"No. Yours was just the first ship heading to this side of the world, one that wasn't English, that is, and I was too impatient to wait for another. Had I known you were English—"

"We're not going to start that again, are we?"

"No." She laughed. "And what about you? Are you returning to Jamaica, or just visiting?"

"Both. It was my home for a long time, but I've decided to return to England for good, so I need to settle my affairs in Jamaica."

"Oh," she said, aware of the disappointment his answer brought her, but she hoped he didn't detect it.

She shouldn't have assumed he'd be staying in Jamaica just because Mac had said the vessel was out of the West Indies. Jamaica, at least, had been an acceptable place she could come back to. England shenever wanted to see again. Of course, this voyage wasn't over, and yet— Georgina shook herself mentally. What was she thinking? That there might be a future for her with this man? She knew how impossible that was, that her family would never accept him. And she wasn't even sure what she felt for him, other than passion.

"So you won't be in the islands long?" she concluded.

"Not long a'tall. The chap on a neighboring plantation there has been after me to sell him mine for some time. I likely could have handled the matter through correspondence."

Then they'd never have met a second time, she thought. "I'm glad you decided to see to it personally."

"So am I, dear girl. And your own destination?"

"Home, of course. New England."

"Not immediately, I hope."

She shrugged, leaving him to draw his own conclusion. It depended on him, but she wasn't brazen enough to say so. Actually, it also depended on how soon a Skylark vessel would be in port, but there was no reason to tell him that. That was something she didn't want to think about yet. And to get his own mind off it, she put him in checkmate.

"Bloody hell," he said, looking at what she'd just done. "Very clever, George, to distract me into losing."

"Me!? With you asking all the questions? I like that," she huffed. "Just like a man to find excuses for getting beat by a woman."

He chuckled and lifted her across to his side of the bed. "I said nothing about questions, you darling girl.

It's this luscious body of yours that's been the distraction, for which I don't mind losing a'tall."

"I'm wearing my shirt," she protested.

"But nothing else."

"You should talk, with this skimpy robe," she said, fingering the silky material.

"Was it distracting?"

"I refuse to answer that."

He feigned amazement. "By God, don't tell me you're finally at a loss for words. I was beginning to think I was losing my touch."

"To render people speechless with your drollery?"

"Quite so. And as long as I've got you speechless, love . . ."

She meant to tell him that he wasn't as merciless with his wit as he liked to think, at least not all the time, but she got distracted again.

Chapter Twenty-five

It was difficult to keep up the pretense of being Georgie MacDonell, cabin boy, when Georgina was with James outside of his cabin. And more and more as the days passed and they neared the West Indies, he wanted her with him on deck, by his side, or just nearby where he could keep an eye on her.

What was most difficult, she'd found, was keeping what she was feeling out of her expression, and especially out of her eyes, which would fill either with tenderness or passion whenever she looked at James.

Yes, it was difficult, but she was managing, at least she thought she was managing. She had to wonder sometimes, though, if some of his crew didn't know or suspect, when they'd smile or nod at her in passing, or give her a good-day greeting, these men who had previously barely noticed her. Even the cantankerous Artie, and the grouchy Frenchman, Henry, were more courteous to her now. Of course, time breeds familiarity, and she'd been on the ship almost a month now. That the crew should have gotten used to her in that amount of time was to be expected, she supposed. And the only reason she was

hoping that her pretense was still working was for Mac's sake . . . well, actually for her own sake, since she knew exactly what kind of reaction she'd get from him if he knew she'd accepted James Malory as her lover. He'd fly through the roof, as James would say, and with reason. She still sometimes doubted that it was true herself.

But it was true. James was her lover now, in every sense of the word except one—he didn't actually love her. But he did want her. There was no doubt of that. And she did want him. She hadn't even tried to deny it again after that second time she'd succumbed to his gentle persuasion. She'd told herself in plain terms that a man like this only happened once in a girl's lifetime, if even that. So why, for God's sake, couldn't she enjoy him while she had this chance to? They'd be parting soon enough, at journey's end, he to settle his affairs in the islands, and she to return home on the first Skylark ship to put in to Jamaica. But she'd be going home to what? Just existing again, as she'd been doing for the last six years, just living day by day, without excitement, without a man in her life, just memories of one. At least this time, of this man, her memories would be the stuff of dreams and fantasies.

So she told herself, but in truth, she tried not to think of their parting, which was inevitable. That would only ruin the here-and-now, and she didn't want to do that. She wanted instead to savor every minute that she spent with her "reprehensible rake."

She savored him right now, leaning back against the rail on the quarterdeck with nothing to do but watch him. He bent over charts, discussing their course with Connie, for the moment ignoring her. She was supposed to be there to carry messages for him, though he rarely sent her off to do so, merely relaying such messages to Connie, who would in turn boom them across the deck to whomever they were intended for.

She didn't mind being ignored right then. It gave her a chance to calm down from James's last glance her way, which had been so heated and full of promises of what he would do to her as soon as they returned to his cabin, that anyone else who looked at her would have thought she'd had too much sun that morning, she flushed so with pleasure. Morning, noon, night; their lovemaking followed no schedule.

When he wanted her, he let her know in no uncertain terms, and no matter the time of day, she was most willing to comply.

Georgina Anderson, you have become a shameless hussy.

She merely grinned to her conscience. I know, and I'm enjoying every minute of it, thank you.

She was, oh, how she was, and how she loved to just watch him like this, and experience her "nausea"

to the fullest, knowing that he'd soon cure it in his special way. He'd discarded his jacket. The wind was brisk but warm as they neared Caribbean waters, and it played with his pirate's shirt, as she'd come to think of those full-sleeved, laced-up-the-front tunics he liked to sport, and made him look so wickedly handsome in combination with his single gold earring, tight breeches, and knee-high boots. The wind loved him, caressed those powerful limbs of his, as she wanted to do ... Was she supposed to be calming down?

In self-defense, just so she wouldn't be tempted to drag him off to their cabin as he'd done so many times to her in recent days, Georgina turned seaward and saw the ship in the distance at the precise moment that the warning came down from the crow's nest. Well, there was nothing unusual in that.

They'd passed several other vessels at sea. They'd also had another trailing them as this one was, though they'd lost sight of that ship after a brief storm. But this one was different, according to the next information shouted down by the lookout. Pirates.

Georgina stood very still, gripping the rail, hoping the lad above would call down that he'd made a mistake. Her brothers had all had encounters with pirates in one way or another over the many years they'd been sailing the seas. But she did not want to make it a unanimous family custom. And dear Lord, James carried no cargo, just ballast. Nothing could get bloodthirsty pirates angrier than to discover their prize had an empty hold.

"Obliging, ain't they, to give us a little diversion?" she heard Connie remark behind her to James. "Do you want to play with them first, or come about and wait?"

"Waiting would only confuse them, don't you think?" James replied.

"Confusion has its advantages."

"Quite so."

Georgina turned around slowly. It wasn't just the words that shocked her, but the calm nonchalance in their tones. They both had spyglasses trained on the approaching vessel, but to listen to them, neither seemed the least bit concerned. That was taking English imperturbability a bit too blasted far. Didn'tthey realize the danger?

James happened to lower his spyglass then and glance at her, and in that second before he schooled his

features upon noticing her upset, she saw that he wasn't nonchalant at all. The man had looked eager, delighted even, that a pirate ship was bearing down on them. And she realized that it had to be the challenge that inspired him, an opportunity to pit his seamanship skills against an adversary, regardless that that adversary might be out to murder him if he lost, rather than wish him better luck next time.

"Actually, Connie," he said, without taking his eyes from Georgina. "I think we'll just take a leaf from young Eden's book and thumb our noses at them as we sail away."

"Sail away? Without firing a single shot?"

The first mate sounded incredulous. Georgina didn't glance his way to see if he looked it, too. Her eyes were caught by bright green ones that wouldn't let go.

"And need I remind you," Connie added, "that you almost killed that young pup Eden for thumbing his nose at you?"

James merely shrugged, still with his eyes holding Georgina's, and his words going right to her center.

"Nonetheless, I'm not in a mood to play . . . with them."

Connie finally followed his gaze, then snorted. ""You could think of the rest of us. We don't have our own personal diversions aboard, you know."

He sounded so disgruntled that James laughed, but it didn't stop him from grabbing Georgina's hand and heading for the stairs. "Just lose them, Connie, and try to do it without me, will you?"

James didn't wait for an answer. He was off the quarterdeck and moving briskly down the next set of stairs before Georgina could draw breath to question his intentions. But she should have known what they were. He pulled her inside his cabin and was kissing her even as the door slammed shut behind them. He'd found an outlet for the blood-rushing excitement that had briefly flared when he'd contemplated battle. And he found this outlet just as pleasurable, and went after it just as ruthlessly, as he would have waged the battle.

The battle? For God's sake, there were pirates in their wake! How could he possibly think of

makinglove now?

"James!"

She pulled her lips away from him, but he didn't stop kissing her. He just changed locations. Her neck.

And then lower.

"You would have challenged pirates!" she said accusingly, even as her heavy vest dropped to the floor behind her. "Do you know how foolhardy that is? No, wait, not my shirt!"

Her shirt was gone. So were her bindings. So swiftly! She'd never seen him this . . . this impassioned, impatient.

"James, this is serious!"

"I beg to differ, love," he said as he lifted her so his mouth had direct access to her br**sts while he bore her backward to the bed. "That is a nuisance. This is serious."

His mouth closed over one breast to leave her in no doubt as to what this was, nor did his mouth leave her as he stripped off the rest of her clothes, and his own. He had a wonderful mouth; God, did he have a wonderful mouth. No one could say James Malory wasn't a magnificent lover who knew exactly what he was about. Well, not everyone could know that, but she was in a position to know at the moment, a very nice position to know.

"But, James," she tried one more time, weakly though, to remind him about the pirates.

His tongue was dipping into her navel when he said, between laves, "Not another bloody word, George, unless they're love words."

"What kind of love words?"

" 'I like what you're doing, James. More, James. Lower . . . James.' " She gasped as he did move lower, and he added, "That will do, too. Ah, love, you're already hot and wet for me, aren't you?"

"Are . . . those your . . . love words?" She could barely speak, the pleasure was so intense.

"Do they make you want me inside you?"

"Yes!"

"Then they'll do." He caught his breath as he entered her, swiftly, deeply, his hands cupping her derriere, bringing her up to take all of him. "For now."

Fortunately, the pirates were left far behind, but Georgina couldn't have cared less anymore.

Chapter Twenty-six

"Your carriage just arrived, James," Connie announced from the open doorway.

"There's no hurry. With that congestion out there, I'd just as soon wait until the wagons loading that American vessel in the next berth clear off the quay. Come join me for a drink, old man."

They'd docked several hours ago. Georgina had packed James's trunks that morning, but he hadn't told her yet that she would be staying at his plantation. He wanted to surprise her with the grandeur of his island home, and then tonight, over a candlelit dinner of Jamaican delicacies, he was going to ask her to be his mistress.

Connie crossed the room to stand next to the desk, looking out windows that showed a clear view of the American ship and the activity going on as it prepared to set sail. "She looks familiar, don't she?"