The Uncompromising Lord Flint. Virginia Heath
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once she had her freedom. Search out their families and send them money—not that she had any—but she would earn it and she would share it with them. Make amends as best she could. Right now she could not indulge her sadness or her guilt. Right now she had to plan, because if Saint-Aubin caught her then his revenge didn’t bear thinking about—and she knew without a doubt she couldn’t bear it again. Because despite all the talk, all the bravado and all the defiance, she wasn’t strong enough—and he knew it. Jess ruthlessly set aside the spectre of that retribution and forced her mind to focus.
When the guards had first come to fetch her earlier, Jess had purposely sauntered to Lord Flint’s cabin. She had gazed at the clear blue sky, sniffed the sea breeze and trailed her fingers lazily along the wooden railings. In part it had been purposeful dawdling—her rebellious nature wouldn’t give anyone the satisfaction of seeing her jump to attention—but she was also taking careful stock. The size of the deck, the number of sailors, the position of the openings used for the gangplanks. When she had been brought on board bound, kicking and screaming, it had been dark. The frantic scan she’d made then had been superficial and she didn’t trust it to save her skin when the time came to run—or swim. Jess needed to be prepared for every eventuality should an opportunity to escape present itself.
Several seamen, shirtless and dressed in only the striped breeches from their uniforms in deference to the glorious spring sunshine, paused in their work to watch her. Jess memorised every interested face as she purposely undulated past, maintaining eye contact with the boldest with the knowing half-smile she had often seen her ridiculously beautiful mother deploy to great effect. Jess wasn’t averse to flirting her way to freedom, not when it had proved to be an invaluable tool already. She might have little in common with the woman who had birthed her, then selfishly ripped her from her life and plunged her into a new world of war and danger, but if everyone who had known her then and commented upon it was to be believed, Jess was the spitting image.
Before her polite interrogation had begun, she had also memorised the layout of his cabin. It was spacious and bright and airy. Two large windows flooded the space with light. Windows which had hinges and latches and opened on to the ocean. Windows she could just about fit through. All she needed to do was think of a way to be alone with one of those windows before the ship reached its destination.
That created a whole new problem.
Jess had been denied knowledge of the port they were headed to now they had finally left Cherbourg, so had no idea how long the crossing would take. She also had no way of correctly knowing the time without asking the guards. After her indulgent long bath and painful visit with the emotionless Mr Flint, all she could estimate with some certainty was that several hours had passed since they had set sail.
From what she recalled of the journey all those years ago when she had been dragged to France, it had taken for ever. But a child’s concept of time was very different from an adult’s. She knew Saint-Aubin’s ships made the crossing easily overnight, leaving in the early evening, unloading in the small hours when it was less likely they would be seen and blithely returning home during the morning. If one bore that in mind, she was now probably closer to English waters than French. She needed a plan immediately.
Half an hour and much pacing later she called for the guards. ‘I wish to speak to Monsieur Flint. Tout de suite! Take me to him!’
‘I can fetch him.’ The toothless sailor folded his arms belligerently. ‘Then again perhaps I can’t. I don’t take orders from you, traitor.’
‘Suit yourself. But I shall tell his lordship you refused to allow him to hear my confession when we dock. I doubt he will take it well. He is an important man, non? One your Captain takes orders from...’
As she had hoped the man scurried off and several fraught minutes ticked by before he returned. ‘Lord Flint will see you in his cabin.’
Jess stood patiently while the sailor unlocked the bars and allowed him to grab her upper arm without tugging it away or complaining. Only her complete compliance would lull him into a false sense of security. That and the shameless display of flesh on show. She had rolled up the breeches to sit on her knee. All the spare fabric in the billowing shirt had been gathered up so that her figure was on full show and the upper swells of her breasts were clearly visible above the wide V of the open collar. He had allowed her to linger on the deck the last time because his shipmates had enjoyed the spectacle of a scantily clad woman. For her plan to succeed, she needed to be a spectacle once again.
He climbed the steep steps first and offered his hand down the hatch to assist her. She took it with her mother’s smile, making sure she emerged into the late afternoon sunlight gracefully. Then took a moment to stretch.
Men were such predictable creatures. Every eye swivelled to her, raking her body up and down. Some had the good grace to be surreptitious. Most openly ogled. One bold seaman winked and she winked back, causing much bawdy laughter and back slapping. To them she was sport and did not deserve the gentlemanly good manners reserved for ladies. One or two made rude gestures in the air, miming what they would like to do to her. Beyond, the Captain and his officers joined in the laughter. They wanted to humiliate her, too.
That was fine by Jess. Humiliation had gone hand in hand with incarceration for over a year, yet they had all failed to crush her soul. For this next bit to work, she needed them to be lusty dogs.
A burly man near the rail played right into her hands. ‘If you get lonesome down in the brig or fancy making it your last request, I’d be happy to keep you company.’ He raised his eyebrows suggestively. ‘A decent bit of English might do you good after all those Frenchies.’ He bucked his hips, the message clear.
She let her eyes take in the broad chest and muscled, folded arms before shrugging off her toothless chaperon and walking slowly towards him.
‘What is your name, handsome?’
Flint heard the whooping and catcalling and shot to his feet. Whatever she had done, he couldn’t sit by and allow the crew to abuse her like that. He was still riddled with misplaced guilt for reminding her she would be hanged. There had been genuine terror in her lovely eyes then and that fear, and the knowledge he had put it there, did not make him feel like much of a man. His fingers reached the door handle the same moment the noises beyond changed from bawdy to shocked, as the laughter quickly turned to what sounded like blind panic.
He strode on deck into chaos. The entire crew seemed to have simultaneously run starboard. All along the rail, men clamoured to peer over the edge. Those that couldn’t find a spot ran left and right like startled deer. ‘What the blazes is going on?’ He caught the arm of an officer.
‘The prisoner has escaped!’
As they were in the middle of the English Channel it didn’t take a genius to work out where the minx had escaped to. Even so, Flint pushed his way to the rail and was rewarded with the sight of Lady Jessamine speeding through the waves. The blasted woman swam like a fish.
Next to him, he could hear the Captain issuing rapid orders. A couple of sailors were in the midst of lowering a rowing boat. Another was untangling the ladder to toss over the side. Someone else was hunting down rope. She had caught them on the hop and now the lot of them were behaving like headless chickens without a single working brain between them. Meanwhile, she was putting some serious distance between herself and the frigate.
On a withering sigh, Flint shrugged out of his coat and tugged off his boots. Catching her was the first priority. He’d worry about getting her back on the boat afterwards. As soon as the last button was undone on his waistcoat he dragged himself to sit atop the rail to stare in disgust at the briny water below. Lord, how he loathed sea bathing. The lauded benefits of salt water never outweighed the awfulness of the experience. It stung the eyes and tasted foul. Almost as foul as the knowledge that she was in the sea in the first place because he had been soft. Damned woman. That would teach him to feel mercy towards the vixen.