“You have a few things to learn about how serious I can be.”
He carried her toward the steps, and she almost believed he meant it. He was only teasing, of course. He had to be. Her heart was throbbing with love because it cried yes! yes!
“Stop!” she said, laughing. “We can’t!” She whispered a warning, thinking it might sober him. “What will Earl Nigel say?”
“Going somewhere?”
They stopped.
It wasn’t the earl but Sir Cecil who stood on the terrace steps. A wry half smile showed on his thin mouth, but his sharp eyes danced. “So there is more of the scoundrel in you than viscount!”
“My dear Cecil, I didn’t realize there was that much difference between the two.”
“Maybe you’re right, but Emerald has the final say in this. Don’t you, my dear?”
Baret didn’t look the least embarrassed, but Emerald flushed and elbowed Baret to put her down. He continued to hold her.
“You’re just in time,” Baret said. “I was about to run off with my betrothed.” He looked at Emerald. “On the other hand, it looks as though heaven has intervened and we must wait. A disappointment.” He set her gently on her feet and bowed toward Cecil. “I do believe the guests are waiting for us to lead the first waltz. That’s the third time the music has returned to the beginning. If you will pardon us …” And taking Emerald’s arm, he turned her about and led her toward the ballroom as Emerald covered her laughter.
“He knows you well.”
“Too well.”
As they entered the ballroom, Baret bowed sedately to the guests, and Emerald curtsied. Then they were on the wide, polished floor, waltzing. She had unobtrusively slipped the ring inside her bodice for safekeeping, afraid she would lose it. After several times about the floor, they were joined by others until the floor was filled and they were no longer the object of every eye.
Lavender had not come to the betrothal ceremony, but she appeared now. Lord Grayford led her in from a side door. Neither of them looked especially happy. Lavender refused to look at Baret, though Grayford spoke as they waltzed by, offering his congratulations.
The hour was all that Emerald had ever hoped for, and not until they had danced to at least a dozen waltzes and Baret had escorted her to the table for refreshments did she remember Jette.
“Oh, dear, I’d forgotten. He’ll be so disappointed.”
“Forgot who? Rafael?”
She ignored the little jest and explained about the box and Carlotta.
Emerald glanced about. And just where were Carlotta and Dr. Ricardo Vasquez? They hadn’t been at the betrothal either, but she’d been so occupied that she hadn’t noticed their absence until now. Had Felix decided he couldn’t trust his daughter even at the ball?
The news that Carlotta had entrusted something important to Jette had sobered Baret. He glanced toward Felix. But his uncle was with Geneva and Earl Nigel, and he appeared unconcerned about Baret.
Baret led her toward the cooler terrace, where he handed her a glass of sweetened limeade. “I’ll see to Jette and find out what’s on Carlotta’s mind.” He looked back toward the ballroom, glittering with a rainbow of color and jewels. “I don’t see Erik, or I’d have him attend you.”
“I don’t see Minette either …” Emerald scanned the dance floor. “I’d prefer just to sit in the cool and gather my wits. You go find Jette and the twins.”
Baret placed a hand behind her neck and drew her face toward his, kissing her. Then he was gone.
Emerald leaned against the railing, holding the tall glass with its fresh mint leaf. She reached into her bodice, removed the ring, and held it up to the moonlight. She smiled and kissed it.
Minette felt like crying until her eyes were red and puffy, but she tried not to. Then Emerald would be disappointed in her, and Lavender would be smug and pleased that she’d been able to hurt her.
The ball had been going well for Minette. She’d even had enough courage to enter the room when the music began, believing that Emerald and the viscount would arrive for the first waltz. But they hadn’t come immediately, and Minette stood alone, afraid and anxious until Erik Farrow seemed to emerge from nowhere and very politely bowed.
“Good evening.”
She became tongue-tied and hated herself for it. This is what she’d been planning for, praying for, and now the wonderful moment was here, waiting with expectation for her to speak profoundly—“Good evening, m’lord”—and maybe even give a little curtsy as her skirts shimmered.
And what did she do?
Nothing. She looked at him but could not speak.
The handsome face looked back at her blankly, but there’d been stifled amusement in his eyes—she was sure of it.
“You look lovely tonight, Miss Levasseur,” he commented, and she still said nothing. She tried to swish her fan but dropped it with a foolish clatter. And when she bent to pick it up, so did he, and she bumped into him clumsily.
And then she turned red when he handed it to her with a brief smile, and instead of saying, “Why, you’re very kind, m’lord,” she stood there like a goose.
Then Lavender had come as the essence of everything a lady is. She’d asked Erik where he’d been all these dreadfully long months and said she was so pleased to see him again and would he mind awfully if he would walk her to the terrace for a breath of air?
And then she turned to Minette and said, “Minette, can you go help Zunsia find Jette? And then run along to the kitchen and bring out more Madeira for the guests.”
And she’d walked off with him.
That was all of ten minutes ago, and Minette’s throat hurt, and she was terribly thirsty and miserable. She ought to run upstairs to her room and lock the door and cry all she wanted. Who would care? Who would even miss her? Oh, she could see their glances her way. “That’s Emerald’s half-caste cousin,” they were saying. “She used to be a slave, and look at her now—acting like one of us.”
One of us.
She threw down her fan with a sob. “I am one of them!”
“Are you?”
Minette whirled, and Erik stood in the anteroom doorway, leaning there, sipping from a glass.
“I don’t think either of us is,” he commented. “I’m learning I do not much care whether I am or not. I’m a buccaneer and will always be so. I’ve decided I wouldn’t trade my ship for any number of titles in London. Maybe if you were smart you wouldn’t try to make those old cats in there accept you. What do you care what they think?”
She shrugged her shoulders and sank weakly onto the flowered muslin of a settee. “Everyone wants to be treated with respect.”
“Lavender will never treat you so. Her heart is too small to share it with anyone but herself. Her world is no larger than her gilded mirror. So I would not worry about her—or the Buckingtons and Harwicks. And there’s little else in London except more of them. Rather boring, isn’t it? Now, St. Kitts! That’s another matter. You would like it there, I think.”
She smiled for the first time. “Maybe you’re right. I used to dream of London a lot, of getting away from Jamaica, but now … well, maybe I belong here.”
“Then we may have more of the same interests than I first thought.” He smiled and watched her over his glass.
Minette knew she flushed. She reached down and picked up her fan and swished it. She glanced toward the door.
“I best be gettin’ back.”
“Why?”
The simple question completely undid her.
“You can’t use the excuse about ‘gossip.”’
She laughed wearily. “No, I guess not.” Her eyes came to his. He was so handsome in fine hunter green velvet and a Holland shirt with a wide collar. She saw he carried his weapons. She realized he was a dangerous man in more ways than one and that he was watching her with a keen interest he had never shown before. A warning bell went off in her mind. It was as if she could hear the voice of Great-uncle Mathias calling from a distan
ce. She was naive, and she was a half-caste, and her infatuation with such a man as Captain Farrow, a buccaneer, could leave her in great trouble.
“So you didn’t go to the Blue Mountains to find Ty?”
“Blue Mountains? Ty’s not there. He’s in Port Royal. He expects to sail with Morgan.”
“I was told you ran away to the Blue Mountains to find him.”
Startled, she wondered aloud, “Why did you think that?”
“Sempala told me. I went to the fields looking for you, but you weren’t there.”
Dumbfounded, she stared at him, then she slowly stood. He had come looking for her.
“I didn’t go to the Blue Mountains, but I would’ve escaped if I could have. I didn’t know what had happened to Emerald in Brideswell, and we were told Uncle Karlton was dead.”
She saw a flicker of gravity in his eyes at the mention of Emerald’s father, but it was still amazing to Minette that Erik would have cared enough to come to the fields to look for her. She hadn’t thought a man such as he would even remember her, even though he had rescued her from aboard the San Pedro. But what did this confession mean—that he had come to the field?
“I—I was kept from escaping by Sempala and Mr. Pitt.”
He watched her calmly, but she suspected he was interested to know what had happened. She blushed. Did he think—
“Sempala had you?”
She nodded, averting her eyes and playing with the fan. Erik wouldn’t believe that the Lord had protected her, even if she told him so. It was an awful fact that half-castes, Africans, and Caribs were considered mere concubines. No one worried about them. No one cared about their purity but God.
“If I had known that, I would have taken you away from him. Maybe he will still die for lying to me.”
Her amber eyes rushed to his, and the anger she saw stunned her. But—but why would he care?
Her heart began to beat like a rabbit’s. She remembered how he had briefly kissed her aboard the San Pedro. She had never forgotten that kiss, but she had thought he didn’t even remember, that he must have kissed a hundred women. Was she wrong? Was there more to this buccaneer than she thought? After all, he was a close friend of the viscount, and the viscount didn’t have evil men for friends, but rather men of gallantry and honor, even though buccaneers.
He set down his empty glass and looked toward the door as though something was on his mind. He still looked angry but as cool as a viper ready to strike.
“Better get back to your Cousin Emerald. I have some business to see to.”
“Wait, Sir Farrow, please!”
He looked at her with detachment, but she had begun to recognize that look. It could mean determination.
He smiled briefly. “I’ll be back.”
There was so much in those words. She sank back to the settee, feeling weak.
He began to walk away, and then Minette found her voice. “But Sempala didn’t touch me. Nobody did, because I prayed every day and every night and asked the Lord to help me. And Jesus did help me. He sent Ngozi to father me. And even Sempala became kinder and left me alone. So—so you don’t need to be angry at anyone for hurting me.”
He paused and looked at her for a long moment, and Minette turned warm, then cold, all over. She recognized that look. She had seen Baret Buckington look at Emerald that way.
She bit her lip and tried to blink back the tears.
Slowly he walked back to her and gazed down. “You’re telling me the truth?”
She nodded and swallowed. “The whole truth.”
A circle of silence enclosed them, until nothing became real to Minette but his presence, his face, his eyes. Then his hand took hers, and he lifted her gently from the settee.
“I could love you,” he said.
Tears spilled from her eyes and down her cheeks.
“When I get back from Morgan’s raid, I’ll come to see you often. That is, if you grant your permission, Miss Levasseur.”
She smiled. “You have my permission, Sir Farrow.”
He began to draw her into his arms, then apparently changed his mind. He held her from him and gently kissed her. “Would you waltz with me?”
She nodded, smiling. “I was hopin’ you’d ask me.”
“I’ve been anxiously waiting for the right moment.”
10
A MESSAGE FROM SIR KARLTON
Emerald waited for Baret, but the box that Jette had wanted to give him must have offered more interesting prospects than the ball, for he hadn’t returned. She watched Minette and Captain Farrow on the ballroom floor and smiled, knowing how happy Minette must be to have captured his attention at last. A glance toward Lavender showed that she was not as pleased, but she seemed to have resigned herself to holding onto the devotion of Lord Grayford. Lavender now favored him with her full attention, and Emerald thought he looked rather surprised and pleased.
Then there was an unexpected roll of drums and an announcement by Lord Felix.
“On this night of my nephew’s betrothal to Lady Emerald Harwick, we as a family rejoice to announce more fair news regarding our own Lady Lavender Thaxton. The marriage of Lavender to Lord Grayford will be held before he sails to Curacao.”
There were attending smiles and light applause and bows toward Lavender and Grayford, and then the music began again—the same Strauss waltz that had played for Emerald and Baret. Everyone stepped back to give Lavender and Lord Grayford the floor. Lavender gazed up at him as they circled the ballroom.
Maybe she means it this time, thought Emerald. She’s lost two men by her shallow ways. Maybe she’s smart enough now to know she might lose Grayford too, if she doesn’t treat him as well as he deserves.
She hoped so. Despite Cousin Lavender’s spoiled ways, Emerald did care about her and wanted her life to turn out well. Watching them waltz, she began to think it would.
Soon other couples were joining them, and Emerald looked toward the garden door. What was keeping Baret?
Henry, the main serving man, came toward her.
“Someone’s here about your cousin, Ty, Miss Emerald.”
She stood at once. “Ty?”
“Says it’s important or he wouldn’t have bothered you now.”
“Where is he?”
“He’s waiting in the garden just outside the parlor. He wouldn’t come in.”
“Thank you, Henry.”
She slipped away from the ballroom. A moment later she entered the parlor, closing the doors softly for privacy against the muffled strains of the music.
The candles had been extinguished, and the lamps were all lit. The warmth of the evening reached out to her, causing the sweet aroma of the white roses to permeate the room. A mild breeze blew pleasantly through the garden doors as she paused there to look about the flower garden.
“Lady Harwick?”
Her head turned toward the raspy voice, and she saw a stranger, hat in hand, come forward. He looked to be a priest, but he wore no cross, just an ankle-length tan garment that might have been stitched together from a few yards of discarded sailcloth. His hair was gray, in contrast to a tanned face. He lowered his eyes and bowed decorously.
“Yes?” she asked curiously.
He bowed again, hat at heart. “Pardone, Mademoiselle Harwick, but, you see, I bring ze sad news of your cousin, Ty. I bring him in ze wagon from Port Royal as he ask me. He was shot in a duel at Red Goose. Most disturbing, Mademoiselle!”
“Shot! Oh, no!” She came down the steps, clutching her skirts.
“In ze leg,” and he gave a slap to his right thigh. “By ze evil pirate no less, ze wicked Captain Rafael.”
Rafael, that rakish fiend!
“Ty asks you make speed and say nothing. Monsieur Pitt searches for him. Zeddie is with horse and carriage waiting. Ty, he is in ze manor house, asking you come at once.”
“I’ll come. But what happened? Why would Rafael shoot his own cousin?”
“Ah, I do not know. Ty in too much pain f
or talking.”
He led the way down the garden walk toward the back gate.
One good thing might come of Ty’s injury, she thought as she hurried after him. He would know better than to trust a gaggle of pirates…
Emerald’s breath caught, and her eyes narrowed suspiciously as she took a closer look at the man she followed.
Gaggle of pirates—
She turned to flee, but the man whirled and sprang as nimbly as a cat, clamping his hand over her mouth before she could scream. In the struggle his gray periwig toppled from his head, revealing long black locks.
“Now, now, Mademoiselle,” he breathed, “do not make for trouble. We are gallant gentlemen, all! You will come peaceably with us, yes?”
She bit his hand and tried to kick him.
He cursed but held tight. “Pierre!” he called toward the trees.
A second man, adorned in blue satin, rushed forward. He ripped off his jacket. “Ze cat!” And forcing Emerald’s arms behind her, he held her while the first pirate stuffed a handkerchief into her mouth.
Emerald fought and struggled, landing a solid kick to the pirate’s knee.
He snarled and wrapped the jacket around her head. One of the men swung her up and across his shoulder. Hissing something in French, they took off, footsteps pounding the earth.
Emerald struggled to free herself. Each jarring step jostled her and cut off her breath. His shoulder dug painfully into her ribs.
“Into ze wagon!”
She kicked again and let out a muffled cry as a heavy smelly blanket landed on top of her, sealing her into suffocating tomblike darkness.
“Lie still, Mademoiselle!”
The wagon jostled along for unnumbered minutes until they picked up speed. Soon the horse was running along the road, and she heard the two pirates conversing in French and laughing.
Levasseur! This revolting deed had to be his foul work! Was Ty really shot? Or had it been a lie to trick her into following the man away from the house?
What a fool I was!
A short time later, they came to a halt, and one of the men pulled the blanket from her and removed the wadded cloth from her mouth. She gasped in the night air, feeling the wind cooling the sweat on her face and throat, and saw that they were in front of the manor house.
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