“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.”

He wasn’t. This amused, cavalier manner smacked of his being smitten with her, but that was absurd. He’d been like this before, too, but last time he’d assured her repeatedly that she’d be let go after the exchange. He hadn’t yet made the same assurance in the last few hours. This time he had to know that he was taking her to her death. And that amused him? Was he every bit as evil as his boss?

She shoved that thought away. She didn’t want to think that. She’d never get any sleep sharing a room with him if she did, and it was going to be a long voyage if she couldn’t turn the tables on him. She needed more information about him. She hadn’t tried to ferret out any the last time, when she’d attacked him every chance she got. She had to be more cunning now because she had different goals this time, to slow his ship down or capture it. Killing him in the process would just be a perk.

“By the by, I offer you my bed again, and no, that wasn’t an invitation to share it. The cot is for me.”

She looked at the bed. It was large. It was probably comfortable, with such a thick mattress. She ought to accept, but it just seemed wrong somehow to sleep in the bed of a man she was going to kill.

She shook her head. “I’ve already claimed the cot. You’ll stay the hell away from it.”

“As you wish.”

“But I’ll accept your offer of the bed if you take the cot out of here and yourself with it.”

He laughed. Of course he did, the bloody sod. She really was going to have to stop amusing him.

So she said, “I still want to know who you hired for that charade at the ball. An actor, or was it some destitute gentleman who didn’t realize he’d be risking the wrath of my family?”

“You still don’t think it was me?”

“You keep forgetting he had blond hair.”

“A wig, but then you also wore one that night.” Then he grinned. “Like minds . . .”

She snorted rudely. He opened one of his desk drawers, pulled out the blond wig, and twirled it on his finger, adding, “It never even occurred to me to hire someone else, but then I wouldn’t trust anyone else to pique your interest. Which reminds me . . .”

He stood and came around his desk. Jack bolted to the door. As usual, he got there first and positioned himself in front of it. She plowed a fist into his stomach, but that hurt so badly she wondered if she’d just broken some knuckles. He didn’t make a sound, lost no breath at all to the punch. Instead he caught both of her hands and gently locked them behind her back, leaving her entirely too close to him, their chests touching.

She looked up at him, about to scream, but that’s when he kissed her. It utterly surprised her, long enough for his lips to brush over hers once, then again, so sensually soft, so . . .

She head-butted him, hoping to bloody his nose. At least she tried to, but as usual, he anticipated her moves and lifted his head out of the way, so her forehead only struck the top of his chest.

“That was for looking so bloody beautiful at that ball, so don’t begrudge me one kiss. It won’t happen again—unless you want it to.”

Chapter Fourteen

HOW DARE YOU KISS me?” Jack snarled. “If you do that again, I’ll do more than try to bloody your nose.” She pulled away from him, able to do so because he’d loosened his grip on her hands.