Page 106 of The Worst of Them

Jack came to her and pushed a strand of hair out of her face. He touched her often, now that he could, and each brush of his skin made her heart kick like it was the first time she’d ever been touched at all.

“Plainly,” he said. “But perhaps on another day when he’s bound to be in a better mood.”

She reached for her ring. “Should I take this off?”

He caught her hand, stilling her fingers. “No. We have nothing to hide. We just won’t offer until the time is right. Besides, he’s unlikely to notice.”

Good. She didn’t want to take it off anyway.

He pulled her hand closer, bringing it to his chest. “And Cecily?”

She met his gaze.

“While he may not be easily convinced of things, I also won’t be swayed,” he assured her. “It’s important to me that you know that, because he is going to say we are fools. He’s going to be unkind, but I am not afraid or doubtful. You are worth it to me.”

Behind his eyes, she could see the fears he’d told her about the night before—that she might resent him. His father would not make it easy for either of them.

But Cecily had nothing else, nor did she want anyone other than Jack.

“You’re worth it to me too,” she said. Copson scared her, to be sure, but she could face him with Jack by her side. The captain’s animosity wouldn’t be anything new.

There had been tension in Jack’s shoulders, which she only noticed when they finally relaxed. “Good,” he replied. Without letting go of her hand, his attention fell to her shirt. Then he met her gaze again, his eyes questioning. “Is that my shirt?”

“Mine didn’t have sleeves,” she said without apology. “Or much of anything. You don’t mind, do you?”

He studied her for a moment, then broke into a slight smile. “I don’t mind,” he finally said, and his thumb stroked over the ring on her finger. “Have anything you like of mine.”

25

THE DEATH OF A PIRATE

Copson’s crew had already descended on Robin’s ramshackle house.

Pirates swarmed the place, pocketing everything of value, of which there seemed to be little. As Cecily trailed behind Jack through the small home, she was reminded of what Frederick had said—if this man had such a treasure as rumor suggested, why would he live in a place like this?

A thick layer of dust coated every surface, and dirt was scattered over the creaking floorboards. There wasn’t much furniture to boast of, and what was there was broken and sagging.

The rooms smelled like old age and death.

They didn’t find the captain until they reached a bedroom at the back of the house, where Copson stood by a window with his arms folded tightly over his chest.

Cecily lingered by the door while Jack strode in. Until he found appropriate time to tell his father about their marriage, she would stay out of the captain’s way as much as she could.

A wet, rattling cough came from the corner of the room. An old man laid prone in a bed covered by thin blankets, his skin sallow and beard tangled. His eyes were closed and his chest rose and fell in shallow, uneven breaths.

Captain Robin, who’d allegedly stolen so much loot as to earn the hatred of two generations of Copsons, didn’t look so very evil as he lay dying with no one to care for him.

Her heart twinged at the sight.

“Nothing?” Jack said to Copson.

“Nothing,” the captain said, watching the old man.

“Threats?” Jack asked.

“Tried,” replied his father.

“Promises,” he suggested instead.