A Heart's Masquerade (16 page)

"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 slowly 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.

But then Catherine rose from the waves, not unlike Venus, her chemise clinging provocatively to every curve. And Ransom knew his imagination could never have produced such perfection.

Cat lifted up a hand to push back her wet hair, a smile lingering on her face. She had managed to swim here secretly before, but never had she had such an encounter. Even now, she was tempted to return to the waters, to seek out her fishy friend, but dawn was breaking and she dared not linger, lest the household mark her absence.

Even open-minded Amelia would not approve of her niece, stripped down to a chemise, frolicking in the ocean. For that reason, Cat had limited this activity from her former life. But there were times when she simply had to dive deep, racing until her heart pounded and she finally floated on the surface, spent.

This morning, she had hoped the waters would soothe her mind and give her some respite from thoughts of Ransom. And in the delight of her recent experience, he had been forgotten. But she had not even stepped onto the sand before she realized that he was seated casually on a rocky outcropping in front of her.

Cat's heart leapt.
Did you see it?
she wanted to ask. Did you see the porpoise? But she was no longer his cabin boy, and all that had passed between them stood in her way, wiping the greeting from her lips.

Ransom answered her first, unguarded smile with a lazy grin, while his gaze leisurely moved over every inch of her body. And Cat's knees grew weak as she realized just how little she was wearing.

The thin, wet chemise clung to her skin and rode high on her thighs, threatening to expose more than her legs as she left the water. Her heart began tripping at an alarming pace, and instead of shivering in the breeze, she felt a slow, insidious heat coursing through her. All coherent thought was slipping away, and he had not even touched her.

Reason returned when Cat saw that he was seated next to her clothing, and anger replaced the more dangerous warmth that had overtaken her. The man had sneaked up on her to lounge about on the beach and watch her bathe, as though she actually were his mistress. It was bad enough that he spied upon her, but if he thought to make her stand here, wet and nearly naked, he was sadly mistaken.

"If you are finished gawking, I would like my clothes," Cat said.

"Hello, my love," he said, softly.

Cat thought she heard a catch in his voice, but she knew better. "I want my clothes."

"Certainly." Ransom swept his hand toward the pile beside him, and Cat lunged for her gown, sending a slipper flying into the sand in her haste. Biting back an oath, she flung the material over her head, thrusting her arms through the tiny sleeves with enough force to practically burst the seams.

"May I?" Ransom asked, and Cat stopped fighting with her gown long enough to look at him, down on one knee in the sand, holding her slipper. His brow was lifted in question, while the lazy grin played across his lips.

"No, you may not," Cat said, stamping her bare foot for emphasis.

With a shrug, Ransom rose to his feet, slipper in hand.

"You have molested and insulted me," Cat said. "And now you have sunk to spying upon my bath!"

"Perhaps you should bathe somewhere... less public," Ransom said.

"You blackguard! You have not one shred of decency," Cat said, as she hopped on one foot, angrily jamming on a slipper.

"I've neither molested nor insulted you, my love, though I do admit to spying on your bath, quite unintentionally."

His seeming amusement at her expense only enraged Cat further, and she nearly lost her balance as she gaped at him. "Now you are claiming that your odious offer was not an insult?"

"I never offered you a position as my mistress," Ransom said innocently. "You are the one who made the suggestion."

"Ha!" Cat grabbed her other slipper and put it on her sandy foot. "You did not deny it at the time."

"You seemed to be enjoying yourself thoroughly. Why should I spoil it?"

Cat groaned in disgust. Ignoring him, she snatched up her stockings.

"I regret that I said anything to offend you," he said with mock solemnity. The crinkles around his brown eyes gave him away, and yet there was a ring of truth underneath the humor that made Cat wonder. Of all the conversations she had imagined having with him, she had never expected anything approaching an apology.

She studied him dubiously. "Yes, I can see that," she finally said in a sarcastic tone. "You look
so
contrite."

Ransom threw back his head and laughed, and the warm, familiar sound was almost her undoing. In truth, her anger, quick to flash, was usually just as quickly spent.