"But, my dear, I don’t understand why you’re so angry. It is not unusual for a forward gentleman to try to steal a kiss. And though gently reared females would deny it, some of them succeed. Of course, it wouldn’t do to have gossip get about. It could damage your reputation."
For the first time since arriving at the cottage, Amelia lost patience with her aunt. She stopped mid-stride to glare at the older woman, who was blithely sipping chocolate.
"If you were concerned about my reputation, why did you retire without a word? Even I cannot believe that is proper behavior for a chaperone," Cat said.
Amelia put down her cup, a hurt expression on her face, and Cat immediately wanted to call back her hasty words.
"When I left, you two were having a delightful time," Amelia said, tilting her dainty chin. "And I was under the impression that you were able to take care of yourself. It seems to me that a girl who can manage a ship full of pirates should be able to handle one simple duke."
Ransom was neither simple nor a duke, and he’s the one who managed the ship, Cat thought. Aloud she said, "You’re right, dear aunt. I’m sorry." She reached out to squeeze Amelia’s hand. "Forgive me?"
"Of course, dear," Amelia said, patting her absently. "Now, I must attend to the gardens."
Cat watched her leave the cottage and plopped dejectedly into a chair. This was all Ransom’s fault. "Isaac," Cat called, rising to her feet.
"Miss?"
"If the duke of Worcester should call for me, I am out," she said.
He nodded, but Cat thought she caught a hint of a smile and looked again. Although there were slaves on the islands, those who served in Amelia’s household were free. Dignified and quiet, Isaac looked far wiser than those who employed him.
"Isaac?"
"Yes, miss?"
"What do you think of the duke?" Cat asked.
Again, there was a hint of a smile before he answered in soft Caribbean cadences. "I couldn't say, miss."
***
As he suspected, Ransom found his quarry in the Devil’s Spawn, a gambling hell on L’Etoile. There was no mistaking the black locks and mustache of Rene Troussaint, his bright blue eyes shaded by the long, thick lashes that were the envy of all his women.
He was seated at a faro table, holding the bank and slouching negligently in his chair, but Ransom knew he was anything but inattentive. Ransom watched as the Frenchman won a large sum of money from a tall, thin fellow who was totally unaware that he was out of his depth. Looking very displeased with the outcome, this gentleman rose from his seat, sputtering his outrage, as if to challenge Rene’s good fortune.
Before the man could say a word, Ransom stepped to the table, knocking aside another chair, and growled at the Frenchman. "Get up, bastard, or die where you are."
"Duprey." Rene’s lips curved into an evil smile as his erstwhile opponent, who stayed only long enough to see the Frenchman’s response, fled the scene of what looked to be a bloodbath. He was barely out of earshot when Rene burst into laughter.
"Rene," Ransom said. Grinning from ear to ear, he extended his hand.
"Ransom, you son of a whore!" Rene stood and grasped Ransom’s hand, then threw his other arm around his friend in a rough embrace. "Did you fear for my life?" he asked, nodding toward the door that had slammed behind his opponent.
"No," Ransom answered. "I thought to spare the poor fellow. He obviously had no idea with whom he was dealing."
"That is so," Rene said, laughing. He gestured toward an empty table and called for a bottle. "Sit, my friend," he said, before dropping gracefully into a chair.
"I see you’ve made yourself at home," Ransom said wryly.
"Ah, yes, but I am at home in all places," Rene said, spreading his arms as though to encompass the entire globe. “Even though I like these Americans so well that I now call myself one of them.”
Leaning back in his chair, he clasped his hands in front of him and eyed Ransom. "It is good to see you, my friend. What brings you here, business or pleasure?"
"A bit of both," Ransom said, stretching his legs before him. "I hear you are heading to England."
"Oui, I have some business there. I plan to sail within the week. You were lucky to catch me," he said as two glasses and a flagon of rum were placed before him. He reached out to pour them each a generous portion.
Ransom took a drink, the corners of his mouth curling as the liquor hit his throat. "Can I interest you in a little job for me?"
"Perhaps," Rene answered with a grin. "Go on."
"It’s easy enough. Just some information gathering. I want you to find out all you can about a Catherine Amberly, daughter of the previous baron of Wellshire. History, finances, relatives, friends... whatever you can discover," Ransom said with a shrug.
"A woman!" Rene’s blue eyes twinkled. "How unusual. May I ask why the interest in this particular lady?"
"You may take that gleeful smirk off your face," Ransom said. "I think she may be in Devlin’s employ."
"Ah."
Ransom toyed with his drink, watching the liquid swirl in his glass. "She’s living outside Bridgetown now, with an aunt. A most intriguing female. Although Miss Amberly denies knowing me, she seems familiar somehow. I want to know who she is and what her connection, if any, is to Devlin."
"Can you describe her?" Rene asked.
"I don’t know if I should," Ransom said, frowning at his friend. "Your voyage might be delayed by a stop at Barbados."
Rene threw back his head and laughed. "This only grows more intriguing, my friend. But, come, you must at least tell me something. How will I know if I have the right female?"
"You wily bastard," Ransom said, drawing another gale of laughter from his friend. "She is small and slender, with blond hair and green eyes."
Despite more drinks and cajoling, Ransom refused to say much more on the subject.
Finally, Rene threw up his hands. "But, mon ami, if the blond one is under your skin, why not take her to bed?"
"She is not under my skin," Ransom said, his jaw tight. "No one gets under my skin. She is simply of interest to me. Let’s find out whether she is who she claims to be. If she is one of Devlin’s minions, I want to know exactly what she is up to. If not..." He shrugged. "Unlike a a certain Frenchman, I don’t make a habit of sullying virginal young ladies of quality."
"Bah! You use the excuse, my friend, because you are afraid of her. You, who fear no man. It is all the same with you English. You are so afraid of love!" Rene scoffed. "I have been in love many times and am not ashamed to admit it." He raised his glass in salute.
"To amour, my friend."
***
Cat moved restlessly through the house, her hopes of snubbing the alleged duke having faded, since several days had passed without a word from her unwelcome caller.
Cat told herself she was well pleased with the silence. Perhaps the amorous captain had finally realized he was not wanted, or maybe her rebuff had made him give up his plans for seduction, sending him back to the Reckless with his tail between his legs.
She should be glad, not disappointed, that he had given up so easily and more than likely moved on to a more cooperative female. At that thought, Cat threw down the tasseled pillow she had been fingering and strode from the parlor, nearly colliding with her aunt, who was standing in the foyer adjusting her hat.
"Would you care to stop pacing long enough to go to town with me?" Amelia asked, her dainty mouth curved into a smile. Cat leapt at the prospect of an excursion. And not only so she could see whether the Reckless still lay in the bay. If the ship had sailed, so much the better, she told herself, firmly quelling any desires to the contrary.
***
Standing outside the milliner’s shop, Cat shaded her eyes with her hand as she had done so often from a perch in the ship’s rigging. But this time, she was searching for familiar masts among the other vessels that lay in the bay. While Amelia prattled on about a particularly appealing confection displayed in the shop
window, Cat realized that she needed to get closer to the water.
"Looking for me, ladies?"
Cat nearly jumped from her skin at the deep voice that spoke so close to her ear. How did Ransom do that? And how could she have forgotten her captain’s habit of appearing out of nowhere when least expected?
"Your grace, how delightful to see you again," Amelia said, while Cat stood by sullenly.
"I’m afraid I have neglected you while business sent me on an errand," he said.
"Well, I’m certainly glad you’ve returned. Catherine’s been - oh!" Amelia grunted as Cat planted an elbow firmly in her side.
"I’m sure you’ll excuse us, your grace, as we have some shopping to do," Cat said, taking her aunt’s arm to pull her away.
"Do have supper with me," he urged, smiling.
"We would love to," Amelia said, shaking off Cat’s grip with surprising strength. "Wouldn’t we, dear?"
Unwilling to refuse outright, Cat turned to sarcasm. "Oh, yes, it would be lovely," she said, turning away from Ransom’s knowing grin.
Supper at the Golden Bell consisted of a rich turtle soup and a hearty black-crab pepper pot, along with capons, mutton, fruits, and sweets. But Cat barely noticed the food. Her attention was taken by Ransom, who, it soon became apparent, had set out to charm her.
He was relentless, poking fun at her sober expression, whispering asides designed to send her into peals of laughter, and telling wonderful stories. Holding out as long as she could, Cat finally succumbed when the sisters Montrief descended upon him in full force.
Daphne and Elizabeth were good-tempered but unattractive, and they were notorious for pouncing zealously upon any unmarried male who crossed their path. Ransom was no exception.
Elizabeth was as tall and thin as Daphne was short and squat. Indeed, they little resembled each other except in their talkative and overly friendly manner, especially around eligible men. Their excitement at meeting a duke was such that they were both breathless.
"Your grace," said Daphne. "You simply must come and dine with us. Our cook is French, and he has such a way with the native foods. Why, they are transformed."
"Yes, do say you will come to visit," Elizabeth said, with a little more restraint. "We were both born here on the island," she noted, shooting a glance at Amelia and Cat, as if to point out that they were not. "And you will find no better guides to the sights."
"Why, yes, we do know Bridgetown," Daphne said.
"We are familiar with the entire island," Elizabeth assured him.
"I’m not really sure how long I will be staying," Ransom said.
"Oh, but you simply must see the sights," Elizabeth protested.
"And the theater. You simply must attend," Daphne added.
Cat could barely keep a straight face as she watched Ransom politely fend them off, wits his only weapon. And she saw no reason to come to his aid.
"Why, Daphne, his grace was just telling me how much he enjoyed the theater," Cat said sweetly. Amelia blinked in confusion, while Ransom's expression sent Cat diving behind her napkin.
When the sisters finally exited the inn with a flutter of parasols, packages and invitation, Ransom turned to Cat with a grimace. "You, my love, are in need of a sound thrashing."
His endearment caught Cat in the chest, and when he commented that it was too bad about Miss Elizabeth’s peg leg, she nearly sent her soup spewing across the table.
"What on earth?"
"I assumed from her gait that she was missing a limb," Ransom said innocently.
"You are incorrigible," Cat said, and from that moment on, she was his, dissolving into giggles at his sly comments and warming to the delicious sound of his voice.
In fact, Cat was enjoying herself so thoroughly that she had to stop herself from prompting him to tell Amelia about the ship whose guns were painted on, a slip of the tongue that would do her no favors.
When the last raspberry tart had been consumed and the trio finally rose to leave, Cat was surprised to feel a twinge of disappointment. She was loath to part with her captain and realized, too late, just how dangerous it was to spend time with him.
Her fear of discovery was fading as she remained undetected with each new encounter, yet her former life held a warning for her. She had once fancied herself in love with this man, and she had no desire to resurrect that misery.
Chapter Eight
Cat was curled up in the parlor, trying to concentrate on a volume of Greek plays, but her mind kept wandering to the evening before. All the way home, Amelia had extolled Ransom’s virtues.
"You two seemed to be enjoying yourselves again, if I do say so," Amelia said. "It is so much more refreshing than the usual stilted conversation to be had in society and a result of your previous closeness, I have no doubt."
Although Cat had barely responded, she, too, had been thinking about the estimable duke. She was wondering just how long he planned to stay in Barbados and thinking the sooner he left, the better it would be, especially for her peace of mind.
It was one thing for her to pine away for an unattainable man when in her boy’s guise, but now? She was sailing into treacherous waters.
And yet, when Isaac announced that the duke was paying a call upon her, Cat couldn’t help the thrill that surged through her. She hastily rose to her feet, her reading material falling, forgotten, to the floor. Ransom bent smoothly to retrieve it book, his brow rising at the title.
"When you spoke so lovingly of the ancient works, I had no notion that you read them in their original text," he said, in a tone that hinted at disbelief.
Cat felt a sting of annoyance. "No matter what you may believe, women are not all mindless ninnies," Cat said, snatching the tome from his hand.
She saw a flicker of surprise in his eyes, which only irritated her further. "Have you never met one who could read before?”"she asked in a voice heavy with sarcasm.
But her taunts seemed to make no impression on him, for he only shook his head with amusement. Infuriated, Cat wanted to slap the slow grin she saw forming on his face.
"I’m afraid I have never made the acquaintance of a young lady who could both read Greek and pass for a goddess from its pages," he said, as he took the book from her hands and set it on a nearby table.
Cat realized he was moving all too smoothly as he inched closer. Too close. Cat fought the trembling that seemed to accompany his nearness, her frustration rising.
She did not know what annoyed her more, his ability to assume this charming facade or his condescending attitude, but her anger stood her in good stead. For when he raised a hand to her face, she brushed it aside.
"And not all women are panting for your caresses, either, your grace," she said, stepping away to put the table between them. "Your arrogance must be boundless to assume that every miss is waiting to fall at your feet."
"So you are not one of those, all of whom are manufactured by my boundless arrogance?" Ransom asked, his mouth curving with amused skepticism.
"No! Yes! I mean, I have no desire for your continued attentions," Cat said, though the words stuck in her throat.
"I see," he said softly. “Well, I certainly have no wish to force my presence where it is unwelcome."
Inclining his head, he turned to go, and Cat stepped from behind the safety of the table, struck by a pang as she realized he was truly leaving and she would never see him again. With conflicting emotions, she followed him to within a few steps of the parlor doors, then nearly collided with him when he suddenly swung round.
"But first, I would like to make a liar out of you, Miss Amberly," he whispered. And before she knew what he was about, he cupped her chin in his hand and lowered his mouth to hers.
The pressure was gentle yet firm and sent shivers of delight coursing through her. Softly, insistently, his lips moved against her own until he coaxed them apart, and the kiss deepened. A strange but wonderful tingling spread throughout her entire body, then his hand slipped behind her head, pullin
g her closer.
His fingers threaded through her hair, the intimate touch making her weak. Perhaps that explained why Cat raised her hands to his chest, leaning against his hard body as she tilted her head up for more. But there would be no more.
He released her then to slump like a rag doll, blinking at the tall form that had already stepped away. She could only hope her mouth was not hanging open stupidly when he turned to smile at her.
"Until next time, Miss Amberly," he said. And the self-satisfaction in his voice acted like a splash of cold water upon her heated flesh, waking her up... to the truth.
***
"I don’t believe it," Tremayne Devlin said, his bloated stomach shaking with the force of his incredulity.
"It be true, sir," Tim Calhoun said from across his employer’s huge mahogany desk. Nervously, Tim glanced around the office.
It was stark and plain, devoid of the fancy trappings that Devlin usually displayed. But then, this wasn’t his usual location either. Tucked in a warehouse in the Rue de la Pais, in one of L’Etoile’s more dangerous areas, it was better left plain. Not that anyone with sense would steal from Devlin.
The fellow might not look very dangerous, being short and round and sporting that tiny, pointed beard, but Tim wasn’t the only one who feared him.
"I simply cannot believe the cool and contained Duprey has fallen for a mere girl. How disappointing," Devlin said, with a scowl. His thick hands moved when he spoke, sending off sparks of light from the many jeweled rings he wore, perhaps to impress or distract.
"You say he’s actually returning to Bridgetown for no other reason than to pursue some vapid young virgin?"
"Yes, sir," Tim said. "I have it on the authority of several members of the crew. I took to drinking with them, to hear what I could. The night before they sailed, no one could say where they were bound, but they were told they would return soon. And more than one claimed it was because the captain had his eye on a filly."
Devlin still looked skeptical, his small, dark eyes boring into Tim, as though he knew Tim was keeping back. But Tim saw no need to tell the man that Duprey had recognized him. He had done his job well enough, hadn’t he? Still, he started to sweat.
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