"Tell me more of your island," Ransom urged, leaning back once more. And Cat was torn between her desire to avoid his attentions and a yearning to bask in them.
When he made no move toward her, Cat obliged, faltering at first. But soon she was rambling on as though there had been no intimate interlude between them.
She was describing Bridgetown when she noted that the business district "looks like where you have your offices on Windlay." The moment the words left her mouth, Ransom's head tilted imperceptibly toward her, his brow lifted, and Cat cursed her wayward tongue.
"So you've been to Windlay then?" he asked, in a deceptively casual tone that didn't fool Cat. She felt her throat constrict as though she were a rat caught in a trap.
"You've been to Windlay?" Ransom repeated after a pause of deathly silence.
"Why, yes," Cat managed as she pulled at a blade of grass. "I have friends there."
"Do you? What are their names? I know more than a few people on the island."
"Galsworthy," Cat said, plucking the names of long-ago neighbors from her memory.
"Hmm. I'm afraid I've never heard of them."
"I'm not surprised. They moved several years ago," Cat said, wondering why she was so infernally nervous when she used to lie to this man on a daily basis. Before, it had seemed a lark, and she realized with a start just how perilous her adventures aboard the Reckless had been.
Perhaps she had been too young and naive to know it at the time, but now she recognized how dangerous this man could be. Despite his careless pose, she felt the menace emanating from him like a physical threat.
"I see," he said softly. "And what did you think of my offices?"
"What?"
"You said you had been to my offices."
"I've never been to your offices," Cat said. "But I had heard that they were on Windlay and that you have a plantation there, too."
"Hmm." Although Ransom seemed to accept her explanation, there was a tension in him that made Cat wary.
How could she have been so careless? At least she had said nothing more revealing... or mentioned the Reckless. But the incident proved that she should have done her best to avoid him. It was all too easy to fall back into old habits with this man, especially when he'd seemed more like his former self.
However, Cat laid the bulk of the blame not on old habits, but new challenges. After all, she was used to keeping her head in difficult situations. But her thoughts had been scattered by the intimacies that had taken place here, loosing her tongue and dropping her guard.
And now she didn't know what to do. If she insisted on departing, would that rouse more suspicion? She glanced surreptitiously at her companion, but he appeared untroubled.
"Do you like living here, Miss Amberly?" he asked.
The casual question surprised and relieved her. Perhaps her fears were groundless... "Oh, yes," Cat answered eagerly. "It's a beautiful place, don't you think?"
"Yes." Ransom nodded. "And what of your aunt? Are you happy with her?" His tone was guileless, but his gaze was shrewd, and Cat's concern returned.
"Why, yes, of course, I'm happy with her," Cat said. "Why would you ask such a thing?"
Ransom shrugged. "A young lady as clever and beautiful as yourself might become... bored with cottage life. Back in London, you could be moving in the smartest circles," he said. "Wouldn't you rather be attending the theaters and assembly rooms, dancing till dawn, dining on cut-glass plates, and gossiping over the latest court intrigues?"
"Pooh," Cat said. "It doesn't sound very alluring to me, except the dancing, though I can't imagine continuing until dawn because I would miss my sleep."
Ransom smiled oddly. "Ah, but you could sleep until noon."
"Why, half the day's gone by then! It sounds like a lot of farrago to me," Cat said. "Besides, only the very wealthy live that way." And I'm penniless, she did not add.
"Ah, but you are a resourceful young woman. I'm sure you could arrange something," Ransom said, cocking a brow at her.
Cat's eyes narrowed. "What are you insinuating?"
"I'm not insinuating anything," Ransom said. "I merely wondered whether you sought to improve your... situation."
Cat blinked, unable to believe that even he would..." She leapt to her feet. "You conceited bastard,” Cat said, not bothering to watch her language. “And I suppose I am to better my circumstances at your hands, by playing the mistress?"
Ransom's smile only confirmed her charges, and she fought the urge to slap it from his face. "I'll see that the horse is returned to Lord Claremont," she said. "I trust you can find your way."
"No, my love," Ransom said, rising gracefully. "We will ride to the cottage together. Letting an innocent like you out alone among the perils of the world would plague my conscience."
Cat did not respond to the barb from a man who had emotionlessly offered to lead her into a life of disgrace, for she did not trust herself to speak. And simmering beneath her outrage was a vague sense of hurt. How far she had fallen in his esteem from favored cabin boy to faceless female to be bedded and tossed aside.
Her pride stinging, Cat studiously ignored him all the way to the cottage, where she dismounted without a word.
"Cheer up, my love," he said. "I'll be leaving soon".
Cat turned to glare at him. "That's what you keep saying, but I have yet to see you go!"
Stalking away from him, she did not pause until she was inside, the door firmly shut behind her.
***
Ransom watched the subtle sway of Miss Amberly's hips as she marched away in decidedly unladylike fashion and was puzzled, once again, by her behavior. One moment she seemed nothing more than a gently-bred female. The next she was storming off - or describing a fishing practice with amazing precision.
How many women, outside of a fishmonger's wife, paid attention to such things? And she had looked at him as though he would share her interest in the subject, which he did. But how did she know that?
Ransom shook his head. Sometimes an inflection in her voice or a movement of her hands would strike him as familiar, and yet he knew he'd never felt that silken skin beneath his fingers before. He loosed a low breath at the memory.
As with so much about her, the force of his desire for her was surprising, and he'd taken more liberties than he ought from a young innocent. And she had seemed innocent, from her tentative touches to her seeming dismay after the intimacies they'd shared.
Lulled into a sense of complacency, Ransom had been more focused on the curve of her cheek and the swell of her breast than her conversation - until she mentioned Windlay.
Then all his suspicions came roaring back.
Ransom hated intrigues, and he was getting a bellyful of this one. If it weren't for a lingering doubt, which had more basis in gut feeling than fact, he would have grabbed her by the throat and throttled some answers out of her right then and there.
Instead, he'd decided to get right to the heart of the matter, with a discreet proposal. If she truly were one of Devlin's harpies, she would snap up a carte blanche offer, wouldn't she?
And yet her righteous refusal had all the hallmarks of a gentlewoman's outrage... except for her use of the word "bastard". Which just brought him back to the same old question.
Who the devil was she?
***
Cat was not surprised to learn that Ransom had availed himself of Lord Claremont's hospitality and was now staying at the great house, but the news did little to improve her mood. When Amelia told her, she jabbed her spade viciously into the dirt as though to prick the blackguard's heart, a futile gesture since the man obviously possessed no such organ.
"Catherine, please control yourself," Amelia said. "If you intend to destroy these seedlings, there's no point in potting them. Perhaps I should have someone else help me."
"No," Cat said, grumbling. "It simply irks me to have that scoundrel so close. And why is he still here? If he has legitimate business, he's certainly taking his time about
it. I've never known him to dally this long anywhere."
"Did you never consider that he may be staying here simply to see you?" Amelia asked, with a sly smile.
"Ha! Don't be absurd," Cat said. "The man has never been that interested in any female, and what he wants can be had on any dock."
Cat bit her tongue to prevent any elaboration on that subject, for she had not mentioned his appalling proposition to her aunt. Truth be told, she was none too eager to reveal her own ruinous behavior. Had her willing responses to Ransom's advances given him the idea that she would gladly be his mistress?
Still, his offer had been insulting, and if he cared for her at all, he wouldn't wish such a future for her. A pampered, well-kept woman was no more secure in her place than the lowliest whore, and a fall from favor could plunge any woman dependent on male whims into a life not of her own choosing.
"So you are at odds with the duke again?" Amelia asked. "What has he done now?"
With studied nonchalance, Cat shrugged. "I simply have no desire to share the man's company. He is an arrogant and conceited rogue."
"But you used to think he was wonderful."
"I was young and naive and in search of adventure. Any captain would have been my hero," Cat answered scornfully.
"So he is not the man you thought him?" Amelia asked. Her brow furrowed in question, she put down her spade to gaze at her niece.
"No, he is not! Oh, I don't know," Cat said, shaking her head. She was unable to sort coherently through her own jumbled feelings for Ransom.
"Or is it that you are not the boy you once were?" Amelia asked, softly.
"Well, let us just say that he treated me a lot differently before," Cat said. "And if I hear one more word about him, I will surely scream."
Her aunt only chuckled. "I think we should wait until you are not so angry with him before we do any more potting," she said, eyeing Cat's efforts.
The appearance of Isaac announcing afternoon callers put an end to their work, and soon they were taking tea with the Montrief sisters, the sisters' cousin Charlotte and Aunt Immaline, and Mrs. Grayson and her three unmarried daughters. Cat found the company poor at best, but when the conversation quickly turned to Ransom, she was forced to grit her teeth. And like hungry dogs with a bone, the assemblage refused to be swayed.
"I hear he's as rich as a Creole," gushed Immaline as she stuffed her mouth with powdered cakes.
Cat nearly hooted in disbelief, but aware of Amelia's nervous gaze, she kept silent while everyone admired Ransom's looks, charm, and title. Finally, with a determined sigh, Cat sought to change the subject.
"Has anyone seen the new play Hobson's presenting?" she asked. A few negative murmurs testified to the general lack of interest in the topic.
Then Daphne spoke up eagerly. "I hear his grace simply adores the theater," she said. "We really must get a party together."
"Oh, yes," chimed in Charlotte, and another round of excited chatter erupted.
Cat grimaced in disgust. If only Cordelia were here. Cordelia Westland shared Cat's sense of humor and disdain for ceremony. If present, she would probably have voiced her exasperation with the conversation in no uncertain terms.
Cat smiled to herself even as she felt a stab of guilt, for she had not visited Cordelia ever since Ransom's arrival. Her friend knew nothing of Cat's former life, and Cat wanted to avoid any probing questions or teasing about the duke's attentions.
And while Cordelia lived some distance away, the longer Ransom remained here, the more difficult it would be to excuse her absence. And the more Cat would miss her...
As if to emphasize the loss, Cat heard Elizabeth's grating tones, calling attention to her.
"But Catherine, you and your aunt were dining with him at the Golden Bell. Surely, you can tell us more about him," she said.
"Yes, and didn't he take supper here? How could you keep such a visitor all to yourself?" Immaline asked maliciously.
Cat squirmed in her seat as all eyes swiveled in her direction. She groped for words, uncertain exactly what to say. Her rage at Ransom demanded that she tell them he was a cold, unprincipled deceiver, yet she hesitated, unwilling to expose him and unable to fabricate glowing tales of his virtues.
Just as her long pause was becoming embarrassing, her aunt came to her rescue. Unfortunately, Amelia recited her usual litany of praise for the duke while doing nothing to discourage wild speculation on the part of her audience.
When Immaline again mentioned Ransom's supposed wealth, Amelia waved a hand as though it were boundless. "Oh, he has a plantation on Windlay, a shipping business, and many other concerns."
"The Worcester holdings were vast," the elderly Mrs. Grayson said.
The discussion continued, with gossip and innuendo that Cat fought the urge to correct. Although few of these women had even spoken with Ransom, Cat sometimes knew what he would say before he spoke.
She had rubbed his tired shoulders, brought him coffee in the cold and rain, and seen him bathe. Surely, not even his lovers could claim a closer relationship in most regards.
But she could admit to none of this, and if she suddenly felt a bit proprietary toward her former captain, Cat wasn't about to admit to that either.
***
Ransom woke early. After a tiresome evening spent listening to stories of Lord Claremont's youth, he had retired sooner than usual only to rise before dawn, unused to such a great amount of sleep. Even the servants were not about when he dressed quietly, enjoying the cool of the lingering darkness.
Ransom slipped from the silent house with the idea of taking a stroll around the grounds, but his steps led him unerringly toward the Molesworth cottage, where Catherine would be abed. The walk was pleasant, and Ransom soon left the main road to strike through the gardens that marked the rear of the Molesworth property. He would have to ask for a tour during the daylight hours, preferable with Catherine and not her aunt, he decided, eyeing a soft, grassy nook where he might enjoy her charms.
Although he still had not pieced together the puzzle behind the lady, Ransom had been heartened by her response to his proposition. If she truly were one of Devlin's spies, surely a position as his mistress would be advantageous.
Breathing in the scent of gardenias and roses that always clung to the young woman, Ransom was aware of a rather disconcerting desire that she be exonerated. But why? It might prove more advantageous to him if she were not, he thought. Shaking his head, Ransom suddenly stopped in his tracks as a sound broke the stillness.
It had not been his intention to spy upon the girl or her environs, but now he stepped behind a Poinciana and looked to the rear of the cottage. All appeared quiet, but something stirred in the shadows nearby.
Watching and waiting, Ransom saw someone slip across the terrace. Stealthily, he moved closer, to be certain there was no mistaking the figure. And then he followed.
Chapter Ten
All of Ransom's suspicions about Catherine Amberly returned as he saw her slim figure slip into the shadows. For what gently-bred female would go out unattended, especially at this hour?
Following her to a natural terrace that led down to a narrow stretch of beach, Ransom wondered whether she was keeping an assignation with a lover, or worse, one of Devlin's contacts. It would be easy for a ship to anchor off this hidden cove, he thought grimly.
When she dropped to the sand and removed her slippers and stockings, Ransom thought it was only to protect them from the tide. But when she appeared intent upon divesting herself of all her clothing, he grunted in astonishment.
She moved with a complete lack of artifice, her graceful disrobing affecting him more profoundly than any brothel denizen or coy mistress ever could. Finally, she stood only in a chemise that hugged her breasts and brushed her thighs, revealing long, slim legs.
Desire, hot and swift, seized Ransom and nearly sent him after her like some horned youth. Warily, he looked from one end of the hidden cove to the other, but no one else appeared, and slow
ly he began to realize that Catherine had come here alone.
As he watched, she slipped into the sea like a selkie. Ransom had heard enough sailor's tales of mermaids and the like to give him a moment's pause. But no flash of fins appeared, and he frowned at his own whimsy.
However, what he saw was cause enough for amazement. Few people could swim, and though even ladies were taking dips at Brighton out of bathing machines, Ransom could not imagine any of them doing this. Her long clear strokes cut through the blue-green waters with a skill and assurance that left him gaping.
Ransom shook his head. Despite his growing familiarity with this young woman, she still surprised him at every turn. She was unlike any female he had ever met and either very brave or very foolish.
Ransom knew the sea and how quickly it could turn against you. The pull of the tide or the crash of a wave could send a lone swimmer to his death, not to mention the sharks and poisonous stingarees that roamed these waters.
At that moment, Ransom saw something beside her in the water, and he tasted fear for her, sharp and urgent. He took a step forward only to recognize the shape of a porpoise.
When the animal ventured closer, Catherine reached out to touch its wet skin. Laughing aloud as it nudged her, she went under only to come up again and throw her arm along the animal's flank.
For seamen, porpoises were thought to be bearers of good luck, but Ransom had never seen one frocking with people, as if kindred spirits. Although not a superstitious sort, Ransom almost believed in sirens as he watched this girl charm the fish from the sea.
The two splashed about in the first faint glow of the sun, the great beast nudging against her like some giant pup, while Catherine's throaty laughter wafted along the breeze. At the sound of her merriment, something stirred inside Ransom that was not lust or admiration or amusement, and he blew out a harsh breath.
Unwilling to examine his feelings too closely, he climbed down the terraced earth and seated himself near the abandoned pile of clothing. He leaned back on his elbows, the better to observe the display before him, but the porpoise suddenly swam away with a shake of its tail in farewell. And for a moment, Ransom wondered whether he had dreamed the whole incredible episode.
A Heart's Masquerade Page 12
