by Connie Mason
Stung, Rouge reared back, her eyes narrowed in disbelief. “You’re sending me away? Dieu! You’re tossing me aside for a Spanish bitch who claims to be a mm? You’re mad! What has she done to you?”
“Consider it, Rouge,” Morgan said placatingly. “Don’t you think I’ve noticed how restless you’ve grown in the past few months? Admit it. Life is too tame on Andros.”
“Not when you’re here, mon amour.” Her voice grew sultry, her eyes dark and luminous. She placed her hands on his chest working their way inside his shirt to tease his nipples. “You’ve always enjoyed what I do to you.”
“I can’t deny it,” Morgan admitted, “but our association has run its course. When you leave with Mr. Crawford, I’ll see that you want for nothing.”
“Bastard!”
“Have you forgotten our agreement? Each of us is free to go our own way whenever we please.”
She hissed her displeasure. “I expected more from you. I expected to go to England to meet your queen. In time… who knows what our relationship would have led to.”
Morgan tensed. “It would have led to nothing.
When I many, if I ever marry, it will be to someone…” Someone he loved. “Never mind.”
“If that’s what you want; Morgan,” Rouge said bitterly.
“You’ll not suffer for our relationship. I wish you good luck and Godspeed.” He turned and walked from the room.
Rouge wanted to scream in frustration. She had known from the beginning that nothing permanent would come from her relationship with Morgan Scott, but she’d had high expectations nevertheless. Morgan was filthy rich; she loved that about him. They got along well together in bed. He had never taunted her with it but he knew she had been a whore in her homeland and had left with a ship’s captain who had promised her handsome compensation for warming his bunk during his voyage. A storm had sent the ship aground on Andros, and she had remained as Morgan’s mistress.
Still, she had her youth and her beauty, and if Morgan was as generous as he’d hinted, she’d have wealth, so she couldn’t complain. It had been fun while it lasted. But truth to tell, Morgan was right. Andros was beginning to bore her. Not Morgan, never Morgan, but between homecomings she roamed the island like a caged animal. Even bedding pirates whose ships occasionally anchored in the cove did not cure her restlessness. Yet, it still hurt to be dismissed so casually. She knew instinctively that Luca was to blame. What she didn’t understand was what El Diablo wanted with a drab little Spanish nun.
Luca felt strange in the lovely room assigned to her. All the furnishings had to have come from England, she thought as her appreciative gaze took in the large canopied bed hung with mosquito netting and the ornate furniture polished to a high sheen. She walked to the bank of windows and the double door leading onto the wraparound porch on the upper gallery. The curtains blew inward, admitting a cool ocean breeze. She couldn’t recall such luxury since she’d left her father’s villa at age ten.
Luca’s trunk had been delivered earlier, and she had sorted through it, finding nothing appropriate for a nun to wear. The clothing had been made for Don Eduardo’s daughter. Nothing inside was proper for Sister Luca.
After a long, luxurious bath, Luca washed out her habit and donned a robe she’d retrieved from the trunk. She wrapped her head in a towel and hung the habit over the balcony railing to dry. She was more than ready for a nap and stretched out on the bed to wait for her clothes to dry in the hot sun.
Morgan rapped lightly on Luca’s door. He wanted to ask if she was pleased with her room. When he received no answer he grew alarmed. Fearing she had foolishly tried to find a way off the island, he turned the knob and entered the room. He saw her immediately, sleeping peacefully on the bed. The tub of used bathwater still sat in the center of the room. He wondered what she had done with her clothing; a visual search of the room located the gray habit draped over the balcony railing. The white headcovering was spread out beside it.
Smiling mischievously, Morgan quietly gathered up the drab gray garment and left the room as quietly as he had entered. He carried the offending garments all the way to the kitchen behind the house, where he tossed them into the cooking fire. He waited until they burst into flame before returning to the main house and his own bath.
A loud rapping on the door awoke Luca. Dazed from sleep, she gazed at the unfamiliar surroundings and suddenly remembered where she was. On Morgan’s island, in his house, at his mercy. The rapping continued.
“Who is it?”
“Rouge. May I come in?”
“If you like.”
Rouge entered, her hips undulating sensuously. “It’s getting dark. Why haven’t you lit a candle?” Without waiting for an answer, she struck a sulfur match and lit a nearby branch of candles.
“Thank you. Is there something you wanted?”
Rouge looked at her curiously. “Are you really a nun?”
Luca regarded her squarely. “Si, I am a nun.” She hoped God would forgive her small lie.
“What are you doing with a man like Morgan Scott? He’s probably one of the most godless then I know. He hates Spaniards, you know. Do you think your nun’s garb will save you from him?”
“I had no choice in the matter. I begged him to set me free or leave me on the sinking ship, but he refused.”
“He abducted you? I don’t believe it. You have no ransom value, whatever could he want with you?” Her eyes narrowed speculatively. “Morgan is a handsome man. Any woman would want him.”
“Not L” Luca denied vehemently.
“Obviously he wants you. He’s sending me away.”
“What! No! It cannot be. You must not go and leave me alone with him.”
Rouge shrugged. “It wasn’t my decision to make. Besides, I don’t believe you’re as innocent as you pretend. I know Morgan Scott too well. No woman alive could hold out against him for the length of time you’ve been together. Did you tell him to send me away?”
“No! I didn’t even know you existed until we reached the island.”
“You lie,” Rouge charged viciously. “This pretense of innocence does not fool me. You want Morgan all to yourself so you told him to send me away. I will go, Sister Luca, but you haven’t heard the last from me. Morgan would never send me away if not for you.”
“Rouge, what are you doing here?”
Morgan stood in the doorway, a fierce scowl on his features.
“I was merely speaking with Sister Luca, mon amour,” Rouge said sweetly. “It isn’t often I get to converse with a holy woman.”
“Perhaps you should change for dinner. I know how particular you are about your appearance.”
His subtle hint was not lost on Rouge. “Oui, you are right, Morgan. I will see you at dinner. I asked Lani earlier if she’d serve the meal out on the patio. It will be very romantic.”
“Sister Luca and Stan Crawford will join us.”
Rouge sent Morgan a sour look. “Of course. Whatever you say, mon amour.”
She left in a huff, and Morgan turned his gaze on Luca. “That robe is the most becoming garment I’ve seen you in.”
Luca shifted self-consciously. “It isn’t mine.”
“Funny, it looks as if it should belong to you.”
“I won’t be joining you for dinner tonight. I doubt that my habit will be dry by then.”
“Habit? What habit?” His eyes were hooded like those of a hawk.
“I washed it out and hung it on the railing to dry.”
Deliberately Morgan walked out onto the gallery. “I see nothing.”
“What! Where could it have gone?” Luca rushed onto the gallery and peered frantically over the rail into the yard below. Morgan was right, her habit was nowhere in sight. “Well, that settles it. I cannot leave this room until my habit is found.”
“You have a trunk full of clothing. Beautiful clothing, unless I miss my guess. They are yours to wear.”
“I cannot.”
“You will.”
<
br /> Before Luca knew what Morgan intended, he grasped the towel and pulled it from her head. Shock shuddered through him. Her dark hair, which probably had been beautiful at one time, now curled against her head in uneven hanks that barely covered her ears.
“Who in the hell did this to you?”
Luca fought to keep the tears from rolling down her cheeks. “‘Tis the custom. All nuns have their hair shorn.”
“By a butcher? By God, it’s a sacrilege. I’ll send Lani up to help you dress. Hopefully she can do something with that dreadful mess atop your head. I’ll see you at dinner. If you fail to appear I’ll come up here and dress you myself. Is that clear?”
Luca fumed in impotent rage, suddenly certain that Morgan was behind the disappearance of her habit. She felt naked and vulnerable without the Erotection of her gray robes. Scrambling to her knees before the trunk, she searched for something less attractive than the elaborate dresses her father had ordered made for her trousseau. At the bottom, beneath the layers of silks and satins, she found some of Carlotta’s widow’s weeds. She recalled permitting Carlotta to use a section of her trunk to pack her scant belongings.
Perfect, she thought, pulling out the somber dress and shaking out the wrinkles. She even located a mantilla to cover her shorn hair. By the time Lani arrived she had donned corset, stockings, and petticoats, and was struggling into the dress.
“Is that all you have to wear?” Lani asked, eyeing the dress with distaste. “And your hair,” she wailed. “You poor thing.”
“I am a holy woman,” Luca said by way of explanation. “If my habit hadn’t mysteriously disappeared, I would be wearing it instead.”
“The captain said you needed help. It is a sin to cut off hair as beautiful as yours. I will see what I can do with it.”
“No, it is fine, really. I am not a vain creature.”
“I dare not disobey the captain,” Lani said, seating Luca at a bench before a low, mirrored dressing table. She pulled out a scissors from a small basket she carried and began clipping Luca’s hair, trimming away the ragged edges and shaping it into a semblance of order. Mesmerized, Luca watched as Lani created a cap of lustrous black curls that covered her head in tiny ringlets. The effect was charming. Luca hardly recognized herself.
While Lani wielded the scissors, Luca plied her with questions. “Have you been working for Captain Scott long?”
“Since he arrived on our island,” Lani replied. “He takes care of us. Some of our women have married his crewmen. They live in the small cluster of huts at the north end of the beach He taught our people how to speak English and how to deal with ships that come to our shores seeking water and slaves.”
Luca mulled that over, then asked, “What about Rouge? Has she been with Morgan a long time?”
Lani thought a moment before answering. “Yes, a very long time. But I think she grows tired of the solitude. Do not worry, now that you are here, I do not think she will remain.”
Luca’s cheeks flamed. Lani sounded as if she expected Luca to take Rouge’s place in Morgan’s bed. It wasn’t going to happen. Not now, not ever. “It matters little to me if Rouge stays or leaves. If you’re finished I will join the others on the patio for dinner.”
Luca was the last to arrive. All conversation stopped when she walked onto the patio lit by hundreds of candles. The black dress fit poorly, since Carlotta was much larger than she, and her cap of curls was discreetly covered with the mantilla to cover her shorn hair.
“Good God!” Morgan said with a hint of disgust. “You’ve been transformed from a gray mouse into a blackbird. Was there nothing more flattering in the trunk? I find it hard to believe a grandee’s daughter would go to her fiancé dressed in widow’s weeds.”
“This was the only thing in the trunk that suited me,” Luca said primly.
“Of course,” Morgan bit out, “I should have known”
Nevertheless, he was disappointed. He was looking forward to seeing Luca in something other than gray or black. Something that fit the curves he suspected lay beneath her saintly garb. “Shall we eat?” he asked, seeking distraction.
Morgan and Stan kept the conversation going throughout the meal. Rouge was sullen and Luca uncommunicative. Whenever Luca looked at Rouge she pictured the flamboyant beauty in Morgan’s arms. The image shouldn’t bother her, but it did. Why, even tonight they would… in his bed … Dios! Why was she torturing herself with such sinful thoughts?
“Stan, why don’t you escort Rouge out to the ship and let her select whatever she wants from the plunder? Don’t forget to show her the jewels we removed from the Santa Cruz.”
My jewels, Luca thought angrily. They were part of her dowry.
“Oh, Morgan, how generous,” Rouge cooed, batting her long lashes at Morgan. “I’ll have to think of an appropriate way to thank you.”
“No need. Rouge. Consider it part of your going-away present. Take your time, select whatever pleases you. Meanwhile, I’ll take Luca for a walk on the beach.”
Stan sent Morgan an amused look. He knew without being told that Morgan was giving him permission to take his pleasure with the lusty Rouge if he so desired. He wouldn’t mind. It had been a long time since he’d had a woman, and he’d had Rouge once or twice before and found her delightfully entertaining in bed.
“Come along, Rouge, there is truly wondrous plunder aboard the Avenger,” Stan said, pulling back her chair. After a searching look at Morgan, she twined her arm in Stan’s, and they set off together through the trees. Morgan’s curt dismissal stung, but she’d have the last laugh yet.
Morgan turned to Luca, his smile predatory. “Shall we, Sister? The night is warm and inviting. I bet you’ve never seen a lovelier sight than moon-rise over the islands.”
Luca’s knees went weak. The last thing she needed was to be alone with the handsome pirate. “Some other time, Captain. I’d prefer to seek my bed.”
His grin widened. “So would L Your bed would suit me just fine.” He offered his arm. “Shall we?”
Luca’s breath slammed against her breast. “On second thought, a walk would do me good after being confined in your cabin.”
“As you wish. Take my arm, the path can be treacherous at night unless you know it well.”
They reached the deserted beach, and Morgan led her away from where the Avenger rode at anchor. The moon hung over the water like a huge shimmering globe. The sight was as impressive as Morgan had said. The breath caught in Luca’s throat as she paused to admire the play of a million sparkling moonbeams dancing on the water.
“Oh, it’s beautiful,” she breathed appreciatively.
“I know. Sometimes I think I’d rather be here than at Scott Hall in West Sussex. The hall is my ancestral home, but Andros is the home of my heart.” He stared at her, at her luminous dark eyes, at her lush lips, and knew a hunger that went beyond mere lust.
Luca felt the consuming heat of his gaze and lost the ability to think. She said the first thing that came to her mind. “I feel the same way about the convent. It is the home of my heart”
Morgan’s brow quirked upward. “Is it now?” Clearly he didn’t believe her.
“The peaceful days I spent within those walls were the happiest of my life.”
He took her arm, and they continued their stroll. Suddenly he stopped and pulled the mantilla from her head.
“Wha… what are you doing?”
“I merely wanted to see Lard’s handiwork. She’s quite skilled, don’t you mink? You look enchanting, Luca, utterly enchanting. If not for that dress…”
“Sister Luca,” Luca reminded him. “I think we should leave.”
“No.” He took off his coat and spread it on the sand beneath a swaying palm tree. “We’ll rest here a while before I take you back to the house.”
If Luca knew her way back to the house she’d have turned and run. Every instinct bespoke danger. The kind of danger with which she was totally unfamiliar. Morgan had taught her about kissing, and she gre
atly feared there were other things he wanted to teach her.
She sat down gingerly, keeping a wary eye on Morgan as he pushed her skirts aside and plopped down beside her. “Don’t you think Rouge will miss you if we stay here too long?” Luca asked in an attempt to dampen the heat emanating from the molten depths of his blue gray eyes.
“Stan Crawford is more than capable of keeping Rouge occupied for a few hours. They’ll be leaving aboard the Queen’s Glory soon.” He shifted closer. Luca tensed. His arms went around her, pulling her against the scorching heat of his body.
“Captain, this isn’t proper. I told you, I’m a…” “… nun, I know. I promise I won’t do anything you don’t want me to do.”
His hands slid upward, through the crisp black curls hugging her head. “I’ve wanted to do that all evening. Your hair feels like silk. I’m sure it was lovely when it was long, but it’s captivating just the way it is now.”
A master of seduction, Morgan knew exactly what to say and when to say it. He intended to wind a spell around Luca’s senses until she forgot all that nonsense about being a nun, or else told him the truth.
“You have no right to say those things to me.”
“I suppose I have no right to do this, either.”
Her eyes grew wide as his face came closer, closer still, until she felt his lips caress hers. His touch was light, teasing, and Luca felt a melting sensation deep in her core. A shiver traveled down her spine when he slid his tongue along the seam of her lips, seeking entrance, When she refused to grant it, he thrust boldly past her lips and teeth, forcing them apart until his tongue darted inside. She sighed as he held her head between his large hands and ravished her mouth.
Luca felt the heated hunger of his kiss spiral through her. Felt it pushing down into her core, between her legs. His lips left hers, then pressed against her throat, his tongue licking the pulse beating at the base of her neck. Without conscious thought, her head fell back against his arm, giving him easy access. And suddenly the sweet flesh of her neck wasn’t enough. With his free hand he unbuttoned the front of her dress, pushing the edges open, baring the upper curve or her breasts above the corset to the heady pleasure of his kisses. He pressed his mouth there to her rounded flesh, tasting, arousing, wet, feverishly hot. His touch was demanding, seducing, evocative.
