she stood proudly. Five feet of shivering, strangely noble femininity that did weird things to his emotions. He wanted to protect her. Why? ‘These wet clothes will do well enough, I think.’
The unspoken insinuation stung. ‘Unlike you, I don’t lie, Lady Jessamine. I meant every word I said to those men. While in my charge, I will respect your right to dignity and no harm will come to you. Not of my making anyway. But I am not your friend. Nor will I be manipulated like those fools out there, or succumb to your wiles and you would do well to remember that, too. Do not confuse basic decency with stupidity. The best you can expect from me is indifference.’ He fished in his pocket for the key and turned to the door. ‘Get changed. We dock within the hour.’
Slamming it behind him made Flint feel marginally better. He locked it and marched away in search of dry clothes. He’d been so flummoxed by the sight of her, so ashamed that she had basically accused him of being a hypocritical voyeur, he hadn’t had the wherewithal to collect any for himself. It took him less than ten minutes to dry and dress, and by the time he strode back across the deck the ship was once again back on course and riding effortlessly across the waves, the Devon coastline looming large on the horizon.
The Captain beckoned to him, clearly intent on making amends for the gross dereliction of his duty and supremely aware that Flint worked for Lord Fennimore—a man with not only the ear of the First Lord of the Admiralty, but the King as well.
‘Despite our little detour, we should still reach Plymouth before the afternoon tide turns, Lord Flint.’
Little detour! The captain had allowed his men to abuse the vixen while he had stood by and watched the entertainment. If the shocking innuendo and insulting whistling Flint had only just witnessed coming from the crew were anything to go by, Lady Jessamine had been violated twice this hour alone. It was hardly a surprise she had flung herself over the side. How much more had she endured in the five days before he’d arrived? The woman was a walking advertisement for gross mistreatment. Those bruises on her arms were fresh. The marks on her wrists were old...
‘Still—no harm done, eh? We’ve been at sea months. Seemed cruel to deny the men a bit of sport.’
‘Do you have a wife, Captain? A mother? Sisters?’ Flint’s tone was bland and measured. Those that knew him well, knew that was always when his temper was closest to the surface.
‘All three, Lord Flint—but we’re not comparing like with like, now, are we? She’s naught but a traitor and deserves all that’s coming to her.’
‘If she’s found guilty!’ Despite all the evidence to the contrary, a little nagging voice in his head wanted to believe she wasn’t guilty. In all likelihood it stemmed from his own disgust at finding himself overwhelmingly attracted to a criminal once again and attempting to justify the attraction by attributing noble qualities to her that she did not truly possess. Even so, there was still something in her eyes and the proud set of her shoulders. Something that called to his heart and his head. Either that, or at her contrived behest the contents of his breeches had taken over all rational thought—which made him little better than the entire ship’s crew. Unpalatable food for thought. ‘Until such time as that happens, she will be treated with the respect and consideration due her. Keeping her in the dark, in that festering brig, allowing your men to be rough with her and talk to her like a harlot is not what I, and no doubt the rest of our illustrious superiors, expect from the Royal Navy!’ He turned on his heel and left the Captain standing with his mouth hanging slack at his furious tone.
The toothless guard snapped to attention as he approached his cabin.
‘What’s your name, sailor?’
‘Foyle, sir... I mean your lordship.’
‘You are dismissed, Foyle.’
‘But I’ve been assigned to keep watch over the traitor till we make port. You’ve seen for yourself how wily she is. There’s no telling what she’ll do without a constant watch on her. Them’s the Captain’s orders...’
‘As I outrank the Captain on this voyage, take it from me you are not only dismissed, but you will confine yourself below deck until Lady Jessamine is safely off this ship. Until then, I will be her only guard.’ Because it went without saying, Flint was the only man within a mile he trusted with the task. He might well be overwhelmed with unwanted attraction, but at least he knew exactly what she was about and would never fall for it.
‘But, sir...’
‘Thanks to your negligence, she escaped. I could have you court-martialled for that alone. Get below deck and spare me the sight of you else I change my mind!’
The sailor didn’t need to be told twice and practically ran away. Flint took a moment to compose himself, then politely tapped on the door. ‘Lady Jessamine, are you decent?’
No reply.
He knocked again, louder this time, and when he heard not so much as a movement in the cabin beyond began to feel uneasy. She wouldn’t? Couldn’t, surely? His fingers fumbled with the key and Flint flung open the door. The spacious cabin was silent save the gentle lapping of the waves against the hull. One of the tiny windows was wide open, a knotted rope of sheets, blankets and Flint’s own spare breeches dangled from the ledge where they had been secured and flapped in the sea breeze.
With the beach now firmly in her sights, Jess began to relax. For a little while the turning tide and her own newly crushing guilt had almost beaten her and sent her careening towards the rocks, but she had fought it like she fought everything and escaped a foamy death by the skin of her gritted teeth and through sheer stubborn determination.
She’d lost sight of her floating prison long ago as that same tide had taken her briskly around the rocky headland and sheltered her from sight. Only then had she removed the makeshift turban she had fashioned out of a green-velvet cushion cover and that had undoubtedly helped her dark head to blend into the vast expanse of ocean. Close up, she was a ridiculous woman with a cushion on her head. From a distance she was merely one of the many kaleidoscope colours that made up the English Channel.
Later she would take a moment to selfishly congratulate herself, right now she had to drag her exhausted body to the beach and find a place to hide. The last few months, and Saint-Aubin’s cruelty, had taken a toll on her body and, despite religiously exercising every day in her cell to maintain her fitness should an opportunity present itself, the laboured swim had pushed her to the limits of her endurance.
Every stroke made the muscles in her arms and legs scream in rebellion. The partially healed welts on her back stung thanks to the salt water. Even her lungs hurt—but she was free. That heady feeling superseded all others and spurred her on. When her feet finally scraped shingle, she stood gratefully and, with the last of her severely depleted energy, dragged her aching body the last few yards, then collapsed exhausted on her knees to catch her breath before the next leg of her journey. She daren’t hang around too long. Lord Flint would be furious when he realised she had duped him and would have that ship sailing up and down the coastline searching for her.
Jess allowed herself a triumphant smile which slowly slid off her face when she took in her surroundings.
Incroyable!
The isolated and tiny beach she had washed up on was secluded. It had that in its
