When I'm with You

by Kimberly Nee

  Taking one more risk could win them everything…or leave them with nothing.

  Sebastiano, Book 3

  For Katie Dunn, finding work as a maid at Marchand Hall is a new start in every way possible. She has a proper job now, and friends that treat her like family. No one in Bermuda knows about her shadowy past, and she plans to keep it that way.

  The last thing she needs is to cross paths with one of those shadows—a man who shattered her trust.

  Setting foot in Marchand Hall is both blessing and curse for Captain Rafe Sebastiano. In return for Lord Marchand’s help in saving his family business, Rafe has agreed to marry his benefactor’s daughter, whom he counts as a friend but does not love. That word is reserved for the biggest mistake he ever made. The woman he let slip through his fingers.

  When Rafe and Katie inevitably come face to face, the pain of old wounds is as fresh as the fire that still burns between them. But if they aren’t careful, they could repeat the mistakes of the past—and doom themselves to a future empty of love.

  Warning: This book contains steamy situations, a catfight or two, a colorful madam, and the belief that happily ever after just might be possible.

  When I’m With You

  Kimberly Nee

  Dedication

  For Tom, Sam, and Jason—for your love and support and endless patience.

  Also, this is for Dawn Katzman because you were the reason why I first started writing historical romance when I was just a teenager. You were taken too soon, but are never forgotten, especially when I sit down to begin a new story. I can still hear you telling me to watch Ladyhawke because you know I’ll love it.

  Chapter One

  Winter, 1709

  Bermuda

  Katie Dunn wrapped her arms around herself as the wind picked up and flung sand at her with stinging force. Her skin felt pebbly through the thin muslin sleeves. It was cold; the temperature felt like it was dropping by the minute. The storm had been and gone, but the winds refused to die down. They whipped through the trees and bushes, tore the petals off the flowers. Practically tore her hair from its moorings. Her braid went from neat to a tangle of knots in a matter of minutes.

  She hadn’t expected Bermuda to be so cold. Much farther north than Jamaica, the island’s weather was far colder than her home in Kingston. It might as well be an entirely different world. It was an entirely different world, and she had yet to fully adjust. No matter how much she told herself she’d acclimate, it hadn’t happened yet. At moments like these, when she shivered and her teeth actually chattered, the only warmth she felt was the hot tears stinging her eyes. As those tears blurred everything in her sightline, she tried to convince herself it was only because of the sand flying all around from the winds.

  “Balboa tried to warn you, fool. He knew this would happen and tried to tell you, but would you listen?” No, she wouldn’t, although now she wished she had. She kicked at the cold sand as she continued her trek along the beach. With each wave that washed up, the grains appeared coral. She’d never seen coral-colored sand before and found it beautiful. It was one of the things about Bermuda she preferred over Kingston. True, it was only coral where the sea touched it, and, unfortunately, it was far too cold to stand here much longer. Besides, she was expected back before dark. The time for feeling sorry for herself had ended. She had to get back.

  As usual, Mrs. Bates and Mrs. North were in the kitchen. Mrs. Bates, the housekeeper, sat at the table, a cup of tea before her. The cook, Mrs. North, stood at the work table, knife in hand, her graying dark hair skinned back and mostly captured within the confines of her lacy cap. Her dark eyes were red-rimmed from the onions she sliced, as well as from toiling since daybreak. They were damp as well. Katie sighed with relief. She could now blame the onion fumes for her own teary gaze.

  Mrs. North set down the knife to dab at her eyes with the hem of her apron and then peered up at Katie. “Did you have a nice walk?”

  “I did, thank you.” Katie took her apron from its peg by the kitchen door and tied it firmly in place about her waist. “Sometimes a stroll along the beach is perfect for settling one’s thoughts. Although,” she added, “it’s chillier than I’d expected.”

  “That it is. I so look forward to spring on days such as this.” Mrs. Bates set down her cup and rose. “Well, time to get back to work. His Lord and Ladyship are having guests this evening and we’ve much to do.”

  Katie nodded. The house had been in a whirlwind all week, with everyone being run ragged. Marchand Hall employed a rather large staff, with ten maids, including herself, two footmen, Mr. Jamison the butler, Mrs. Bates, Mrs. North and her helper Lucy.

  Being a maid might not be perfect, but it was a far cry from her old life back in Jamaica. A very far cry from those days. She might miss Jamaica, but she wasn’t fool enough to think being in Bermuda wasn’t an improvement. Being in service was a dream compared to being a wh—

  She squeezed her eyes shut. No. Don’t dwell.

  “Is everything all right, Katie?”

  There was no way to relieve her burden, especially to Mrs. Bates, who would have shown her the door instead of offering a shoulder to cry upon. Katie swallowed the bitter sting of her past. It was for the best. She didn’t need to unburden if it meant driving everyone away from her. “Everything’s fine, Mrs. Bates. What time will we be serving?”

  “Eight.”

  “I’ll be above, in Lord Marchand’s chambers.”

  “No. Martha is already up there. You’d best tend to Lady Sally’s and Lady Edna’s rooms.”

  “Of course.” Katie nodded. As the most recent addition to the staff, she went where she was told, without questions, arguments or fuss. Not that it served any purpose to do any of those with Mrs. Bates. She was a fair woman, but one who ruled with an iron fist and little patience for silliness of any sort. What she said, the maids did and that was that.

  To be fair, Katie had yet to mind any of her assignments. The family was a fine one, and warm in their own way. At first, she had thought the Earl’s daughters were a bit vapid and of the silly sort themselves, but as the weeks had passed she found her judgment had failed her. The ladies had grown on her to the point where she found their gifts for chitchat and laughter were just that, gifts and not annoyances. Although, if she was completely honest, sometimes their high-pitched giggles and seemingly endless scheming to ensnare titled husbands (a rarity on the small island, even more so in their parish) grated. Still, as far as things went, she enjoyed their own particular sort of madness.

  Thankfully, tonight their rooms were empty, and Katie made great haste in her cleaning and gathering of the ladies’ laundry. She bumped into Martha, one of the other maids, in the corridor just outside Lady Edna’s chambers. Martha smiled as she shifted her basket of his Lordship’s clothing to her right hip. “Did Mrs. Bates tell you we’re to have guests this evening?”

  “She did. Who are they? She didn’t say.”

  Martha shrugged. “Haven’t the foggiest. Someone to do with his Lordship’s rum business. That’s all I know. Mrs. Bates seems to think they are very important, so we’re to dress in our formal clothes this eve. We must be presentable.”

  Katie wrinkled her nose. Formal meant the black linen dress with the stiff, white lace collar. She hated formal. Formal made her neck itch where the lace scratched it. She far preferred the softer, pale green linen dresses she wore most days. No lace around the neck. Minimal lace on their caps. The less lace she had to wear in general made Katie very happy. It was one of the few things she disliked about being in service, being told what to wear and when to wear it. “Very well. I suppose the ladies will b
e as outlandish as possible in the hopes of turning someone’s head.”

  Martha rolled her eyes. “Lady Sally will flirt and bat her lashes, I’m sure. And Lord Marchand will turn puce right there at the table, although he’d be relieved to know he only has her to marry off, since Lady Edna accepted Mr. Warington’s proposal. It should be fun to watch, if only for a moment or two.”

  “Whilst Lady Marchand turns bright red and pretends not to notice anything,” Katie replied, unable to hold back her giggle.

  “Oy, perhaps you’ve been here too long, Katie, if you’re on to her ploys.” A throaty laugh burst out, but then she coughed and covered her mouth with one hand, while elbowing Katie sharply in the ribs with her free arm. “Hush. Here comes Lady Marchand.”

  As if summoned, Agatha Hamilton, Countess of Marchand, glided toward them. She was a striking woman, tall and willowy, with masses of thick, black hair piled high atop her head. Her eyes were the same turquoise as the waters surrounding Bermuda, and her personality was every bit as beautiful as her face. It was only fitting that she had borne two daughters who were just as lovely, but it didn’t seem fair that they should all be so perfect.

  “Good afternoon, Martha, Katherine,” Lady Marchand greeted them warmly. “Has Mrs. Bates warned you of our impending visitors?”

  “Aye, she has, m’lady,” Martha replied with a bob of her head. “We were just discussing that formal attire is called for this evening.”

  “Oh, yes. You all must look your best. With any luck, we will end their visit with a wedding.” Lady Marchand’s smile widened. “From what I understand, Captain Sebastiano’s son is coming with the sole intention of seeing Lady Sally, and we’ll hopefully have a wedding not long after.”

  Katie froze, praying no one could see how the color drained from her face, which went from warm one moment to icy cold the next at the name Sebastiano.

  No. How was that even possible? Could she have such horrid luck that the Captain would find her in Bermuda, a world away from his home on St. Phillippe, where she’d last seen him?

  She wanted to throw up, especially when Lady Marchand continued, “He’s only a second son, but that’s of no matter as long as he makes my Sally happy.”

  Only a second son. Her heart thudded dully against her ribs. She knew the second son in question, and he would no doubt make Lady Sally very happy. That was something he was particularly adept at doing, making women happy. Happy they were women, especially.

  She knew because she’d been one of those women. One of his women.

  Rafe.

  Her Rafe.

  Chapter Two

  Rafael Sebastiano simply stared at his father as if he’d never before laid eyes upon him. And in some ways, he hadn’t. He certainly could never have imagined his father attempting to arrange a marriage for him, yet that was exactly what Inigo was saying, that he and Rafe’s mother thought he should pursue Marchand’s younger daughter.

  His stunned silence lasted only a few seconds. “You must be joking, Papi. When have I given the slightest notion that I wished to marry, or that I wished you and Mami to choose a woman for me?” He frowned, tapping his forefinger against his temple as if he was thinking very hard. “Because I’m fairly certain neither of those things has ever happened. I don’t need either one of you doing what I’m perfectly capable of doing myself.”

  To his credit, his father looked embarrassed by his machinations. “True. You haven’t. But—” he turned to look at the island looming before them, squinting into the wind, “—we should wait for your mother’s arrival. The Persephone is due in any day now.”

  “Why do we need to wait for Mami?” She and his sisters had left St. Phillippe while he and his father had been dealing with business holdings on one of St. Phillippe’s neighboring islands. And it was probably just as well.

  “Because this is a family decision—”

  “A family decision? Since when?” Rafe’s hands tightened about the Eastwind’s railing, his knuckles going white. It was all he could do to keep from ripping the railing from its moorings. “Shouldn’t when and whom I marry be my decision?”

  He bit off that last part, twisting to glare at his father. He was about an inch taller than Papi and was stockier in build, but normally Inigo had no trouble meeting his stare. Today, however, he shifted, obviously uncomfortable with the turn of events. Good. He should be uncomfortable. “I’m fairly certain the Hamiltons have been told otherwise. Remember, they were led to believe Aidrian was going to ask for Sally.”

  “And since he didn’t, now I have to? Is that how it works? Just go down the line until you run out of men?”

  “It’s time. Your mother and I agree on that.” All traces of discomfort vanished from Inigo’s face, and his shoulders squared. “You’re not a child anymore, Rafael. It’s time you thought about settling down. You cannot play about forever, you know.”

  Rafe folded his arms and held his father’s gaze. “If I’m not mistaken, when you were my age you were still several years away from meeting Mami. And doing enough playing around of your own. Did you need someone to decide when you should marry or whom you should ask?” At Papi’s stare, Rafe shook his head. “I didn’t think so.”

  “That is neither here nor there.” Inigo drew in a deep breath and exhaled slowly, running one hand through his hair. “Ever since your brother’s wedding, your mother has been determined to marry off the rest of you. She only wants you to be happy. And then we can get down to business with Sebastiano. Once the families are settled, we can move on.”

  “If Mami wishes me to be happy, she’ll leave me be. It isn’t my fault Aidrian chose to marry Vanessa instead of Sally, and I fail to see why I have to rectify what everyone seems to consider his wrong.”

  “You know Sally. You’ve always gotten on well with her. So why not? You’ve seen how happy Aidrian is with Vanessa. Don’t you wish the same for yourself? Sally is perfectly suited for you.”

  “You mean her family is perfectly suited for Sebastiano Distillers.”

  A hint of coppery color reddened Inigo’s face, but he nodded. “Their investment will certainly help. They always help when we need them. We’re struggling now and you know it. We lost two ships in the last hurricane, their crews and everything they carried. Markets are tight and we’ve more competition than ever. Breaking into Marchand’s rum business will double our shares in the market and secure our future.”

  Rafe turned back to stare out at the water. Yes, he knew. They’d had a run of terrible misfortune over the last six months, between foul weather and run-ins with various pirates. But things were close to turning the corner and he wasn’t as convinced as his father that they needed another investor.

  “And you choose to lay it on my shoulders.”

  “It’s your responsibility as well, Rafael.” Inigo’s hand came down on his shoulder and gently squeezed. “I know this isn’t exactly how you envisioned it, if you ever did envision it. But then again, there was a time when you were seriously considering settling down. And it wasn’t all that long ago either, if I recall correctly.”

  “No. It wasn’t that long ago at all.” Weariness wove into the fiber of Rafe’s muscles, the marrow of his bones, and he slowly turned to peer at his father over one shoulder. “And I seem to recall that, at that time, no one was overly happy with my decision. If I remember correctly, there was much screaming and swearing, and being put in one’s place.”

  Inigo’s swarthy cheeks flushed again, and he cleared his throat. “You must understand why.”

  Rafe nodded, staring out over the water, not even squinting as the sparkle of sunlight on its surface did its best to blind him. His weariness grew heavier. He was tired. So damn tired. That’s what happened when one didn’t sleep more than two or three hours a night.

  Finally, he blinked and looked away. “I do understand, but I don’t agree. I’ve never agreed.”


  “She wasn’t acceptable, Rafael. Perhaps if she’d been only a barmaid, your mother would have gotten beyond it. But she wasn’t. She was a wh—”

  Rafe slapped his palms against the railing, hard enough to make them sting, and whipped about, stalking away before his father could finish his insult. He knew what Papi was going to say. He’d heard it more times than he cared to think about. The same things were said every time the subject of Katie Dunn arose, which wasn’t often these days. But that didn’t mean she didn’t weigh heavily on his mind. At least once a day, every day, for the past seven months, he’d thought about her. Sometimes she smiled, a winsome, toothy grin so full of mischief and light he thought he’d melt on the inside. Sometimes she looked wistful, as she had the first morning she’d woken in his hotel room, stretched out on her belly beside him. Sunlight had danced over her hair as it spilled over the pillows, and when she’d woken to find him gazing down at her, a shy smile had stretched across her face.

  Then there was the night when everything had fallen apart. He could still see her as his mother ordered Katie from her house. Even now, he felt sick when he remembered how Katie had looked. She had stared up at Fiona Sebastiano, her dark green eyes wide with horror and her teeth disappearing as her smile faded. That was the image that made sleeping so damn difficult.

  Come the next morning, she was gone.

  He groaned. He was a score and seven years old, and he’d let Katie get away from him because his mother didn’t approve of her. He deserved to be alone. Coward. No. Coward was too kind a word to describe how much anger he felt at himself, much more than any he’d ever felt toward her. When it mattered, he’d chosen his family over his woman. He deserved all the misery life could heap upon him, including being chained to a woman he didn’t want.

  “Rafael.” Papi’s voice came soft over his left shoulder. “I apologize for my words, but I will not apologize for how either of us feels about her. You can’t fault us for that.”