"Perhaps I can endeavor to redeem the reputation of my gender," he said, oozing the kind of faux friendliness that had little to do with the captain she had known.
"I doubt that, your grace," Cat said, "as I see no difference between you and any other fellow. Now, if you will excuse me, I need to freshen up, as you pointed out so indelicately. Please don’t feel you must stay on my account." With that parting shot, she climbed the stairs without a glance in his direction.
Ransom was left standing in the foyer, holding an empty basket and the reins of his temper. For one reckless moment, he felt like storming up the steps after her, but maybe that was what he was supposed to feel. His anger dissolved as he wondered just how much of her performance was staged by Devlin.
"Have you been abandoned, your grace?" Ransom heard the older woman’s voice behind him and turned to face her. "Come join me in some lemonade," she said, gesturing toward an open doorway, where the manservant stood holding a tray. "Or perhaps something a little stronger for yourself?"
Finding himself in the unusual position of being at a loss, Ransom assented and was soon seated on a small divan in the cozy parlor, shaded by the Royal Poinciana tree outside.
"I’m so glad to meet you," Mrs. Molesworth said, with a smile. While Ransom inclined his head in acknowledgement, she continued smiling and studying him in a odd manner. "Oh, you’ll do. You’ll do," she said, appearing quite pleased.
"I beg your pardon?"
"Oh, it’s nothing, just an old lady’s rambling," she said. "I am so pleased that you are calling on Catherine. May I speak frankly?"
At Ransom’s nod, she continued. "I must admit that I have not provided all that I should in the way of social opportunities, and Catherine needs a husband."
Even Ransom was shocked by this blunt declaration, though he said nothing.
"You see, Catherine is not what she appears," Mrs. Molesworth said.
I can believe that, thought Ransom.
"She simply must marry before he discovers she is here," Amelia said, in all earnestness, though Ransom was baffled. Who? Devlin? Was the little old lady in his employ, too?
"Oh, yes," she said. "I probably shouldn’t be telling even you, your grace, but I trust you will not reveal her whereabouts." Mrs. Molesworth sat back in her chair and sighed, as though a great weight had been lifted from her.
"And not just any husband will do," the woman continued. "She needs someone who has no fear of reprisals from the baron of Wellshire, someone brave and bold, such as yourself, if I may say so." She smiled sweetly at Ransom, then blithely sipped her lemonade as though she had said nothing out of the ordinary.
"Now, let me assure you that the child has good blood. Her father - her real father, mind you - was one of the Hampshire Amberlys, part of the old earl’s brood. And, of course, my father - her grandfather - was a baronet, although I suppose that means little to you." She paused, frowning, as if struck by a sudden misgiving. "I imagine that Catherine would prove to be a handful, though. She is a headstrong girl."
Ransom didn’t know whether the old woman was daft or Devlin was. He set down his glass. "I fear that I must disappoint you, Mrs. Molesworth, but I have no plans to wed," he said. "Ever."
"Oh, dear, I’ve said too much! Oh, do excuse me, your grace," she said, fluttering her hands. "Do forgive a silly old woman’s nonsense and say you will dine with us."
His curiosity piqued by the strange behaviors of both women, Ransom agreed on Wednesday evening for supper to investigate further. Meanwhile... He cleared his throat.
"By the way, I wondered whether I might have a chat with that red-haired coachman of yours," he said, casually, while eyeing his hostess with interest. "He appears to be quite a hand with the horses."
But Mrs. Molesworth only looked puzzled. "But I have no red-haired coachman," she said. "However, you are welcome to speak with Isaac, who oversees our small stable."
She smiled as she stood, and patted Ransom’s familiarly before lowering her voice to a whisper. "As for our earlier conversation, I’m sure I can depend on you to keep it confidential. Catherine would be most distressed if she discovered I was talking out of turn."
Only a lifetime of schooling his features kept Ransom’s reaction from showing on his face, and he left the cottage feeling more than a little confused, a rare occurrence that increased his annoyance. Mrs. Molesworth seemed too giddy to be involved in any scheming, yet there was definitely more to her than met the eye. She was either completely mad or a superb actress... but in what sort of play?
Chapter Seven
Cat was mortified when she learned of the supper invitation. "Do you realize who that was?" She asked, her voice rising in horror.
"Why, yes," Amelia answered mildly. "The duke of Worcester. I remember his family well." She looked past her niece as though fondly recalling some long ago episode.
"That was my captain," Cat practically hissed. "The captain of the ship where I served as cabin boy!"
"Well, my goodness, there’s no need to get so excited," Amelia said. "Since you already know him, we will most certainly have a pleasant evening together."
Cat could only stare aghast at her aunt.
"But my dear, what could be objectionable?" Amelia asked. "He’s not as young as you are, but not exactly in his dotage, and a girl needs and older, experienced man." She was pouring tea, but stopped to tick off on her fingers Ransom’s finer points.
"He’s titled and handsome. He has manners... so very important in a husband. You don’t want him picking his teeth at table as Squire Peterson was wont to do."
"A husband?" Cat’s echoed. "Are you mad? He was my captain! What if he recognizes me?"
"Pooh," Amelia said. "No one could imagine you as a boy, my dear."
"Ransom is no fool. He thinks we’ve met before," Cat argued.
"The man will hardly leap to the conclusion that you were his cabin boy," Amelia said. "I like him. He’s personable, and he comes from good stock. The Dupreys were always head and shoulders above the rest of the Midlands crowd, and the title is quite an old one."
Cat looked up, startled, as Amelia’s words sank in. Ransom was impersonating a real duke. Seizing the forgotten teapot, she began to pour, pretending a steadiness that she did not feel. "How do we know he is who he claims to be?" she asked.
"You’re the one who recognized him."
"All I know is that he was the captain of the Reckless and has some shipping concerns," Cat said. "I never heard anything of a title until last night."
"What? Do you think he’s not the duke?" Amelia asked, obviously taken aback. "It wouldn’t be the first time we’ve been fooled by a masquerader on this island, you know. Living so far form England, it’s difficult to verify these things, but I’ll have Lord Claremont look into it at once."
"No, no," Cat said. She realized that no matter what Ransom was up to, she did not wish him exposed to all and sundry. "I just wondered." She forced a shrug. "Don’t bother Lord Claremont about it." She reached for a biscuit on the tea tray and so missed the satisfied smile that Amelia sent into her teacup.
***
The night of the supper seemed to arrive with untoward speed, and soon Cat was fidgeting in front of the mirror, even though she had dressed carefully in one of her favorite gowns. Made of the palest green lawn, it had deep emerald leaves embroidered about the hem and neckline. She threw a transparent shawl with gold fringe about her shoulders, and although she disdained jewelry, at the last moment she donned the diamond earrings that Amelia thrust upon her.
Cat had alternately dreaded and looked forward to Ransom’s visit. If only he would act like his old self, she thought wistfully. His behavior when he called at the cottage had been... different. And if he acted strangely during supper, Amelia might run to Lord Claremont with the tale.
She need not have worried. From the moment he stepped into the house, looking dashing in a dark blue coat, Ransom put the entire household at ease. By supper, he had Amelia so ch
armed she wouldn’t have cared who he was, Cat thought with a trace of disgust.
Cat nearly rolled her eyes as he questioned Amelia about her gardens and spoke knowledgeably about the region’s produce and crop cultivation. Although she knew he owned a plantation, she’d never dreamed he was so involved in the management.
"I suppose the property has been in your grace’s family for some time," Amelia said.
"No. Actually I purchased the land myself. I had some difficulties at first," he said, looking pointedly at Cat, to her bewilderment. "But I’m happy to say the last few years have been quite successful."
"I congratulate you , your grace," Amelia said. "I know only too well what a challenge it can be to build a life in the islands. There were many lean years when Mr. Molesworth and I were starting out."
Amelia sighed. "And, of course, here we have a four and one-half percent duty on exports to pay off Carlisle and his friends, who supposedly sold the island back to the Crown after the restoration. There are so many variables to deal with: the weather, pests, changing markets, wars, taxes..."
"That’s true," Ransom said. "However, I have eliminated one of those variables by dispensing with the need for a shipper." Again, he eyed Cat meaningfully. "I ship my own goods and can count on a fair price as long as the market is stable. I’m sure you’re aware of the number of unscrupulous men doing business in this part of the world."
Cat was becoming irritated with the strange looks Ransom was sending her way and wondering if he had lost his reason. He was the one masquerading as a duke, while acting as though she were guilty of something. He didn’t recognize her, of that she was certain. Then what ailed him?
"My, you have so many interests, your grace. How do you keep track of them all?" she asked, with thinly veiled sarcasm.
"I keep track of everything that concerns me, Miss Amberly. Have no doubt of that." Although smooth and silky, his voice held a hint of menace that made Cat bristle.
"What gossip do you hear from London?" Amelia asked, as though unaware of the tension between the two of them.
"I cannot say," Ransom answered. "I haven’t been to England recently." His lack was immediately remedied by Amelia, who chattered gaily about the latest news she had received from friends until the mood lightened.
Although Cat had rejected the idea of piling the table with Ransom’s favorite dishes, she made sure he liked all that was served and smiled to herself when he remarked on the excellent meal. When he saw the stuffed snapper, that lazy grin Cat knew so well spread across his face, and his gaze met hers with a message that sent shivers down her back.
By the time the meal was finished, Cat and Ransom were not only speaking civilly, but deeply engrossed in a discussion of Greek literature. Emboldened by the wine and Ransom’s good mood, Cat suggested a game of backgammon when they retired to the parlor.
Ransom raised a dark brow, and Cat realized that his fondness for the game was not common knowledge. And considering how often they had played as captain and cabin boy, her invitation was risky. Would she give herself away?
Cat quickly dismissed the idea. After all, the man had played countless games with many players in his lifetime. He would hardly recognize her strategy as Cat’s. Besides, her manners had certainly improved since then. She smiled to herself as she remembered the lazy afternoon when he had taught her the game in his cabin, sunlight spilling through the windows onto the heavy mahogany table.
She had been bored. Ransom had been going over the accounts, and she’d been walking around the room, trailing her fingers along the woodwork as she waited for him to approve her work. Finally, she fished a set of dice from her pocket and cast them against the wall.
"Want to play hazard?" she’d asked, expecting a prompt rebuff.
"Games of chance are for the feebleminded," he said, without looking up. Cat pocketed the dice, but was surprised to hear the sharp thwack of the books closing.
"Since I believe you are not one of that vast group, I have a challenge for you. Would you care to learn a game that requires some intelligence?"
Jumping at the chance to bask in the warmth of her captain’s company, Cat nodded eagerly. Soon she was seated across from Ransom, the backgammon board between them, learning the rules of play as they spent the first of many enjoyable afternoons engaged in the game.
Cat was still smiling at the memory as she placed the board on a small table in the parlor. But when she glanced at Ransom, her smile fled. There was something in his dark eyes she had never seen before, something that made her pulse pound and her fingers falter. For a moment, she feared discovery, but it was not recognition that burned in his gaze.
"Your grace?" she asked, in dismay. But he reached for the dice box without answering, and the odd moment was forgotten as they began playing.
At first, the luck appeared to lie with Cat, who smiled benignly after each favorable roll of the die. She abandoned the angelic air, however, when the game turn to Ransom.
"How rude!" She accused him when he sent one of her stones to the bar. "I don’t believe you have a shred of decency."
The next game was even more animated as Cat laughed with delight over each successful move and vilified her opponent when he gained the advantage. Ransom won the first two games, but Cat the third and the fourth. She was ready for a final match, but Ransom suggested retiring for the night.
"Afraid I will best you again?" Cat asked wickedly.
"I live in dire fear of that result," he said, with a smile. "I am willing to test you again, but it is late."
At his words, Cat looked to the mantle clock in alarm. She was suddenly aware that the evening had fled and Amelia along with it, leaving her alone with Ransom in the stillness of the parlor. And the light that had illuminated their play suddenly seemed woefully inadequate.
"I had no idea," Cat said, rising to her feet in a rush. Drat that addlepated Amelia! She led Ransom into the dimly lit foyer, where the quiet of the house bespoke the lateness of the hour. "I’ll tell Isaac to have your horse brought round," she said.
"There is no need," Ransom said softly, putting out a hand to stop her.
Cat’s heart hammered in her chest as she realized how near he was standing.
"I’ll light the lamp," Cat said, moving to the door. But again he halted her steps, and she shivered at his light touch upon her arm.
"Don’t bother." His voice, smooth and deep, poured over her like cream.
Cat felt the touch of his hands as they lightly grasped her arms, urging her to him, and her gaze flew to his, but she saw only dark lashes as his head bent and his lips, soft and warm, captured her own. Her hands pressed against his chest, the satin of his waistcoat smooth beneath her fingertips. How often had she imagined this?
Reality took on a dreamlike quality as Cat surrendered to her senses. Her very being seemed to melt, her shawl slipping unheeded to the floor as Ransom’s tongue moved lightly across her lips. She drew in a sharp breath in response, allowing him access to the recesses of her mouth.
The sudden, sweet pleasure that erupted made her slip her arms around his neck, while his hands rested upon her waist, to pull her full against him. She felt hot and cold, safe and endangered, wary and excited, all at once. When his lips brushed against her ear to whisper an endearment, she shivered.
"Kiss me, love," he urged, and the smug satisfaction in his tone acted on Cat like a dash of cold water.
Did he even recall her name, or was she to answer to the generic endearment? He was all too sure of himself, speaking softly and moving oh-so-smoothly. And here she was falling into his arms like any of his other giddy females. Pushing against his chest, Cat broke away and stepped back.
"Out," she whispered. "Out of my house."
Instead of showing some regret for his ungentlemanly actions, Ransom seemed amused by her outrage, which only riled her further.
"You are no better than Pettifer," she said. Shoving him out the door, she slammed it soundly. Hopefully, everyone, in
cluding Amelia, would get the message that this particular guest was unwelcome.
But if Cat thought her former captain regretted the evening, she would have been sorely disappointed. Ransom was still chuckling when he mounted his steed and set off along the roadway.
Who would have thought he would so enjoy an evening spent in the company of two women, one old enough to be his mother and the other, by all appearances, a virgin? Even more surprising was the feeling that he could grow to like both of them, an absurd notion that made him faintly uneasy and more than a bit suspicious.
He swung his thoughts back onto safer subjects like the memory of the night’s games, both backgammon and seduction. Enchanted by her antics during the former, Ransom firmly dismissed the nagging tug of memory. He’d never been under this young lady’s spell before. He was sure of it.
The candlelight had given life to the spangled shawl draped casually around her arms, and Ransom had hoped to bare those gleaming shoulders and bury his lips along the slim line of her throat. The fact that they were left unaccompanied had only encouraged his expectations.
But when he’d noted the time, his companion had become flustered. And when he’d kissed her, she seemed an innocent. Either she was a gifted seductress or she was as inexperienced as she appeared. At this point, Ransom was not sure which he would prefer.
Certainly, the two appeared to be nothing more than they seemed, an aged eccentric and her charming young niece, yet there were too many things that didn’t quite fit, beginning with Devlin’s red-haired minion, who had conveniently disappeared. And this evening, while enjoyable, had not brought him any closer to answers. He needed information - and quickly.
Perhaps Rene could help, Ransom thought. But where to find him? Ransom smiled to himself. Tomorrow, he decided, he would set sail for L’Etoile.
***
The following morning Cat was still angry at Ransom’s behavior, and she treated her aunt to a long and passionate rant upon the subject. "That conceited ass! He thinks every woman wants only to fall into his arms." Cat paced back and forth in the dining room while Amelia calmly ate her breakfast.
A Heart's Masquerade Page 9
