The Pirate's Daughter - Хелен Диксон - Chapter Four Читать онлайн любовный роман

Chapter Four

C assandra met the pair of black eyes levelled on her, unprepared for the effect on her senses. Captain Marston did not move, and there was a repressed sexuality almost tangible in his stillness. Already the impact of his charm was burrowing through her reserve.

His immaculate outfit in black velvet and white silk shirt emphasised the shining blackness of his thick hair and tanned skin, and in his eyes, which held her gaze, the smouldering dark depths were seductive and enticing. There were tiny lines around his eyes from squinting at the hot, tropical sun, which gave strength to his handsome face. She smiled at him with pure, unbridled happiness, but when she remembered the flirtatious mischief and his bold manner that had hung over their first encounter, a stinging heat crept over her flesh.

‘You are already acquainted with my cousin, Captain Marston,’ John said in a jovial voice. ‘I have not thanked you for saving her from a drenching on her arrival to Barbados.’

‘I did little enough. I was glad to be of service.’ Taking Cassandra’s hand, Stuart bowed casually, raising it and brushing her fingers lightly with his lips, his eyes never leaving hers for a moment, and he found the calm boldness with which she was gazing at him encouraging and far from displeasing. His lips curved, assured in the knowledge that his smile had melted many a woman’s heart. ‘Please say you are happy to see me again?’ he asked softly.

‘I think you already know my answer to that, Captain Marston.’ Cassandra had not meant to sound so forward, but the words seemed to slip from her lips. It took a conscious effort for her to draw her hand away. He was exactly as she remembered, vital and exciting, with a deep, vibrant note to his voice, his eyes as bold and black as any pirate’s. ‘You met my cousin in Bridgetown, I understand. I’m delighted you accepted his invitation to dine with us this evening.’

‘It’s not in my nature to turn down an opportunity to dine with such charming company. I had hoped to have the pleasure of meeting you again, Mistress Everson, before I leave for England—so I was more than happy to accept Sir John’s invitation to dine with you both. I must compliment you,’ he said, his gaze travelling slowly over her body from head to toe with bold appraisal, his eyes lingering overlong on the gentle swell of her breasts. ‘You look exquisite. The Caribbean obviously agrees with you.’

‘Thank you.’ She smiled. ‘I would be content to remain here indefinitely. I like it very much indeed—at least, what I’ve seen of it. The beauty of Barbados, which at first renewed my spirits after the long voyage out here, is growing stronger. I often go into Bridgetown and ride short distances with John, but I long to be able to see more of the island. Occasionally I visit the homes of other planters who live close by with Sir Charles and Lady Julia—but John does not allow me to venture far.’

‘And I should think not,’ John commented sharply, handing them both a goblet of wine. ‘It would not do for you to go wandering about by yourself. With a hundred and one fevers forever rampant in the slave quarters, you’d be sure to go down with something or other.’

‘There you are, you see, Captain Marston,’ Cassandra said laughingly. ‘That is what I am up against.’

‘Nevertheless, there is something in what your cousin says. To my cost I have already lost several members of my crew to one or another of the fevers that prevail in the tropics.’

When his host went to speak to the serving woman Stuart drew closer to Cassandra. His expression changed. It was sombre, his eyes compelling, his voice low and serious. ‘How lovely you look. Never have four months seemed such an eternity. When I left Jamaica, for days the winds were against us. I feared I would never get here. I also feared the heat and the sun were beginning to affect me—that I had been staring at the stars too long, and was half afraid I had imagined our encounter on the beach that day.’

Cassandra favoured him with a dimpled, teasing smile. ‘At least you didn’t suffer a lapse of memory and forget me altogether—although it does not mean I can forgive your forwardness on that occasion.’

The Marston brow quirked in sardonic amusement. ‘I would not expect otherwise. You must allow me to redeem myself in your eyes.

‘Of course. I’m extremely flattered that you came all the way from Bridgetown to see me.’

‘I said I would.’

‘I thought you’d forget, Captain Marston.’

‘Forget someone like you? Never. You made a deep impression on me.’

Cassandra fully understood what he was saying. Her cheeks grew warm.

‘It is not so strange that two people should feel an instant attraction. When I want something, I’m a very persistent man.’ Stuart’s voice sounded like a caress, his eyes, after leisurely lingering on her parted lips, meeting hers. They glowed, telling him that she was warmed from within by his words, and he found himself wanting to draw her to him and kiss the ripeness of her full, soft mouth, to sweep her away and imprint himself on her with a fierceness which was hard to quell.

Fully aware of the effect he was having over her and totally without contrition, Stuart smiled, a smile that softened his features and creased his eyes—and almost reduced Cassandra to near panic. No man had ever affected her like this, and he was right, she was attracted to him, unbelievably so.

‘I would be more than happy to dispense with the formality of you calling me Captain Marston. My name is Stuart. Your cousin tells me you are called Cassandra. I may call you Cassandra?’

It was a command rather than a request. ‘But—we hardly know each other.’

‘That is a matter soon remedied,’ he told her, with absolute confidence that he could.

Cassandra felt a perverse desire to shatter a little of his arrogant self-assurance. ‘I’m afraid that’s impossible. You have to leave for England with the convoy, and I will not leave Barbados until John does.’

His lips quirked in a smile. ‘You may find your cousin has other ideas.’ Before she had time to take him up on this, he asked, ‘Am I the only guest to dine with you this evening?’

‘There will be just the three of us. Sir Charles and Lady Julia are not at home this evening, and Rosa, my companion, is indisposed.’

What Cassandra said was true. Rosa had retired to bed with a headache during the afternoon—in fact, she had looked most unwell. Cassandra was concerned about her, and she was relieved that Julia had promised to send for the physician to take a look at her if she got no better. She looked towards the table where John was pouring more wine into his goblet. ‘Please take a seat,’ she said to their guest. ‘The food is ready.’

Over a meal served by Elmina and consisting of aromatic and delicious dishes of fish and vegetables, they talked of inconsequential things. The candles shone with a sharp brilliance, the flames fluttering and dancing in the gentle draught. The lattice shutters had been pulled open to admit the perfumed smell of the garden, the warmth of the night air, and the occasional breath of a chill wind blowing overland from the sea. Now and then the call of a night bird pierced the air, and the rustle of palm fronds could be heard brushing against the walls of the bungalow.

As the meal progressed and the evening wore on, Cassandra saw all the signs in John’s flushed features, and his voice raised louder than usual, that he had imbibed too much wine, which he was in the habit of doing, whereas Captain Marston looked cool and composed, unaffected by the liquor. Throughout the meal he appeared to drink, but in fact he imbibed far less than John. Unfortunately, the mellow influence of the wine released John’s inhibitions and loosened his tongue.

‘Fond as I am of my dear cousin, Captain Marston,’ he laughed when Cassandra gently and tactfully suggested that he might have drunk enough wine when he was about to replenish his empty goblet, ‘she is a determined and wilful creature and used to having her own way in most things. The sooner she returns to England and acquires herself a husband the better it will be for my peace of mind, I don’t mind telling you—although marriage to her should be approached with a good deal of caution.’

Cassandra gave him an annoying glance while managing to force a laugh. ‘Faith, John, I have precious little to recommend me to any man. Who would have me? You are forever telling me I am lacking in social graces, and I am as poor as a church mouse.’

‘What you lack in wealth, my dear,’ he said, leaning over and patting her hand affectionately, ‘you more than make up for in other ways. You do have other attributes to your credit—apart from the obvious, of course,’ he said, smiling, referring to her beauty.

‘My dear cousin is quite unlike any woman you are ever likely to meet, Captain Marston,’ John continued unabashed, ‘whose whims and fancies must be humoured at all costs.

His host’s fondness for Cassandra was plain to Stuart, and he found himself wondering if what he felt for her was something other than cousinly affection—and if the attraction was mutual. Experiencing a sharp twinge of jealousy that this might be so both surprised and annoyed him.

Glancing towards Captain Marston’s sober countenance, Cassandra detected a hard gleam in his coal-black eyes. ‘I beg you to take no notice of John, Captain Marston. He speaks in jest—and I think has drunk a little too much wine. I do not believe we should be discussing this subject in front of our guest, John. I would not wish to cause him any embarrassment.’

Seated across from Cassandra, Stuart lounged back in his chair, his arm stretched across the back, his hand idly turning the silver wine goblet in his fingers. His expression was thoughtful as he listened with interest to their light-hearted banter. When Cassandra laughed her face lit up and her eyes were like two sparkling sapphires, and her rosy lips stretched over her small white teeth. He was enchanted, and he wondered if she had any idea how beautiful she was. He smiled, a slight, crooked smile.

‘I assure you that I am not in the least embarrassed—and I would like to know more about the young lady he speaks of.’ Her eyes regarded him calmly and steadily. She had such beautiful eyes, he thought as she gave him a mocking smile.

‘And what exactly would you like to know about me, Captain Marston?’

‘Something of a more personal nature, I think,’ John commented, laughing jovially. ‘You see, Captain Marston, Cassandra was considered to be an extremely difficult child by my mother before she died, and later I came to share that opinion—and most sympathised with me as an unfortunate man who had taken over the guardianship of a rebellious, unbiddable girl of an unpredictable disposition—’

‘Nevertheless, I do have some things in my favour,’ Cassandra interrupted crossly, irritated by what she considered to be a harsh and unfair analysis of her character. ‘I am reasonably well read and well educated, and, contrary to John’s opinion that I lack social graces, my manners are perfectly acceptable to society. Come, admit it, John?’

John chuckled. ‘Aye,’ he conceded, ‘I’d say your account is entirely accurate.’ Leaning back in his chair, he stretched his legs out in front of him, replete and satisfied after his meal. ‘So, Captain Marston, your ship is loaded and ready to leave with the convoy.’

Cassandra already knew Captain Marston would have to leave Barbados soon, but nevertheless she was unprepared for the sharp stab of disappointment that pierced her heart. The pleasure of the evening withered. ‘How long will it be before the convoy sails?’

‘Very soon—days—no longer than two weeks at the most,’ Stuart replied, having noticed her dismayed reaction and feeling well pleased by it. ‘We await Captain Tillotson’s and several other vessels’ arrival from Antigua, and then we sail for England.’

Trying to overcome the awful feeling of regret because he was to leave before they’d had the chance to become better acquainted, Cassandra smiled softly. ‘And what exciting and exotic cargo will you be taking back with you to England?’

‘Nothing as exotic as what you might have in mind—just the principle articles of trade such as cotton and sugar and other commodities. Things which are always in great demand by the British market.’

‘There is little wonder the pirates lay in wait to intercept the ships in order to steal their cargoes.’

‘Regrettably that is true. It is a fact that piracy takes place on a massive scale—which is why mercantile ships have become warlike and the reason why they almost always sail in convoy.’

‘And how long will it be before you return to the West Indies, Captain Marston?’

‘This is to be my final voyage. My seafaring days are at an end.’

His reply surprised Cassandra. ‘Oh! Why is that?’

‘I have duties in England that dictate I spend more time at my home in Kent. Because my time has been taken up with the sea for many years, I’m afraid my estate has fallen into a sorry state and is in dire need of attention.’

‘Forgive me if I seem surprised, Captain—it is just that you give me the impression of being a sailor born and bred. Having spent a number of years on board your ship, I suspect you will find it difficult to retire from it.’

Stuart cocked an eyebrow, assessing her. ‘I admit it will not be easy.’

‘Do you not employ a bailiff—or have brothers who can take care of your estate back in England?’

Stuart stiffened. ‘I have a bailiff—but no brothers,’ he replied, his voice sounding strained and his expression becoming closed suddenly, as if she had intruded on to something private. ‘There is only my mother, and she prefers to spend most of her time in London.’

‘I see.’ Cassandra was curious as to what it could be that had brought about this apparent change in him, but she let it rest, not wishing to pry further. ‘And what will you do with your ship? Will you sell it?’

‘The Company is to buy the Sea Hawk. But what of you, Mistress Everson?’ Stuart leaned back in his chair, regarding her with a frown, tactfully directing the conversation away from himself before she felt inclined to ask questions about his family that he preferred not to discuss with anyone. ‘Your cousin tells me you are to leave Barbados, also.’

Cassandra glanced sharply across the table at John, the meaning behind the remark Captain Marston had made earlier becoming clear. ‘He did?’

‘Yes,’ John said quickly, looking flustered all of a sudden, wishing he’d taken the time to tell Cassandra of his intention before Captain Marston’s arrival. ‘I’ve asked Captain Marston if he will be so kind as to accommodate you and Rosa on board his ship for the journey back to England.’

‘You have?’ she gasped, her startled gaze flying from her cousin to Captain Marston, who was calmly watching her reaction to this with an infuriating wicked gleam dancing in his black eyes.

‘Yes. I told you when you arrived that you cannot possibly remain here indefinitely. I would prefer it if you were back at home with Meredith, which is where you belong.’

‘I see,’ Cassandra said stiffly, looking directly at Captain Marston. ‘I trust you have room to accommodate me and my companion?’

‘Yes. Ample. I shall be delighted to have you on board.’ The haste with which Sir John was sending Cassandra back to England was beginning to cast doubt on Stuart’s suspicion that his feelings for his cousin were anything other than that. He smiled inwardly, beginning to feel easier.

‘Thank you. Then it would seem there is little more to be said.’ Cassandra looked away from the dark gaze that was studying her intently, and she had to admit that if she had to return to England then she could think of no other ship she would rather sail on than his.

The conversation was interrupted when Elmina entered to speak to John. Cassandra chose that moment to excuse herself, moving out on to the verandah and welcoming the cool night air after the heat of the room. Oil lamps hanging from a low beam against a curtain of scarlet blossom gave off a flickering light, which drew dancing moths, mesmerised by the flame. She was only aware that Captain Marston had followed her when she heard his light step behind her.

He moved a little away from her to lean casually against the wooden balustrade and looked to where she stood, her profile etched against the star-strewn sky, her face gleaming like alabaster in the white glow of the moon that bathed the garden in an incandescent light. Neither seemed in a hurry to speak, the silence stretching between them broken only by the creatures of the night.

In the dim light Stuart savoured the soft ivory tones of Cassandra’s flesh exposed on her arms and neck. The long gracious lines of her lithe young body were evident beneath her gown. His experiences had taught him to be no admirer of the standards or social graces of English society ladies—although his mother, with her gracious, single-minded devotion and dedication to her family, he did not class as one of them. He despised their indolence, their perpetual preoccupation with matters of fashion, and their endless, meaningless gossip.

But Cassandra Everson was so unlike them. In fact, she was unlike anyone he had ever known—for he could think of no other woman of his acquaintance who would have the courage to sail across an ocean to visit her cousin on a fancy. She was perhaps the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, and he gazed at her as though his eyes could not get their fill of her, as though he were looking on beauty for the first time in his life.

He wanted more than anything to take her hand and raise it to his lips, to kiss it reverently, to treat her like a delicate, precious work of art, to tenderly cherish her, but at the same time he felt the urge, the need, to place his hands on her arms and draw her towards him, to press her to his body where the increasing heat of his manhood stirred.

‘What are you thinking?’ he asked at length.

‘Oh…’ she sighed ‘…of how beautiful the night is—and how soon I shall have to leave. I shall regret that.’

‘Does it upset you having to return to England? Or perhaps you have an aversion to travelling with me on my ship?’

Cassandra turned and looked at him. ‘An aversion? No. Why on earth should I? It’s no fault of yours if my cousin has no desire for me to remain here with him.’

‘I understand that you were brought up by your cousin.’

‘I was brought up by my aunt and uncle—John’s parents. They both died when I was a child. Since that time John has been my lawful guardian.’

‘And were you close to your aunt and uncle?’

A look of desolation entered Cassandra’s eyes as she reluctantly retreated back into her past. ‘No. Quite the opposite, in fact. My uncle was a hard man and paid me scant attention—but my aunt…I hated her,’ she said quietly, her voice quivering with deep emotion. ‘Her dislike of me was intense and she made my life intolerable. During the years of the Civil War our families were divided in their loyalties to King and country, which did not help my case.

‘However, without my parents, there was no one else to take care of me. My cousins John and Meredith were the two people who sustained me. My determination to survive my aunt’s oppression during the early years of my life taught me to be my own person—which has always been my greatest strength. And, as you see, Captain Marston,’ she said with a cynical smile, ‘my spirit remains uncrushed.’

Her simple, toneless voice, giving him without emphasis a brief insight into her past, of how she must have suffered pain and humiliation at the hands of her aunt and uncle, wrung Stuart’s heart with pity, and the look in her eyes told him much more than any words she could have uttered.

‘Your cousin tells me your father was killed at Worcester fighting for the King—and that your mother died when you were born. It cannot have been easy growing up without knowing either of your parents.’

Cassandra’s eyes narrowed warily as she gave him a level stare. So, she thought, that was what John had told him, what he wanted him to think, for, apart from a few gossiping, speculative neighbours in Chelsea, himself and Meredith, Rosa and the crew of the Dolphin, no one knew she was the daughter of the infamous pirate Captain Nathaniel Wylde.

John was deeply ashamed that he bore any connection to such a man and was constantly reminding her that, for her own sake, on no account must she reveal the identity of her father. Her heart twisted with pain, for much as she would like to speak of him, she knew it was in her best interests that the part of her life she had shared so briefly with him must remain locked in her heart for ever.

‘No—no, it wasn’t,’ she replied in answer to Stuart’s question. She smiled suddenly when a soft breeze blew the folds of her skirt. ‘My aunt and uncle were Puritans and fanatically dedicated to God. Their religion dominated every waking moment of our lives. If they knew what I had done—coming to Barbados without telling anyone, to live on a Caribbean island and surrounded by slaves—without doubt my sin would be great indeed and I would be severely chastised.’ She grinned wryly. ‘I think she might have a few choice words to say to John, too, concerning his relationship with Elmina.’

Stuart frowned curiously. ‘Elmina?’

‘The mulatto woman who served us at dinner. She is my cousin’s housekeeper—and I strongly suspect she is also his mistress and the reason why he is so reluctant to return to England. The looks that have passed between them all evening cannot have escaped you. You must have noticed.’ She smiled.

‘I have to confess I did not,’ he murmured softly, his voice suddenly grown deep and husky and his eyes focusing on her lips. Her revelation dispelled his suspicion that she might be in love with her cousin, and he with her. ‘My eyes were more favourably employed.’

Cassandra felt the impact of his gaze and caught her breath, flushing softly, understanding the meaning of his words and flattered by them. ‘John has not admitted their relationship as such. I’m sure he would consider it too delicate a matter to discuss with me.’

‘Nevertheless, you do not appear to be unduly disturbed by the closeness that exists between your cousin and his servant, which I consider strange. Most young ladies of my acquaintance would be scandalised by such a relationship.’

Cassandra’s eyes narrowed and she glanced at him sharply, her cheeks flaming suddenly, for she was stung by the irony and what she considered to be an underlying note of reproof in his voice. For the first time a constraint had come between them. ‘Then the young ladies you speak of must be exceedingly dull company, Captain Marston, who no doubt spend their time talking of tedious matters like the state of their health and the clothes they wear. I am not like that.’

‘It wasn’t a reproach, but I am beginning to realise you are quite uninhibited.’

‘That is a natural characteristic of mine. Perhaps I should not have silenced my cousin when he was giving such a vivid account of my character, for then I think you would know me a little better.’

‘So there is some truth in his description of you,’ Stuart remarked, stifling a grin at the complete absence of contrition on her lovely, upturned face and jutting chin. ‘You are a stubborn and disobedient woman, whose whims must be humoured at all cost.’

Her unabashed gaze locked on his. ‘Yes—all of it. And if I had allowed him to continue you would have learnt that some of my pastimes are considered by our neighbours in Chelsea to be quite shocking.’

‘I would?’

‘Yes. John is forever rescuing me from one escapade or another. I hunt, I fish, I wear breeches like a man and ride about the countryside at home like a gypsy—which drives my cousin Meredith to distraction. I also speak my mind, for since my aunt and uncle died I no longer feel I have to curb my tongue. I do not feel the need to apologise and nor am I ashamed of what I am or what I do, so if this does not meet with your approval, then it is just too bad.’

Stuart cocked a sleek black brow, a merry twinkle of amusement dancing in his eyes. ‘I do believe you are trying to shock me, Cassandra,’ he said calmly. ‘But there is nothing about your character that I do not already know.’

‘You can read my mind?’

‘You might say that. I am beginning to feel heartily sorry for your cousin. You appear to be quite a handful.’ He chuckled. ‘There’s little wonder if he is eager to have you off his hands, for you to wed.’

Cassandra glanced across at him. His face was in shadow, but she could see that he was smiling. His eyes glowed and he looked at her appreciatively as he continued to lounge with careless ease against the balustrade, his arms folded across his chest. He was all lean hard muscle and for a moment she forgot her outburst and wondered what it would be like to love and to be loved by such a man.

He was strong, his manner one of complete assurance—and a cynical humour twinkled in his black eyes. There was also a dangerous, cool recklessness about him and a distinct air of adventure—a trait that so reminded her of her father. They might have been cast in the same mould except that Stuart Marston would despise her father’s chosen, unlawful way of life.

‘Aren’t you shocked by my unseemly behaviour, Captain Marston?’ She met his eyes and saw they were teasing and suddenly he laughed outright, a deep, rich sound, and she relaxed.

‘Not in the least—and I asked you to call me Stuart. It is part of your make-up that attracts me to you, and you know it. And I do not believe I am mistaken when I say the attraction is mutual.’

Cassandra turned her face away from his close scrutiny. There was an unfamiliar look in his eyes that turned her into a woman she no longer recognised. She was weakened by it and did not understand what was happening to her—the result being total confusion.

‘I—I really don’t know what you mean.’

‘Oh, I think you do, so do not be coy with me. Tell me, what is your opinion of me?’

‘This is our second meeting—which is hardly time for me have formed an opinion of you,’ she answered primly.

‘But each has been no ordinary encounter. I think you have formed a very strong opinion of me, and for my part I find you an immense challenge. You intrigue me. So, tell me, how would you feel about agreeing to become my wife?’

Cassandra stared at him in a kind of disorientated, bewildered state. Their gazes held, the silence punctuated by the persistent call of a night bird.

Stuart’s eyes smiled, but his voice was quiet, seductive. ‘I can see I have rendered you speechless.’

She spoke, but her voice was a strangled whisper. ‘Sir—you—you jest.’

‘I would not jest on so serious a matter to me.’

He was smiling, a mocking smile, calmly watching her from beneath his lowered lids, but Cassandra sensed he was alert and that an unfettered power struggled beneath his calm. His tone was perfectly natural, as if he were merely asking her to take a stroll around the garden with him, but its very ordinariness caused a feeling of panic and the mystery of the unknown to flow through her.

Without logic or reason she was drawn to Stuart Marston as to no other and she experienced a moment of terror when she was with him, for the sheer magnitude of her feelings threatened to overwhelm her. She felt weak, vulnerable, suddenly—at his mercy and standing on the threshold of something new. He was essentially worldly, emanating raw power that was an irresistible attraction to any woman. She was stimulated by him, he excited her, and he exuded an element of danger that added to the excitement.

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