Happily Ever After (7 page)

“I’m
desperate, Mr. MacAuley! Please!”

He
peered down at her, tilting her a curious glance. “Desperate?”

“Yes,
please!” she begged, and Jack found he liked the sight of her down there, her
cheeks rosy and her eyes smoldering up at him like molten gold. She had a hand
to her forehead, rubbing it gently, as though soothing a wound. She had, in
fact, whacked her head, and he might have been concerned, except that she was
as full of fire as she had been on the docks. Contemptuous, spirited—no,
passionate—and desperate, her own word.

The
question being why was she desperate?

“You
have a knot on your head, Miss Vanderwahl.”

She
covered her forehead daintily with her hand. Her brows knitting. “How kind of
you to point that out.”

Why
did she want passage and why did she choose Jack?

“I
do believe it’s going to bruise,” he taunted her, thinking she must be vain to
be so bloody beautiful. Those lips made him crave the taste of her. “A nice fat
bruise, deep purple maybe.”

“Really,
Mr. MacAuley!”

She
scowled up at him but held her tongue, and Jack had to smile because he knew
she was struggling to keep her temper. She couldn’t hide the fire in her eyes,
however. He could swear they were glowing.

Saucy chit.

She
really was desperate, it seemed.

“Why?”
he persisted. “Why my ship, Miss Vanderwahl?”

She
cocked her head backward a bit, looking as though she were suddenly at a loss
for words.

“Why?”
she echoed, looking stupefied.

“Yes,
that’s what I want to know ... why?”

“W-well,”
she stammered, “why not?”

He
started back up the ladder.

“Wait!
You are bound for the Yucatan, are you not?” Jack had the fleeting suspicion
that Penn might have sent her to spy on them. He wouldn’t put it past the
idiot. Someone had been checking up on them, and Penn had made his name by
stealing the theories and grants of others—Jack’s in particular.

He
stopped, looking down once more. “My destination isn’t a secret, Miss
Vanderwahl.”

“Yes,
yes I know ... I know ... but you just don’t understand.” She pressed her hand
to her head, and her expression turned pitiful. “I simply
must
go with you!”

“Must
you?”

“Yes!
You see, I can’t stand being away from Harlan so long, and I think I will die
if I don’t see him soon!”

Irritation
welled up inside him.

The
last thing Jack needed just now was a spoiled little rich girl who was missing
her fiancé—particularly when that fiancé had stolen grants right from
under his nose, grants Jack had worked hard to win.

Harlan
Penn had worked with him one year, had been privy to all Jack’s research. Jack
had just about had a grant pinned down, had worked hard to woo the
powers-that-be, and then Harlan had run to them, twisting Jack’s research, both
against Jack and for himself, snatching the grant money Jack had been waiting
for right out from under his nose. Before Penn’s interference, Jack’s theories
had been deemed “bold and innovative, free thinking.” Afterward, Jack had been
named a blasphemous charlatan, and accused of wanting nothing more than press.
Penn had known just what to say to turn their heads. He had plucked out bits of
radical summations from Jack’s theories and used them against him, his only
counterevidence being conventional theology, and then had walked away with the
rest, using it as his own.

“I’ll
give you seven thousand dollars!” she exclaimed. “Seven thousand dollars and
the first thousand is right here!” She thrust her purse at him.

So
that’s why she’d been looking so smug; the damned thing was filled with bribe
money. Everyone had his price, and she thought his would be mere money.

“I’ve
taken the liberty of opening an account for you at my bank,” she continued
presumptuously, “and I can deposit the remainder at once!”

Damn her, it was tempting.

But
he wouldn’t carry the little fool to her own funeral, much less to exchange
spit with the man he most held in contempt.

Everybody
knew, it seemed, except his china doll fiancée and puppet father-in-law-to- be,
that Harlan Penn used his academia as a convenience. The man no more took his
studies seriously than he did his fiancée. He had accompanied Jack on his first
trip to the Yucatan, and Penn had spent most of the time entertaining women in
his tent rather than working. Penn was lazy and oversexed, in tune only with
his own pleasures. Jack had felt sorry for the fiancée Penn never spoke of. It
had been obvious to Jack, even then, that it was Maxwell Vanderwahl’s fortune
to which Penn was so intent to be married.

Still,
it irked him that she could toss around money so easily when he had paid out of
his own pockets nearly every cent he had for this meager little ship. He’d had
to scrounge so deep into his personal finances that he hadn’t even had money
enough for all the extensive repairs the ship needed. Most of his crew were
volunteers as committed to their expedition as he was, scholars, not seamen,
who cared enough about their journey to put little things like comfort and pay
aside.

“Let
me get this straight... you want me to take you to the Yucatan because you miss
your boyfriend so much that you can’t live without him?”

Something
like fury flashed in her eyes, but the expression was so fleeting that Jack had
to wonder if he had seen it at all.

“Yes,”
she replied firmly.

“No!”
Jack exploded. “Ask your daddy for a ride!” He dismissed her once and for all,
hoisting himself up the ladder, muttering about the overconfidence of
men—and women—with money. He’d like to build a bonfire and burn
every last bill.

“You
don’t understand!” she cried, and he could hear the ladder creak under her
slight weight. He made a note to fix the thing before someone took a nasty
spill. “My father wouldn’t let me go!”

Jack
spun on her, giving her his fiercest glare, hoping it would scare her away. She
was nearing his cabin, and in his present mood, he’d just as soon tell her yes,
drag her into his bed, and seduce the haughtiness out of her.

In
fact, he’d almost enjoy doing that only to get back at her weasel of a fiancé.
But he liked to think he was a better man than that.

He
liked to think so, but damned if those pouting lips weren’t begging to be
kissed. Had Harlan ever even kissed her? Jack, in fact, wasn’t a gentleman. He
hadn’t been born to seasoned manners and cultured words. He and Kell had both
come from a different world than hers.

“Maybe
your daddy isn’t so brainless after all,” he suggested.

“I
beg your pardon!”

“Poor
little rich girl... you should listen to your papa!”

She
hesitated just a moment and then lifted herself onto the lower deck. “That
really isn’t a very nice thing to say!” she reproached him.

Jack
stood there staring at her in disbelief, and had to restrain himself from
taking her into his arms, kissing her brutally, teaching her a bloody lesson
for following strange men practically into their bedrooms.

She
stood facing him without backing down, without fear, and he thought she was
either stupid or truly desperate—the sort of desperate that made you
truly stupid.

She
reached out and touched his arm tentatively, but Jack could feel the plea in
the barest touch. “Mr. MacAuley. Please, you don’t understand how important
this is to me. Please... please… ”

Jack
wavered suddenly, seeing the sincerity in her eyes.

Penn
didn’t deserve such loyalty. He didn’t deserve the passion so apparent in her
resolve.

“I’ll
give you ten thousand dollars,” she offered, and he knew that she had reached
her limit. There was, for a moment, fear in her eyes while she waited for his
answer. “This is possibly the most important thing I have ever done in my
life!” she appealed to him. “Please... I will make myself useful. I will do
anything you say ... please ...”

Damn it all to hell!

If
Sophia Vanderwahl wanted to squander good money to spend two weeks spewing her
guts out over a ship’s rail, who was he to stop her?

Jack
might be principled, but he sure wasn’t stupid. He could use the money, and his
crew could use some pay.

“All
right, damn it!” he said, and grumbled after.

Her
eyes lit up.

With
the light shining down on them from above through the nets, her eyes looked
almost like nuggets of gold, with specks of green.

Beautiful.

“Oh
my! Did you really say yes?” She clapped her hands together joyfully.

Jack
was going to sorely regret this, he could tell already, and he’d be damned if
he’d let her dripping enthusiasm dampen his irritation, so he said sternly, “Be
here before four P.M. tomorrow, packed and ready to go, or we leave without
you!”

She
shrieked so loudly Jack winced at the sound, and then she hurled herself at him
with the force of a cannonball.

The
feel of her body pressed to his sent a jolt through him. He let her hold him as
she laughed with glee, not daring to touch her. He kept his hands outstretched,
his senses reeling.

“I’m
already packed!” She jumped up and down, hugging him happily, her arms going
about his neck, choking him. “Oh, thank you! Thank you! You won’t regret this!
You won’t! I promise!”

He
already did.

With
every little leap of joy, he could feel her nipples, aroused with excitement,
clear through her dress. The sensation tortured him mercilessly.

He
stared up through the nets, trying to get hold of himself, holding his breath,
trying not to notice anything at all... not her sweet feminine scent or the
mint of her breath ... especially not the sudden burst of heat in his groin ...
and saw Kell peering down at them.

The
bastard was grinning.

CHAPTER 5

It was going to be a long voyage.

Sophie dragged what Jack would allow of her
baggage down one ladder and up another. She peered up through the netting at
clear blue skies and white billowing sails and wondered irately why she
couldn’t have just removed the netting and tossed down her luggage rather than
tow it after her up and down ladders.

He hadn’t even bothered to help her, merely
carried on with his work, and even if she was feeling just a wee bit grateful
that he’d refused to allow her to bring aboard three more pieces, she wasn’t
about to relinquish her annoyance.

He’d placed her in a tiny cabin near his own that
was barely big enough to sleep in. One couldn’t even stand upright in it. Nor
could one wash within it, or do the necessary. Absolutely primitive!

Sophie thought perhaps he’d been hobnobbing with savages
far too long.

The water closet, for example, was disgraceful. It
was no more than two donut-shaped seats on the fo’castle that hung out over the
side of the vessel. Really, what did they expect her to do? Hoist up her skirts
in full view of his crew and let it rain down on the little fishies in the sea?
The very notion made her shudder. Men were absolutely shameless.

However, she was determined to make the best of
the situation. She began to whistle a merry tune, telling herself that she
would make do, that she would not complain, because she had promised to do
nothing that would make him regret his decision—but mostly because they
weren’t so very far out from shore, and she wouldn’t put it past Jack MacAuley
to toss her overboard and make her swim back. He was that rude.

So she tried to whistle as she made her quarters
more comfortable, giving it as much of a homey feel as she possibly could. She
couldn’t quite manage a tune, because she didn’t really know how to whistle. It
wasn’t seemly for a lady to whistle, her mother said, and of course Vanderwahls
never did anything unseemly.

Removing her portrait of Harlan from her suitcase,
she set it on a small shelf at her bedside—not because she adored him so
much that she couldn’t live without his image, but because it served as a
reminder of her mission ... and because she’d hidden his letter in the back of
it. She didn’t want it out of her sight.