Three Redeemable Rogues Page 5

  “Is it real?”

  “As real as they come, but just for show these days. I doubt we’ll find ourselves in a position to use it.”

  Sophie smiled. “I don’t suppose one makes a good impression by firing on the natives.”

  “I doubt these babies will do more than knock out a tooth, but no, I don’t suppose they’d appreciate the gap in their smiles.”

  Sophie laughed, peering up when she heard a new male voice and gasped at the sight of him.

  “You were right. We were missing a sail,” the newcomer said, tossing down a bundle before Mr. Davenport.

  “That was quick.”

  “He had it set aside for us and was ready to bring it down himself.”

  “Good man!” Mr. Davenport said in praise.

  “You!” Sophie said, aghast, and his gaze sought and found her at once.

  “You,” he echoed, sounding surprised.

  Looking amused, Kell Davenport peered from one to the other and back, and then said, grinning, “Apparently you’ve already met?”

  Sophie straightened her spine, hitching her chin just a little. “What are you doing here?” She moved toward Mr. Davenport, unconsciously seeking his protection, though she truly had no reason to expect harm to come to her. The man simply disturbed her.

  He didn’t bother to respond to her question, but answered Mr. Davenport’s instead. “Yes, I’ve had the pleasure.”

  Sophia bristled at his wink. “I’m not quite certain I would call it a pleasure, precisely!” she demurred. “I see you haven’t bothered to dress as yet!”

  “And I see you’ve managed to hold on to your purse, if not your tongue,” he countered.

  She was clutching it so hard that her fingers turned white.

  “No thanks to you!” Sophie replied smartly, and then turned to Mr. Davenport. “I rather doubt you would appreciate a pickpocket in your employ!” Dressed as he was, he couldn’t have been more than a dock hand, arrogant though he was. She showed him her purse, as though introducing it as evidence.

  Mr. Davenport laughed as he asked the question, not of Sophie, but of the exhibitionist. “You stole her purse?”

  “What do you think?” the man answered.

  “I’d watch those hands were I you!” Sophie warned Mr. Davenport.

  Davenport cast her an amused glance and shook his head, as though he found the prospect quite humorous. “You’re definitely not the first with that complaint, miss.” And then he began to chuckle, and Sophie didn’t see what was so wretchedly funny.

  Good lord, she couldn’t even look at the man! He’d managed to button a few of his lower buttons, but had neglected to finish the consideration, and her eyes seemed unable to dismiss it. His smug expression set her teeth to grinding and his smile was far too unnerving in its perfection. His eyes bore into her with too much familiarity.

  “I do believe I will wait for Mr. MacAuley elsewhere!” she informed them both, lifting her skirts, intending to disembark, when Kell Davenport burst into peals of laughter.

  Sophie was quite certain these were two of the rudest men on the face of the earth!

  “Damnation!” she exclaimed in sheer frustration, and turned to face Kell Davenport, who somehow suddenly seemed unable to control himself. “I really don’t see what is so amusing, and you can be certain I will report this to Mr. MacAuley as soon as I see him!”

  Davenport’s laughter brought him suddenly to his knees, and Sophie felt a renewed flush of anger cloud her brain. “Sorry... sorry—Christ!” he sputtered, and clutched at his side, pointing at the exhibitionist. She peered down at Mr. Davenport, trying to comprehend the words that were spewing out of his mouth. She glared down at him. “I don’t understand!”

  He continued to laugh.

  “Mr. Davenport?”

  “What the man is trying to tell you is that you should consider the matter reported,” said the exhibitionist. “Jack MacAuley, miss. What can I do for you?”

  Chapter 4

  Sophie froze at his introduction, and then turned slowly. “You are Jack MacAuley?”

  Her expression was clearly disbelieving and Jack knew it was more than their scuffle on the docks that made her dismiss him so completely. It grated on his nerves. She was a spoiled little rich girl, no doubt, judging by her manner and dress, who was used to getting her way, no matter the consequences.

  Apparently he had something she wanted.

  She wasn’t going to get it.

  Even if she did have the deuced most kissable lips he’d ever had the pleasure of trading insults with.

  “I am,” he acknowledged, and watched the emotions that played across her face; uncertainty, then horror, then wariness, and then as she lifted her purse to her breast, a little smugness, he thought. Curiosity filled him, but he waited for her to divulge herself in her own time.

  She took a deep breath and nodded. “I see.”

  Kell grew quiet, though his grin remained to taunt Jack. They’d been friends too damned long.

  “I suppose since we have not gotten off to the best start,’ she reasoned, “I should be direct.’

  A refreshing notion.

  “My name is Sophia Vanderwahl,” she stated, coming forward, extending her hand as any gentleman would. Jack met Kell’s gaze over her shoulder. His friend’s brow lifted, partly in amusement, partly in curiosity.

  The name for an instant stunned him.

  “Vanderwahl?” he said after a moment.

  She held her hand outstretched, waiting for him to take it. “Yes, my father is Maxwell Vanderwahl.” Her amber eyes sparkled with challenge.

  She said it with such self-importance that Jack wanted nothing more than to toss her off his ship on her delightful little rear. On the docks, when he’d watched her saunter away, those delicious hips had swung with unmistakable feminine allure—not to mention a cockiness that surpassed the egotism of most men. He had nearly laughed when she’d realized she’d abandoned her purse. The expression on her face when she’d spun to face him had been worth the wait.

  Lovely little vixen.

  Reluctantly Jack accepted her handshake, though he couldn’t quite keep the sarcasm from his voice. “To what do I owe this dubious pleasure, Miss Vanderwahl?”

  His body stirred, an unwelcome reaction to the warmth of her hand in his own. It was the same response he’d had when faced with her on the docks, despite that she’d looked at him with utter revulsion. He didn’t particularly enjoy his lack of control. He preferred to choose the women to whom he was attracted.

  Arrogant little brat.

  “I would like to buy passage aboard your...” She glanced about, wrinkling her nose. “... ship.”

  Her obvious lack of appreciation for the historical vessel Jack had procured and then spent long hours laboring to repair, provoked him. “Would you now?”

  He didn’t need the distraction of a woman aboard his ship. Particularly when she was the first to attract him in far, far too long.

  She nodded, resolute. “Yes, indeed, I would! And I am prepared to offer you a substantial sum for it.” She cradled the conspicuous purse, rocking it in her arms.

  “Are you?” Jack asked, and then without ceremony went on, “What the hell for? We’re not on a pleasure cruise, Miss Vanderwahl, and neither are we some poor little rich girl’s private yacht to be paraded into the harbor of her choosing!”

  “Mr. MacAuley!” she protested. “There is absolutely no need for such rudeness! I would hardly have mistaken this ship for either, I can assure you!”

  “The answer is no,” Jack said, dismissing the proposal without discussion. He turned and walked away, leaving Kell to deal with her.

  He didn’t want her around.

  Period.

  He could tell right off she was trouble. She’d turn his ship upside down faster than a monsoon. He turned to climb down the ladder to the lower deck to find her standing there, hands on her hips, her purse swinging from her hand.

  “You can�
��t say no yet!” she informed him rather indignantly. “I haven’t even given you my offer!”

  “I can, and have,” he said resolutely, and dropped down to the lower deck so he couldn’t see her.

  He heard Kell’s chuckle and stifled an expletive when he glanced up to find she was peering down at him. “Three thousand dollars!” she exclaimed. “I’ll give you three thousand, Mr. MacAuley!”

  “No.”

  He wasn’t going to waver.

  She had a lot of nerve asking him for help when her fiancé was the bane of his existence and her father was Penn’s deuced ally.

  Jack didn’t want any part of any of them.

  “Five thousand!”

  Jack stooped to enter the mess hall, ignoring her.

  The ship had been refurbished so that its two previous levels had been made into three. The lower deck housed the kitchen, the cook’s office and chamber, the mess hall, two officers’ quarters, the captain’s dining area and cabin. The bottommost level was used predominantly for storage, and also housed four smaller cabins, in which Jack wondered how any grown man could sleep much less stand or piss. Everyone else would sleep in the mess hall, in hammocks that hung from the ceiling and would be put away each morning. It was a primitive arrangement but it would do just fine.

  Still, it was cramped quarters below, and Jack foresaw a permanent backache maneuvering the lower decks. Only the kitchen and captain’s dining area and cabin had any real comfort to them—comfort meaning a man could actually stand upright.

  He heard her feet drop on the polished wood, and then her dainty footsteps followed behind him. He rolled his eyes.

  “I’ll give you five thousand dollars!”

  “I heard you the first time and I don’t need your money, Miss Vanderwahl.”

  He heard a thump, and presumed it was her head as she entered the mess hall. It was a low ceiling.

  “Ouch!”

  “Watch your head,” he warned too late, and kept walking. He couldn’t suppress a grin as she cursed softly in his wake—a very unladylike gesture that for all its vulgarity sounded absolutely adorable.

  “It looks to me as though you do need my money!” she countered, sounding quite determined.

  Jack clutched the rung of the ladder that led to the captain’s dining room, ready to hoist himself up.

  “Wait, please!”

  She sounded almost frantic now.

  “Please listen to me, Mr. MacAuley!”

  Why the hell should he?

  He climbed halfway up, then stopped. Neither her father nor his committee had ever listened to a word he’d spoken in their presence. He didn’t have to listen to a damned thing his daughter had to say. Still, curiosity made him linger.

  “I’m desperate, Mr. MacAuley! Please!”

  He peered down at her, tilting her a curious glance. “Desperate?”

  “Yes, please!” she begged, and Jack found he liked the sight of her down there, her cheeks rosy and her eyes smoldering up at him like molten gold. She had a hand to her forehead, rubbing it gently, as though soothing a wound. She had, in fact, whacked her head, and he might have been concerned, except that she was as full of fire as she had been on the docks. Contemptuous, spirited—no, passionate—and desperate, her own word.

  The question being why was she desperate?

  “You have a knot on your head, Miss Vanderwahl.”

  She covered her forehead daintily with her hand. Her brows knitting. “How kind of you to point that out.”

  Why did she want passage and why did she choose Jack?

  “I do believe it’s going to bruise,” he taunted her, thinking she must be vain to be so bloody beautiful. Those lips made him crave the taste of her. “A nice fat bruise, deep purple maybe.”

  “Really, Mr. MacAuley!”

  She scowled up at him but held her tongue, and Jack had to smile because he knew she was struggling to keep her temper. She couldn’t hide the fire in her eyes, however. He could swear they were glowing.

  Saucy chit.

  She really was desperate, it seemed.

  “Why?” he persisted. “Why my ship, Miss Vanderwahl?”

  She cocked her head backward a bit, looking as though she were suddenly at a loss for words.

  “Why?” she echoed, looking stupefied.

  “Yes, that’s what I want to know ... why?”

  “W-well,” she stammered, “why not?”

  He started back up the ladder.

  “Wait! You are bound for the Yucatan, are you not?” Jack had the fleeting suspicion that Penn might have sent her to spy on them. He wouldn’t put it past the idiot. Someone had been checking up on them, and Penn had made his name by stealing the theories and grants of others—Jack’s in particular.

  He stopped, looking down once more. “My destination isn’t a secret, Miss Vanderwahl.”

  “Yes, yes I know ... I know ... but you just don’t understand.” She pressed her hand to her head, and her expression turned pitiful. “I simply must go with you!”

  “Must you?”

  “Yes! You see, I can’t stand being away from Harlan so long, and I think I will die if I don’t see him soon!”

  Irritation welled up inside him.

  The last thing Jack needed just now was a spoiled little rich girl who was missing her fiancé—particularly when that fiancé had stolen grants right from under his nose, grants Jack had worked hard to win.

  Harlan Penn had worked with him one year, had been privy to all Jack’s research. Jack had just about had a grant pinned down, had worked hard to woo the powers-that-be, and then Harlan had run to them, twisting Jack’s research, both against Jack and for himself, snatching the grant money Jack had been waiting for right out from under his nose. Before Penn’s interference, Jack’s theories had been deemed “bold and innovative, free thinking.” Afterward, Jack had been named a blasphemous charlatan, and accused of wanting nothing more than press. Penn had known just what to say to turn their heads. He had plucked out bits of radical summations from Jack’s theories and used them against him, his only counter-evidence being conventional theology, and then had walked away with the rest, using it as his own.

  “I’ll give you seven thousand dollars!” she exclaimed. “Seven thousand dollars and the first thousand is right here!” She thrust her purse at him.

  So that’s why she’d been looking so smug; the damned thing was filled with bribe money. Everyone had his price, and she thought his would be mere money.

  “I’ve taken the liberty of opening an account for you at my bank,” she continued presumptuously, “and I can deposit the remainder at once!”

  Damn her, it was tempting.

  But he wouldn’t carry the little fool to her own funeral, much less to exchange spit with the man he most held in contempt.

  Everybody knew, it seemed, except his china doll fiancée and puppet father-in-law-to- be, that Harlan Penn used his academia as a convenience. The man no more took his studies seriously than he did his fiancée. He had accompanied Jack on his first trip to the Yucatan, and Penn had spent most of the time entertaining women in his tent rather than working. Penn was lazy and oversexed, in tune only with his own pleasures. Jack had felt sorry for the fiancée Penn never spoke of. It had been obvious to Jack, even then, that it was Maxwell Vanderwahl’s fortune to which Penn was so intent to be married.

  Still, it irked him that she could toss around money so easily when he had paid out of his own pockets nearly every cent he had for this meager little ship. He’d had to scrounge so deep into his personal finances that he hadn’t even had money enough for all the extensive repairs the ship needed. Most of his crew were volunteers as committed to their expedition as he was, scholars, not seamen, who cared enough about their journey to put little things like comfort and pay aside.

  “Let me get this straight... you want me to take you to the Yucatan because you miss your boyfriend so much that you can’t live without him?”

  Something like
fury flashed in her eyes, but the expression was so fleeting that Jack had to wonder if he had seen it at all.

  “Yes,” she replied firmly.

  “No!” Jack exploded. “Ask your daddy for a ride!” He dismissed her once and for all, hoisting himself up the ladder, muttering about the overconfidence of men—and women—with money. He’d like to build a bonfire and burn every last bill.

  “You don’t understand!” she cried, and he could hear the ladder creak under her slight weight. He made a note to fix the thing before someone took a nasty spill. “My father wouldn’t let me go!”

  Jack spun on her, giving her his fiercest glare, hoping it would scare her away. She was nearing his cabin, and in his present mood, he’d just as soon tell her yes, drag her into his bed, and seduce the haughtiness out of her.

  In fact, he’d almost enjoy doing that only to get back at her weasel of a fiancé. But he liked to think he was a better man than that.

  He liked to think so, but damned if those pouting lips weren’t begging to be kissed. Had Harlan ever even kissed her? Jack, in fact, wasn’t a gentleman. He hadn’t been born to seasoned manners and cultured words. He and Kell had both come from a different world than hers.

  “Maybe your daddy isn’t so brainless after all,” he suggested.

  “I beg your pardon!”

  “Poor little rich girl... you should listen to your papa!”

  She hesitated just a moment and then lifted herself onto the lower deck. “That really isn’t a very nice thing to say!” she reproached him.

  Jack stood there staring at her in disbelief, and had to restrain himself from taking her into his arms, kissing her brutally, teaching her a bloody lesson for following strange men practically into their bedrooms.

  She stood facing him without backing down, without fear, and he thought she was either stupid or truly desperate—the sort of desperate that made you truly stupid.

  She reached out and touched his arm tentatively, but Jack could feel the plea in the barest touch. “Mr. MacAuley. Please, you don’t understand how important this is to me. Please... please… ”