Page 69 of The Worst of Them

It was fully night by the time they all returned the inn. With a kiss to her hand, Hein left for the city while the others split off, heading for the cove and leaving Jack and Cecily.

Alone. Together. Yet again.

Jack had the decency to let her climb to the second floor of the inn in silence, but as Cecily shoved her key into the lock of her door, his shadow fell over her.

He extended a coin between them. “Five minutes,” he said, his smooth voice close and quiet.

She eyed the gold. She’d rather not speak to him at all, but she also wondered what he could possibly have to say to her. “Three minutes,” she said.

“Four.”

She risked meeting his gaze, her expression stony. “Two.”

He grimaced. “Fine.” He spoke quickly as she pocketed the gold. “Greyson said Hester’s worried about Hein.”

Cecily leaned against her door. She hadn’t been ignorant to her friend’s disapproving looks all evening. After all Hester had said about her first husband’s flattery and quiet cruelties, she wasn’t surprised that Hein hadn’t won any favor with her.

“Consider me warned,” Cecily said, speaking slowly to spend the seconds of their truce.

“I’m not warning you,” he said plainly. “I’m telling you what to expect. He’ll entertain you if you let him, but he cares more for his ambition than anything else. He’ll take you to bed, but he won’t keep you there, so if you desire anything more than that, don’t expect it from him.”

She ripped her gaze from his, mumbling, “Dear God, Jack,” as heat raced up her neck. She glanced down the hall behind him for anyone who might have overheard.

He didn’t bear even a hint of chagrin. “Forgive my bluntness, but you only gave me two minutes.”

“I’m not bedding him. I’ve only known him for a single afternoon. Fay said he’s a friend to you all.”

“He’s a friend as long as he likes you, but people don’t mean much to him. He’ll be a hell of a captain someday, and he won’t have to work very hard to get there.”

“I’m so glad to hear it,” she replied, letting impatience leak into the words. “You have one minute. Anything else?”

His gaze lowered, taking in her hair, her face, her chest, her skirt. His nostrils flared—he was close enough to smell her perfume, and when he lifted his gaze back to hers, his eyes had darkened. “Where’s the knife?”

“I won’t give it to you, truce or not.” She shifted her weight, pressing the knife in her skirt against the door. “I really got it for your sake, so I’m not so damn difficult.”

His eyes narrowed into slits. “I still have time on this truce.”

“Barely. I didn’t mean it as an insult anyway. I thought it would be a kindness.” Her heart pounded, but she didn’t feel overwhelmed as she had the day before—a credit to the money she’d spent and the beauty she’d reclaimed. “I’m no trouble at all when I feel safe. Isn’t that how you put it?”

It took a moment for understanding to dawn on him—and then his expression shuttered altogether. “Eavesdropping?” he asked, his tone biting. The time had run out, and their truce was over.

“It’s not eavesdropping when you leave the door open,” she countered. “I only came to return the sword, though I had half a mind to give it to your father and tell him you forgot.”

“Am I supposed to thank you?”

“Why don’t you try it? It might make me friendly. Manageable.” She pushed away from the door to lean close, her eyes going to the scar on his cheek. “Fun.”

His jaw tightened. “Is this why you were upset the other night? Because you overheard a conversation you had no context for?”

“And if I’d had context, would it have changed the truth of what you said?”

“Which part are you most angry about?” he asked, pivoting the conversation.

She laughed harshly. “Do you plan to apologize? Why? So that I might follow you into your room instead of Hector’s?”

A shadow fell over his face. “Stop it.”

“Stop what?”