A Heart's Masquerade (18 page)

"Do you want to come down, or shall I come up?" he asked, with a smile so charming that Cat sighed in exasperation.

"Come up, then, if you must," she said.

He did, in a smooth motion of long limbs and lean muscle, and her heart beat just a little faster to have him next to her above the earth.

He shook his head. "I don't think I've been up in a tree since the day I hid from my tutor and pelted him with plums, a deed for which I received more than adequate punishment."

Cat laughed at the thought of a small Ransom misbehaving. She realized, with some surprise, that she knew next to nothing about this man. Oh, she knew his ways, his humor, his temperament, but what of his past, his family, his childhood escapades? Where had he grown up? At sea an unwritten code prohibited interrogation of your shipmate, yet she could certainly ask such questions now.

Cat sneaked a peek at him from under lowered lashes. His back was against the trunk, and one arm rested casually on a knee while a firmly muscled leg swung free. He had left his coat upon the ground, and the white of his linen shirt was stark against his tanned throat.

He was contemplating the countryside around them, his finely tuned body relaxed, his strong chest rising and falling with each deep breath. And as Cat watched him, her heart began beating so loudly she was sure he must hear it. She glanced quickly out over the cane fields and concentrated on keeping her breath even.

What on earth was happening to her? She had reached a sorry state if one glance at her captain left her weak willed and slow witted. Grasping at her composure, she sought to fill the unnerving silence and asked the first question that came to mind.

"Where is your home?"

"Wherever my ship is."

"I meant, where were you raised?"

"The Midlands," he answered vaguely, and Cat remembered that this man was masquerading as a duke. It would be unlikely that the captain of the
Reckless
, whoever he was, would tell the truth about his history when he was living a lie. Disappointed, she fell quiet once more.

"And you, my intriguing Miss Amberly?"

Cat caught a caustic note in his voice and narrowed her eyes before answering just as vaguely. "Hampshire."

Ransom made no comment, but looked out over the orchard. "You have a good orange crop here."

"Oh, yes," Cat said. "Aunt Amelia's oranges have a wonderful flavor. Once in a while you might find one that looks perfect yet is sour inside, but for the most part, they are all delightfully sweet."

"Hmm. And what about you, my love? You are all fire and mystery on the outside. What are you really like... underneath?" His voice was deep and low and spread over her like warm molasses, while his gaze held hers, the heat in it setting her pulse to pounding again.

Cat decided there was something in the way he spoke the endearment that triggered her body's response, and she really shouldn't let him call her that, both for the sake of decorum and her own well-being. Just as she opened her mouth to admonish him, he lifted reached over to run his finger down her cheek, and Cat nearly fell off her branch.

"Your grace!"

"Please, call me Ransom."

"Ransom." The name that she'd savored so many times in her thoughts sounded strange when spoken aloud. "Ransom, I really must return to the cottage."

Without waiting for his response, Cat stepped to a lower branch and jumped to the ground, landing neatly on her feet and looking up at him. His shout of amusement made her smile and race away through the tall grass, along the wide expanse between the rows of orange trees.

Hindered by her skirts, Cat was easily overtaken. But she broke free to run again, laughing, until Ransom grasped her waist and pulled her toward him with a hoot of triumph. Laughing and trying to catch her breath, Cat lifted a hand to push an errant lock of hair from her face, and suddenly she was in his arms.

It happened too fast for her to deny. In an instant her feet were lifted from the ground and his mouth moved over hers with a passion that bore no resemblance to his earlier kisses, gentle and deliberate. When his hold upon her loosened, Cat slid down his body, aware of every inch of his hard frame.

But if she ever touched the ground again, she was not aware of it. She moved without thought or reason, instinctively throwing her arms around his neck. Her breath came in gasps, and her fingers curled into his hair, threading through the dark silkiness.

Still, she could not get enough of him and frantically pressed herself against him until they dropped to their knees in the grass. Their mouths locked, broke apart, and met again in a driving rhythm that seemed to propel them to the ground.

At first Cat did not notice the tall blades giving way beneath her. She was conscious only of the feel of Ransom's lean, muscular body that had haunted her dreams for so long. She ran her hands across his back and buried her face in his neck, breathing in the delicious scent of him.

Dimly, she was aware of his fingers sliding along her shoulder, slipping her gown lower, and then she felt his hand upon her breast. The sensation, so new and intimate, made her gasp aloud. Her heart hammering, she struggled upright, fighting for possession of her faculties, and broke away.

The sight of her gown and chemise hanging low to reveal her chest made her tug at her clothing with trembling hands. The man responsible for her state of undress reached for her, his dark gaze smoldering, his allure so potent that for a moment she nearly turned back to him.

But some semblance of reason reasserted itself. And ignoring the low, seductive whisper of her name, Cat rose to her feet, heedless of all except her escape.

***

Cat closed her eyes and splashed cool water on her hot cheeks, letting it drip through her fingers and back into the washbasin. Straightening, she pressed a towel against her face and looked in the mirror. Was this Catherine Amberly? Her skin was flushed, but otherwise she looked the same. How then to explain her recent behavior?

Sinking into a chair, Cat buried her face in her hands at the memory of pulling at Ransom and gasping for breath. She had wanted him so desperately, ached for him to do those things to her, longed to touch every inch of him, without a thought to the consequences. Did fallen women fall because they yielded to some handsome blade's caresses, unable to help themselves?

Maybe her masquerade aboard the
Reckless
was to blame. Surely, she would not have succumbed so easily to Ransom if she had just met him, if she didn’t know him so well...
if she didn’t love him.

The word came to mind against her will, for she had not allowed herself to examine her feelings for Ransom too closely since his precipitous return to her life. Now, however, she could no longer ignore the root of all her problems. She was hopelessly, helplessly in love with him.

With a sigh, Cat realized she had probably fallen for him the first moment she saw him, and the situation had only gone from bad to worse. Leaving the
Reckless
had done no good. Her devotion to her captain had simply colored her perceptions of every man she met while waiting to blossom anew when he reappeared.

What a traitorous organ the heart was, that it would take no direction from the head, Cat decided. With growing horror, she wondered whether she was destined to love Ransom - and only Ransom - all her life.

Cat shuddered at the thought of such a future. When she was with the man and he smiled at her, her heart soared, and sometimes when she thought of him, hugging the image of him close, she was filled with joy. More often, however, her feelings brought nothing but frustration and promised only heartache.

Cat remembered all too well how easily Ransom's coldness could cut her to the quick, how remote and distant he could be, and how fleeting his interest in any female. If only he would leave her be, she thought, indignant at his relentless pursuit.

Not that long ago she had been berating herself for taking him too seriously, when it seems she hadn’t taken him seriously enough. Obviously, he had designs upon her virtue, and it looked like he would not leave the island until he stole it from her.

Righteous anger at that realization broke through her depression and dismay. He was toying with her, like a cat with a mouse, for she knew full well that he did not return her feelings. With a frown, Cat made herself examine the facts.

The man she loved was a cold, heartless creature who would never care for any woman. And lest she hope differently, Cat reminded herself that he intended to ruin her, which showed no respect for her, let alone any deeper feelings.

She would just have to put a stop to his plan, Cat decided. Avoiding him seemed impossible, but what if she told him outright that she no longer wished to see him? She knew a pang at the thought, but what else could she do? Swallowing hard, Cat admitted that she could not trust herself with him, which meant she must stay away from him entirely.

Better that she take action than spend her life moping over one man, Cat realized. It was not in her nature to blindly accept the vagaries of fate, especially when fate - or more corporeal parties - seemed to conspire to throw the two of them together.

Rising to her feet, Cat was surprised to discover that the day was fast disappearing and she must hurry or be late for supper. Hurrying through her toilette, she soon made her way to the dining room where Amelia was waiting.

"Ah, there you are, dear," said her aunt. "I hope you are famished, for the cook has outdone herself tonight."

Cat forced a smile, though she wasn't sure if she could swallow a bite after all that had gone on. Nevertheless, she made an attempt, despite her lack of appetite.

She tried the baby carrots from Amelia's garden, delicately seasoned with herbs, and ignored the mutton. She was toying with some shrimp baked in pastry when Amelia delivered a broadside attack.

"Did your captain find you this afternoon?" the older woman asked innocently.

Cat nearly started from her seat. "What? Oh, yes, I... spoke to him briefly before coming home." Cat answered as nonchalantly as possible before taking a sudden interest in the asparagus.

"Good. I thought he must have missed you when he did not come back with you," Amelia said.

Cat blinked. "He decided to walk through Lord Claremont's fields. He's interested in that sort of thing."

"He did say he had a plantation of his own," Amelia said. "I was just going out to the gardens when he arrived, so I directed him to the orchard. I thought to see him upon his return, so I did not stay to talk with him, which is now my loss. I always like to visit with that handsome charmer."

Cat nearly choked upon the large bite she had just taken.

"But, then, I did invite him to tea tomorrow, so I imagine we will have a nice chat then."

Cat's fork clattered to her plate. The asparagus, never her favorite to begin with, seemed to lodge in her throat as she struggled to speak. "You invited him to tea?"

"Really, dear, I wish you wouldn't talk with your mouth full," Amelia chided. "I thought you had abandoned your shipboard ways. Perhaps we ought to brush up on table manners, for I certainly wouldn't want you to embarrass yourself in company."

Cat simply stared at her aunt until the lady became flustered.

"Good heavens, dear, I did not mean to insult you," she began.

But Cat halted her with a frown. "Aunt," she said, trying to gather her thoughts. "You must stop trying to throw me together with Ransom."

"Why, my dear," Amelia said. "Whatever makes you say such a thing? I wouldn't throw you at anyone."

"You know what I mean," Cat said, holding up a hand to stop Amelia's denial. Although she was not eager to argue with her aunt on Ransom's account, some measure of the truth was called for before Amelia did further harm.

Taking a deep breath, Cat chose her words carefully. "In his guise as a duke, Ransom may seem to be a matrimonial coup, and I can't blame everyone for thinking so. He is handsome, he can be charming, and he is not a pauper, whatever his true worth may be."

Cat paused to gaze seriously at her aunt. "But I know this man, and there is much more to him than the attractive facade he presents to you and others in polite company. He has a foul temper, his opinion of women is contemptible, and he is an accomplished rogue and seducer. He has no intention of every marrying."

"Nonsense," Amelia replied, with surprising force. "Opinions can be changed, old habits abandoned, and new intentions developed, my dear. I have not spent so much time in this world without learning a thing or two about people, and your captain is not as set in his ways as you imagine him to be."

Cat sighed in frustration at her aunt's obstinacy. Having concluded her speech, Amelia turned her attention to a pear in mint sauce.

Unwilling to reveal more intimate details that might shock - and disappoint - her aunt, Cat was at a loss. "At least promise me that you will no longer invite him to the cottage," she said.

Amelia paused, her spoon in the air, and eyed Cat askance. "Why, Catherine, I'm surprised that you would try to restrict my callers. After all, this is my home, and no one is forcing you to be here when he visits."

Cat frowned. No one was forcing her to be present, and she could excuse herself with the claim of another engagement. But Cat bristled at the thought. She was not about to run and hide from Ransom like a scared rabbit. And the sooner she set him straight, the better for all of them.

She would attend tomorrow's tea, Cat decided. She had something tell tell their guest - though it would not be what the rogue wanted to hear.

***

Richard Blakely coolly admired his surroundings as he followed the manservant through the plantation house. The residence might not be as grand as some others in the islands, but it was still far better than many of the places where Richard had danced attendance on Devlin.

Dismissing the servant, Richard settled into his rooms, frowning at the absence of his host. Had William Montgomery no love for his new guest? Richard smiled grimly. He didn't care as long as the man provided him entrée into the appropriate circles when the time came.