Heather Graham (9 page)

“Flynn has been a perfect gentleman, Mrs. St. John, but I do thank you sincerely for the invitation,” Brittany said. She heard her own words, and breathed easily. She sounded fine, relaxed. She could—unless disaster struck in a mysterious way—make her way through the evening fine.

Rose laughed from somewhere nearby, a soft, husky and delightful sound. “Flynn! Well, hombre, it is good to hear that you have been on your best behavior. I’ve many good things to say of my dear friend, but …”

Brittany turned to see that Rose and Flynn were smiling affectionately at one another again. The sparkle was in Flynn’s eyes; Rose’s words did not offend him, they amused him.

Rose turned from Flynn to Brittany. “I do not always call him a gentleman. But then, I do not like my men too gentle.”

“Ah, but Rose, you bring out the hungering beast in all of us,” Flynn returned, and it seemed that everyone laughed, because she was, of course, so very stunning, and it was probably true.

“Rosy, you also bring out our very best,” Ian Drury said gallantly, stepping past Edith at last with a smile. He, too, took Brittany’s hands and pulled them close to his chest as he stared down into her eyes.

Gallant words, Brittany thought, but this was a man on the move. His eyes were a tawny color; he
was
very handsome. A bit shorter than Flynn, and it seemed, a bit broader. He might have been a tackle for the L.A. Raiders. His face was broad where Flynn’s tended to be gaunt; his hair was not quite so richly dark, yet both men could most definitely fit the bill of “charming.” But it was the look in those tawny eyes that caught Brittany’s attention. He
did
like women.

“Ms. Martin, since I first heard the story, I was aching with envy for my friend Flynn. That
he
was the one to take you from the sea.”

Brittany returned his charismatic grin, and allowed her hands to linger in his grip. “How charming, Mr. Drury,” she returned sweetly.

A hand slipped around her elbow; strangely she knew the touch even before she turned, taken subtly but cleanly from Ian’s grasp. Flynn … there was power in his hold, and tension.

“Ian, be a good chap and fix your guests a drink, will you?”

Ian shrugged. “But of course. Brittany? I may use your given name, I hope?”

“Of course …”

“Flynn is a Scotch drinker—I think the Scottish have to drink Scotch—patriotism or something like that. But what is your pleasure?”

“She’s fond of decent wine,” Flynn replied, before Brittany could answer. She thought his tone was a little dry—and also, that there was an edge to it.

“Wine, Brittany?” Ian inquired.

Not if it tastes like that horrible Riesling,
Brittany thought, but she must have nodded, or perhaps people were just accustomed to accepting Flynn’s words, because Ian was headed to a glass and chrome buffet to pour her wine.

Flynn continued to hold her arm. They followed along behind Ian. “You’re from Florida, Brittany,” Ian was saying. He turned to hand her a fluted glass. “You must be accustomed to our heat.”

Brittany accepted the glass. “Yes, but the evenings are different here—quite cool.”

“Umm sometimes,” Ian murmured. “Have you been to the Costa del Sol before? No, I think not. We would have found you before … one of us would have, certainly.”

“Most certainly,” Edith St. John murmured indignantly. “And to think that the poor child arrives and is immediately approached by that horrid pirate—”

“Oh, not so horrid, I wouldn’t think,” her husband offered levelly. “In fact, my dear, I think that you’re rather insulted that the gallant rake hasn’t approached you yet.” His wife gave him a gaze that might have sliced steel; Harry was unperturbed, but he smiled and amended his statement. “You’re such an adventurous woman, love—I’m sure you’d be happy to give El Drago a sound piece of your mind.”

“Yes, dear, yes, I suppose you’re right,” Edith murmured, her ruffled feathers smoothed. “I would dearly love to give that rake a piece of my mind!”

Oliver appeared at the steps, clearing his throat. “If it’s agreeable, Mr. Drury, dinner will be served.”

Ian Drury lifted a brow and surveyed his guests. His eyes came to rest upon Brittany, and he might have been speaking to her alone. “Is it agreeable …?”

There was a murmur of assent. Flynn was still behind Brittany, actually touching her, brushing against her. But Ian moved smoothly, taking her opposite elbow. As the host, it was obviously his position to lead them all to the dining room.

“I insist upon the pleasure of seating you beside me, Brittany,” he murmured. Brittany politely agreed, but she spoke softly, trying to keep an ear open to the conversations going on behind her. Joshua Jones seemed to be having a controlled disagreement with his pretty—but presently sullen—daughter. Edith was still telling her husband what she would say to El Drago. Juan was apparently escorting Carrie Jones and Flynn …

Flynn was murmuring something to Rose in soft and velvet tones that were filled with the warm cadence of his native burr. Rose was laughing.

The seating for dinner couldn’t have given Brittany a better opportunity to observe those she needed to know. Ian was to her left; Joshua Jones to her right. Elly was to Ian’s left, and lovely Rose was seated across the table, beside Flynn.

Flynn seemed to have the talent to enjoy the camaraderie of the woman beside him while also keeping a disturbingly astute eye on Brittany. She gripped her hands tightly together in her lap for a minute, and breathed deeply. He could stare all he cared to. She was going to be sweet and charming and breeze through the evening and she was going to do all that she had set out to do.

Conversation was light at first, as palatable as the decorative fruit cup that was served them. Joshua Jones talked about a particular form of Spanish sculpture that he thought would do brilliantly well at his English gallery. Brittany gave him her avid attention, and all that she saw of the man puzzled her. He spoke with a quiet voice; he seemed the epitome of that elusive being the “true gentleman.” He also seemed to be a troubled man. His eyes often fell on his daughter, who didn’t offer him even a façade of polite attention. She ignored him, and played with a piece of avocado in her fruit cup.

Over a chilled tomato bisque, Ian and Flynn turned the conversation to polo ponies.

“Do you enjoy the game, Brittany?” Ian asked her.

Flynn saved her from an answer. “Brittany is not fond of horses, Ian.”

“Oh, what a pity. Perhaps we could get her to enjoy the sport from the sidelines.”

“I intend to do all that I can,” Flynn said, and Brittany felt his stare very keenly.

She smiled winningly at both men. “I suppose that anything is possible.”

She didn’t find herself in the least on the hook until the entree came, spiced and tender steaks. It was just when she’d taken a bite of her delicious meat that she was jolted away from the possibility of enjoying anything else that might be served.

Rose—innocently, Brittany believed—was the one to drop the bombshell.

“Brittany, you must tell us more about your encounter with El Drago. We were ever so surprised.”

“Uh … why?” she managed to swallow and ask.

“Well, simply because he’s … well, one does not use the word ‘charming’ to describe a pirate, does she? But until now he has never really threatened anyone. He is more of a … Flynn! What is the name I am looking for?”

“Robin Hood?” Flynn suggested. Damn him. Those eyes of his really seemed to be cutting into Brittany. She fixed her own gaze on Rose.

“Yes—yes, a Robin Hood!” Rose lightly clapped her hands together, pleased that her frustration for words was at an end. “To the Spanish, at least, you see. It seems that he only attacks the English.”

“The English,” Brittany echoed. “But I don’t understand. You just told me that he attacked you, and you are a Spaniard.”

“
Sí
,
sí
,” Rose said impatiently, “but I was on one of Ian’s ketches that day. El Drago stripped down the boat—oh, he was efficient! He took everything. But he apologized to me; he said that he did not wish to cause me fear or distress. He kissed my hand, and when he was through with the ketch, he gave me a rose.”

Ian muttered a soft, impatient oath. “Rosa! It sounds as if you were taken with the man. Women! It seems they love a scoundrel every time. They are always taken in by the flash of a smile!”

“They do say,” Juan offered from the other end of the table with an amused grin, “that there is something … sensual about a cordial thief. Think of it! Poor Rose. All alone in the blackguard’s clutches; she is vulnerable to him. But he … he treats her like the lady she is and
voilà
—you have it. A man whose power becomes almost … sexual.”

Rose had been listening to Juan with amusement. She didn’t demur, but laughed good-naturedly. “Perhaps I
was
a bit taken by the man.” She stared at Brittany. “I didn’t really see him, you know; it was becoming night and there was so much darkness. But there was much life to him …” She turned to stare down at Juan. “Yes,
mi amigo
, he was sexy. I thought so then … but I’m not so sure now. Not since I’ve heard of his rude attack upon Brittany. He was so threatening to you, then?”

Why the hell, Brittany wondered, hadn’t some enterprising young journalist thought to play up the charm of this pirate in the papers? It would have made a great story—and it would have given her some decent warning.

She swallowed some of the burgundy, which had been served with the steaks, to play for time. Then she set her glass down, and smiled ruefully—aware now that all eyes from around the table were fixed on her. Even those of the sullen Miss Elly Jones.

“Perhaps he never had a chance to be cordial. I was in absolute panic. I started screaming and thrashing—and handling it all very poorly—from the very beginning.”

“Yes, perhaps
you
threatened
him
,” Flynn said politely. She couldn’t read a thing from the opaque smoke of his eyes. “It’s possible that your behavior actually frightened him from his customary act.”

“Yes! That could be!” Rose said excitedly, as if they had just solved a great mystery. And it seemed those at the table thought the explanation a good one, and so Brittany was relieved.

“Well,” Ian said disgustedly, inadvertently giving Brittany another out, “I think this pirate is an obnoxious menace, and I’d just as soon not have him discussed at my dinner table. The man has cost me a small fortune.”

“He is a horrid creature!” Elly Jones exclaimed, breaking what had hitherto been an absolute silence on her part. “Any time Ian’s men take his ships to sea, they are crudely attacked—and they don’t receive roses!”

Ian gazed fondly at Elly. “Please, you needn’t worry so for me, my dear. It’s just an annoyance, nothing more. One day I shall tackle the man myself, and his days of grandeur will reach a crude end!”

“I wonder why you haven’t run into him yet, Ian.” Joshua Jones asked, puzzled.

“Perhaps,” Flynn murmured, “it’s because Ian hasn’t been out on the sea much himself lately. Have you, Ian?”

“I’ve been busy with other things,” Ian murmured. He gazed at Flynn. “One of those new horses I was telling you about. I just had him brought from England, traveled with him myself, I did. You’ll want to see him after dinner, I assume.”

“Of course,” Flynn said, and the conversation turned back to polo once again, with Edith boisterously—and Carrie Jones more quietly—telling Brittany just how much she was missing by not enjoying the polo scene.

Brittany seemed to be in the clear for the rest of the meal. She might have enjoyed the food once again, except for the sensation that kept rippling heatedly through her.

A sensation of being watched.

But then she
was
being watched. By Flynn. She could feel the touch of his blue fire-and-smoke eyes.

And that was why the rippling sensation seemed to be such a very warm one …

When the meal was over, aperitifs were served out by the pool. The men were still talking polo; Ian suggested that those who cared to might come to the stable and see his new stallion. Flynn readily agreed. Brittany assumed that she would come along, until Elly Jones declined. Brittany then said that she would stay behind too.

Elly did not particularly appear to appreciate the gesture, but Brittany felt that she needed a break from being constantly on guard, and Elly Jones was the daughter of Joshua Jones. Perhaps Brittany could learn more about the man from the girl than she could from trying to delicately quiz
him
.

When the others left, Brittany walked idly along the length of the pool. Elly made no move to draw her into conversation, so Brittany moved back to Elly and perched beside her on one of the wicker chairs that sat beneath the gazebo. “You haven’t been at Costa del Sol long yourself, have you?” Brittany asked her with a friendly smile.

“No,” Elly responded, not looking at her. Then she swallowed a bit guiltily and apologized. “I am sorry; I don’t mean to be so rude. I—I guess I should admit that I hate it here. I loved our home in London. My Spanish is horrible, and I—I just hate it.” She smiled wistfully and warmly then and said vehemently, “Thank God for Ian! He’s just so lovely—he’s made it bearable here!”

Brittany smiled, feeling sorry for the girl. She was very young, and apparently very lonely. And it seemed she was setting herself up for a bit of heartache, because Ian didn’t appear to be the man to return such ardent loyalty to one woman.

“Don’t you get back to England now and then?”

Elly sniffed. “No. Father goes. He was there just recently. But it was ‘business’—and I wasn’t allowed along. He’s such a frightful bore! Everyone claims that my father is so bright and wonderful, but I don’t think he’s so terribly clever. We should be totally comfortable, but he’s continually tying up our finances. He’s always complaining that I spend so much, and that I must stop thinking I can hop from country to country at whim. And then I’m stuck here in this alien place with only …”

Elly shot Brittany another quick glance. “I’m so sorry again. I shouldn’t be telling you all this.”