His Wicked Kiss by Gaelen Foley Page B

partial sail while the quartermaster made his patient soundings off the bow, on constant watch for rocks beneath the surface.
    A smattering of some twenty small islands dotted the seas around Trinidad and Tobago ; shallows and reefs surrounded most of them. Only when the
Winds
reached the edge of the continental border, where the shallow coastal waters dropped away into the abyss, would Jack give the order for full sail and full speed ahead.
    For now, standing arms akimbo near the helmsman, smoking a cheroot, he passed a glance across the starry sky. “How reads the barometer, Mr. Clark?”
    “Stable, Captain,” the ship’s master replied.
    Jack nodded. “Steady as she goes, boys,” he murmured to the crew, strolling restlessly from the quarterdeck toward the bow. Canine claws ticked along right behind him over the spotlessly clean planks, as his faithful mutt, Rudy, shadowed his steps.
    The product of a bulldog’s illicit liaison with an English White terrier, Rudy was stocky and thick-set and low to the ground, fearless despite being only as high as Jack’s knee.
    He trotted across the decks as if he owned the ship, or rather the whole of the sea. Rudy had a short white coat, a black circle around one eye as though he had been in a brawl, a very silly-looking Roman nose, and the soul of a clown. The dog, in short, was the best friend he’d ever had, but Jack Knight was not the sort of man to admit such things.
    “Sir, we’ve just reached a hundred feet of depth,” the quartermaster confirmed from his post on the bow, having just pulled up his sounding lines.
    “Excellent.” Jack’s smile broadened. “Make sail, boys. Let’s head for the middle latitudes and rope ourselves a westerly.”
    The crew muffled their answering cheer and eagerly ascended the stiff rope ladders of the rigging.
    Exhaling smoke, Jack tilted his head back and watched them climb out onto the yards with unflinching bravery despite the ship’s constant wide rocking and the action of the wind.
    In four minutes flat, they unfurled the rest of the magnificent vessel’s full two acres of pearly canvas, gleaming and magical in the moonlight.
    It always took Jack’s breath away to see her come to life with the breath of the wind filling her sails. “She’s a beauty, is she not, Lieutenant?”
    Peabody smiled at him in perfect understanding of his sentiments. “Aye, Captain.”
    “Carry on,” he said at length, leaving the watch in the second lieutenant’s able hands.
    Drifting to the rails, Jack gazed down rather broodingly into the foaming wake off the bow, easy with the
Winds’
familiar rocking as she ploughed on through the waves and sent up plumes of brisk spray.
    Far below, a few dolphins plunged merrily alongside them, their slick hides gleaming in the moonlight. It was a good omen and all had gone smoothly, yet Jack’s mood was a little pensive.
    Regret gnawed him. The forlorn image of Eden Farraday left standing alone on the dock stayed vivid in his mind. He wished he could have helped her, but, no. As usual, Jack Knight had been cast in the role of villain. He let out a sigh and shook his head. He decided he would go back and check on her again when he came back to deliver his mercenaries to Bolivar. Next time, he would get her out of there whether her father liked it or not.
    And if that blond chap tried pointing a gun in his direction again, Jack thought grimly, he would deal with him, too.
    An insistent whine from below drew his distracted attention just then. When he glanced down, he saw Rudy standing beside him with his favorite stick clamped between his jaws, his tail wagging eagerly.
    With a rueful smile, Jack took the stick out of the dog’s mouth and heaved it toward the stern in a long throw.
    “Fetch,” he muttered, but Rudy needed no such instruction, already scampering after his prize as though the bit of timber were worth its weight in gold.
    * * *
    For a week, Eden had endured the inky cargo hold. She hid in