Eden made a note on where she had found the orchids, doing
her best to shield her paper from the rain. The little
capuchin monkey observing her from a nearby crook of the
great tree swiveled his head and went motionless, peering
upriver for a second.

Suddenly, the capuchin let out a warning screech and fled
up into his leafy towers. Eden froze, scanning the
branches around her and praying she did not see an early-
waking jaguar.

Her heart pounding, she listened in fright for any sound
above the soft, steady patter of the rain on the leaves
and searched the surrounding canopy, knowing full well the
animal’s spotted coat made it almost impossible to see
until it was too late. She was trying to decide if it was
better to be eaten there on the branch or to tumble into
the river below, when suddenly, she heard voices.

Male voices, many in number.

And they were speaking English!

Turning to stare in the direction the capuchin had first
looked, she now beheld a most astonishing sight.

People!

A squat, tubby river boat pulling a barge piled with
timber was emerging slowly from around the river bend.

Whatever are they doing here? she wondered as she stared
with excitement bubbling up in her veins. Never mind that!
This could be the opportunity she had been praying for.
As the boat drifted closer, she studied the rough-looking
men at the rails and lounging under the canvas shade on
deck. Admittedly, they did not look like a promising lot,
resembling so many pirates.

Many were shirtless in the heat, their swarthy hides
tattooed and sinewy. Hope rose, however, when she noticed
a young blond man striding toward the prow.

Unlike the others, he was quite fully dressed, though
perhaps slightly wilted in the damp jungle heat. He seemed
unwilling to be daunted by it. With his gentlemanly cravat
in good order, cuffed white shirt sleeves neatly fashioned
in self-conscious propriety, and ebony knee-boots, he
looked like a proud and very correct young officer.

Her heart fluttered. Gracious, he was the handsomest
creature she had seen in ages . . . until, following his
progress, her gaze came to rest on the magnificent man
that the younger fellow now joined at the rails.

An indescribable awe--or fascination--came over her as she
stared at their kingly leader. She had studied animals
long enough to be able to pick out in an instant which was
the dominant male, and there was no question whatsoever
that he was it.

He appeared in his late thirties, and good Lord, he was
big. He even had an inch or two on Connor, she reckoned,
with several stone in pure muscle over Papa. The imposing
stranger looked surprisingly at home in the jungle
setting. A knotted red bandana hung around his neck in the
Spanish style; he wore a loose white shirt, having
apparently discarded coat and waistcoat in the heat. His
shirt fell open in a V down to his breastbone, baring his
glistening, muscular chest.

The fine white linen had turned translucent in the rain
and clung to his massive shoulders.

Below, he wore dun-colored breeches that disappeared into
shiny black boots.

Eden realized something all of a sudden.

I know who this man is.

Lord Jack Knight, the mysterious merchant-adventurer who
had turned himself into a shipping magnate worth millions--
one of the most powerful men in the West Indies. Kingston
society had swarmed with stories about the enigmatic man.
Black-Jack Knight, some called him. It was said he owned
large portions of Jamaica, and had a fleet of eighty
ships, with warehouses on every continent. His company was
based in Port Royal, but she heard he lived outside the
town in an elegant, white-stuccoed villa that sat on a
cliff overlooking the sea.

Some people claimed he had ill dealings with the smugglers
who plagued Buenos Aires. Others whispered he had actually
helped the Americans during the War of 1812, and since he
was British-born himself, that would have made him all but
a traitor if it was true.

There were darker rumors still, tales involving acts of
piracy in his shadowed past, but as far as Eden knew, no
one had ever dared confront him in order to find out.

Well, blazes, Eden thought, her stare intensifying, I
don’t care if he’s Blackbeard himself if he can get me out
of here.

Seeing the way he carried himself, it was easy to believe
that such a man could wrest his fortune from the untamed
sea. Power, boldness, and vitality emanated from every
line of his towering physique; he held his head high with
an air of intelligent command. His square face was framed
by dark sideburns, his tousled hair the same dark, warm
brown as the toppled mahoganies his boat was pulling.

“Look!” the blond young officer suddenly cried. “There’s--
“ He squinted in disbelief.

“There’s a lady in that tree!”

The crew let out with marveling oaths and exclamations,
following the direction of his pointing finger.

The sight of her there, sitting on the branch that
overarched the river, must have been so unlikely that most
of them seemed to find it quite hilarious.

She clenched her jaw and colored a bit, but refused to be
nonplused. She rested one hand behind her on the bough and
leaned back idly, trying to look nonchalant.

One sailor slapped his thigh as he guffawed. “If them grow
on trees in these parts, Cap, you can drop me off ’ere!”

She forced a longsuffering smile as a few of them bellowed
with laughter, but Lord Jack, with a mystified look,
walked toward the bow as the boat drifted closer, coming
within a few feet of Eden’s perch.

The light rain trickled down the adventurer’s broad
forehead to his thick, dark eyebrows.

He had deep-set, hooded eyes and a large but aquiline
nose. A day’s beard shadowed his rugged jaw, adding to his
dangerous aura. His lips, she thought, looked a little
chapped.

And altogether kissable. The unbidden thought quite
startled her.

“What species of bird is that, do ye reckon?” one of his
men persisted, rousing more laughter from his mates.

Turning redder by the second, she frowned, thinking their
master just a little wanting in manners for not silencing
their sport. Indeed, she was beginning to feel more than a
tad foolish, herself, knowing full well that tree-climbing
was hardly included in how La Belle Assemblee advised
young ladies to behave.

Alas, here she was being stared at by a magnetic,
thoroughly compelling man whose fleet of ships might just
be her only ticket out of here--a man whose direct and
confident gaze made her heart beat faster.

As she held his stare, too fascinated to look away, she
marveled at what pretty eyes he had. In contrast to his
sun-bronzed complexion, his piercing eyes were the
turquoise blue of Caribbean waters. She detected a sparkle
of amusement in their depths as he perused her, not quite
successful in masking his roguish astonishment.

“You do see her, my lord?” the young officer
asked. “Please tell me I have not gone mad in the heat.”

“Trahern,” he ordered in a calm, authoritative tone, not
taking his eyes off her.

“Stop the boat.”

#

No, indeed, the tropical sun had not addled his
assistant’s wits unless it had cooked Jack’s, also, for
he, too, saw the lovely young redhead in the tree.
Straddling the thick bough, she swung her feet a bit self-
consciously right above the spot where the pilot now
managed to bring the boat to a halt.

Finding any sort of female on a branch above the Orinoco a
hundred miles from any human settlement might have been
rather a shock, let alone a stunning beauty with big
emerald eyes and, from his quick assessment, perfect
proportions.

Her long chestnut mane hung unbound. Wet with rain, she
slicked it back from her face as he watched her, his stare
following the auburn tendrils that twined over her
delicate shoulders. She wore a light green walking dress
with frilly pantalets peeking out from underneath before
they disappeared into thick brown boots.

Jack was entranced and could not help staring. Her face, a
softly rounded oval with a light speckling of freckles,
glowed with rain; she had high cheekbones with a peachy
complexion and a straight, perfect nose that bespoke
excellent breeding.

Though not normally given to damsel rescues and other good
deeds, he was more than happy to make an exception and
play the hero in this case.

“Good day, Miss,” he greeted her, prepared to offer his
assistance. “I see you’ve gotten yourself into a spot of
trouble up there.”

“I have?” She tilted her head with a frown. “How’s that?”

Jack furrowed his brow. Her self-possessed response
startled him; he had expected more of a cry for help. He
glanced discreetly at his men; they shrugged, as perplexed
as he.

He turned to the girl once more as she drew off her
leather work gloves and then picked a leaf out of her hair
with a small scowl. “Is everything, er, quite all right?”

“I think so,” she said warily, eyeing him as though he
were the oddball. “Is everything all right with you?”

“Of course.” Jack was nonplused and beginning to wonder if
they were speaking the same language. “That doesn’t look
very safe,” he pointed out. “Do you need help getting
down?”

“Oh!” she answered with a startled laugh. “No, I don’t
need any help getting down. But I’m sure you’re very
kind,” she added indulgently.

Jack stared at her in perplexity. “What the blazes are you
doing in that tree?”

“Studying epiphytes, of course.”

“Epi-whats?” Higgins muttered.

“Orchids,” she clarified. “In fact, I have just made a
most astonishing discovery!”

“Have you?” Jack echoed, certain that her discovery could
not be any more astonishing than his present one--namely,
her.

She nodded emphatically. “It appears the symbiosis between
the epiphytes and these canopy giants goes even deeper
than we ever previously suspected!” she blurted out,
speaking out of plain nervousness, he guessed.

“You don’t say,” he replied rather cautiously.

“Shall I explain?” she offered, lighting up.

“I don’t think she gets out much,” Trahern murmured under
his breath.

“Please do,” Jack invited her, as he folded his arms
across his chest and masked his amusement. He silenced his
chuckling men with a curt order.

Visibly pleased by his interest, the little oddball warmed
to her topic. “Oh, it’s very exciting! These orchids have
flourished on this tree branch for many generations. They
have lived and died and then decayed right here on this
thick bough, until eventually, over a number of years,
they’ve created their own little bed of soil and mulch,
right here on the branch. They don’t need any soil to grow
in, of course--they’re air feeders with special roots that
allow them to suck the water right out of the air, you
see, like this rain.” She held out her cupped hand to
catch a few raindrops as she looked up into the drizzling
canopy.

When she tilted her head back, his stare homed in on the
damp white fichu tucked into the neckline of her gown, a
gauzy covering that clung to her demure cleavage.

“Is that . . . right?” he murmured faintly, struck by a
jolt of wild lust. It took him completely off guard.

“Quite. Here!” She tossed a purple flower down to him with
a dazzling white smile. “It’s an advantage for them,
really. Anyway--” She leaned toward Jack with a
confidential air, nearly giving him a fit of apoplexy in
his certainty that she was going to fall out of the tree
and straight into the mouth of a crocodile. “Today I
discovered that these little orchids give back to the tree
that shelters them in the most wonderful manner.”

“How?” he asked, drawn in to her little mystery in spite
of himself, and utterly enchanted.

“They feed it. Look.” She lifted up a cross-section of
what looked to him like grubby turf.

“When I cut into the orchids’ bed of soil here for closer
study, I discovered that the tree had actually begun
sending out these little root-like structures right from
the branch so that it could take in nutrients from the
mulch that generations of decaying orchids had created
here. Don’t you see what this means?”

Jack attempted to answer but thought better of it. He just
shook his head.
She laid her hand on the massive branch that she was
sitting on and gazed up wistfully into the canopy. “They
give to each other, neither harming the other. This great
big mahogany gives this tiny, delicate flower shelter and
solid support, while the orchid, in turn, creates
nourishment to help feed the tree and keep it strong. They
live in perfect harmony together and isn’t it just
so . . . beautiful?”

Jack stared, mute with a very male sense of admiration. He
wasn’t much for botany, and though miraculous, the
arrangement between the flower and the tree did not seem
half as beautiful to him as this dainty, eccentric little
bluestocking.

He knew now who she was.

His acquaintance with Victor Farraday and his younger
sister, Cecily, went back to their days in England twenty
years ago, though both he and Victor were expatriates now.
The last he had heard, the famed naturalist had
disappeared into the Orinoco Delta and had not been heard
from since.

“You’re Dr. Farraday’s daughter,” he informed her.

She straightened up proudly with a nod. “And you are Lord
Jack Knight--though Jack is really just a nickname for
John. So I’m told.”

If he had been astonished before, he was now thrown
completely off kilter. “You know me?”

She laughed. “I saw you before. At an assembly ball in
Kingston.”

“Really?” he echoed again, even more faintly this time.
The world was feeling more than a little topsy-turvy.

“Yes,” she declared with great certainty. “I believe you
had on a black coat.”

“You were at a ball I was attending and I did not notice
you? Highly unlikely--ah, unless your father made a point
of keeping you out of my sight.”

“Perhaps,” she admitted with a roguish little grin. “You
know--” She paused and gave him a look that nearly knocked
him off his feet. “He isn’t here right now.”
Jack swallowed hard and felt his heart beat faster. “Oh,
really?” he murmured in a deeper tone.

“Yes, really,” she replied, a devilish twinkle in her
emerald eyes. She bit her lower lip, trying to hold back a
distinctly naughty smile.

Well, now. If he did not know better, he might actually
think the chit was flirting with him--the feared,
ferocious, the formidable Jack Knight?

Impossible.

Certainly she was not fleeing him nor showing any sign of
fear. He looked away, feeling a bit confounded. Either she
had not heard, isolated in this wild place, that he was
the Devil incarnate, or was too desperate for human
company to care. Whatever the reason for her friendly
manner, Jack was both puzzled and pleased.

He scratched his cheek self-consciously and then glanced
over his shoulder at his watching men, who quickly busied
themselves doing nothing, pretending not to be absorbed in
their exchange. He scowled at them, then looked up at Miss
Farraday again, wary and unsure what to make of the pert
young siren.

She smiled at him again with a warm, engaging enthusiasm
that young ladies in civilized places were taught to hide
behind downcast eyes, total obedience, and maidenly
silence--the same demure creatures who fled from him. This
one stared straight at him with curious interest and a
definite mind of her own, and Jack hadn’t the foggiest
notion what to make of her.

Fancifully, he thought her like a beautiful half-wild
princess of this mysterious emerald realm--or a wondrous
rare forest animal that had never seen Man before and did
not know enough to be afraid.

Total innocence.

But noting the pistol and machete that she wore strapped
around her slim waist, he gathered in deepening respect
that the lady knew how to fend for herself.