Page 46 of The Worst of Them

Jack listened carefully, blue eyes intent. She might’ve said he was glaring had she not known he was focused. He looked like that often—deep in thought, but not lost in it.

“Sometimes he traveled,” she said. “He’d visit smiths and merchants to teach them or learn what they knew. No matter where he went, he always brought me. We didn’t even have a carriage—just a rickety little wagon and a mule.” Another laugh escaped, unbidden. “I thought I was a proper gentlewoman, and I was so proud. Even in a baron’s home, I always acted like I was just as good. Just as worthy as any man with a title, because we were Shoards, and we were the best, especially when it came to blades.”

“I’d believe that,” Jack said. “I’ve met few as good as you.”

“Few are as good as I was,” Cecily said, “and no one was as good as my father.”

“As good as you were?”

She reveled in his compliment before saying with a thread of humor, “There weren’t many opportunities to practice in prison.”

“You’ve caught up quickly, I think. You are…” His voice trailed off, that deeply thoughtful look returning. She wondered if he noticed how he leaned a bit closer, if it was purposeful. He loomed over her, his face close enough that she’d only have to rise on her toes⁠—

He swallowed and stepped away. “Go again,” he said thickly. “Keep your heel down.”

Steeling herself, she forced herself to breathe before launching into the flurry of moves, aiming to keep her heel anchored⁠—

Jack lightly smacked her leg with the flat of his sword. “Heel.”

Cecily cursed.

“A baron’s home,” Jack said with interest, and his voice was back to normal. “You were among nobility?”

“A noble.” Even now, she couldn’t help but feel important as she said it. “My father was friends with Baron Stinton, and his son and I got into such trouble as children. We were engaged, but then…”

There was the pain—a small, thorny bloom of anger near the bottom of her stomach. She looked down at her sword to hide the ice she was sure lingered in her eyes. “My cousin got to me before I could get to Oliver.”

“Did you love him?”

Her gaze flicked up. Jack’s expression held only calmness with an edge of interest while her heart threw itself into the back of her ribs.

“I loved him as a friend,” she said. She wouldn’t have known romance if it bit her on the elbow, but that had never mattered to her—to either of them. “But it might’ve been different. With time.”

Jack adjusted his grip on his sword, his question matter-of-fact. “Will you go back to him?”

She looked to the east. Almost everything in her tugged toward a life beyond this, but now there was a corner of her heart that didn’t pull that way.

She knew why, but she didn’t want to entertain it. If she did, she might consider staying, if only to keep trading smiles for swords and to feel that touch skimming her waist.

“He probably thinks I’m dead,” she said. “I imagine he’s married some other girl who will make a decent baroness.” The edge of her mouth lifted. “Not as good as I would have been, but Oliver is smart enough to find someone worthy of him.”

He chuckled at her vanity. “Well, I bet he adored you.”

And dammit, she couldn’t tell if he was teasing. Even so, Cecily didn’t take her eyes off his smile, and she wondered how someone could look so cruelly beautiful and not be a devil.

She held out her sword, hilt first. “Till tomorrow.”

“We’ll be in Tortuga tomorrow.” He nodded to the sword. “Hold on to it till evening.”

She lowered it an inch, her heart sparking with joy. “Why?”

He sheathed his sword at his hip. “Because I want you to.”

The wind tugged at her hair again, flinging the loose strand to flutter over her eyes. Jack lifted his hand, pausing an inch from her face as though she might lean away. When she didn’t, his fingers brushed her skin, slipping her hair behind her ear with a feather-light touch.

A shallow breath slipped from between her lips, tingles spreading from where he touched her, all the way down to her toes. He lingered there, his skin warm on her face, his piercing eyes studying her blushing cheeks, her chin, her lips…

Jack pulled his gaze to hers. “Enjoy your afternoon, Cecily,” he murmured, his voice turning the words to silk. Her heart decided to take up residence in her neck as if it wanted to be as close to her ears as possible so that it, too, might hear him say her name in that way.