Page 28 of Unearthing the Smuggler's Heart
"Yes," he said with a laugh, "I imagine that would drive you quite insane."
She narrowed her eyes at him. "I imagine you can't fathom it at all," she snapped back. "You are only happy in chaos."
"Perhaps," he said, snatching his shirt from the floor and using it to rub over his wet hair, tousling the gold mop as he did. "We will do as you wish, Miss Ferris."
"Thank you, Captain," she said, a sigh of relief evident in her tone. "I shall see you at supper."
"Mm," he replied, a wry half smile playing on his lips as he watched her.
She hesitated, feeling that somehow this interaction had not properly completed, but could think of nothing else to say. For his part, Mathias simply stood and watched her, curious to see what strange thing she'd do next.
Well, she wouldn't give him the satisfaction. She gave him a curt nod and spun on her heel, ready to march away with her head held high, when suddenly, she felt a rather sharp tug at the nape of her neck.
She twirled around, hands flying to her scalp as her hair flew loose from its confines in another gust of burgeoning wind. There she found a shirtless, smirking Mathias Dempierre, holding her ribbon aloft in the air with an expression that dared her to try to take it back.
She stared at him in disbelief as his grin widened, and he opened his fingers, willing the wind to take the ribbon into its grasp and hurl it into the sea.
CHAPTER12
TheHarpyhad arrived in its intended place, a narrow inlet that had been obscured by the setting sun. It was dusk now, but that cloak of invisibility had given them enough time to get far enough away from Marseille to avoid trouble, but close enough to go about the business of signaling their allies for arrival.
Jade stood back from the small cluster of crewmen gathered on the deck. Two of them would row to shore in a small paddle boat, she had gleaned, having been watching with avid curiosity for quite a while now. The small boat—orskiff—was outfitted with strictly necessary supplies and then quietly lowered into the water on glossy ropes.
A single lantern glowed between the two crewmen aboard. They said little to each other, so far as she could see, with Mathias mostly communicating in nods and gestures to the men involved in this stage of their mission.
He looked rather serious, she thought. It was an unusual expression for him, eyes sharp and jaw set sternly. There was no hint of that dimpled smile she had come to desire and dread in equal measure. She could see in this moment the version of Mathias that commanded the respect of his men, and distressingly, that sped her heart up just as effectively as those damned smiles.
The breeze was still light in the early-evening air, but it was present, and that was enough. It was audible in the ruffling of the sails, which had been drawn down like curtains, hanging uselessly against their masts, and Jade felt it stirring the little hairs that hung free around her ears and nape.
She shivered.
It was hard to believe that they had, in fact, arrived.
There, just on the horizon, lights glittered and danced. There, a breath away, was France. She had never thought she would see anything beyond the borders of Britain, nothing more exotic than her ill-fated stint at a boarding school in her youth and more recently, her adventures in London. How could she have dreamed that there was so much more? The anticipation of it, its inevitability and the pull of the unknown, sent mingling leaps of anxiety and anticipation into her chest. It made her breath come faster and sent a warm prickling in starbursts over her skin.
Was she really here? Was she still Jade Ferris? Or had this all been a dream?
Her eyes lingered on Mathias Dempierre on the railing, roamed over the way his hair fell across his brow and the expressions of his men as they looked to him for guidance. The moonlight shone off the white shirt he wore, making him almost glow, like he was a celestial thing all his own, as natural in the night sky as any star or planet.
Slowly, he seemed to feel her eyes on him, and she felt his head turn. It was only a brief glimpse, something she felt more than observed with any certainty, but feel it she did.
Yes. This could all very well be nothing more than a dream.
She knew she ought not stand here, staring at a man as she was. She knew she ought to go to the galley and await Mathias like a properly mannered lady. But there was a pathway of lanterns on the deck, running like an arrow from Cupid's bow from where she stood to the place where the skiff had been. The path of fire, punctuated by the one, flickering light that now rowed slowly away from them in a little boat was impossible to look away from. They were like fallen stars, she thought. She had been enchanted.
She pulled her hair—which she had tightly braided on principle, after that business with her ribbon—over her shoulder and toyed with the ends, soaking up the scene in front of her with the eye of an artist or a historian, the gaze of a person who intended to memorize every detail.
She never wanted to forget this moment. This anticipation. This wonder.
She wanted to watch the bobbing light on the skiff travel all the way from theHarpyto the city in the distance, and perhaps hold her breath the entire time. She felt her heart thump in tandem with the sound of gentle waves lapping against theHarpy'sbeams.
She strained to hear the slosh of the oars stroking through the water, to hear the way the little skiff cut through the ocean, or perhaps the murmurs of the men aboard, talking quietly to one another. Alas, she could not make the sound out from this distance. She would simply have to imagine it and place it into this memory with the delicate care of one who cherishes small details.
She continued to watch until the men dispersed back to their duties, their shadows falling across the lantern-lit path between them. She attempted to remain still and stoic as the captain approached her, his stride that of a man confident in the success of his mission. He seemed to find nothing odd about her presence on the deck. There was no raise of the eyebrows or teasing smirk as he walked toward her, just a nod of greeting, as though he understood all too well the urge to watch such a thing take place.
"Will they be safe?" she asked as he approached.
"Of course," he told her, offering his arm and patting her hand as they turned to head toward the galley. "Whatever dramatic stories Isabelle has told you about our last venture to Marseille, I have, in fact, come and gone on this route dozens of times without issue. I would never endanger my men."
