by Linda Ladd
"If a gentleman should ask you to walk with him, you should place your fingers lightly upon his sleeve. Here," he told her, tapping the top of his right forearm.
"And if it is a bloody sea maggot such as yourself who asks her?" Caitlin asked, mocking his patronizing tone. "Does a lady also place her fingers on his arm? Here?"
A muscle moved in Trey's lean jaw.
"I can see that the proper language for a lady will be our next lesson," he said, firmly placing her hand in the proper position. "From this moment forward, Caitlin, there will be no more curses or foul names. You will address me as ‘milord' or ‘Captain Cameron,' and you will address the gentlemen who court you with their proper title. I will warn you once more and for the last time not to intentionally provoke my anger. I have told you before that I am not a particularly patient man, and I have tolerated all of the rudeness and impudence from you that I intend to."
His words held not one whit of anger, but the very calmness with which he uttered them made Caitlin instinctively aware that he was not one to make idle threats. She bit back the barbed retort that was already half off the tip of her tongue and walked silently at his side as he continued to tell her what to do and what to say and how to act.
Trey led her with him in a slow circuit of the garden paths, feeling slightly triumphant as she appeared a bit more willing to accept his authority. Given time, the young woman at his side could very well turn out to be a most accomplished and genteel lady. He glanced down at the soft curve of her cheek, admiring the long sweep of black lashes as she gazed silently out to sea. Yes, there was no doubt that if she obeyed him and set her mind to learn the proper behavior of polite society, her suitors would fall all over themselves vying for her hand. It was most apparent that she was smart and naturally graceful and, if he could win her trust and cooperation, would be a wife any man would covet. His gaze dropped to the soft swell of tanned flesh above her neckline, then he looked quickly elsewhere, annoyed with himself.
* * *
It was later that same afternoon when Caitlin entered the music room, where a French tutor from Bridgetown was to give her a lesson on the harpsichord. She was in a thoroughly bad mood, having spent a frustrating morning with Bertha and Pearl, attempting to learn the art of embroidery. Caitlin had had a terrible time of it, her threads breaking and tangling in knots each time she pulled it through the stupid hoop. The whole thing was so utterly useless and boring!
The music master stood at the far end of the room, near the magnificent white and gold harpsichord that Caitlin's father had brought to his beloved wife many years ago. Caitlin proceeded toward him, finding it much easier to walk in the clinging petticoats and skirts now that she had discarded the silly little leather shoes with the bows on the toes. She felt better now that she was barefoot.
"So zere you are, mademoiselle," Jean Paul Herriot said, looking up from the sheaf of music in his hands.
He was quite small, not much taller than Caitlin, and she noticed at once his habit of waving his slender white hands about in the most effeminate manner. Caitlin suppressed a laugh at the way his powdered white wig sat slightly askew over his forehead, looking more than ridiculous on such a warm afternoon. Most of the men of Barbados rarely bothered with such affectations, except on special occasions.
"It is an honor to have such a beautiful lady to instruct," Monsieur Herriot said with a stiff bow from the waist, but his lively black eyes remained on the curving flesh of her breasts.
Caitlin frowned at him as she sat on the stool, intuitively disliking the little man. The fact that he placed one hand on her shoulder, where his fingertips touched the bare skin of her neck, infuriated her, and she pulled away, giving him a glaring look.
"Get on with the bloody lesson. I do not intend to remain here overlong."
The Frenchman drew back in consternation, one hand lifting a lacy handkerchief to press it against his mouth. He lowered it to his chest and gazed at Caitlin, thoroughly insulted.
"As you wish," he said with a haughty sniff, arranging the music on the stand in front of her.
Caitlin listened as he explained in his high-pitched nasal English the different notes and keys, demonstrating them in a way that could only be described as exaggerated condescension. She obediently played the notes he indicated as he tapped out the rhythm on the top of the music holder with his baton.
"No, no, no! No!" he cried in exasperation as she hit a sour note, and Caitlin grimaced at him but started playing again as he jabbed the stick around in the air.
"You must pay me attention! I cannot be expected to teach you if you do not listen!"
His shrill voice grated mightily on Caitlin's nerves, and she could feel her ire begin to rise with foreboding speed as he continued to rant at her for each little mistake she made.
By the time Trey appeared in the doorway a quarter of an hour later, Caitlin was absolutely livid from enduring the nasty little mans absurd postures.
"No! No, no! You cannot play it zat way! It is much too fast! Listen, listen, listen to me! I am ze master!"
With those words, Monsieur Herriot unwisely saw fit to tap his wand on the top of Caitlin's head, and Caitlin exploded with rage.
"Damn you, you frilly little milksop!" she screamed, jumping from the bench and grabbing the baton out of his hand. "I have had a craw's full of you and your stupid stick!"
She went at him then, wielding the baton as expertly as she did her rapier, and the little man sputtered with horror as the point jabbed sharply into his pudgy stomach. He leaped fearfully away from her, and in the process, his wig tumbled off, revealing a shiny bald pate.
"Keep ze devil woman away from me!" he screeched as Caitlin gave the top of his bald head several healthy raps.
Trey grinned at the musician's squeals of terror, stepping forward to put an end to Caitlin's revenge.
"Caitlin," he said sharply. "That will be enough."
Caitlin turned on him, her lovely face scarlet with fury, and she threw the stick at the Frenchman as one last act of protest. Jean Paul Herriot dodged it, righted his wig with as much dignity as he could muster, then hurriedly gathered his music while keeping a wary eye on the wild woman who had attacked him.
"Ze woman is mad," he muttered to Trey on his way out of the room. "I do not need such work as zis, Capitaine Cameron. Do not expect to see me again."
His words were more than welcome to Caitlin, and she raised her small chin defiantly as Trey moved across the room, no doubt to give her a strong rebuke for angering the French buffoon.
"I will not take lessons from anyone who treats me like some willful child and strikes me with a stick," she started out, turning away from him. "He is a pompous, idiotic fool and I will never—"
"I agree."
Trey's quiet words did not give her pause at once, but as she realized what he had said, Caitlin turned surprised eyes to where he leaned indolently against the harpsichord.
"I disliked him from the moment the governor introduced us. He is a disgusting little man," Trey said. "I saw the whole thing, and you had every right to defend yourself as you did." He smiled. "As a matter of fact, I rather enjoyed the way you handled the situation."
His eyes were very warm, sparkling with genuine amusement, and Caitlin forgot for that moment that he had been the one responsible for the lesson in the first place. She smiled back, and the memory of the little man scooting desperately backward to escape her wrath brought her tinkling laugh into the air.
Trey also laughed, but Caitlin soon remembered herself, and her face sobered into the cold disdain that she reserved for him. Trey kept his smile.
"I don't suppose it is necessary for you to play the harpsichord. If you like, we will forget all about the music and concentrate on your other lessons."
Caitlin was surprised again and pleased, but more than suspicious of his motives. She looked away from the very pleasant smile he was giving her.
"Now if you will excuse me," Trey said. "I will send the si
lly man packing back to Bridgetown."
He left, and Caitlin watched his tall, broad-shouldered form disappear into the next room, before she took a seat on the bench again, pondering his sudden change of heart. She did not trust him, not in the least, and she narrowed her eyes, wondering what had possessed him to show such kindness. No doubt there was an ulterior motive involved. She did not think Trey Cameron was a man to do favors without expecting something in return. She would have to be on her guard and ready for whatever it proved to be, she vowed as she stood and headed for her bedchamber, eager to doff the constricting garments so she could don the man's shirt she had bribed young Samuel into getting for her.
Chapter Six
The following week, Caitlin sat alone in her favorite room in Windsway. It lay at the east corner of the main floor, its open doors giving spectacular views of the sea from two different directions. A brisk ocean breeze swept in to fan her loosened hair, but her eyes remained on the masts of the Glory. She wondered how Christian fared in his imprisonment. She constantly worried about his treatment, though Trey Cameron had assured her that Christian had been moved to the cabin in which she had been confined while aboard.
During the last days, she had been most fortunate in that she had rarely seen her captor, since he had seen fit to spend his mornings on his ship and his afternoons on horseback, supervising work in the outer canefields. Only at the evening repast had he joined her, insisting that she sit with him afterward so that he could constantly object to her manners and behavior.
She sighed, wondering what kind of man he was. He certainly seemed to know every detail of her life, past and present, yet she knew nothing of him. Only once had he mentioned his estates in England and Edinburgh, and he had remarked on his sisters at one point, but never had he given her reason to think he had a wife. The fine ship she now watched suggested that he had sailed the seas, perhaps as a captain in Her Majesty's navy, but she could not know that for certain.
She glanced down at the small embroidery hoop that lay on her lap. She had been working on it for several hours now, and she bent over it again, concentrating on a careful row of stitches, so that she could be done with the useless thing once and for all. All her days had been thus employed on boring pastimes and lonely solitude. The idle life of Windsway stifled her, especially when she was expected to do needlework such as that in her lap. Every day the longing to be with the Anna grew more intense, but she had not yet found a way to free Christian.
"How is your sampler progressing?"
Caitlin turned quickly to find Trey striding toward her. She looked enviously at the leather riding breeches and loose linen shirt he wore, then down at the gown of lavender muslin into which she'd been laced.
"It is boring and will surely leave me blind," she complained wearily.
Her expression made Trey laugh, a deep and pleasant sound.
"I came to remind you about our dinner party tonight. Sir Henry and his daughter will be here, and I have asked Richard to join us as well."
"Who is Richard?" Caitlin asked, and Trey's eyes glinted with amusement.
"He is my cousin and second in command, and the man who was unlucky enough to try to grab you before you dove over the side of the Spanish galleon."
Caitlin felt somehow foolish, although she knew the blond-haired man had deserved what she'd done to him. She only wished it had been his captain that her knee had disabled that day. Angry to think about her capture, she gave her full concentration to her sewing, wishing he would leave. He just stood there with his hands clasped behind his back and stared at her, and she hated herself for being self-conscious in his presence. She hated how he was always watching her, hated how he was always ordering her about, and most of all, she hated him for holding Christian away from her.
Trey smiled at the tiny stitches she labored upon so diligently, rather pleased to see her trying so hard. She had been almost pleasant in the last few days, but he was a bit anxious to see how she would behave with guests in the house.
"May I see what you have done there?" he asked, curious to see the sampler, and Caitlin shrugged carelessly.
"If you wish."
She picked it up, frowning as her skirt lifted with it. She muttered a low curse, and when Trey realized that she had somehow sewn the sampler to her gown, he could not suppress his amusement.
Caitlin's head flew up at his laugh, enraged that he enjoyed her humiliation. She came to her feet, and Trey's amusement fled abruptly as she whipped a small dagger from somewhere beneath her skirts. He stepped back, ready to defend himself, but to his surprise, she did not come at him as he had expected but slashed at her skirt with angry swipes of the knife. Once the embroidery hoop fell free, she grabbed it and hurled it at him.
"There, take it, you contemptible wretch! I hate it! I hate you!"
Trey barely heard her, his eyes instead on the slim naked thighs revealed by the tattered skirt, until Caitlin came at him, all the contained anger and frustration since her capture released at last.
Trey caught her before she could inflict injury on him, although Caitlin kicked and fought as he held her wrists and squeezed until the knife fell from her fingers. She continued to struggle against him, and he clamped both his arms around her, holding her off the ground and to one side, determined he would not suffer Richard's painful fate. He held her firmly, pushing her back against the wall with his body until she quieted, her chest still heaving with anger and exertion.
"I am sorry," he said when she had calmed a bit. "I should not have laughed when you have spent the whole day working on the sampler."
Caitlin's fury dissipated in the shock his apology brought to her. She looked up into azure blue eyes delving into hers, and her lips parted with sudden fear as some unknown sensation stirred deep inside her.
Trey's gaze went to her soft and tempting mouth, only inches from his own, and a thundering desire to kiss her rocketed through him until it became a physical pain to keep from lowering his mouth to hers. He stepped away from her as if burned. Caitlin wasted no time when he released her, bending to retrieve her knife, then lifting her skirts and fleeing his presence, cursing Queen Anne and Trey Cameron and everything else that had happened to destroy her life.
Richard Hale leaned back against a huge stone pillar, propping an elbow on his bent knee as he watched Trey prowl restlessly up and down the veranda beside him. The sun lay low in the western sky, gilding the horizon above the dark blue ocean with pale gold and glowing swirls of pink and mauve. He had arrived from the ship an hour before, and had spent nearly the whole time watching Trey pace. It was time for Sir Henry to arrive at Windsway, but Richard wasn't quite sure that was what caused the uncharacteristic agitation in his cousin.
"She will do all right, Trey. What difference does it make anyway? 'Tis the bridegroom she needs to impress, not the governor."
Trey stopped, fixing his eyes on the masts of the Glory. His mind was far less concerned with Caitlin's behavior during the coming hours than it was with his own a few hours earlier. He was still amazed at the desire she had stirred in him, though he blamed it on his celibate condition since he had left England and the lovely golden-haired lady who had lain in his arms the night before he left. Cecilia Winslow was a beautiful woman, desirable, passionate, and their affair had lasted almost a year now, far longer than with any other woman. She'd hinted more times than he could remember about an engagement between them, but even though her lineage was more than acceptable, Cecilia was far too vain and possessive to take as a wife. He had never even considered it. But now her visit to his cabin seemed an eternity ago, and he wished he were there with her instead of on Windsway Plantation with Caitlin Alexander. The girl hated him and showed him so every chance she got, but after the events of the afternoon, he knew the best thing he could do was to get her married and off his hands. He would just have to insist that the governor make haste in arranging the meetings between Caitlin and her suitors. Perhaps, if luck were on his side, he could set
sail for England before the hurricane season in the fall.
The round of carriage wheels rattling against the cobbled drive arrested Trey's attention, and Richard stood as a well-fitted black coach drawn by four white horses came rolling around the wing of the house. The magnificent animals snorted and stamped their feet as the conveyance swayed to a stop at the front portico. Trey moved down the steps to meet them as the footman jumped from his perch at the rear to open a door emblazoned with the governor's coat of arms.
Sir Henry appeared first, grimacing in pain as his gouted foot touched the ground. He was tall, his stocky build disguised by his height. His hair was snow white, and he wore a short elegant beard of the same hue, which contrasted starkly with his deep tropical tan. He leaned heavily on a silver-headed walking stick, his left foot noticeably swollen, as he reached up to take his daughter's hand.
Marianne McSpadden was very pretty, with dark auburn curls and light green eyes. She stepped down, smiling shyly at Trey as her father introduced her.
"My pleasure, milady," Trey said, pressing his lips to the back of her hand, then presenting her to Richard, who had followed him down the steps.
"And where is the young lady who has led all of us on such a fine chase?" Sir Henry asked gruffly as he painfully ascended the steps, holding on to Trey's arm, while Richard was most pleased to be left to escort his lovely daughter.
"Caitlin will join us shortly. Come, we will await her in the drawing room."
Trey stood back as his guests settled themselves on chairs near the French doors, and he watched closely as Lady Marianne spread her skirts carefully on a nearby chair. Caitlin did it now with as much grace, he thought proudly, glancing again at the door, suddenly afraid that she might refuse to join them after their angry encounter of the afternoon.
His fears were alleviated several minutes later when Caitlin appeared in the doorway. Her satin gown of emerald green bared soft sun-browned shoulders, and Trey dared at her in dismay. Despite the fact that he had purchased the gown himself, he was not prepared for the way it looked on Caitlin. The décolletage was very low, revealing soft honey gold flesh that curved temptingly above the white-lace insert across Caitlin's full breasts. The sides of her hair were pulled up into a loose knot secured atop her head, but the back hung free, a great shiny mass of red gold ringlets. He could barely take his eyes off her as she swept into the room, exuding poise and confidence.