Selena’s expression turned frosty. Certainly she owed it to her father’s memory to treat Edith with polite deference, but filial duty only went so far. There was a limit to how far she could be pushed, and Edith had nearly reached it. “I hardly need your warning,” Selena replied with chilling politeness.
Edith seemed to recognize the limit, for she finally dropped the subject and spoke of other things. Selena, her eyes quietly flashing, returned her attention to her soup plate and said little throughout the rest of the meal.
Perhaps it was Edith’s scolding that made Selena so wideawake and restless that night, or perhaps it was the mention of her lost love, or even the shocking kiss she had received earlier that day, but when she retired to her room, sleep wouldn’t come. Drawing on a wrapper over her white muslin nightdress, she slipped through the French doors of her bedroom and onto the gallery.
A full moon shone brightly through the slats of the louvered jalousies, while a soft breeze caressed her skin and stirred her pale tresses. She hadn’t braided her hair that night, and it hung fine and straight down her back, like a silver mantle. Resting her head against the cool stone of a gallery arch, Selena stared out at the shadows of a towering silk-cotton tree.
She should have been happy. It was crop season, when work was the hardest but spirits were highest for slaves and planters alike. The harvest had been good, not like some years when the lack of rainfall had resulted in barely enough output to keep the islanders from starving. And she was soon to be married. Avery might not be the essence of a young woman’s romantic dreams, but he cared for her in his fashion and would make her a good husband. And she would soon be mistress of her own home. She could leave behind the insecurity she had felt since Edith had usurped her mother’s place in Thomas Markham’s heart.
Yet an inexplicable heaviness weighed on her heart—probably, Selena thought, because she hadn’t yet determined what to do about saving her birthplace. It didn’t help, either, that her thoughts kept returning to that devastating kiss Kyle Ramsey had given her. His rugged strength had made her feel so very feminine, his earthy sensuousness, so very desirable. No doubt he hadn’t been affected by that embrace as she had been. Captain Ramsey was the kind of man to whom kisses meant little, the kind of seafaring adventurer with “a woman in every port.” By now he would have forgotten about it entirely.
Yet she couldn’t forget. She kept remembering the hardness of his sleekly muscled body, the musky male scent of him and the strange ache it had aroused in her, and kept wondering what would have followed his kiss if it hadn’t had to end. She had a general idea of what happened between men and women, so she could imagine—
Abruptly, Selena shook her head. Such fantasies weren’t acceptable for an unmarried young lady, especially one of her social standing, not when she was engaged to one of Antigua’s leading citizens.
She raised her gaze to the horizon. She couldn’t see the ocean, but she could smell its freshness mingled with the exotic scent of tropical flowers. The place where Captain Ramsey was staying as a guest was only a short distance away. Five Islands plantation, which got its name from the five small islands off the coast, was adjacent to her own land and near one of her favorite coves. She went there frequently to bathe in the sea. Not at night, of course, but in the early morning, before the sun was hot enough to burn her white skin.
The plantation house at Five Islands was less formal than her own, a low, rambling bungalow surrounded by spacious verandas and towering coconut palms. Would Kyle Ramsey be there now? Or would he have stayed in town and found a willing tavern wench to warm his bed?
Selena shrugged. She couldn’t imagine why she was thinking this way. She would do far better to try to sleep. She was turning toward her bedroom when she heard a sudden cry coming from around the corner of the gallery. It was softly uttered, as if someone were in pain but trying to hide it. Greatly concerned, Selena went to investigate, her slippered feet making no sound on the slatted wooden floor as she moved along the gallery.
Around the next corner, on the opposite side of the house from her own bedroom, a light was shining from Edith’s room. When Selena heard the soft moan again, she recognized her stepmother’s voice. Worried, she hastened her footsteps, but when she reached the French doors of Edith’s room, she halted abruptly, staring past the long, sheer curtains that billowed in the soft night breeze.
Edith lay sprawled on the huge master bed, still wearing the silk gown she had dined in, her face contorted with pleasure. Avery was lying on top of her, almost fully clothed, his body pumping between her legs while he held her arms stretched above her head.
Before Selena could move, he gave a final thrust, eliciting another muffled cry from Edith. “Be quiet, my dear,” Avery ordered hoarsely, “or you’ll wake the entire household.”
His back was to the door, so Selena couldn’t see his expression, but she could hear the annoyance in his tone. He shuddered once more, then withdrew abruptly and stood up. Pushing down the hem of Edith’s disheveled gown to cover her gartered thighs, he began fastening the buttons at the front of his pantaloons. Edith’s eyes opened then, and they were almost black with sensual pain.
Selena stood there frozen, trying to take in what she was seeing. When Avery carefully began brushing the marks Edith’s slippers had made on his silk waistcoat and his dove-gray pantaloons, though, Selena gasped and took an involuntary step back, her appalled mind finally comprehending. She had known she couldn’t demand fidelity from Avery, but to betray her with her own stepmother! In the very bed where she had been born!
Edith raised her head then and stared at the curtained windows for such a long moment that Selena realized her gasp must have been heard. She knew she ought to leave at once so that she wouldn’t witness any further evidence of Avery’s betrayal, but the nausea welling in her stomach kept her rooted where she stood long enough to hear Edith’s next words.
“How can you marry that chaste little puritan?” Edith asked as Avery strode over to the dressing table chair, where his coat was draped. “Selena won’t give you what I do.”
With infinite care, Avery picked up his jacket and began examining it for creases. “Precisely because she is chaste, my dear,” he replied in a bored tone.
“And because she owns the land you covet—don’t deny it! If Thomas had left me the plantation, you would be marrying me.”
“Gentlemen take virgins to wife, my dear, not wantons. You, Edith, are a complete wanton. Selena, on the other hand, is a lady. She hasn’t a wanton bone in her body.”
Selena took another step backward, digging her nails into her palms to keep from crying out her hurt and humiliation.
“You’ll miss this when you are married,” Edith declared irritably.
“I’ve told you before, I don’t intend to give you up simply because I have a wife. I mean to have you both as well as the land.”
Edith cast a glance at the windows then and smiled slyly, triumphantly. Selena turned away, stumbling, blinded by tears, knowing only that she had to escape her home.
Somehow she found her way to the stables and threw a bridle over the head of her favorite horse—a white mare named Pallas. They made a pale blur in the moonlight as they streaked through the night, heading for the sea. Sobbing with anger and pain, Selena bent low over the mare’s neck, her hair streaming in a silver cloud behind her.
When they reached the quiet cove, the glittering waves of the Caribbean stretched out to infinity before them. Nearly blinded by tears, hardly aware of what she was doing, Selena flung herself from the mare’s back and threw herself at the swelling surf, driven by a primal need for solace.
“What in blazes…?” a startled voice growled behind her just as the warm sea closed over her head.
She felt her slippers come off as she struck out wildly through the waves. The skirts of her wrapper and nightdress had entangled with her bare legs, making it difficult to stay afloat, yet when she heard a shout from that same masculine voice an
d then a splash, as if someone had dived in after her, Selena redoubled her efforts. She was too distraught to face her pursuer. She only wanted to be left alone.
In only a moment, though, she could tell that she was losing the battle; the sound of his powerful stroking was almost directly behind her. And then a hard arm threaded around her waist, jerking her back against an even harder chest.
“Stop it—unhand me!” Selena cried, flailing her arms as she sobbed with wounded fury.
“I’m not gong to watch you drown yourself,” a deep-timbred voice grated in her ear.
She realized then that this stranger had feared for her safety, but she was in no mood to countenance a rescue from him. She tried to pry away the muscular arm and found that it was like prizing open a steel trap. All she could do was struggle helplessly as she was dragged backward through the surf.
When they reached the shore, Selena was kicking furiously and choking on all the salt water she had swallowed. Her captor hefted her from the waves and carried her like a sack of grain over one hip, but as he made to deposit her on the beach, her foot somehow got entangled with his long legs and he tripped, falling to his knees on the damp sand, swearing as he barely avoided crushing her beneath him.
Selena was still sobbing, her breath coming in shallow, quick gasps, but she managed to turn onto her back so that she could use her fists against his broad shoulders. “You!” she sputtered. The tall man who was sprawled half on top of her was Kyle Ramsey. Through a veil of bedraggled hair and tears, she could see the rugged planes of his face shadowed by moonlight.
“Damn it, be still,” he ordered gruffly as she squirmed beneath his great weight. When she continued to push against his chest, he threw one muscular leg over her thighs and grabbed her wrists, holding her arms above her head.
His action only reminded her of how Avery had pinned Edith’s wrists during their coupling. Selena quieted then, closing her eyes, tears streaming down her cheeks as she relived that horrible moment. Avery had betrayed her in her very own home, yet he still intended to marry her. Gentlemen take virgins to wife, my dear. And she was undoubtedly a virgin. He had vowed to have the Markham plantation, as well—
“What the devil were you trying to do?” she heard Captain Ramsey mutter. “Kill yourself?”
Startled by the intrusive demand, Selena opened her eyes and saw that the captain was peering down at her with concern. His heavy brows were drawn together in a frown as they had been earlier that day, just after he had kissed her. He was shirtless now, as well, the wet, powerful muscles of his arms and shoulders gleaming in the moonlight.
Feeling those sinewy muscles ripple beneath his damp skin as his naked chest pressed against her, Selena couldn’t help but remember how brazenly she had responded to his kiss. And then a sudden thought struck her. Avery wanted a virgin bride, did he?
Her slender jaw hardening with resolution, Selena met Captain Ramsey’s gaze directly. “Captain,” she said very clearly, even though her voice was husky with tears, “I would like you to make love to me.”
Chapter Two
Kyle stared at Selena, wondering if he had heard her correctly. He knew who she was now. His first mate had enlightened him about her identity and warned that there might be repercussions from his bout of drunken revelry; Miss Selena Markham had some rather high connections on the island.
Kyle regretted now the wicked impulse that had led him to kiss her earlier today in the street. She represented the worst kind of danger to a freedom-loving bachelor. Normally he steered clear of entanglements with females of marriageable age or any females who might place demands on him, preferring instead the more honest and uncomplicated relationships with women of a lower class and of lower expectations. It was safer that way, he had learned from experience. A brief encounter with a lonely young matron who needed consoling had left him shackled by bonds that could never be broken. He wasn’t about to repeat that mistake.
Not that he could believe he was being asked to do so. “I didn’t drink that much this afternoon,” Kyle muttered under his breath, “and I’m entirely sober now.”
“I want you to make love to me,” Selena repeated quite firmly.
She was in the grip of some powerful emotion, Kyle realized, for he could feel her trembling. Involuntarily, he dropped his gaze to her mouth. It was a tantalizing mouth made to be kissed, generous, with a lush bottom lip that begged for a man’s caress. It was what had made him behave like such a fool that afternoon, Kyle thought, remembering how soft and warm her lips had felt—and how amazed he had been at his enjoyment of them. That kiss had surprised him entirely; he never would have expected the fierce desire that had shot through him. She wasn’t at all in his usual style. He liked colorful, buxom women—ones with no inhibitions and no pretenses. Selena Markham was a definite contrast, with her tresses of spun silver and scent like cool violets. There was little trace of that demure elegance now, but even dripping wet and panting from exertion, she had a mysterious allure he found hard to ignore.
“You don’t know what you’re asking,” he said uncomfortably. “You’re obviously upset, or I wouldn’t have had to fish you out of the sea.”
“I know very well what I’m asking, Captain. And it isn’t particularly flattering for me to have to plead with you. After the way you kissed me today, I wouldn’t have thought you reluctant to continue where we left off.”
Seeing the determination on Selena’s fragile features, Kyle frowned, feeling strangely disappointed. He had thought her a virtuous female, in spite of her response to his kiss earlier. But then, he had once made the same mistaken assumption about her stepmother. The last time he had visited the West Indies, Edith Markham had propositioned him before he had been on the island two days. He had refused, of course, a refusal that had angered the sharp-tongued widow. And now her very proper stepdaughter was offering herself, as well. Such hypocrisy irritated him. Earlier, Miss Markham had slapped him for daring to steal a kiss, but now that no one was observing, she was begging him to take to her as brazenly as any strumpet.
“What must I do to persuade you?” she asked as she reached up to wrap her slender arms around his neck. “Shall I kiss you again?”
Kyle had the definite impression he had lost control of the situation. And he didn’t like where it was leading, either. He didn’t want to become involved with a hot-blooded young hussy who was masquerading as a straitlaced lady of quality. On the other hand, he wasn’t a saint, and it had been quite a few weeks since he had left England and the the red-haired beauty who had warmed his bed. And he was undoubtedly tempted by the warm, slender body beneath him. Oh, was he tempted.
“I’ll give you twenty pounds.”
The offer startled him as much as had the one of her body. “You’re offering to pay me?”
“Do you want more? Fifty pounds, then. One hundred.”
Kyle stared down at her a long moment before he finally shrugged. If she wanted it badly enough to pay him a hundred pounds, she could easily find another man to accommodate her. He didn’t like to think of some drunken lout using her harshly. Come to think of it, he didn’t like the idea of any man using her. She would be wasted on someone who couldn’t appreciate her unusual beauty or give her pleasure in return.
“Two hundred pounds, Captain Ramsey.”
“Keep your money, Miss Markham. I’ll do it for free.”
“Then what are you waiting for?”
Definitely suicidal, Kyle decided. “You want me to take you here? On the beach?”
“I didn’t imagine you would be so particular.”
“I’m not, but you’re a lady, after all. I thought you might prefer a bed.”
“Here will be fine.”
Still he hesitated, while seawater dripped from his curling chestnut hair onto her pale cheeks, mingling with her tears. Yet there was a reason for his reluctance, he realized, studying her bedraggled appearance. There was something vaguely distasteful about making love to a woman who looked like
a refugee from a shipwreck. He would feel, however absurdly, as if he were taking advantage of her.
When she tightened her arms around his neck, Kyle caught her wrists and held them away. “Not so fast. I don’t like to rush things.”
“Very well, Captain. But I would prefer that it didn’t take all night.”
Whatever happened, Kyle wondered, to sighs and endearments and sweet murmurings, the rituals every woman craved? Feeling annoyed by her cool impatience, he rolled off her and got to his feet. “I’m quite capable,” he said curtly, pulling her up after him, “of entertaining a lady, Miss Markham. And I’m willing to lay bail you won’t have any cause for complaint when I’m done.”
With the ease of long practice, he divested Selena of her wrapper and tossed it onto higher ground, out of reach of the lapping waves, and held out his hand to her. When she seemed reluctant to take it, he wondered if she was going to change her mind.
Selena was indeed having second thoughts about her rash proposal. And she was very much afraid that if Captain Ramsey delayed any longer, she would lose her nerve. Revenge on Avery was hardly an admirable motive, after all. And Kyle Ramsey did look a good deal more intimidating when he was towering over her in all his masculine glory. He was half-naked again, wearing canvas breeches that were cut off at the knee, but nothing else.
“What do you intend to do?” she asked warily, eyeing his powerful, fluidly muscled shoulders and feeling a strange fluttering in her stomach.
“I mean to wash you off. I don’t want a mouthful of sand.”
Selena wondered why he should be concerned about getting sand in his mouth, but she didn’t allow herself to ask as he led her into the surf.
The water was warm and welcoming, the gentle swells sending her muslin nightdress swirling around her thighs. Kyle waded out hip-deep and turned to her. Feeling his intent gaze studying her face, Selena took a deep breath and waited.
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