, and his tongue swept in and found hers.
He tasted like rum and happiness.
Cecily twisted, reaching to run her hands down his neck, over his shoulders, to the powerful muscles of his arms. She shivered as his embrace tightened around her waist, pulling her closer, and her hand moved back to his face where her thumb smoothed over his scar again and again, claiming it as her own.
“It’s this shirt, isn’t it?” she said, breathless as he kissed her. “Fay insisted I wear it.”
“It’s everything,” Jack panted against her mouth. “Who you are, the way you are, your eyes, your face, your hair.”
The way he said it made her forget, if for only a moment, how devastating it had been to have her hair shorn. “You should’ve seen it before,” she muttered, and arched to kiss him.
But he pulled away, brows pinched, looking at her as though imagining her with hair to her waist. “Before what?” he asked, but there was dark understanding in his gaze, like he already knew she spoke of something that hadn’t been her choice.
“They cut it off in Bridewell,” she told him, her tongue loosened by rum. “Morgyn got them to do it because she wanted to make me cry.” The name tasted less acidic than usual, thanks to the arms wrapped around her.
His gaze was heavy and probing. “Did it make you cry?”
She shifted, letting her head fall back to his shoulder.
She stared at his mouth, keen for him to kiss her again.
“Yes. But I made their lives ten times worse because I loved my hair, and the cut wasn’t even.
” Her hand twirled around her face. “S’why I like it braided, so no one can tell, and I can forget. ”
His voice lowered. “At least you gave them hell for it.”
“I ruled their hell,” she said with a smile. “I hurt the guard who did it—shoved my hand in his mouth and tried to rip his jaw clean off. No one came near me after that. Not in prison, not on the ship… Not till I met you, and you weren’t scared at all.”
“You don’t scare me,” he said. He settled his arms over hers, twining their fingers and crossing them over her stomach. “Not even a little.”
Smiling to herself, she nestled her head in the crook of his neck. Beside them, the water gently lapped against the shore, white foam crawling forward then sliding back toward the ocean. Her eyes began to drift shut, feeling content and…
Home.
For the second time tonight, the feeling came unbidden, washing through her slowly, like the waves mere feet away. She imagined what it would be like to think this—Jack—could be home.
The idea felt good beyond a simple feeling. It was an essence, a state of being she’d been chasing since her arrest. It held her now, wrapped around her as though waiting for her to accept it in spite of all she thought she wanted.
She was happy and light, and a home sounded perfect in whatever form she managed to find it.
Even if it wasn’t the perfect little home in her head.
“Yesterday,” Jack said, his face next to hers, “when you looked like you were sleeping on the beach…where did you go?”
She slipped her fingers out from beneath his and began tracing idle circles over the back of his hand.
As she put words to images and ideas, all the feelings that had inspired her for so long, she wondered if he might think her mad for inventing an entirely different life in her head that felt as real as the one she lived.
“You don’t have to tell me,” Jack said when her silence stretched.
“It’s not that, it’s…” She drew in a deep breath and slowly released it. “You may tease me for many things, but you may never tease me for this. No matter if I irritate you, no matter if you hate me.”
He nodded, his heartbeat quickening against her back. “I won’t.”
“You swear?”
His breath caressed the side of her face. “I swear.”
Again, she fell silent, her heart kicking in time with Jack’s.
“My little home,” she finally admitted. “A house I built…in my head…” She bit her lip, feeling silly as she said it aloud for the first time.
“After I was sent to Bridewell, it was the only way I could live. I made myself a place where all is perfect and beautiful, and I am perfectly myself. I know every inch of every room, each piece of furniture, the pictures on the walls, the flowers in the vases…” Her finger moved faster over his hand. “Do you think I’m insane?”
He flipped his hand to catch her fingers in his, stilling their anxious movements. “No. If it’s how you survived so long, it must be a very powerful part of you.” He brushed his lips over her ear. “Tell me more.”
Settling deeper into him, she closed her eyes, pictured her home, and began to speak, telling him about the front door, the footman, and the foyer with its vase, filled today with dozens of red roses and the silvery leaves of dusty miller.
She described the hallway and how the light streamed through the windows in her lavender parlor, and then she lingered in the gardens with its birds and butterflies.
She told him about tea and tiny sandwiches, her gowns, and the ribbons in her long, lovely hair. By the time she finished, she was calm and content.
Jack had said nothing while she spoke, happy to sit in polite silence. In that silence, they lingered long enough that she’d nearly fallen asleep.
Until Jack muttered, “I can get you a house.”
Cecily opened her eyes, doubting that she’d heard correctly. Perhaps she’d dreamed it.
She twisted, craning her neck to look at him. “What?”
“I can get you a house like that.”
She shook her head, clearing the fog of sleep to ascertain if she really was dreaming or if he spoke in jest. But he’d promised not to tease her, which left her asking, “How?”
“I told you I’m to inherit a legacy,” he told her succinctly. “I can get you a home.”
A long moment passed, in which she merely stared at him. Then a laugh burst from her. “Have you been trying all night to tell me that you’re wealthy?”