Seducing The Bride (Brides of Mayfair 1)

by Michelle McMaster

  “That cat is more than he seems,” Mayfield said, sitting down beside her. “His name is Captain Black. I first met him on one of my journeys in the Caribbean, which is swamped with pirates, as you well know.”

  Isobel smiled at the gray-haired man beside her. He was going to tell her a sea-faring yarn, she supposed. He was just having fun with a land-lubber. She would play along with the old soul.

  “We were off the coast of Jamaica,” he began, “carrying a heavy cargo of coffee beans, when we were attacked by a rather notorious pirate ship, the ‘Midnight Star.’ Its captain was named Worthington, a shrewd but fair man who was more famous for his cat companion. Legend has it that the beast was the ship’s previous master, a man named Black, who had been transformed into the guise of a cat during an obeah ceremony in Jamaica.”

  “Obeah?” she asked. “What on earth is that?”

  “The religion of the Haitians,” Captain Mayfield explained, “also known as voodoo. Their ceremonies are filled with chanting, wild dancing, and other practices that are too indelicate to mention in mixed company.”

  Isobel was intrigued. “And they used it to put a spell on Captain Black? How?”

  “Apparently this man Worthington had planned to mutiny against his captain and take over the ship himself,” Mayfield said. “While in Jamaica, he discovered the powers of obeah and arranged to do away with his rival.”

  Silly or not, the tale was suitably unnerving. Isobel admired the old captain’s story-telling ability.

  “Members of the pirate crew swear they saw their captain changed into a cat during one of those frightening ceremonies.”

  “But how did Captain Black arrive on board your ship?” she asked.

  “It was during the battle with the ‘Midnight Star,’ when the pirate ship caught fire,” Mayfield explained. “We searched for survivors after she sank, but found no one except for a mysterious cat who appeared on our ship, as if out of thin air. The crew was naturally suspicious, but unwilling to dispose of the creature in fear of bad luck. They believe he possesses mystical powers.”

  The cat suddenly appeared again, as if he’d heard them talking. He leaped up onto the railing and landed solidly, turning to arrange himself into a comfortable position.

  Captain Mayfield grinned and regarded the cat, who stared back at him with a penetrating gaze.

  “Though we found no other survivors, there are rumors that Worthington is still alive, and even now searches the seas for his cat companion. As you can see, we gave Captain Black a position on our ship as chief mouse-catcher, one that he performs exceedingly well.”

  Isobel regarded the man with a wary smile. He’d almost had her believing the incredible tale. “You wouldn’t be teasing me now, would you, Captain Mayfield?”

  “That is Captain Black before you, Madam,” he insisted, “in flesh and blood! He tries to steer the ship, you know.”

  Isobel laughed, and Captain Mayfield leaned toward her in a conspiratorial way.

  “Sometimes, I let him,” he whispered, then returned to his post.

  Isobel regarded the cat, still sitting on the narrow railing in front of her. “Are you really a pirate, then?” she said.

  The cat returned her gaze, then gave a long “meow.”

  “Perhaps you are,” Isobel mused. Then Captain Black leaped down to the deck and strolled away from her, doubtless to resume his mouse-catching duties below.

  * * *

  An eerie moan broke the dark silence of the cabin. Beckett jumped up and hit his head on the low ceiling above the bunk. He was momentarily stunned, but quickly recovered as another hair-raising wail cut through the darkness from beside him.

  Isobel.

  She thrashed about on the bed, her breathing shallow and strained. He reached out to shake her awake.

  “Isobel, you’re dreaming,” he said, pulling her into his arms. He touched her face and felt her cheek, hot and damp with tears. Her whole body was covered in perspiration, soaking her linen nightdress.

  She stiffened and awakened then. Beckett loosened his hold on her, suddenly aware of how naked she was beneath the damp night dress.

  “Are you alright?” he asked.

  “Yes, I think so,” Isobel whispered, her voice shaky.

  “You were having a bad dream,” he explained. “Lay down and try to go back to sleep.”

  “No—” She sprang up and clutched at his hand. “I don’t want to go to sleep. I don’t want to have that dream again.”

  Beckett propped himself up on one elbow. “Come, now. Lay down and go to sleep. There’s no one to trouble you here.”

  Isobel exhaled slowly, and lay back down on the bed. She turned onto her side and her rose-water scent reached out to him, teasing his senses.

  Beckett watched the moonlight spill through the window and play on Isobel’s hair, like silvery fingers dancing across a river of gold. He reached out to stroke it. The texture of the silken strands running through his fingers sent a jolt of heat through him.

  He continued to stroke her hair, not for his pleasure, but for hers. It seemed to relax her, and soon he heard her breathing regain a steady rhythm.

  As he lay there beside her, he was glad Isobel was able to go back to sleep.

  Damn, but he desired her.

  Beckett doubted he’d be able to resist her next time. But he couldn’t let his guard down—there was far too much at stake. He’d promised to protect her, and he would do exactly that.

  He could not let himself become distracted by Isobel’s charms.

  Her very life depended on it.

  * * *

  Isobel opened her eyes slowly, peering at the dim morning light through squinting eyes. She had done it. She had fallen asleep and not dreamt the awful nightmare again. As she became more fully awake, she remembered what had made such tranquil sleep possible.

  Beckett’s arm lay curled about her waist, a bit of her nightdress bunched loosely in his fist. A thrill zoomed though her veins at the sweet heaviness of her husband’s embrace. How wonderful it would be to wake like this every morning.

  Her breathing quickened as the arm about her waist tightened and drew her closer.

  Beckett’s deep, steady breathing told her that he was still asleep. Her back pressed against the hard wall of his chest as he held her firmly against him.

  Then Isobel felt something else—something hard—pressing gently against her buttocks. It couldn’t be his knee.

  Good Lord, it was his—

  She knew she should try to get up, but it clearly seemed impossible without waking him. And surely this situation would embarrass him as much as her. No, she would have to endure this wicked intimacy until she could unlock his arm from her waist and move safely away.

  Gingerly, Isobel closed her hand around Beckett’s wrist and tried to lift his arm. This was going to be more difficult than she’d thought. Although he was asleep, Beckett’s muscles were anything but relaxed.

  Isobel closed her eyes in shock as his hard manhood pressed against her bottom. She clamped her lips together to keep from making a sound as he ground himself quite brazenly against her.

  The most exquisite sensations swept through her body. Her breasts throbbed with heat, aching to be touched. Desire teased between her legs, unnerving her with its intensity.

  Oh, this was dreadful.

  Wasn’t it?

  But if it was so dreadful, why did it feel so wickedly good?

  Her body was weak with desire. A dangerous heat burned in her veins, making her almost light-headed. She had never wanted something as much as she did right now… Beckett’s touch, his mouth, his hands. His body loving hers, making her his true wife.

  Would he wake and make love to her?

  She wanted him to.

  Oh, how she wanted him to.

  Every inch of her body begged for his touch. Beckett stirred a physical response in her she hadn’t known possible.

  Abruptly, Beckett released his hold on her waist and tur
ned over, his breathing rhythmic and even.

  Isobel lay in stunned silence, feeling an embarrassing sense of disappointment.

  He was still asleep, thank the Lord.

  She pulled back the covers and tiptoed across the room to the screen in the corner. Isobel pulled off her night dress, wet a cloth, and rubbed it over her hot skin, trying desperately to slow her racing pulse.

  Isobel donned her underclothes and stockings, followed by a somber fawn-brown day dress. She hoped it would set the mood for the rest of the day. She picked up her paper and leads, but paused a moment before leaving.

  Beckett was still asleep. She watched him in the pale morning light.

  An uneasiness crept into Isobel’s heart, like a soft-footed cat bent on mischief. She had been fooling herself to think she could make this marriage purely one of convenience. Their arrangement was doomed to be a dismal failure. Like it or not, Beckett stirred passionate feelings in her. And like unruly children, each day she found them harder to control.

  Chapter 13

  Isobel watched as a dark shape grew along the horizon. She had dreamed with such longing of land beneath her feet again.

  As they neared the island, she was entranced by the clear, turquoise waters. The sun shone high in the sky, and made the water sparkle as though covered in twinkling jewels.

  The heat grew a little more intense as the ship neared the island. The wind had been constant out on the open water, and the temperature on deck had been warm but bearable. Now, she felt the sun beating down on her and she shaded herself with a parasol.

  Isobel looked over the side of the boat into the depths of the blue-green ocean, and was startled as she saw a large, dark shape swimming through the water far below.

  “Captain Mayfield, what is that down there?” Isobel asked, with some fear.

  The captain looked over, but the shadow was no longer in sight.

  “Most likely a dolphin,” he replied. “Though to an untrained eye, a shark can easily appear to be a dolphin.”

  Isobel nodded, remembering the stories he’d told her during their voyage about life in the tropics. Aside from the assortment of poisonous plants and insects, and the wild animals, there was also the native religion of obeah to send shivers down her spine.

  “I needn’t remind you that this isn’t England,” Captain Mayfield warned. “But many Europeans enjoy living on these islands and have done so for years with no harm coming to them.”

  Isobel smiled and tried to reassure herself. After all, they had come here out of necessity—not to establish a home in a strange land.

  “Still,” Captain Mayfield said, “be sure your husband teaches you how to shoot a pistol.” He turned and walked along the deck to join his first mate.

  Isobel hoped the captain was poking fun at her. However, learning to shoot might be a good idea.

  Beckett appeared beside her, looking quite startling handsome as he surveyed the approaching shoreline. “I hope you won’t find life here on the island too uncomfortable, my dear. My experience in Wellington’s army has prepared me for almost any kind of accommodation, no matter how rough. But a lady might find such a wild land to be an adjustment.”

  “I have been well prepared by Captain Mayfield for the way of life here in the tropics,” Isobel said. “Perhaps I might even teach you a thing or two.”

  “I look forward to being your pupil,” He replied with a playful look.

  Isobel gulped. She did not want to think about what he might want her to teach him.

  She stared at the long wooden dock and saw Europeans dressed as they might be in London, as well as native workers loading various cargo.

  The ship docked smoothly, its sailors all working in tandem to tie the lines. Some of their cargo was unloaded at once before the passengers began to disembark.

  Isobel lifted Captain Black into her arms to say her goodbyes. She’d become fond of the surly cat during the journey, as had Beckett, with his natural affinity for animals. She smiled as she thought of the lovely sketches she had made of both Beckett and the cat. Would she stare wistfully at them in years to come, when she and her husband were living out their separate lives?

  Captain Mayfield approached from across the deck.

  “My dear Mrs. Evans,” the captain began, using the name she and Beckett were travelling under. “It seems that Captain Black has grown tired of a seafaring life and now seeks employment on land. Could you perhaps find a suitable position for him at your new residence?”

  Isobel looked at Captain Mayfield and then Beckett, who said, “My wife and I would like nothing more.”

  “But Captain Mayfield,” she asked, “how can you be sure that Captain Black has given up the sea?”

  “Oh, I am quite sure of it,” the old man replied. “You see, I just left him in my cabin, having locked the door but a moment ago. And now, here he is in your arms.”

  Everyone looked at Captain Black for some explanation, but the cat merely blinked at them.

  “Apparently, he has grown quite attached to you, my dear,” Mayfield said. “Considering his experience with obeah, he will no doubt be adept at protecting you from any island mischief.”

  Isobel nuzzled the cat before the captain gently placed him inside a carrying basket.

  “Now, you must promise to stay in your basket, Captain Black. Please.” Mayfield shook his finger at the cat inside and then fastened the lid.

  Beckett shook hands with the man. “Thank you for delivering us so expertly, Captain.”

  “It has been a pleasure, sir.”

  Guided by Beckett, Isobel made her way down the boarding plank and onto the dock. She turned to wave, but Captain Mayfield was gone, doubtless seeing to some part of the ship’s business.

  “We’ll miss Captain Mayfield, won’t we, Captain Black?” she said to the feline in the basket, as she followed Beckett down the length of the dock.

  Beckett looked back at her over his shoulder. “Quite an elaborate story just to get rid of a cat. I suppose he wouldn’t have known we’d be happy to adopt the creature. I must say, I miss being away from Monty and Caesar. Captain Black shall be good company for us.”

  One of the men from the sugar plantation, Ravenwood Hall, stood beside the waiting coach, hat in hand.

  “Lord Ravenwood,” he said, bowing, “Hal Cobb, sir, at your service.”

  “Mr. Cobb, may I present my wife, Lady Ravenwood,” Beckett said, taking her hand.

  “M’lady.”

  Isobel fanned herself as the man made his bows to her. “I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr. Cobb,” she said. “Tell me, is it always this hot on the island?”

  “Oh, no, m’lady” he replied. “It gets much hotter.”

  Isobel glanced at Beckett and saw him grin.

  “I told you Barbados was not for the faint of heart,” was all he said.

  “So you did.” She purposely closed her fan. “I shall have no trouble at all, then.”

  Beckett chuckled and handed her up into the carriage. Soon the vehicle rolled into motion and started down the rough dirt road.

  Her fan did not stay closed for long. Much to her dismay, Isobel’s entire body quickly developed a sheen of perspiration. As soon as she discreetly wiped some away from her forehead, it was instantly replaced. Her light muslin dress stuck to her like glue and most likely showed off far too much of her body. Isobel fanned herself energetically. It gave some relief.

  She noticed that Beckett was also covered in sweat, and wiping at his forehead from time to time with a handkerchief. At last, he caught her staring at him.

  She quickly looked out the window. Captain Black meowed loudly, apparently not enjoying the carriage ride at all.

  As they traveled down the road, Isobel tried to focus on the beautiful countryside to take her mind off the heat. They left St. Michael and Bridgetown, and entered the district of St. James, which would be her home for the next while.

  Outside, all around them bloomed flowers in colors
Isobel had never seen before, with trees and various plants in such strange sizes and shapes, she wondered at nature’s handiwork.

  Questions and observations tumbled out of her like rambunctious children.

  “—What is that tree?”

  “—That flower, do you know what is it called?”

  “—What an odd looking fruit! Surely no one eats such a thing.”

  Beckett patiently pointed out banana and fig trees, but he was silently chuckling at her, she was quite sure. He also identified mangoes, sugar apples and hog plums—all hanging in the thick boughs like richly colored jewels. The smell of their sweet scents on the breeze made Isobel long to stop and pick some of the succulent fruit.

  The sky above them was a bright, warm blue—the same color as Beckett’s eyes, Isobel noticed. Huge puffy clouds decorated the expanse of sky like dollops of clotted cream. This mysterious place was like a spell cast to invade all the senses at once. The sights, sounds and smells were almost impossible to resist.

  “Such untamed splendor often has an intense effect on the human heart, does it not?” he asked.

  Isobel opened her mouth to reply, but squealed as something quite large flew by the window. “Oh my! Whatever was that?”

  She leaned closer to the window and almost bumped heads with Beckett as he did the same. They laughed, and Beckett pointed through the open window to the treetops.

  “You see up there, in the tree?” he said. “Those are wild macaws. A macaw is a rather colorful type of parrot.”

  Isobel gasped at the beautiful birds sitting high in the branches overhead. “Oh, Beckett. It’s as though someone has painted them by hand! But Caesar is not colored so.”

  “He would surely have something quite nasty to say on the subject,” Beckett chuckled, sitting back. “We can count our blessings that it’s Captain Black we have with us instead.”

  The carriage turned down a long drive. In the distance, Isobel could see Ravenwood Hall. It was surrounded by a magnificent lawn and exotic gardens, with palm trees standing tall overhead. Behind it, the vast sugar fields stretched out of sight.

  They pulled up in front of the large, two-story house, which was surrounded by a verandah on both levels. Constructed of an unusual pink-colored stone, the house was offset by bright white shutters that flanked its long windows. Though the architecture copied the English style, the house seemed far more exotic than anything found in the British Isles.