Captive Innocence

by Fern Michaels

  The night was shimmering with stars. The Southern Cross was clearly visible, and Sebastian pointed it out to her. Silence fell between them. Royall sighed. If she had to play the game, she would. What an awful waste of time.

  “What are you thinking of, Senora Banner?” His voice was a low-pitched purr.

  “I was just thinking that home in New England, it is late February, and the full force of winter is holding fast. Here, it is eternal summer. It’s hard to imagine a world so big it can have two seasons at the same time. New England always seemed the world to me. Now, here I am in Brazil on a riverboat, sailing up the Amazon to a city I’d not heard of till a few months ago. Traveling with Rosalie is an experience.” That should slow down your game a bit, Sebastian Rivera, she thought nastily.

  “Yes, Rosalie Quince sees the world through the sharp eyes of a child. Every day is an adventure for her, and she shares that adventure with those around her.”

  “I know exactly what you mean. When I first met her, she put me completely at ease. She is truly a great lady.” She wanted to scream, to beat at him with her fists. The last thing she wanted to talk about was Rosalie Quince.

  “In more ways than you know. When Senora Quince came to Brazil years ago with her husband, Alonzo, she braved fever and famine to work at his side in the wild rubber forest. If it weren’t for her strength and perseverance, Alonzo is the first to admit, he would have turned away from Brazil to find his fortune elsewhere. From wilderness and a thatched-roof hut Rosalie Quince carved a civilization out of the jungle. It was she who induced the Catholic missionaries to come to the wilds of the rubber forests to educate the Indians. It was she who founded the first hospital for Negroes and Indians. Manaus looks upon her as the grande dame of its society, and a dinner party during the social season is not a true success unless she makes an appearance.

  “Rosalie Quince has worked hard all her life, and sometimes I think it rankles her to have so much leisure time on her hands. Still, I think if she had the opportunity, she would gladly wrap her head in a cloth and work in the fields alongside her Indians as she once did. She’s a remarkable woman, and I, for one, consider myself fortunate to know her and be recognized by her.”

  “I’m glad you have told me this about Mrs. Quince, Senor Rivera. Rosalie never would have revealed it herself; although I must admit I guessed at what you’ve told me. Only a woman who has known hardship can have the capacity for unselfish understanding. And this I found in Mrs. Quince. I’ve been the beneficiary of her maternal instincts. I’ve felt she privileged me by substituting me for her daughter Suzanne.”

  “You’re correct in considering yourself privileged. Tell me, how did she find Suzanne when she went to America?”

  “Very well, I think, though I know she misses her sorely.”

  A brisk breeze swept across the deck, and the dampness of the night air gave Royall an involuntary shiver.

  Sun-bronzed hands gently tucked Royall’s shawl more closely about her. How strong and capable his hands looked. The faint aroma of his cheroot and some tangy, unnamed scent wafted about her. She shivered, not with cold, but with memories.

  Dark eyes stared down at her. Royall correctly interpreted the look and flushed, grateful for the near darkness. His voice, when he spoke, was mocking. “Come, Rosalie will never forgive me if I allow you to catch a chill.”

  Royall lowered her eyes, feeling a glorious warmth steal over her, warmth from Sebastian’s mocking eyes and tall, muscular body. Without warning, she found herself suddenly in his embrace. He said nothing as he brought his face close to hers, making her light-headed with excitement. Lightly, his lips grazed hers.

  A current of emotions swept over Royall. Her body tingled; her pulses throbbed.

  His lips were hard and demanding. Hungry. She responded, her lips as feverish as Sebastian’s. Suddenly, he released her. Royall felt shaken. Surely he wanted more, just as she did. The brazen thought did nothing for her composure. She stared into dark eyes that held a promise. Was her own gaze also full of promise? Promise of ... of ... she refused to name the emotion that was sweeping all reason, all thoughts aside. She wanted this man. She knew without a doubt that her new life would never be complete unless Sebastian Rivera was entwined in the strands of her very being. He was her destiny. She could almost feel it, taste it filling her.

  Their soft footfalls outside Rosalie Quince’s stateroom made her smile. Then she heard Royall’s stateroom door close and the sound of Sebastian’s boots going back down the companionway to the rhythm of his satisfied whistling. Was a match in the making? If so, she was delighted. If not, as yet, she would give romance a helping hand. A gentle prod, so to speak. Sometimes Sebastian could be so mule-headed, especially when it came to women. Women like Royall Banner didn’t enter a man’s life every day of the week. In fact, rarely did they enter a man’s life. There was something special about Royall, something that set her apart from the other women in Rosalie Quince’s circle of friends. It wasn’t her golden beauty either. What was it? Rosalie hated it when things or thoughts eluded her. Well, whatever it was that made the young woman different would come to her one of these days when she was least expecting it. She would forget the gentle prod and concentrate on a well-deserved kick in the right direction. That was something Sebastian would understand. Rosalie Quince sighed deeply, and much to her own amusement, she found that she missed the lumpy and narrow bunk in which she had slept during her long journey on the Victoria. “Ridiculous,” she chided herself. “How a body could miss that foul excuse for a bed is beyond me.”

  Even as she muttered the words, she wriggled slightly, seeking the familiar hole which she had worked into the cotton mattress that served for bedding on the clipper ship.

  Silently, reverently, Rosalie Quince whispered her evening prayers before closing her eyes. She had lain in bed resting until she heard the footsteps; then, knowing the girl was safe, she felt able to sleep.

  According to habit, she saved her prayers for her last thoughts. While still a young girl, she had developed the knack of sorting her thoughts and mulling them over as one will do before sleep; then, when she felt all that could be done for the day was done, she would whisper her words to God and close her eyes for the night.

  As she began her “God-blesses,” as she had done since she was a child, Suzanne’s name came to her lips. Darling Suzanne, the only child of Rosalie’s marriage. The journey to America, in spite of her cheerful demeanor, had been taxing and tedious. No longer young, Rosalie Quince nevertheless could not bear her daughter to endure childbirth among strangers. Even though the “strangers” were the girl’s in-laws, Rosalie felt the need to protect Suzanne from whatever her new life cast her way and once again, perhaps for the last time, draw her daughter close and help her through the pain.

  It was not easy for Mrs. Quince to admit to herself that perhaps she had seen her beloved daughter for the last time. After all, she was not young, and she could feel the hot, humid jungle drain away her strength more and more, year after year.

  Her arms ached for Suzanne, and she could again see the slim, young girl standing on the wharf, waving good-bye. It remained unspoken between mother and child, the fear of never again holding close one who is loved so dearly.

  A sound from the companionway shook Rosalie from her reverie. Aboard ship, Rosalie Quince had taken an immediate liking to her traveling companion, perhaps to defray the pain of being separated from Suzanne; nevertheless, Royall proved to be a young woman of warmth and charm.

  Rosalie’s maternal instincts, torn so savagely by her separation from Suzanne, were able to find refuge and comfort in the tutelage and protection of Royall Banner.

  Finishing her “God-blesses,” Rosalie impatiently brushed a tear away from the corner of her eye, plumped her feather pillow, and fell back to render her keeping to the angels for the night.

  Royall awakened leisurely. This had been the first night in several weeks that she had not felt herself cramped into a sh
ort, narrow bunk. She stretched her long, slim limbs, luxuriating in the feel of the fresh muslin sheets.

  A feeling crept over her, one of happiness and anticipation. She had fallen asleep with the thoughts of the exciting evening she had spent with Sebastian Rivera and Mrs. Quince, and now she looked forward to another.

  She lithely jumped from under the covers and hastened to make her ablutions as though she could not wait to face the day. Humming softly to herself, she rummaged through her trunks and cases looking for exactly the correct costume for her first day upon the luxurious Amazon steamer.

  Finally, choosing an aquamarine moiré silk morning dress, she sat before the mirror to dress her hair. She freed the thick blond masses from their ribbons and began to brush the snarls and tangles from it.

  It fell almost to her waist, cascading around her white shoulders. Every time she dressed her hair, she reveled in its wealth and sheen. She couldn’t help but remember when she was a young girl of thirteen. She’d suffered from a fever and the doctors had insisted on cutting her hair. “It saps her strength.” She could still hear the dour physician’s voice and her father’s murmured cry of dismay at this radical treatment. For months after that Royall had refused to venture from the house. It was not until her hair grew back to a decent length that she allowed her father to buy her a frivolous bonnet, and she shyly accompanied him for a ride in a hansom through the city park.

  Now, as she dipped her fingers in the pomade and stroked them through her hair, she could bless the doctor who had issued the order. Her hair had grown back in a very short time, and where once it had been fine and silky, now it was heavy and glossy, obedient to the will of her brush. Royall considered it her most valuable feature.

  As she was placing the last of the pins in her coiffure, Mrs. Quince knocked at the door. “Yoohoo, Royall, are you awake?”

  “Yes, Mrs. Quince. I’ve just finished dressing my hair.”

  Rosalie Quince maneuvered the chair into the room, still in her dressing gown. “Dear, would you prefer breakfast here in your stateroom, or would you prefer to eat on deck with the other diners? Perhaps you would enjoy a view of Brazil as you sip your coffee?”

  “I’d like that very much, Mrs. Quince. I didn’t get to see much of it yesterday.”

  “I thought as much. It will only take minutes for me to dress. Perhaps you would come into my stateroom and lace my stays for me?”

  Twenty minutes later Mrs. Quince and Royall were seated at a small table on the upper deck of the riverboat. Royall, in her aquamarine gown, had turned every head as she made her way through to their table. She adored the attention she was receiving and only hoped Sebastian Rivera was close enough to notice.

  The richness of the moiré silk and the vibrant hue of aquamarine set off Royall’s golden skin and turned her blond hair to gold. Conscious of the admiring stares, she followed Mrs. Quince’s wheelchair and seated herself. Every nerve in her body was tightened to alertness. Then she felt, rather than saw, Sebastian Rivera approach them.

  “Good morning, ladies. I trust you rested well?” His tone was light and casual, his eyes sharp and piercing. Royall exalted in their uncompromising approval as he surveyed her. He had noticed.

  “It seems Senora Quince, I am in that unfortunate position in which you found yourself last evening. There is no available table.”

  Rosalie Quince, a smile playing about her thin mouth, lowered her head in a mock curtsy.

  “Please, Sebastian, I entreat you to join us for breakfast.”

  “I warn you, Senora Quince, had you not done so, I would have invited myself,” he chided as he winked at her.

  Remembering Mrs. Quince’s words from the evening before, Royall laughed openly. “It would seem, Mrs. Quince, that Senor Rivera has quite a memory for conversation.”

  Feigning annoyance, Mrs. Quince replied sullenly, “Yes, so it would seem.”

  “Tell me, Senor, how is your memory concerning other matters?” As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she could have died. She must be insane to remind him, to practically give him permission to acknowledge what had occurred between them.

  He met her head on, brows lifting, dark eyes daring, a crooked grin twisting his mouth. “I assure you, Senora, my memory serves me very well.” His gaze flicked over her arrogantly, saying more than his words that he remembered her quite well indeed.

  Sebastian signaled to the waiter to bring a chair to the table. His poise and authority did not escape Royall. Once seated, he directed his full attention to his companions. “Tell me, Senora Banner, has Rosalie fully prepared you for the rigors of plantation life?”

  Before she could answer, Mrs. Quince interrupted. “The rigors of life in Manaus would be more the case, Sebastian, and you know it.” Turning to Royall, she began to explain. “I’m sure, dear, you’ve heard of the decadent society of Paris. Well, let me assure you, Manaus will soon rival that European city for its gluttony and distasteful displays of garish accoutrements. I, for one, much prefer the quiet, serene life on the plantation. I could well do without splendiferous-gowned ladies and men who tipple the most expensive wines. Were it not for the fact that I am sure it is only to flaunt their new-found wealth, I might accept it more gracefully. But this society is so ostentatious that it is actually perverse.” Turning to Sebastian, “And the less said of it the better. Were it not expedient to maintain a townhouse for the sake of Alonzo’s business dealings, I assure you I would not set foot in that devil’s shrine.”

  Sebastian, who had heard this same point of view at other times from Mrs. Quince, smiled and commiserated with her. “I, too, prefer plantation life. And you’re right; the less said, the better. I wouldn’t want to discourage Senora Banner before she has had a chance to decide for herself.”

  “I assure you, Senor Rivera, it would take much more than the evils of Manaus to discourage me in my opinion of Brazil.” She half-turned in her seat to admire the view along the shore. “From what I’ve seen of your country, the only word with which I could describe it would be lush.”

  The waiter arrived and Sebastian ordered quickly. Royall found it hard to concentrate on her plate under Sebastian’s scrutiny. He watched her in open admiration. A table close to theirs was occupied by three gentlemen. Their admiring glances directed toward Royall brought a scowl to Sebastian’s face, and he glowered at them, causing her to experience a delicious tingle. Jealousy? It serves you right, Sebastian Rivera.

  With a last sip of coffee Sebastian grudgingly excused himself, saying, “I have a meeting to attend in the lower lounge, but I would like it if both you ladies joined me for dinner.”

  Mrs. Quince accepted quickly for both of them.

  Royall watched Sebastian’s graceful movements as he took his leave. “Shall we indulge ourselves with another cup of this marvelous coffee, Royall?” she heard Mrs. Quince break into her thoughts.

  “Yes, please, Mrs. Quince, and perhaps another wheat cake.” Anything to occupy her thoughts, anything to drive Sebastian’s image from her mind.

  Chapter Four

  “Another wheat cake? Why, you hardly touched ...” Mrs. Quince broke off in mid-speech. She grinned at the blushing Royall like a cat that has just discovered a mouse in the pantry. “Yes, of course, dear, another wheat cake.”

  Most of the tables were empty by now, and the waiters were clearing away the debris left behind.

  Royall attacked her breakfast and was putting the last crumbs into her mouth when Mrs. Quince said shortly, “He’s a bastard, you know.”

  Mrs. Quince’s proffered statement brought about the desired results; Royall choked on the crumbs.

  “What ... who?”

  “Sebastian, of course.” Mrs. Quince’s penetrating look sought out Royall’s opinions.

  “Why do you tell me this? What concern is it of mine?” She tried to act blase and was determined Mrs. Quince would not get any satisfaction from her scandalous remark.

  All the while Rosalie Quince was peering
into Royall’s gold-flecked eyes to measure her mettle. It was a cruel thing to do, but Sebastian was dear to her, and it would be best to see what stuff Royall was made of before he lost his heart completely to the golden girl. She liked Royall very much, “exceedingly fond,” some of the sophisticates from Manaus would call it, but she liked Sebastian also. If the matter of his bastardy would put the girl off him, it would be best to know it now, not after when real damage could be done to both.

  “I only tell you this because I have eyes, and I wouldn’t want you to hear it from anyone else. To be fair, before you make any judgments, I want you to hear me out.

  “Society in the jungles of Brazil is much different from that to which you are accustomed. Here we are swayed by what a man makes of himself; his beginnings are of little consequence. The natives and the Negro slaves so outnumber us English- and Portuguese-speaking people, it is only a matter of better judgment that we not hastily cast aside a member of our society for something as trifling as dubious parentage.”

  To her knowledge, Royall had never listened to a conversation in which the subject was illegitimacy. She couldn’t bring herself to question. Mrs. Quince answered her unasked inquiry.

  “Oh, yes, dear, Sebastian’s mother was a native, an especially beautiful girl with a sweet disposition. She was devoted to her son until her death. As to his father, that is unknown. I doubt if even Sebastian knows who his father is. Although some say it was Farleigh Mallard, who left Sebastian a failing plantation and a barely adequate income—just enough to send Sebastian across the ocean to England to complete his education. When he returned from England, he took up the reins, so to speak, and worked day and night to make the plantation the thriving holding it is today.”