Turning away from the fountain to return to the house, Cat nearly collided with Mr. Pettifer. "Oh, you startled me," she said.
"I was but admiring your beauty, Miss Amberly." The portly man simpered. "How I long to escort you on a stroll through the gardens."
Compared to Ransom’s understated elegance, Pettifer’s attire seemed even more ridiculous. His coat, breeches, and waistcoat encompassed every color in the rainbow and dangled with several fobs and a watch chain.
"That would be improper, sir," Cat said, pushing past him toward the doors.
"Oh, how droll you islanders are. Come, walk with me," Pettifer said, presenting his arm. "These surroundings suit you, you know. You have the look of a Greek goddess."
Although Cat did not take his arm, the man was undeterred. "Don’t deny me, for I fear I cannot control myself any longer. I am overcome by your loveliness."
To Cat’s horror, he made a move as if to embrace her. Without hesitation, she stepped forward and indelicately trod on his foot, causing him to stumble backward, an oath on his lips.
"Oh, I beg your pardon! How clumsy of me," Cat said, affecting remorse before turning and hurrying back into the house.
Cat would have been horrified to realize that there was a witness to the scene, especially if she'd known who it was. But from his vantage point in the shadows, Ransom smiled to himself. "Neatly done," he said softly.
He had come to the Grayson plantation in search of a merchant interested in the Reckless’s cargo, a dull enough business. And yet the evening was turning out to be far from boring.
First, he had nearly caught one of Devlin’s men following him from the ship, only to lose the fellow in the dark streets of Bridgetown. Then, upon arriving here, he had noticed the extraordinarily beautiful blonde staring at him with the oddest expression.
In his twenty-six years, Ransom had received more than his share of admiring glances from the female population, but there was something different in this one’s gaze. He could not quite pinpoint it, but he felt almost certain he knew her.
Her subsequent flight to the gardens had piqued his curiosity, and he had followed. There, he’d caught a fairly good look at her while she washed her face in the fountain, something he’d certainly never seen any woman do, let alone one of good breeding. And yet, he could swear he’d never laid eyes on her before.
Just who was she?
***
Mr. Pettifer forgotten, Cat made her way through the arched galleries to the ballroom, where she spied her aunt deep in conversation with an elderly matron on the other side of the room. But before Cat could reach Amelia’s side, she was waylaid by Lord Claremont with an invitation to dance. Cat was trying politely to decline when she heard a deep voice speak from behind her.
"I’m sorry, but Miss Amberly promised this dance to me."
Her heart once more in her throat, Cat spun around, coming face to face with a casually tied cravat that she had probably pressed one time or another. Before she knew it, she felt the light touch of a hand upon her back and fingers grasping her own. And in one elegant turn, she was whirled across the floor.
It was a waltz like no other, for Ransom was a far cry from the provincials she had danced with before. Tall, handsome, and assured, he moved with a masculine grace that left her breathless.
As they glided smoothly along with the music, Cat surrendered to the pure joy of behind in his arms at last. Smiling idiotically up at him, she drank in his beloved features: the dark locks, those mobile brows, the warm brown eyes...
However, the familiar eyes were not warm, but cool and distant, and disappointment pricked her as Cat realized this was the face he presented to the world. The man did not recognize her, and if he did, she would receive no welcome from him. Her pleasure in his company faltering, Cat looked away, only to be drawn back by his speech.
"We’ve met before?" he asked.
"Oh?" Cat spoke lightly, though her pulse pounded. "I’m afraid I wouldn’t know since we weren’t properly introduced."
The corners of his lovely mouth lifted in a ghost of a smile as he acknowledged his fault with a slight inclination of his head. "I am Worcester."
"What?"
"Ransom Duprey, duke of Worcester," he said, while Cat blinked in astonishment. Had her captain the gall to masquerade as a nobleman - and no paltry peer either, but a duke, the highest rank?
"You look surprised," he said in that dry tone of his.
"Why, your grace," Cat said, her address dripping with sarcasm. "The manner in which you swept me away from my intended partner hardly marked you as a gentleman."
That dark brow lifted. "Your intended look as though such an effort would severely aggravate his gout."
Against her will, Cat’s lips twitched in amusement.
"And, if you find my invitation to dance rather impulsive, I can only plead that I was overcome by your loveliness."
Cat gasped, realizing that Ransom had overheard her encounter with Pettifer in the gardens. "You are no gentleman."
"Hmm. You’re repeating yourself, my love, and I was just beginning to think you were endowed with more than average... wit," he said. His gaze traveled slowly over her in a way it never had when she was his cabin boy.
In fact, he was looking at her as though she were one of the female admirers who threw themselves at his head. Cat’s shock was quickly followed by outrage.
"Do you make a habit of eavesdropping in bushes, or was this a special occasion?" she asked.
"Oh, I engage in such practices about as frequently as young ladies wash their faces in the bowls of lawn ornaments."
Seething, Cat glared up at him to no effect, for he returned her black look with a lazy grin that threatened to draw a smile from her. Silently, she reminded herself not to succumb to his allure, for as Bert had been wont to declare, Ransom could charm the petticoats from nearly any female. And the look on his face did nothing to reassure her, for it was not the brotherly affection she was used to seeing.
On the contrary, the gleam in his dark eyes set her whole body astir with a strange trembling, which she quelled sharply in annoyance. "For heaven’s sake, stop looking at me as if I’m a stuffed snapper you’re preparing to devour," she snapped.
Ransom threw back his head in a deep-throated laugh, a delightful sound that Cat had sorely missed. She could not help the warm rush of affection that his amusement engendered, and suddenly she felt at home, as though she had returned after a lengthy and unwilling absence.
Watch yourself, a voice inside warned her, but she ignored it, for the feeling was too welcome and too strong to deny. And when the dance ended, she knew a surge of disappointment that made it difficult to part with her partner. In fact, she had to remind herself that she must leave or risk even more than discovery.
***
Tim Calhoun sat in the half darkness outside the lamplight that marked the Grayson place, chewing on a straw and cursing the luck that had him watching Duprey. He had been doing well enough until somebody had learned that His Nibs would be going to Barbados and soon Tim was dispatched to follow.
Tim shook his head. If you asked him, the time and money spent keeping an eye on Duprey could be turned toward something more profitable. But nobody was asking him. Nor were they likely to, so he kicked his heels, watching the bay and waiting for the man.
It wouldn’t have been so bad, if Tim could have tucked away some spare coin on the side by picking a few pockets along the waterfront. But he had strict orders to keep out of trouble and out of sight, and he had no wish to earn the wrath of his employer.
Devlin was not a man to cross, he thought grimly as he watched the coaches drawing up to the plantation house. Still, this latest job was not to his taste, especially trotting around to fancy parties like this one. If his dear mum could see him now...
Tim’s thoughts broke off as he watched a lovely blonde step through the doorway. Now, there was one worth watching, he thought as she walked gracefully down the stairs. W
hy, that golden hair shone in the lamplight just like an angel’s, but the way her dress fell around that body...
The rest of Tim’s thoughts had nothing to do with heaven. Impulsively, he stepped from the shadows to hand her into the carriage, eager for the lady’s touch and hoping for a smile.
It was granted. "Thank you," the angel murmured, and that was all the invitation Tim needed to loosen his own tongue.
"You are quite welcome, miss. And let me wish you a fine evening," he said, grinning from ear to ear. And rather than brushing him off, as some fine ladies might, she gave him another, more genuine, smile that left him gaping after her.
When the coach door shut behind her, Tim slipped back into the shadows. But his thief’s sixth sense warned that he might have been marked, and he groaned at the sight of Duprey standing at the entrance eyeing the departing coach. Now there would be hell to pay! Not only had Tim been seen, but it looked as if Duprey was coming after him.
Sure enough, His Nibs was moving down the steps, and that was all Tim waited to see, taking flight into the darkness as if the very hounds of hell were on his tail.
***
Seeing the wiry fellow disappear into the night, Ransom turned back toward the house, mulling over the scene he had just witnessed. Having recognized the bright red hair from earlier in the evening, he’d watched the man’s exchange with Miss Amberly with interest.
Perhaps there was no connection between the two, but Ransom was not a believer in coincidence. Was she, too, one of Devlin’s minions? It would not be the first time his nemesis had sent a woman to spy on him, but this one was certainly not the same sort as the “widow” who’d carried the clap. No, this one was definitely different.
Ransom felt a twinge of disappointment, for he’d thought Miss Amberly unusual - quite refreshing, in fact. He’d even contemplated taking the time from his busy enterprises to pursue an acquaintance with her.
But even then he’d wondered about the beauty. Although she’d denied meeting him before, she appeared to know him or know of him, and there was something oddly familiar about her.
Ransom’s expression hardened. He’d been searching unsuccessfully for Devlin for some time, the man’s increasingly criminal activities forcing him underground. But perhaps these two could provide a clue as to their employer’s whereabouts.
Although the red-haired fellow had made his escape, Miss Amberly might give him in the information he sought. And she would undoubtedly prove to be more interesting company.
***
Cat tried to concentrate on cutting gladioli, but her hands kept falling idle as she went over her encounter with Ransom in her mind and came up with better retorts. The bonnet Amelia had insisted she wear fell unheeded down her back, and tendrils of hair escaped from their proper place to curl about her face as Cat knelt before the flowers. The air was hot and still, the silence broken only by the occasional raucous sounds of the frigate birds and a few stray gulls.
Amelia was bustling about the roses, her gloves lying forgotten on the pebbled walk. "Catherine, please put on your bonnet,” she said. “Your face is already brown as a berry."
"Oh, aunt, don’t scold," Cat said. "The sun feels so nice." She raised her face to catch its warmth as she spoke. "I love the out-of-doors. Why dress to suit some silly fashion in your own garden?" Before her aunt could answer, she continued. "Besides, you’ve left off your gloves again."
"Why, so I have, and you have, too, my dear. What a pair we are! I’ve lived too far from society for too long to chaperon you properly." Amelia shook her head as she retrieved her gloves.
"I think we are delightfully suited. And I don’t give a fig for society," Cat said.
"Oh, dear. You can say that, but you don’t know how they are, the ton. They can snub you dreadfully."
Cat bit back a reply when she saw Marie approaching. The maid spoke softly to Amelia, who dusted off her hands and rose to her feet. "Finish cutting your gladioli, dear. I think they’ll make a lovely arrangement for the foyer," she said. Patting her white hair distractedly, she walked back to the house.
Cat sat back on her heels and looked unseeing at the cloudless sky, her mind returning to Ransom. She had never thought to see him again, and suddenly she had been dancing with the man.
Resolutely, she stifled the tendency of her heart to soar at the memory. She would not see him again. There were few enough balls on the island, so she would avoid them until the Reckless left the harbor.
She simply could not risk recognition. The captain had the devil’s own temper when roused, and she could not imagine him being pleased to find she had shared his cabin and confidences under false pretenses. She had fooled him, and that would not sit well with Ransom, not well at all.
But he seemed deep in deception himself, for wasn’t he posing as a duke? Cat shook her head at such arrogance. And he’d treated her as though she were one of his tarts, gazing at her with those dark eyes...
Cat shivered despite the heat. Annoyed at her reaction, she gave an especially vigorous clip to the stem between her fingers.
She might have reacted even more violently had she known the object of her thoughts was but a stone’s throw away, examining a piece of porcelain in Amelia’s foyer. Officially, he had been shown into the morning room, but had wandered out in an effort to escape the stifling warmth there. He returned the vase to the side table and paused to study a portrait.
A middling work, the painting depicted two golden-haired beauties, obviously related, although one appeared dainty and frail, while her taller counterpart held herself with more confidence. Leaning closer, Ransom noted more than a passing resemblance between that lovely and the intriguing Catherine Amberly. He turned from his perusal just as the other subject came to life, as a wispy woman with hair now white as snow.
"Oh, dear. I hope you weren’t expecting the girl in the portrait, your grace," she said, waving a delicate hand at the painting. "Goodness, but that was done a long time ago." She smiled tremulously at the picture and for a moment appeared to be lost in her own thoughts. Then she looked up at him, as if seeing him for the first time, and smiled.
"Good day, Mrs. Molesworth," Random said, bowing his head graciously. "I hope I have not called at an inconvenient time. I met your niece last night at the Grayson ball."
"You have my leave to call whenever you wish, your grace," she answered before eyeing him curiously. "I suppose the morning room was a bit close. Aptly named, but most uncomfortable. We’ll go into the parlor, where it’s a bit cooler."
Ransom’s attention was caught by a movement behind her, and he saw that her niece was approaching. Turning slowly, Ransom felt the air pulse with more than its usual heat as he faced her.
"Ah, here is Catherine. I’ll leave you in her capable hands," Mrs. Molesworth said, her eyes twinkling, "while I see to some lemonade for us." She must have exited, but Ransom only had eyes for the young woman standing stock-still only a few feet away.
The sun lit her golden hair, lending an ethereal cast to her beauty. His gaze took in the charming disarray of her tresses and traveled down the slim column of her throat to where the heat had dampened her bodice, leaving a triangle of material clinging provocatively to her breasts. The puffed sleeves of her white gauze gown revealed slender arms carrying a huge basket of gladioli and greenery. She could have stepped out of a painting except for...
"You’ve neglected to wash your face this time, Miss Amberly," he said, surprising himself by the softness of his voice. He stepped toward her until he was close he could feel her breath, then lifted his hand and lightly wiped a smudge of dirt from her nose with his thumb.
Cat could only stare at him, dumbfounded. The sunlight loved his face, illuminating the familiar brown eyes and the curve of his lips in a way that the candlelight had not, and she realized that he was still the handsomest man she had ever seen.
He was so close she nearly reached up a hand to touch the visage that had so often haunted her dreams, but caught
herself. His own light touch so unnerved her that she turned to the side table and, to hide her confusion, plucked a flower from the basket to place in the empty vase.
"Here, let me help you." Ransom’s voice was like silk as he took the basket from her. Her hands now free, Cat began taking the blossoms and greenery and arranging them as best she could. She felt like a drowning man being lulled by the hum of the deep as his charm pulled her under.
With an effort, she struggled to the surface and toward reason, which told her he had caught her unawares and woefully unprepared. Amelia had somehow disappeared, drat her hide, leaving Cat alone with her former captain. When she found her voice, Cat asked, "What are you doing here?"
"I’m sorry to disappoint you," he said. "Were you expecting Mr. Waistcoat?" He leaned too close to her ear.
"Certainly not! And his name was Pettifer," Cat answered, without looking at him.
"So not Mr. Pitiful," he said lightly, causing Cat to smile unwillingly. "Then perhaps you were expecting another suitor?"
Another suitor? What was he getting at? "I have no suitors," Cat said with a trace of scorn. When he made no comment, she turned to find his eyebrow cocked in disbelief. He was certainly acting strangely, she thought, putting the finishing touches to the flowers and stepping back to appraise her efforts.
"Very lovely," he said. "But then, so is the artist. So much so that I find it difficult to believe she is lacking in admirers."
Cat caught a curious undertone in his voice, as though he were accusing her of something. She looked at him sharply, but his face revealed nothing of his thoughts.
"Believe what you will. I’ve been meaning to find a husband, but the task seems so tedious." She shot him a withering glance. "Men being a lot of boring rogues."
Ransom’s brow shot upward. "I see. Well, if Pettifer is any indication of the company you’ve been keeping, your opinion is understandable."
What conceit for the man to place himself above any other, Cat thought, forgetting that she had often subscribed to that belief herself.
A Heart's Masquerade Page 8
