The Bastard (18 page)

As soon as Treynor realized what part of Jeannette’s anatomy he’d laid hold of, he wondered again how he could ever have thought her a boy. Her bosom was full, especially for her small size, and the weight of it in his palm threatened to change his anger into something else entirely. For the briefest moment, he felt the impulse to turn her in his arms. Instead, he shifted his hold to preserve her modesty, then cursed himself for trying to be the noble gallant when she thanked him with a hearty kick in the shins.

“Let me go!”

“The game’s over,” he told her, crushing her resistance. He didn’t care about being noble or gallant, he told himself. If Jeannette wasn’t careful, he’d coax her into satisfying the hunger she inspired in him.

Remembering how her body had once quivered like the string of a violin at his touch, he felt his pulse quicken. She wouldn’t be hard to press beyond denial. Here. Now. Seek his revenge in the only kind of pleasure a woman could give him.

But he’d never had a highborn lady and refused to risk his career—at least any more than he’d already done—on this one.

Taking hold of one wrist, he pulled her after him. This time she didn’t resist. She followed so meekly he couldn’t help casting a glance at her face as he retrieved the lamp.

“Were you lying when you said we wouldn't turn back?” she asked.

“I didn’t tell the captain about you.”

“Why?”

Treynor searched for an answer. How could he explain his actions to her when he scarcely understood them himself? “You’re along for the ride,” he said simply, wiping away a trickle of blood where she’d gouged her temple.

“I am?”

“You are. But from now on, you shall play by my rules.”

When they reached Treynor’s cabin, he opened a package wrapped in brown paper that was sitting on his desk and shoved it at her. “Mrs. Hawker has sent you something to wear—something that might actually fit,” he added, eyeing her dishabille.

Jeannette’s stay in the manger and the hold had made her filthy. She longed for a bath, couldn’t wait to peel her boy’s clothes off her body.

She eyed the man who had taken the lash for her and wondered why he hadn’t revealed her identity to the captain as he’d promised he would. He had no reason to help her, unless he expected something in return, something she wasn’t willing to give.

She shook out the fresh pants and boy’s shirt he tossed in her lap. They were crudely made but nearly small enough to fit, and they were surprisingly soft, as though they’d been washed in fresh water. “Whose were these?”

He cocked his head to a jaunty angle. “You weren’t so concerned with ownership when you took Dade’s clothes or mine. Just put them on. You’re going out on deck.”

Jeannette pictured Lieutenant Cunnington and Captain Cruikshank pacing above them and felt reluctant to return to their presence. “Why?”

“Because I said so.” He picked up the strips of cloth that had once been Dade’s shirt and began to make better bindings. “First, conceal your breasts. Right now, any man with eyes in his head can see you’re no boy.”

“Why are you helping me?”

He didn’t respond.

“Lieutenant?”

“Maybe I don’t like your husband.” He shrugged, but then a smile deepened the cleft in his chin. “Or perhaps I simply enjoy your company.”

“I’d hate to see how you’d treat a woman whose company you do not enjoy,” she said. “First you strip me of my clothes, then you tie me to your trunk to wait out the night.”

His grin grew more meaningful. “I usually tie up only those who ask me nicely. Women who can’t kiss me without drawing blood or striking me in my more vulnerable parts generally don’t fare so well.”

Jeannette rolled her eyes. “I see you have a healthy opinion of yourself, Lieutenant Treynor. A gentleman would never speak the way you do—”

“I think we have established that I am no gentleman, which brings me to my next point. If you want my help, you had better be prepared to compensate me.” He moved toward her, a purposeful glint in his midnight-blue eyes.

Jeannette swallowed hard. So there was a price. She’d thought so. “I will not be your paramour—”

“Not what I had in mind, I assure you. You don’t appeal to me beyond your ability to wash and mend.” He chuckled as he pulled a basket of dirty clothes out of the wardrobe. “All my laundry will become your responsibility. And I will expect you to attend me at my bath when I require it.”

Jeannette blinked in surprise. He wanted her to be his maid? His personal servant? She felt her spine stiffen. No matter how desperate her circumstances were, her pride rebelled at allowing this particular man to exploit her weakness.

“You will enjoy making a count’s daughter fetch and stitch and do your bidding, won’t you?” she said.

“I can’t think of anything I would enjoy more...except having that same count’s daughter perform—” He grinned. “—other, more personal, services.”

“I thought I didn’t appeal to you.”

“Perhaps you could convince me that I am wrong.”

Jeannette felt a flush rise to her cheeks. “I doubt that’s an argument I will ever make.”

“Don’t speak too soon,” he said with a chuckle. “I certainly wouldn’t want pride to stand in your way.” His gaze roved over her. “So, are you willing to accept my terms of employment?”

“Do I have any other choice?”

“Not if you want to stay on board.”

“Do I have your word that you won’t ever force me to satisfy your sexual appetites?”

He gave her a disbelieving look. “Certainly. You have my word, madame,” he said with a bow.

She lifted her chin. “Then you have yourself a servant.”

“Wonderful. Now, put on these bindings and change. We’re going topside.”

Jeannette glanced at the strips of fabric he threw at her feet. “There is only one more thing,” she said. “I will be your personal servant as long as I don’t have to wear those miserable things, and only if you allow me to remain in the privacy of your cabin.”

He whirled to face her. “You are hardly in a position to dictate terms,
my lady
. Now get dressed.”

“I am not going out on deck.” Unable to abandon her pride completely, Jeannette glared at him. “The captain is there and that Cunnington fellow, and...”

Her words died as his eyes narrowed. “If I may...what exactly do you want me to call you, anyway?”

Jeannette thought for a moment before settling on the name most likely to irritate him. “Baroness,” she replied with as much disdain as she could muster.

“Oh, baroness, is it?” Treynor walked around her, circling like a hawk.

She squared her shoulders. “That is correct.”

He stopped only inches in front of her face. “First you want to hide from your husband. Then you want to hide behind him. I think you need to decide how you want to play this game.” He braced himself against the wall, one arm over her shoulder. “After you leave me writhing in my bed, and get me flayed alive, I still come to your rescue. I’d say you owe me your utmost cooperation, Baroness St. Ives, which means we are going topside.”

Jeannette began to slide away, but he gripped her arm and held her where she was while bending to retrieve the strips of cloth he’d dropped on the floor. “Put these on, or I will put them on you myself. Is that clear?”

She tried to jerk out of his grasp. “You are hurting me.”

His eyes dipped to her bustline. “Conceal your curves or the sailors on this ship will eat you for supper. Then you will know what it means to be hurt by a man.”

“I am a baroness. They would not dare.”

“Do you think they would believe anything you said?” He let go of her.

“Every sailor cannot be as lecherous as you say.” She toyed with the fraying sections of fabric in her hands to conceal her doubt. That many sailors had been taken directly from prison, or been pressed, was a well-known fact and made her less than sure of her hastily uttered statement.

“And what about the reward?” she continued. “As soon as I tell them there is a purse of gold offered for my safe return, I doubt they would dare touch me. Do you think my husband would pay anything after I have been pawed by men like you?” She’d said it to prop up her crumbling bravado, but she regretted her words the instant she saw their effect.

“I am afraid you misunderstand.” He moved even closer, leaning down until his nose nearly touched hers. “You wouldn’t be pawed by men like me. You would be used by sailors. Filthy men. Crawling with lice.”

Jeannette tried to wiggle away, but he stopped her. “They would ride you long and hard, and they would take turns doing it.” His eyes swept over her, feeling every bit as personal as his touch. “Besides, if I remember correctly, the night we first met, I heard not a single protest to my pawing.”

Jeannette’s hand came up to push him away, but he caught her wrist. Taking hold of her chin with his other hand, he tilted it up until she could look nowhere but into his eyes, eyes that were as velvety blue as a moonlit night.

“Most of my men care for little besides their daily ration of rum and tobacco, living to see another battle, and taking their pleasure with a woman—any woman. The promise of reward at some undetermined point in the future would not deter them while the pleasure of your flesh awaits.”

He was right. Jeannette knew it and feared nothing more, except perhaps the pounding of her heart whenever Treynor touched her—and the knowledge that she wanted him to go on touching her. “You are the only man I have ever known who speaks so vulgarly to a lady.” It was a weak defense, but playing the injured aristocrat was the only card she had.

“You mean I am the only man you have ever met who is unwilling to put up with the silly pretenses of you and others like you.” Treynor laughed as he put her away from him. “At least you know to keep your distance. I promise to hold my appetites in check so long as you cooperate with my every command.”

Jeannette threw back her shoulders. In the past twenty-four hours, she had gone hungry and cold, felt abandoned, and thrown up maggots. Before that, she had lost her homeland, left her parents, and broken her vows. She was afloat on the sea with more than five hundred men and not a single friend among them, but she still had her dignity. “I will not bow and scrape, not for you or anyone,” she said and threw the strips of cloth in his face.

“Then you will accept the consequences.” Grabbing her by the waist, he began to haul her over to a chair. “Evidently, I saved you from a flogging that might have done you some good.”

She twisted and turned, trying to rake her nails across his face or grab a tuft of his thick hair. She wanted, needed to find a release for her misery, but he held her fast.

“Damn hellcat,” he cursed, taking the seat next to his cluttered desk and turning her over his knee.

“Don’t you dare strike me!”

His hand landed on her backside with a resounding
thwack
. The power behind the blow stunned Jeannette. She tried to twist around, but couldn't escape his iron grip.

“Oh,” she cried in outrage. “Stop this instant! Stop!”

Thwack.

Tears sprang to her eyes, but she gritted her teeth and blinked them back. She would not give Treynor the pleasure of seeing how much he hurt her, no matter how hard he spanked her.

“Have you lost your mind? Unhand me!”

Thwack.

She clutched at his shirt, every blow stinging more than the one before. Soon, she had no more energy with which to fight him.