Moonwitch (2 page)

“Thank you for your time, Mr. Foulkes,” she said, forcing a smile. If he couldn’t help her, she would have to find a solution to her problem herself. She rarely opposed her stepmother, for Edith usually came out the winner in any open confrontation. But in this instance, it was her family home that was at stake—her one link to the father and mother she had lost. Even if it would no longer be her home after her marriage, she didn’t intend to let Edith sell it to strangers.

Ignatius seemed to understand her predicament, for he gave her a look of condolence as he took her hand. “Of course, my dear, if any ideas occur to me, I’ll let you know at once. Shall I escort you somewhere, or is your servant waiting downstairs?”

“Samuel is meeting me at the milliner’s with the carriage.”

“Very well, then. I shall see you at the ball tomorrow evening and beg a place on your dance card—if you will indulge an old man.”

Selena agreed with a strained smile and allowed the solicitor to show her out. As she descended the wrought iron stairs, a cooling sea breeze tugged at the neat coil of pale hair beneath her bonnet, loosening a few strands to wisp around her face. Impatiently she restored them to their proper place, then opened her parasol to shield her face from the harsh glare of the May sun as she made her way up Long Street toward the milliner’s shop.

She had only gone a short distance when she heard the chorus of cheers and wagers coming from the yard of the old arsenal across from the courthouse. There seemed to be some kind of brawl taking place, for she could see the rowdy crew of the
Tagus.
They had formed a large ring around the yard, and their gestures and shouts indicated they were deriving great enjoyment from the spectacle.

As she moved closer, raising the skirts of her blue muslin gown slightly to avoid the dust, she could see what held their attention. Two men were engaged in a hand-to-hand combat—a strange combination of fisticuffs and grappling. Selena recognized the black-haired giant she had seen earlier and knew by the shouts that his name must, ironically, be Tiny. The other man was Kyle Ramsey.

Captain Ramsey might be the smaller of the two, yet he was powerfully built, tall and perfectly proportioned. His shoulders were a yard wide and molded bronze, while his narrow waist tapered to lean hips and long, muscular legs that only added to the impression of limitless strength. Both men had stripped off their shirts and boots, and their glistening, rippling muscles provided a brazen display of sheer male virility.

Selena had been raised under a strict code of deportment and knew better than to linger, but the sailors’ excitement was contagious. She paused to watch, standing well back from the crowd.

It wasn’t a brawl so much as a contest of strength, she realized. The two men circled each other warily, then suddenly charged. They came together with a thud and bounced apart, neither able to gain the advantage by knocking the other off balance.

The captain got the best of the next encounter, managing to duck the giant’s flailing fist and land a blow in Tiny’s rock-hard belly, then dance away out of range. Grinning, the captain issued a jovial taunt to the giant. “You’re slipping, lad,” he called amiably. “You’ll want to aim lower next time.”

His teeth flashed white against his bronzed complexion, and as he stood there poised for combat, all taut muscle and lean power and pulsing strength, Selena studied him. His overwhelming masculinity tugged at some deeply rooted feminine instinct that her engagement didn’t give her the liberty to acknowledge. Yet she could understand quite well why the captain had aroused the ladies’ interest. His sheer size and vitality was fascinating. He moved with litheness and grace for all his imposing height and powerful physique, and there was a lust for life about him that was extremely appealing.

Her gaze moved to Captain Ramsey’s face. It too was attractive. Roughly carved, it had a high forehead, heavy eyebrows, lean cheeks creased by laughter and a strong chin. The next moment, that same chin received a blow that made the captain stagger backward.

When Tiny followed through with a lunge, wrapping his massive arms around Ramsey’s waist, the captain nearly fell. But he saved himself at the last moment by thrusting one booted foot in front of the giant’s, sending Tiny catapulting face first into the dirt.

Tiny let out a roar and leaped to his feet for the next assault. His face contorted with determination as he lowered his huge head and came at the captain with the force of a battering ram, gathering speed all the while. The blow hit the captain in the midriff, making him grunt and double over as he was propelled backward.

The combined weight of the two men parted the crowd in front of Selena. Tiny stumbled and lurched forward to land spread-eagled on the ground, while the captain’s momentum carried him backward to where she was standing. He fell with a thud at her feet and lay there sprawled on his back, not moving.

Selena knowing full well that a lady ought not be seen on the street among such rabble, knowing also what was expected of her as the future wife of a prominent gentleman on the island, disregarded both the conventions of society and the wishes of her betrothed and bent over the captain, her blue eyes full of concern.

She was close enough now to see that his rugged features were weathered by the sun and wind. The laugh lines around his eyes were nearly as prominent as the heavy brows and the cleft in the strong chin. Then his eyes opened, and she could see they were hazel, flecked with green and ringed with gold. Those deep-set eyes assessed her frankly, taking in her cool, quiet beauty.

“An angel,” he murmured appreciatively. “I’ve died and gone to heaven.”

His speech was more drawling than her own clipped tones but held a definite hint of a British accent. Knowing he was American, Selena wondered about it as she searched his face for signs of pain. “Are you hurt, Captain?” she asked gently.

A laughing gleam filled his hazel eyes. “Mortally wounded. I’m sure to need ministering.”

She liked the humor that glinted behind those eyes, yet it made her realize that her concern was misplaced. It would take far more than a fall to topple this Viking of a man.

The captain shook his head as if to clear it, then, with a groan, got unsteadily to his feet. Selena took a hasty step back as she found herself confronting a sleekly muscled chest that was lightly furred and glistening with sweat.

His nakedness disturbed her almost as much as his overwhelming physical presence. She was tall herself, but Kyle Ramsey towered over her. Next to his powerful body, she felt as slender as a cane stalk.

He stood there swaying, whether from exertion or any spirits he had imbibed, she couldn’t tell. He staggered a little then and reached out for her, putting a large, callused hand on her shoulder to steady himself. Worried that he would fell her without even intending to, Selena lifted her gaze to Captain Ramsey’s face. He was regarding her with a mournful expression that she was sure was feigned.

“You mean to send me back into battle unattended?” he asked in his deep-timbred voice before trying to sweep her a bow. “I beg one of your favors, fair lady. A handkerchief for luck? Or perhaps your parasol. I’ll wager that would come in handy… applied upside Tiny’s head.”

Amused in spite of herself by his high spirits yet disliking his attempt at flirtation, Selena raised a full, arching brow at him. “It would be highly improper, I’m afraid, Captain. I also think that you should remove your hand from my shoulder before I find yet another use for my parasol.”

The roguish glint that must surely be what had charmed half the females on the island made his hazel eyes dance with amber lights. “So you mean to be unaccommodating? Then I see I’ll have to claim my victory kiss now.”

She should have expected his next move, especially after his warning. But she was accustomed to men who accorded proper respect to gentlewomen, if not out of chivalry or a sense of honor, then because they feared British justice on the island. The Englishmen of Antigua tended to be highly protective of their ladies and not the least hesitant to see transgressors clapped in the stocks for the slightest offense, especially Americans, whose presence was merely tolerated.

Selena was quite unprepared, therefore, when Kyle grasped her arms and hauled her against his naked chest, his hands gentle and controlled, yet unyielding. Nor did she have time to protest before he lowered his head and found her generous mouth with his own wide, hard one.

The kiss was brief, little more than a meeting of lips, yet before it ended, she felt him stiffen slightly, as if he had found something surprising. And when he lifted his head, she saw that he was frowning down at her, his heavy brows drawn together as if in puzzlement. Dumbfounded, Selena returned his golden gaze, shock holding her motionless.

He didn’t release her but continued to stand there, appraising her. “I must be more foxed than I realized,” he muttered rather huskily. “I felt the ground shaking.”

Selena stared at him wide-eyed, having lost the power of speech. When she remained silent, his hands tightened on her arms, and with inexorable strength, drew her rigid, corseted body even closer.

He wasn’t entirely drunk, she realized as his lips met hers again, though he tasted of rum. The alcohol further dazed her senses. Or perhaps it was the musky odor of sweat that was making her so dizzy and pliant. Or the distinctively clean scent of his skin, a salty freshness that reminded her of the sea. Neither of her betrotheds had ever affected her in such a manner—leaving her breathless and trembling. Nor had they ever kissed her the way Kyle Ramsey was doing, with his mouth open against hers, his tongue parting her lips to probe and explore.

His strong hands moved up her arms to her slender shoulders as he kissed her in an almost leisurely way…deeply, thoroughly, filling her mouth with his tongue, gliding his long fingers along her delicate jawline to tangle them in the pale tresses that framed her face beneath her bonnet.

Her hair, never willing to stay pinned at the best of times, started to slip from its moorings, yet oddly, Selena didn’t care. She felt the wildest urge to respond to his overpowering maleness, to the warm animal magnetism that radiated from him. She was vaguely aware of the crowing and catcalls coming from his men and that sometime in the past few moments she had dropped her parasol, yet still she stood there pressed against Kyle Ramsey’s hard, half-naked body, submitting to his kiss, her gloved fingers actually clinging to his corded forearms—until finally, reluctantly, he released her.

Her composure shattered, Selena stared up at him, wondering at the amazement she saw on his rugged face. Then, like a great hound shedding water, he shook his head, as if to clear his muddled senses.

The movement brought Selena to her own senses. She felt a slow, painful blush rising to her face as she realized she had allowed a half-dressed, loutish sea captain to kiss her on the streets of St. John’s in full view of a crowd of coarse sailors and who knew what townspeople.

With quiet deliberation Selena drew back her gloved hand and struck the captain across the cheek. It wasn’t precisely what she wanted to do; it was what good breeding and a lifetime of training compelled. Nor did her blow seem to hurt him much, for even though Captain Ramsey reached up to rub the offended cheek, he grinned down at Selena, the creases in his face deepening into slashing masculine dimples.

“It was worth it,” he said provocatively before bending to pick up her parasol. He was still grinning as he handed the blue confection to her. “I’ll have to win now. I can’t let such a victory kiss go to waste.”

He spun around then to bellow, “Tiny, lad! Where are you hiding? Prepare to be soundly trounced!” leaving Selena to stare after him, her cheeks flushed in embarrassment, her customary serenity totally destroyed.

As Tiny showed himself and the contest got under way once more, the crowd of gawking sailors returned to their sport. Selena, her face burning with shame, made an attempt to restore order to her sagging coiffure while she glanced around quickly to see who else had witnessed the incident. She saw no one she recognized, yet she was certain word of her scandalous behavior would soon spread. Antiguan society was small and close-knit, and very little happened that wasn’t discussed and analyzed and judged.

Raising her parasol, this time to hide her scarlet cheeks, Selena turned away and quickly crossed the street. She greatly regretted not having gone directly to the milliner’s. Avery would be upset to learn what had happened, of course. He would consider her behavior unworthy of her birth and breeding, as well as his position in society. Yet Selena dreaded more what her sharp-tongued stepmother would say—especially since she had no defense for her actions. She hadn’t protested Captain Ramsey’s barbaric assault on her lips, and what was more shameful, she hadn’t much wanted to.

She was still considering what explanation she would give when she reached the milliner’s shop on High Street. Her Negro groom, Samuel, wasn’t waiting with the gig as she had directed, but it was early yet and she still had her errand to complete. As she was about to enter the shop, however, an elegant black-and-green curricle clattered up the street and came to a halt beside her. The equipage was drawn by a matched pair of bays and driven by her betrothed, Avery Warner, with a young black slave perched up behind.

Avery was a tall, middle-aged gentleman, distinguished looking rather than handsome, with dark hair graying at the temples. At the moment his stern features were set in an unsmiling expression as he regarded Selena. “Might I take you up with me, my dear? It is unbecoming for you to be walking the streets unattended.”

Selena felt herself flushing at his public censure. “That won’t be necessary, Avery,” she replied woodenly. “Samuel will be along in a moment, and I have some shopping yet to do.”

“But I insist. I cannot have my future wife behaving in a manner that is less than circumspect. It will give rise to gossip.”

“I’m surprised you think it proper for us to be seen together without a chaperon!”

Avery’s brows drew together as he shot her a surprised look; Selena rarely spoke sharply to anyone. “I rather think a chaperon is unnecessary, my dear,” he said in mild reproof. “This an open carriage, and we are affianced, after all. I am simply concerned about appearances.”