“I wouldn’t trifle with you. Not about this or anything else. Believe what I say. Your friend Mr. Kerr is alive, and I know where he is.”
Jeremiah’s fingers tightened into her shoulders as he clung to her as desperately as he was clinging to this last, insane hope she was offering him. “Then tell me where. Tell me now.”
Caro lifted her chin defiantly, trying to hide her fear. It wasn’t him that she was afraid of, despite his size and strength and the anger and pain she saw in his eyes. No: what she feared was that she’d once again lose the courage to say what she must, or worse yet, to speak but choose the wrong words. This American was her last hope of saving Frederick’s life. There wouldn’t be another.
She swallowed hard, searching for the right plea, the perfect bargain, that would make him help her. And dear Lord, all she’d done so far was make him so angry he probably wouldn’t hear a word she said.
“I’m waiting, ma’am,” he said, and she heard in his voice the same velvety threat he’d used last night with George. “And I don’t like waiting for anyone.”
“You won’t force it from me,” she whispered hoarsely. She was too aware of how close he stood to her, of the warmth of his hands as they covered her shoulders, of how his mouth had felt on hers last night. Jack Herendon had told her of his brother-in-law’s temper, but why hadn’t he warned her of the raw power of his physical presence, the animal power that made her pulse quicken and her limbs turn to butter when he touched her? “If that’s your intention, it won’t work.”
Instantly he released her, swearing to himself in frustration. “I’m sorry, all right? I didn’t mean to hurt you. Now tell me.”
She shook her head and backed away, rubbing one shoulder where he’d held her before she self-consciously began to smooth the crease from her sleeve instead. “I won’t tell you a word about your friend until you tell me everything you can about Hamil Al-Ameer.”
There, she’d done it, and there’d be no taking back the words now. She’d expected him to rail more at her before he answered, even call her names, the way Jack had warned her. But she wasn’t prepared for what she saw now.
“Hamil,” he said, his voice as hollow as his eyes. He seemed to age before her, his broad shoulders bowing down beneath the weight of his grief and pain. “What would a fine lady like you want to know about a thieving bastard like him?”
She remembered how he’d been last night when he’d jerked awake from the nightmare, the wild, haunted look that had followed the anguished cry of pain and terror. What could have happened to reduce a man like Jeremiah Sparhawk to that?
“Pray forgive me, Captain,” she began, “for I didn’t mean to upset—”
He drew himself up sharply. “No pity, ma’am. I’d rather be scorned than pitied.”
“I don’t intend to do either. I wouldn’t ask you of this man Hamil if my reasons weren’t most urgent.”
“Then you’ll understand if I prefer to keep my past to myself,” he said wearily. He wasn’t angry anymore, just tired. “David Kerr is dead, and so is every other man who served with me on the Chanticleer. I don’t know what Herendon told you, but I won’t dishonor the memories of Davy and the rest by speaking their names in the same breath as that heathen bastard Hamil.”
“You would rather retain your stubborn sense of honor and propriety than hear in return what I have to say of Mr. Kerr?”
He sighed. “Honor or no, ma’am, I’m not in the habit of making bargains with ladies. Good day, Lady Byfield.”
“No, wait, I beg you!” she cried, rushing after him. “This isn’t a bargain that I ask of you, only an exchange of information, a way we might help each other!”
Though her desperation was unmistakable, he refused to be swayed. “If you’re like every other woman on this earth, you’d merely tell me what you believed I wished to hear, whether it was true or not.”
“No!” Frantically she rushed back to the little table beside her chair, yanking the drawer in it out so forcefully that the vase of yellow flowers toppled over. She pawed through the papers until she found the one she sought, then held it up to read, her fingers trembling and her voice shaking.
‘’ ‘Kerr, David, mariner, first mate, surviving of the brig Chanticleer, of the city of Providence of Rhode Island in the United American States. Of medium height, not above five and one-half feet, in age thirty-seven years, fair complected with brown hair, both ears pierced for the wearing of rings. Marked by a crooked left arm, broke long ago and ill-set, a star-shaped powder burn on the upper right back shoulder—”
“Let me see that!” Jeremiah lunged to tear the paper from her hands but she darted clear.
“You didn’t believe me, did you?” she said breathlessly, dancing just beyond his reach. “You wouldn’t trust me because I’m only a silly, ignorant woman, because I couldn’t possibly feel the same loyalty as a man for those I love!”
His green eyes were as wild as a madman’s as he shoved a chair aside to try to reach her. “What the devil is it, anyway? God help you if you lie!”
“The messengers of the Pasha of Tripoli do not lie, Captain Sparhawk, not when there is ransom to be earned from prisoners!” she cried, bunching her skirts in her fist as she ran from him. “From Naples this comes, from King Ferdinand’s own secretary, but I won’t read another word unless—”
She hadn’t heard the knock at the door, and turned with a hiss when Weldon entered the room himself. She froze beneath the butler’s scrutiny, as did Jeremiah, both panting and flushed amid the overturned furniture. The only other sound was the slow drip of water from the upset vase onto the carpet.
Weldon’s expression remained unperturbed. “My lady needs assistance?”
Caro pressed her palm to her forehead. “No, Weldon, I do not, nor do I appreciate your entering this room unannounced!”
“My apologies, my lady, but I did knock. I did not realize you were engaged.” He looked pointedly at Jeremiah. “But Mr. Stanhope has arrived, and demands a word with you at once.”
“Damn Mr. Stanhope! Tell him I’ve no wish to see him, that I’m not at home, or better yet, tell him to go—to go straight to Hades!”
Weldon nodded. “Very well, my lady.”
“Oh, Weldon, stop being so provokingly literal! Of course I’ll come and speak with him, but only as far as the door. I won’t have the wretched man in my house, acting like it’s already his.”
“Nay, ma’am, you’ll do no such thing,” ordered Jeremiah. “I won’t have you running off like a frightened chicken until we’ve settled this between us!”
“I’m not running, Captain, you can be sure of that, not until you reconsider your own position.” Her face still flushed, she glared at him, folded into quarters the paper she’d read from and shoved it down the front of her gown. “You wait here. I shall return directly.”
As the door shut behind her and the butler, Jeremiah struggled to control his frustration, and failed. Over went another chair, followed by the needlepoint-covered footstool he heaved across the room. Damn the woman! Either she did have news, real news, of Davy, or else she was the most convincing liar he’d ever met. He thought of how she’d toyed with him, teasing him along with stolen kisses and contrived robberies and statues of naked women, when here she’d been keeping a secret he’d kill to have. Davy alive, Davy a prisoner. Sweet Jesus, could it really be true?
With an oath he jerked the drawer from the table where she’d taken the first paper and dumped the contents onto the sofa. Receipts from dressmakers, half-finished