The newlyweds set off the next morning up the St. Johns River, a light breeze and puffy clouds in the sky accompanying them on their journey. Their little boat was sloop-rigged and handled well, and Sophia seemed to be enjoying her experience under sail. Her nose, sunburned at the tip, peeked out from beneath the palmetto hat she wore and her excitement at being on the trail of the gold was infectious.
Jack looked at his shipmate, her hand on the tiller, enjoying the freedom of the open river. He wanted to find the treasure for many reasons, but the more time he spent with Sophia, the more he wanted to find the treasure for her. If that’s what it would take to keep her, then he would do what he must. He didn’t know when her happiness had become important to him, but he’d realized when he saw her at a neck-breaking distance above ground in that damned tree that the idea of not having Sophia in his life was far less attractive than the idea of having her.
If only he wasn’t sure she would cut his throat in his sleep to get her money.
No, that wasn’t fair. Sophia would look him in the eye while she stabbed him.
Jack put those thoughts aside as he scanned the shore and the bluffs. They’d passed two burnt-out farmsteads and, while the damage was old, it didn’t mean there wasn’t still trouble lurking about. Luke had taken him aside yesterday, away from the women, and cautioned him to be careful of Seminole raiding parties and leftover troublemakers from the United States’ incursions into Florida during the war. There’d been trouble up on the St. Marys River, with the Garrett family, a woman and her two children, murdered and scalped while her husband was away. Plenty of whites on both sides of the border were calling for vengeance and action against the Indians.
Jack unfolded the map Luke drew for him, showing Santiago de Laca. It was on the western side of the river beyond one of the bluffs, and would require some trekking on foot to get there. If nothing else it might make a good campsite for tonight and if there were walls standing, it could offer protection in case of trouble.
“Are you tired from handling the boat, Sophia?”
She laughed aloud. “This is wonderful! I feel like I am flying on the water. It was never like this, sailing to America.”
He smiled. “You wouldn’t feel that way if you were sitting with your boat in irons. Remember what I told you? You’re on a beam reach now, but the first rule of sailing is ‘the wind’s always wrong for you.’ Today you got lucky.”
“That’s because you are with me, Lucky Jack,” Sophia said, tossing him a saucy grin.
“You keep telling yourself that, kitten. As long as you think I’m your lucky charm you’ll want to keep me around. Now, switch places with me—without rocking the boat over, please—and I’ll take us ashore.”
Sophia helped Jack pull the boat up on shore and hide it in some tangled trees and shrubs growing close to the water. Their rope and most of their supplies he left in the boat, giving her a satchel to sling over her shoulder while he took the rifle.
“The path, what there is of it, is going to be narrow and overgrown. I want you to stay directly behind me and keep your eyes and ears open.”
“Yes, Jack,” Sophia said solemnly as she looked around at the woods that loomed before them.
The mockingbirds were in full throat and kept company with the couple as they made their way through the woods. Jack looked over his shoulder. Sophia was struggling behind him, her face shining with sweat, but he refused to feel sorry for her. She’d promised to walk through hell barefoot to get the gold, and a Florida spring day wouldn’t be her undoing. At any point she felt this was too much for her, he’d take her up to Savannah, leave her with his family, and then return on his own with his own men to search for the gold.
But it wouldn’t be as exciting.
He ignored that inner voice and kept moving, then held up his hand to stop her.
“The mission should be just on the other side of that ridge.”
“Why are we stopping?”
Jack didn’t say anything, but took his rifle and moved cautiously forward, at a crouch. He heard her behind him and raised his hand to make her stop.
“I smell smoke,” he said in a low voice. “Stay behind me.”
Jack dropped down close to the ground, inching forward. Sweat trickled down his neck and a mosquito buzzed near his ear, but he ignored it. Sophia was close behind him, and when they were at the top of the ridge he crouched and quietly lay down, his rifle in hand, his head barely poking over the top. She wiggled up alongside him.
Ahead he could see the outline of old walls, now mostly crumbled, and scattered stones covered with vines. Two walls still standing halfway formed a V, and a small, almost smokeless campfire burned. There was a pack on the ground, but no other sign of human habitation. No horse, no mule, no people.
“Tell me you have a plan, Jack,” Sophia said in a low voice.
“Yes, what is your plan, Cap’n Jack?”
Jack froze and he stared at Sophia, whose eyes were wide in her face. As one they both turned to look over their shoulders. A very large, very black Indian stood about ten feet away, expressionlessly watching them, a musket in his arms.
“Reuben,” Jack said.
“Cap’n. Long time.”
“Um, can we stand up, or is he going to shoot us?” Sophia whispered.
“Get up. Keep ’way from the weapons,” Reuben said.
Jack rose to his feet and gave Sophia a hand, and she stood and brushed the sand and dirt off the front of her clothes.
“You Cap’n Jack’s woman?”
Jack could tell she was debating how to answer that, but common sense kicked in.
“Yes, I am married to Captain Burrell.”
His glance flicked over her, and he grunted dismissively. “Not much to you.”
Sophia drew herself up to her full height. “I have it on good authority I am worth three opossums!”
A twitch dented the corner of Reuben Factor’s mouth and he looked at Jack. “You pay three possums for this?”
“At the time it seemed like a good idea,” Jack said, putting down his rifle and brushing off his own clothes.
“No, he did not pay—tell him, Jack!”
Jack ignored this and focused on the black Seminole. “So you made it to freedom with the Indians after all. I’m glad for you.”
Reuben’s eyes narrowed. “Freedom’s a fragile thing, Cap’n. What’re you doing away from white towns? You and your woman? You scouting for land to settle?” He punctuated this last sentence by spitting on the ground.
Jack shook his head. “No, we’re no threat to you or your clan.”
Reuben did not look convinced by this. “I been following since you came ashore. You two make noise like a flock a turkeys.” He turned and started walking down to the campsite, pausing to say to them, “You coming?”
Jack retrieved his weapon and Sophia picked up her satchel, wincing as the strap dug into her shoulder.
“Here, give me that.”
“Do you need your hands free for the rifle?” she said.
“Reuben will hear anything long before I do. If we don’t follow him he might shoot us anyway, so let’s see what he has to say.”
“Is this the same Reuben who saved your life and gave you a banjo? I thought he was your friend!”
“So did I,” Jack said thoughtfully. “But when you start out as a slave and then find freedom with the Seminole—I don’t imagine it’s inclined him any more toward whites.”
They followed Reuben Factor, and Jack reflected on how the man who’d taken to sailing on a privateer now was the complete Indian, from his brown calico shirt to his buckskin leggings, silver earrings dangling from underneath his hair. Some blacks were slaves to the Seminole but lived more as vassals than the degrading way they lived under white slave owners. Some blacks were free, like Reuben, and lived and worked among the Indians as equals and members of the tribe. It was no wonder slaves in the United States dreamed of fleeing south to freedom, or at least a freer life, across the Florida border.
Reuben’s campsite was as sparse up close as it appeared from the ridge, but there was a smell of cooking meat that made Jack hope the big man would share whatever he had with them.
“Something smells wonderful,” Sophia said.
Reuben grunted and poked at a pit in the ground. Smoke rose up to delight the senses. “Pig. We eat, then we talk.”
At those words, Jack relaxed. He wouldn’t invite them to share a meal if he meant to kill them.
Sophia was staying close at hand, watching Reuben as he worked around his campsite. Eventually she relaxed enough to ask if there was water, and Reuben directed them to a nearby creek and gave them a container to fill. Jack retrieved his rifle and accompanied her to the creekside where she made use of the concealing bushes, and washed while Jack fetched water for them.
Jack looked around the land. He understood why the Franciscans built their mission here, and why settlers from the north might find it as attractive as the Indians and Spanish did. Good water, close to the river, and a high piece of land made it attractive.
On the way back they passed trees planted by the long gone Spanish and picked some of the last of the season’s oranges.
“Give me a hand with this, Cap’n,” Reuben said.
Jack took one of the metal tools handed him and they hauled out the cooked piglet, steaming and succulent. His stomach growled and he knew if he died tonight, at least he’d die well fed.
They were soon sitting cross-legged on the ground, sharing the pig, oranges, and biscuits left from their stay at the Reavers’s homestead. There was no wine, but Reuben boiled some water for coffee. Jack took a cup, but coffee without cream and sugar was more primitive than Sophia cared for and she contented herself with the sweet water from the mission’s well. They took their cue from their host and didn’t engage in conversation, but concentrated instead on filling themselves.
It was getting toward sundown and a breeze sprang up from the west, cooling the day’s heat as Jack waited patiently for Reuben to say what was on his mind.
“Rest of that pig goes with me to the camp,” Reuben said.
“Are you far from here?”
“Near ’nough, Cap’n.”
“You were out hunting? Is that what brought you here today?” Sophia asked.
Reuben looked at her, then tossed another branch on the fire. “Don’t matter why I’m here today. Why you here?”
Sophia looked at Jack, and Jack cleared his throat. “We are on the trail of Garvey’s Gold.”
Reuben looked at him for a moment, then burst out laughing in a basso profundo that made Sophia jump where she was sitting, but Jack just sighed and took another sip of his coffee.
“No, really, Cap’n, what you doing out here?”
“I’m serious.”
“Marriage make you crazy? There ain’t no Garvey’s Gold!”
Jack looked over at Sophia, whose eyes were narrowing into a look that boded trouble if he didn’t step in and do something.
“Consider it a whim to make my bride happy on her wedding journey.”
“Trip to Charleston be more fun for you,” Reuben snickered. “But if that your story, fine by me.”
Then he became serious and his eyes grew shadowed. “I got to call in my debt.”
Jack just nodded. He had a feeling that was what he was leading up to.
Reuben reached for his pack, pulling out a newspaper, creased and grimy from much handling. He passed it over to Jack.
Jack opened the paper and angled it so the firelight fell on it. It didn’t take him long to find what he was supposed to see. He folded the paper and put it in his pocket before Sophia could read it.
“Doesn’t give us much time.”
“Jack? What is it?”
Jack ignored her and focused on the man across the fire from him.
“You the only one, Cap’n. You’ll do it?”
“Of course,” Jack said.
Tension drained out of the big man and his shoulders slumped.
“Thank you,” he whispered.
Reuben packed up the pack and the remaining pig and easily slung the meat over his shoulder. “You come back here. I be waiting.”
Jack said, “I won’t let you down, Reuben.”
The black man hesitated, then he stuck out his hand and clasped Jack’s forearm, and Jack returned the grip, feeling the strength and tension in the other man’s arm.
Reuben nodded once, looked at Sophia and said, “Missus,” and then he turned and walked into the twilight gloom.
Jack watched him until he disappeared into the woods.
“Jack—”
“Not now, Sophia.” He picked up the rifle. “I’m going back down to get our gear from the boat. We’ll camp here tonight. You stay—you’d just be in the way stumbling around in the dark.”
“You are going to leave me here, alone?” Sophia looked around at the woods.
“I won’t be gone any longer than it takes to travel to the boat and back. And I know you have your pistol on you. Just don’t use it on me.”
Jack looked over his shoulder and saw her inch closer to the fire and throw another stick on. When he got to the boat he took their bedding and other gear for the night, but then stood at the water’s edge, watching the river flow. A raccoon hunting for its supper among the cypress trees froze and looked at him, but apparently didn’t consider him much of a threat and went back to its search for insects and other edibles.
Jack stood there, thinking about Reuben’s situation, and what it cost him to have to turn to Jack for help. He sighed. It brought home to him why he couldn’t go back to farming his family’s land. No matter how much his mama told him it was his place as the eldest, he’d seen too much, traveled too far, to ever take up the reins of life as a Georgia farmer again.
With Garvey’s Gold he could leave that behind and focus on shipping. He just had to make sure he lived long enough to get his share. He almost wished he was as ruthless as his dainty little wife. It would make life easier if he could dump her body over the side.
But that wasn’t him, and it wasn’t what he wanted. Not anymore. He looked back at where the campsite was over the ridge. He needed to keep coaxing his little cat, show her that staying with him, warm and safe by his fireside, was better than roaming around, lost and alone.
* * *
Sophia poked at the fire. A nighthawk chirrupped as it hunted its supper, and she shivered, though it wasn’t cold. While she did firmly believe she’d walk through hell to get her money, it didn’t mean she had to like it, here where there were wild things that weren’t on the other side of walls, doors, and windows.
And there were too many unknowns out there, like random Indians coming to call. She shivered again as she thought of how the massive black Seminole had snuck up on them so quietly. She was used to danger, of a sort, but it was a more civilized danger, one in a setting where she knew the rules and people—and animals—were more predictable.
“Fifty thousand,” she muttered to herself. One could buy a great deal of creature comforts with fifty thousand pounds. Dresses, carriages, investment property…she could travel. She did enjoy seeing new places and people, and travel to Paris or Venice, not the backwoods of Florida, held an appeal.
So why did it have even more appeal when she considered those locations with Lucky Jack Burrell beside her? She savagely poked the fire, sending sparks shooting into the air. The idea of being Lady Whitfield had appeal, she admitted to herself, for the doors it would open in England and for the return of her family’s home.
The idea of Lord Whitfield putting his hands anywhere on her body held no appeal whatsoever.
But it wasn’t just that. Eliminating the baron from her future was surely a prudent course of action, no matter what lures he dangled in front of her. What bothered her, what really bothered her, was she now wanted a future with Jack in it.
It wasn’t just his lovemaking, though there was no denying he was skilled and made her body ache for release. No, it was that she was developing feelings for him. She liked seeing his face first thing in the morning and last thing at night, the way his mouth quirked up at the corner, how his eyes were sometimes gold, sometimes green, how he looked at her like she mattered to him.
The question was, how badly did she want that future? Badly enough to share the gold? Badly enough to tell him about Whitfield? Badly enough to let him walk away?
The snap of a breaking stick brought her hand to her gun, but it was Jack stepping into the light, and Sophia relaxed her tense shoulders.
“See any panthers while I was gone?”
“Panthers?” she squeaked.
“Large cat, about so high, sharp teeth and claws?” He held his hand up at about thigh height, or what would be substantially higher than thigh height on her body, bringing all kinds of soft, tender, vital parts into a panther’s reach.
“There are panthers here?”
Jack settled himself next to her, then looked around into the dark.
“Panthers, bobcats, alligators…did I forget to mention the blood-sucking bats?”
“You are making up that last part!”
“You’re right.” He smiled at her. “Mosquitoes, but not blood-sucking bats. Just small bats. If you move any closer you’re going to be in my lap.”
“Hmph,” Sophia said. “Likely that was your plan all along, Captain Burrell, to lure me closer with tales of wild creatures.”
“Looks like it worked,” he said, putting his arm around her. She rested her head on his shoulder.
They sat in silence while crickets and frogs filled the night with their own sounds, and then with a sigh, Jack prepared their bedrolls near the fire. It was a dry night and he didn’t bother erecting a shelter but placed their bedding side by side and then lay down.
“Jack?”
“Hmm?”
“What does Reuben want you to do?”
Jack was silent and Sophia waited.
“I will tell you in the morning.”
“Jack—”
“Go to sleep.”
She must have drifted off, because the next thing she knew an explosion of cawing with a barking finish brought her sitting straight up.
“What was that?”
“Owl. Go back to sleep.”
“An owl? Owls don’t sound like that, they make a ‘hoot’ sound. I have heard owls in England! That sounds like a wild, monster dog in the trees!”
“It’s an owl. Do not let your imagination run away with you.”
“How do you know it is not a panther?”
Jack sat up and scrubbed his hands over his face. “Sophia, I have heard panthers and I have heard owls. That is an owl. You insisted I accompany you on this lunatic treasure hunt because I know the land. I know a hawk from a handsaw and an owl from a panther. Now, go to sleep!”
“Do not blame me if we are nothing but bones by morning,” Sophia grumbled, but she lay down beside him again, snuggling closer. He rolled over and fitted himself to her, spoon fashion.
After a few moments she said, “You are not asleep.”
“Yes, I am.”
“No, you are not. You are poking me from behind.”
“I can do that in my sleep.”
Something made a sound, a high-pitched bark. It didn’t sound like it was coming from Jack, behind her.
“What was that?”
“Panther—No, don’t jump up!” Jack rolled over on top of her, pushing her down on her belly as he scanned the darkness surrounding the little campsite. Sophia could feel him atop her, every inch of him hard and ready. She frowned to herself. If they were in imminent danger, would he be aroused?
The minutes ticked by in silence. She heard the night sounds, the insects and, farther in the woods, an owl that hooted like an owl was supposed to hoot. While her ears strained for any more noises that could be cause by large toothed cats, Jack’s hand was not on his weapon—either of them—but was on her backside, his fingers stroking beneath her shirt and her trousers.
“Jack—”
“Shhhh…” he breathed into her ear. “We don’t want to attract attention. You must be very, very quiet…no matter what.”
She ignored this, but looked over her shoulder at him.
“There is no panther! You are just saying that to get inside my pants. I can feel—get your fingers off my buttons!”
He looked down at her and she could not see his expression as his face was shadowed from the fire behind them, but she swore there was an all too familiar gleam in his eye.
“You’re right, that was another owl. I can tell I am not going to get any sleep tonight unless I distract you, Sophia. You don’t think about panthers when I touch you here, do you?”
He punctuated his question by slipping his fingers inside her now unbuttoned trousers, stroking the soft flesh inside the placket. She could feel his hand, calloused and muscled, parting her damp curls and moving lightly across her swollen folds.
“But what about the…oh!…panthers?”
She looked over her shoulder again and saw the gleam of his teeth in the firelight. He positioned her on her hands and knees, and moved himself behind her, clasping her to him with his arm across her midriff.
“Now, you watch for panthers, Sophia. If you see any, you be sure to call out.”
His voice dropped and took on that husky timbre that acted like a feather stroking across her nerves, tingling and exciting her, knowing how she affected him.
“I cannot believe you are doing this when wild animals could attack at any moment!” She would have said more, but her words trailed off in a moan as Jack caressed her breasts from beneath, pulling up on her shirt until it was bunched under her arms and around her neck. She wore no undergarments and he made a noise of approval when he discovered she was bare and there would be less work for him.
“Your front is delightful, but your back has a certain charm—no, don’t look over at me, keep watching for panthers. I will let you know what I’m doing.”
He demonstrated this by licking his way down her back, from the nape of her neck down past the shirt, outlining the vertebrae of her spine. It was a sensation that made her arch her back, the combination of heat from his mouth and the air cooling where he licked, sending a shiver down that spine he caressed with his tongue. She had never thought of her back as an especially sensitive spot, but his agile tongue demonstrated otherwise, as his fingers explored her in front.
“Not being able to get to those pert little breasts with my mouth presents me with an opportunity to explore other territory.”
She really didn’t know how he could carry on a conversation while he was exploring her. For her part, all Sophia felt capable of at the moment was the occasional moan, a quick intake of breath and wiggling when he found a particularly sensitive area.
She thought she knew all she needed to know about relations between men and women. That it was intimate, and brought people closer, and sometimes there would be a delightful sensation of completion at the end.
Now she knew she’d known very little, that it took Lucky Jack Burrell to teach her how a man’s hands—this man’s hands—roaming on her body could bring her alive and fill her with a burning longing she couldn’t satisfy on her own.
And it scared her to think he might be the only man who could satisfy that longing deep within her core, that he’d become the only man who could rouse her body to a climax so complete she felt as limp and boneless and light as a feather-stuffed pillow.
He lowered his head to kiss her at the juncture of her neck and shoulder and she inhaled his scent, the clean pine woods and man smell of him. The tips of his hair brushed across her neck, coaxing her to feel more, deepening the way her senses came alive to everything going on, the slight breeze drifting through the clearing, the smell of the fire and the glow of the stars filling the sky over their heads.
“Can you feel how much I want you, Sophia, how much I need to be inside you?” he asked throatily. He pulled her back against him and she felt him, freed from the confinement of his breeches, and then he was sliding between her still clothed legs, pushing the material up against her swollen folds, giving her stimulation, but only a simulation of what it would be when there was nothing separating them, and he whispered that in her ear, using graphic language that made her gasp as it aroused her.
She wiggled against him and the hand cupping her breast squeezed, but if that was supposed to be a warning to stop, it didn’t serve its purpose. It made her want to rub herself against him again, and rub her legs together to ease the tension building there.
“Jack—” she whispered fiercely.
He put his mouth right next to her ear.
“If you don’t want to rouse the panthers out in the woods, you should be very still and very quiet,” he whispered back.
There was a rustling sound in the trees ahead of them and Sophia froze, but Jack seized the opportunity to pull on her trousers, yanking them down to her ankles. She felt a draft on her exposed bottom as Jack anchored her to the ground by leaning his body against hers, the hand holding her breast also keeping her tight against him. She tried to squirm away but he brought his other hand around to cup her mound and she was trapped, held up against him by the hands holding her, the body behind her rocking lightly against her. Now she no longer wanted to move away from him, but wanted to feel him against her, inside her, filling her.
Jack obliged. He kissed her neck, small bites nipping at her, softer and lighter than a hummingbird sipping nectar, while he continued to caress her.
“When I’m inside you,” he breathed into her ear, “you’re going to want to scream. Better not do that, sweetheart. We don’t want to spook the panthers. You’re not going to move,” he ordered, “no matter what, you’re going to stay still.”
She would have protested this high-handed treatment except he was moving his hand off her breast and covering her mouth. She stuck her tongue out and licked at him, his palm, up and down his salty fingers, and she heard him groan behind her, which brought a smile to her lips, one she knew he could feel behind his palm.
“You’ll pay for that, witch!” he growled, and she felt him yanking at his trousers, his hand brushing against her, then he was lifting her leg and probing at her entrance from behind. Her breathing speeded up and she panted lightly behind the hand covering her mouth, muffling the small sounds she made as he eased himself in, just as quietly and slowly as he could, not making a sound, not even when her hand grabbed the hand at her belly and gripped it convulsively, feeling the hard sinews and muscled warmth.
It took an eternity until he was fully inside her, stretching her, filling her in a way that was almost uncomfortable, yet unbearably exciting. She thought she would die if he didn’t move, if she didn’t move, and then she felt it, his hips rocking against hers, a languid, slow, drawn-out movement that would bring him almost all the way out, and then gliding back into her.
Sophia moaned, which earned her another, “Shhhhh…,” but she could feel the tension in the arms gripping her, and while his slide through her senses was exquisite, it wasn’t nearly enough. She took the hand low on her belly and positioned his fingers where she wanted them, her hand covering his so she could show him how she wanted him to press down there while she pressed up. He followed direction well, only losing his rhythm when muscles she didn’t know she had tightened around him, gripping him. She didn’t think they could be closer than they were already with him inside her and wrapped around her and covering her with his hard leanness.
Then he whispered, “Now, kitten, come now,” and bit her where her neck and shoulder met. She arched up against his hands and rocked against him until the release overtook her and she felt him clench and pull out and spend himself onto the ground.
He held onto her until her breathing returned to normal, then took his hand off her mouth. She felt him redoing his buttons behind her, and she wiggled and pulled at her trousers until she was decently covered again.
“Now go to sleep,” was all Jack said, and while Sophia wanted to give him a good piece of her mind, she fell asleep as she was framing the rousing tirade she’d unload on him on the morrow.
* * *
Birdsong and the sky lightening to a pearly gray brought her awake. She was surprised she’d slept at all, but felt amazingly well rested. Jack was already up and had water set to boil over the fire for their morning tea.
“I was sorry to learn you can’t cook, Sophia. Guess it will be up to me to make sure we don’t starve on this trip.”
His actions backed up his words. He was cutting up some of the meat from the night before and when the water boiled he made them tea, then threw grits in the remaining water to cook.
“You stir those grits so they don’t stick to the pan.”
He rummaged through the pack and brought out a paper packet.
“Here. I took some sugar because I know that’s how you take your tea.”
Sophia took the packet from him and looked at it, then at him.
“That was thoughtful of you, Jack.”
“You don’t have to be so surprised. Being thoughtful—hasn’t anyone ever done something for you just to make you happy?”
She turned the packet over in her hands and looked down at it, not at him. “Yes, but it is always—unexpected.”
He squatted down next to her and put his fingers beneath her chin, tilting her head up so she looked at him. “Maybe it’s time you learned to expect—and accept.”
He kissed her on the lips, then rose to go pack up their bedding and supplies.
They spent the morning walking around the old mission, but found nothing that looked like it could be a clue to the location of the gold. Sophia was feeling frustrated and angry, more so than she would have been had they not found the initial clue and the doubloons.
“Where is the damn lock for this key?” she finally yelled.
Jack lifted his hat and wiped the sweat from his brow before putting it back on.
“We’ll look for it later. We have to return to St. Augustine.”
“What? Why? We cannot return to the city until we find the next clue or the gold!”
“We have to go back. There’s someone there we have to fetch for Reuben.”
“But what about the treasure?”
“This is important, too, Sophia.” Jack’s words were clipped and his lips drawn tight. “I owe Reuben, and I am not going to put off my debt to him.”
“But the gold, Jack—”
“Is money all you ever think about?” he snapped. “Money can’t buy happiness!”
She stalked up to him and stood almost toe to toe.
“That is a lie,” she hissed. “Forget your stupid platitudes, Lucky Jack. Let me tell you what happiness is: Happiness is a roof over your head that doesn’t let the rain in. Happiness is enough fuel to keep fires burning in the winter. Happiness is having food to eat, clothes to wear, shoes on your feet, and servants who are paid a decent wage. Happiness is money for the physician and coins for medicine when your mother is dying! That is happiness, Captain Burrell, and with Garvey’s Gold I can buy all the happiness I want!
“Don’t you dare pity me,” she sobbed, taking a swing at the hand he reached out to her, but he caught her clenched fist and pulled her to him.
“Oh, Sophia, Sophia,” he whispered in her hair. “There is so much happiness I want to give to you, and not an ounce of it can be purchased with money.”
She gave in to her frustration and her feelings and let it all out, the fear that was always in her mind, wondering if there would be food tomorrow, coal tomorrow, shelter tomorrow. Jack whispered soothing words to her but she barely noticed, because what was important was he was holding her, rocking her gently, making her feel warm and protected in the circle of his arms. It made her feel cherished.
It made her feel loved.
She sobbed harder.
He held her while she cried herself out. It had been a long time coming, and he seemed to understand.
She sniffed and gave a watery chuckle, wiping her sleeve across her face.
“Most men would run screaming into the river rather than deal with a weeping woman,” she said hoarsely.
“I have sisters. You get used to it.”
“Jack, what are we going to do?”
He didn’t pretend not to understand.
“I don’t know, Sophia.” He leaned down and pressed a kiss to the top of her curls. “I just don’t know.”