The Bastard (13 page)

“Enough.” She clapped her hands over her ears—an infantile gesture, but proof in itself.

“You don’t deny it?”

“No.”

“Then why?”

“Why what?”

“Why are you wearing these clothes? Why did you come to my room last night and damn near do me in? Why did you join His Majesty’s navy and then try to desert, managing to get me flogged in the process?” Treynor realized that he was almost shouting and struggled to keep his voice down. “I will have those answers, for a start.”

She bit her lip and did what she could to avoid his gaze. “I had to steal Dade’s clothes to join the navy. Appearing in your room was an accident that I could remedy only by—” her voice faltered “—by the action I took.”

“You could have said something.”

“I was frightened. I did not know what you would do.”

He glowered at her. “And you are here now because...”

Her words started slow, then came in a rush. “I lost my post as a governess and had no other way to provide for myself.”

“Like hell!” Treynor pounded his desk, then winced at the pain it caused him. “That man on the docks was looking for you. That is why you couldn’t say anything last night. You didn’t want me to know who you were.”

Her eyes widened. “No!”

“You have to be the baron’s wife. There is no other explanation for all of this. Had your husband’s solicitor mentioned that the woman he sought was French, perhaps I would have realized sooner that you were no boy.” He scrubbed his face with his hand. “But I stupidly fell for your ruse, to the point of taking twenty stripes. You must be very proud of yourself. Perhaps you should take up the stage instead of navy life.”

“Please stop shouting. Others will hear.” She squared her shoulders and lowered her voice. “You volunteered for the flogging. I did not mean for it to happen, to either of us.”

“You did nothing to stop it.” Treynor grabbed her by both arms, noting with satisfaction the fear that flickered behind her eyes, fear she struggled to mask as she glared up at him.

“Do not touch me! You are going too far.”

“Whatever I do will be less than what you deserve. Did you ever stop to think how your actions might affect those around you—like me, for instance?”

“You were the last person on my mind.”

“That, I believe. You are not the first lady I have met who could not see beyond her own wants and desires.”

“I couldn’t say anything—”

“Because you were too busy trying to escape your new husband, who happens to be a friend of my own mother’s.”

Jeannette reached up to remove his hand from her arm. Her fingers were as cold as ice, but her voice remained surprisingly steady. “You know him?”

“I know of him.”

“He is not what he appears.”

“Many people aren’t. You have proven that quite nicely.” The light scent of soap on her skin brought back the feel of her, nearly naked, in his arms, and with that came the memory of her painful blow to his groin and a fresh desire for revenge. He smiled. His mystery woman hadn’t escaped him after all; he would take great pleasure in making her pay. “Take off Dade’s clothes. The ripped shirt—the trousers—everything.”

“What?” Her bottom lip quivered but he saw no tears.

“You heard me.”

“But I...I have nothing on beneath them.”

Treynor’s grin widened. “I know.”

“I will not let you force yourself on me.” She spoke imperiously but with a slight tremble to her voice.

He laughed. “I am interested in a more subtle form of revenge. And the thought of getting some sleep appeals to me. If you do not have any clothes, you cannot go anywhere.”

She squeezed her arms more tightly over her chest, a protective gesture that did little to soften Treynor’s heart. This woman could have stopped him from being beaten had she only revealed herself soon enough.

“If you do not want to cooperate, I will help you.” After pulling his dirk from its scabbard on his desk, he sliced the fabric of Dade’s shirt in half in a completely new place than the one Jeannette held closed already.

She screamed and tried to whirl away, but he tossed the dirk on the floor before she could cut herself on it and shoved her up against the wall.

“You little idiot. You will bring the captain down on us if you are not careful, and I am not sure I want that just yet. Give me Dade’s clothes and be done with it.”

The sting of her nails across his chest made Treynor begin to strip her in earnest. He ripped off Dade’s shirt. “This is for the knee to my groin,” he told her as he tore the shirt into strips. “And this—” he grinned as he pulled the baggy breeches down over her hips “—is for my stripes.”

“You fool! Now what will I do?” Her chest heaved above the white bands that bound her breasts, as if she couldn't draw a deep breath.

“We are not finished yet, my sweet.” He retrieved his dirk. “Hold still.”

Covering her head with her arms, she hunched into her shoulders as though she expected him to slit her throat. When he simply cut away the strips of fabric she’d knotted around her chest, Jeannette used her hands to shield herself. But Treynor wasn’t about to let her hide or huddle in a corner. Her wrists clamped tightly in one of his hands, he hauled her forward, though the effort agonized him, and tied her to the brass handles of his sea trunk, using the same strips of fabric he’d just cut off her.

“I cannot believe I felt badly about seeing you flogged,” she seethed when he stood back to admire his handiwork. “I hope your back pains you greatly.”

Treynor’s eyes traveled the length of her firm, supple body. He had to admit he’d seen few women more beautiful. She had round, full breasts despite her small size—making him marvel that she’d been able to pull off the boy masquerade at all—a flat belly, and slender limbs.

The sudden tightening in his groin annoyed him. “That ought to keep me safe from your mischief for awhile.”

She glared at him. “You will be sorry. My father is the Comte de Lumfere. He will not allow you to get away with this!”

Treynor chuckled and fixed his gaze on her chest. “You and your father should be grateful.”

“Grateful?” she repeated incredulously.

“You are getting off easily. If I wanted to, I could take what you so foolishly promised me at the Stag.” He ran a finger over her collarbone. “What would your father think of that?”

She shrugged his hand away, but Treynor marked the goose pimples that dotted her flesh. “He would see you hanged.”

He swiped at some blood that had seeped through his bandages to trickle down his lower back. “Lucky for both of us that I am in no condition to tumble you about my hammock.”

Giving her a mocking bow, he headed to bed, although he doubted he could sleep. His back pained him, but what bothered him more was that he was perfectly capable of finishing what they had begun at the Stag.

And, count’s daughter or no, he still wanted to.

Under her breath, Jeannette called Treynor every name she could imagine and wished she knew a few worse ones to use. She didn’t care that a lady never spoke in such a way. Never had she felt more desperate, more humiliated, or more vulnerable.

She sat on the cold, hard floor, hugging her knees to her chest and rocked back and forth to keep herself from crying. Much to her relief, the lieutenant had locked the door, blown out the light and was settling into his hammock. She was rid of him for the moment, but morning would come, and she’d still be naked and tied to his blasted trunk.

“I hope you bleed to death in your sleep,” she mumbled, only half-expecting a response.

He laughed. “I doubt you want that. The men who would find you in such a compromising position would not treat you half so well as I have. Do you think most sailors would care if you are a baron’s wife or a count’s daughter when the promise of your sweet flesh awaits them?”

Jeannette shuddered at the thought of what might happen should she be discovered. Most of the men on the ship hadn’t had a bath in months. Then there was Cunnington, of course. His manner and dress bespoke a man of gentle birth, someone, perhaps, of her own class. But she knew Lieutenant Cunnington was no gentleman at heart.

“What are you going to do with me in the morning?” she asked.

“Don’t know. Probably take you to the captain.”

Jeannette’s heart sank. “But he will have me escorted back to Plymouth, to the baron.”

“Exactly.”

“I will not go.”

“May I remind you that you are sitting naked on my floor? You are in no position to tell me what you will or will not do.”

At first Jeannette didn’t respond. When she did, she made her words as beseeching as possible. “You have had your revenge, no? If it makes you feel any better—” she fought the slight wobble in her voice “—I am terribly sorry. Do you hear? I had no intention of getting you flogged, or of having such an...intimate encounter at the tavern.”

Treynor sighed. “Evidently you have no idea what it feels like to be flogged if you think a pretty apology is enough. Can we please get some sleep?”

“Will you leave me at the dock and say nothing of my identity at least?”

“I cannot. The flogging drew too much attention to you. I will need to gain the captain’s sanction before I take you home, which means revealing why you must go back.”

“No!”

When the lieutenant’s voice grew louder, Jeannette guessed he had turned to face her. “Yes. The moment news of your femininity gets out, Cunnington, at the very least, will not rest until he knows who you are and why you were here. Like my mother, his parents are friends of your husband’s, so I doubt he will give you much sympathy.”

“I will be gone by the time they figure everything out.”

“You might be gone, but I won’t. I am the first person Cunnington would suspect of helping you, since I stepped in on your behalf once already. And I will not have your husband call in favors to strip me of my post.”

Jeannette squeezed her eyes closed. She wouldn’t cry. She wouldn’t...

One rebellious tear fell.

“Have I answered all your questions?” he asked. “Can we go to sleep now?”

Jeannette didn’t respond. She swiped at her cheek, vowing to get even with Lieutenant Treynor. She’d not go back to St. Ives, even if she had to gnaw through the bands on her wrists with her teeth.

The room fell silent, except for the creaking of the ship, which soon worked better than a lullaby on Jeannette’s weary body. Well into her second sleepless night, she felt exhaustion pressing down on her like an invisible hand. Arms sagging, eyelids growing heavy, she caught her head several times when it threatened to fall from its precarious perch on her knees. Then she heard Treynor get up and her spine went rigid as he rustled about. What was he doing?

After a moment, he came close and she tensed further, but she had nothing to fear. He was only draping a blanket around her shoulders.

Jeannette didn’t speak as he walked away. She hoped he’d think her asleep. When she dared move, she pulled the blanket as tight as she could with the slack he’d allowed her, and felt an almost overwhelming sense of relief for the chance to cover her nakedness. The blanket he’d given her still held the warmth of his body and did much to relieve the chill in the drafty room.

“Was your marriage arranged?” he asked out of the darkness.