17. For What It’s Worth #2
Cecily’s first thought was, I could go to Spain. Followed by an assumption that Copson may not object if a famously flirtatious naval officer stole her away after such a public dalliance.
“Do you not look forward to going home?” she asked, calculating her way through this new idea.
“There are too many eyes in Spain, and too many nobles who like to contrive their schemes using lives like mine as collateral.” Hein tilted his head toward her.
“I don’t usually bother with goodbyes, so I’m afraid I don’t know how best to go about one…
but it’s been a pleasure to know you these past weeks. ”
She looked at him out of the corner of her eye, teasing, “If you’re hoping for a more special goodbye from me, I must warn you that simply knowing me is the most pleasure you’ll get.”
He chuckled, a surprised, musical sound she’d come to recognize as his real laugh, rather than one of seduction or games.
“I don’t hope for that. Despite what you may believe of me, I don’t play with girls under twenty.
” He was only seven years older than she was, which she didn’t think was terribly awful.
She’d heard of matches with greater gaps in years.
But before she could ask how he was sure of her age, he said, “Jack told me.”
Any trace of humor vanished from her face. “Jack—? I don’t see why anything I do would be his concern.”
Amused, Hein responded, “Everything you do seems to be his concern.”
In what way? she wanted to demand as indignation flared. But she didn’t want to talk about him. She didn’t want to spend any more time agonizing over him than she already had.
Instead of pursuing any matter related to Jack, she shifted the subject back to her age.
“So even knowing I was under twenty, you played with me anyway.”
“You played with me first that day on the ridge,” he replied, his tone light but rife with rare honesty, “and I’m not so simple as to think our game has anything to do with either of us.
” As they rounded a bend, the inn came into view.
The other pirates were congregated just inside the trees, and there was Jack, brooding against a trunk while Frederick spoke about something that had him wildly gesticulating to the others’ merriment.
Hein’s voice lowered. “I like and respect Jack, but I still enjoy outdoing him. If you’re keen on torturing him, I’m merely happy to join your cause.”
She thought about Spain again, but spotting Hester up ahead, she couldn’t bring herself to ask Hein outright to steal her away.
She stopped and faced him. “Did he tell you Hester gets punished if I abandon Copson’s crew? He and Greyson as well.”
Hein shook his head. “He didn’t tell me that much. Are you at risk for abandoning?”
“Copson said I couldn’t go when I asked. Any concern Jack has for me is for his own sake,” she told him with staid assuredness. “He’s manipulative and mean, and my dislike for him runs deeper than wanting to torture him.”
Hein smirked. There was a glint of knowing in his eyes, like she’d missed some key piece of information he was unwilling to give her. “Deeper. Yes, I’m sure it’s so much deeper.”
“What,” she demanded.
He stepped closer, his hand slowly lifting to cup her cheek. Her heart faltered, feeling that she was suddenly losing their game, though she wasn’t sure why.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“You’re a smart girl. I’ve no doubt you’ll figure it out.” He leaned down to press his lips to her cheek, right at the edge of her mouth. His hand concealed the point of contact, and to those farther up the road, it would very much look like he was kissing her properly.
His lips were cool and soft, and his breath fanned lightly over her skin. He’d never been so bold with her—no one had—but she let it happen, wondering if this might finally be the moment she felt something for him other than the will to use him for her own ends.
It was not, and she sighed away her lack of surprise.
Hein chuckled low in his throat, before he stepped back, took her hand, and started for the inn again. By the woods, Frederick was still talking, but Jack leveled Hein with a frosty look. When his attention turned to Cecily, he held her gaze for a heartbeat too long, then looked away.
As they reached the inn, Hein greeted the others by saying, “I cannot fathom why you all have no fear of these woods.”
“Haunted forests are rather nice this time of year,” Jack said with a sinister grin. Any hint of frost had vanished. “Or maybe that’s just me.”
“I suppose nothing is more terrifying than you,” Hein replied dryly. Then he scanned the rest of the pirates. “Tomorrow, then? I’ll see you all at the governor’s house.” As the crew gave excited whoops, Hein pressed a lingering kiss to Cecily’s fingers and winked.
Heat crawled up and down her back as she watched him saunter down the road. She might have turned around and scolded Jack for standing so close, but before she could, the feeling faded.
She looked into the trees to find him retreating toward the cove beside Killian, his hands buried in his pockets.
I could go to Spain.
The thought consumed her all the way to the beach, turning over and over in her mind throughout the evening while they sat on the shore, excitedly chittering about the heist and trading a bottle of rum between them.
Cecily held her knees and gazed at the water. She didn’t think it would be difficult to convince Hein to take her to Spain. They could leave after the heist, and it would be quick—a clean, necessary break. Everyone would move on, and they would be happy.
Her gaze flicked to Jack sitting at the other end of the line of pirates. He wore that sharp smile that could cut her useless heart right out of her chest.
Yes, a quick, easy break would be good in the long run.
Maria handed over the rum, and Cecily lifted it to her lips.
After two long swallows, she gave it to Hester and laid back in the sand, her head spinning.
Conversation enveloped her, turning into a dim hum as she entered her little home and sat in her parlor, wearing blue, her hair done in an elegant twist.
The sky was the same at her home as it was in Tortuga, fading to pinks and reds with spots of purple above the clouds. She let herself forget about Copson’s threat and Hein. As the quiet settled, she could convince herself that there was no pain, no thoughts, and there was no Jack—
“You’re not asleep.”
Cecily’s eyes snapped open. The sky had darkened to indigo, though the horizon still glowed with fire as the sun prepared to disappear beneath the water. Her friends were gone—they’d all stripped down to their underthings and thrown themselves into the waves.
Only Jack remained on the beach, having moved to sit next to her. He watched the others, his face grim, the fading light touching the scar on his cheek. Over a month had passed since she’d given it to him, and she knew it would never heal right. He’d likely live with it forever.
Good, she thought, because at least she’d destroyed him in some small way after all he had done to her.
“You,” he grumbled under his breath, “are one of the most stubborn, aggravating people I know.”
She pushed herself up. Her head swam from the rum, but not nearly enough to prepare her for a conversation with Jack. “Because I wasn’t sleeping?”
“Because it’s been three weeks and you still haven’t asked about the sword.” His knees were spread and tented before him, his arms hanging off them. “I’d thought you would have gotten over it by now, but you’re stubborn and it’s irritating.”
She narrowed her eyes. “I don’t care, you know.”
“Clearly you did care,” he said. “Or else you never would’ve brought it up in the first place, and it bothers me to think you’re upset about it when it’s so easily explained.”
Though they hadn’t spoken in weeks, he sounded no less irritated with her now than he had the last time they’d talked. It stoked the ire that set its claws in her lungs and squeezed.
“I’m not upset,” Cecily said. “And even if I were, I don’t see why it should bother you. I thought we were fine. I thought neither of us was bothered at all.”
“Is that so?” His glare bored into the water where laughter rang out, the sound so at odds with the dark animosity that settled over the two of them. “Well, I’m bothered, Cecily. I wanted to be friends with you.”
She braced her hands in the sand behind her. There was no such thing as being friends with Jack—not for her.
“I still have half a mind to try,” he went on. “Though why I even care for something so futile is beyond me.”
She sighed. “Did you come over here just to insult me?”
“Yes,” he said. “Because I’m sick of your silence. You didn’t let me explain myself, and I’m tired of watching you like everyone, even damn Hector Hein, who you’ve somehow charmed into having at your beck and call—”
“It’s for the heist.”
He barked a single bitter laugh. “It’s not for the heist. He’s not that generous.”
The edge of her mouth lifted. “Careful, Jack. You sound jealous.”
He inhaled deeply, composing himself. “You didn’t let me explain,” he said again, his voice lower. “So now I will, and you’ll listen because I’m very nearly sick of you too.”
Her brows pinched. “Excuse me—”
“The sword belonged to my mother. My father bought it for her, not because she knew how to use it, but because she thought it was elegant. She never held it, but she liked to look at it.”
She bit the inside of her cheek. After he’d insulted her, she didn’t want to entertain his explanations with questions. She shouldn’t care—she didn’t care…but surely there was no harm in one question if she would eventually leave and forget him forever.
She asked slowly, “Where is she now?”
“Dead.” The word fell like a rock—simple, clean, succinct. “She passed fifteen years ago, and my father let me have the sword when she died. It had never been used. Not until I handed it to you.”
“Why?” She’d allow herself this one last curiosity, but no more.