Moonwitch

by Nicole Jordan

  She was close enough now to see that his rugged features were weathered by the sun and wind. The laugh lines around his eyes were nearly as prominent as the heavy brows and the cleft in the strong chin. Then his eyes opened, and she could see they were hazel, flecked with green and ringed with gold. Those deep-set eyes assessed her frankly, taking in her cool, quiet beauty.

  “An angel,” he murmured appreciatively. “I’ve died and gone to heaven.”

  His speech was more drawling than her own clipped tones but held a definite hint of a British accent. Knowing he was American, Selena wondered about it as she searched his face for signs of pain. “Are you hurt, Captain?” she asked gently.

  A laughing gleam filled his hazel eyes. “Mortally wounded. I’m sure to need ministering.”

  She liked the humor that glinted behind those eyes, yet it made her realize that her concern was misplaced. It would take far more than a fall to topple this Viking of a man.

  The captain shook his head as if to clear it, then, with a groan, got unsteadily to his feet. Selena took a hasty step back as she found herself confronting a sleekly muscled chest that was lightly furred and glistening with sweat.

  His nakedness disturbed her almost as much as his overwhelming physical presence. She was tall herself, but Kyle Ramsey towered over her. Next to his powerful body, she felt as slender as a cane stalk.

  He stood there swaying, whether from exertion or any spirits he had imbibed, she couldn’t tell. He staggered a little then and reached out for her, putting a large, callused hand on her shoulder to steady himself. Worried that he would fell her without even intending to, Selena lifted her gaze to Captain Ramsey’s face. He was regarding her with a mournful expression that she was sure was feigned.

  “You mean to send me back into battle unattended?” he asked in his deep-timbred voice before trying to sweep her a bow. “I beg one of your favors, fair lady. A handkerchief for luck? Or perhaps your parasol. I’ll wager that would come in handy… applied upside Tiny’s head.”

  Amused in spite of herself by his high spirits yet disliking his attempt at flirtation, Selena raised a full, arching brow at him. “It would be highly improper, I’m afraid, Captain. I also think that you should remove your hand from my shoulder before I find yet another use for my parasol.”

  The roguish glint that must surely be what had charmed half the females on the island made his hazel eyes dance with amber lights. “So you mean to be unaccommodating? Then I see I’ll have to claim my victory kiss now.”

  She should have expected his next move, especially after his warning. But she was accustomed to men who accorded proper respect to gentlewomen, if not out of chivalry or a sense of honor, then because they feared British justice on the island. The Englishmen of Antigua tended to be highly protective of their ladies and not the least hesitant to see transgressors clapped in the stocks for the slightest offense, especially Americans, whose presence was merely tolerated.

  Selena was quite unprepared, therefore, when Kyle grasped her arms and hauled her against his naked chest, his hands gentle and controlled, yet unyielding. Nor did she have time to protest before he lowered his head and found her generous mouth with his own wide, hard one.

  The kiss was brief, little more than a meeting of lips, yet before it ended, she felt him stiffen slightly, as if he had found something surprising. And when he lifted his head, she saw that he was frowning down at her, his heavy brows drawn together as if in puzzlement. Dumbfounded, Selena returned his golden gaze, shock holding her motionless.

  He didn’t release her but continued to stand there, appraising her. “I must be more foxed than I realized,” he muttered rather huskily. “I felt the ground shaking.”

  Selena stared at him wide-eyed, having lost the power of speech. When she remained silent, his hands tightened on her arms, and with inexorable strength, drew her rigid, corseted body even closer.

  He wasn’t entirely drunk, she realized as his lips met hers again, though he tasted of rum. The alcohol further dazed her senses. Or perhaps it was the musky odor of sweat that was making her so dizzy and pliant. Or the distinctively clean scent of his skin, a salty freshness that reminded her of the sea. Neither of her betrotheds had ever affected her in such a manner—leaving her breathless and trembling. Nor had they ever kissed her the way Kyle Ramsey was doing, with his mouth open against hers, his tongue parting her lips to probe and explore.

  His strong hands moved up her arms to her slender shoulders as he kissed her in an almost leisurely way…deeply, thoroughly, filling her mouth with his tongue, gliding his long fingers along her delicate jawline to tangle them in the pale tresses that framed her face beneath her bonnet.

  Her hair, never willing to stay pinned at the best of times, started to slip from its moorings, yet oddly, Selena didn’t care. She felt the wildest urge to respond to his overpowering maleness, to the warm animal magnetism that radiated from him. She was vaguely aware of the crowing and catcalls coming from his men and that sometime in the past few moments she had dropped her parasol, yet still she stood there pressed against Kyle Ramsey’s hard, half-naked body, submitting to his kiss, her gloved fingers actually clinging to his corded forearms—until finally, reluctantly, he released her.

  Her composure shattered, Selena stared up at him, wondering at the amazement she saw on his rugged face. Then, like a great hound shedding water, he shook his head, as if to clear his muddled senses.

  The movement brought Selena to her own senses. She felt a slow, painful blush rising to her face as she realized she had allowed a half-dressed, loutish sea captain to kiss her on the streets of St. John’s in full view of a crowd of coarse sailors and who knew what townspeople.

  With quiet deliberation Selena drew back her gloved hand and struck the captain across the cheek. It wasn’t precisely what she wanted to do; it was what good breeding and a lifetime of training compelled. Nor did her blow seem to hurt him much, for even though Captain Ramsey reached up to rub the offended cheek, he grinned down at Selena, the creases in his face deepening into slashing masculine dimples.

  “It was worth it,” he said provocatively before bending to pick up her parasol. He was still grinning as he handed the blue confection to her. “I’ll have to win now. I can’t let such a victory kiss go to waste.”

  He spun around then to bellow, “Tiny, lad! Where are you hiding? Prepare to be soundly trounced!” leaving Selena to stare after him, her cheeks flushed in embarrassment, her customary serenity totally destroyed.

  As Tiny showed himself and the contest got under way once more, the crowd of gawking sailors returned to their sport. Selena, her face burning with shame, made an attempt to restore order to her sagging coiffure while she glanced around quickly to see who else had witnessed the incident. She saw no one she recognized, yet she was certain word of her scandalous behavior would soon spread. Antiguan society was small and close-knit, and very little happened that wasn’t discussed and analyzed and judged.

  Raising her parasol, this time to hide her scarlet cheeks, Selena turned away and quickly crossed the street. She greatly regretted not having gone directly to the milliner’s. Avery would be upset to learn what had happened, of course. He would consider her behavior unworthy of her birth and breeding, as well as his position in society. Yet Selena dreaded more what her sharp-tongued stepmother would say—especially since she had no defense for her actions. She hadn’t protested Captain Ramsey’s barbaric assault on her lips, and what was more shameful, she hadn’t much wanted to.

  She was still considering what explanation she would give when she reached the milliner’s shop on High Street. Her Negro groom, Samuel, wasn’t waiting with the gig as she had directed, but it was early yet and she still had her errand to complete. As she was about to enter the shop, however, an elegant black-and-green curricle clattered up the street and came to a halt beside her. The equipage was drawn by a matched pair of bays and driven by her betrothed, Avery Warner, with a young black slave perched up
behind.

  Avery was a tall, middle-aged gentleman, distinguished looking rather than handsome, with dark hair graying at the temples. At the moment his stern features were set in an unsmiling expression as he regarded Selena. “Might I take you up with me, my dear? It is unbecoming for you to be walking the streets unattended.”

  Selena felt herself flushing at his public censure. “That won’t be necessary, Avery,” she replied woodenly. “Samuel will be along in a moment, and I have some shopping yet to do.”

  “But I insist. I cannot have my future wife behaving in a manner that is less than circumspect. It will give rise to gossip.”

  “I’m surprised you think it proper for us to be seen together without a chaperon!”

  Avery’s brows drew together as he shot her a surprised look; Selena rarely spoke sharply to anyone. “I rather think a chaperon is unnecessary, my dear,” he said in mild reproof. “This an open carriage, and we are affianced, after all. I am simply concerned about appearances.”

  Selena pressed her lips together. It was a bit late for Avery to be concerned about appearances, for she had already lent herself to gossip with a vengeance.

  “And of course,” he continued in a more tolerant tone, “I am thinking of your safety, as well, Selena. I passed a throng of ruffians fighting in front of the courthouse just now—the courthouse, no less—and not a justice in sight. I was disgusted, I can tell you. Such conduct is disgraceful. Rabble like that should be clapped in jail and not be free to roam the streets. I intend to take it up with the council at the first opportunity.”

  She should have told Avery then about her encounter with the “rabble” and their bold, roisterous captain, she knew. But she couldn’t bring herself speak of it, not in the middle of the street with the bright-eyed black groom overhearing her every word. Besides, Avery would learn of it soon enough. And perhaps by keeping silent she would be avoiding an even greater scandal. Avery was sufficiently aroused just now to demand the captain be brought to justice, and she didn’t think Captain Ramsey’s offense was serious enough to warrant a jail sentence.

  And so she murmured a noncommittal reply. When Avery insisted on waiting for her so that he could see her home, she gave in gracefully and hastily completed her shopping. She was carrying a bandbox when she left the shop. Avery consigned it to the groom, who stowed it behind the seat, then handed Selena into the curricle, informing her that he had sent Samuel on ahead.

  As they left St. John’s, with its Georgian weatherboard buildings and scattering of coconut palms, they turned south onto a narrow road of crushed coral, following the ridge of a hill. From that vantage, Selena had a good view of the warm, wind-washed island.

  On her right was a luminous expanse of jewel-blue sea, shading to lighter green as it met the reefs that ringed Antigua and filled the numerous coves and inlets along the coast. The leeward side of the island was sheltered from the full force of the trade winds, so that the waves of the Caribbean lapped easily at the dazzling white sand beaches—unlike the eastern shore, which had no defense against the wind-driven rollers of Atlantic.

  Before her stretched a gently rolling landscape, covered by low scrub and verdant fields, and beyond, in the distance, rose Boggy Peak, the highest point of the generally flat island. Except for the slopes of Boggy Peak and the cultivated gardens of the vast plantation houses, Antigua was nearly bare of trees, for there were no major rivers and no dependable water supply, leaving the inhabitants at the mercy of the occasional drenching showers and whatever water they could collect in cisterns and catchments. The lush stands of sugarcane were nearly gone, as well, for the harvest was almost over. Even so, the island shimmered a verdant green.

  Selena’s thoughts were centered on the harvest when Avery politely inquired about the errand that had brought her to town.

  “I needed a toque bonnet of a particular shade,” she prevaricated, offering that excuse rather than mentioning her trouble with Edith. “I shall be wearing a new gown tomorrow evening.”

  “Ah, yes, the lieutenant governor’s ball. I’m sure you will look charming, my dear. But surely you could have sent a servant to fetch it.”

  “Perhaps.”

  “Well, in future it might be better if you were accompanied by a maid, or wait till I am free to escort you.”

  Selena raised her chin with a touch of defiance. Avery’s request was reasonable, perhaps—in her mother’s day, gently reared females never appeared on the streets of Antigua without being veiled—but Selena had been accorded the freedom of the island since she could first sit a horse. If Avery meant to curtail that freedom so severely before their marriage, her responsibilities as a planter would be difficult to carry out.

  “I went to see Mr. Foulkes, if you must know,” she replied. “It concerned a business matter that could not be delegated.”

  “I suppose you are referring to Edith’s extravagance. Oh, yes,” Avery added when Selena glanced at him in surprise, “I’m aware that she mortgaged the house to buy a king’s ransom in jewels. An extremely foolish venture, considering the size of her income. I hope you don’t intend to come to her aid.”

  “I don’t know that I have much choice. She could lose the house if she can’t redeem the debt.”

  “Let her lose it.”

  “Avery, it is my home we are speaking of.”

  “You will have no need of it when you marry me, my dear. That is another reason to avoid delaying the ceremony any longer. I should like to be in full command of the plantation before autumn planting. Not that you haven’t done an admirable job of managing, particularly for a woman. But your father never intended for you to retain control, rather, to turn it over to your husband. And I’m certain you will be relieved to have such a burden lifted from your lovely shoulders.”

  Selena bit her tongue to keep from saying something she would regret, and Avery reached over to pat her hand in an avuncular fashion. “I shall speak to Edith, my dear. I expect I can persuade her to consider your feelings about the house and to abstain from any more reckless expenditures.”

  By this time Avery’s curricle was drawing up before the house that so concerned Selena—a single-story, stone construction, cooled by a raised basement and louvered outer galleries and shaded by mango and silk-cotton trees. The arched overhangs of the galleries were supported by slim wooden columns and brightened by cascades of yellow cassia and golden logwood blossoms.

  Despite her annoyance at Avery’s lecture, Selena felt obliged to invite him in for tea. The interior was cool and elegant, decorated much like an English manor, with Aubusson carpets and Hepplewhite furnishings that her father had had shipped over from England years before.

  Her stepmother wasn’t home, Selena learned from the Negro housekeeper, and Edith still hadn’t returned by the time Avery took his leave, promising to escort her to the lieutenant governor’s ball the following evening. So Selena next saw her stepmother at dinner.

  A petite and sultry brunette, Edith Markham scarcely looked like a grieving widow. Nor was she old enough to be Selena’s mother. Only ten years separated them in age, but a vast difference existed between them in temperament and form. While Selena was sensitive and reserved, Edith was callous and outspoken. And while Selena was slender and pale, Edith was full figured and as dark as a Gypsy. They had never gotten along well, neither during the five years before Thomas Markham’s death, nor in the two years since.

  It never occurred to Selena that her stepmother might be jealous of her elusive beauty or her managerial talents. She only saw that Edith rarely lost an opportunity to undermine her confidence and belittle her efforts. So she wasn’t surprised when during the soup course Edith immediately brought up the subject she had been dreading.

  “I understand you made quite a spectacle of yourself this afternoon,” Edith remarked, giving her an accusing stare. “Really, Selena, I feel I must take you to task. Your want of conduct is embarrassing me dreadfully. No less than three of my acquaintances commented on you
r scandalous display.”

  Selena stiffened at the rebuke, but she said nothing, knowing any argument would only make Edith more determined to be unpleasant. The best way to deal with her stepmother, she’d found, was to ignore her when possible and treat her with cool civility when not.

  “If you insist on behaving so disgracefully,” Edith continued, “I’m afraid I will have to ask you to refrain from visiting town.”

  “It won’t happen again, I assure you.”

  “I should hope not! If you aren’t careful, you will give Avery a disgust of you. I’m sure he is quite aware of your preference for seamen after you cut such a figure of pity a few years back, pining after that naval officer.”

  In spite of her determination to maintain her composure, Selena felt a painful flush rise to her cheeks; Edith had struck at her most vulnerable point—her lost love.

  Edward had survived the war with America, for Selena had received a letter from him shortly afterward, full of plans for their impending nuptials and hope for their future life together. After learning that his ship had gone down in a storm, she had developed the habit of riding the long distance to English Harbor each day to inquire of the admiralty about incoming vessels, searching for news of her betrothed. No survivors of the downed ship had ever been found, yet without physical proof of Edward’s death, Selena had found it harder to recover from her grief. Even after so many years, she would sometimes dream that the report had simply been a terrible mistake.

  “I suppose,” Edith commented in the silence, “it could have been worse. At least Captain Ramsey isn’t a common sailor. Rumor has it that he is every bit as wealthy as your father was. Though why any man would continue to captain a ship when he could enjoy the comforts of dry land is beyond me.”

  “Perhaps he likes the sea,” Selena suggested coolly.

  Edith shot her an unfriendly stare. “If Captain Ramsey is wealthy enough to settle down, then as a gentleman he should invest in an estate.”

  When Selena made no reply, Edith left off eating her soup to give her stepdaughter a penetrating look. “Of course he will be staying at Five Islands. I suggest you keep well away from there, unless you mean to disgrace yourself entirely.”