Bound By The Heart

by Canham, Marsha

  "You must give me your definition of normal one day," Wade snorted, "for surely nothing on this voyage has come even reasonably close."

  "You have my complete agreement there, Captain," she said coolly. "And since we appear to have reached our final destination, may I inquire as to your intentions with regards to Michael and me?"

  Wade looked at Roarke and cocked his head. "Amongst her other lovely qualities, the Governess seems to think she knows our business better than we do ourselves. She thinks we should send a ransom demand to the boy's father without delay. She has found my company objectionable, the accommodations barbaric, and she demands a speedy end to our association."

  Roarke adjusted his spectacles then dropped his hand to clasp the other behind his back. "Only the two complaints? You must be mellowing."

  "My very thought," Wade nodded. He gathered up all his papers, his books, and tucked them under his arm. "Come along then, Governess, and bring the boy. We'll see what manner of hospitality we can frighten you with on shore."

  "Are we still to be treated like prisoners?"

  "Prisoners?" Wade halted beside her. The dark blue eyes looked deep into hers and held long enough to make her belly melt and slide into her toes. "There are no locks on any doors, madam, if that is what you are asking. Moreover, since you are on an island, I fear you can only run in circles...unless, of course, you have an urge to swim for it again. How far would you say it was to Crab Key, Roarke? Ten miles?"

  "Mmm. More like fifteen. Twenty if the current is against you."

  "She does not seem to care too much about currents," Wade chuckled. "She has a streak of stubbornness in her wide enough to handle any sharks that get in her way as well."

  Summer's chin tipped up, but Wade only laughed and strode out of the cabin. Roarke waited for Summer and Michael to exit ahead of him, then followed them up onto the deck.

  The ship was still under tow, moving smoothly across the middle of an enormous deepwater lagoon formed in the crater of the extinct volcano. The lagoon was easily capable of sheltering a dozen ships, although there were currently only two others at anchor, one of which was a slim, graceful, two-masted schooner half the size of the Chimera. Completely surrounding them were tree-covered slopes leading up to the high, rocky rim of the crater. Summer's earlier guess that Wade's stronghold would be invisible from the sea was reinforced when it took her several moments of hard searching to locate the overlapping curve of rocks that concealed the passage. From what she had seen from the sea, the island would look like nothing more than any one of a hundred rocky, uninhabitable atolls that dotted the West Indies.

  Walking close by Michael's side, they followed Wade and Roarke to the open gangway. With some help from Wade, which put a fresh bloom of color in her cheeks, Summer descended the ladder to one of the waiting longboats and was rowed ashore.

  The beach was not wide, perhaps fifty feet, and pebbly underfoot. It changed to sandier soil as they climbed a knoll and Summer had a chance to glance back as they reached the top. The Chimera had been set upon by a swarm of small jolly boats that ferried members of the crew to shore. Others simply dove over the side and swam.

  "Where do you suppose they all live?" Michael asked in a whisper.

  Summer looked to the left and to the right, but saw no evidence of huts or a village or a settlement of any kind. They carried on up the knoll, passing through a ring of stately palm trees. She spied two huts off to the left and a long wooden structure that looked like a storage shed. The further they walked, the more huts they saw, until finally, they came around a wide curve in the path that was lined on both sides with tall, thick oleander bushes.

  Summer gasped and stopped in the middle of the path.

  Wade glanced back and chuckled. "What did you expect, Governess? A pirate's den? Stone fortifications and a castle keep, perhaps?"

  His accusation was not far wrong. She had not known what to expect, but it surely was not lushly manicured gardens and a wide green lawn fronting a house of such elegance and beauty it would easily have rivalled the finest houses in Bridgetown. It was two stories high and sat nestled on a flat saddle of land mid-way up another slope. The upper storey had a wide balcony wrapping around all sides, its railings and posts glowing a crisp white beneath winding trellises of shocking pink bougainvillea. There were no windows on either level; instead each room had tall double doors fitted with glass and flanked on either side by equally tall shutters. The main building was linked by a covered flagstone breezeway to a second, smaller outbuilding.

  "Captain Wade!"

  The happy shriek cracked the air and brought an instant grin to Morgan Wade's heavily stubbled face. The source of the jubilant shriek was running toward him from the outbuilding, her black face beaming, her flour-covered hands waving, her bare feet scything through the grass.

  "Captain Wade!"

  "Reeny!" He laughed and caught the woman as she hurled herself into his arms. He swung her around twice, setting her to fits of robust laughter as he growled and nuzzled the curve of her neck with his furry chin.

  "Where you been, Captain?" she demanded, pushing breathlessly out of his grasp. "You bad man, you had us all worried plenty."

  Wade set her down and slapped her playfully on the rump. She wore a brightly patterned wrap skirt and nothing else; her large, firm breasts gleamed black under the sunlight.

  "Have you managed to keep these blackguards under control in my absence?"

  She grinned. "Much as I wanted, Captain."

  She was still smiling as her jet black eyes darted past Wade's broad shoulder...not difficult to do as she was only a finger's width shy of his own height. Her laugh became a throaty growl and she took a deep breath, making her breasts jut out like two ripe melons.

  Summer moved instinctively closer to Michael, but the woman was not growling at them. She was looking past them, in fact, as if they were not even standing there blocking the path.

  "Where you been, black man?" she scowled. "And why you always got to be the last man off that ship?"

  Mr. Monday brushed past Summer and Michael, stalking straight toward the snarling woman.

  "Maybe one day I ain't gonna wait," Reeny warned, her eyes narrowing. "Maybe one day I'll just take me the first man I see comin' over that hill. Maybe I got me better t'ings to do than stand around waitin' on some dumb man-ass who doan know he got a good t'ing when he sees it."

  Monday's teeth appeared in a formidable snarl and his head bent forward to take one of Reeny's thrusting brown nipples into his mouth. His arms went around her waist and he lifted her, tearing off the red silk wrapper in the same eager move that brought her naked belly and thighs grinding lewdly against him.

  Morgan Wade reached over and took Summer's elbow, leading her the rest of the way to the big house. She glanced back once, but it was fleeting and brought a fresh rush of color to her cheeks when she saw Mr Monday's naked buttocks pinning Reeny up against the trunk of a tree.

  "I suspect she was happy to see him," Wade remarked casually.

  "Yes, I can see that."

  "You disapprove?"

  "Their behavior is rather...I mean...out in the open here, and all." She bit her lip, feeling her cheeks throb with the heat.

  "I believe in keeping my crew happy. Conversely, I also have my own ways of disciplining them when they get out of hand. You could have saved yourself a swim yesterday if you had come to me first."

  Wade waited for the huge sea-green eyes to lift to his before he released her arm and continued walking. Summer stared at his broad back, at the profile of his face as he exchanged a few words with Roarke then climbed the steps of the wide, vine-shaded veranda. A servant appeared as if by magic, his face beaming, his wooly black head bobbing as he welcomed his master home.

  "Captain, suh. Good to see you home safe."

  "Jonas, you old fox. I hear you've been worrying Reeny while we've been away. When Monday finds out, you'd best find a good hidey-hole."

  The black eyes
bulged enough to threaten the safety of the sockets. Then he saw Wade's grin and seemed to wilt where he stood.

  "Mastuh Wade, Captain, suh, you gots no call to go foolin' with this old man's heart."

  Wade's laughter rumbled from his chest. "It keeps you young, Jonas. Have you my rum poured and my cigar waiting?"

  "Yas, Captain suh. Everythin's ready and waitin' on you and Mastuh Roa'ke in the lib'ary."

  "Bless you, Jonas. As you can see, we will be having two extra guests staying with us. I want you to take them upstairs and see that they have everything they need—hot baths, fresh clothes, whatever."

  "Yes, Captain, suh."

  "That's it then, Governess," said Wade, turning to Summer and Michael. "I trust you can find a way to make use of the day. Mr. Roarke and I have business matters to tend to, but perhaps you will join us for supper this evening? Nine o'clock?"

  He did not wait for an answer. He nodded curtly and disappeared into the cool interior of the house, leaving Summer and Michael to the old servant's care. The reed-thin negro smiled and indicated politely that they should follow him through the main doors and up a wide, central staircase. At the top, they followed a railed, open hallway to two adjoining rooms that had breathtaking views of the lagoon, the beach, and the distant rim of the volcano. The rooms were light and airy, with dazzling white walls and polished wood floors. The furnishings were simple, but crafted from the finest fruitwoods and richest fabrics. The bed was thick and soft and sat on a slightly raised dais, with fine netting hung from a ring in the ceiling that draped down to enclose all four sides. There were separate dressing rooms off each bedroom, as well as tall double doors that opened onto the upper balcony. There were no partitions on the veranda to divide one room from the other, and as Summer walked out from her bedroom, Michael walked out of his and waved.

  Summer's first request was a hot bath and within the half hour, there was a stream of young boys carrying buckets of steaming water up the outside staircase and along the porch. They filled the deep brass tub in Summer's dressing room while Jonas showed her where the soap, towels, and bath salts were kept. He also gave her a thick white robe to wear until he could find her some suitable clothes.

  The bath was heavenly. The tub was enormous—deep enough for the water to reach her chin, long enough to stretch her legs out flat. Jonas had been generous with the perfumed salts, and after washing and rinsing her hair twice, she remained soaking until the skin of her hands and feet became wrinkled and white. Reluctantly she climbed out of the cooling water and wrapped herself in the thirsty bathrobe. After brushing her hair and towelling it dry as best she could, she stretched out on the bed, intending only to ease the ache behind her eyes, and steal a few quiet moments to sort out the thoughts colliding about in her brain.

  When Summer woke, the wooden shutters had been partly closed and a bright orange-and-red sunset was blazing across the sky. The room was deliciously cool, scented by the breeze that set the netting around the bed gently fluttering.

  She pushed herself upright, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. The room seemed to be shifting slightly, an effect caused by having to adjust to solid land again after being at sea, and it took her several moments of sitting still for the faint dizziness to pass. She padded barefoot into the dressing room and made use of the washbasin to splash herself awake, noting that while she had slept, someone had laid out a selection of woman's garments for her to wear. There were two gowns, underpinnings, even shoes.

  Both gowns were made from light, airy fabric, with short cap sleeves, high waists, and low necklines. Summer chose one made of pale green muslin and held it up to her shoulders. She moved in front of the full-length mirror and studied her reflection, turning this way and that to make the hem of the gown swirl gently about her ankles. There was delicate lace trim across the bodice and on the sleeves, with a wide satin ribbon marking the high waist, with a bow at the back and long ends trailing down into the folds of the skirt. The gown was lovely, something that could not be said for the person intended to wear it.

  With a sigh, she set the dress aside and moved closer to the mirror. The huge bruise on her face had faded to a dull grayish-yellow, and the bits of scabbing had been soaked off in the bath, leaving just a fine pink line running down her cheek. Her hair had dried into an interesting pattern while she slept, plastered flat to her head on the one side, stuck out like a giant boll of cotton on the other. There were circles under her eyes and a tightness to her lips that she tried to chase away by making strange stretching expressions with her mouth.

  She made vigorous use of the hairbrush left for her on the dressing table. When her arm was tired from stroking and her hair was finally shiny and smooth, she twisted it into a glossy, golden coil, holding it in place with a set of ivory combs. She teased and licked and wound just the right number of wisps to form a shimmery haze around her face and across her nape. Peeking into the assorted little pots and jars on the table, she found and applied a light dusting of powder onto the bruised cheek, managing to almost balance the color with the other side of her face. She touched a kohl pencil to her eyes giving them more depth and definition. The faintest dab of rouge turned her lips a soft pink.

  Next, she shed the robe and stepped into silky soft pantalets and shimmy, almost weeping with the pleasure of feeling the slippery coolness next to her skin instead of the scratchy, utilitarian shirt and breeches she had worn for the past week. The gown was a perfect fit, the muslin so light it hardly felt like she was wearing anything at all. Indeed, she did not miss the stiffness of a corset or extra layers of petticoats. She had all but forgotten how the fashions in the tropics had been adjusted to cope with the heat and humidity.

  There were no stockings, and the lovely satin slippers were slightly larger than her feet but she was able to lace them up tight enough to have no fear of walking out of them.

  There was no timepiece in the room, no way of knowing what the hour was. Judging by the progress of the sunset, she guessed it to be near enough to nine o'clock to warrant collecting Michael and making their way down the stairs. She gave no thought to locking herself in the room and refusing to join Wade for dinner. After the second time he had saved Michael she had vowed to be no more trouble. Besides which, he hadn't really been all that dreadful or barbaric. He could as easily have left them to drown in the channel, wishing them good riddance as he watched them get torn apart on the reef. A blackguard would have done that. A selfish, unfeeling brute would have done that...and more. The two kisses he had stolen proved as much. Granted, the first had taken her by surprise, for she had been half drowned and witless. But the second...

  Summer touched a fingertip to her lips and drew a deep breath. The second kiss had been shocking as well, but for altogether different reasons that she had not even wanted to think about until this very unguarded moment. The way he had touched her hair...the way his eyes had made her feel as though there were warm hands running down her body...the way his lips had covered, claimed, and ravished hers, stripping her of breath and thought.

  Never, ever had she experienced a kiss like that nor had she ever imagined it possible to feel so hot and so cold, so numb and so flooded with sensation all at the same time. All because of a kiss. From a man who followed no rules but his own. A man who could have taken what he wanted—and she had seen very clearly what he had wanted—yet he had not.

  Part of her had felt overwhelming relief, to be sure. But a nagging little part of her had almost been...insulted. It was foolish and irrational to feel slighted by a blackguard, but rejection was not something that happened to Summer Cambridge. It was she who rejected suitors if they were too short or too stout or had one eye that rolled left and the other right. Not, by any stretch of anyone's wildest imaginings would Morgan Wade be considered a suitor, or his actions measured against those of, say, Lieutenant Bennett Winfield. One was darkness, the other light. One kissed her with raw, undisguised lust...the other...

  Well...it had not been Bennett's
fault that they had been seated in the garden when he first kissed her. He had, of course, been concerned about her reputation should anyone have strolled past and seen them. Because he was a gentleman.

  Morgan Wade was no gentleman. She suspected if he wanted a kiss in the middle of a crowded room, he would take it and meet any frowns of disapproval with one of his bold, husky laughs. For that matter, she could imagine the scandal his appearance alone would cause. The dark-stubbled chin, the unruly waves of black hair, the flaring white shirt and skin-tight black breeches. She knew for a fact he kept daggers sheathed in the folded tops of his tall black boots. Why, the look in his eyes alone would set every woman in a London drawing room swooning.

  Summer stood up from the dressing table and tucked a last stray hair behind her ear. She was determined to keep a cool and level head, to play out the rest of this farce—imagine...her...a governess! What manner of bumpkin would believe that?—for as long as it took to get Michael safely home.

  She walked out onto the balcony and went to Michael's room, but it was empty. He must already have gone downstairs, no doubt renewed in his quest to find out everything he could about the notorious pirate stronghold. Summer retraced her steps to her own double doors, but instead of going through her room to the inner hall, she spied a staircase at the far end of the balcony that led below. Her slippered feet made very little noise on the wooden slats as she descended. The air was cool and clean, fragrant with the sweet scent of exotic flowers and warm earth.

  As soon as she reached the ground floor, she realized she had no idea where she was supposed to go. She guessed that one of the rooms that was blazing with lights would prove to be the dining room and inside she would find Michael and Wade and goodness knew who else. Most of the tall double doors were open wide to the night air and as she strolled past she peeked into each one, identifying an amazingly well-stocked library, a small sitting room, and next to it, the dining room.

  A long wooden table was prepared and waiting, lit by multi-tiered silver candelabras centered on immaculate white linen. There was a good deal of china plate and gold cutlery, cut crystal glasses and tall vases with bright-colored flowers. All, with the exception of the flowers, undoubtedly looted from captured ships, she thought.