by Mary Martin
The realization that he'd never hold her, make love to her, made her cry out even as her ire rose thinking of his callous treatment. Damn him! She should go after him and slap his face soundly in front of her friends. That would show them all how little she cared for him! Yet, even as she longed to do so, she knew she dared not. For one thing was very certain about her dashing lover: he was dangerous, and she was wise to realize it. So she simply raged silently as she quickened her pace to catch up to him.
Starlin turned to her grandfather after Rayne Morgan's departure. With supreme effort she managed to keep her tone light.
"This Lord Morgan, Grandfather?. . ."
"Yes, what of him?'
"Do you know anything about him?'
"Not too much. Rumor has it that he turned his back on London for years following an unfortunate incident—a duel over a slight to his family name—that brought the king's wrath on his head and a dismissal as captain of His Majesty's Guard." The earl frowned. "Too bad, for he was a damned good one." He brushed a light kiss upon Starlin's forehead and drew back in surprise. "Why, you're trembling, dearest."
Starlin took a deep breath to try and calm*her racing pulse. "I'm afraid this has been a most unusual night for me, sir. But foremost on my mind is the fact that Lord Courtland is pressing for my hand. And this upsets me. I have not had an opportunity to discuss it with you until now. Could we talk?"
"Of course," the earl assured her, wrapping a comforting arm about her shoulders. "So that is what has my girl so upset?"
He guided her toward a private alcove where they sat upon a velvet-covered settee with tall potted palms affording them privacy.
"We are ill-suited, sir," Starlin tried vainly to point out to him. "Surely you are not blind to this fact."
The earl took a deep breath. "You are both from fine families," he began.
"I don't like the turn of this," Starlin said.
"You know that this has been the primary reason for these lavish affairs. And it is my belief that Courtland will provide you with the stability that you need. And ... I am seriously considering the idea of betrothing you to him."
Numbly, Starlin shook her head. "You ... you know how I feel about arranged marriages . .. and I thought that we had agreed I would not be betrothed against my will."
"Starlin," the earl breathed slowly, "you have never quite gotten over your parents' death. We both realize how seriously it affected your state of mind at the time.
“I firmly believe that it has affected your ability to truly love anyone again. I know it is because you are fearful of being hurt. You are of the belief that anyone you love again will somehow disappear. But I think perhaps all that will change when you have a good man to take care of you."
"It is so hard for me to think of them ... as dead. I sometimes imagine that they might still be alive, sailing the seas together."
The earl watched her closely before stating softly, "But they will not be coming back. And young Courtland is as concerned for your well-being as I am."
"My well-being is not at the beck and call of some pompous dandy like Buckwald Courtland! I will not marry him! I refuse." She pulled away from him, her eyes flashing rebelliously.
"Darling ..." the earl began, his words dying in his throat as his distraught granddaughter rose abruptly and stared at him.
"You may as well sentence me to a prison term as betroth me to that man." With that, the distraught girl fled through the terrace doors.
The earl had recognized the glitter of panic in his granddaughter's eyes, and felt certain that it had been prompted by the mention of her inability to give freely of her emotions. Damn! He had thought the worst over with. He recalled having seen her like this only once before. Months after her parents had disappeared, he had tried to get her to exhibit some show of warmth toward a kitten he'd just brought her. At first, she'd not touched the kitten, but had just stared with sad eyes at the mewling ball of fluff beside her on the bed. He'd left them alone, and Starlin had been unable to resist the appealing creature for very long. But he'd never forgotten the look of half fear, half longing, that he'd glimpsed in her eyes when she'd first reached out to hesitantly touch the kitten. That small creature had accomplished what a dozen of the finest doctors had not been able to do. They'd called Starlin's condition post-traumatic shock. The earl shuddered, remembering that terrible time. He'd looked out for her best interest then, and he would do so now. Even if it took his every ounce of strength—and a pompous English husband to do so.
Starlin was indeed upset. The entire night had gone badly, and she was in desperate need of someone to talk with about her feelings. She was far too overwrought to sit still with so many confusing emotions roiling within her, and hurriedly left the patio to walk about the grounds. The young woman immediately thought of one friend who would listen, who would perhaps even offer advice, not judgments. She remembered that Abra had gone into foal earlier in the evening and was certain that Fredrick, the head groomsman, would be attending her. She would go to the stable and perhaps she might find a quiet moment in which to talk with Fredrick.
It was well past midnight as Starlin made her way over the path that led to the stables where the brood mares were kept until they foaled. The night was damp and black, and appeared as unsettling as her mood. Overhead, and just visible through the outspread tree limbs, Starlin caught a glimpse of the moon, the heavy gray clouds rolling past partially obscuring the silver light that aided her steps. In the darkness, every object familiar in the daytime took on unsettling proportions. It was as though she'd stepped into another land, and recognized nothing around her. She tried not to focus on a shadowy form that appeared waiting in the distance, concentrating instead on reaching the stables.
Some memory from the deepest recesses of her mind tried to awaken, yet could not, and remained a wispy tendril of obscurity just beyond her reach.
Unaware, Starlin found herself staring down at the ring on her finger, reviewing so many things, so much of her past. She easily recalled the incident in the cave, recalled every detail, and Scorpio's wrath upon seeing the ring on her finger. Suspicions, frightening and evil, flitted through her mind. For some reason she thought of the sinister conversation between the two strange men at the fireworks display and wondered if it were possible that all of this might be connected in some way? Absurd? Yes, of course it was silly to even consider it, she told herself firmly. Yet, there were so many unanswered questions .. . and staring at the ring she wondered if just possibly ... it could somehow be a clue?
Key West... the ring .. . Scorpio .. . whirled in her head.
An errant shaft of moonlight pierced through the clouds. The stones glittered in the ghostly light. Glittering diamonds surrounding one bloodred ruby. Suddenly, images wafted like dark, somber shadows out of the black night and flashed before her.
Benton, his expression bleak, pleading for her to return to him. Her mother, Carl—appearing faded forms and so very painful to behold. And then, a dark outlaw descended upon her inner visions, tall, threatening, with a gleaming broadsword held in his hand. Starlin blinked, and there was only the darkness before her.
"Scorpio, what links you to this ring . . . and possibly to many other things I have yet to discover answers to?"
Starlin recalled painfully the last day that she'd seen her parents alive. It was the morning of their expedition... the day they were certain that their dreams would at last be realized. Her stepfather had come to their special place on the estate—a playhouse he'd built especially for her.
Riches beyond a man's dreams, Starlin, her stepfather had proclaimed as she'd stood filled with unease, and listened to his words. She was too young to go along, she'd been informed earlier, and she was sulking now, saying very little because she was feeling cheated that Benton should be allowed to go. It did not occur to the little girl that Benton was older, and could dive just as well as his father. Two divers were necessary when one was below searching for the riches foun
d on the galleons that lured so many to the reefs off the island Antare.
The fingers of her hand caressed the exquisite beauty of the stones now, grateful for this one keepsake.
She remembered Carl placing the ring on her middle finger as they'd stood there in the playhouse.
Do not tell anyone that I have given you this ring. Keep it for me until I return. His face had grown somber. And if I... do not... return, see that your mother receives it.
Starlin had not wished to answer... it was too horrid to imagine such a thing!
Carl had gripped her shoulders and she recalled even now how intense he'd appeared. Absolutely no one must know that you have the ring. Promise me.
She'd nodded numbly.
This ring was given to me by someone. It has enabled me to determine my path in life because of that factor. You must remember—with this ring love will guide you. Tell this to Gwen .. . if it becomes necessary. He'd kissed her. You are the only one that I can trust.
Yes . .. and now both of you are lost to me, Starlin mused sadly. Both of you—to death on the bottom of the sea. And the treasure that you were so certain was on that galleon, you never found, for your ship disappeared somewhere off the formidable island of Antare in the lost sea. Only Benton had been saved, tossed into the sea to float half alive for days. A passing schooner finally fished him all but dead out of the sea. Everyone in Key West had assumed Benton had drowned, until several weeks following the accident the schooner had docked in Key West, and Benton had returned home. They had been stunned. Malcom Wells, their attorney who stood to inherit a goodly portion of the business if Benton had been dead, more so than anyone.
The weeks had passed, then months—and Starlin never told anyone of the ring's existence. Of course, everyone had naturally assumed it had been on Carl's little finger when he'd died. Starlin had hidden the precious keepsake. It was years later, long after she'd come to England, that she'd decided to retrieve it from her jewelry case. She now wore it on her forefinger.
The night in the cave Scorpio had been stunned to see the ring. Would the aristocrat, Lord Morgan, be equally intrigued? Although, it was just a lovely old ring, nothing more .. .
The young woman decided that she must learn more of this Marquess of Sontavon. Everything. But she realized that in order to do so, she would have to expose herself to the other side of the marquess, the dark side—and Scorpio. Caught in the snare of her own unbidden thoughts, Starlin found herself wanting to laugh and scream all at the same time. It was absurd what she was thinking! A marquess, a smuggler on the high seas—linked in some way to her parents' bizarre drowning?
Yet, as unbelievable as it seemed, the man who England proclaimed a titled lord was actually a pirate, and she was intrigued with everything about him.
Starlin saw the stable looming ahead in the darkness. She hurried toward the sprawling structure, slid back the heavy door, and stepped inside.
Familiar sounds and scents greeted her. The pungent smell of horses and leather mixed with that of sweet straw gave her a measure of comfort. She saw a light in Abra's stall at one end of the immense stable. Thinking of her mare, she forgot her own problems and hurried forward.
Fredrick, the head groom, looked up as she placed a foot between the boards and stepped up to peer into the box stall, "And what would you be doing here this time of night, Lady Cambridge?" he demanded.
"I came to talk—" She halted, and stared down at the laboring mare lying on her side in the straw. "However, it can wait. How is she, Fredrick?"
"She's not having an easy time of it, I'm afraid," Fredrick replied with a sigh, then remembering whom he was addressing, coughed uneasily. "You should not be here during a foaling, it isn't proper."
"Please, Fredrick, this is no time to stand on propriety." Starlin came around to the stall entrance, opened the door, and ventured inside. She knelt beside the mare.
"My lady!" Fredrick gasped, taking notice of her ball gown. "The earl will have my job if he hears of this."
"Nonsense," Starlin responded, authority in her tone. "And besides, he doesn't even know I am here."
"All the more, then," the groom insisted. He wiped the mare's lathered coat with a soft blanket.
"I am staying with Abra until this is over," Starlin told him firmly.
Fredrick's mouth tightened to a thin line, but he knew by the mutinous thrust of milady's chin that there wasn't any way he could convince her to leave.
"So be it, then," he grunted, meeting her level stare. "I don't know whose wrath I'd rather face. By the look in them eyes right now, I'd say it would be the earl."
Starlin's set features softened. "I'll be of great help, just you wait and see."
"The way things are going, I'd say we could use all of the help that we can get." Fredrick's expression was one of concern, and Starlin frowned.
"She will be all right, won't she?'
"I certainly hope so," he replied huskily. "For she's special to me, too." He tried to smile reassuringly at the girl. "I haven't lost a mama or foal yet, you know."
They settled back to wait. And to Starlin, it seemed to take forever. Finally, the groom announced that the birth was imminent. "It's time. You just keep stroking her neck and talking to her like you been doing, milady," he instructed as he worked over the mare. "Abra and the baby are going to be just fine."
Starlin held Abra's regal head in her lap, observing with compassion the big brown eyes so clouded with anguish that were fixed upon her own. "She seems to know that we're helping her. I believe she trusts us to do what's right, don't you, Fredrick?"
"I suspect she does at that," he replied,1 setting back on his heels to wipe his hands with a rag. "Well, it's all up to Abra and Mother Nature now. We've done all that we can."
Both mistress and groom had been so engrossed in their efforts that neither was aware of the silent figure standing off to one side of the stable in shadow.
Rayne Morgan observed Starlin's every gesture like a cunning wolf in pursuit of his prey. His eyes narrowed slightly, his heart beat fast and hard in his chest. He was seeing yet another side of Lady Cambridge. One that sent all manner of ideas churning in his head. He wanted to kiss her soft mouth, taste the heated passion he knew he would find there. Starlin furthered that desire upon lifting one slim hand to brush a few wayward tendrils of damp hair back from her creamy cheek. Watching her, Rayne found his thoughts swaying inexplicably to all manner of ways that he'd like to make love to her.
The wavering light from the overhead lantern played softly about her animated features. Ice Princess? Not when he held her, Rayne found himself thinking. He had found the fire hidden beneath that icy facade, discovered the simmering passion that burned hotter and more intense than any man could have imagined. Just the remembrance of her soft, sinuous body moving so naturally land uninhibited against his, made his pulse leap.
Cambridge—the name still conjured up hatred, but now it was intermingled with desire.
The ring on her finger flashed in the lantern light. Rayne stiffened. The ring—it was at the heart of him and had long ago robbed him of any tender emotions. But soon, he reasoned with firmer control, he'd have the answers—and the revenge. With an effort he concentrated on what must be done. He stood there in silent contemplation, and made his absolute decision. Every Cambridge must be punished for their father's sin. Even this one.
A short while later, Starlin found herself staring in relief and fascinated wonder as Abra's foal entered the world. As difficult as the labor had been, the birth went swiftly. Abra delivered a beautiful, long-legged filly that was perfect in every way. The proud mother took over immediately, rising to her feet to administer to her new baby. The little filly wiggled beneath Abra's persistent ministration, struggling to stand on wobbly, spindly legs that would one day be as long and graceful as her dam's and enable her to outrace the wind.
Fredrick and Starlin sat there for some time. Eventually, they began talking quietly. Starlin conveyed some of t
he night's events to him and her staunch views on arranged marriages. He listened without interrupting, then commented softly. "Your innermost feelings will lead you, Your Ladyship. Follow them." He rose to his feet with a tired smile. "I think that you are concerned that the earl might be serious about this match between you and Milord Courtland."
"I am," Starlin replied. "You should have seen that stubborn thrust of his chin, Fredrick. He feels he is doing this for my own good." She grew quiet, eyes observing the silent declaration of love that Abra conveyed to her foal. "I do not know what I would do if he decides to force this match. Love is a necessary thing in a marriage, and I can never love Buckwald Courtland . .. never."
Fredrick sighed. "If it's love you're waiting for, milady, then you must accept the fact that it follows its own course. Love is one of the mysteries of life. It just happens, and most often, with the least likely person." He patted her shining hair. "And now, I best see that your grandfather knows where you are."
"No, please, Fredrick." Starlin cast him a pleading look. "You're exhausted, and he's had such a long night. He's probably fast asleep. If you agree, I should like to tell him myself that I was here. He may huff and puff at first, but he'll eventually come around." She smiled enchantingly and Fredrick held little doubt as to the truth of that statement.
"Very well, milady." He stretched his long frame wearily. "I'm ready to call it a night."
"You go on to bed. I'll turn out the lamp in a short while."
"I imagine it will be all right. Just don't stay much longer," he said as he moved through the stall door, closing it behind him.
Starlin listened as he quit the stable. Alone with her thoughts, she decided she felt much better since talking with Fredrick. She would just have to plead her views further with the earl come morning. With a sigh, she reached over to pat Abra's velvet muzzle before lying back in the straw to relax for a moment. Stretching wearily, she closed her eyes. She did not intend on dozing off, only to rest quietly for a while.
Rayne Morgan's devastating image immediately beckoned in the corners of her mind. His unsettling eyes, such an unusual jade and disturbing to her senses, were the last thing she recalled before her fatigued mind gave way to slumber.