by Howe, Cheryl
He glanced down at her wrist, bared below her cuff. “Did I leave a bruise?” He lifted her hand with reverence.
“No, but it still pains me,” she lied, not sure if he were truly concerned or just toying with her again. Hopefully, the fib explained her slight shudder at his touch.
“I’m sorry.”
The sharp retort his insincerity deserved melted on her tongue. She became entranced by his concern-softened features. He bent down and placed a light kiss on the throbbing pulse point below her palm. The intimacy of the touch weakened her knees. Her lips parted as the flick of his tongue caressed her skin.
She yanked her hand away before she moaned. But even the wind conspired to seduce her. A soft breeze licked the wet spot left by his mouth. Felicity shivered, but instead of chilled, she felt feverish. Being civil to him had been a mistake. He managed to use her own weakness against her.
She contorted her features into the pinched countenance of the matrons of the Puritan church. “That won’t secure my silence. I have no proof yet, but I will.”
“I’ve no doubt you’ll find evidence to convict me of whatever misdeed you choose.” The humor in his voice gave no sign that her threat concerned him.
“If you’ll excuse me, I’ve had enough of your company.” She was tired of being a source of amusement. Worse, knowing he was a cad didn’t stop her body from tingling in all the most sinful places.
She turned to go, but Drew touched her arm. She spun around to face him, her eyes wide with indignation. Only a fool would fall into that trap again.
He held up his hands in a gesture of surrender. “Just one thing. I was wrong when I assumed your marital status was due to the lack of a man. I’ve no doubt that if you made up your mind to marry, married you would be, and the man of your choosing would have little to say about it.”
She couldn’t tell if he meant his words to be compliment or insult. “I’m sure you’re also used to getting exactly what you want. It seems we’ve each met our match.”
He genuinely laughed. Its rawness was melodic. “No, Felicity. You’re no match for me. I don’t usually get what I want. I only get what I can.” Then he shook off his moment of melancholy. “I’m curious. Why have you chosen to remain a spinster?”
If she hadn’t been scrutinizing every subtle change in his expression, she would have missed the flash of vulnerability.
“I succumbed to a handsome rogue exactly like you when I was still young and naive. I believed his empty flattery and paid dearly for it. He bested me. You won’t.” Without further explanation, she turned and left him alone on the terrace, her own heartbeat thrumming in her ears, drowning out the lovely sound of the sea.
Chapter Three
The Linleys’ decadent feast was wasted on Drew. He picked at the shrimp-stuffed snapper and disregarded the suckling pig fresh from the roasting pit. Digging into Felicity Kendall appealed to him much more than any entree weighting the lace-draped table.
Under the glow of candlelight, amber streaks rippled through her restrained hair, hinting at unruly curls. Subduing the thick mass in the severe knot at her nape appeared painful. How the disobedience of her hair must gall her. Drew wiped his mouth with a napkin to hide his smile.
His position at the long dining table forced him to be obvious in his ogling. Visions of her hair, free from its prison of pins, toyed with his imagination. Her puritanical fortress ensconced a unique beauty. He’d had women in all shapes and sizes, but none that spit sparks from her eyes and turned each conversation into a battle of wills.
As if to confirm his insight, Felicity sneaked a glance in his direction. An elusive flare of green darted beneath her large, almond-shaped lids. He’d thought her eyes dull brown. In the soft light, they shone a misty hazel, a murky pond pierced by a ray of sunlight. Drew didn’t bother to hide his fascination. He just smiled suggestively until she returned to scrutinizing the crab spilling over her gold-rimmed plate.
Miss Kendall provided a mystery in need of unraveling. Why she went to great lengths to disguise attributes most women would flaunt stoked Drew’s imagination. He’d love to know what else she concealed under her yards of black wool.
“Why are you gawking at Benjamin Kendall’s very boring daughter?” whispered Samantha, who had indiscreetly arranged to be seated on his right.
Drew downed the remainder of his wine. Whenever he attended a social gathering of the self-appointed aristocracy of Barbados, he tried to be quite intoxicated by this point in the evening. He attributed his relative sobriety to finally finding something interesting at Linley Hall.
“I’ve never seen a Puritan before.”
“How surprising! They’re all over the American colonies. I thought you spent a great deal of time there during your long absences.”
“I don’t frequent their circles, Sam.” He ignored her powdered breasts thrust over his dinner plate and gestured for a servant to pour him more wine.
Beneath the table, Samantha placed her hand on his thigh. “I despise it when you use that insipid nickname as if I were one of your chums. I believe I’ve given you too many liberties with my affection, Lord Christian. If that girl was not such a mouse, I would actually be jealous.”
Drew gazed down at Samantha without the slightest show of interest. She removed her hand, not waiting to be asked.
“She is a woman, not a girl, and she is anything but a mouse.”
“You don’t say. Lucky for me I keep a full stable.” Samantha winked, then turned away from him and began a conversation with the red-coated British officer seated across from her, undoubtedly Drew’s replacement. She probably kept them close together in the hopes of some excitement. Felicity’s unusual appeal escaped Samantha no more than it did him, or he doubted she would have given up on her plans so easily. He wondered how many others Felicity’s prudish facade fooled. Suddenly, the hastily mentioned rogue in her past developed erotic dimensions. The idea that another letch had discovered the pearl clamped in Felicity’s calcified shell annoyed him.
Drew returned his gaze to the woman in question, searching for a clue to confirm his suspicions, only to find her fierce scrutiny poured in his direction. She must have noticed the exchange between he and Samantha. He raised his glass in a silent toast. She looked away, ignoring the gesture.
His grin deepened. Bedding her would be a challenge, and he loved a challenge. Especially when his reward would be unleashing the passions of a repressed wanton. The way his body responded when she tried to wither him with her fire-and-brimstone stares assured him that her heat came from more than moral outrage. He’d actually be providing Felicity a great service. Puritan or not, her foul temper was the cry of a female in dire need of seduction. And he was just the man to answer that call.
Out on the terrace, he’d thought she’d had him by the ballocks when she mentioned general goods. Luckily, her wrong turn in the labyrinth of truth led her nowhere. As long as she lost herself in the maze she’d created, his secret would be secure.
He lowered his wineglass and stopped smiling. Who was he to think of bedding Ben’s daughter? Not only was Benjamin his friend, but if Beatrice’s murderer suspected he cared a whit about Felicity Kendall, she might be the next victim.
***
Felicity watched Drew turn his lazy observance of the dinner party inward. As he stared into his cut crystal glass, filled to the brim with deep red wine, a brooding veil settled over his features. Felicity welcomed the sudden droop of his high spirits. He’d been toying with her like a cat with a wounded mouse.
Not for a moment did she believe his flirtatious glances sincere. Never should she have hinted at the real reason she’d been forced to remain a spinster. Though the irony in his attempt to seduce her should have amused her, it didn’t.
His conceit explained his choice of tactics. It had nothing to do with her weakness for rakes. Using his masculine prowess to melt her hostility came as naturally to him as breathing. If he assumed she would succumb to the charms o
f a well-practiced flirt twice, he underestimated her.
She dragged her gaze away from Drew and stared at the picked-over remains of her meal. Removing him from her sight didn’t ease the pain flowing from the wound he’d reopened. A handsome man would not have the opportunity for another slice of her soul.
Pressure on her shoulder shattered her thoughts. A large ruby winking from a gaudy ring captured her gaze. She followed the length of a brown velvet sleeve to find its owner.
“Daydreaming? I would have wagered the very serious Miss Kendall didn’t indulge in such a luxury. Is that allowed in the Puritan handbook, or shall we consult another of Samuel Sewall’s pamphlets?”
Her scrutiny traveled no farther. She knew exactly to whom the dark satin voice belonged. And he’d come to harass her again.
“Leave me alone.”
He dragged her chair away from the table. In answer to his unwanted gallantry, she glared at him over her shoulder.
He smiled and extended his hand. “May I escort you to the music room for sherry with the ladies, or would you prefer a stroll on the beach?”
At his audacity, her anger turned to disbelief. Surely her father hadn’t expected her to tolerate such abuse. She glanced around the large dining hall, seeking his help. Several servants busily cleared away dishes. All of the other guests had deserted the crimson-padded room. Without acknowledging Drew, Felicity stood and walked past him.
Muffled chatter buzzed from the adjoining drawing room. She intended to find her father and put an end to the evening.
Drew caught her by hooking his arm with hers, oblivious to her rebuke. He lowered his head to whisper intimately in her ear. “I think I’d rather be flailed by your vicious temper than ignored.”
Once they passed under the mahogany archway carved in a pattern of shells and vines, satin-clad ladies and bejeweled men surrounded them in a sea of bold color. She couldn’t yank her arm away without notice. Large gilded mirrors, mounted atop the plum-and-cream-striped wall covering, artfully captured the guests’ reflections. Women, who had stopped their conversation when Drew escorted her into the room, stared enviously. The image of Drew bending down to her in attentive intimacy increased the beating of her heart.
Part of Felicity longed to cling to her unwanted escort. The other part, the coward, urged her to run from the room. Next to Drew and the other guests, she appeared the black raincloud hovering over a spring carnival. Instead of shrinking, she invoked her callused pride and tried once more to separate herself from the man at her side.
The firmness underneath his plush coat confirmed the strength of his presence was not merely an illusion created by padding his shoulders. His arm entwined with hers felt hard and unyielding. The ruby ring appeared awkward on his large, rough fingers. His hand overpowered the feminine adornment. Drew didn’t possess the hand of a nobleman. He possessed the hand of a laborer.
“Do all aristocrats work with their hands, or is that a peculiarity to you?”
He smiled down at her. “That’s more like it. I wondered how long you could remain silent.”
“Let go. I must find my father.” Her need to escape him overwhelmed her desire for discretion. She tugged against his hold with all her strength.
He hardly flexed a muscle in his restraint. “The fire is back. How easily you ignite. Perhaps I should show you rather than tell you the skills I’ve perfected with my hands.”
“Save your demonstrations for Mistress Linley.”
Drew’s eyebrows rose suggestively. “For a virgin, you are far from naive. Do Puritans instruct their unmarried women in something I should know? I might have a religious conversion on the spot.”
Lowering her face hid her flushed cheeks. He seemed to read through her every word. She needed to find her father and leave at once.
Determinedly, she yanked her arm away from his. Lack of resistance left her stumbling, but she quickly regained her balance. Fists on her hips, she had every intention of laying into him with a detailed inventory of his horrid behavior, until she noticed he looked past her.
Her father followed Master Linley and another man she vaguely recognized into the room through doors that led from the entry hall. A hush descended on the disconnected chatter of the guests. When she finally placed Captain McCulla, the concern tightening her father’s features brought goose flesh to her skin like a winter wind.
Drew pulled a gold watch from the fob pocket of his breeches and casually glanced at the time. “McCulla, what tears you away from the Hare and the Hound...and so close to the witching hour?”
Captain McCulla, the man Felicity had seen in a stupor at the dock, blanched. He straightened his ill-fitting dark blue coat, losing the intensity of purpose with which he had burst into the room. Felicity’s initial impulse urged her to go to her father, but she hung back when the crowd formed a semicircle around the three men. Mistress Linley stared covetously at Drew across the space.
With her vibrant blue eyes and petite figure emphasized by her tight-waisted gown, Samantha Linley garnered secret glances from every virile man in the room except one. But for that reason Felicity suddenly found comfort in Drew’s constant attention. It set her apart, even if Drew did it only to bait her. Mistress Linley didn’t know that. Felicity not only held her ground at Drew's side but edged closer.
When it became obvious McCulla had lost his bravado, Master Linley spoke up. “You might wish to recant that slur against your man, Lord Christian. McCulla’s brought news of the Marleys’ murderer.”
“Aye. This broadsheet showed up at the Hare and—” McCulla’s flushed face turned redder than it already was. “It doesn’t matter where it came from. I knew Master Kendall would want to see it straightaway. So here I am. It was El Diablo who did the deed, just as everyone’s been saying.”
Drew’s sardonic smirk drooped. “How do you know it was El Diablo? Is there proof?”
McCulla waved the broadsheet. “Must be. This price on his head doesn’t leave room for doubt. I know twenty men right now ready to sign on to look for the bastard.”
Drew appeared to recover in the breath of McCulla’s response, replacing his watch with languid motions. He showed no more concern than if they were discussing the weather. “We’ll see if their enthusiasm outlasts their ale,” he guessed. “I heard this El Diablo character is rather elusive.”
Her father stepped between Drew and McCulla to grab the handbill. “Who’s offering this reward?” He scanned the paper. “It doesn’t say. And this picture is awfully vague. I wonder if this El Diablo even exists. This might be a hoax.”
“He exists, all right,” McCulla said. Then, with all ears straining to hear his words, he continued in wide-eyed drama. “Heard stories about a Spanish merchanter he took. The crew saw his black ship bearing down on them, and when he raised his flag—a white devil skewering a bleeding heart—they knew they was doomed. They tossed down their weapons and begged to be put ashore. He set them all adrift in their skiff and told them to thank El Diablo for their lives.”
Drew dismissed McCulla’s tale with a shrug. “That could have been his idea of irony, not a declaration of his name. Besides, I heard the same story, and the crew had plenty of food and water to make it to shore. The man hardly sounds like a bloodthirsty murderer.”
“You, Lord Christian, are the only one I know with such a twisted sense of humor,” said Master Linley. “If he killed the Marleys, El Diablo has obviously gone mad. Now that those vermin of the seas are being hunted by His Majesty’s Navy, they’re all running scared and destroying everything in their wake. Show him the handbill, Benjamin.”
Felicity’s father shook his head. “You can’t tell anything from this sketch. And I question the reward. If it’s from the crown, I wonder why the governor didn’t notify me. I was Marley’s partner. I think this handbill was printed just to scare us—probably by the Marleys’ real killer.” Gesturing with the paper as he spoke, he came too close to one of the tall, iron candelabra flanking the double
doors. Luckily, his flailing only resulted in extinguishing two of the candles rather than setting the broadsheet aflame.
“Let me see that.” Drew strode over and snatched the handbill. He silently studied the rumpled piece of paper, apparently oblivious to the wave of whispers that began to break in the room.
Felicity moved behind him, glancing around his stiff shoulder to view the face of the infamous devil pirate.
“All I know is what it says. And for a thousand pounds, I'd find my way to hell and bring back the real devil,” McCulla bragged. He tugged on the lapels of his jacket. “What do you say, Master Kendall? The boys and I are ready to leave tonight. Give me a ship and we’ll bring you the Marleys’ killer.”
Drew absently passed the handbill to Felicity. In a strange gesture, he touched his cheek, then his hair. He glanced at his fingertips before wiping them on his breeches, leaving a white smudge of powder marring the crisp velvet. He didn’t seem to notice, nor did anyone else as they crowded around, anxious to view the sketch of El Diablo.
Master Linley slapped McCulla on the back. “Good work, man. I want this marauder brought to justice as much as Benjamin, here. Decent people can’t sleep at night knowing a pirate who will murder them in their beds is on the loose. If Ben supplies the ship, I'll purchase the provisions.”
Ben looked unconvinced. “Let’s not panic. I think we should have a clear head before we act. I don’t want to risk injury to my employees.” He glanced at Drew, apparently for support, but Drew was too busy glaring at McCulla with an expression that promised retribution rather than gratitude.
McCulla didn’t seem to notice. “That bloody pirate’s no match for me. Give me a chance and I'll show you Harold McCulla is worth his salt.”
Someone crowded behind Felicity to see the broadsheet, distracting her from the strange interplay and forcing her to focus on the crude drawing lest she lose it. The etching revealed the sharp features of a man who would be considered handsome if it weren’t for his eyes. For a brief moment, she thought she recognized him, but quickly changed her mind. El Diablo’s eyes were cold, devoid of life, though he smiled. The man had no soul and no remorse.