“What?” Gideon struggled to focus on what she said.
“The man in the portrait.”
He blinked to clear his vision and realized she stood looking at Black Jack Trevithick. For a long moment, Gideon stared into painted eyes so similar to his own. Black Jack wasn’t smiling, but the long, sensual mouth quirked on the verge of laughter.
“That’s Black Jack. An altogether more dashing fellow than I.”
“He certainly has the devil in his eyes.”
“Not just in his eyes if the stories are true.”
“Women, you mean? If looks are anything to go by, I suspect the stories are true.” She glanced directly at Gideon. “You’ll have to tell me.”
He shifted uncomfortably. A discussion of his disreputable forebear’s amorous conquests. Just what he needed when he struggled to rein in his own unruly sexual appetites. “Most aren’t fit for a lady’s ears.”
She laughed softly and flashed him a smile. Her full lips curved bewitchingly, and he caught a glimpse of small white teeth. Another bolt of arousal left him staggering. Her warmth beckoned, more enticing than a fire on a winter’s night.
He tilted his chin in Black Jack’s direction. “Actually, there’s one story you might like.”
“Only one?”
“Well, the only one I mean to tell.”
“Spoilsport.” Her lips twitched in a way that sent another frisson down his spine.
He strove to sound as if he weren’t about to combust into ashes. “Black Jack was the local wild boy. He could sail anything that floated, ride any horse that galloped, seduce any maiden into compliance. The family legend is he charmed Queen Bess out of her chastity.”
The enchanting smile still hovered around Sarah’s lips. “What a man.”
“Precisely.” He struggled to concentrate on his story rather than Sarah’s attractions. An impossible task when her attractions were so compelling. “On one of his raids along the Spanish Main, he captured a galleon.”
Her face was alight with interest. “Packed with treasure, so the Trevithicks were set up forever?”
“Who’s telling this tale?”
“You are. Pray, go on.”
“Packed with treasure, so Black Jack came back to Cornwall and rebuilt the house as it stands today.”
“If he built this house, he had an artist’s spirit. What else was on the galleon?”
He fell into the familiar tale, telling it as he’d heard it as a child from his nurse, one of Pollett’s sisters. “A grandee’s daughter called Donna Ana, the most beautiful woman in King Philip’s empire.”
“She fell in love with Black Jack at first sight?”
“No, she fought him tooth and nail. But Jack wanted her and brought her back to Penrhyn as his bride.”
“Don’t tell me she pined for Spain and died a melancholy death far from everything she loved?”
“Now what sort of romantic legend is that?”
“The sort I don’t like to hear.”
An amused sound emerged from his throat. So dangerous, letting himself relax with her. But sweeter than the rich Indian confectionery he remembered from the bazaars. “After a battle royal, she fell in love with her Cornish pirate and gave him ten healthy children. He lived into old age as a faithful and devoted husband.”
Sarah’s smile filled with unguarded delight. He felt as though he stood in a shaft of summer sunlight, for all it was a cold February day. “That’s lovely.”
Her response didn’t surprise him. He knew she was a romantic. Look at how she romanticized him.