11. The Long Truce #3
She had liked Jack—more than she ought to after so little time. But it hadn’t been so short. Not really. Jack was there every day. All day. He was the only one around as both of their friends had run off into marital bliss.
She tried again to remember why she’d disliked him, but came up with only good.
He hadn’t spoken of her murders after he’d discerned her crime.
He also hadn’t tried to touch her, not until after he’d handed her a sword and challenged her to use it.
Even then, it had been soft brushes of his fingers that left her heart in her throat.
He helped her when she tended the ashes each morning and hadn’t betrayed their truce with viciousness.
He’d defied Captain Copson when he gave her a knife and told her to hide it—
Not suitable.
Light washed over the deck as Copson’s door swung wide and then shut again. Cecily held her breath as bootsteps descended to the lower decks, away from her.
It was generous, really, to have been given an entire week of peace. An entire week of contentment, now ruined because in what world was she, a criminal for only a year, not good enough for the bloodthirsty, sinful son of an infamous pirate?
Have your fun, Jack, but don’t get attached. Girls like her aren’t suitable.
Was that what he was doing? Having fun with her?
Cad. Bastard. Manipulative, wicked pirate, tricking her into liking him with all his quiet kindnesses. It had all been a ruse to get her to behave, to entertain him, and perhaps eventually give him more.
She was a fool.
From the trenches of her memory, a nobleman’s laughter echoed back to her. Once again, she had been judged and found wanting. Again, she was unworthy—of death, kindness, friendship, love, and now even a pirate thought her unsuitable.
What an awful, cursed thing she was. She had never felt much pity for herself, and she didn’t feel it now. There was only the hollow, howling rage that had overcome her since the day that wealthy man had bought her death, her life, and this most unfortunate hell.
She stared at Tortuga, no longer feeling so torn about leaving Copson’s crew.
It wouldn’t be hard—she’d find some other ship and beg them to take her home, then find a way to make money wherever she landed, perhaps in a ladies’ shop.
And as painful as it would be to leave Hester, it would be easier knowing she was safe and happy with Greyson.
The only complication would be escaping Jack. The keen-eyed, sharp-witted first mate would surely sense her absence. But maybe he would let her go in spite of the articles. He may not even care if she were gone.
Or perhaps he would follow her for the sake of keeping his father’s commands, what with him being so dedicated to his position.
It didn’t matter. She would outwit him and run from him, and until then she’d hate him as she once had, despise him even though her hard, icy heart had somehow melted at the edges.
It would be easy.
It was so easy to hate Jack Copson. She’d done it before, and she would do it again.
Thudding steps came from the direction of the stairs behind her. The air around her seemed to warm, and then Jack spoke.
“Sleeping under the stars again, Cecily?”
Her heart plunged into her stomach as he turned her name to velvet. She merely glanced at the sky and said evenly, “Ruminating.”
He came to stand next to her by the foremast, lingering out of the corner of her eye. “About what?” His voice was gentle, kind. Friendly.
“The home I’ll have one day.” It wasn’t a complete lie. She matched his tone, even as her insides trembled with resentment. “You?”
He looked toward the island. “I have friends in Tortuga. We raise utter hell every summer, and it’s always a grand time.”
“Wonderful.” The word came spiked with enough venom to make Jack glance at her.
“Everything alright?” he asked slowly, wearing what appeared like genuine concern.
“Will I be free in Tortuga?” she asked. “Or am I to be your shadow?” How easy will it be to run from you?
“Ah,” he said. “That.” He sounded pleased, almost overly so, as though trying to make up for her bad mood.
“I spoke with my father. I didn’t think it would be practical to keep this arrangement on land, and he agreed.
” He smiled at her. “Do as you like in Tortuga. You’re beholden to no one but yourself until it’s time to leave again.
It’s not a full release, but I’m sure we can persuade him by the time we return to England. ”
She blinked. That…was not what she’d expected.
“Of course, you’re welcome to tag along with me if you like,” Jack went on. “Greyson and Hester will, since my friends are his.” His levity morphed into teasing. “They’ll want to know who cut my face.”
She didn’t smile. All she’d needed to hear was that she wouldn’t have eyes on her when she took her money and left. By the time anyone realized Cecily was gone, it would be too late. She would be long gone.
Jack stared at her, waiting for a response.
“I don’t know what to say,” she whispered.
“Thank you is always a sufficient answer,” he said. “It’s hard to convince Copson of anything, and I managed it in a couple of days.”
“Thank you,” she said absently as no other replies came to mind, least of all gratefulness.
He looked at her like he fully expected them to proceed as friends, but with what she knew now, she didn’t see how they could.
She’s no trouble at all when she feels safe.
The sword still hung at her hip, and it occurred to her that she could easily march to Copson’s quarters and declare Jack’s failure to take it from her. He’d no doubt punish his son, but Jack had given her a small mercy tonight, so she would honor that for the sake of being fair.
But after this, she would have nothing more to do with him.
She unfastened the sword and lifted it between them, the blade pointed down. “Don’t let the captain know you forgot.”
Frowning, he took the sword. She offered a wry smile and headed for the lower decks.
“Cecily.”
She paused, her eyes on the door ahead of her. Her anxious, angry heart thundered loud enough to nearly drown out her own voice. “Yes?”
He gave an incredulous laugh. “That’s it? I tell you you’re free to do as you please and you walk off with hardly a word?”
She peered at him over her shoulder. “I said thank you.” Even that felt like too much, lowly as she was. Bitterness edged her words as she asked, “Did you want something else?”
He stepped toward her, then paused. “Have I upset you?”
Cecily stared at him, then gave a dry smirk.
The shadows on his face deepened as she said, “How could you possibly hurt me?” Her grin dropped and she carelessly swept her gaze from his face to his boots and back again, as though she could find nothing of interest in any of him.
“I’m tired. And I’m not supposed to sleep on deck. ”
His brows furrowed. “Cecily…”
She didn’t turn around again, letting her name wither into the night.