y dearest possession?" cried Chilton wildly. "Then you are no better than a thief, and a cowardly one at that! But I won't let you rob me, no, sirrah, I shall not!"

He jerked his hand free of Miriam's and instead pressed it protectively over his own belly, to the right of the buttoned front of his waistcoat.

"Oh, Chilton, please, don't!" said Miriam urgently as she reached out to stop him from standing upright in the wobbling boat. Not only was he going to topple them both into the water, but what was worse, she knew he was going to make a total and complete fool of himself before Jack, a disastrous sight she'd no wish to see. "Mind the boat, Chilton, I beg you, please!"

But Chilton only brushed her hand impatiently from his arm, determined to take his stand against the thief, no matter how unsteady—and brief—that stand might be.

"You will never get your greedy fingers on this timepiece," he declared grandly, one hand over his watch and the other still holding the lantern. "I bought it myself from the greatest master horologist in London before I sailed to this savage land, as an especial reminder of a more civilized world, a world that your kind would never recognize. That is my dearest possession, and I will not let it become yours!"

"Your watch?" Jack leaned forward from the branch and frowned down at the other man, dearly mystified. "Why the hell would I want your watch?"

"You said my dearest possession," said Chilton doggedly. "You said—"

"I know what I said," growled Jack. "And I know I never meant your damned watch."

He plunged the cutlass back into its scabbard, and swiftly, before Miriam quite realized what he was doing, he'd swung himself down from the branch and into the boat. Chilton's eyes rounded with astonishment as Jack's elbow landed squarely in his chest. For a fraction of a second Chilton flailed his arms to keep his balance, then toppled backwards out of the boat and into the water with a spectacular splash that drenched Miriam. The lantern flew from his hands and kerplunked into the water, too, dousing the candle with a hiss that left them all in murky near-darkness.

"Chilton!" shrieked Miriam, leaning over the side where he'd fallen. "God in heaven, where are you?"

"Where he should be," said Jack, raising his voice over the sound of Chilton gasping and swearing in a thoroughly uncivilized manner as he thrashed in the water. "Though to my mind he deserves someplace much hotter, the river will do for now."

"But Jack, wait—wait!" cried Miriam as she felt the boat begin to glide forward through the water. Unlike Chilton, Jack knew exactly how to row a boat, and fast, too. "We cannot leave him here to drown!"

Jack snorted with disgust. "He won't drown, Miriam. If he'd stop behaving like such a panicky jackass, he'd realize the water scarce comes to his waist. If he follows the path along the north bank, he'll reach Westham by daybreak."

"I will take this to the royal governor himself!" sputtered Chilton. "I will see you hanged and gibbeted for the thief that you are!"

"Ah, but I left you your watch, didn't I?" called Jack over his shoulder. "And when you speak to the governor, be sure to tell him that all I took from you was Miriam."

Miriam gasped. He'd found his rhythm with the oars, and now that they were free of the overhanging branches and into the deeper channel of the river, they were moving so rapidly that she had to hold on tightly to each side of the boat to keep from falling overboard herself. Part of her was aware that she should be frightened, that Jack was dangerous, reckless, and armed to the teeth. But the other, less cautious part of her argued that Jack had always been reckless and dangerous, and as for the pistols and the cutlass—well, those were far from the worst weapons that Jack could employ with her.

She lifted her chin, determined to look outraged even if she had to peer from beneath the drooping, sodden brim of her hat to do so. "You haven't taken me anywhere."

"Not yet, no," he said, and in the darkness she was certain he was grinning. "But I mean to."

"Then you've added kidnapping to robbery!"

"Kidnapping?" He chuckled. "Your schoolmaster's going to have a hell of a time making that stick when everyone in town knows how fond we were of each other."

"Not any longer, Jack, not when—"

"Not nothing, Miriam," he countered. "Consider how sweetly you came clear to Hickey's to see me this morning. And here tonight you greeted me by name, you didn't fuss when I joined you in this boat, and I didn't have to use one lick of force to make you come along with me. Even now you're not exactly leaping into the water to rejoin your pitiful, piss-poor intended. I didn't kidnap you any more than I stole than infernal watch of his."

She hated it when Jack became logical like this, hated it all the more because he used that logic so sparingly, to catch her by surprise the way he had just now. She was supposed to be the sensible one, not him. Now that the river had widened around them and they were in the open moonlight, she could see the white teeth of his smile in the shadowy outlines of his face, an infuriating smile at her expense. She felt the splashed river water trickling from the brim of her hat down the back of her neck, and suddenly, at this moment, it all seemed more than she could bear. With a muttered oath of her own, she ripped the wet straw hat from her head and slapped it furiously across Jack's arm as he leaned toward her at the oars.

"Chilton loves that watch!" She smacked the hat across his other arm, the straw flopping in limp, damp protest "That watch is his most treasured possession, just as he said, or at least it was until you ruined it in the river!"

"Falling overboard is scarcely a capital offense," said Jack as he dodged to avoid the hat "Even in Massachusetts."

"Then perhaps you should try Purgatory, which is where you belong! She slapped the hat across his arm again and heard the oar scrape in its lock as his stroke went awry, making the boat lurch clumsily to one side.

"Damn it, Mirry," he growled. "Stop that before I heave your hat over the side next!"

But instead of stopping, she smacked him again, hard enough to dislodge one of the pistols tucked into the belt across his chest. The gun clattered into the bottom of the boat, and with a squeal of concern Miriam jerked her feet and petticoats to one side.

"For God's sake, it's not loaded," said Jack in exasperation. "I'm not so great a fool as that."

"So you say." Miriam plucked the pistol from the bottom of the boat and hurled it out into the river, where it landed with a thoroughly satisfying splash. "There. Now you and Chilton are even. You ruined his watch, and I have ruined your gun."

Stunned, Jack stilled his oars, staring out at the radiating ripples on the water, all that remained of the pistol. It wasn't the loss of the gun that bothered him—the pistol had been an old, battered relic that he'd chosen for the ominous length of its barrel rather than for shooting accuracy—but the way things were going with Miriam. He'd planned on her being relieved, even grateful, to be rescued from her swinish ninny of a lover, especially after the cowardly, self-serving performance the man had put on in the water. What woman could have any use for him after witnessing that?

But to Jack's amazement, Miriam was still determined to defend Chuff. What was worse, she didn't seem at all interested in entering into the spirit and adventure of her abduction, the way Jack remembered she would have as a girl, the way he'd expected her to now. He'd wanted to be dashing in her eyes again, daring, even dangerous. He'd wanted to make her eyes shine with excitement and hear her laughter bubble merrily across the river.

Instead, he was failing. Again. Hell, could he never do anything right in his life?

Maybe Miriam really had changed, as Zach said. And maybe, thought Jack with growing despair, he'd come halfway around the world for nothing.

"You still don't understand, do you?" he said, his elbows resting heavily on the oars as he leaned toward her. He'd resolved not to touch her, not here in the boat, but the temptation to sweep her into his arms and make her understand was powerful indeed. "Chuff cares more for a watch that he'd gotten from some master whoremonger than—"

"A horologist, Jack," she corrected primly, as if the dowsing in river water hadn't made the linen kerchief over her breasts practically transparent in the moonlight. "Not a whoremonger. Chilton told me that a master horologist sells timepieces, not trollops."

"He can sell more trollops than the Grand Turk himself for all I care," said Jack, disgusted as much with himself as with Chuff. "Mirry, weren't you listening? The thing your future husband holds dearest is a blasted pocket watch!"

"You asked Chilton, and he answered you truthfully. I don't see what else you expected from—"

"I meant you, sweetheart," said Jack gruffly. "If you'd promised to be my wife, you'd be the single greatest treasure in my life. I'd do anything to keep you safe. Still would. I thought Chuff felt the same."

"Ohhhh," she breathed, a drawn-out, thoughtful syllable that betrayed considerably more uncertainty than she realized. "Oh, Jack, you shouldn't say such things to me, not—that is, I'm not sure what Chilton feels. He is too much a gentleman to be ruled by his baser passions and impulses."

"Like I am," said Jack. "like you, too, as I recall."

"Oh, yes." She sighed unhappily, twisting the damp ribbons of her hat around her fingers. "I cannot seem to govern myself at all."

"Maybe you should stop trying." With her sitting less than an arm's length away, Jack, too, was finding self-government a challenging task. He shifted uneasily on the bench, praying she wouldn't glance down at the proof in the front of his breeches. "Before you find yourself caring more about pocket watches than people, too."

"Don't meddle," she said, but her downcast eyes and sad half-smile took away any of the scolding sting. So she truly hadn't realized how badly Chuff had slighted her, then. Jack could hardly believe it. Yet as unhappy as it made her, it was better that she learn now, before she married the selfish bastard. But why the devil did he have to be the one to tell her?

"There now, lass," he said awkwardly. "I'm sorry."

Forgetting his resolution, he reached out and gently cupped her cheek in his hand. He meant it as a touch to ease her hurt, more of a wordless show of sympathy than a caress. But to his surprise she turned her face into his palm, the warm, soft tenderness of her lips grazing across his rough skin to show she'd understood, and was grateful for it. That was all: hardly enough to be called a kiss, and done almost before he'd realized it.

But after she'd moved back on her bench, the mark of her lips burned on his palm like a brand, and the single silent gesture had told him more than any words ever could.

More, but still not enough.

With a sigh she settled the battered hat back on her head, leaving the wrinkled ribbons to trail over her shoulders as she avoided the question in his eyes, instead staring past him to the shore.

"Jack," she said softly. "We're drifting."

He nodded and began to pull on the oars again. They were drifting, in a larger, more challenging sense as well as along the river, and he wasn't sure what would come next. What was happening to the dashing, daring adventure he'd planned?

Yet though the silence that fell between them now made him uneasy, it wasn't unpleasant. Companionable, even. It had always been that way with Miriam, ever since they'd been children. Countless times he'd imagined them making a long voyage together, just the two of them together with the moon and the sea, and this evening had the feel of those impossible, improbable dreams. He wanted to make her happy, and he wanted to keep her safe—good, noble goals for any man, and likely the only noble ones Jack had ever had.

But not all his goals were so chivalrous. He wouldn't deny it, nor would his body. When he shifted his legs and his knee brushed accidentally against her thigh, he could feel the tension rippling between them, warm and thick with those ungendemanly passions and impulses, and, he was sure, a good share of unladylike ones, too. Barely stifling a groan, he ordered himself to concentrate on his rowing instead.

By the time they reached Westham, his shirt was plastered to his back and arms from the heat and exertion. Thank God they'd only a bit farther to go, he thought wryly, else he'd be too exhausted later for anything but falling dead asleep on the sand.

"Mama would still be awake," said Miriam unhappily, "and Father, too, by the look of it."

Along the bank, the small cluster of houses and shops that made up the town were dark for the night. All, that is, except for the Green lion, where candlelight still beamed cheerfully from the tavern's windows. An off-key, bellowed chorus of The Colonel's Bold Daughter came through the windows, proof that the company inside was most definitely still awake.

With a sigh, Miriam stared at the tavern, tugging her damp kerchief higher over her shoulders. "You've been very bad this night, Jack. Wicked, dreadful bad. Heaven knows what I shall tell Mama and Father about Chilton and this—this disaster you have made for me, and what I shall say to Chilton himself—mercy, I don't begin to know."

Jack did, or at least had a good idea of what he'd like her to say, but decided for once to keep his opinion to himself.

She sighed again, more forlornly. "First I suppose you must return Father's boat. He’ll raise the very devil when he finds you took his property at all, and besides, hell need it to send someone after poor Chilton. Then, if you've any brains or conscience, you'll go as fast and as far from Westham as ever you can, before Zach thrashes you within an inch of your life."

"And leave you behind, sweetheart?"

"Jack, don't, not again." She grimaced, the kind of wearily resigned race her mother made when Henry misbehaved. "Now set me on the dock, there, if you please."

"But it doesn't please me," said Jack evenly, steering the boat toward the mouth of the river and the sea beyond. "Never will, either. Why the hell would I go through all the trouble to steal you away from Chuff only to turn you over to your parents?"

"Because this is only a jest, a prank, more foolishness to vex me," she said quickly, so quickly that he guessed she was trying to convince herself more than him. "like that wicked seashell you wrapped up in the silk. Isn't that so, Jack? Jack?"

He grinned, delighted that he'd been able to surprise her so completely. "No foolishness at all," he said as the boat glided past the dock. "You're coming with me."

"But I can't!" she cried indignantly. "You can't! Jack, I have to go home!"

He shook his head. "I'm afraid not, Mirry. I'm not welcome in your home, and I'm too much a gentleman to let you go ashore unattended."

"You're not a gentleman at all!" Furiously she twisted around in the boat, gazing back at the tavern behind them. "I'll scream, I'll shout—help me, someone, help me here!"

"Scream away, lass," said Jack pleasantly, "though I doubt anyone will hear you, especially over that jolly racket from your father's taproom. Mind, though, if you keep thrashing about like that, you'll land in the drink the same as your schoolmaster lover. Unless you wish to swim to shore?"

She froze, her back toward him ramrod straight. "You know I can't swim," she said, panic rising in her voice. "I'm a woman, and women don't swim, and the channel here is too deep for either of us to stand. Not that I could count on you to save me any more than you saved poor Chilton."

"Of course I would, Mirry," he said softly. He'd only meant to tease, not to frighten her, and he wondered uneasily if he'd botched things with her again. "I told you before. You're my treasure, and I'll not let any harm come to you."

She didn't answer, and the stiff, unyielding line of her back didn't change. "Where are you taking me?"

"Carmondy," he said. Where else, really, could he have taken her? "Our island, Mirry."

"Carmondy." Her voice trembled. "My God, Jack. I'm ruined."