Marie Higgins

by Amazon Sunset

  Sincerely,

  Dowager Countess of Blackwood

  Groaning, Felix sank into a cushioned chair and closed his eyes. For years, he’d fought his father on the issue of him becoming a vicar, as second sons of peers often did. Felix had been stubborn in his decision and so was cut off. Regret swelled in his heart, and he wished he’d made amends with his father before he died. Truly, it was Felix’s responsibility now to take over as Earl, even though the prospect did not sound enticing. His grandmother’s worry over Stanley stepping into the role was not misplaced. Felix’s cousin had always been a drunken reckless man as long as Felix had known him. He wasn’t too sure becoming an earl would straighten out his cousin. Indeed, Felix should step into the role.

  He rubbed his now throbbing head and glanced at the telegram. With a sinking heart, he knew what must be done. He’d been his grandmother’s favorite grandson as a child. Now she needed him, and he couldn’t let her down.

  Children’s laughter rang from outside the window, drawing his attention. They played a chase game, and it reminded him of when he was young and lived at home. Nostalgic memories engulfed him, bringing with them a bitter-sweet pang to his heart. If he took over the earldom, this would be his last time in Macapá.

  This would be his last adventure, so he might as well make it memorable.

  * * * *

  The rickety old hackney jerked to a stop in front of the docks a half hour before Katrina’s scheduled arrival time. She peeked out the window of the hired coach at the large white steamer with filigree and railing of shiny brass, wishing she would be sailing instead of traveling in a bumpy coach.

  The sun had already begun its climb into the early morning sky, creating a palette of purple, blue, and orange. As she scanned the area, a few men loaded several crates onto the boat, but she didn’t see her escort. If Mr. Felix Knightly came late, she’d never let him forget it. She’d show that all-too-arrogant man he couldn’t push her around. Although she had promised to obey, she’d do it on her own terms.

  With help from a Portuguese manservant, she stepped down from her conveyance, then he left her to pick up her trunk and carry it onto the dock. A few men glanced her way in curiosity. Unease shot through her, causing strange chills to raise the small hairs on her arms. Thankfully, she’d taken her mother’s advice and hidden a dagger in her boot just in case any man got the wrong impression and wanted to treat her any less than she expected.

  Acting her part as a well-bred lady, she daintily sat on her trunk, folded her hands on her lap, and kept her back ramrod straight while she waited patiently for Mr. Knightly to arrive. She stared up the street and watched for his carriage, but after ten minutes passed with other vehicles stopping to unload and no sign of her guide, panic welled inside of her.

  Had he changed his mind? Perhaps she shouldn’t have shown him her temper yesterday, but Mr. Knightly knew how to spark her anger quickly. Several times during their conversation she wanted to shake him. The only reason she hadn’t followed her instincts was because fear of touching his broad shoulders had stopped her. She’d never met a man quite as robust as this one. It frightened her that if she made contact with him, the sensation might be too enjoyable and she’d never want to pull away. Heavens, he was built very well. Thinking of him with so many muscles wasn’t a good thing, either.

  This morning, her mother had diligently assisted Katrina with her packing and readying for this journey. She could see her hesitation in allowing Katrina to go alone, but really, there was nothing to be done about the stubborn Mr. Knightly.

  Her mother kept reassuring her how much she loved her. She reminded Katrina that because her father was dying, he would probably say things he didn’t mean. He’d more than likely tell her that he’d thought of her often through the years and wished he had gotten to know her.

  Katrina rolled her eyes. The same as her mother, she would always resent her father for his abandonment. No matter how sweet and loving he tried to be when they finally met, she would know what had truly been in his heart for all these years.

  A bead of moisture ran down her neck, and she reached up to brush it away. This weather was so searing, she wondered if this town sat in the middle of a volcano. Where was Mr. Knightly who had wanted her here promptly? She grumbled under her breath. Couldn’t he follow his own rules?

  Across the street at a run-down inn, a man stumbled out of the front doors, his arm draped around the shoulders of a brown-skinned woman. Even from where Katrina sat, she recognized the wave of the man’s raven hair and the shape of his body.

  It was Knightly.

  He laughed, and the baritone ring sent shivers down her spine. As he and his companion sauntered across the street, Katrina assessed his appearance. His beige shirt hung open at his chest and draped loosely from his shoulders to his narrow hips.

  A small gasp sprung from her throat. Glory, he did have muscles. Lots of them. They looked rigid. Just as she’d feared, seeing them made her want to run her hands over them. She shook away the thought. Touching him was out of the question.

  The couple stopped about twenty feet away, and Felix grabbed the woman in an extremely personal embrace. The woman tipped her head back and drank in his passionate kiss while Felix’s hands urgently slid over her back. He kissed her wildly, and she raked her fingernails over his chest.

  Katrina sucked in a quick breath as heat filled her bosom. Working most of her life in a tavern, she hadn’t been sheltered from the mating rituals of men and women, but witnessing Felix’s open lust awakened something deep inside her, stirring up curiosity, and making her wonder what it would feel like if she was the woman in his embrace.

  The newfound feelings frightened her, and her mouth turned dry.

  Felix kissed the woman one last time then pushed her away, gently swatting her backside. He stared after her as she returned to the inn. When he turned, a smile of satisfaction lit his handsome face…until he saw Katrina.

  Blinking, he shook his head. He glanced at the hints of orange streaking against the morning sky, then back to her as if not believing what he saw. He walked right up to her and met her stare.

  “What are you doing here?”

  Her gaze dropped to his lips, still swollen from kissing. She moistened her throat with a hard swallow. “I’m waiting for your sorry face to appear, and by the looks of your laboring crew,” she stood and glanced at the steamer, “I’d say not only are you late, you’re a poor excuse for a leader since you’re not working alongside them in preparing for our journey.”

  He folded his arms across his chest, slightly tilting his head as he studied her. “If you knew anything about leaders, you’d know they delegate responsibility. And for your information, I’m not late. We’ll leave on time, my lady, so don’t get your pantalets in an uproar.”

  Despite the feelings that had begun to stir moments ago, her nails itched to dig out his eyes. She reached for calm, but realized what a mistake it was to stand so closely. She could smell his provocative musky cologne.

  She lifted her chin a little higher. “The only reason you delegate to your crew is to cover up for your heady night of lust and tequila.”

  His eyes widened and then a relaxed expression came over his face and he grinned. “It was actually whiskey, not tequila…which, by the way is only in Mexico. Here in Brazil our tequila is called cachaça.”

  She rolled her eyes. “It doesn’t make a difference since they’re both alcohol.”

  He took a step closer, his pants brushing the material of her dress. Flutters danced in her chest. Up this close she couldn’t stop from letting her gaze fall to his open shirt. Just like she’d thought, his bare chest looked entirely too smooth with only a small patch of hair sprinkled across his skin.

  Oh, good heavens. It wasn’t wise to be standing so close or to look at him this way.

  He tilted his head to the side. “Jealous of my evening’s pleasure, are you?”

  “Oh! How dare you insinuate—”

&
nbsp; “Sweetheart, the proof is written on your flushed face.” His knuckles brushed her cheek.

  She quickly swatted his hand away. “Don’t touch me,” she growled. The heat from his fingers burned her skin.

  He raised his hand to his forehead in a mock salute then bowed. “Your wish is my command, my lady.”

  My lady? Why did he keep calling her that? Her father must not have told Mr. Knightly about her pitiful circumstances. She threw him a glare and then turned toward her trunk. “Here are my things.”

  His gaze moved from the trunk to her, before he howled with laughter. “You cannot be serious. Do you actually think I’ll allow you to take this on our trek?”

  “But of course.”

  “We’re going through the jungle, Miss Landon, not to a weekend picnic at the estate of one of your high society friends.”

  She wanted to correct him, to let him know she was poorer than most people he’d met, but the awakening demon inside her couldn’t resist teasing him. It might be entertaining pretending she was someone different.

  “But I need everything I packed.”

  He tilted his head and scratched his chin. “Did you not receive the list I had sent to your hotel room yesterday?”

  “Of course I received it.”

  “Did you pack everything on that list?”

  She shrugged. “Well, not exactly—”

  “What’s in your trunk?”

  “My clothes and some personal items.”

  “What kind of personal items?”

  Her cheeks burned from his improper question. “That, Mr. Knightly, is none of your business.”

  “Fine. What kind of clothes did you bring?”

  His gaze skimmed over her attire. His invisible touch caressed the high collar of her beige blouse then brushed across her bosom down to her rust colored skirt. She shivered. How could he make her feel like she didn’t have a stitch of clothing on?

  “I brought my dresses—”

  “Your dresses?” His voice rose. “How foolish can you be? Fancy dresses do not belong in the jungle.”

  She huffed indignantly, placing her hands on her hips. “Then what pray tell, oh knowledgeable master of all things, am I supposed to wear?”

  “Men’s trousers and shirts, of course. The very things on the list I gave you.”

  She released an unladylike snort. “Men’s clothing will not match well with my fancy high-heeled boots.”

  He rolled his eyes. “No, my lady, that’s why you’ll wear men’s boots.”

  She laughed loudly, trying to hide her excitement. Thank goodness he didn’t want her wearing the stiff, new dresses with the irritating bustle above the rump, and especially the heeled boots she had on now. “Ha! You can’t possibly expect me to wear those.”

  “Actually, I do.” He took a step closer. “And you have exactly one hour to collect the proper clothing or I’m calling off our excursion.”

  His hot breath blew across her face. He had definitely been drinking whiskey. “You cannot do that.”

  He grinned. “Watch me.”

  “But I don’t have—um, I mean I can’t buy…” Her heart raced when she tried to explain to him she was without money. She wanted him to think of her as a wealthy lady for a while longer. How could she tell him she had limited funds without confessing her true identity?

  Laughter built from deep within his chest the longer he watched her, and she wanted to punch him in the nose.

  He scratched his cheek. “Don’t tell me Daddy has tightened his money bag and won’t let his daughter spend any more of his precious coins?”

  She furrowed her brows and pursed her lips. “That, too, is none of your business, Mr. Knightly.”

  His laughter grew as he shook his head. “Fine, Miss Landon. Go up the street to Consuelo’s store and charge whatever you purchase to my account.”

  Her spirits lifted. Why would he do this for her? No one ever did anything nice for her, and he hated her. Didn’t he? “Are you certain?” she asked.

  His laughing stopped and he smiled. “Yes. If it’s the only way for you to bring the proper clothes, then it must be done.” He shrugged. “Your father will reimburse me, I’m sure.”

  Her heart leapt as she stared at his irresistible mouth. “Thank you,” she said meaningfully. “Then I’ll meet you back here in one hour?”

  “No. I’ll meet you in the store to make sure you have everything you need.”

  She licked her dry lips. “As you wish.” Keeping her chin high and back straight, she marched up the street to the store, inwardly boiling with anger. How could one man be so impossible to understand, and at the same time, so irresistibly attractive? If not for his intoxicating smile, she’d verbalize her thoughts and let him know he wasn’t Almighty Lord.

  In the many years she’d served in the tavern, she ran across a lot of men who tried to push her around, and especially try to take advantage of her innocence. Those experiences taught her how to fight, and she always came out a winner.

  Mr. Knightly was going to be difficult, but he intrigued her and she actually looked forward to their adventures just so she could push him to the limit and see his reactions. Teasing him would also keep her entertained until she reached her father’s plantation.

  Chapter Three

  Felix watched Miss Landon’s backside as she moved up the street. Shaking his head, he tried to clear away the fuzziness from his wild night with...hmm…that one woman. Why couldn’t he remember the wench’s name? Come to think about it, he couldn’t even remember what she had looked like, especially since Miss Landon’s beauty wouldn’t leave his mind. Last night’s hangover left him with images he didn’t exactly like. Blast it all if he didn’t enjoy seeing the gentle sway of her bustle, too.

  Pressing his hands to the side of his head, he squeezed his eyes shut. Obviously, the alcohol still consumed his thinking. That could be the only explanation for his thoughts, but when he opened his eyes, the images of her continued to fill his vision. The sun highlighted the red hints in the brown tresses cascading down her back. He liked her hair long. It was definitely different from the way she had it yesterday.

  As he gulped in a breath of air, he tilted his head back, hoping he could clear his mind quickly. One way or another, he couldn’t think about her in this manner. Other more important things weighed heavily on his mind.

  He stretched his arms over his head, and shook out his legs, before focusing on the steamboat. His crew had handled most of the loading, but they struggled with the few remaining crates. On a barrel nearby lay some cowhide gloves. He pulled them over his hands as he moved toward his crew to help.

  Just the thought of a new adventure ignited his spirit and expanded his enthusiasm. It had been six months since his last journey into the Amazon jungles, but he’d traveled through these parts so often in the past ten years, he knew it like his own backyard. Although his childhood years were spent in London living amongst the aristocracy, his adult years were spent away from that dreadful part of the earth, sailing into foreign lands and tracking out unknown territory.

  Time slipped away as he busied himself with preparing the boat. The scorching heat had sweat pouring from his head, trickling down his back, and gathering on his chest. He swiped his sleeve across his forehead, and then gazed up into the sky. By the location of the sun, morning had settled and it was time to travel.

  He straightened and looked toward land. Time to get the spoiled little rich girl. He dipped a tin cup into the water bucket and dumped it over his head. The cool liquid skimmed over his charred skin and refreshed him, if only for a moment. He refilled the cup with water and drank it, letting it slide down his parched throat. After running his fingers through his damp hair, he left to retrieve Miss Landon.

  With each step closer to the stubborn chit, his rage boiled hotter than today’s sun. Although he loved the adventure of the jungle, he feared this journey would try his patience more than he’d experienced before. He’d never paddled the b
ackside of a woman before, but with Miss Landon, he’d be tempted.

  Then the thought occurred to him…he just might like having his hand on that part of her body.

  Blast it all, thinking about her in such a way was inappropriate. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he sucked in a deep breath. The heat was definitely doing something to his head. Or perhaps the wench from the tavern he’d bedded last night hadn’t satisfied him at all, leaving him hungry for more. If so, then why was he thinking of Miss Landon? She would definitely not please him. She wouldn’t be able to stop harping long enough.

  He stepped inside Consuelo’s store, scanning the aisles for Miss Landon. She’d been in here for an hour, so why didn’t he see her? A couple of customers passed by, smiling and greeting him. He nodded and walked around them, still keeping a sharp eye out for the woman who knew how to make his temperature rise one way or another.

  From the back of the room, a woman’s laugh exploded into a fit of giggles. He hadn’t had the privilege of hearing Miss Landon’s laugh, but the heated tingles scorching his insides prodded him to follow the sound. Going on instinct, he walked to the back part of the store. Consuelo, the owner’s wife, stood next to a small room blocked only with a threadbare blanket. Sections of the brown cloth were so thin he could tell someone stood behind it. As he neared, a flash of creamy skin drew his attention, and he hitched a breath. Unable to tear his gaze away, he peered closer, realizing what he saw was Miss Landon’s bare waist and navel.

  He groaned, and his mouth grew dry. Within moments she moved and he couldn’t see any more skin. The glimpse he’d received branded his mind quickly, and it would be impossible to erase it.

  “Miss Landon, come out and let me see,” Consuelo insisted.

  “As you wish. I have to tie this belt first,” she grumbled from the other side of the blanket. “I cannot be rushed. If I don’t look presentable, Mr. Know-it-all will refuse to guide me into the jungle, and that is not an option. I must obey his commands, you know.”