Hart's Reward (Pirates & Petticoats #3) (11 page)

“I’ll take care of Simon’s passage north,” Landon said.

Mrs Schoen pressed her lips into a thin line. “He may not go without his family.”

“I’ll talk to him.” What kind of sop had he been to marry a woman like Keelan Grey? How had she blinded him so completely? He glanced at the stair leading to the upper floors of the tavern. Now, she was in their midst and the one place Simon should be safe had become perilous.
 

“Which room have you placed Keelan and her manservant?”

Mrs. Schoen’s worry lines smoothed somewhat, although she still seemed confused by his question. “She iss in der last room on der right. Mr. Hunter iss in der first room on der right.”

Two separate rooms? Landon nodded and bounded up the stairs, two at a time. He wasn’t fooled. Because they each had a room didn’t mean they were separated. He strode to the end of the hall and knocked sharply on the door. He heard the scraping of a chair, then the door opened a crack and Daniel’s face appeared.
 

He was right. He shoved the door wide, unable to contain his anger as he stared at the man. “What are you doing in here?” It took every ounce of control to keep his voice flat.

Mr. Hunter had the good grace to look somewhat chagrined, but remained silent. Keelan sat on one of the two chairs at a small wooden table. Two trenchers of half-eaten food sat on the table. She swallowed a bite, wiped her mouth and glared at Landon.

Without breaking her stare down with him, she said, “Please sit back down and finish your meal, Daniel.” She dropped her napkin on her plate. “I’m afraid I’ve lost my appetite.”

The dig wasn’t lost on Landon or to his embarrassment, Hunter either.

The valet scooted to the table and picked up his plate. “I’ll finish in my room, mistress.”

“I’ll see you in the morning.” She smiled softly.

Daniel gave her a quick nod and slipped out the door. Landon kicked it closed. If he managed to refrain from killing her, it might be a miracle worthy enough persuade him to enter the seminary. Even now, green fire sparked from her eyes and the sweet smile she’d given her servant had turned into a scowl. How many faces did she have?

“How dare you speak to Daniel that way!” She shot to her feet, knocking her chair over. She stepped around it and approached Landon, a bundle of fury and fiery beauty. “He practically raised me and has been nothing but a faithful servant and staunch protector.” When she reached him she put her hands on her hips and tilted her stubborn, little chin up. “Just because you don’t remember someone, doesn’t give you permission to be rude.”

Keelan, standing barefoot with a man’s shirt hanging almost to her knees, eyes blazing, with that impish mouth, so pink and lush and kissable, awakened something in his belly that had slept when he was with Annette. The scent of jasmine wafted into his nostrils and he froze. A glimmer of a memory flickered before his eyes. Wisteria blossoms drooping lazily from an arbor, an auburn haired beauty in a gown that shown like polished silver in the moonlight. He couldn’t make out her face. Was it her? Was it Keelan? He closed his eyes, desperately trying to bring it into focus, but it faded.

“Landon?” Keelan’s voice was soft.
 

She placed a warm palm on his forearm. Opening his eyes, he stared at her. Concern creased her brow. He reached up and touched her hair, allowing a curl to curve around his finger, imagining it the color of burnished copper. He cupped her face with both hands and stared into the emerald eyes rimmed in gold.
 

Why couldn’t he remember? He wanted to remember. He was desperate to remember. There were too many unanswered questions. There were too many treacherous situations where Keelan was involved. She’d killed someone, there was a man who would pay a hefty price for her, and one of the key people in Fynn’s network had been found out. Landon could only move forward with the information he had now.

“You didn’t tell me you owned slaves,” he said, each word articulated with tortured rancor. “Nor did you happen to mention that you are wanted for murder.”

For a moment, something in the way he looked at her reminded Keelan of
her
Landon. Her heart jumped at the possibility that the fog in his mind might be lifting. It disappeared with the tone in his voice. Accusing. Angry. Wary.

“I don’t own slaves,” she replied. “Papa did…he owned Twin Pines plantation when he was alive.”

“Who owns it now?”

Where was he going with these questions? Was he starting to remember?

“Papa told me he would leave it to Uncle Jared but my uncle said that Papa left the plantation to me, so I’m not certain who owns it, nor do I care.” She’d left that life behind the second she set foot upon his ship.
 

His eyes narrowed. “And the reward for murder?”

The memory of Gampo’s voice screaming her name and hurling threats at her as she ran away from the burning warehouse sent an icy trail of shivers across the back of her neck. Could their common enemy, Gampo, bring down a portion of the wall of distrust he had built between them?
 

“A man hired Gampo to kidnap me. I was taken to a warehouse where the pirates had stored cargo they had stolen from you.” She could almost see the tension emanating from Landon’s shoulders like waves of heat from a hot skillet. She held her breath and waited for him to interrupt her with exclamations of disbelief and accuse her of lying. He crossed his arms, leaned a hip against the table and waited.

She continued. “You and Conal tracked your cargo to that warehouse. You found me and rescued me from a man who’d been flaying my back with a leather strap. I later found out that the man was Gampo’s cousin and first mate, Crowe. Gampo showed up and the two of you fought. During the fight, Crowe tried to stab you in the back. I used a chain to pull him off his feet. When he fell it broke his neck.”

Keelan closed her eyes against the visions that surfaced as she talked. Crowe’s blunt face twisted in a cruel sneer as he punished her for fighting his advances…the gleam of Gampo’s saber and the wicked dagger Crowe pulled from his boot as he crept up behind Landon…chains clinking…the remnants of smoke and the metallic scent of blood. She shuddered and reached for her wine to take away the bitter taste in her mouth.
 

Here again, she was relating another outrageous story to Landon, who was probably completely convinced she was a habitual liar. Why would he want to believe any of this? Even though true, it still sounded contrived. At least Gus could corroborate the part about the theft of his cargo and the fight in the warehouse.
 

Now, Landon was staring at his boots, to hide his expression this time, no doubt. “So Gampo has put a price on your head for killing his first.”

“Yes.” Trying to explain any more might send her into a fit of hysterical laughter.
 

“…Who was about to sink a blade into my back.”

“Yes.” She took slow sip of wine and studied him over the rim of the glass. Did any of it sound familiar to him? If one tiny piece could break in to the darkness coating his memory, perhaps another might follow.
 

Landon unfolded his arms and began to pace the small room. His voice was low, as if he was thinking out loud rather than conversing with her. “I want to remember, because I don’t understand my actions. What kind of man had I become over the last five years?” The anguish in his voice tore at her heart. “Five years ago, I would have never married again, let alone marry…” He gestured toward her. “… Someone like you, a slaver owner and a—”

Keelan sliced the air with her hand. She lowered her voice to a whisper. “I’m
not
a murderer and I would ask that you keep your voice down. These planks are thin, and it’s dangerous enough for me to be here as it is.” She fought to clamp down on her temper. “Do you truly believe that I could ever be a murderer, that I could ever intentionally kill a person?”

He appraised her up and down, noting her petite stature and thin arms. “I’ve seen your skill with a blade, so I know what you’re
capable
of doing.”

This man! Keelan strode forward and poked him hard in the chest. “Before you make any more foolish assumptions, you should recall that the man I killed was about to plunge a knife into your arrogant back!”
 

He grabbed her wrist and pulled her hard against him. Shock, confusion and anger rippled across his face. “I don’t
recall
any of that. I don’t know what to believe.”

“Right now, you’re believing that I’d lie to you. I want to know why.” Anger made her voice tremble. She should be more patient with him, but his distrust ignited her temper faster than a match to tinder.

“Are you sure you want an answer to that question?” he ground out between clenched teeth. He didn’t wait for her respond, although he did lower his voice to a harsh whisper, “I have two theories. I’m simply not yet certain which one is correct. One, you’re a slave owner. Perhaps you were hired to break into the inner network that Fynn created.”

“I knew nothing about it until the night we married,” she hissed back. She pulled her wrist, but his grip didn’t loosen.

His nostrils flared. “Another convenient tidbit that you cannot prove. Two, you’re British. Perhaps you’re a spy.” His fingers tightened.

“You’re hurting me,” she snapped, twisting her wrist in his large hand.
 

He didn’t release her. “It explains why Commodore Hall sailed his ship directly into an enemy flotilla.”

He reached his other hand up to grip the hair close to her head. He tilted her head back and stared into her eyes. “Perhaps both theories are correct. Tell me,
wife
, did you spread your legs for him, too?”

Keelan’s hand flew up and slapped his face with a sharp, painful crack even before her brain registered the movement. “How dare you.” The blood drained from her face leaving her dizzy; her hand throbbed and her palm burned. The heat from Landon’s body pulsed into the center of hers, his scent filled her nostrils and the irises of his eyes virtually crackled with a livid azure fire.
 

He started to say something, but the next second his lips were on hers. The sensation from the contact sent a quake through her body; her heart rumbled and blood roared through her veins. His mouth moved against hers, hard and punishing. Her fists clenched his shirt.
 

The familiar softness of his lips and the light stubble on his chin had her melting. His tongue drove into her mouth, searching, demanding. She wanted him. Dear Lord, she wanted him.
 

She unclenched her fists and dove her fingers into his sleek black hair and kissed him back with all the fear, frustration and anger she’d held inside since the night she’d disappeared from his memories. Landon released her hair but only to tear her shirt open, then his hands were on her breasts and he pushed her back against the wall, pressing the length of his hardened shaft against her lower belly. His kiss created a fire cloud low in her core, making that moist place between her thighs weep with need.

He had never kissed her with such passion and fury. It was both frightening and exhilarating. She slipped her hands under his shirt, reveling in the velvet warmth of his skin and the unyielding hardness of his ribs and back. His words still stung and she poured her hurt and frustration into the kiss.
 

He pulled her hips closer then lifted her and
 
turned toward the bed. She wanted him, but not like this. Once he lowered her down and cover her with his hot, hard body, she would be helpless to resist, even if she wanted to. If she allowed him to tumble her in bed, she’d reinforce his earlier insinuation, which still pierced her heart like a thin stiletto. It was that thought, which cleared her mind from the heady delirium of his kiss. She wanted him yes—but not this way, not saturated with anger, and radiating jealousy and lust.

She tore her mouth from his and shoved him, twisting away. “Stop, Landon.” He reached for her and she darted behind the small table, putting it between them.

He stood clenching his jaw, eyes closed. Ragged breaths betrayed the calmer demeanor he attempted to show. She clutched the edges of her shirt together, hating what she had to say next.

“Please leave.” The words festered like acid in her mouth. If she said anymore or tried to explain, her resolve would crumble. If she allowed him to argue with her, her resolve would crumble. Hell, if he even opened his eyes and looked at her…she would pull him into her bed and she would become the woman this Landon believed her to be, in his fragmented mind. In the morning, he would despise her even more.

Keelan tossed in the bed like a dingy on a stormy sea. Even in the quiet that followed after the tavern closed and the guests were all abed didn’t help. She’d shed her breeches and boots, choosing to sleep in the shirt Landon had given her the last time she’d stayed at the Whistling Pig. The air was still hot and humid. Even the open window didn’t invite a breeze. It wasn’t the heat, however, keeping sleep at bay.

There was one single moment in time that would not rest in her mind. Before he left the room, Landon had paused with his hand on the knob and studied her. She’d stood in the center of the small room, the linen shirt clenched in a fist over her heart. His gaze fastened on her face and his brows drew a tiny bit closer in consternation.
 

Remember me
.
 

She’d wanted him last night, yes but in the back of her mind she hoped with all her heart that kissing him back would jar loose his memory of her, somehow.
 

It hadn’t. Without a word, Landon stepped into the hall and closed the door.

She flopped to her stomach and buried her head in her arms. Without Landon, she was frayed and shredded like a rope that had snapped from the tension of too heavy a burden.
 

A small click broke into her meanderings. She turned her attention to the door knob. A moment of quiet followed, then a small scrape invaded the silence. Hope flared for a second; perhaps it was Landon coming to her. If he was, should she take him? Another scrape. The sounds weren’t coming from the door. The open window was now blocked by a shape that was too narrow in the shoulders and too short to be her husband.