Eyes downcast, she would have walked away, but Jeremy stopped her. "You're being very mysterious, and I don't like mystery," he stated flatly. "As we both know—to my sorrow and your gain—I have no good reason to trust you. If you wish me to accompany you to your cabin, mademoiselle, I "
"No!" Exasperated at the stupidity of the male, she stamped her foot. "I possess little in this world other than my reputation, and if we were seen entering my quarters together—it is unthinkable. Join me shortly or not, as you choose. I can but hope that you will come to me and that you will be discreet." With a toss of her head she turned and walked away rapidly, not looking back.
Jeremy watched her for a moment, then leaned his elbows on the rail and stared with unseeing eyes at the green-blue sea. Incongruously he became aware of the salt odor that seemed to become stronger, more all-pervading as the Bonnie Maid moved southward. The possibility that Janine, in league with Sir Ian MacGregor, might be intending something to his detriment was uppermost in his mind, but he knew he would be forever curious if he failed to accept the girl's unusual invitation. Shrugging, he made up his mind and started down the deck.
So intent was he on maintaining a casual appearance that he failed to notice a coil of rope on the deck, caught his left foot, and almost fell. Regaining his balance with a great effort, he discovered that he had wrenched his ankle, and as he continued, limping slightly, he cursed savagely under his breath. As he neared Janine's cabin,, which opened directly on to the deck, two seamen approached, so he slowed his pace until they were gone. Then he sprang forward, despite the pain shooting up his leg, and tapped on the door.
"Come in, please!" Janine's voice was low but urgent.
Jeremy opened the door, saw that the girl was alone, and quickly stepped inside. She was instantly beside him and slammed the door shut. Then she retreated to the far end of the chamber, her eyes on his. The young gunsmith returned her gaze for a few seconds, then looked about him, sighed, and grinned. This was the most feminine place on the ship, far more so than the captain's sumptuous stateroom which Caroline had appropriated. Though tiny and compact, it gave every evidence that it was being used by a woman. Lace-edged sheets covered the bunk, and there were frills on the cloth covers of a small dressing table and stool. There was a faint but definite scent of perfume in the cabin, and the tapers in wall sconces were dyed pink. On nails which had been pounded into the back of the door were hung several gowns and petticoats, and a pair of ridiculously fragile slippers could be seen peeping out from under the bottom of the dressing table. A gay flowered dressing robe lay across the foot of the bunk, and even the panels of the heavy window curtains that faced into the cabin had been appliqued with figures of small, elaborately gowned young ladies.
"A very nice cabin, this," he said. "Are you asking me to sit, mademoiselle?" His voice was insinuating, and he realized he was being rude, but his desire to humiliate Janine was almost overwhelming.
"If you wish to sit, please do." Her face was grave and her green eyes serious. "It is my desire to unburden myself to you, if I may call it that. This—this is most difficult for me "
"I had no idea that you were shy."
"You do not make this easier for me, sir, though I cannot blame you for hating me. Be that as it may, I would like you to know that when I felt called upon to go to Sir Ian Mac-Gregor I bore you no ill will."
"You felt called upon? By whom?" Jeremy's hands found the foot of the bunk, and he gripped the oak upright plank until his knuckles whitened.
Janine took two steps closer and looked straight into his eyes. "I was urged by no one, influenced by no one, for none knew what I knew." She spoke quietly, her hands at her sides, her attitude sincere and dignified. "I did only what I believed was right. I certainly intended no harm to you, and I didn't dream you would fight a duel with Sir Ian "
"Who told you about a duel?" Jeremy demanded sharply. The Duchess had been specific in her instructions that the fight was to be mentioned to no one.
"I heard Her Grace mention it privately to Sir Ian. And I'm sorry. More sorry than you will know or believe, Master Bartlett—or—or—whoever "
"I am Terence Bartlett. Despite your vicious efforts to wrench my name from me."
The girl gasped, and Jeremy realized that he was being unnecessarily rude. Even if Janine had stupidly felt it her duty to reveal that he was not Bartlett, it was handsome of her to apologize. Looking at her, with the color high in her cheeks, her lashes damp, and her breathing rapid and agitated, he thought he had rarely seen anyone so attractive. Fishing his snuffbox from a waistcoat pocket, he flipped it open as he studied her.
Janine immediately sensed the change in him. "I have begged your indulgence, sir, though you have not yet seen fit to accept it. I can do no more."
The snuffbox shut with a snap. "I'm not so sure about that." Jeremy moved to her quickly, and his arms went around her waist.
"No!" she said softly but sharply, trying to break away.
Jeremy laughed quietly; he was sure she would not scream or otherwise attract attention, for she had been too concerned for her good name when she had asked him here. Janine was beautiful and desirable, and at the very least she could repay him in some measure for the anguish she had caused him.
Ignoring her struggles, he tried to kiss her; as he bent his head toward her, however, he suddenly became aware of the sharp glint of metal near his face. She had produced a double-edged poniard from somewhere and was holding it close to his throat.
Jeremy dropped his arms and stepped backward. Bowing, he uttered a short laugh. "You use persuasive arguments, mademoiselle. As your point is now made, you may remove that particularly sharp emphasis. I shall not molest you again."
Her eyes burning, Janine dropped him a mock curtsy. "I was educated as a lady, but I am still Philippe GroHere's daughter, and I never hesitate to protect myself from boors who have a mistaken opinion of me and of my virtue."
"You have convinced me of your true nature, mademoiselle. Utterly. I no longer misunderstand anything about you. It is my turn to apologize, and I do so. Freely." Jeremy turned and left the cabin. In his mouth was the bitter, lingering taste of shame.
It was midmorning when the lookout cried, "Land ho!" and the passengers, lining up along the port rail, peered intently toward the haze behind which lay the craggy mountains and lush foliage of Hispaniola. A few moments of fruitless eyestrain were enough for Jeremy Stone, and he retreated to the starboard side, where he could be alone. The sight of land increased his sense of nervousness and frustration; in a few days the Bonnie Maid would arrive in Jamaica and his real work as an impostor would begin. Meanwhile he had made an enemy of Janine Groliere, though he certainly could have served his own ends better had his approach to her been diplomatic. It was too late, he thought bitterly, to recall his father's axiom that honey caught more flies than vinegar.
Meanwhile he knew very little, far too little about Terence Bartlett, and every scrap of information he could gather would be important when he confronted Bartlett's uncle, the governor general, at Port Royal. Surely Caroline Stuart was familiar with more than she had told him about the man he was supposed to be; acting on sudden impulse, he stepped into the passageway and knocked on the door of her stateroom. This would be a perfect time to find her alone, while the other members of her party were staring with hypnotized eyes at the distant shores of Spain's principal stronghold in the Caribbean.