Chapter 11

W HAT THE HELL WAS that pounding against his head? It felt like the devil and an entourage of his minions were trying to plow a field through his brain. Jude could barely bring himself to sit up right with the weight of the banging on his scalp.

And the dreams that had flashed through his mind last night. Oh, they had been of the worst variety. Dancing like an ogre at a ball. Embarrassing himself. Kissing a lady. The worst kind too, the sort that lied about who she was. And then there was a weird and awkward carriage ride in which he had caught her trying to sneak away with him.

That was the worst dream of his adult life, despite the thickest cockstand he had between his legs as he thought about the Siren he had mingled with in his dreams. He needed to wake up so that he could forget every second of it. He was not the kind of man to fall for a woman, certainly not the kind that plagued his dreams last night.

Gradually, his eyes creaked open and his hands found balance hoisting himself at his hips. He leaned against the headboard and rubbed his temple .

God, how much had he imbibed last night? He hadn't felt this sick since…well, ever. He had never once ever felt an ounce of this megrim. If this is what women meant when they referred to a megrim, he would no longer balk at the excuse. Any woman who had undergone a megrim of this magnitude—

Any woman? No. His thoughts jolted in place. Not just any woman. That woman from his dreams. Oh my God. It was all real and not a dream. This was terrible. She was real. A single woman was now visually marching across the space of his mind not even vying for purchase, just simply taking it as if she was entitled to it. Having gained her position and securing her foothold, she was planted in his mind. A permanent fixture now.

That damn Siren.

His head thrummed loudly. He had been with her last night drinking at the ball, in the library.

But something about the carriage jostled loose in his brain.

He leaned his head back against the wall.

No. It couldn't be. It wasn't just the carriage. It was the carriage and his ship.

His blasted ship? He had brought her aboard his pure, magnificent ship?

His head fell to the side, thus casting his line of sight toward the table. Where a single solitary glass rested. A glass she had passed him.

Tearing out of his bed, he frantically looked around. Obviously she wasn't in the room, he would have felt her presence. Would he have, really? Yes, he would have. But he wasn't examining that debate and its foregone conclusion now.

Stumbling out of his room and up to the deck, he nearly tripped over his men encircling the Siren. They were sitting there like giddy schoolchildren. She in her mermaid gown, they in their ragged clothes. Her eyes alit and smile glowing, she was regalling them with a tale.

"What is this?" he shouted, making the men jump. "Siren shares a tale? Get to work and get her off this ship."

And that's when he noticed his grand mistake—it certainly wasn't his first error in the situation, but it was the highlight of them all.

Water. Everywhere.

Only water surrounded them until it met the horizon.

"Where the bloody hell are we?"

"We're on our way to pick up the prin—" Sprat, his first mate answered.

"Blasted!"

"You sent orders to set sail the second you arrived on board. So we did."

"I did no such thing."

The defense was instantly deemed futile as Sprat held out a missive in Jude's scrawled writing. He only recalled now that he had sent it after receiving his orders from Bernard. Damn him for being so efficient.

He grumbled and swayed, knees nearly buckling. After regaining his balance, he stalked toward Agatha. Leaning close, so only she could hear, he hissed, "You did this to me." Her eyes went wide with fright—no, fire. "My cabin now." It took every ounce of self control to hold his lips in a tight line and remain silent. He did not need his crew knowing she had drugged him. How would that make him look? He'd lose all respect from his crew.

She gathered her skirts while he grabbed her arm and dragged her toward the stairs and down to his cabin.

Only after he closed the door and locked it did he feel comfortable to speak, and even then, in hushed tones .

"You drugged me," he accused.

"It was only a small amount."

"You drugged me?" He had thought it was true, but until now he still hadn't really believed her capable of such drastic measures.

"Oh, I thought you knew. You said—"

"I didn't know until you admitted it. I can't believe this." He raked his hands through his hair, murmuring about how the chit had actually drugged him.

He could have spent all day pacing his room trying to come to terms with the truth that this woman was not to be underestimated any longer, but she broke through his musings.

"You have to believe it."

Finally, he looked up at her. He could see a small tremble in her lip, and her hands were fisted at her sides, but her spine was straight as she stared him in the eyes.

"What did you say?" he whispered.

"You heard me. Believe it. I'm here to stay."

"Oh, no you're not. You're going home." But even as he said it, as threateningly as he could, he knew his words were empty. He wasn't turning the ship around. It was only a day or two in duration for this trip anyway, so it wasn't worth it to lose time on what would be his last journey as a privateer. He just wanted it over and done with so that he could move on. He owed Bernard one last mission for saving his life from a near-fatal duel. Not that Jude wouldn't have taken to life on the seas anyway, but he would have done it his own way. Instead, here he was, trapped as a privateer for one last contract. Then he would be free.

"I'll go home when I'm ready."

He took a few steps toward her, but the chit wasn't backing down.

"You'll go home when I say you'll go home. "

His face was so close to hers that they were sharing the same breath now.

"No," she whispered. "Unless you turn this ship around or throw me overboard, I'm staying right here."

"Has anyone ever told you how stubborn you are?"

Her eyes narrowed. "What?"

Slowing his speech and gripping her hips, he asked again, "Has anyone ever told you how damn bullheaded you are?"

Mistake.

Her eyes flared. "Has anyone ever told you how infuriatingly despotic you are?"

"I'm the captain." His fingers dug into her plush hips. Hips he wanted to pull closer to him. Hips he wanted to hold onto while she rode him. Hard. "I'm supposed to be in charge."

"Supposed to be…but aren't. If you were, you wouldn't let me be here, would you?" Her lips parted and hung slightly open as she taunted him. A perfectly shaped o, open and waiting for him.

Waiting for him to take charge. Of her.