‘Yes, I was.’ Kitt’s response was simple and succinct, his blue eyes watching her with a riveting intensity she doubted she’d ever get used to. He had a way of making her feel like the only woman worthy of his intentions when logic suggested otherwise. The truth rolled over her like the waves against the shore. I only bet on sure things. He’d managed to manipulate her one more time. A cold pit formed in her stomach, but his hand was warm at her back, his voice at her ear as he ushered her towards the door. ‘While you study me, I study you.’
At the door, Bryn schooled her features into a mask of neutrality. On the drive, Passemore waited with the wagon to drive her back to town. She had a last chance to prove to Kitt he wasn’t the only who was good at games. ‘I suppose there’s only one question to answer then. Are you a sure thing?’ She looked straight ahead and walked down the steps to the waiting wagon. Sometimes the best way to get the last word was to leave.
Even then, it wasn’t a guarantee. Kitt’s laughter rang in the air. ‘What are you more upset about, Bryn, that I got under your skin or under your skirt?’ His response burned in her ears the whole drive back. Not because it was insulting, but because it was true. He might have used her, but she’d let him.
* * *
Kitt soaked in his bath, eyes shut, his mind replaying, regretting, revelling in his parting words. He hated to leave it at that, with Bryn angry and feeling used. But she’d appreciate it in the long run, perhaps she’d even come to understand the reasons for it. He’d not expected her today. His strategy to keep her at a distance by letting the ladies do the alienating for him had wrought the opposite effect.
Instead of driving her away, it had driven her out here to invade his private abode. That had been the last thing he wanted. He was currently a target, Devore’s target. Until that was resolved, anyone who was connected to him was potentially in danger, too. If that someone was the daughter of a wealthy banker, so much the worse. Devore would not hesitate to use her against him.
The timing was unfortunate. Under other circumstances, he would have found Bryn Rutherford interesting. What had happened on the rock was proof of that. Now, she could be nothing more than a liability, all kissing aside. In truth, he wasn’t sure he’d planned to kiss her. He certainly hadn’t planned to let things go as far as they did with hot caresses and her hand on his cock.
He wanted to justify those kisses as part of his scare strategy to convince her to stay away. But that wouldn’t be entirely true. It had simply happened. She had looked so lovely, sitting on his rock in the sun. Then she’d raised her arms to take off her hat, her breasts rising high and firm with the effort as they pressed against the thin muslin of her gown and he’d swallowed hard, his groin tightening. He was human and male after all. At that point all bets had been off.
When she’d touched him, his body had sung with the thrill of it. This beautiful English rose had her hand on him. In all of his amorous pursuits, he’d not had a truly cultivated lady. She’d hesitated just enough to prove his speculation correct: bold and wild, but a lady still the same; a lady who did care about proprieties at the end of the day. London must have been hell on her. Society did not reward a woman for curiosity or intelligence and Bryn Rutherford had both. London was for hothouse roses, not wild ones, and Kitt suspected she was as wild as they came when she allowed it.
Kitt smiled to himself. Perhaps that explained what she was doing here in Barbados. How interesting. He wasn’t the only one with secrets. She was welcome to keep them. The less he knew about her the better. The less she knew about him...even more so. He definitely needed to push her away for his sanity. He could not bed a lady and avoid trouble, not even in the Caribbean. Not only for his sanity, but for her safety, which he hoped it was not too late to protect.
He owned the beach, but he didn’t own the waters. Today out on the rock, he’d thought he’d caught sight of a ship passing slowly. Ships passed all the time. He probably wouldn’t have paid it any attention, if he hadn’t caught a glimpse of sun reflecting off what was most likely glass. Whoever was on the ship was looking for something or someone. Given the other events surrounding the occurrence, Kitt couldn’t afford to ignore the coincidence. Scepticism had kept him alive this long for good reason and now it would have to do for two. Whatever Bryn Rutherford was or wasn’t, could or couldn’t be, for him, she would not die for him.
Chapter Nine
‘How is it that Sherard is still alive?’ Hugh Devore’s tone was deceptively calm as he surveyed the two men standing before his desk. But one had only to look in his eyes or note the tension in the beefy hands he splayed on the desk’s polished surface to know better. He was angry and the two men on the other side of that desk—the inferior side—knew it. Devore had only to look in their eyes or watch their hands to know it.
The two men, big brutish men, twisted their caps. Good. He liked exercising his authority, liked watching them squirm. They had a lot to be accountable for. He’d paid them a decent sum of money to see Sherard dead and they had yet to deliver. They’d had three days, three opportunities to see their job completed.
‘He ran into someone’s backyard,’ the taller of the two men answered. ‘We couldn’t follow for fear of being recognised.’
Devore steepled his hands and leaned back in his chair. These men had something more to fear than recognition if they failed in their task. ‘Yes, I know. You told me that two days ago. What has happened since? Sherard has driven out to the countryside, he has shopped in town. The man has made himself an accessible target and yet the two of you have made no other move to bring him down. Is the amount of pay holding you back?’
It was a question that could only be answered in one way if they wanted to walk out of his office alive. They were lucky they hadn’t lost a finger or two this morning as a reminder he meant business. He was in a relatively good mood for having received bad news and that was saying something. He had what might be considered a volatile temper.
‘No, of course not, boss,’ the other man answered smartly, quickly, his sense of self-preservation kicking in. Of course it wasn’t the money. They’d been well paid and it was no easy thing to come up with the funds. Once, he could have paid them any amount and not felt the pinch. Now, thanks to Sherard and Dryden, he felt every pound that left his reduced coffers.
‘Then what is it? The weapons?’ Devore prompted although he knew very well it wasn’t.
‘He’s just hard to catch, sir.’
Devore gave a hard laugh. ‘He’s one man. There are two of you and you come highly recommended. Surely you have some skill to manage him? What about yesterday? You sailed past his private beach, it would have been the perfect shot.’
‘Yesterday, he was with a lady.’ The two men exchanged nervous looks with one another. He had them on edge. Now he just had to push them to see the job done in short order. Desperate men worked more diligently than comfortable men and Devore wanted this done now. Actually, he’d wanted it done three days ago.
It had been disappointing in the extreme that the rum ambush had failed so completely. Best-case scenario: he’d acquire Ren Dryden’s rum, deal Dryden a financial setback and see Sherard dead in the mêlée of an ambush where no one was sure who had killed whom. Rum runners like Sherard embraced a certain level of danger with their career choice. His death would surprise no one.
But that had not happened. Sherard had foiled it all from beginning to end and now he was reduced to tracking Sherard with these two assassins. Devore stroked the dark bristles of his beard in thought. This was the first interesting piece he’d heard from these two. His mind was already contemplating the possibilities. Here was someone at last who could be levered against Sherard, the man from nowhere, the man with no attachment to anyone. Sherard had women, of course. The man was hardly a monk, according to Devore’s sources. But one-night stands weren’t worth dying for. Sherard’s women to d
ate weren’t exactly the sort to inspire chivalry. Devore suspected Sherard kept it that way on purpose. ‘A lady?’
The men nodded vigorously, no doubt thinking they’d found a point of empathy with him or maybe they hoped it would be a distraction from the real issue of their failure to kill Sherard. ‘She was definitely a lady. She had fine clothes and a big hat.’
Devore gave them an icy smile. They would find no empathy here. Silly men, didn’t they know by now he had nothing but enmity when it came to Sherard and Dryden or anything those two bastards touched? They’d taken his home, his wealth, even his wife when it came down to it. She hadn’t been interested in staying once the home and the money were gone. To top it off, they’d exiled him to an island to make what he could of himself. Very soon they’d see exactly what that was and very soon they were going to pay. He would do it himself if these two got squeamish. ‘Is the lady a problem? You can’t kill in front of her?’ he asked.
The two men exchanged horrified looks and he had his answer. He let displeasure rule his features. ‘I didn’t think you two came with scruples.’ He paused, fixing each one with his stare in turn. ‘This is a disappointing development at such a late stage of the game.’
One of them swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing. ‘We were thinking about witnesses. We thought you’d prefer not to have any. She was out on the rock with him when we sailed by.’
‘Ah, that’s the first sensible thing you’ve said. The issue of witnesses is easily solved. Kill them both.’ If he’d read their faces aright, that should shock their apparent code of ethics. It almost qualified as entertainment to watch them react.
‘But, sir,’ one of them made the effort to protest, ‘they were otherwise engaged. You wouldn’t have us shoot a man in the middle of taking his pleasure.’
Couldn’t they see how perfect it would have been? Two deaths were better than one. There would be no witnesses and less suspicion about a third party. Devore shrugged. ‘Shooting them both—we could have made it appear to be a lovers’ quarrel and no one would think to come looking for you. With Sherard’s reputation that wouldn’t be a hard fiction to sell.’ Good lord, did he have to do all the thinking in this operation? Then again, he quite purposely didn’t pay these men to think, only to act, only to take the fall should they be discovered.
His temper was starting to rise with his exasperation. ‘Find out who she is, I want to know immediately.’ He dismissed them and blew out a breath. Maybe that was the sacrifice he needed to make for success. He hated being out of society, but Sherard had threatened to kill him if he was caught in Bridgetown, so exile it was. But it meant he didn’t know whom associated with whom. It weakened his ability to negotiate through leverage. If this woman was important to Sherard, by extension she was important to him. Devore wanted to know.
It wouldn’t be long now before Sherard was dead, Dryden was beggared and his own riches returned, balance restored to his world. He just had to be patient a little longer.
* * *
Patience was a virtue, Bryn decided, for the simple reason it was bloody impossible to cultivate. If it was easy, everyone would do it. Her patience was definitely being exercised this afternoon at Mrs Selby’s Barbadian-themed luncheon, complete with every Caribbean food imaginable from fried plantains to pig in souse. She was tired of the posturing, of everyone jockeying for position with her father. The game was nearly done, though. Her father would announce board within the next few days.
Bryn wasn’t the only one who sensed it all coming to a head. Mrs Selby recognised it, too. This luncheon was one final attempt to ensure her son’s place on that board. Everyone who coveted a spot was here with one notable exception. Kitt was not. Bryn was certain he’d been invited. Mrs Selby wouldn’t risk jeopardising her father’s favour by slighting Kitt, not when her father had made it plain he would receive Kitt even if she did not.
It had been a week since her rather precipitous visit to his house. He’d not been to her father’s house for a meeting, nor to any of the functions hosted by potential investors. She would have believed he’d withdrawn from the endeavour entirely if it hadn’t been for the notes he’d sent to her father. But she had not seen him since their afternoon on his rock, which led her to this conclusion: he’d not withdrawn from the bank, but from her. Which was for the best, her conscience was fond of reminding her. Out of sight, meant out of mind. It was easier to keep promises when the temptation to break them was removed.
Her mind didn’t want to leave it at that. Her mind wanted to know why? Did he not like her? Had she offended him? The former seemed unlikely after his reaction on the rock. He liked her plenty. The last seemed laughable. Kitt was not a man easily offended. He was honest about himself, about society and the world. He knew how the world worked. The truth would not offend him.
Still, it galled her that he’d disappeared without any word to her personally. He was supposed to send you a note? Who appointed you his mother? That was her practical side. Her less-practical side had developed the habit of getting distracted at this point in the argument: he had a mother? What sort of mother had this sort of son? Which led to other curiosities—did he have a family? Where were they? But when those considerations were done, her practical side was still there, mocking her. He owes you nothing. Men were like that. They could kiss a girl and have it mean nothing. Her London swains had seen her fortune, but not her, never her. They would have been appalled to know she’d swum naked in a swimming hole with her best friend, who happened to be male and he’d been naked, too. And that was only the beginning of her adventures. Kitt would merely laugh and say ‘Is that the best you can do?’ His blue eyes would spark as he teased her: ‘I once climbed a trellis into a woman’s room whom I didn’t know.’
Why do you care so much? came the inevitable question. Bryn plucked at a blossom on one of Mrs Selby’s flowering bushes. Because he represented everything she wanted. He was the gateway, the escape. Represents or is? Was he merely a symbol of something she craved or did she crave him? Of course she didn’t crave him. That was too intense for a man she’d just met. He wasn’t an addiction. Now she was being hopelessly romantic. She’d barely met him and they’d had only a few encounters, one of those a banking meeting. But he rouses you, he makes you forget you’re a Rutherford and makes you remember who you are...who you were before the rules, before the sickness took your mother and three years of your life, before you lost Robin. He makes you remember your true self. If that was the case, it was no wonder she was desperate for him. Without meaning to, he was coaxing her back to life.
‘Would you like some cake?’ Selby materialised at her elbow, a real flesh-and-blood contrast to all Kitt represented: neat brown hair to Kitt’s dishevelled blondness, composed manners to Kitt’s insincere, mocking bows, placid security to Kitt’s wildness. He offered her the plate in his hand. ‘It’s a chocolate rum cake, but there’s coconut sugar cakes at the dessert table if you’d prefer.’
Bryn took the plate. Chocolate sounded perfect. Rum sounded better, even though she knew the spirit baked out. Martha Selby would never serve a tipsy dessert. ‘Thank you.’ She hoped James would politely retreat. Instead he sat down on an empty chair and motioned for her to join him and the practical lady in her head went to work.
You could have this one. A few smiles, a few light touches on the arm and he’d come up to scratch. Kitt Sherard offers no guarantees. You don’t even know where he is. This one offers guarantees aplenty: marriage, security, a family, prestige, social standing that matches your own—all the things your mother wanted for you.
‘Did you enjoy yourself today?’ James asked. It was her first visit to his home. She understood the point of the luncheon had been for the Selbys to impress her father with their quality of living and no doubt they had. The Selbys lived just outside of town in a big home with wide verandas and shady gardens. Martha Selby had made good use of those gardens
today, setting up tables and chairs under the cool palms.
‘Your home is beautifully appointed,’ Bryn offered neutrally, fearing where this was leading. As the only unmarried man among the coterie of her father’s select investors, it had been natural to pair James with her when the group met with their wives. As a result, she’d spent a considerable amount of time with him in the interim. It hadn’t necessarily improved him. But what is there to improve? On paper, he’s perfect.
James leaned forward. ‘I would like to ask you something rather personal, if I may.’
As long as it’s not a proposal. It wouldn’t be though, would it? It was far too soon to be making decisions of that nature. ‘Of course, Mr Selby.’ In truth, she didn’t want to hear his ‘personal’ question, but a lady had no other answer. It was hardly a question at all.
‘Has Captain Sherard been troubling you?’ She wondered if Kitt’s extended absence had emboldened him now that there was no chance of Kitt hearing him.
‘He’s hardly here to do any troubling.’ Bryn smiled to allay his concern, but also to make the subtle point she didn’t approve of asking after a man who wasn’t there to defend himself. ‘I hardly know him well enough to find him troubling or otherwise.’ Perhaps he’d extend that message to himself as well.
James didn’t smile back. He lowered his voice further. ‘He will be back, though. He’s out on one of his infamous runs through the islands.’ There was a hint of derision in his tone. ‘My mother indicated he’d been overly forward when the four of you met up with him while shopping.’
Bryn wanted to laugh. James was so very serious. She tried to answer with an appropriate amount of reserve. ‘It was nothing. Your mother was just looking out for my best interest.’
‘She was right to do so. Captain Sherard is in no lady’s best interest,’ James said with a touch of manly protection.
Probably true. James would be appalled if he knew even half of what had transpired between her and Kitt. She decided to steer the conversation in another direction. ‘Where does he go on his runs?’ This was something she had not heard.
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