JACQUELINE STOOD AT THE large windows, watching the English coast in the moonlight behind the ship. She turned around with a snarl because she’d been unable to get to it. Failure, it was the bitterest pill. But she still had to do something to stop this from playing out according to Bastard’s agenda. If she couldn’t escape, she could slow his ship down so her father got to the Caribbean first to deal with whoever was behind the plot to kill him.
But it wasn’t as if she hadn’t tried to sabotage Bastard’s plans on the last voyage. He slept too lightly. Every time she attempted to get the key to the cabin door, which he kept on him, he woke. But she didn’t have a dagger last time. She might be able to pick the lock with it and slash through his sails, if she could do it late at night when she wouldn’t be noticed. Or toss one of the lanterns at the wall and hope the helm on the other side of it would burn before the fire could be put out, but she’d have to do that while Bastard was in the room, since he never left her alone with lit lanterns or left tinder in the room so she could light one.
The man took too many precautions. Nothing sharp in the room she could use against him, nothing heavy to throw at him. She hadn’t had a cot to sleep on last time, either. He’d offered his bed, which she’d rejected, so she’d been given several blankets instead. The cot was new. And the bars on the windows were new, too. He wasn’t about to let her escape through them again as she’d done the last time.
The dagger on her thigh at least gave her more options this time. She could sail this ship if she could just get control of it. She could do that by killing Bastard to get his key, then sneaking out to find Jeremy and Percy and release them. If any of the crew were Englishmen, she might be able to convince them to change sides. If that didn’t work, the three of them could get the ship back to England at least, as long as they didn’t run into any storms. And now would be the time to do that, when England was still so close.
She went to the door and pressed her back against the wall close to the door handle. The moment Bastard opened it, she could slip out behind him before he turned to lock it.
Seconds later, the lock clicked, the door opened just enough for him to enter, and she shot out of the doorway. “At least have dinner first, Jack,” he suggested.
His damn long arms pulled her back into the room. Well, that had been a little too hastily planned, so she wasn’t infuriated that it didn’t work. And he’d sounded amused. She supposed she would have been, too, if she were the one foiling such a sloppy escape attempt.
“I’m not hungry,” she mumbled, and moved to sit on the cot while he lit the lanterns.
She noticed that he hadn’t locked the door when he’d closed it, but that was his habit, too. As long as he was in the room with her, he was confident that he could keep her in it. He only locked it before he went to bed or when he left her alone in the cabin.
When he turned to face her again, he warned, “I will not allow you to starve on this trip. Every plate of food you refuse is one plate your brother and his friend won’t be given.”
“I told you he’s not my brother, and I demand to see them.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because you aren’t leaving this room and they aren’t leaving their confinement. You’ll just have to trust me that they aren’t being deprived—unless you deprive them by ignoring the food you’re given.”
“I wasn’t planning on not eating—as long as you don’t try to feed me fish again.”
He actually laughed. “That wasn’t my fault.”
“Everything is your fault.”
“Be that as it may, we’re carrying livestock on this trip to keep the meals fresh, and even a real cook. In Bridgeport, all we were able to stock was fish because your relatives there had cleaned out the town of all supplies for their fancy parties. You can dine as you’re accustomed this time around.”
He waved a hand toward the dining table, with six plush, padded chairs and a candelabrum at the center. She’d noticed it; she just wasn’t interested in anything bolted to the floor that she couldn’t use to her advantage. Last time, he’d offered her the chair at his desk, since it had been the only seat in the room. Last time, she’d thrown all those plates at his head. Until Andrew had convinced her she’d need her strength if she hoped to escape.
Thinking of that fake Malory relative who had helped her more than she could repay, she asked, “What happened to Catherine’s actor friend?”
“We returned him to England.”
She’d seen that brief frown before he turned his back on her to move behind his desk and sit down. “You punished him for helping me, didn’t you?” she accused.
“Not I.”
She blanched. “Catherine’s father did? A man who favors the cat-o’-nine-tails?”
“How the devil do you know that?”
“Because we suspect you work for Pierre Lacross! And my aunt Gabby saw firsthand what that evil man is capable of. Are you working for Lacross?”
She would have loved to hear confirmation. Even her father, suspecting it was Lacross, was going to get confirmation first by visiting the prison in Anguilla before he set out to find the pirate.
But all Bastard said was “Andrew required a doctor so I hired one for the crossing. He may eventually recover completely, but at least he was able to walk off my ship without needing assistance.”
“Are you implying you rescued him?”
“That surprises you?”
“The only surprise is that you would try to convince me you have any sort of compassion.”
“Very well, I’m sure you’ll believe that it wasn’t my intention to rescue him, although I did end up doing that.”
Jack didn’t believe that he’d helped Andrew, but she was convinced that Andrew had been brutally punished for helping her escape. She cringed as she imagined the sting of the whip on his back. She hoped that one day she would be able to repay him. But now she had to deal with Bastard.
“Having bloodthirsty thoughts again, are you?”
She met his amused eyes and quipped, “When you’re in them, of course.”
“You are entirely too easy to read, Jack.”