His Wicked Kiss (9 page)

They stared at her expectantly.

She relented with a sigh. “Even small scratches can become infected quickly in the jungle. If you must know, there’s a tiny insect that likes to lay its eggs in any open wound it finds. After that, the only remedy is amputation.”

Jack sat down at once on the stool she had indicated and gave her his hand. “I’m all yours, my dear. Just tell me this doesn’t involve your machete.”

She shot him a chiding smile and went to fetch her sewing basket.

Eden
could feel him watching her with his predatory stare, but her heart still pounded at the news that he and his crew were heading next to
England
.

Surely this was the miracle she had been praying for. Now all she had to do was to find the nerve to ask the notorious Black-Jack Knight if he’d take her along for the ride.

He had no reason to oblige her, she knew, and if he was as wicked as the rumors claimed, she might be safer accompanying Papa into the Amazon. Even if he was an ex-pirate, she did not wish to seem pushy or rude, imposing on him.

Oh, it was so very lowering to know he had millions and she hadn’t pennies for the trip. She had her pride. Nevertheless, she was determined to show him that she could be useful. Perhaps her skills would help to gain her the favor she so desperately needed. Bolstered by that hope, she returned and sat across from him while Mr. Trahern anxiously searched himself for any small open wounds or odd insect bites that he might have overlooked.

Eden dragged her stool closer to her patient’s and pulled his large, warm hand onto her lap, turning his palm upward; his knuckles rested on her thigh.

His smoky stare homed in on her, as though he, too, had felt the shock of electricity that jolted through her when they touched.
Eden
’s heart skipped a beat. Her cheeks colored as she bent her head to assess his splinter, her sewing needle poised between her fingers.

Lord Jack frowned when she used it to poke the heel of his hand. “I do hope you know what you’re doing.”

“Of course I do. I’m a physician’s daughter. And do you know what you are?” she murmured with a cautious smile, brushing a stray lock of her hair behind her ear.

“Do tell,” he purred, watching her.

“Just a big, grumpy lion with a thorn in his paw.”

A rueful smile spread across his face. “Yes, Miss Farraday, I’m afraid you’ve summed me up rather neatly.”

They exchanged a smile that lasted just a moment too long, then she turned her attention back to her task, trying to ignore the girlish flutter of her heart.

The little sliver of wood had worked its way in deep. It looked like it hurt. As
Eden
ran her thumb across his palm, marveling privately at how big and full of strength his callused hands were, again she sensed him staring at her. The potent male interest in his gaze was a bit unsettling; she did her best to ignore it and willed her hands not to shake. With a murmured warning, she pricked his skin gently, and widened the incision a bit to go after the splinter.

“So, Lord Jack—” She cleared her throat. Papa always said it was best to distract the patient during such proceedings. “You don’t plan to cross the ocean in that steamer?”

“In the steamer? No, Miss Farraday—”

“
Eden
,” she interrupted softly, glancing up to meet his gaze.

A speculative look filled his aquamarine eyes. “
Eden
,” he corrected himself barely audibly. He paused before continuing in a more casual tone: “My ship is waiting for me off
Trinidad
. We’re to rendezvous at the coast.”

“Is it a big ship?” she asked, wondering if there might be room for her.

“Very big,” he replied in silken innuendo, and gave her a wicked smile.

She felt her face heat. “What’s it called?”

“The Winds of Fortune.”

“That’s—a nice name,” she said a bit breathlessly.

“T
hank
you.”

Exchanging the needle for the tweezers, she sent another wary glance his way and this time caught him staring point-blank at her mouth, the drift of his thoughts perfectly plain on his handsome face.

Her heart pounded. “I thought most ships were named for ladies.”

“Not my ships.”

“Why is that?”

“My ships are reliable.”

“I see. And your ladies are not?”

His only answer was a world-weary flick of one eyebrow, along with a dry half smile.

Eden
laughed quietly and lowered her head again. “I fear, Lord Jack, that you are a cynic.”

“Born that way.”

Spurred on by an almost scientific curiosity, she leaned closer and asked the supposedly forbidden question of Jack Knight. “You know,” she confided in a daring murmur, “they say you used to be a pirate.”

“Do they?” he whispered.

Her naughty smile widened. “Is it true?”

His eyes danced as he considered for a moment. “It is, my dear, shall we say, a matter of perspective.”

“Ah.” She nodded sagely, only realizing after a moment that he hadn’t told her anything. His evasive answer only whetted her interest.

Meanwhile, his dark, longish hair was already drying from the rain; gazing at him, she was filled with the impulse to run her fingers through its soft, tousled waves. She fought the urge to touch his face, as well, his skin so deeply tanned from an adventuring life lived outdoors, on the deck of a ship.

No, she conceded, still studying him at close range, he was no elegant Town dandy like the ones who went strolling through her daydreams, but there was something positively thrilling about this man.

She remembered the ball in
Jamaica
where she had first seen him; he had been the most riveting man in the room, drawing the stares of every woman present, while most of the men simply stepped out of his way.

Gazing openly at him a moment longer, Eden decided that what she liked best were the faint, smiley crinkles at the outer corners of his deep-set eyes. He had kind eyes, she thought, and wondered if he knew it.

“
Eden
,” he said softly. Her name sounded delicious on his tongue. “You’re staring at me.”

Caught
. She bit her lower lip and blushed. “But, Lord Jack,” she replied just as gently, “you’re staring, too.”

He knew, of course; his slow grin was decidedly sly.

A hot wave of pure, visceral attraction rushed through her, a fevered contagion that she caught directly from him.

Fighting to maintain her wits, she cast about for a neutral topic. “How do you intend to get past the Spanish?”

“Oh, I have my ways.”

“I’ll bet you do,” she murmured.

He leaned closer. “You’ve got very good hands.”

Eden
held her breath, her pulse racing. As he stared into her eyes, she thought he was actually going to kiss her.

She was motionless, dazzled—waiting—but then, with a look of regret, he eased back in his seat again.

It was another moment before she could breathe, let alone continue. She scoffed privately at the foolish staccato of her pulse, and the twinge of disappointment that the notoriously bad ex-pirate had decided to be good.

Of course, a real lady should have considered his attentions outrageously rude. Cousin Amelia, a proper young miss of the Quality, would have fainted by now. Dismayed that she could not even manage to feel properly offended,
Eden
lowered her head with renewed concentration and finished removing his splinter.

She caught the tiny shard of wood between her tweezers, and, maneuvering with gentle precision, finally got it out.

“Good news,” she announced, looking at him again with well-recovered poise. “You’re going to live.”

“More’s the pity.
Eden
?” he said abruptly. “Why does he keep you hidden away like this?”

“You mean Papa? Oh, he thinks he is protecting me.” She tidied up the small incision with a splash of brandy on a cloth. “He isn’t a genius in all things, Lord Jack, especially matters of the heart.” Saddened by the admission, she stood up to put her things away.

“But it’s a crime, his stranding you here like this.” His stare tracked her with an intensity that she could feel from across the room. “You should be in
Kingston
, being worshiped by the sons of wealthy planters.”

She turned around abruptly, shocked and flattered and above all thrilled to think that, at last, somebody understood. Why, she had just met the man and somehow he knew her heart better than Papa did.

She stared at him in amazement.

Folding her arms across her chest and leaning her hip against the table,
Eden
was wildly encouraged all of a sudden to think that if he liked her so well, then surely he would help her.

There could be no doubt that lordly male chivalry would compel him to escort her safely home to
England
, if she only asked. He was obviously a gentleman, no matter what the rumors said; he could have kissed her moments ago, after all, but had done the decent thing and refrained. Besides, she had just done him a favor, hadn’t she, removing his splinter and possibly saving his hand? Surely he would be happy to do a good deed for her in return.

Yes, she thought, she could ask him now. Pirate or no, her excellent instincts told her that she could trust this man.

She bit her lip and summoned up all her nerve. “What would you say,” she began slowly, “if I asked you for a favor?”

“A favor?” His eyes narrowed in sudden wariness. “What sort of favor, exactly?”

Her confident smile did not waver, though her heart was in her throat.
Eden
lifted her chin and squared her shoulders: “Take me with you to
England
.”

Take her
… ?

Jack stared into her hope-filled, emerald eyes, thought of his vital secret mission—his highly illegal secret mission—and let out a curse.