But my quartermaster wasn’t cut from the same cloth as Charles. Intimacy would make him possessive and even more attached than he already was. I couldn’t abide that, and not just because I was emotionally incapable of reciprocating. Our friendship was complicated for reasons neither of us was willing to discuss.
“The answer is no, and you know why.” I nodded at the tavern. “There are some dashing ladies in there waiting to be corrupted by a seductive blackguard. While you’re doing that, I’m going to find a quiet place to sit inside. The crew will keep an eye out.”
I didn’t wait for a response as I breezed around the wagon and strode into the tavern.
The aroma of ale and tobacco teased my nose, and the cacophony of drunken voices smothered my thoughts. The crowd packed in around me, shoulder to shoulder, and my shorter-than-average stature made it easy to slip between the bodies unnoticed.
With a peek over my shoulder, I located Reynolds. He stood taller than the tallest man, the unruly stripe of hair on his head identifiable over the masses as he made his way toward the bar.
I moved in the opposite direction, keeping my chin down and senses sharp. Garments were the best indicators of trouble. I avoided clusters of uniforms and gravitated toward gowns similar to mine, blending in with the wives of thirsty gentlemen.
At length, I worked my way through the tavern and felt reasonably confident no one recognized me. Standing amid a herd of well-dressed patrons, I listened to dull conversations about English politics and the woes of sea voyage.
Just as I began to relax, an ominous sensation moved through me. My shoulder blades twitched. A feverish chill bathed my back, and the hairs on my arms stood straight up.
“Found you.” The dark purr rasped against my nape and reached into the blackest part of my soul.
That growly, toe-curling Welsh accent had haunted my dreams for two years.
Ice-cold fear shivered down my spine, and I spun, bumping into the occupied chairs at a nearby table.
“Forgive me,” I muttered and turned away from the glares, searching the throngs for the owner of that voice.
My pulse slammed through my veins as I examined every face, pushing through the crowds, listening for him, and losing my mind.
I must have conjured him out of paranoia. He couldn’t have found me. How would he even know I was in Jamaica?
A gust of realization stole from my lungs.
Every pirate alive would’ve learned about Charles Vane’s capture, and the pirate I hated most knew exactly what Charles meant to me.
Nausea like I’d never felt at sea surged through my body. Urgency moved my legs. I flattened a hand against my stomach and shoved my way toward the exit.
Then I saw him.
In the dark corner of the tavern sprawled the king of libertines. His face angled away, but I knew that forked tongue. It had stroked every inch of my skin under a veil of lies, breathing promises that had coiled around my heart and crushed me bit by broken bit.
Priest Farrell.
Notoriously known as the Feral Priest, his moniker was whispered with more fear and reverence than of those who’d ruled the high seas with my father.
I couldn’t see his expression, but that profile was etched permanently in memory. Straight nose, strong jaw, and a dark sweep of lashes over captivating gray eyes that could drill into the deepest, most private places of a woman’s being.
He wore a shadow of stubble on his face and the sides of his head. Strings of beads, thin braids, and long twisted locks wove through the silken mane of brown hair on top, all of which scraped back into a handsome queue.
His given name, Priest, wasn’t what it implied. Surrounded by lewdly dressed women, he was as ungodly and rakish as the doxies who draped their breasts about his shoulders.
With a single look, he could make a proper, God-fearing lady wet between her thighs. His unchristian temper was negligible once a woman set her gaze upon him. There was no man alive who could compete with the well-thewed musculature of his physique or the perfectly sculpted masculinity that shaped his features. He radiated godlike beauty, and he knew it.
When I’d fallen for him, it had happened hard and fast. I’d been as weak then as I was now. It physically hurt to be this close to him.
With my breath stuck in my throat, I backed into the crowd until the press of