Christine Dorsey - [Sea 01] (42 page)

In a fit of anger, Jack shoved the older man back into the chair, then spun around and strode across the room. “I know what you did. ‘Tis why that now concerns me.” He turned back. “Why, damn you?”

The question was barely out of his mouth before something near the surface of the desk caught his eye. He glanced down to see the gleaming barrel of a pistol aimed at his middle.

“It’s loaded, and ready to fire in case you’re wondering.”

“Do you plan to kill me outright now?”

“As a matter of fact that’s exactly what I intend to do. You’ve become a nuisance to me.”

“Because I know of your duplicity?”

“In part.” Robert kept the gun leveled at Jack as he stood. “But, then, my wish to be rid of you is long-standing. You needn’t appear so shocked. My missive to de Segovia was merely the first time I took any action. Till then I had counted on your impulsive nature and reckless profession to handle the problem for me. But unfortunately, it didn’t,” Robert continued. “It seemed to matter not, how many sea battles you fought or how many times you tweaked the Spanish nose, you survived, even flourished.”

“Is that why you decided to help fate along?”

“I decided to shove it along the day you came to me with your foolish talk of retiring. Of taking up your rightful place on the plantation. Ah, I see you remember the conversation.”

“It was months ago. And it was merely the glimmer of an idea.”

“Aye, but you were growing tired of your lifestyle. I, on the other hand, was not tired of mine.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning, I had no desire to hand over the management of Royal Oak Plantation to you. I’ve done as I saw fit since right after your parents died. I’ve built the plantation into a thriving business.”

“With the help of money I’ve gained through piracy,” Jack interjected, but his uncle failed to acknowledge his words.

“I won’t have you coming back after all this time and taking it away from me.”

“But it never was yours. Royal Oak has always belonged to me.”

Robert’s smile was evil. “It won’t after today.”

Jack snorted. “You plan to simply shoot me? Here? In your house? Don’t you think the constable will find that suspect?”

“Not after I explain how you barged in here, a bloodthirsty pirate, demanding that I give you money. I’ll be believed. After all the effort I’ve put into convincing people of your freebooting ways.” He raised the pistol, balancing it in his hand. “Thanks to my not-so-subtle hints, I had the constable convinced you had kidnapped Miranda Chadwick.”

“So that bit of trouble was yours, too.”

“Indeed. But I think we’ve talked enough.” Robert’s eyes narrowed, and his finger tightened on the trigger. His gaze was intense, but he snapped his head around when he heard the commotion at the door.

“Master Robert, this here woman insists that she—” Molly’s mouth clamped shut when she saw the gun.

Miranda pushed by her, but Jack only caught a glimpse of her before he dove across the desk, slamming into his uncle.

Jack was stronger, but the gun still aimed at him more than compensated for that. Jack knocked his uncle’s arm, shoving the barrel up, but not far. It was aimed just above Jack’s face. And Robert fought to bring the muzzle back, inch by deadly inch.

Jack kept his fingers biting into Robert’s palm, and his muscles bulged as he lay sprawled across the desk. Robert, pushed back against the leather chair, grunted and his teeth gnashed. Sweat broke out across his upper lip, and his eyes bulged.

But he held on.

A noise sounded behind him, but Jack didn’t look. Robert, however, did, and Jack used the break in his uncle’s concentration to raise onto his knees and shove with all his might. The chair fell backward, Robert and Jack with it. As it hit the floor, the gun fired.

“Jack! Jack!” Miranda skirted around the desk and slid to the floor beside her husband. Grabbing his shoulders, she tried to pull him up. Tears welled in her eyes when he did not help her. Blood was everywhere, scarlet and flowing freely onto the carpet, and Miranda couldn’t find the source. Her hands skimmed over him, but jerked away when she heard the moan.

Jack groaned again and lifted his groggy head. Miranda threw her arms about him and nearly knocked him back onto the floor. His temple hurt, and he lifted a hand to rub the bump caused by the fall.

“Oh, Jack, you’re all right.”

Miranda was crying in earnest now, and Jack stood, pulling her up beside him. A quick glance revealed Robert lying in a puddle of blood, his sightless eyes staring at the ceiling. Jack pressed Miranda’s head against his chest and moved away from the desk.

“Papa told me where you were,” she whispered into his jacket. “He told me of your uncle’s treachery.”

Servants rushed into the library. Jack sent for the constable, and when he arrived Jack and Miranda met him at the door.

“ ‘Tis all right now,” Jack murmured to Miranda. But as he watched Graham Hicks look first at the body on the floor, then up at him, Jack just wished he knew for sure that he spoke the truth.

“ ‘Tis late, Miranda.” Jack brushed aside the curls trailing down her neck and gently kissed her nape. She turned in the chair, a smile of welcome on her lips.

“You’re finished going over the accounts, then?”

“Aye. For the night.” Jack started to pull his wife to him, then paused. “Are you ready to stop reading?”

Miranda laughed, and reached up to him. She’d seen that lusty gleam in his eyes before— often. He wanted her. Now. Reading be damned. And she wouldn’t want him any other way. Still, she found it endearing that he asked. “I only opened the book because I was waiting for you.”

“Mmmm.” Jack nuzzled the warmth of her neck while fumbling with the tiny buttons down the front of her night rail. “ ‘Tis a waste for you to don this thing.”

“Would you have me sit about in the nude?”

Jack cocked his head, pretending to ponder the question. “Aye. That would suit. Mayhap I could sketch you.”

“You can’t draw.” Miranda stilled his fingers and took over the task of unfastening the white gown.

“So I can’t.” The playful bite he took of Miranda’s exposed shoulder made her giggle. “Then, perhaps I can do other things.”

Oh, and he could, Miranda thought as her head fell back. Her husband knew just where to caress, to nibble, to suckle, to make her melt inside. She tangled her fingers through his golden hair as he carried her to the large tester bed. He laid her on the sheet, then followed her down.

His lips found hers, and she opened for him, drowning in sensual delights. She clutched at his shirt, shoving it aside to feel the smooth, muscled skin beneath. Miranda basked in his heat.

When he sat up to pull off his boots Miranda curled around him, her palm curving down his broad back. She couldn’t stop touching him. His smile was wicked as he paused between boots to run the tip of his finger across her breast.

“We repaired the bridge across the creek today,” Jack said as he watched Miranda’s nipple tighten. When he and Miranda had come to Royal Oak the day after his uncle died, they’d both been surprised to find the plantation so poorly maintained. Apparently Robert had been using much of the money Jack gave him, the money from his pirating, to live a life of ease in Charles Town. There were fields planted with rice, but the main house and outbuildings were in a sad state. For the past eight months, Jack had worked hard to rectify that.

He trailed his fingers lovingly down Miranda’s stomach before standing to remove his breeches. “The bridge got me thinking. I recall that day in St. Augustine that Phin said not to worry about the drawbridge closing, that you took care of that. I never asked how you did it.”

“The drawbridge?” Miranda’s brow furrowed. She was so engrossed in watching her husband undress, it took her a moment to think. “Oh, that wasn’t difficult. The bridge could only be raised by lowering the counterweights.” She sat up, brushing raven curls behind her shoulder. “You most likely didn’t get the chance to study the mechanism, but it was fairly simple. As someone turned the windlass, gravity pulling on the counterweights helped raise the drawbridge. No gravity—” she shrugged— “the bridge can’t be lifted.”

“But how did you get rid of the gravity?”

“I didn’t. Not really.” She wriggled around to face Jack, who now sat on the bed. “The counterweights needed to be lowered into a deep hole, as deep as they are long, so that gravity continued to pull them down. I had some of your crew nail the trapdoor over the hole shut.”

“So the weights just rested on the wood?”

 “Exactly. Without the force of gravity on the counterweights, the men didn’t have enough power to raise the bridge. And with all the commotion and gunfire, they didn’t have the time to get the trapdoor open.”

“Very clever, wife,” Jack said as he lowered her down beneath him.

“I do have my uses.”

“You do indeed.” Jack had settled in with a kiss of carnal delight when a noise in the drive outside their bedroom window gained his attention. He sat up. “What in the hell is that?”

“It sounds like a rider.” Miranda’s eyes met Jack’s. Neither of them spoke a word as Jack jerked on his clothes.

“You stay here,” was all he said before hurrying out the bedroom door.

“Who was it?” Miranda crouched on her knees in the center of the canopied bed. She peered through the fine gauze of mosquito netting toward her husband, who stood in the open doorway.

“ ‘Twas a messenger... from Charles Town’,” he answered, then said no more as he turned to shut the door. He held Miranda’s gaze as he crossed the room. He sat on the bed, placing the missive on the rumpled counterpane. They both studiously ignored it.

“His pounding at the door woke Missy,” Jack said, referring to the cook’s helper. “She’s giving the rider a meal; then he’s going to bed down in a spare bedroom before heading back to town.”

“Perhaps I should help.” Miranda moved to leave the bed, but Jack’s hand stopped her.

“Missy can handle it.” His gaze dropped to the rolled parchment bearing the royal seal, then skittered away.

Miranda saw the action, and her heart went out to her strong, golden husband. “Jack, we have to open it to find out what it says.”

“I know.” He sighed. “I just want a moment to pretend everything is as it’s been these last months.”

Miranda could certainly understand his feelings. Life for them since the day Robert died had been idyllic, but fragile. A respite from reality.

Their initial fear that the constable would charge Jack with his uncle’s murder proved false. With Miranda’s testimony, corroborated by the servant Molly, that Robert had pulled a pistol on his nephew, Graham Hicks had had no choice but to believe Jack.

But Jack’s explanation had raised suspicions about his possible piracy. Questions Jack didn’t want to answer. So he’d packed up Miranda and headed for Royal Oak.

But not before sending off a plea to the king.

Since then he and Miranda had worked hard on the plantation. Jack rose early to supervise the flooding of the rice fields, and worked late learning the intricacies of the accounts. Miranda studied the management of the household with the same fervor she once reserved for her scientific pursuits. She learned to care for the sick and oversee the making of candles. And she still had time to use her microscope and read her books. Jack had set aside a sunny corner of their bedroom for her to use.

The life suited them. They were in love. They were happy. And the reality of Jack’s past was like a sword, ever threatening to swoop down and destroy them.

They lived each day to the fullest. And with the night they retired to the large tester bed and made love.

“There’s no help for it,” Jack finally said, scooping up the parchment. He broke the seal, pausing only when Miranda’s hand settled over his.

“You know I shall love you no matter what the king’s decree. And I shall follow you anywhere.”

“Aye.” He knew she would, but his gaze strayed to the slight bulge of her stomach, and he thought of the child, his child, nestled under her heart. He wanted more for his family than the wandering life of an outlaw.

His eyes raced along the letter; then he bent toward the candle and read more slowly. A grin spread across his features.