A Heart's Masquerade

by Deborah Simmons

  But then Catherine rose from the waves, not unlike Venus, her chemise clinging provocatively to every curve. And Ransom knew his imagination could never have produced such perfection.

  Cat lifted up a hand to push back her wet hair, a smile lingering on her face. She had managed to swim here secretly before, but never had she had such an encounter. Even now, she was tempted to return to the waters, to seek out her fishy friend, but dawn was breaking and she dared not linger, lest the household mark her absence.

  Even open-minded Amelia would not approve of her niece, stripped down to a chemise, frolicking in the ocean. For that reason, Cat had limited this activity from her former life. But there were times when she simply had to dive deep, racing until her heart pounded and she finally floated on the surface, spent.

  This morning, she had hoped the waters would soothe her mind and give her some respite from thoughts of Ransom. And in the delight of her recent experience, he had been forgotten. But she had not even stepped onto the sand before she realized that he was seated casually on a rocky outcropping in front of her.

  Cat's heart leapt. Did you see it? she wanted to ask. Did you see the porpoise? But she was no longer his cabin boy, and all that had passed between them stood in her way, wiping the greeting from her lips.

  Ransom answered her first, unguarded smile with a lazy grin, while his gaze leisurely moved over every inch of her body. And Cat's knees grew weak as she realized just how little she was wearing.

  The thin, wet chemise clung to her skin and rode high on her thighs, threatening to expose more than her legs as she left the water. Her heart began tripping at an alarming pace, and instead of shivering in the breeze, she felt a slow, insidious heat coursing through her. All coherent thought was slipping away, and he had not even touched her.

  Reason returned when Cat saw that he was seated next to her clothing, and anger replaced the more dangerous warmth that had overtaken her. The man had sneaked up on her to lounge about on the beach and watch her bathe, as though she actually were his mistress. It was bad enough that he spied upon her, but if he thought to make her stand here, wet and nearly naked, he was sadly mistaken.

  "If you are finished gawking, I would like my clothes," Cat said.

  "Hello, my love," he said, softly.

  Cat thought she heard a catch in his voice, but she knew better. "I want my clothes."

  "Certainly." Ransom swept his hand toward the pile beside him, and Cat lunged for her gown, sending a slipper flying into the sand in her haste. Biting back an oath, she flung the material over her head, thrusting her arms through the tiny sleeves with enough force to practically burst the seams.

  "May I?" Ransom asked, and Cat stopped fighting with her gown long enough to look at him, down on one knee in the sand, holding her slipper. His brow was lifted in question, while the lazy grin played across his lips.

  "No, you may not," Cat said, stamping her bare foot for emphasis.

  With a shrug, Ransom rose to his feet, slipper in hand.

  "You have molested and insulted me," Cat said. "And now you have sunk to spying upon my bath!"

  "Perhaps you should bathe somewhere... less public," Ransom said.

  "You blackguard! You have not one shred of decency," Cat said, as she hopped on one foot, angrily jamming on a slipper.

  "I've neither molested nor insulted you, my love, though I do admit to spying on your bath, quite unintentionally."

  His seeming amusement at her expense only enraged Cat further, and she nearly lost her balance as she gaped at him. "Now you are claiming that your odious offer was not an insult?"

  "I never offered you a position as my mistress," Ransom said innocently. "You are the one who made the suggestion."

  "Ha!" Cat grabbed her other slipper and put it on her sandy foot. "You did not deny it at the time."

  "You seemed to be enjoying yourself thoroughly. Why should I spoil it?"

  Cat groaned in disgust. Ignoring him, she snatched up her stockings.

  "I regret that I said anything to offend you," he said with mock solemnity. The crinkles around his brown eyes gave him away, and yet there was a ring of truth underneath the humor that made Cat wonder. Of all the conversations she had imagined having with him, she had never expected anything approaching an apology.

  She studied him dubiously. "Yes, I can see that," she finally said in a sarcastic tone. "You look so contrite."

  Ransom threw back his head and laughed, and the warm, familiar sound was almost her undoing. In truth, her anger, quick to flash, was usually just as quickly spent.

  Perhaps he guessed as much for he rose to his feet in one fluid motion. "What would you have me do... to make amends?" he asked, his voice a silky purr.

  "Not that!" Cat snapped.

  The resulting look of innocence on his face nearly wrested a laugh from her. You had better go now, before he somehow gains the advantage again, Cat told herself, with a glance at the horizon. He had already delayed her. She would have to sneak into the cottage in her sorry condition and hope that Isaac wouldn't see her. She hadn't time to stand here fencing with the smooth-tongued privateer.

  "Dare I hope that you will change your mind?" he asked, stepping closer.

  As she gazed up into those dark eyes, rife with invitation, Cat knew he would soon turn her limbs to liquid if she let him. Her reckless heart wanted to trust him, but her head, temporarily in control, would not allow it.

  "No," Cat said, turning to go. It was time she took a lesson from Ransom and reined in her volatile emotions. But as she stalked away, congratulating herself upon her good sense, she felt a sharp stab of regret at what might have been their final parting.

  ***

  All the way back to the cottage, Cat mulled over her encounter with Ransom, especially his denial that he had offered her a position as his mistress. Perhaps she really had misconstrued his words, and he, amused by her antics, had let her play out her hand, enjoying the entertainment she provided.

  Slipping into her room, Cat sat before her mirror, absently brushing out the tangled locks still damp from her swim. She was chagrined at the notion that she might be taking Ransom - and herself - too seriously in her new guise as virtuous young lady.

  After all, only a few months ago she had been a ragged lad, telling ribald jokes with a group of coarse sailors more dear to her than the most polished gentlemen. Had the fun-loving boy she had been disappeared entirely?

  Maybe she was too tetchy around Ransom, Cat thought, as she recalled how he used to tease his cabin boy. The man excelled in getting her goat. Had she simply been more tolerant before, or was she losing her sense of humor?

  That would never do, Cat decided, as she donned a fresh morning dress. It wasn't like her to issue ultimatums, and now she wondered whether she should have accepted Ransom's apology of sorts.

  He said he didn't mean to offend her, so it must be true, for she didn't think him a liar. Still, he was masquerading as a duke, which was not the act of an honest man.

  Cat raised a finger to her lips, pondering the contradictions in his character. She had thought herself familiar with the man with whom she'd shared days and nights aboard the Reckless. He had hidden depths, of that she was certain, but no one on the ship, except perhaps for Bert, had been closer to him.

  Now she didn't know what to believe. He was doing and saying things that struck her as odd, and she was not sure if he had changed or if the difference lay with her... or whether she had ever known him at all.

  Clinging to the memory of Ransom at his best, Cat refused to consider that possibility. If he began acting strangely again, she must laugh at his absurdities and ignore him, instead of letting her temper get the best of her. But she remained wary enough to know that she should avoid being alone with him, just in case his mind turned again to seduction.

  With these plans firmly in place, Cat's mood improved, a fact that soon became apparent through the entire household. Unfortunately, Marie was caught unawares. Startled by an
unusual piercing sound, she dropped a china cup. And as she gathered up the broken bits, the maid was heard mumbling to herself about women who whistled.

  Amelia, on the other hand, smiled to hear the notes of a jaunty jig coming from her niece's room. Encouraged by at Cat's disposition, Amelia coaxed her into a visit to town and soon the two were visiting the local shops. Cat enjoyed herself thoroughly, and Amelia chatted gaily as though her heart, too, was lifted by some secret pleasure.

  The sun shone brightly as they strolled along the tidy streets of Bridgetown, and it seemed as though nothing could dampen their spirits, not even a brief encounter with the Montrief sisters. So when Amelia stopped to see an old business associate of her husband, Cat did not protest.

  Oswald Tawyere was a friendly enough sort, and his secretary was a nondescript gentleman whose name Cat could never recall. However, it was the party exiting Mr. Tawyere's office whom she eyed askance.

  Grinning from ear to ear when he saw them, Ransom was cordiality itself. "Why, Miss Amberly," he said, "If I didn't know better, I would swear you were following me."

  Cat's good intentions were strained by his smooth appropriation of her own accusation, made that very dawn. "Your grace," she said, through clenched teeth. "It does seem that you're always underfoot."

  Mr. Tawyere laughed nervously, as though uncomfortable with such banter, especially directed toward a duke.

  "In fact, it seems only hours since we last met," Cat added.

  "Does it?" Ransom asked. "To me, the minutes not graced by your sweet nature pass like days."

  Cat bit back a retort while Mr. Tawyere tried his best to herd them from his offices. "But I've come to see you, Mr. Tawyere," Amelia protested, refusing to be budged.

  "If Mr. Tawyere is busy," Ransom said, "perhaps I can persuade you ladies to visit my ship."

  Cat stifled a gasp of horror, but Amelia practically preened. "Oh, how very kind of you, your grace. I would love to see your ship, and I'm sure it would be most educational, but I'm afraid I really must speak with Mr. Tawyere," she said. "Catherine, dear, do go. I know you will enjoy it."

  "No, really, I can't," Cat said, pulling Amelia’s sleeve in an attempt to catch her eye.

  "Oh, I insist," her aunt replied, patting Cat's hand. "I simply won't have you miss such a lovely excursion on my account."

  Cat's repeated attempts to avoid the outing met with more of the same. Amelia, smiling sweetly, would have none of it, while Ransom really laid on the charm.

  Finally, Cat gave in, but as she left Mr. Tawyere's offices, her arm entwined in her captain's, her vows to laugh or ignore Ransom's foibles had fallen by the wayside. Cat didn't know whether she was angrier with Ransom, who was his usual suave and insufferable self, or Amelia, who appeared to be throwing her niece at his head at every opportunity.

  When they arrived at the Reckless, Cat could not subdue a surge of excitement at seeing her old ship. But along with the anticipation came the fear that some member of the crew might recognize her.

  Her worries proved groundless, however, for no sailor looked beyond the sight of an attractive female upon deck. The men either ignored her or ogled the curves outlined by her gown.

  Any lingering doubts were put to rest by Bert, who was uncomfortable with the opposite sex and kept well away. Ransom collared him, however, and Bert ambled over, wearing his fiercest grimace, presumably to scare the daylights out of any woman with the temerity to board his ship.

  His gruff greeting sounded like a growl, but Cat smiled happily in answer, a response that obviously startled him. Cat's lips twitched as his heavy eyebrows rose and his mouth went slack. Before she could engage him in conversation, however, he muttered a farewell and fled, as though uncertain how to behave with a gentlewoman who was not the slightest bit intimidated by him.

  Breathing easier, Cat let herself enjoy the visit to her former home. With a nostalgic sigh, she ran her hand over a thick ratline, realizing how rough it now seemed. How long had it taken to transform her work-hardened hands into the softer ones befitting a gentlewoman? She only remembered that Amelia would not let her remove her gloves until they reached some semblance of smoothness.

  Cat paid little attention to Ransom's explanation of the workings of the ship, but she enjoyed the sound of his deep voice and his tall presence beside her. When they walked to the rail, Cat decided that the small beribboned chip hat adorning her tresses would have to go, and giving a few tugs to the pins, she slipped it from her head, shaking her hair out in the breeze.

  Standing there beside him, it was all too easy to fall back into familiar habits, and Cat did not care to make another slip of the tongue that would rouse his suspicions. Regretfully, she tore herself away from the side, and the tour continued, an expurgated version for ladies that avoided the less attractive sections of the vessel.

  However, the captain's cabin was included, and Cat found herself staring at Ransom's wide bed as memories of him there assailed her. She heard the door shut quietly behind them, and her nerves, already jangling, sounded a sharp warning.

  Still, she couldn't help conjuring the image of Ransom sleeping naked amongst the bedding, a blanket slipped carelessly over him. What had unnerved her then made her knees weak now, the thought of that bare chest filling her with a mixture of embarrassment, apprehension, and desperate longing. With an effort, she tore her attention away and turned, only to run into the object of her thoughts, who had moved behind her and was now just inches away.

  "I really must be going," Cat said. "Amelia will be waiting."

  "So soon?" he said, lifting a hand to caress her cheek.

  Not trusting herself to look into his eyes, Cat dropped her gaze to his waistcoat only to recall the feel of it beneath her fingers. She shook her head to clear it and rid herself of his touch.

  But he simply slipped his lean fingers along her throat, sending shivers of pleasure through her. And she knew a sudden urge to touch him in turn, to stroke his neck, to press her lips there. What would it taste like, heated skin and that indefinable scent that was Ransom's own?

  Like a shield, Cat clutched her hat before her, creating a space between them, for she knew giving in to her reckless desires would spell her ruin. Her breath was already coming fast and shaky, and the spacious cabin seemed stuffy and small. Ransom's deft fingers were traveling to where her pulse throbbed, and he bent his head as though to follow them with his mouth.

  With a will born of panic, Cat broke free, stepping back and gasping for air. "Please take me to Amelia now," she whispered, the simple request sounding like a plaintive plea.

  For a long moment, Ransom did not answer, his face impassive and inscrutable. And Cat felt as though she teetered on the edge of the knife he had given her, unable to determine her own future.

  Finally, he nodded and held out his arm. Relief flooding her, Cat took it, not daring to glance back at the great bed and what might have happened there.

  ***

  "Well, did she seem familiar to you?" Ransom asked his first mate.

  "Not a bit," Bert said, shaking his head. "She's a pretty little thing, though, and spirited, too, I'll bet."

  "Yes... spirited," Ransom repeated with frown, dropping his elbows to rest on the rail.

  "She doesn't seem like Devlin's sort," Bert said. When Ransom made no reply, Bert shook his head again, leaving Ransom to stare moodily out over the waves.

  A slight wind ruffled his hair, and he was suddenly struck by the memory of Catherine Amberly removing her hat, her golden hair tousled in the breeze. Had the gesture been an ingenuous one that revealed her sensual nature or a deliberate act calculated to stir his desire?

  Ransom shook his head. It would have been so easy to take what he wanted today in his cabin, for Catherine's reluctance, whether real or feigned, could have been overcome with little effort. Beneath the shiny surface of gentility lurked a passionate woman, and her earlier responses to his caresses had only whetted his appetite.

  Ransom frowne
d. He was not used to struggling against the demands of his body, which were becoming increasingly fierce. He had learned long ago that a wise man ruled with his head, not the rest of him.

  But he was fast reaching the point where he didn't care who Catherine Amberly was, as long as he had her... and soon.

  Chapter Eleven

  Cat had decided to fetch some oranges from the orchard, but before she left, she reminded Isaac that she was not at home to a certain duke. Her seemingly coincidental meetings with the man, together with his visits to the cottage, added up to far too many encounters. Although her heart might yearn for him, she knew better, and her brain, thankfully, was in control... for now.

  Cat hitched the donkey to a small cart, which she loaded with baskets and a ladder, and headed toward the fields, looking forward to a peaceful day without the temptation of her captain's company.

  In the stillness of the grove, the rustling of the donkey's movements was the loudest sound, while the soft drone of the bees was a peaceful hum. Cat looked for fruit that was perfectly ripe, as Amelia had taught her, and after filling the first basket, she plopped down in the tall grass.

  Falling onto her back, she watched the sun play through the leaves overhead. Then she turned on her stomach and eyed the small rise along the tree line, wondering what was beyond and whether to explore. It was probably just Lord Claremont's sugar fields, she thought idly, but her view would be vastly improved if she were up higher... in the tree, for instance.

  With a mischievous grin, Cat sat up and looked around her before getting to her feet. No one was nearby to watch as she swung onto the lowest-hanging tree branch. From there, she stepped lightly onto the next limb until she was able to reach a perch with an amazing view of the orchard and beyond. Who needs ladders when they have climbed among the rigging to touch the clouds?

  As Cat suspected, the rise barely hid the stalks of sugarcane, and her curiosity satisfied, she knew she should get down. But she was comfortable and cool among the foliage, and the oranges smelled tangy and sweet. Plucking a ripe one nudging her shoulder, she lazily surveyed her world only to stifle a shriek of dismay.