But it was a long time before that happened. When it did, all Damon did was tsk at the look she was giving him. Jackie followed him in with their dinner tray, but hurriedly left.
Damon locked the door again before he said, “Mort can be a clod sometimes, but I did get an earful about your retaliation, so I’m going to assume your blackening one eye is enough for today?”
Damon walked toward her as he asked that. Considering her scalp was still smarting, she disagreed, but she couldn’t say so yet due to the gag and couldn’t even shake her head no without it hurting even more. And then he swore when he was standing behind her and could see for himself how entangled her hair was.
“I apologize for my friend. He had limited options to keep you quiet. This was the harmless one, or so it was supposed to be. To be fair, I highly doubt Mortimer realized that he tangled your hair in this knot. It will take a few minutes to undo.”
It took longer than that, he was being so careful in untying the knot without pulling out any more hair. The second the tied strip came loose, his fingers began to massage her scalp. It felt heavenly, so good, that she was quite tardy in spitting out the rest of the gag or recalling that she still didn’t have the use of her hands. But he untied them a moment later.
“So has Mort been added to your kill-on-sight list?”
She could lean back in his chair now and did so as she rubbed her chafed wrists. “An-eye-for-an-eye style of revenge would mean plucking out every one of the hairs on his head.”
Damon chuckled. “Not quite even, but—so, the black eye is sufficient?”
“I suppose.”
He came around to partially lean on the side of his desk, facing her, before he asked, “Would it be sufficient payback to me?”
“Certainly not,” she huffed. “Your tally of transgressions is far too long. And it’s going to get you hung—or worse.”
“There’s worse?” He raised a dark brow. “And here I thought we’d moved beyond that.”
“Whatever would make you think that?” she asked with feigned sweetness.
“You don’t kiss me like you want me dead, Jack.”
She didn’t have an excuse for that. She felt herself blushing but said sharply, “Nothing about this was harmless. The harmless approach would have been to explain to me the necessity for quiet. What the hell was plan B?”
“A precaution. I made a move today that I’m not ready yet to back up. There was a possibility that it might have provoked the pirates to make their move now, before I’m ready for it. I wanted you safe in case they came up en masse for a fight. Your making noise would have incited them further because you’re what they want. Your yelling and screaming would have given them an excuse to break in and ‘rescue’ you. You could have stayed quiet, you know.”
“Why couldn’t Mortimer just tell me that?!”
“He doesn’t know how far we’ve progressed. He probably thought I wouldn’t want you to know.”
She was speechless, but only for a moment. “Whatever progress you think we’ve made has been reversed really far today. You could have told me what was going on. You could have told him that he could have told me! Instead I spent the day gagged and with my hands tied!”
“I apologize—”
“Not helping!”
“This is odd thanks for allowing you that visit today, which is directly responsible for what you’re in a snit about now. Are you at least reassured that they’re not dying?”
“They’d say they’re fine even if they’re bleeding to death.”
“You know him that well?”
She frowned that he was fixated on one when she’d just mentioned both. “No, but I know they’re chivalrous, and men like that will lie to keep a woman from worrying. So I’m only somewhat reassured. I’d still like to actually see them both.”
“I don’t want to watch you crying over a—suitor.”
It was apparent in that moment that he knew he had her brother Jeremy. The pause was too significant. Bloody hell! But she refused to confirm it. He wasn’t going to get to gloat to her if she could help it. So she left his chair if that’s what he was waiting for and moved to the table to ignore him.
But she couldn’t do that when she was still bristling over what had happened with the pirates after she’d spoken with Jeremy and Percy. “I don’t believe they’re all against you when you work for the same man and share the same goal. It’s just Bart Satin who appears to be causing all the trouble for you.”
“Your thinking that I’m loyal to that pirate is a misconception.”
“Then take me back to London now, before you end up dying over this!”
“Would you care?”
It was a long moment—she actually had to think about it first!—before she said, “Of course not. But if you don’t favor Lacross, then why are we here!?”
“For a different reason this time, so leave it go. You’ll have answers soon enough.”
He left the cabin, clearly telling her that she couldn’t pull the information out of him until he was ready. But what was he waiting for?
Chapter Thirty-Two
SNUG BETWEEN THE WHEEL and Damon’s broad chest again, Jacqueline was somewhat mollified over what had transpired yesterday. A freshwater bath that morning instead of the usual ocean water had helped, his way of saying he was sorry, she supposed. Still, just to be ornery, she’d left her hair unbound today so it would flit around his face in the wind. Yet all it got her was his body pressed firmly to her back and buttocks, and his chin resting on top of her head.
She laughed. “Okay, I get the point.” She gathered her hair over one shoulder and tried to braid it, which wasn’t easy in the wind. “An English gentleman would simply have asked me to stop behaving like a hoyden.”
“I doubt a gentleman would be that blunt with you.”
She grinned. “Probably not. Definitely not if he’s courting me.”
“You think I’m English?”
She blinked and turned around to face him now that he’d moved back to his usual position. She’d assumed he was English, but she couldn’t recall ever asking him to confirm it. “Aren’t you?”
“Born of English parents, raised in the islands, but sent to England to finish my schooling. I suppose I am.”
She chuckled. “It was beginning to sound as if you weren’t sure. Did you like living in the islands? By the way, which island did you live on? Swimming in warm waters on hot days? Riding on beaches? Pretending to kill—your own kind?”
He laughed at the last question, her reference to his previous confession that, as children, he and Mortimer had pretended to slay pirates instead of dragons. But he only answered one of her questions. “I’ve never cared much for riding. My mother got me a pony when I was a child, but then she left and I outgrew it.”
“That’s an odd way to say she passed on. How old were you?”
“Seven. But I don’t know if she’s dead or alive. She ran off with our neighbor and we never saw her again.”
Turning around, she saw the anger on his face. She so rarely saw him angry. Frustrated, yes, extremely so, but never this sort of cold, quiet anger.