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was speaking more candidly than she might have known.
    “Why do you have to?” she demanded.
    “Got to get rid of those trees, o’ course.” He could not resist teasing her a little. It wasn’t as though he could tell her the truth. “God knows, if Prinny gets a zebrawood table, so must every hostess in the ton have one to grace the entrance hall.”
    His jaded words roused a chuckle from Trahern, but Miss Farraday did not look at all amused.
    “I’m sure they’re not as bad as you say.”
    “No, indeed, they’re worse,” Jack murmured, his eyes dancing with his newfound sport of baiting her. “Pompous, idle. Trust me, love. I know that lot like the back of my hand. My elder brother is a duke, after all. Trahern, maybe Hawkscliffe’s duchess would like a zebrawood table, what do you think?”
    “Charge him double.”
    Jack laughed, then winced as pineapple juice dripped into his splinter. “Ow.”
    Miss Farraday frowned at him, looking a little unsure about whether it had been a good idea to invite him for a visit, after all. “What is the matter?”
    He mumbled it was nothing.
    “Did you hurt yourself?”
    “Just a splinter from loading up the wood.”
    “Let me see that.” She marched over to him and seized his hand, prying his closed fist open. She inspected the pinlike fragment of wood buried beneath his skin, then sent him an arch look. “Zebrawood, I warrant.”
    “Well, I do try to keep in the fashion.”
    “You deserve this splinter, I daresay. Nevertheless, I am going to help you, Lord Jack. Sit down, please.”
    “No, t hank s. It’s nothing. I’ll attend to it on my ship—”
    “Sit!”
    Jack lifted his eyebrows at her tone that brooked no argument.
    “No open wounds in the jungle,” she stated. “That is a rule.”
    “Open wounds?” He scoffed. “It’s barely a scratch.”
    “It’s a large scratch, and it’s deep. Trust me. If you don’t take care of it right away—well, you don’t want to know what can happen.”
    “What can happen?” Trahern asked, blanching.
    “I’m sure you don’t want me to tell you. Gentlemen, trust me, it’s very disgusting.”
    They stared at her expectantly.
    She relented with a sigh. “Even small scratches can become infected quickly in the jungle. If you must know, there’s a tiny insect that likes to lay its eggs in any open wound it finds. After that, the only remedy is amputation.”
    Jack sat down at once on the stool she had indicated and gave her his hand. “I’m all yours, my dear. Just tell me this doesn’t involve your machete.”
    She shot him a chiding smile and went to fetch her sewing basket.
     
    Eden could feel him watching her with his predatory stare, but her heart still pounded at the news that he and his crew were heading next to England .
    Surely this was the miracle she had been praying for. Now all she had to do was to find the nerve to ask the notorious Black-Jack Knight if he’d take her along for the ride.
    He had no reason to oblige her, she knew, and if he was as wicked as the rumors claimed, she might be safer accompanying Papa into the Amazon. Even if he was an ex-pirate, she did not wish to seem pushy or rude, imposing on him.
    Oh, it was so very lowering to know he had millions and she hadn’t pennies for the trip. She had her pride. Nevertheless, she was determined to show him that she could be useful. Perhaps her skills would help to gain her the favor she so desperately needed. Bolstered by that hope, she returned and sat across from him while Mr. Trahern anxiously searched himself for any small open wounds or odd insect bites that he might have overlooked.
    Eden dragged her stool closer to her patient’s and pulled his large, warm hand onto her lap, turning his palm upward; his knuckles rested on her thigh.
    His smoky stare homed in on her, as though he, too, had felt the shock of electricity that jolted through her when they touched. Eden ’s heart skipped a beat. Her cheeks colored as she bent