by Linda Ladd
"'Twill be difficult to escape such a fate, since Captain Cameron has many men to guard against your leaving."
"I will soon think of a way, and you and the other servants must help me escape—"
"I would not advise that."
Caitlin started upright with a splash as the rich deep voice sounded from across the room. Golden sparks flared in her eyes as she found Trey Cameron in the portal. He stood looking at her, one shoulder resting indolently against the doorframe, and Caitlin's face went livid as his ice blue eyes dropped to where the tops of her breasts rose in soft mounds above the water. She quickly folded her arms across her chest, her teeth grinding with fury.
"You have no right to enter my bedchamber. Get out!"
"Leave us, Pearl."
At Trey's order, the small Negress set the brush aside and glided soundlessly out of the room, and Caitlin met his steadfast gaze with loathing.
"Pearl is a servant in this house, Caitlin, and as I understand it, your nursemaid from birth. Surely you care more for her than to endanger her in your foolish plots."
Caitlin remained silent as he strolled casually past her to where a tall white armoire stood near the bed.
"I prefer to dine with a certain degree of formality, so you will have need to dress accordingly. I have supplied you with a new wardrobe of the latest London fashions."
Caitlin glared at his broad back as he selected a voluminous yellow satin gown from the armoire and laid it carefully across one muscular forearm.
"This should do nicely for tonight. Yellow will go becomingly with your hair."
"If you like it so much, milord, feel free to don it yourself, because I most assuredly will not."
Trey contemplated angry golden eyes for a mere instant before he came across the room with long purposeful strides. Caitlin sank deeper in the water, a hot flush of embarrassment surging up her neck to flood her cheeks. Her self-consciousness fled when he ignored her, instead leaning over to scoop up her discarded breeches and shirt. He dangled them in front of her with one long brown finger.
"I daresay you will no longer need these, so I will see them properly disposed of."
"Damn you, you scurvy wharf rat! I would rather go naked than wear your bloody yellow dress!"
Trey picked up the small pair of black boots and moved to the door, where he stopped and turned back.
"I suspect that we'll have to do something about your language, my dear. Your future husband, whoever he may be, will no doubt be a trifle shocked at such a vulgar outburst." He glanced at the dress where he'd laid it on the bed. "And as for the gown, wear what you will this night, but I'll warn you now that I have neither the time nor the inclination to tolerate childish tantrums from a wild, foul-mouthed hoyden. If you do not wear that dress and act the lady at my table this night, then I will set sail for England on the morning tide. And your brother will be with me."
Their eyes locked in a deadly duel, broken only when Caitlin's anger got the better of her self-control. She hurled her sponge at him with such quickness that Trey barely had time to duck the dripping missile. It missed him by inches, hitting the wall and spattering one side of his face. Caitlin smiled sweetly as branching rivulets of soapy water ran over one lean brown cheek where a muscle flexed dangerously.
Trey wiped the wetness away with the back of his hand, his square jaw set with anger.
"Dinner is served at eight o'clock, Caitlin. Don't make me wait."
Chapter Four
The dining room of Windsway was long and spacious, with six stately louvered doors opening onto the lower sea gallery. Trey Cameron stood motionlessly before one of them, his hands clasped loosely behind his back. Several maids in spotless white kerchiefs and crisp linen aprons moved about the room, touching flame to long white tapers in ornate gilded sconces. The lingering tropical dusk had finally darkened into ebony night, swallowing the glorious view of sun sparkling against the blue waters of the bay.
Trey stared into the darkness, the distant roar of surf a background melody to the croak of tree frogs in the outside gardens. He was not at all certain that Caitlin Alexander would heed his words and appear for the evening meal. And if that proved to be the case, he was not quite sure what he could do about it. He had no intention of returning to England with Christian Alexander as he'd threatened. That would only incur the Queen's displeasure, since she had sent Trey to Barbados expressly to see the girl safely married. He frowned suddenly, running impatient fingers through wavy black hair. On the cold, snowy January night on which he'd been summoned to Hampton Court, he'd had no idea Queen Anne had such a bizarre mission in store for him. Since the French Bourbons had attempted to put Louis XIV's grandson, Philip of Anjou, upon the throne of Spain, England had been at war with both countries, and as a captain of Her Majesty's navy, Trey had often met with the Queen in her privy chambers. He'd spent the last few years at sea, cruising the coasts of the Americas from Newfoundland to the Florida Straits in search of enemy vessels and their rich cargoes.
Trey shifted his stance, bracing his back against the doorframe. That was where he should be now, he thought, fighting the French, not acting the nurse maid to some wild and headstrong child. It had been hard for him to hide his dismay that night when he'd sat in conference with the Queen and Sir Henry McSpadden, the governor of Barbados. He'd listened to their accounts of the girl's exploits with not a little skepticism, but now he was beginning to think the Alexander girl capable of almost anything. But as much as he disliked the mission, Anne had made it quite clear that Caitlin Alexander's welfare was of the utmost importance to her. In truth, Trey knew it to be an expression of the Queen's trust in the Cameron family for him to be chosen to come to Windsway in her behalf.
For as long as he could remember, the Cameron clan had been staunch supporters of the Royal family, bringing all their power and influence in Scotland behind the Stuart monarchs. His father, Robert Cameron, had for many years privateered for Anne's uncle, Charles, then had pledged his loyalty to her father, James, when he'd ascended the throne in 1685. Only James's determination to perpetrate a Papist England had ended the Cameron's fealty to his reign, their fierce Presbyterian beliefs at direct odds with such a course for England. They had instead supported the claim of Anne's older sister, Mary, and her husband, William of Orange, when the English people had ousted King James and given them dual possession of the throne. But through all the political intrigue and turmoil of the past years, Princess Anne had remained the favorite of the Camerons. She had earned their love and respect long ago when she was but a princess and had traveled with her father's entourage to Holyrood House in Edinburgh.
On that visit, she had become close friends with Trey's parents, Robert and Beatrice Cameron. Trey had been a lad of ten then, and Anne had treated him as one of her favorites since those long-ago days. All the Camerons had joyfully welcomed Anne's coronation four years ago, though Trey's father had not lived to see the glorious occasion. Though a Scot, Trey felt no remorse for serving the English Crown, especially since Anne now worked diligently for unification of the two countries. The fact that Trey's mother was English-born, daughter to the wealthy Worthington family of Sussex, engendered his enthusiasm for such a plan. At his uncle's death a year before, Trey had taken his place as the Earl of Worthington. Since that time, he had divided what time he could between England and the vast Cameron estates in Edinburgh, but his responsibility had been alleviated to a great extent when his mother decided to return to Sussex with Trey's sisters and take up the running of Worth House in her capable hands.
A murmur from behind Trey sent his thoughts fleeing, and he turned, hoping that Caitlin had come, but it had only been one of the maids preparing for the meal. Trey's eyes lingered on the table admiringly, thinking that James Alexander had surely spared no expense in furnishing his island mansion. The table was of highly polished mahogany, twenty feet long, with twin five-branched silver candelabra illuminating along its length a glittering array of Chinese porcelain
and the finest Venetian glass. A dozen finely crafted chairs graced the table, plush with soft wine velvet cushions. Only the whitewashed walls and the low ceiling affixed with rope-controlled fans bespoke the tropical setting of Windsway Plantation, so very different from the carved age-darkened oak panels in the great halls and receiving rooms of Worth House.
Trey stared at the splendor of the table in silence, wondering if he would have to go upstairs and bring Caitlin down by force. A faint grimace twisted his handsome face at such a thought. It had taken months for him to reach this point in the capture of Caitlin Alexander, and none of it had been easy. Within a week of his audience with the Queen, he and Sir Henry had sailed for Barbados aboard the Glory. Once they had reached Bridgetown harbor, Trey had ridden the short distance to Windsway and, as he'd told Caitlin, had found more problems there than he had anticipated. Surprisingly, the house itself had been fairly well maintained by a loyal household staff under Pearl's supervision, but the cane had been neglected, and Trey's first order had been for the purchase of slaves necessary to work the fields. With the help of Governor McSpadden, Trey had hired a competent overseer so that he himself could put all his energies into tracking down the elusive girl- pirate with whom the Queen had saddled him. He laughed inwardly, remembering how he'd thought he could relax once he had her safe at home. Now that he'd met the fair Caitlin, the task of making a lady out of her in the allotted time seemed out of the realm of possibility. Even if she did don the dress and come down, he was not at all sure she would be capable of handling herself well throughout a formal repast such as he had planned. It appeared she'd had little training in anything other than how to act like a man.
A glimpse of yellow in one of the breezeway doors caught his eye, and he turned to where Caitlin stood looking at him. He stared in transfixed wonder as the soft candlelight reflected off honey gold eyes and sent a shimmering glow off veins of gold in the luxurious coppery ringlets draping bare, sun-browned shoulders. He could not speak at first, so totally astonished was he at her transformation.
Caitlin held herself stiff with pride as his eyes wandered over her in their usual insulting manner. He was obviously calculating her worth on the bridal block, and she felt common, used, totally humiliated. He'd made it very clear that he thought her devoid of any trace of femininity, and his assessment angered her. It was true her life aboard ship had robbed her of the loving guidance her mother would have given her if she'd been able to grow to womanhood on Windsway, but her father had done his best to teach her the graceful mien expected from a lady. Caitlin had tried for a while, though she thought it a complete waste of time and energy. A wild foul- mouthed hoyden he had called her! If that was what the bloody dolt of a captain expected of her, then that was what he'd get! Twice over! She'd make him wonder if she'd ever even seen a lady! With that end firmly in mind, she started toward the table.
The spell of enchantment that had settled over Trey Cameron was splintered with the hammer of astonishment at the sight of Caitlin Alexander bearing down on her chair with long, decidedly masculine footsteps. The mannish stride looked absurd in the delicate gown with its wide skirt with white ruching and blue satin streamers, but Trey prudently hid his amusement. For the moment, his bluff about Christian had evidently worked, and he felt a sense of elation to have won the first battle in his war with Caitlin Alexander.
He moved quickly to assist her with her chair, but before he could cross the room, Caitlin had plopped herself down with no feminine precaution whatsoever. Her action promptly sent one side of her hoop shooting precariously upward, presenting Trey with a most indecent glimpse of shapely brown legs devoid of any sort of pantalettes. A strong urge to laugh tickled inside him as Caitlin muttered a few less than acceptable remarks as she jerked the hoop down, but he thought better of it. A table knife lay close within her reach, and he had no desire to find it embedded in his chest. He set his face into sober lines as he took his place at the other end of the table.
"Yellow is most becoming to you, Caitlin, and it pleases me that the gown is not too large. You are so much more petite than I had expected."
He gave her as pleasant a smile as he possessed, receiving in turn a narrow-eyed stare.
"It sure as the devil needs to be let out, damn your eyes. I can barely breathe since Pearl laced the bloody thing up."
Trey blinked his amazement. What on earth would Governor McSpadden make of such language, or for that matter, any other member of Barbadian society? Good grief, how long would it take him to teach her all she needed to know?
"Nevertheless," he said finally, "it looks most lovely on you. One must bear discomfort at times to meet the dictates of propriety."
"Then by all means, let us lace you into a stomacher such as this and see how propriety feels to you."
Trey ignored her sweetly uttered challenge. "No doubt you will adapt to such garb in time, since so many other ladies of my acquaintance have worn stomachers and survived to speak of it."
A mocking smile hovered along his chiseled lips, and Caitlin gave him a mild sneer as she tugged irritably at the tight stomacher clinching her bodice. The accursed clothes were driving her mad!
Neither Trey nor Caitlin paid much attention to the two maids who served the first course with silent efficiency, Trey watching with some amazement as Caitlin continued to squirm about and scowl blackly down the table at him. His eyes moved again to her hair where it fell in gleaming waves and curly ringlets. It was the color of fire glow, so soft and thick and silky that he could almost feel the vibrant tresses sliding between his fingers. He immediately rejected his own thoughts as completely unsuitable, considering that he was her guardian. Nevertheless, her exquisite beauty could not be denied. Or ignored.
He lifted a fragile goblet, afraid to contemplate what her table manners might be. He tensed expectantly as she was served. He wouldn't be unduly surprised to see her lift an entire chicken and tear the meat with her teeth like some of the buccaneer friends she no doubt had. To his surprise and heartfelt relief, however, she picked up the heavy silver spoon beside her plate, dipping it carefully into the delicate crystal bowl of beef consomme. Each movement was graceful and refined, and Trey smiled, genuinely pleased that he had found at least one accomplishment that his charge had no need to improve.
"I am delighted to see that you are well versed in the art of dining," he said approvingly, in the hope that his compliment might please her.
"And what did you expect of me, you wretch? That I would snuffle my nose in my plate like a starved sea sow?"
Trey leaned back against the velvet upholstery, amused by her charge. "After the way you downed your rum this afternoon, I was not sure what to expect."
Caitlin refused to reply. She should slop her food around intentionally, she thought, just to spite him, but she could not bring herself to do it. If there was one thing she couldn't abide, it had to be terrible table manners.
The meal progressed in stilted silence. The only sound was the occasional clink of silverware and the slow swoosh of the fan above their heads that little Martha operated from a low stool near the table. Caitlin was not hungry, having eaten from the basket of bananas and juicy papayas that young Samuel had brought to her room earlier, and she pushed the food around her plate, surreptitiously studying her enemy from beneath her long black eyelashes.
She grudgingly admitted that he was a most handsome man: strong, self-assured, very masculine, and obviously quite accustomed to rich surroundings. His clothes alone bore witness to elegant good taste, the spotless white linen coat lightweight and suitable for the tropics, tailored to perfection across broad shoulders and powerful arms. His waistcoat was of the same snowy hue and fabric, as well as his breeches and the cravat impeccably folded at his throat. He appeared very big and brown and menacing, dangerous looking, though he no longer wore a sword. She had made a point to check that when she had first entered the room. Below the table, her hand found the hard outline of her dagger where it was strapped to
her thigh beneath her skirt. She felt better at once, just knowing it was there.
Piercing blue eyes rose to find her observing him, and Caitlin would not have dropped her gaze if a cannonball had landed on the table between them. He would not intimidate her! His own regard did not waver, and she asked him the question that had plagued her mind for the last few days.
"How did you do it?"
What?"
"Find us on Los Gatos."
"It wasn't easy," Trey admitted, his dark face relaxing into a wry smile. "You chose a good place to harbor."
"Apparently not that good." Caitlin couldn't hide her bitterness.
"If it will make you feel any better, it took me five months to find out about Los Gatos, and only then because rum had loosened the tongue of a seadog on Saint Lucia."
"Who betrayed us?"
"The man's name was Donahugh."
Caitlin's eyes grew cold. Roger had thrown Eli Donahugh off their crew for drunkenness and stealing. He was as rotten as any man could be. His treachery did not surprise her.
"And using the Spanish galleon to trick us? Was that your idea?"
"Aye, Los Gatos is much too well protected for a frontal attack. You know that as well as I. When the galleon was captured and brought into Bridgetown, the idea of an ambush occurred to me. After that, it was only a matter of towing it into place during the night and letting the waves wash us ashore. Donahugh told us where the reef would not break her apart." He paused. "My orders were to capture you and your brother, and I wanted no unnecessary loss of life for either of our crews."
Trey watched her trace the rose design of the lacy tablecloth with one slender fingertip before she raised her extraordinary honey-colored eyes to him.
"It was a good plan."
Her praise stunned him. Her remark was not thrown out sarcastically or as a false compliment, but merely as a recognition of fact, from one leader to another. Trey admired her for it. He smiled as he pushed back his chair and stood.
