He placed his hands on her shoulders. “Bess, turn around; it’ll be easier. James and Richard are going to lower you over the rail. When you can reach it, I want you to grab hold of that rope.” He showed her the life line that would keep her from plummeting into the sea.
“I’ll go first,” Seth said. He climbed over the side, grabbing the rope and securing himself with his feet against the Sea Mistress’s hull. “Now you, Bess.”
Encouraged by his position, Bess nodded, and Seth ordered the men to lift her up. She gasped as the two men hefted her high before lowering over the side. They held her by her shoulders, their grip firm. Bess closed her eyes as she was suspended over the water. She had visions of falling into the sea and drowning, tangled beneath yellow taffeta.
Then she felt Seth’s hand settle upon her waist. “Grab hold, Bess,” he said. He was behind her, his grasp firm on the rope. He seemed in no danger of slipping, even when he shifted to encircle her waist with his arm.
“We’re going to fall!” she cried.
He chuckled, and the sound was pleasing, soothing to hear. “Nonsense. You weigh no more than a feather.”
He tightened his arm about her middle, fitting her snugly to his hard frame. “Don’t you trust me?”
“Do I have a choice whether I do or not?”
He gave a snort. “Some of the old spirit, eh, Bess?”
“Will you please get me off this blasted rope and into that damn boat?”
He clicked his tongue, scolding her. “Careful, my dear. Do you want the crew to hear the true nature of your tongue?”
“Please. Seth.”
And he realized that she was truly, deathly, afraid.
“Relax, but don’t let go. I promise that in a few moments you’ll be down safely.” He sounded stern when he continued. “I need you to listen, to trust me.” He paused. “Do you think you can do that?”
She nodded, a quick dip of her head that told him she was afraid to move.
“All right,” he said soothingly. “When I tell you to, I want you to ease up on your grip. Slowly.”
“You won’t let go?”
“I won’t let go,” he promised. I’ll never let you go.
How could he get her to loosen up? He needed to get her to relax so that she could listen carefully and obey.
“I’ve done this a thousand times,” he told her, hoping to instill confidence.
“You have?”
“Aye.”
Reassured, Bess did as she was instructed. I do trust him to see me safely down.
Once in the dinghy, she realized that the distance from the small boat to the clipper ship’s rail wasn’t as great as she’d first perceived. Her initial fear seemed silly now. She’d climbed higher in trees when she was a child. The dark water had made her nervous, she decided.
Seth helped her to sit, arranging her skirts so that she was comfortable, before turning to give an order to his men. Within seconds, they were joined by James Kelley.
“I’m to be best man,” James announced with a grin.
“I see,” she said, and smiled slightly at his obvious delight. Her smile faded as Bess thought of Reeves and his refusal to come ashore and be witness to the wedding. He’d elected to stay behind and watch the ship with Richard Reilly. Seth had given Reeves a gun to help protect not only the vessel but the merchandise stored below.
To her surprise, the men steered the dinghy up coast, and not toward the main dock. The craft stayed quite a distance from shore. The men kept it well away from the other ships and vessels anchored in the harbor. Bess wondered why, but didn’t ask. She assumed she’d find out the reason soon enough.
After approximately twenty minutes of steady rowing, Seth raised a hand. “Here,” he told his men. “We’ll put in here.”
Seth removed his boots, and then he jumped over the side, his bare feet splashing in the crystal-clear water.
Bess frowned as James Kelley followed suit. Was she too supposed to take off her shoes?
James came to her side of the dinghy.
“No need to take off your slippers, Bess,” he said. “I’ll carry you.”
“I’ll carry her; thank you, Mr. Kelley,” Seth said with quiet authority.
James nodded and stepped aside.
Bess stared at Seth’s extended arms and felt her breath change. Her chest tightened as she struggled to take in air. “I don’t understand. Why are we getting out here?”
“There’s a sand bar from here to the shore,” Seth said. “We’ll have to wade in the rest of the way. The dinghy won’t make it.”
“Oh.” Bess rose, using her future husband’s shoulder to steady herself when the boat rocked as she stood. His flesh burned beneath her palm. The thought of his carrying her made her tingle with anticipation.
Seth smiled at her in encouragement. “Come here.” His eyes gleamed. “Or are you afraid?”
She flushed. “I’m not afraid of you, Seth Garret.”
“Good.” He scooped her up in his strong arms, and James Kelley helped to arrange her skirts so that they wouldn’t drag in the salt water.
The three of them headed for shore, followed by the other two sailors, who had gotten out of the small vessel and were hauling it toward dry land.
Bess was overly conscious of Seth’s hard, muscled form as he carried her toward the sandy beach. She felt every movement of his firm thighs as he waded through the shallow water. His clean, masculine scent tantalized her, weaving its magic spell. She was seduced by Seth’s nearness, his husky laughter as he responded to something James Kelley said. She wanted the illusion of being a happy bride-to-be marrying her beloved to be real. She wanted to forget the past, because her desire for Seth was a reality.
Closing her eyes, Bess sought to create the illusion, to pretend that the wedding and their happiness was real, that she and Seth were five years younger, and that they were marrying for love. He shifted her within his arms as his feet touched dry sand. “Hold on a moment, and I’ll find a place to set you down.”
“Anywhere is fine, captain,” she said. She was disturbed by the sudden change in her feelings for him. She needed to put some distance between them. She had to escape his spell.
“Very well, Miss Metcalfe,” he said, and released her, setting her gently to the ground. He appeared to be amused.
Immediately, Bess backed away. She felt the hot sand invade her kid slippers, and she grimaced. In deference to the temperature, she’d worn no stockings, and the tiny grains irritated the sides and soles of her bare feet.
Bess bent, raised her skirts, and removed her shoes. She rose, smiling with relief. Her smile froze in place and then vanished altogether. Seth’s men were frankly admiring her, their faces in various expressions of appreciation. Apparently, they’d enjoyed the sight of her bare ankles and calves.
She glared at each one of them, including Seth. Each man turned away, looking uncomfortable.
Seth cleared his throat. “Shall we continue?” He gestured toward the line of trees ahead that bordered the sandy beach. “This way, please,” he said. He took her arm as they moved forward. Bess allowed him to assist her across the sand toward the woods.
Soon she would be Mrs. Seth Garret, wife of the captain of the Sea Mistress for better or worse. In name only, yet, her life would be changed forever.
Bess experienced a nervous fluttering in her stomach, an odd prickling across her skin.
Why should she worry?
Because Seth was an overwhelmingly attractive, desirable man—and off limits if she wanted to gain her revenge.
Twelve
This part of the Brazilian coastline was lovely with its white sandy beaches and blue water, and the lush green of its bordering woods. Bess was achingly aware of her future husband as they crossed the hot sand toward the forest together. She felt damp and sweltering in her gown. Did it show? Was she too disheveled to be a bride?
Seth looked wildly attractive. Before leaving the ship, he’d donned a dark
vest over his white linen shirt. Barefoot and clad in dark breeches, he resembled a dashing, swashbuckling buccaneer.
He’d never been more appealing to her.
He must have bathed and shaven that morning, she realized, slanting him a glance. His jaw was smooth, his sideburns neatly trimmed. And as always, he smelled wonderful, like soap . . . like Seth . . . like the sea.
Seth continued to hold her arm, assisting her whenever she stumbled. Her skin tingled wherever he touched her, and her body reacted with a jolt of sensation each time.
He stopped at the edge of the woods and waited for his men to set down the dinghy, then he retrieved his boots from inside the boat and put them on. Next, Seth grabbed Bess’s slippers and shielded her from the men’s gazes while she put them on. In a sudden move that took Bess totally by surprise, he picked her up again in his powerful arms and proceeded to carry her through the tropical forest.
When she protested mildly, he explained. “Snakes” was all he said, and that one word was enough to keep her silent.
They walked through the woods a short distance before they came upon a break in the trees. There, in a beautifully landscaped clearing, stood a crude hut, constructed of sticks and grass and some kind of large leafy fronds.
The door to the hut swung open at their approach. A woman of mixed color and descent greeted them, gesturing them to come forward. She said something to Seth that Bess couldn’t hear.
“Arabella,” Seth said, his blue eyes wandering down her length.
Bess felt a frisson of intense jealousy that he would look that way at another woman—as if he found the partially clothed woman pleasing to the eye. She was young with firm breasts that swelled over the top of her tunic, and long legs that were bare below the garment’s mid-thigh hemline. Studying her thoroughly from head to toe, Bess could only gape at the shocking display of skin.
“You’re staring,” Seth said.
“And you weren’t?”
Her answer was a lift of his dark eyebrows. Seth put Bess down and took her by the hand to lead her into the hut. She resisted.
“Why are we going into that woman’s house?” she asked, experiencing again a prickle of jealousy.
“The house isn’t hers. She’s merely a servant. Mr. and Mrs. George Dunnon—the minister and his wife—live here. They’ve been living here for the past five months, since their arrival.” He paused. “Come on.”
“How did you know her name?”
“Arabella’s?”
She nodded.
“She just told me.”
“Oh.”
“Let’s go.”
She went, because she had no other choice. Unless she chose to live indefinitely in a foreign land with people who were strangers to her. Except John Reeves.
Still, she was slow to move.
“Bess.” Seth was impatient. There was nothing Bess could do to change things, so why was she being so stubborn about accepting the course fate had set?
She made a face at him and waved forward with her arm. “Lead on, Sir Captain Garret.” Seth couldn’t help chuckling. He squeezed her hand in reassurance, and then pulled her into the hut.
The interior of the structure came as a shock to Bess, who viewed the expensive furnishings with widened eyes.
Seth, too, appeared astonished, so she was safe in assuming that he’d never been here before. She thought of Arabella and was glad that Seth had apparently told her the truth about never having met the woman before today.
Her attention was caught by an unusual object, a gold statue of a woman on a polished table. There was a strange mixture of odors about the hut, none of which she could identify.
“How long did you say they’d been here?” she asked Seth.
Seth met her gaze, and his expression said he’d been thinking along the same lines. “Five months.” His voice lowered so that only she could hear him. “Looks as if they’ve acquired quite a bit in such a short time. Makes you wonder . . .”
She nodded. It did make one wonder about the minister and his wife. Such a display of wealth didn’t seem appropriate in the house of a minister. Did these things actually belong to a missionary—a man of God?
There didn’t appear to be anyone inside the small hut when they entered. Then a curtain moved at the back of the room, and Bess realized that the cabin had not one but two rooms.
“Mr. Garret.” The man who came toward them was heavy set with thick jowls and small, beady eyes. His lips were thin and looked almost lost in the fleshy wrinkles of his fat face. He made Bess decidedly uneasy. “So this is your lovely intended?” He spoke to Seth, but his gaze was on Bess alone. His gold-colored eyes were both unusual and eerie-looking.
Bess turned to Seth in time to see him nod. “Allow me to introduce you,” he said. “Bess, this is Mr. George Dunnon. Mr. Dunnon, my fiancee . . . Elisabeth Metcalfe.”
The man’s head bobbed, and as she watched his jowls jiggle, she had to stifle the urge to laugh.
“Mr. Dunnon,” she said, her amusement fleeing in the face of the man’s continued regard. “Nice to meet you.” Liar, she thought. She was suddenly anxious to have the ceremony over and done with, so she could escape this odious man’s disturbing presence.
“A lovely gown, Miss Metcalfe.” George Dunnon was eyeing Bess with a frank appreciation that seemed almost lewd. “On you, it’s most becoming.”
Suddenly on edge, Seth felt his teeth clench and his muscles tense with the urge to strike the missionary. He fought the inclination; Dunnon was the only person he knew who could legally marry him and Bess. Yet, the condition set by Dunnon to perform the ceremony was beginning to bother him . . . Just as it’s going to upset Bess, he thought.
A tense silence filled the front room of Dunnon’s home.
“Would you like something to drink?” the man asked. “Some of our Brazilian coffee, perhaps?”
“No, thank you,” Seth said politely. “Bess?”
Bess met her husband-to-be’s glance. “No, I’m not thirsty.” In this heat, she thought, how could the man think of offering coffee? And then she felt guilty for such thoughts, because some might have wondered equally about her taking a hot bath.
“We’ve very little time before we sail, actually,” Seth said.
“Oh?” George seemed alarmed. “I hadn’t realized the ship would be leaving so soon.”
Seth’s smile was thin. “We have a schedule to keep.”
George nodded. “I understand. I truly do. Don’t you worry, we’ll be ready in no time at all. I expect my Mathilde any moment now.” He paused and addressed his next words to Bess. “Mathilde is my wife.”
Bess, who had managed to avoid meeting his gaze, was forced to make direct eye contact with him. “I see,” she said, before looking away again.
Mathilde Dunnon arrived a few minutes later. An obese woman with dark hair and a loud, booming voice that made Bess flinch the first time she heard it, she burst through the open doorway of the hut in a swish of purple skirts that were faded and torn, at direct odds with the grandeur of the belongings inside her living quarters.
“I love weddings!” she explained. “They—” She sniffed. “They make me cry . . ..” And she began to sob indelicately.
George patted his wife’s arm. “There, there dear. Let’s not get too emotional. Captain Garret just told me that the Sea Mistress will be leaving soon. There’s really very little time for this.”
The woman seemed startled. “Yes, yes,” she said. “Let’s begin the ceremony, then.” She beamed at Bess, all tears gone. “Such a lovely gown, dear. A lovely, lovely gown.”
“Thank you,” Bess said. The lady too made her feel uncomfortable. With both Dunnons in the same room, she felt claustrophobic. Mathilde Dunnon smelled of body sweat and some strange exotic oils. The scent made Bess queasy, and she reeled on her feet, feeling dizzy.
“Seth,” she whispered, touching his arm.
He bent down close to her so she could speak to him without anyo
ne else hearing.
“Please, could we have the ceremony outside? I can’t breathe in here.”
He glanced at her with concern, saw her pale face, and nodded. “Mr. Dunnon, my fiancée and I would like to marry outside.”
“What?” Mathilde said, sounding indignant. “You don’t care for our home?”
“No, no, it’s not that at all,” Bess assured her. She swallowed against bile in her throat. She needed to get away from the house, the strange scents, and being in such close quarters with two oversized people whose nearness overwhelmed her.
This is not how. I envisioned my wedding, she thought.
“The girl looks ill,” George said. “Let’s get her outside.”
“Ill?” Mathilde whined. “How can the girl be ill?”
Bess and Seth left the hut quickly, as much to escape Mathilde’s whiny voice as to flee from the stifling odorous air within the small confines of the hut. The crew from the Sea Mistress waited in the clearing for them.
She could hear Mathilde, who had yet to come out. The woman was most exasperating; she was complaining of the ghastly insects that inhabited the woods, the outside heat, and her husband’s refusal to see reason and insist that the ceremony take place inside.
It was cooler inside the Dunnons’ hut, no doubt because of the construction of the structure—the large green fronds that covered the roof and shaded the windows. Bess could see that some of the leafy greens had dried, yet it seemed obvious that they were replaced often to keep in the cool moisture that lowered the temperature of the hut. Still, she preferred by far to be outdoors.
Bess moved through the clearing like a sleepwalker, her heart hammering her thoughts on the marriage and what could occur should Seth ever learn that she owned E. Metcalfe. Seth walked a step or two behind her.
“Bess?” Seth’s soft voice infiltrated her musings. “Are you all right?”
She swallowed. “I’m fine.” She made a big production of checking her surroundings. “Is there a stream nearby? I’m thirsty and long for a cool drink.”
The captain eyed the missionary who had come out of the house followed by his sullen wife. “Dunnon? Is there fresh water near?”
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