by Linda Ladd
"Perhaps the next gentleman who calls here will be closer to your own age," he said, his voice much gentler now, and Caitlin hid her triumph with a hopeful smile.
Perhaps if she tried, she thought as he took his leave, she could win the despicable, egotistical captain over to her. Perhaps if she honeyed her voice and acted the lady as he wished, he might even let her remain unmarried. Her eyes grew crafty. Aye, in the days before suitor number three came calling, she would work her wiles on the mighty Captain Lord Cameron, and see if she could not charm him into seeing things her way.
If all the gossip that Marianne McSpadden had whispered to her the night of the dinner party were true, Trey Cameron had had his share of women. Why should she be any different from other ladies who enticed him? She smiled, slowly unlacing the bodice of her tattered gown, humming as she chose a dress for the evening meal, one with a décolletage she had hitherto deemed indecent.
Chapter Nine
Trey sipped his wine in silence, eyes intent on the other end of the dining table, where Caitlin sat close to the third man to try to win her favor. He was furious with her, and even angrier that he wasn't sure why. It wasn't her deportment this time, since she was behaving most graciously toward Jamison Tyborn. In fact, for the last week, she had been a paragon of virtue, smiling and laughing and hanging on his every word. Apparently, the idea of remaining locked in her bedchamber did not appeal to her.
Trey's gaze moved sourly to Tyborn, his fingers tightening dangerously around the fragile goblet in his hand as Tyborn's dark eyes lingered for an ungentlemanly length of time on the soft expanse of smooth flesh swelling provocatively above the lush gold velvet of Caitlin's gown.
Trey had loathed the younger man on sight, and his dislike had intensified in the last few hours. Caitlin had shown no such repugnance; indeed, she acted as if she were bloody fascinated with the boy. He looked at Tyborn again, trying to determine what she saw in him. He was perhaps five and twenty, handsome in a debauched sort of way, with a thin blond mustache that curved down to meet a carefully trimmed goatee. He had been drinking heavily throughout the meal, and Trey frowned as Tyborn refilled his wineglass yet another time.
Tyborn was well into his cups; that, along with Caitlin's encouragement, had worked to give him a bold, self-confident air. And as Tyborn's eyes continued to play over every exposed inch of Caitlin's satiny skin, Trey vowed that Jamison Tyborn would marry Caitlin Alexander over Trey's dead body. The last man Caitlin needed to take care of her was a drunken lecher. Trey's jaw grew rigid as Tyborn lifted Caitlin's hand and held it against his cheek, then touched his lips to her fingers. Trey fought an overpowering urge to stride down the length of the table and haul him up by the lapels and send a fist into his leering face.
Caitlin gazed adoringly into the roving eyes of the preening libertine slobbering on her hand, barely able to hide her disgust. At first she had thought the man might be worth considering since he was at least young and lean, but he was nothing but a drunken fool.
She smiled and refilled his empty goblet, having decided early on to assist him into his oblivion. She glanced at Trey, who had stared rudely at them throughout the meal. His blue eyes were riveted on her as usual, and totally unreadable, but something in the set of his lean jaw bespoke anger. She looked away. What had he to be angry about now? Was she not fawning over the sot he had presented to her? Was that not what he wanted her to do?
Caitlin tensed all over as Tyborn reached out to run the side of his thumb up her bare arm, totally unaware of the way her guardian's fists clenched. She wanted in the worst way to give the offending digit a twist Jamison Tyborn would not forget for the length of a fortnight. She had had her full of his smoldering eyes on her breasts and shoulders. Now, the decrepit old man of the week before suited her far better; at least with Sir Colin she would have had the anticipation of an early widowhood.
"Perhaps you would like to stroll in the garden," Jamison Tyborn suggested, his eyes still on her décolletage, his words slurred; Caitlin nodded quickly, just to get away from the blue eyes watching her every move. She wondered briefly if Tyborn was capable of walking as he drained the last of his wine. A few drops dribbled down his chin, staining his rumpled cravat, and Caitlin watched contemptuously as Tyborn weaved on his feet and struggled the short distance to her chair.
A frown of dark displeasure brought Trey's black brows down as the couple moved past him, Tyborn now openly ogling Caitlin's deep cleavage, his superior height giving him free rein in that pursuit. Trey stood and followed them out onto the terrace, leaning one shoulder against the stone pillar. Twilight gathered around them, the air heavy with the smell of impending rain, but his eyes remained steadfastly on the petite figure of his ward.
Caitlin looked up at Jamison, deciding that as soon as they were out of Trey's line of vision, she would twist away and escape his company. He would probably stumble down the paths till morning, if he did not pass out first, she thought with wicked enjoyment. She hazarded a glance back at the house to where her guardian sat, still watching them like an eagle. He took his duties most seriously this night, she thought, as disgusted with him as she was with Tyborn.
Caitlin grabbed Tyborn's arm as he swayed precariously and almost lost his balance. They had reached the edge of the pool, and the wind had picked up in anticipation of the coming rain, lifting the curling tendrils around Caitlin's face.
"You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen," Tyborn told her with drunken fascination. "Your eyes are as pure as gold, your cheeks are like—" He stopped, a puzzled expression on his face, as if he could not think just what her cheeks resembled, and Caitlin shook her head impatiently as he stumbled sideways and kept going for several steps. He righted himself and returned to her side, his eyes blearily examining her bare shoulders.
"You look so soft and smooth," he muttered, leaning toward her, and Caitlin gasped as he reached up, his palm boldly molding her breast.
On the terrace, Trey came to his feet in rage and was already two strides toward them when Caitlin drew back one doubled fist and sent a right hook to Tyborn's jaw that sent the hapless fellow staggering backward. Still gripped with fury, Caitlin was not yet finished, and she made use of her knee in so effective a fashion that Tyborn yowled in pain and reeled backward into the shallow pool, clutching his injured groin.
Trey laughed aloud as Caitlin turned with an angry flash of golden eyes, leaving the man floundering in the water. Trey started for the pool, where a loud splashing and moaning could be heard. It sounded as if Tyborn were in danger of drowning, and Trey increased his step. The last thing he needed was a dead suitor on his hands, for such a happenstance would do little to encourage the lone suitor left to meet the fair Caitlin.
Trey waded into the shallow water and hauled up Tyborn by the front of his jacket, amid a great deal of coughing and sputtering.
"It appears the lady does not like to be manhandled, my friend," Trey said, lifting the smaller out easily. "But even so, you best be glad that she dealt you the blow instead of leaving it to my fist."
Tyborn groaned incoherently as Samuel came rushing out of the house.
"Get his horse, boy," Trey said, then tossed the limp suitor over his shoulder and headed for the drive. Once at the rear stables, Trey boosted Tyborn into the saddle, grinning at the muffled groan that Tyborn emitted as his tender parts hit the leather saddle.
"I guess you had better go, Samuel, or our friend here won't make it. Have one of his grooms lend you a horse."
The young boy nodded soberly as Tyborn leaned over the horse's neck. Trey swung the boy up behind the moaning man, then watched as they moved away down the drive, the horse's hooves crunching on the shells.
The first drops of rain began to fall, and Trey shrugged off his damp coat as he moved through the lower breezeway. He chuckled again at the thought of Caitlin decking the young rake, beginning to think she really was able to take care of herself just as she had insisted from the beginning. He took the steps toward her b
edchamber as a rumble of thunder sounded far away.
The rain was a steady drizzle now, and he paused at the open doors of Caitlin's chamber. He knocked softly, steeling himself for a generous dose of her temper as a reward for subjecting her to Tyborn's attentions, but when he entered, Caitlin merely looked up from where she stood before her dressing table.
A candle burned behind her, and he was sure she had no idea how the small flickering flame rippled light through the coppery tresses down her back in a breathtaking blaze of splendor.
"No man will ever touch me as he did and not regret it." Her words were low and defensive.
To her surprise, Trey's teeth flashed white and strong against his bronzed face as he smiled at her.
"In the case of Jamison Tyborn, my dear, you need never worry on that account, I can assure you. You expressed your feelings most adeptly."
Caitlin stared at him. His amused countenance and complete lack of anger confounded her. She had struck the man! Why wasn't he angry with her? Everything else she did made him angry!
When she did not speak but watched him suspiciously, Trey smiled.
"You had good reason to be insulted. However, most ladies suffering such an affront would have swept away and allowed their menfolk to thrash the culprit."
"I need no menfolk"—she emphasized the word—"to fight my battles. Especially not you." But Trey's only response was to give her an unruffled grin. He looked very handsome standing there, she thought, and when she found that she wanted to return his smile, she turned away, annoyed at herself.
"I received a letter from Sir Henry earlier today," Trey said, stopping as Caitlin looked at him, her shoulders and softly curving breasts gleaming in the candle's glow. The girl was seductive without even realizing it, he thought, forcing his eyes away from the delectable view. No wonder Tyborn took such a chance with her.
"There is a formal soirée planned in your honor at the governor's mansion in a fortnight's time. Francis Durham, your last suitor, will be in attendance. Durham's spent the last year in England, but he has returned to meet you."
Caitlin did not receive his news graciously.
"To hell and back with that," she said fiercely. "I will not go to the governor's mansion or anywhere else! I am sick of the motley crew of lewd and obnoxious men the two of you deem worthy of me! Put me in chains if you will, or lock me away forever! I am finished with it!"
Trey could not help but admire the high color flooding into her cheeks. He leaned back against the wall, folding his arms over his chest.
"That is unfortunate, since I had of late toyed with the idea of allowing you a visit with your brother as a reward for your cooperation." He paused. "But if you intend to be difficult again, I suppose that it will have to wait."
Trey felt a twinge of guilt as her teeth caught at her lower lip. She turned away, but not before he had seen the disappointment written so plainly on her lovely face. After several moments of silence, her voice came, barely audible.
"I will go to Bridgetown if you will allow me to see my brother."
Trey well knew the extent her pride had suffered by capitulating to him, and he assured her at once.
"You will see Christian the moment we return from Bridgetown."
Caitlin's heart swelled with joy. If they could talk, they could come up with an escape plan; she knew they could.
"There will most likely be dancing at the soirée," Trey said, and Caitlin turned quickly, dismay darkening her eyes to glowing gold.
"But I cannot dance. I have never even tried."
Trey shrugged. "Then I will teach you. With practice, most steps are quite easy."
"I am sure I could not," Caitlin insisted stubbornly, and Trey's response was equally determined.
"Nonsense, of course you can."
His gaze went to the small porcelain music box on her dressing table. "I will show you how easy it is."
He went to the music box and lifted the lid. A delicate melody tinkled forth in the quiet room, and he looked at Caitlin.
"Come; I will show you now."
Caitlin watched distrustfully as he came toward her, thinking he was certainly being agreeable for such a disagreeable man. He stopped in front of her, towering over her slight height, his azure eyes glowing pure blue in the dusky light. He smiled again and bowed at the waist.
"May I have the honor of this dance, my Lady Caitlin?"
Caitlin felt like a fool, but he gave her no time to object, and her lips parted breathlessly as he took her small hands in his large ones.
"One of the most popular dances at these affairs is the galliard, and it is really very simple. There are only five steps involved. Before the dance begins you must curtsy to your partner as he bows before you."
Caitlin followed his lead, finding the dance steps lively and quick, and to her surprise, she thought it rather enjoyable. But although she managed what he taught her without trouble, she was not at all sure she could do the same at a crowded soirée.
"Very good," Trey said as he stepped back, genuinely impressed with her easy grace and quickness in learning. He looked down at her, smiling as a thought came to him.
"I suppose I should warn you that sometimes at the end of this particular dance, the gentleman is allowed to steal a kiss from his lady. I warn you, for fear some unsuspecting fellow might be knocked unconscious for his trouble."
Caitlin's eyes grew cold, for she felt he made fun of her.
"No bloody dance gives a man the right to kiss me," she told him haughtily, chagrined when her answer seemed to amuse him. The corners of his mouth lifted in a smile.
"You may not find a stolen kiss so objectionable once you experience one."
Caitlin's jawline hardened at his arrogant assumption that she had never been kissed. Even if she had not done it herself, she had seen the tavern doxies with their scarlet-painted lips rub themselves against Christian and the other men. So the pompous Captain Cameron thought she was an innocent babe, did he? She looked to where he sat, leaning one thigh on a low chest.
"Perhaps I know more about such things than you might think," she murmured, moving toward him.
Trey raised a brow at the soft and seductive quality of her voice, but his amused expression faded as she leaned against him, her soft breasts brushing the fine white fabric of his shirtfront.
Caitlin slowly slid her palms up his chest as she had seen so many women do to her brother, then raised long black lashes to reveal warmly inviting golden eyes.
Trey stared at the soft moist lips so very close to his mouth, the smooth honey-colored flesh that gave off the sheen of satin, and his blood came alive with raw, pulsating fire. He no longer knew control or responsibility, all was forgotten in his thundering desire to kiss her, to touch her.
Caitlin gasped as his arms came around her in a band of iron, his mouth coming down hard on her own. She was too stunned at first to react, never having expected him to do such a thing; then, as his warm lips twisted hungrily upon her mouth, a smoldering heat began to radiate from deep within her. A fierce unknown need was born, a longing indescribable and wonderful, but frightening as well. She felt his fingers tangle in her hair, his lips crossing her cheekbone to her ear; as his tongue parted her lips, long never-ending chills rippled down her arms and legs. Her mind began to spin, and she let her body react, pressing herself wantonly against his hard body, her arms encircling his neck.
Trey no longer thought at all, feeling only her body, her hair, her skin, all so soft, all so warm, and it was several long moments of pure bliss before he realized just what he was doing. He stiffened, appalled at himself, knowing all the while that he wanted more from her, he wanted to carry her to the bed and make her his own. Never had he wanted a woman with such intense, illogical passion. My God, he thought, she is my ward and soon to be married.
He released her abruptly, more than shaken by his own lack of control. He was suddenly angry—at her, at himself—and Caitlin flinched under his cold look as he thrust h
er away from him.
"I do believe you have had a great deal of experience with such things," he muttered darkly. "Perhaps more than your husband will find acceptable."
Caitlin sank weakly to the bed as he disappeared onto the gallery. She stared after him, trembling fingertips on lips that still throbbed and burned from his relentless kisses. Shivers danced crazily over her nerve endings, and she tried without success to control her racing heart.
"Damn him, anyway," she said furiously, then shivered anew at the exquisite sensations he had awakened inside her.
Chapter Ten
Bridgetown lay on the western coast of Barbados, its harbor washed by a gentle leeward sea, very different from the windward surf that pounded the outer cliffs of Windsway. It was toward that city that Caitlin Alexander rode in the small carriage of the plantation. It was a warm and beautiful afternoon, and she sat alone on the soft leather seat as the journey took them through rippling canefields combed by breezes and the patchwork fields and quaint villages that dotted the southeastern coast.
Royal palms shaded the coach road, their swaying fronds casting shadows on her head. The white muslin gown she wore was cool and comfortable with a square-cut neckline of blue satin, but the matching wide-brimmed, low-crowned hat worried her incessantly. She ran a finger under the blue ribbons tied neatly beneath her chin and, in a burst of impatience, jerked the fastenings loose and pulled the thing off.
She glanced defiantly at her tall guardian, who rode alongside the carriage, mounted on his magnificent white stallion. He appeared not to have noticed, his face set straight ahead with the same brooding expression he had worn throughout the morning's ride. She turned her gaze quickly back to Barnabus, the Negro driver, heat rising to flush her cheeks.
For two weeks she had suffered from the humiliating memory of melting in Trey Cameron's arms. It was incomprehensible that it had happened, considering how much she hated the man. She was furious with herself as a quivery spasm raced through her even now at the thought of the driving heat of his mouth. Her body had betrayed her in a way she did not understand. It was her inexperience with men, of course. What else could it be? The first kiss by a man no doubt would affect any maiden in such a way. But now the sight of his body, so tall and lean and hard with powerful muscles, brought intense longings that she hated.