Surrender (15 page)

“I was curious,” he said with another shrug, “when I realized a flirtation was at hand.”

Evelyn knew she had not flirted—she was certain of it. But all ladies flirted, and there was nothing wrong with such behavior. “He played the gallant, coming here as he did, on the pretext of taking me for a picnic, in order to provide us with a meal.” She added, “They did not even take the leftovers.”

“Yes, he is a hero, certainly—but he is not going to France for you.”

She bit her lip. “No. He is not going to France for me.”

Their gazes had now locked. He smiled slowly again. “Shall we get to the matters at hand?”

She walked to the sofa and sat down. “I have been afraid that you might change your mind.”

He strode indolently to the sofa and sat down, not at its other end, but in the middle, crowding her into the corner where she sat. He stretched out his long, booted legs and leaned indifferently back. “I gave you my word, Evelyn.”

Her heart fluttered wildly. His jacket was wide-open, enough so to reveal his broad chest and flat abdomen beneath the cotton shirt he wore. Her glance strayed to the pistol at his hip and the dagger’s hilt, peeking out from his jacket.

She glanced aside, abruptly. She was staring. Worse, she had recalled their last encounter—all of it. She had felt his hard, powerful body when they had embraced. How could she ever forget that moment?

Her husband had held her many times. But his embrace had not been memorable.

“I am making the run to France at sunrise,” he said harshly.

“You are going to France tomorrow?” she cried. Common sense returned. She intended to go with him, but tomorrow was too soon.

“Yes, I am. You seem…alarmed.”

She was very alarmed, because she did not wish to rock this particular boat now. She had little left to sell—the sooner he went to France, the better. “I am surprised.” How could she mention that she meant to accompany him, that she feared he would not find the gold if not with her help? “But I am thrilled. Most of my jewels are gone,” she said, thinking of Ed Whyte.

“What are you trying to say—exactly?”

She knew she was delaying. “I actually spoke with another smuggler, before you agreed to help me. I spoke with Ed Whyte.” She grimaced. “It was an unpleasant encounter, to say the least.”

“What?” he exclaimed, his eyes wide with consternation. He sat up.

Was he concerned? “When you refused me, I took matters into my own hands,” she said.

“Of course you did—you are stubborn!”

She could not decide what his intense reaction signified. Her mind raced. This was a distraction—when she needed to consider how best to broach her next plea. “I thought we had reached an agreement. I gave him my sapphire ring and ear bobs. He left with the jewels, with no intention of coming back, which I realized far too late.”

Jack shook his head. “He robbed you!” It was an incredulous accusation.

“Yes, he did.” Was he actually concerned?

“I could have told you to stay away from Whyte,” Jack said flatly. “He has no sense of honor, and his character is scurrilous, at best.”

“So I have learned,” she said slowly.

His gaze narrowed. “Are you about to make a point?”

She inhaled. “I trust you, and I did not trust Whyte.” She did not expect him to respond, and he did not, but she trembled, afraid to ask him if she could accompany him to France. He would refuse, she was certain. She wondered if she dared to attempt to steal on board without his knowledge. “Where is your ship?”

He studied her. He shifted position and crossed his legs. “It is actually in the cove below your uncle’s house. Why?”

He could be on board in an hour—and so could she. Faraday Hall was but an hour’s ride away. “I hadn’t realized that you were berthed so close by.”

“I often use that cove,” he said, now sitting up straight, uncrossing his legs. His gray gaze was piercing and it was also suspicious. “I need maps. You need parchment and ink.”

She knew she was going to have to bring up the subject of her joining him, but just then, she did not have the courage to do so. She nodded, leaped up and ran into the small library next door. At the desk, she paused for composure. If she did not ask him if she could join him, her only other alternative would be to somehow board his ship without his knowledge.

She looked up.

Jack stood calmly in the doorway but his gaze was bright with more suspicion now. “There is a plot afoot,” he said softly. “What is it, Evelyn?”

Her heart slammed at his soft tone and use of her name. “There is no plot!”

He walked over to the desk, where she had the parchment, quill and inkwell. She tensed but he only pulled out Henri’s chair. Evelyn sat, looking up at him.

He stood behind her, and he laid one large hand on the desk by the vellum. “Where is your house, exactly?”

She inhaled. The suspicion was gone from his eyes. He was intent and serious now. “Can you find your way to the outskirts of the city?” She remained twisted to look up at him.

He gazed down at her. “Of course.”

She turned to the parchment, dipping the quill in the ink. “The quickest route is to take the main boulevard halfway through the city and turn south on Rue Lafayette. That will take you out of town. If you stay on that road, you will come to several vineyards. At the second one, you will turn right onto a small dirt lane with no sign. The Chateau D’Orsay is half a mile down the road, surrounded by those vineyards.” As she spoke, she rapidly sketched a crude map. He did not move, and he became a distraction, standing so close behind her. She finished and looked up.

He said, very seriously, “You were last there four years ago, correct?” He did not wait for her to respond. “The vineyards may be gone—burned to the ground. The last road may now have a sign. I need another marker.”

He was right, she thought with worry. “There is a ruined tower just before the last road, on the north side.”

He reached over her arm and took the quill from her and drew an
X
in the spot where the tower was. “Is that correct?”

“Yes.” It was difficult to speak.

He laid the quill down by her hand; their hands brushed. “Where are the heirlooms on your property?”

Evelyn hesitated, because his large hand was resting against hers.

“Evelyn.”

She wet her lips and opened a drawer, removing a key. Then she leaned down, where a hidden locked drawer was at the very bottom of the desk. “Before he died, Henri gave me the map he made.” She unlocked the hidden drawer and opened it, taking out the folded map and handing it to him. “Obviously that shaded square is the house. There were three huge oak trees in the back, just beyond the terrace outside of the ballroom. They are marked by circles. He buried a large chest in the center, between them, and that is the
X
you see.”

Jack studied it briefly, then placed it on the desk in front of her, beside the map she had just drawn. “Good.”

Staring up at him, she wondered if he felt half of the tension she did. She wondered if he was at all breathless, disturbed, or thinking illicit, inappropriate thoughts. “You should lock up your husband’s map. Destroy the other one.” His gaze held hers.

She started. “Don’t you need them?”

“I have memorized them,” he said softly.

Her heart hammered, hard, in response to his sudden change of tone, and the slight gleam in his eyes. She made no move to do as he had said. He now had all the information he needed to go to France. He was probably going to bid her good-night and go.

And then she realized that they had never discussed his payment—his fair share. Was that why he was hesitating, and standing so motionless? Or was he considering the currents coursing between them, as she was?

She asked, “How am I going to pay you?”

His gray gaze had dropped to her mouth, and now, abruptly, his thick lashes lowered, hiding his eyes. He murmured, “You decide.”

She inhaled. Had she mistaken that look? What did that mean? Didn’t she know?

Evelyn stared at the maps on the desk, finding it impossible to think clearly. He reached over her arm and took the map she had drawn, this time, his arm brushing over hers, hard. She twisted to face him; he tore up the parchment, his stare unwavering upon her.

Very carefully, she said, “What about the advance payment you insisted upon?”

A long, simmering moment passed. He finally said, “I am waiving it.”

She desperately wished to be in his arms—but she was in mourning, she needed him to go to France and she had told herself she would walk a fine line with him now.

“You look very much like a deer, caught in the crosshairs of my gun,” he said. “Except, there is no gun, now is there?”

“You unnerve me.”

He leaned over her, laying his hand back on the desk, his chest now against her left shoulder. She felt trapped, seated as she was in the chair, between him and the desk. He had deliberately put her in such a position, she had not a doubt.

Her heart raced madly. Did he mean to kiss her? Why else would he position himself in such a way?

“How do I unnerve you?” he asked.

She shivered. “I think you know.”

His gaze was on her mouth. His own lips seemed to curve. But he did not lean closer and brush his mouth over hers. He wasn’t going to cross the line, she thought, dismayed.

“I am very grateful,” she whispered.

His eyes smoldered. “Really?” He leaned more firmly on the desk, his shoulder pressing down on hers. “If you are going to play with fire, be forewarned, my gallantry has limits.”

Evelyn could not even try to comprehend him now. She did not want to think about what was happening. She clasped his hard, taut jaw. But she wanted
him
to kiss
her.

His eyes blazed. “I swore I would resist all temptation,” he said harshly.

She knew he was going to kiss her—and he leaned down, seizing her far arm, and claimed her mouth with his.

She did not move, thrilling, as their mouths wildly fused. Her heart rioted. Her body flamed. Her back pressed into the chair, which was pressed into the desk. She ached desperately, urgently, in every fiber of her being. She was in mourning, but how could something wrong be so right?

He pulled away, breathing hard. “Are you going to send me to France with something to remember you by?”

It was so hard to think, when all she wanted was another moment in his arms. Shaking, she stood, aware of what he had asked, and as she did, he pulled her into his embrace, kissing her hot and hard, openmouthed, again.

Evelyn seized his shoulders and clung to them. His tongue thrust deep. His entire body was stiff with tension. Her own body felt as taut. She had never felt real desire before being in Jack’s arms; she knew that now. And this was a raging passion. It was almost frightening, because she was ready to do the unthinkable.

Somehow, she thought about Aimee, who could awaken and walk in on them; she even thought about Henri, so recently deceased. Yet she did not want to think about her husband or her daughter, not now! She simply wanted the kiss to go on and on, endlessly, shamelessly. She wanted to remain on fire, in Jack Greystone’s embrace.

But he stepped back from her, breathing hard, loudly. “I want you, Evelyn, I always have. But I am done with games. We are not children.”

She fought for air. She had to hold the desk to stand upright. His tone was so thick—she had never heard such a tone before. And she realized exactly what was happening—exactly where she stood. Upon a cliff. One more step and she would fall.

And would it be so terrible?

Their gazes were locked again. His eyes blazed—but there was a question there.

She hesitated, trying to make a choice, when it was impossible to do so with so much urgency raging in her body. But the only man she had ever slept with was her husband. And Henri had died less than five weeks ago. Despite this terrible attraction, she was in mourning.

She felt herself stiffen.

The last time she had made love, she had undressed herself, crawled into bed, the lights out, and waited for her husband to join her. Unlike now, she had been filled with staunch resolution. There had been no wild desire. But Henri had loved her. She had been his wife.

“Are you taking me upstairs?” Jack asked bluntly.

She jerked, meeting his smoldering gaze. Slowly, she hugged herself. “I cannot.”

His mouth curled mirthlessly. “So you would lead me on—again?”

“No!” She shook her head. “I want to be in your arms, but…” She stopped. “Henri is dead. I am in mourning. We are not even in love.”

His eyes widened. He then made a harsh sound. Incredulous, he slowly said, “This isn’t about love. This is better than love and you know it.”

What on earth did he mean? “Henri courted me and he married me. He loved me. You don’t love me—I can’t.”

He stared, a long, hard moment passing. “I cannot believe that you are using the excuse of love to deny me.” He began to shake his head. “But have no fear. It is better this way. I prefer to avoid your bed, actually. I will see you when I return from France.” He started past her, his strides long and hard.

He could not leave this way! “Jack, wait!”

He faltered at the door, turning. “You should count your blessings, Evelyn,” he warned.

“I have not been playing games. I do not want you to think so poorly of me!”

He made a disparaging sound. “Haven’t you?”

“I am confused,” she cried.

He stared, his regard cold. “Well, I am not confused. I am making sail at first tide. Good night, Countess.” And with those hard words, he strode from the salon.

CHAPTER EIGHT

T
HE
SUN
WAS
a flaming orange ball, just emerging over the horizon.

Evelyn hugged her wool cloak close, seated beside Laurent in the front of their carriage, staring at the ship that was at anchor in the cove below her uncle’s house. It was a cold morning, with a stiff breeze, and she shivered—but it was perfect for sailing and she knew that.

His ship was larger now, with more cannon, but otherwise, it seemed the same—its sails were black canvas; its hull was also painted black. In the light of day, she seemed ominous.

However, the cove had changed. A dock had been built, a jetty of sorts that ran from the cove to where the ship was anchored, and the vessel’s gangplank remained down. Evelyn hadn’t been back to the cove in years, not since before her marriage. She had considered how she would get on board his ship, and knowing she would have to ask Jack for a rowboat—and a seaman to row her to the ship—she had worried. But the docks solved that. However, at any moment, that boarding plank would be raised. There was a great deal of activity upon the deck, as sailors rushed about the rigging, preparing to make sail. The sight was a familiar one, recalled from her childhood at Faraday Hall.

She had not been able to sleep at all last night—and not just because of the shocking passion she had shared with Jack—or her cowardly refusal to go through with consummating her desire. She had tossed and turned, torn between desire and regret—and a new fear. Jack Greystone was surely angry with her now. There was so much dread.

But there was so much more. Unless he had changed his mind, he was leaving at sunrise—and she had to go with him. She was more determined now than ever before.

“This is a terrible plan,” Laurent said, braking the carriage. “He hasn’t seen us yet. Why don’t we turn around and go home? You can trust Captain Greystone. He will not steal the gold.”

Jack stepped out of his cabin and was walking onto the quarterdeck of his ship. So much tension assailed Evelyn that she could not breathe. For a moment, she could not even speak.

She did not want him to dislike her for her cowardice. She did not want him to think that she had deliberately led him on. Surely, he must understand why she had not been able to consummate their passion.

Evelyn inhaled deliberately and said, “There he is. It is time to make my presence known.”

Laurent seized her arm before she could climb out of the carriage. “Why, madame? Why must you go to France, risking your life in doing so?”

She smiled grimly, but she could not take her gaze off the black-hulled ship with its black sails, which were unfurling. She could not take her eyes off Jack.

And he had seen the carriage. Even from the distance between them, she remarked him stiffening. Now she saw him lift a spyglass and train it upon her.

“I am afraid he might not locate the gold and that he will return empty-handed. We cannot afford that.” She helped herself out of the carriage, stumbling on the dirt road, picked up a small valise and started across the sand.

Laurent fell into step beside her. “He has a map! Or I can go in your place!”

“I have to go with him, and I trust him to protect me, just as I trust you to care for Aimee while I am gone,” she said.

Laurent groaned. “You are not making sense.”

She paused. “What if there is trouble? I am sending him into danger.”

“That is all the more reason to let him go alone!”

“No, that is all the more reason to accompany him,” she said, meaning it. Last night, she had begun to worry about the danger he would face in France. Now that his departure was imminent, she had begun to truly consider the risks he was taking. She was concerned for his welfare, his safety.

Evelyn trudged across the fifty-foot stretch of beach, the sand surprisingly deep, her gaze locked on Jack. He had now crossed his decks and stood at the railing of the
Sea Wolf II,
at the head of the gangplank. His posture was rigid, and his arms were crossed forbiddingly across his chest. His expression was one of vast displeasure. She reached its foot and did not even try to smile. “Good morning.”

A dozen feet separated them now. His eyes blazed. “What is this?”

She laid her hand on the plank’s rail, and stepped upon it. “Are you sailing for France?”

“Yes.”

Her heart slammed. In spite of their altercation, he still meant to help her. “I meant to tell you last night—I must come with you.” She could not look at him now as she started up the plank, her pulse racing.

“Like hell!” He leaped over the railing and onto the gangplank, striding down it.

He seized her wrist before Evelyn had crossed even half of the gangplank. Their eyes collided; his gaze continued to burn. Her heart instantly lurched, both from that frightening desire and the fact that he was, so clearly, angry with her.

“I can help you locate the chest,” she tried.

“We are at war with France, the Channel is infested with naval ships and France remains torn by revolution! Are you mad? My ship is no place for a woman, and neither is France!”

She wet her lips and managed, “A great many women live in France, as I did, for several years. You are attempting to get to my home. There might be danger. I want to help you in every way that I can.”

He hadn’t released her. He was incredulous. “You may help me by turning around and going back to Roselynd, where you will be safe!”

Staring directly into his eyes, she said, very softly, “I am sorry about last night.”

He inhaled. “That is a low blow.”

What did that mean? “I meant to discuss this with you then—but we got off the subject.”

He released her. “Yes, we did. You do not have permission to board my ship, Countess.”

“I will do so anyway.” She started past him, outwardly brave though inwardly frightened.

He grabbed her arm another time, turning her back around. “You would ignore my command?”

She nodded. “Yes. Jack—I can be of help. I know I can. You might have trouble finding the house even with my map. And I speak French fluently, in case you are questioned. There are disguises in the carriage—we can go as a pair of servants. And I know the area well.”

He slowly shook his head. “I do not need your help and I would never allow you to disembark in France.”

He meant it. Searching his gaze, which was not heated now, she said, “Please. You know that this is really about my daughter. Those valuables are for her future. I must go with you. If there is any problem, we can solve it together.”

“You don’t trust me.”

She trembled. “I do. But as a mother, I cannot bear for you to go without me. I cannot stand to wait for your return at Roselynd, wondering if you could even find the house, or the chest, wondering if there was trouble. And what if you cannot find the house? What if you do need my help? Please.” She touched his forearm, careful not to tell him that she would also not be able to bear worrying about him.

He jerked his arm away from her, his gaze hard, meeting hers. “It isn’t safe,” he warned.

He was crumbling! “I did not even think that you would still go to France today,” she whispered. “Not after last night.”

He looked away grimly.

What did his silence mean? But she knew his resistance was easing. “I will not be any trouble—I will be helpful, Jack.” She wet her lips. “And perhaps, I can explain why I became such a coward last night. I want a chance to explain. You are so angry this morning.”

“I am not angry, Evelyn. Not with you—and you do not need to explain while I am crossing the Channel. I would not allow such a distraction.”

“I will not be a distraction—I promise. And if that is what you want, I will wait to explain my actions to you another time.”

His stare sharpened. “I cannot believe your gumption. We will miss the tide—and the winds are perfect.” He cursed again, staring right at her, but she knew she did not blush. “Very well. You may take a berth in my cabin, but be forewarned—I have no time for discussions, no time for distractions and you will not be going ashore with me. If I encounter any problems, we will discuss them on my ship, if I think it necessary.” He was grim and she knew he disliked taking her with him.

But she had won somehow. She was jubilant, though she hid it. She turned, to call down the plank and tell Laurent to get the disguises. Jack seized her hand this time. “Do not bother.” He leaned close, but only to take her small bag from her. “You will do as I say, Evelyn, while aboard my ship.”

“Yes, I will do as you say.” She spoke meekly, still fighting to hide her satisfaction.

His gaze moved over her features. Then he gestured to the other sailors. “You will also distract my men, so I suggest you retire to my cabin directly. And do not think I am fooled. You are gloating.”

“Thank you,” she whispered, biting back a smile.

He ignored her, gesturing at Laurent to leave, then striding past her, calling for the mainsail to be hoisted.

* * *

E
VELYN
STOOD
AT
THE
CABIN
’
S
porthole, staring out into the night. It had been a bright, cloudless night, and the sky overhead had glittered with stars until an hour ago, when it had begun to slowly lighten. The new day would be sunny and bright. These were not the best conditions to be attempting to steal into France.

They were close to land; she could feel it. That would have meant a very swift crossing, but she knew the winds had been exceptionally good for them. And just as she had that thought, a pair of gulls could be seen outside, overhead, wheeling about.

She briefly closed her eyes. She had not been allowed on deck even once, and she probably knew every inch of Jack’s cabin. She had made certain not to pry amongst his charts or his personal things, never mind that she was curious, and the cabin’s single large chest had attracted her attention, time and again. But she hadn’t opened it.

The time had passed with agonizing slowness. She had allowed herself the liberty of looking at his collection of books. Most were histories. He was surprisingly well-read, if those volumes were any indication, and familiar with the history of China, India, Russia, France, the Hapsburg Empire and even the West Indies. But there was also a novel amongst his books. She was not familiar with its author, but it seemed to be a medieval romance of some sort.

He had, once, called on her, to see how she was faring. A seaman had been with him, and she had been given some bread and cheese.

She had managed to sleep for an hour or so in his bed, but restlessly. She kept thinking about the other night, their conversation the previous dawn, and what the fate of her French home might be. She hoped it was still intact. Somehow, she thought that would please Henri.

And it was too unnerving to stay in his bed for very long. His scent was everywhere; she thought she could even feel his presence. And she kept thinking about being in his arms, being overcome with desire and then succumbing to confusion, morality and even fright.

Just then the cabin door opened and Jack stepped into the small chamber.

Evelyn turned fully toward him. He was wearing a dark coat, dark breeches and his riding boots. She knew he was armed. And his expression was dangerous. “We are making land,” she said.

“Yes, we are.” He left the door open, and he did not come into the cabin. His gaze skidded over her, then he glanced at his bed, with the slightly disturbed sheets. “Did you get some rest?”

“I am worried,” she said. “Sleep is impossible.”

His gaze flickered. “In the end, it is only some heirlooms.”

She hesitated. “I am also worried about you.” And she meant it. She was sending him into danger. If anything happened to him, it would be her fault.

His stare slammed to hers. “At the very best, I will be back within three hours. But do not be surprised if I am gone most of the day.”

“What could possibly take so long?” she cried, instantly distressed.

“If we alert suspicion, we might have to delay—we might even have to hide. There are troops everywhere. La Vendée is in rebellion. General Hoche has been waging a campaign to bring the Loire valley down. Although he now thinks to end the conflict by allowing the Vendéans to reopen their churches, and he is seeking various agreements throughout the Loire, my sources tell me passersby are suspect.”

“I should come with you!” She started forward.

He held up his hand. “I would not allow you on land, under any circumstance.”

She halted halfway across the cabin. His face was hard, his regard uncompromising. There was no point in arguing, even if she knew she could help him get to her home more swiftly. He had a gallant streak, she thought, no matter how he might insist otherwise.

She wondered if she should make her own way onto dry ground and follow him, but instantly dismissed the thought. She was not a fool and she had no wish to cause more problems.

“Do I have your word that you will stay in my cabin? I don’t want my men looking at you. They are hardened sailors and you might cause some unrest.”

“You have my word.”

“Try to get some rest. Even if I return within a few hours, we have to complete the voyage back, and the French navy is at Le Havre.”

Le Havre was just north of Nantes. Evelyn finally said, “Then Godspeed.”

“There is one more thing. There is a carbine beneath my bed, and a pistol in the desk drawer, with powder. My men have been ordered to guard you—and if they are discovered, they will set sail. Still…you should have a means of defending yourself.”

If his ship was remarked, they would sail off without him? She was aghast.

“I can always find passage home.” He gave her one last look and turned. He strode out, closing the door behind him.

Evelyn inhaled, the sky outside now the color of shallow waters. She rushed to the porthole, but it clearly faced the channel. Still, there was no mistaking that the ship was slowing. And then she felt it lurch as an anchor was cast overboard.

There was nothing she could do now but wait and pray. She glanced at the gilded clock, glued to his desk. It was almost six in the morning. How was she going to get through the next few hours, much less an entire day?