The Captain's Caress (33 page)

“The
señorita
is so beautiful,” Ana said, using the very words Summer hoped to hear from Brent’s lips. “It is a shame you do not wish to powder your hair.”

Summer much preferred her own rich, russet brown coloring. “There isn’t time now,” she stated firmly.

“No. Everything would be spoiled,” Ana agreed, prodded into activity by the thought of the dinner her mother was at this very moment bringing to a peak of perfection. “I will take you to the rose salon,” she added.

“Good heavens, and I nearly chose the jonquil muslin.” Summer laughed. “Thank goodness I decided on the silk.”

“I would have told you.”

“I certainly hope so. I would have stuck out like a goose among chickens.”

Ana laughed when the lovely
señorita
compared herself to a goose.

The salon was empty when she threw open the double doors, and Summer felt a pang of disappointment. She knew it was vanity to long for Brent’s admiration, and she scolded herself for being so vain as to pride herself on her looks and lineage. Well not lineage, she thought grimly.

Then she pushed that unpleasant thought from her mind. Tonight was going to be wonderful, it had to be. She and Brent would be even more alone than they had been on the ship. She tingled with excitement, and began to pace the room, unaware that her anxiety was giving her stride a very unladylike swing.

So much rested on this night. She knew Brent loved her, but did
he
know it? He was so stubborn he couldn’t even see what was right before him; surely during the coming days and nights he must realize that he loved her, and that she had to become his wife.

Summer sagged against a table, and released an audible groan. What was she thinking about? She was already someone else’s wife. That brutal fact she would have given anything in the world to be able to forget. It was so unfair, so cruel of life to show her Brent with one hand and deny him with the other. But it would do her no good to dwell on that. Something must be done, a way must be found out of her difficulties; but let that wait for tomorrow and sensible daylight. Tonight was hers, and she was determined that nothing would spoil it for her.

“I thought I heard someone in here,” Brent said, entering through the open French doors, but he suddenly came to a stop and a low whistle escaped him. “You certainly made good use of your time.” He recovered enough to offer her the glass of wine he held in his hand. “You take this. I need something stronger.” He poured himself a brandy.

“Brent Douglas! If you dare tell me you can’t sit down to dinner with me without getting drunk first I’ll, I’ll…”

“You’re putting the wrong words into my mouth again,” he said, taking a large swallow of his brandy.

“A truly chivalrous man would be paying me extravagant compliments instead of swallowing his brandy like water and looking at me as if I were some serving wench he was about to roll in the hay.”

“Maybe that’s because I can’t think of anything except taking you straight to bed.” Brent took another sip of brandy.

“Probably,” Summer agreed. “You never seem to have anything on your mind except your ship or taking off my clothes as quickly as possible.”

“Now there’s a subject I would like to discuss.”

“Your ship?” she asked archly.

“No, she-devil, talking off your clothes.”

“After I spent an hour putting them on, the least you could do is admire me.”

“I admire you without your clothes, too.”

Summer sat down on one of the sofas.

“I’m going to pretend that I’ve just come down. I’m about to have a delicious dinner under a tropical moon. The softest of breezes is blowing, and I’m with a handsome man, even if he is a monster of selfishness who knows how to make himself very pleasing to a woman. I would like to enjoy the evening, to pretend that I am young and beautiful and that life is filled with happiness and excitement.”

“That ought to be easy.”

“I want to be told that I’m beautiful,” Summer continued, ignoring him, “that my skin is like velvet, my eyes are like stars, and that men would die just for the chance to sit where you are now.”

“They would.”

“Will you stop interrupting and listen,” she said, exasperated. “I want to walk in the moonlight, dance under the stars. I want to forget that there is anything or anybody in the world other than the two of us. I want you to tell me any man would be lucky to have me for his wife and that I’m going to meet some wonderfully handsome man, be gloriously happy, and have rooms full of children.”

“I don’t think I should let you have any more wine.” Brent removed the glass from her hand. “A little more and you’ll be discussing bridal gowns and the kind of wedding you want.” That unfortunate remark burst Summer’s bubble of happiness.

“You don’t have to be so cruel,” she said, losing her animation and heaving a tremulous sigh. “I know it’s a futile dream, but I never had a chance to speculate on my future before I found myself in this impossible tangle. My problems are so insurmountable I can’t bear to think of them. Instead, I make up fantasies about how I wish things had been. I know it’s silly and childish, but they give me a few moments of happiness.”

“I know how you feel.” The sympathy in Brent’s voice surprised her. “Things never work out the way we want, not even when they come out right in the end.”

“Why?”

“Maybe that makes us appreciate our happiness more when we do get it, maybe that makes us stronger people. I really don’t know, but there’s no use being sorry for yourself or letting self-pity get in the way of doing something about your situation. Nothing is ever so bad it can’t improve if you work at it.”

“That sounds like a page from a Scottish book of proverbs.” Summer sniffed in disgust.

“I promise I won’t preach anymore tonight.” He brought Summer to her feet.

“And I promise not to become maudlin again.” She walked toward the terrace. “It seems I’m always starting conversations I don’t want to finish.”

“That’s because you let your worries get the best of you.”

“And you let your lusts get the best of you.”

“It’s the best of you my lusts want,” Brent countered.

“Devil!” she retorted, but her good humor was restored. “Let’s eat before I give up on you completely and join a convent.”

“That would be an awful waste of one of Nature’s most perfect creations.”

“You know, that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me, even if I do owe the compliment to your lust,” Summer said as she stepped out onto the terrace.

“I can’t see you or be near you without desiring you. And don’t tell me I should love you for your mind. No mind or personality can make up for a body like a stick or a face like a shrunken skull.”

“I shouldn’t think it could.” Summer giggled in spite of herself.

“If you were the most brilliant woman in the world, that wouldn’t provoke the surge of desire I get just from touching your hand or kissing your lips. The smell of your perfume in my nostrils makes my senses ache.”

“I doubt Juanita will think that sufficient excuse for letting her food get cold,” Summer remarked, marveling at the number of dishes set out before her.

“Now who’s the devil? You know you wouldn’t like me nearly so much if I were as cold as that man Brinklow.”

“But I
don’t
like you.” Summer gave Brent a provocative smile. “I don’t deny that you are pleasant enough to look at, but I would much prefer to be sitting down to dinner with Smith, or even Caspian. At least then I would be sure that Juanita’s food, and not I, would be the main course.” She slipped around Pedro to escape Brent. “Careful,” she warned, “or you’ll overturn the table.”

“Someday you’ll be strangled and your body hidden under a bush.”

“I cry peace,” she said merrily, and allowed Brent to help her with her chair.

“Eat, you vexing female. For the present I’ll do my best to behave like Smith.”

“Oh, please don’t try,” Summer protested. “I’m persuaded the effort would derange you.” The presence of the dour Pedro and the entrance of two girls who were bringing in the first course prevented Brent from sweeping Summer up from her chair and inflicting his own particular brand of torture on her. But she smiled at him in such a devastating fashion that his legs grew weak, and he sat down quickly. There would be time to exact punishment later, when he had gotten his quivering limbs under control.

Chapter 29

It was a perfect dinner. Pedro served them from trays brought from the house to insure their privacy, and Summer felt that nothing could ruin this night. The terrace was bathed in the light of a full moon, its pale gold rays augmented by lanterns placed on walls or hung from trees. These glowed like lesser moons against the dark shadows of the house and the gardens. On the table, candles glimmered within globes, wrapping them in an aura of warm, lustrous light.

A medley of sounds and smells filtered to her. The murmur of rustling leaves, the chirping of frogs soothed her senses. Odors of decaying leaves, freshly turned earth, and salt sea air became lost in the heavy perfume of the flowers that filled the terrace and surrounding lawns, some growing on plants in huge pots, other on thick borders, tall shrubs, or rambling vines. The extravagance of Nature’s bounty made Summer feel almost drunk.

Filled with the soft, life-giving moisture of the sea, the night air fell on Summer’s shoulders like a velvet cloak, enveloping her in its soft warmth. It promised peace and plenty, and it eased the tension from her body, allowing her to luxuriate in this paradise that must have been intended for the gods.

Dinner began in a bantering mood, but during the course of the evening, the atmosphere changed, slowly at first, and then quite dramatically. When they finally rose from the table, their easy informality had vanished. In its place was pent-up excitement, intense concentration on each other. Their conversation slowed, became halting, and then virtually stopped. The few words they spoke were separated by long pauses.

At first Summer tried to sustain the faltering conversation. “We haven’t been very talkative tonight.”

“No.” It was an unencouraging reply.

“I didn’t expect to be entertained every minute, but neither did I anticipate having to talk to myself.”

“I was thinking,” Brent said unhelpfully.

“Are your thoughts private, or am I included?”

“You’re very much included, but I’m not sure I want to share them yet.”

“Sounds mysterious.”

“No, just damnable!” he said with explosive fury.

Summer pushed her chair back. “In that case I’m glad you won’t tell me. Maybe a change of scene will help you think of something more pleasant,” she said provocatively. Brent rose quickly to help her with her chair as she gathered up a thin gauze wrap. “The moon is so bright I can walk about as if it were day. You may come along if you like, in case I stumble or lose my way.”

“I’ll trip you at the first step.”

“I should never give you permission to lay a hand on me,” she said, striving for a light tone. “You never neglect any opportunity.”

“I never could stand the temptation of being near you without touching you.”

“Did you every try?”

“In Havana, but I couldn’t get you off my mind,” Brent said. “Those were the worst weeks of my life.” Summer halted and turned to face him, angry now.

“How can you say that when you pursued dozens of females right under the noses of half of Havana?”

“You know I wasn’t interested in any of those women.”

“Do you think I believe that?” she asked.

“It ought to be obvious.”

“Well it’s not. Explain it to me.”

“You really don’t understand, do you?”

“It’s about as clear as the ravings of a madman.”

“I
am
a madman. I have been for the last several months.”

“I must have had too much wine. I don’t understand a word you’ve said.”

“You haven’t had enough, or your feelings would tell you that I made my interest in the marquise and others obvious to keep anyone from guessing that the person I was really interested in was you.”

Summer merely stared at him.

“I was sure you knew.”

“No,” she said, helplessly. “I never guessed.” A soaring joy threatened to dismantle every bit of control she had.

“It was a mistake to bring you to Havana. With my reputation, the only way I could think to protect you was to let everyone see that I was interested in others.”

“Are you trying to make me believe that your interest in the marquise was assumed?” There was a dangerous tone to her voice.

“Not entirely,” Brent admitted. “I had known her before. Dallying with her is not without its rewards.”

“So you lost sight of why you were playing at cat and mouse and proceeded to collect your reward every night.” Summer stepped angrily away from him. “Maybe you decided it was more fun to capture the cat than to protect the mouse.”

“I didn’t collect anything from Constanza, unless you consider the privilege of talking to her husband a just reward for fidelity.”