The Plaza was bustling the next morning as frugal housewives and servants of the gentry did their shopping before the heat became oppressive. A few soldiers lounged near the entrance to the cathedral, and the usual layabouts were sitting and gossiping. They couldn’t help but notice that the American sea captain, Burrell, was standing beneath the live oak at the edge of the Plaza, a frustrated look on his face.
“Come down, puss, there’s a good kitty!” he called up into the tree’s thick leaves, but nothing happened. The tree’s leaves shivered in the breeze and sunlight, but there was no other sound from the branches.
A Minorcan fisherman in short jacket and knee breeches stopped to stare up into the tree alongside Jack.
“Problems, señor?”
“My wife’s kitten has gone up the tree, the stupid animal, and it won’t come down.”
The fisherman shrugged. “It is the nature of cats and women to cause problems, señor. They will ever insist on doing things their own way, even if it makes no sense to us.”
The two men stood silently, mulling over the perversity of felines and females.
“I do not see—wait, is that it, that patch of red?”
“Yes, she will insist on tying red ribbons ’round its neck. Next she will be dressing it in a baby’s outfit. Women!”
By this time more onlookers had arrived, attracted by the sight of two men staring up into tree branches. Once they realized the problem, all were ready to offer their advice and counsel, asked for or not, and Jack looked around in desperation for some real assistance.
He spotted a barefoot sailor boy on the edge of the crowd. The youngster was wearing a knitted cap, an oversized shirt, and ragged breeches he had yet to grow into. A seabag was flung over his shoulder.
“You there, boy! You look like you could climb the rigging. I’m too large to go up after that kitten, but you could get her down for me.”
The boy rudely pushed his way to the front of the crowd. He looked up into the branches and spat on the ground.
“Yah, so you have a cat in a tree? What’s it to me, Cap’n?”
Jack’s eyes narrowed. “I will give you a silver half-dime for your own if you climb up and fetch her down.”
The boy looked at him out of eyes paled to silver blue in the bright sunlight.
“American coin? Who wants that trash? Now, if you’ve proper English shillings…!” he sneered.
Some of the British citizens in the crowd responded, “Hear! Hear! You tell that Yankee what’s what, boy!”
Captain Burrell’s eyes narrowed as he stared down the impudent ragamuffin.
“Very well, just get the cat down!”
The boy approached the tree and studied the massive trunk and arching branches with an expert’s eye.
“You’ll need to give me a boost up, Cap’n.”
Burrell made his hands into a stirrup, and boosted the boy to where he could grab onto the lowest branch. The lad then stood on the captain’s shoulders, which gave him enough height to place one slender foot more securely along the branch. Burrell raised his hands and steadied the boy’s rump while the other foot sought and found purchase on the rough bark.
“Do you want him to hold your bag while you go after the cat, lad?” one of the onlookers chimed in.
“What, trust my worldly goods to a Yankee? No, tha—yipe!”
“Sorry, lad, my hand slipped there.”
The sailor boy scowled down at the American, then turned upward and began to climb with the assurance of youth and the skill of one who’d spent time in tree branches and rigging.
The crowd watched with bated breath, worried either the boy would slip, or the perverse cat would take it into its head to climb higher.
The onlookers thought Captain Burrell looked particularly concerned, his face drawn and tight, sweat streaking his brow. It spoke well of him, they said, that he was as worried about a cheeky sailor lad as he would if his own little brother had been the one climbing high.
The crowd watched the rustling of the branches as the boy moved up through the tree, but the live oak’s leathery leaves were too thick to allow more than a glimpse of a bare foot, the shadow of the cap, and the boy’s soft crooning to the cat as he crept closer and closer to his prize.
Finally there was a furious rustling of leaves, an indrawn breath from the crowd below, and a high voice calling down, “I have her!” The boy shinnied down the branches and when he got to the lowest ones passed his seabag down to the waiting Captain Burrell.
“Careful with that, Cap’n, the cat’s in the bag.”
“I understand,” Burrell said hoarsely, his eyes never leaving the boy. He held up his arms and the lad jumped, and if it looked to the crowd that Captain Burrell hugged the boy a bit fiercely, well, he had his wife’s cat back and the lad had put himself at risk for a few shillings on the captain’s behalf.
When the lad was set down he opened the bag and pulled out a tabby cat with a ragged red ribbon ’round its neck. The cat appeared to be drowsing, despite all the excitement.
“Poor puss! All worn out from your big adventure,” the lad crooned to the kitty. He stroked the cat’s neck and looked up at Captain Burrell, his little face alight with mischief.
“I think this is worth more than a shilling or two, Cap’n. Think of how pleased with you your lady wife will be!”
Burrell wiped his hand across his face, then looked sternly down at the boy.
“We had a bargain, boy. Now give me the cat and off with you!”
“That limey lad needs a good thrashing!” someone said in American accents.
“Indeed. I was just thinking the same thing,” the captain said. “I will make sure he gets what’s coming to him.”
But he reached into his pocket and in sight of all the crowd counted out enough coins to make the boy grin and say, “You’re a generous man, you are. Thank’ee, Cap’n!”
As the boy passed Burrell the cat and turned to leave, the captain called out, “Boy! My wife would likely want to thank you in person. And you look like you could use a meal. Come with me to my house for dinner.”
The boy thought about this for a moment and then agreed dinner at the captain’s table didn’t sound like a bad idea. The crowd murmured its approval at Captain Burrell’s generosity toward the rude youngster, who had rescued the cat but displayed atrocious disrespect to his betters, and wasn’t that just the way it was now…and the conversations continued as the onlookers scattered back to their business, and Captain Burrell, the drowsy cat and the sailor boy headed to the Captain’s house.
* * *
“That was one of the most frightening things I have ever experienced.”
“You weren’t the one climbing, Captain.”
Sophia grinned up at him and knew her smile was so wide it almost hurt her face. Now that she was safely down from the oak with her treasure clue, there was the feeling she had whenever she won a huge pot of money at gambling, or survived yet another dangerous encounter.
Or kissed Lucky Jack Burrell.
She pushed that last thought from her mind to focus instead on the task at hand, opening the clues to the gold.
Señora Alvarez’s cat was placed on a hearthrug where it settled down with a sleepy purr to dream laudanum-laced visions of mice. Sophia put the weathered package tied with a red ribbon on the table. She was prepared to rip it open with her teeth, if necessary, but a hand on her arm stopped her.
“You’re limping. Before we do anything else, we need to tend to your feet.”
“But Jack, the clues—”
“Were in that tree for years and can wait a while longer while you tend to your scratches.”
“How can you be so prosaic? You are a privateer, not a…a…an apothecary!”
“Cut-up feet can become infected. Besides, you don’t want to be delayed in our hunt for the treasure while your feet heal, do you? I might have to leave you behind if you can’t keep up.”
To forestall further argument, he simply lifted her in his arms and carried her to the kitchen. Luisa Alvarez was gone for the day, but a kettle of water was still warm. Jack placed her in a chair, then gathered a basin, water, soap, and clean rags.
Sophia watched him, finding the sight of such a well-formed man doing simple housewifely tasks entertaining. And oddly arousing.
“You are a useful person to have around, Lucky Jack.”
He flashed her a quick smile as he rolled up his sleeves and washed his hands.
“A ship’s captain has to deal with all sorts of situations and it’s best to be prepared. Sometimes when there’s no surgeon available at sea it falls on the only person aboard ship who can read to make out what the bottles of medicine are for.”
He knelt at Sophia’s feet and looked critically at them before pulling her left foot into the basin of soapy water.
Sophia sucked in a deep breath and gripped the seat of the chair.
“I know it stings,” Jack said, sympathy lacing his voice, “but you do not want to neglect your feet, Sophia. We will be doing a great deal of walking and you need to be in good condition.” He wiped gently at the soles, examining each scrape for debris and gently blotting where blood beaded up in the deeper scratches.
“I could use someone with your skills aboard ship, Sophia. Where did you learn to climb so well?”
She bit her lip to keep from crying out when he touched a tender spot.
“When the remaining apples of the fall harvest are at the top of the tree, you either climb, or you go hungry. I preferred to climb.”
The cloth wiping gently around her heel paused, and then resumed as he rinsed off the soap.
“You have not had an easy life, have you?”
Sophia shrugged. “There are those with lives worse off. My father, for all his ramshackle ways did care for me, and most of the time we had sufficient food and fuel for our fires.”
“You weren’t tempted at all by Lord Whitfield’s offer to take you into his home? Certainly it would have been easier than working in a bookstore.”
She looked at him sharply, but the sun-streaked head was still bent over her foot, his lean brown hands handling her like a delicate piece of chinaware.
“I value my independence, Captain.”
He had started on the other foot, and now looked up at her. “Of course. All little cats do.”
She would have taken umbrage at being called a “little cat” but drew her breath in sharply when he brushed against the ball of her foot.
“I think a splinter is wedged in there,” Jack said, eyeing her foot closely. He pulled up on it and Sophia held onto the chair to keep from sliding forward into the water.
“Yes, I can just see it.”
“Can you pull it out?”
“Hold still, this may sting.”
And then Jack stunned Sophia by leaning forward and putting his mouth on her foot. She felt an instant’s sensation of warmth and a tickle as his lips brushed against the sole, and then with a tug the splinter was out.
“Got it,” Jack said, removing the wood from between his teeth.
Sophia cleared her throat. “I have never seen a splinter removed like that.”
“You have to be careful who you do that with. Some people misunderstand your intentions. In fact, I think I see another—”
He leaned forward, and Sophia watched, stunned, as Jack took her toes inside his mouth and sucked on them, running his warm tongue around the edges, bathing them in sensation.
It should have tickled, but it instead felt as if there were nerves in her toes connected to areas in her body far removed from her feet, most noticeably nerves in her belly and between her legs. She could feel it in her scalp, and in her own fingertips as she released her death grip on the chair to touch Jack’s hair, shining in the sunlight coming through the kitchen doors.
“I was scared to death when I saw you moving higher into that tree,” he said hoarsely, raising his head. “One slip and—” He didn’t finish but kissed his way along her instep, back to her heel, and then onto her ankles and the sensitive spot where her ankle bone jutted out, and she felt a shiver of heat run down her spine. Jack still had that tight expression around his eyes she’d seen when she came down from the tree into his arms. Was he truly worried about her?
She didn’t need Jack Burrell worried about her. She didn’t want anyone worrying about her. It was better that way.
“Jack, did I not tell you there was noth—”
Her words were cut off when he stood and grabbed her out of the chair, pulling her up against him as the water spilled onto the floor and sloshed over her feet, unheeded. She could feel him vibrating with tension against her body, every muscle taut, and his mouth on hers was hard and tasted of salt and maybe a touch of his fear for her.
But then his tongue was seeking entrance between her lips and with a sigh she let him in, her arms tightening around his neck, her hands threading through his hair. He took his time, exploring her mouth, learning what made her shiver, what brought her breath gasping, the little noises from deep in her throat.
When he lifted his head, she saw his eyes glitter in sunlight and his face was grim.
“No more games, Sophia. I am not waiting a moment longer, fearing what crazy stunt will send you crashing to your doom.”
And this time she felt it, too, the urgency of the blood coursing through her veins after risking her life in the climb.
Jack didn’t wait for her acquiescence but lifted her in his arms, effortlessly carrying her up the staircase and kicking the door open to the bedroom. The mosquito bar was pulled back, the net framing the head of the oversized bed like a bower designed for lovers. He threw her on the middle of the bed and she bounced lightly, the bed ropes creaking as he sat alongside her, yanking off his boots before climbing atop her, framing her face with his rough hands, covering her in kisses—her brows, her eyes, the corners of her mouth, waiting for her soft gasp before seeking the inside of her mouth again, ramping up the heat between them with his skilled lips, his hands pulling apart her shirt and sending the buttons flying.
He lifted his head from where he was ravaging her mouth and she dazedly murmured, “But I don’t even like you, Jack!”
“You like me well enough for this, little cat,” and then she couldn’t speak anymore because his lips were on hers again, gliding across her mouth, coaxing from her a response she didn’t know she had inside her.
She could tell herself it was the danger of the climbing, and their forced proximity, and the fact they were both healthy young animals, but the truth was she wanted this with every fiber of her being.
Her arms were around his neck, holding onto him and freeing his hands to move down to her thighs, easing them apart and allowing him to move in closer to her. When his body came into contact with hers, she gasped into his mouth and rather than pull away, moved a fraction closer. Only a few thin layers of cloth separated them, and she could feel him as he throbbed against her, and she responded with little noises deep in her throat when he began to rock against her, his hand under her hips pulling her closer.
Sophia’s lips broke away from his and she shakily pulled in a breath of air, only to let it out on a squeak when his free hand moved up under the boy’s shirt to cup her breast. The noise of approval he made deep in his throat told her he didn’t think her bosom was too small…but she wasn’t going to dwell on that now, not when it felt so good to have Jack cup her in his palm.
“Perfect. You feel perfect in my hands, Sophia. Let me see…”
He pulled the shirt off over her head, blinding her for a moment before she blinked in the light streaming into the room.
“Jack!” She gasped as his thumb played over her nipple, her body responding to his caresses, to remembering what it felt like to be touched and receive pleasure from another, the arousal, the sensitivity, the blood rushing through her, the arrow of fire arcing down from her lips to her womb. Even as her body came alive with the remembrance of the heat of passion, she could tell there was an edge to Jack’s lovemaking. An undercurrent of tension and stress mixed in with the passion and fanning it higher, making his caresses just a touch more forceful, more dangerous.
And she liked it. She reveled in this knife’s blade edge of passion, rousing her in a fashion her body recognized, even if her mind did not.
Jack might still want to shoot her someday, especially when their journey came to an end and he discovered the truth, but for now his focus was totally on her, not the treasure, and she could use these stolen moments to allow herself to let go and focus on her own needs, and her own desires that had nothing to do with the gold.
He broke from his exploration of her body to unbutton her breeches, sliding his hand inside, groaning when he found her wet core. His fingers glided slickly over her, spreading their heat, but he paused where he toyed at the entrance.
“Sophia? Is this your first time? I don’t want to hurt you,” he said huskily.
She took a deep breath. “It is not my first time.”
He stopped and looked deeply into her eyes for a moment that stretched until she could hear her own heart beat, and finally a smile curled the corners of his lips.
“Then we will both enjoy this.”
He pulled her clothes off and tossed them aside, then pulled his own clothing off, racing through the motions while Sophia watched him, but when she moved her hands up to cover herself he frowned at her.
“Leave your hands at your side. After all this time and aggravation I deserve a good look.”
She would have taken issue with his orders had he not climbed back into bed, his long body hovering over hers as he resumed kissing her, moving his fingers in circles down to where she was aching for a release.
“I know you like this, little cat. I remember how you made the hammock rock.”
“Stop talking and…aaaahh!”
She arched against the long finger slipping inside her and dimly heard his chuckle through the blood pounding through her head.
“Anything to please a lady.”
He coaxed her legs farther apart and braced his forearms alongside her head, lowering his own head for one more drugging kiss while he fitted himself to her, easing in just enough to frustrate her and make her dig her nails into his back, letting him know this wasn’t nearly enough.
His lips pulled back in a smile promising retribution for all the times she’d teased him in his cabin and he thrust himself into her in one smooth motion, wrenching a gasp from the back of her throat, a sound trailing off to a moan as he filled her, stretching her. She raised her legs and twined them about his hips to ease the fullness that was almost more than she could bear.
“So tight,” he gritted out and then he began moving inside her, pulling back and filling her again, making her arch her back and grip his muscled shoulders, trying to find her own rhythm in his increasingly frenzied thrusts.
She heard a voice she scarcely recognized as her own ordering Jack to go faster, deeper. He responded until she felt her toes curl and her muscles tighten around him, and her body let go of its grip on reality. Every nerve flared in a release bringing a cry to her lips. Jack thrust twice, three more times, and with his own oath pulled himself out to convulse against her belly, spreading a warmth that pooled between them.
It had been so long since she’d felt like this.
She had never felt like this.
That last thought, along with the air cooling her overheated body, brought Sophia back to her senses as Jack reached down to pull the linens up over their sweating bodies.
She made to leave the bed, but he simply put his arm around her and pulled her close to his side.
“Stay a moment. Are you…well?”
Sophia smiled to herself. Such a diffident question.
“Yes, I am well.” She wanted to add a thank-you for him not spending inside her and risking a pregnancy, but she was certain he’d find that awkward. He had to be wondering though…
“Were you surprised to find I was not a virgin?”
She could tell from the long pause Jack was picking his words as carefully as he would have picked up a hedgehog.
“I was momentarily startled, I admit, but then the thought flashed through my head, ‘It’s Sophia being Sophia.’ Not that I think you are a loose woman, only, you always do what suits you, regardless of what others may think. This was just one more example.”
She felt muscles she wasn’t aware were tense relax as she rested her head on his broad chest. The whorls of golden hair tickled her nose, but she didn’t want to move.
“When I was seventeen, Tom, the squire’s son, began coming to our house for Mr. Deford’s card parties. Tom was twenty-four, and while we’d grown up in the same area, we had never had much social interaction. I saw him in town now and then, and thought he was a good looking boy, but that was all, until he came to the house parties. Now, with his veneer of town bronze, he took on an entirely new aspect in my eyes.
“And he was nice to me. He talked to me like I was a person, and took walks with me, and told me some of his dreams and goals. I fancied we were in love, and nature took its course.”
She didn’t say anything else for a few moments as Jack stroked the damp curls off her forehead. It was hard to keep talking, but she wanted to tell him the rest.
“The scales fell from my eyes when after some months as lovers Tom told me he was leaving for London. His parents wanted him to meet a young lady there who they thought would make him a good wife. They made it clear to him a gambler’s daughter, the hostess of dissolute house parties, was not who they had in mind for him to marry. And Tom was a dutiful son. He was regretful, and he would miss me, and perhaps on his visits home we would have the opportunity to sneak out to the abandoned mill again. He assured me his being betrothed didn’t need to stop our fun and games.”
Jack paused from stroking her hair, then cleared his throat.
“Where did you hide the body?”
Her mouth quirked up and she laughed low in her throat. “You know me too well, Lucky Jack. Up until that point, I was easy on him when we played cards. But before he left for London, I relieved him of every shilling in his possession, his gold watch, and his new hunter.”
“That’s my girl,” Jack said softly, giving her a squeeze.
The words froze Sophia’s blood. She couldn’t be Jack’s girl. She couldn’t be anyone’s girl. Not when there was a treasure to be found.
A treasure she had no intention of sharing.
“This was a pleasant interlude,” she said briskly, sitting up and looking for her shirt. “However, we have more important things to do today, Captain. I suggest you put your trousers on and we go examine the box.”
The temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees when she turned from fastening the remaining buttons on her shirt and looked over her shoulder. Jack was sitting up in bed, one hand propped behind him. The only way he would have looked more like he’d just been slapped was if her handprint was on his cheek.
Sophia shook her head. “Really, Jack, that was a great deal of fun, but you and I both know it was brought on by the excitement of finding the clue. Perhaps now we have that behind us, we can focus on what is really important here.”
She left, not looking to see if he followed behind her.
* * *
Trying to understand Sophia Deford Burrell was about as simple as trying to understand the kitchen cat, Jack thought, pacing angrily in the parlor as he waited for her. No, the cat was easy to understand. It wanted a dry place to sleep. It wanted to hunt. It wanted to be fed.
That last thought brought him up short. He’d never had to climb to the top of a tree to be sure of a meal. Certainly there were times he missed a meal or two, or had shorter rations than he’d like while cruising, but he’d never been worried about starving. He never worried growing up about having a roof over his head, or food on the table, or wondered if his parents would take care of him.
And his life to this point, his interaction with other women, never prepared him for the likes of Sophia Deford. She’d used that to her advantage in the cave in England, and was still keeping him off-guard.
Was that why she said what she said earlier? About their lovemaking being a pleasant interlude and “a great deal of fun”?
It certainly had been all of that, but if all he’d wanted was anonymous and fast “fun” he could have that with any number of dockside whores. She was holding herself back from him. Not her body, not now, but her inner core. He had yet to breach those walls she erected to keep herself safe from the outside world, the smooth gambler’s mask hiding her inner feelings.
He heard the door open and Sophia peeked around the edge, now dressed in her own clothing. Her eyes shot from his face to the box on the table, highlighted by the midday sun. It was wrapped in oilskin and tied with faded but still red silk cords. She walked all the way into the room and looked down at it.
“It’s extravagant, but the silk was a good choice. Strong, and less likely to rot than cotton.”
“Mmm…” Sophia made a noise of assent, but Jack suspected she wasn’t really listening. He walked over to the table and stood beside her.
He was tempted to suggest they get some luncheon and then open the box, just to see her reaction, but figured she had been teased enough.
“Do you wish to do the honors, Mrs. Burrell?”
He reached down into his boot and pulled out his knife, passing it to her hilt first. She took the blade from him and with steady fingers cut the cords, then set the knife aside, unwrapping the stiff cover from around the cypress wood box.
Sophia lifted the lid, Jack looking over her shoulder. Inside the box was a piece of paper, also wrapped against the damp, a rusting key, and a leather pouch. She opened the pouch first and held it over the table. Five gold coins fell out, ringing merrily as they hit one another on the polished surface.
“Dear heavens,” Jack said. “Those are doubloons!”
“It is real,” Sophia whispered. “The treasure is real.”
King Charles of Spain smiled up at them from the coins and Sophia picked one up reverently. She turned the coin over and Jack saw that the heraldic symbols and Latin lettering looked as clear as the day the coins were minted.
“The clue is written on here, Sophia.”
Jack unfolded the paper and spread it on the table, and they studied the fading ink as Sophia read it aloud:
“Take what you now have and go on the backward water to where the dons’ twins guard the broad bluff. St. James’s Place holds the key to what you seek.”
“Can you figure out where it is from the clue? Why did he have to make it so confusing?”
This last was said on a rising note, and Jack reached out without thinking to put his hand on her arm, stroking her.
“Patience, kitten. I refuse to believe Captains Tanner and Garvey can outwit us. Let’s look at this logically. Now we have a key, so it must unlock something. And the backward water is the St. Johns, here in Florida. It’s a river that flows south to north, backward from most rivers. So this clue is somewhere in the vicinity of the St. Johns. Go fetch the map, and show me if there are any circles near the river.”
She hurried out of the room, returning a few minutes later with Jack’s map of East Florida.
“There is a circle near the river, here,” she said, drawing a circle on the map.
“West and south,” Jack said, studying the area. “Gives us an area to start from.”
She relaxed at that information, then her brow furrowed.
“But what does the key unlock? A door? A box? A gate?”
“Guess we’ll find out when we get to where the ‘dons’ twins guard the broad bluff.’”
Jack picked the box up, examined it from all angles, and then passed it to Sophia who felt for hidden catches or unusual weight. But it appeared to be what it was, a simple wooden box. She also acquiesced to Jack’s demand that everything that was in the box be returned to the box. Including the five doubloons.
“We don’t know yet if we will need these when we get to our next stop. And I will take charge of this for now,” he said, wrapping the box back up, taking the silk ribbons as well.
“We can mull over these puzzles tonight, and maybe one of our dinner companions can answer some of our questions. Tomorrow we’ll plan our trip inland to the river.”
* * *
Invitations arrived in the wake of the governor’s assembly. Sophia and Jack spent the evening at the home of Mr. and Mrs. MacArthur, a Scots couple who settled in St. Augustine during the British period and stayed on, trading with the growing numbers of settlers to the north and west of the town. The other guests were Zephaniah Kingsley and the widowed innkeeper Elena Gomez, who told Sophia without a shred of bashfulness that she knew she’d been picked solely to round out the numbers, but conversation at the MacArthurs was lively and the food good, so why not attend? Sophia agreed with such a practical attitude, and discussed life in St. Augustine with the buxom widow.
“It is a congenial city, and I enjoy the liveliness of it, especially now that Spain is back in control. Those British officials were too cold. They did not know how to enjoy life like a Spaniard does!”
Sophia didn’t feel compelled to defend her countrymen and nodded to Señora Gomez’s comments while she watched her husband. Jack was talking with Kingsley about the crops being shipped north. Tonight the planter was wearing silver trimmed boots that added a good two inches to his heels, but he still had to tilt his head back to talk to Jack.
It’s odd, Sophia thought to herself. She had always been more comfortable around men closer to her own size, like Kingsley, but there was something about Jack Burrell that made her think how well they fit together.
That last thought brought back a remembrance of exactly how well they fit together, and she lowered her eyes and sipped at her sherry.
Jack was a regular customer of the MacArthurs and when he mentioned a wedding trip inland over supper, the couple approved.
“Some good land for farming back there, Captain,” MacArthur said, “if you’re thinking of settling in Florida. “
“I have considered it, and thought I would show Mrs. Burrell some of the areas around the river while we’re visiting here.”
“This must be exciting for you, Mrs. Burrell, moving to America!” Mrs. MacArthur said to Sophia. “How did you meet our Captain Burrell?”
Janet MacArthur was a relentlessly cheerful lady with gray curls corkscrewing from beneath her purple turban. Sophia discovered early in the evening if you wanted to get Mrs. MacArthur talking, all you had to do was ask about her grown children—a daughter living in New Orleans with three healthy little ones, a son back in England, another son up in Georgia.
However, her question did demand an answer.
“I never expected to settle in America, Mrs. MacArthur. Captain Burrell made my acquaintance some years back, before his country was drawn into the war with Britain. The war separated us, but then luck—and happy circumstance—reunited us, and here we are. Now that we are married I will, of course, follow my husband,” she said with a shy smile at said spouse.
“How utterly romantic!” Mrs. MacArthur gushed. She leaned over and tapped Sophia lightly on the arm with her fan, then lowered her voice. “If there is anything I can do to help you adjust to married life, my dear, please do not hesitate to call on me. Mr. MacArthur and I have had years together of wedded bliss. Sometimes gentlemen do not understand the sensibilities of young brides, so if there is anything you need explained, please let me be of assistance.”
Sophia eyed her host, whose gleaming pate and thick lips bristling with whiskers reminded her of one of the sea cows Jack had pointed out to her in the inlet. Mrs. MacArthur’s offer of marital advice combined with Sophia’s view of Mr. MacArthur to give her a most uncomfortable mental image, but fortunately, the arrival of the Spanish custard for dessert drove the thought away.
“I think of the United States as my country, too, Mrs. Burrell,” Kingsley said. “I love Florida, and I’m bound and determined it will be part of the United States. It’s the only way we will ever keep order here.”
“Yes,” Jack said dryly, “I had the pleasure of dining with Luis Aury and his cohorts in Fernandina. I suspect the United States will not look kindly on having the Republic of Mexico established south of Georgia’s border.”
Kingsley shook his head sadly. “Florida has become a haven for scoundrels following the war. Georgia in particular considers East Florida its dumping ground for every eye-gouging, nose-biting desperado who can stay one jump ahead of the magistrate.”
“You are from Georgia, are you not, Jack?”
“Yes, he is, Mrs. Burrell, but Jack’s an upstanding businessman. All of East Florida will bear that out. Except for maybe a British captain or two.”
“Or the occasional Spaniard,” Sophia said under her breath.
“One thing I’ve learned in business is that you never know what you will find if you cast your net wide,” Jack said with a glance at his wife. “Now I want to show my latest ‘British acquisition’ some of Florida before heading up to Georgia to see my family.”
“Most of the plantations along the river are still burnt-out shells, Captain,” Kingsley said. “Between the Indian raids and the fighting from the war you won’t find as much hospitality as usual along the St. Johns.”
“Maybe so, but now is the right time for us to take this wedding journey.”
Sophia had been thinking about the clues to Garvey’s Gold during the day, and as the final course of fruit, cheese, and nuts was brought to table she thought this was as good a time as any to see if they could uncover some answers.
“I was at a dinner in Fernandina recently, and heard a riddle based on East Florida. I have not been able to figure it out, nor has Captain Burrell, but perhaps this assembly might be able to assist me. I confess, I love guessing games and this one has been keeping me from finding any peace.”
“Tell us the riddle, Mrs. Burrell,” Mrs. MacArthur said.
Sophia repeated Captain Tanner’s clue. They all thought about it, then Señora Gomez’s face lit up and she talked excitedly in Spanish.
“I am sorry, Mrs. Gomez, I do not speak Spanish,” Sophia said, as Jack said, “Ah! So that’s it!”
“The riddle is not difficult, if you know the land,” Señora Gomez said in English. “The ‘twins who guard the broad bluff’ are the old forts—Pupo and Picolata.”
“That sounds right,” Jack said thoughtfully. “I have sailed that stretch of river, and there is a bluff there. There you have it, Mrs. Burrell,” he said turning to her. “No more restless nights as you try to puzzle this riddle out.”
Sophia felt her own pulse race faster at the thought of having an answer and a destination in mind. Instead of blindly traveling inland, they had a goal now. Within a few days they could have their hands on Garvey’s Gold.
* * *
“Do you think one clue will find us the treasure, Jack? What if the treasure is at the bluffs? Is it possible the other circles on the map are a ruse?”
Jack watched Sophia washing herself for bed, and was so caught up in the sight of a trickle of water beading its way down the edge of her gown toward one of those nipples he now knew was larger than he would have anticipated and worth further exploration…
“What did you say?”
She looked at him and said, “The treasure, Jack. Do you think it is at these bluffs?”
“It will not be that easy. Garvey would not leave the treasure where it could be discovered by someone with just one clue. No, a bigger concern is whether Whitfield has any of the clues and will get there ahead of us. We need to be on guard, always, in case he tries to ambush us again.”
“Mmmm…” Sophia said, not really answering Jack’s concern. At the moment the treasure might have been uppermost on her mind, but it wasn’t on his. He was still angry over her callous dismissal of their lovemaking earlier in the day.
Pleasant? Never had he been damned with such faint praise. It was like her terming him nice. Lucky Jack, scourge of the British and the enemies of Cartagena reduced to the quality of a young lady’s sketches or a lapdog of no great personality!
“Come to bed.”
She looked at him and opened her mouth to say something, but then thought better of it and walked over to blow out the lamp on the chest of drawers.
“No, leave it lit,” he said. She jumped, but when she turned to him she had her gambler face on, masking what she was feeling.
And that gave him ideas. Ideas that weren’t nice at all.
“Rather, bring the lamp, Sophia.”
“But we are going to sleep.”
“All in due time, sweetheart. For now, bring the lamp.”
She put it on the table alongside the bed, looking at him out of the corner of her eye.
So he made her nervous after this afternoon? Excellent. Before the night was finished he had every intention of making her nerves scream, or at the very least, her scream for his touch.
“Take off your gown, Sophia.”
She frowned at his tone of voice, but he just watched her, and waited. She began unbuttoning the high neck, working her way down the front of the gown. When it was undone she hesitated.
“Off. Now.”
She straightened her spine, shrugged her shoulders, and the gown slipped off to puddle at her feet. She stood there, hand on her hip, boldly watching him.
It was a good act. And he knew it was an act because even the oh-so-experienced Miss Sophia Deford couldn’t hide the slight blush that even now spread across her cheeks.
“Very nice. Get into bed.”
She climbed in, staying on her side of the mattress, watching him warily. He climbed out of bed and fetched a few items from the chest, and then returned.
“Come closer.”
She didn’t move, so he reached over and wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her up against him.
“Let me make something clear to you, Sophia. If you were only my wife in name before, this afternoon you became my wife in fact. In all ways. And that means, Mrs. Burrell, I have every intention of enjoying all the rights and privileges that go with being married.”
“You intend to force yourself on me?” his wife said in a chilly voice.
She was so rigid in his arms he could have used her for a spar, but he just smiled down at her in the lamplight.
“Force you? I am not going to force you, Sophia. But I also will not allow you to discourage me by dismissing my lovemaking as merely ‘a pleasant interlude.’ Now, how can any self-respecting husband walk away from a challenge like that? No, clearly I have an obligation to convince you—repeatedly, if necessary—that one of the benefits you will enjoy in this marriage are my skills in bed.”
“Your skills in bed? You pompous, conceited, overbeari—”
He put his weight on top of her, and his hand over her mouth. His reach was longer than hers so it was not difficult to retrieve the lengths of cloth he’d taken from the drawer where he kept his cravats. In short time his sailor’s skills were brought into play and her wrists were neatly tied with an admirable knot. Of course, he’d had to take his hand off her mouth during this operation, and a steady stream of abuse was pouring into his ears.
“…and remember how I said you had to go to sleep sometime? Just you wait, Luck—”
He used the last cloth to gag her.
“Whew! That’s better,” he said, sitting up astride her hips, her legs trapped between his so she couldn’t bring her knee up and damage him.
She glared up at him, her cat eyes narrowed with rage.
“Now, here’s what’s going to happen, Sophia. I am going to make love to you. No, you don’t have to thank me, it’s all part of my husbandly obligations.”
Muffled noises of outrage leaked from behind the gag.
“I would like to remove the gag so I can enjoy that luscious mouth of yours. Will you cooperate if I do?”
She glared at him a moment longer, then nodded once.
“Untie my hands!” she demanded as soon as her mouth was free.
“Oh, I don’t think I want to do that just yet. It would spoil my surprise.”
Her eyes narrowed again.
“What surprise?”
“If I tell you, it is not a surprise. I will make a deal with you, Sophia. If you are not completely satisfied when this evening is finished, you may shoot me.”
“Anywhere I like?”
“I am not worried. You will be completely satisfied.”
She looked at him with an unreadable expression. In the lamplight her skin glowed like ivory, her cheeks brushed with pink from her exertions. She looked adorable and delectable and dangerous, and when she ran her tongue over her dry lips he gave in to temptation and kissed her, her bound hands between them, easing her lips apart with his tongue and stroking inside until he felt her melt against him.
When he raised his head her eyes were dark and half-lidded. She lifted her bound hands and put them around his neck.
“I suppose I am willing to try something different, Lucky Jack,” she said huskily. “And I do like a good wager.”
By this point he was dealing with his own need to spread her legs and pound into her, willing or no, but he held back. Instead he took her bound hands and looped the cloth over the spindle decorating the board at the top of the bed, and put himself to work.
Lucky Jack Burrell also was a wagering man, and this one was a sure bet. He knew it as he ran his tongue across Sophia’s throat, the delicate skin flushed with warmth, the pulse fluttering beneath his lips. When he leaned up on his arm her lips were parted and her breath coming faster, her hair so fair against the pillows that her eyes dominated her face, her little pointed chin practically begging to be kissed also, so he did, then worked his way down her throat again to the alabaster mounds threaded with blue, the stiff buds there also in need of kissing, and sucking, and stroking with his tongue.
He was glad he’d removed the gag because his little cat was purring beneath his tongue, then urging him on in a throaty voice, letting him know what she liked, and telling him without words by her shivers and the arch of her back how she was responding to his mouth, and his touch.
He kissed his way down her body, the violet scent of her filling his head, the satin feel of her skin beneath his lips as he nibbled on her, savoring each whimper, every moan, the sounds and movements refuting any notion of a “pleasant interlude.”
He was aching to be inside her, but he could hold back, he had to hold back, until he was sure that she would never, ever dismiss his lovemaking again. Even if he suffered the torments of the damned by holding off his own release, it would be him and only him she dreamt of, only him she turned to.
When he finally reached the core of her, she was all liquid heat, blossoming open as he paused, his mouth hovering over her.
“Jack?” she whispered.
“Surprise,” he murmured, putting his mouth on her and sliding his tongue in.
Sophia curvetted off the mattress. Had her hands not been tied to the rail and Jack’s hands holding her hips, he feared she could have ended up on the ceiling, but he wouldn’t let her go, not now, not when he had her at his mercy.
But mercy was not what he had in mind. He used his lips, and his tongue, and his fingers, and the scrape of his teeth to show her what he intended was not pleasant at all, but instead was earthshaking and heart pounding and carried a razored edge of danger in the night. He had no idea how this adventure of theirs would end, but he was sure of one thing: Sophia Deford Burrell would never dismiss his lovemaking again as pleasant, and she would go to her grave remembering how he made her scream.
And scream she did when he moved up her body to thrust himself inside her, pausing only to release her hands so she could hold onto him as he gave in to the desire driving him to pound into her, imprint himself in her, make her his in a way that would never let her go.
She gained her release but he was relentless, driving her again to a fever pitch, holding her, whispering in her ear hot words enticing her to go over again, and she did, moaning against the taut skin of his neck. He was ready to explode inside her, but he needed more from her, a total surrender, and he slipped his hand between them and fingered her on the trigger that brought her relief in the hammock. She cried aloud one more time and then he did explode, barely pulling out in time to spill against the bedding, fighting his own straining desire to stay within her at the finish.
Jack rolled off and held Sophia in his arms, stroking her hair as her breathing settled. He was tempted to say something like, “Was that pleasant enough for you?” but prudence won out, and he just held her and knew she would not think of him as a biddable lapdog any more.