“When you married me I thought it was me you wanted.

“Does it really matter who my father was?” Cassandra asked forcefully.

“In this case, yes, it does. Before this, to me you were one person—now you are someone else. I cannot reconcile myself to that just now.”

“I realize how difficult it must be for you and I do not ask for your forgiveness at this present time. But no matter who or what my father was, it does not make me less worthy. My feelings for you remain unchanged. Can you not feel the same? Must you despise me?”

Her obvious distress made Stuart go pale, and he moved as if to go to her, but he checked himself quickly. “Last night I was not aware of your disgraces when you so excited my desire. But since learning who you are I cannot help feeling that I have betrayed my brother’s spirit….”

The Pirate’s Daughter
Helen Dickson

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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HELEN DICKSON

was born and still lives in south Yorkshire with her husband on a busy arable farm where she combines writing with keeping a chaotic farmhouse. An incurable romantic, she writes for pleasure, owing much of her inspiration to the beauty of the surrounding countryside. She enjoys reading and music. History has always captivated her, and she likes travel and visiting ancient buildings.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter One

November 1671

T he time for the hanging of Captain Nathaniel Wylde, the notorious pirate, was set for twelve noon at Execution Dock on a bend on the north bank of the River Thames at Wapping. It was here that the gallows stood on the muddy shoreline near the low tide mark, the usual place for the execution of pirates who infested the seas. Once captured, they came under the jurisdiction of the Lord High Admiral, who was responsible for all crimes committed at sea up to the low-tide mark. Above that, all felons were dealt with by the civil courts.

The gallows was a simple structure of two wooden posts, made to look monstrous and sinister by a hangman’s noose suspended from the wooden cross beam. After the hanging the body would slowly become submerged by three consecutive tides washing over it, before being taken down and fitted into iron hoops and chains and suspended from a gibbet on the lower reaches of the Thames—as a dire warning to seamen who have a mind to fall foul of the law.

Colourful and exciting tales of the exploits of Nathaniel Wylde, the handsome, charismatic pirate, were talked of from the Caribbean to the South China Seas. A huge crowd had gathered on the shore, and some had taken to boats on the river, to witness his hanging, to see for themselves the man who was a living legend, captured by pirates while crossing the Atlantic to the Caribbean to start a new life following the defeat of the Royalists at the Battle of Worcester twenty years ago.

He had survived two brutal years as a galley slave with the Barbary Corsairs in the warm, sparkling waters of the Mediterranean, before escaping and capturing his own ship. With the lure of adventure strong in his veins and mastering the skills of navigation and seamanship surprisingly quickly, he proceeded to sail the oceans unchecked, preying on heavily laden merchant ships, and answerable to no law or code of conduct but the pirates’ own.

Unlike most pirate captains who were notorious for their ruthlessness and unspeakable cruelty, Nathaniel Wylde—unprincipled swashbuckler and undoubtedly a rogue—had acquired the reputation of a ‘Gentleman Pirate’ owing to the charm and courtesy he showed towards his victims, which tended to cloud the serious nature of the crimes perpetrated against them. His crew, although illiterate men, were unusual in the fact that they were not the typical miscreants as on other pirate ships, renowned for their foul language and drunken debauches.

Standing on the edge of the crowd stood Cassandra Everson, the hood of her cloak pulled well over her head—partly to protect her from the steady freezing rain falling out of a leaden sky, but more to shield her from recognition by the man, her father, who would soon become the focal point of the crowd’s attention when he mounted the ladder and prepared to breathe his last.

‘I wished to spare you this,’ murmured the tall, thin man by her side, his hand on the hilt of the dagger he carried at his waist, concealed beneath the folds of his cloak. ‘We should not have come here. I promised Nat to keep you away—not to let you see him die.’

‘I had to come. You, more than anyone, should know that. We will not have to wait much longer. It is almost time.’ She fixed her steady gaze on Drum O’Leary. His features were concealed by his cloak, for with a price on his own head it was imperative that he wasn’t recognised. Drum had taken a great risk in coming to the execution, but when he had arrived at Everson House in Chelsea to break the news of Nat’s capture and impending execution, against his wishes she had insisted on accompanying him.

Drum O’Leary was a fearsome-looking individual, an Irishman, an arch-villain, and to cross him was to court a dagger between the ribs. An old cutlass wound on his cheek pulled his mouth upwards slightly, causing it to be permanently fixed in a lopsided grin, giving him a sinister appearance. Outwardly Drum acted and spoke politely, but beneath that calm façade was a man who would show no mercy when crossed.

He had acquired the name ‘Drum’ while serving in the King’s army as a drummer during the Civil War. He was Nathaniel Wylde’s most faithful and trusted friend, and he had been by his side for twenty years. Forced to leave England after King Charles’s defeat at Worcester, they had both been captured and served as galley slaves together, but Drum had not been on board the Dolphin, Nat’s ship, when she had been captured, owing to the fact that he had been on the Cape Verde Islands off the coast of West Africa visiting his Portuguese wife.

A line of suffering appeared around Cassandra’s mouth and Drum was touched by the grief he saw in her eyes, which were so like Nat’s. Execution Dock was not a place he had brought her to without qualms.

‘Don’t worry, Drum. He will not know I’m here.’

Cassandra was insensible to the bitterly cold November day and the stink of foul odours coming from the river as she strained her ears and eyes, searching the road for the cart that would bring the condemned man to this awful place of execution, until, at last, she heard the hollow rumble of wheels and it came into view.

It had crossed London Bridge from Marshalsea Prison on the south bank where, after Nat had been intercepted off the coast of West Africa by an English privateer, a heavily armed vessel licensed by the Admiralty to attack and seize the Dolphin, he had been confined for the past three months. Having been tried and convicted of piracy at the Old Bailey Sessions Court, and unprepared to confess to his crimes, Nat had been sentenced to hang.

The cart was in a procession led by the Admiralty Marshal on horseback. Cassandra had not laid eyes on her father for nigh on fifteen months, but she recognised him immediately. His familiar mane of silvery blond hair was like blazing sunlight on this dismally cold November day. A heavy growth of beard covered his usually clean-shaven face, and his skin, turned golden brown by many years at sea and hardened to the texture of leather, had paled after his long weeks of incarceration.

Cassandra pulled the hood of her cape further over her face and gripped it together across her mouth and nose so he would not recognise her when the cart came close, for he would not want her to witness his final degradation and humiliation. When she looked on his beloved face, scalding tears burned the backs of her eyes and she almost choked on a lump in her throat which she swallowed down, angered by her own weakness, for it was not in her nature to cry.

When the cart reached the river side he climbed out, followed by the prison chaplain who had accompanied him, hoping the prisoner would see the error of his ways and repent of his sins before the end. He was given the chance to address the crowd but refused. Fixing his eyes on the gallows he strode forward, giving everyone watching the distinct impression that he was as eager to depart this world as he had been to enter it.

There was a swagger to his gait and a carefree dignity, for as he had lived his life so he would meet his death, tall and unbowed, his pale golden hair flowing free like the dancing pennant of his ship, the Dolphin, and as imposing as a tall poplar clothed in shimmering leaves of summer glory. Villain and blackguard he might be, but at his moment of death he exuded an air of panache which could bring a macabre smile to the lips of even the most hardened, sanctimonious spectator.

A cold fury washed over Cassandra as she watched the ghastly scene being played out before her eyes. She was angry and frustrated by her inability to speak to him, to say goodbye. Digging her fingers into the palms of her hands, she heard the words of the chaplain reciting the prayers as he followed her father across the mud. She was insensible to the stirrings of the crowd, which moved like a storm-tossed ocean, as she watched her father climb the ladder and the executioner place the noose around his neck. At that moment she felt as if she were dying herself. Drum stood beside her, as immobile as a figure of stone.

‘Give him courage to show no fear,’ Cassandra whispered, her life and soul concentrated in her eyes as they remained fixed on the condemned man. ‘Let this soon be over.’

Nathaniel Wylde seemed not to hear the chaplain asking him to repent of his sins as his eyes did a broad sweep of the crowd, suddenly becoming fixed and intent on someone standing apart. His expression froze, but then his eyes narrowed and a slow smile curved his lips as he raised his hand in a courtly flourish of a salute.

Curiously Cassandra turned and followed the line of his gaze, wondering what it could be that had caught his attention and caused him to smile at the moment of death. She saw a man who stood alone, away from the crowd, shrouded in a black cloak and wearing a tall crowned hat. She could not make out his features, but she could see he was as dark as her father was fair. She felt a strange, slithering unease. The man had an air of command she had never encountered before, not even in her father. Everything about his manner warned her that he was an adventurer.

As if the man sensed she was staring at him, he twisted his head towards her. The meeting of their eyes was fleeting, and before Cassandra could take stock of his features he turned quickly and walked away with long ground-devouring strides. The man’s self-assurance was infuriating. Feeling the tensing of Drum’s figure beside her, she tore her eyes away from the man’s departing figure and faced the gallows—just in time to see her father swing to his death.

A violent pain shot through her and she turned away. ‘It is done,’ she said through her breath to her companion, whose pain was as great as her own. ‘This is the darkest day of my life. Come. Let us be gone from here. I have seen enough.’

Together they walked away from the river, away from the crowd, and, although her body still functioned automatically Cassandra walked with blind steps, for her father’s death hung all about her.

Drum broke the silence. ‘I must return you to Chelsea.’

‘No.’ The strangling tension in Cassandra’s chest began to dissolve, and she drew a long, full breath.

Drum halted his stride and looked at her sharply, warily, waiting for her to continue, sensing she had something other than the execution on her mind.

‘I don’t want Nat to remain hanging on that rope for the tide to wash over him,’ Cassandra said, her voice quivering with deep, angry emotion, ‘for the crabs to eat at his flesh, and then to be hung in a metal cage at some point in the estuary for the crows to pick at. When the water covers him I would jump into the Thames and cut him loose myself if I could.’

Drum paused and looked at the lovely, spirited, unhappy girl. There was such a fierceness about her that he didn’t doubt her words. ‘There’s nothing you or anyone can do for Nat now.’

‘Yes, there is, Drum,’ she said, turning to look at him, her features swept clean of sorrow and a decisive hard gleam in her eyes. ‘There is one last thing. There is still his ship—the Dolphin.’

‘The Dolphin has been impounded and is moored further up river awaiting her fate.’

‘Then you must be the decider of what her fate will be, Drum. Get her back—and then she is yours. Does that not appeal to you?’ she said forcefully, trying to infuse some of her enthusiasm into the lofty pirate. ‘Imagine it! That is what Nat would have wanted.’

Drum stared at her incredulously. ‘Forget it. It’s not possible.’

‘Not possible?’ Cassandra argued heatedly. ‘Why, Drum, I’m disappointed in you. Since when has anything been impossible for you? Come, now. Do not tell me your spirit of adventure has deserted you,’ she mocked, with a smile to take the sting from her words.

‘Me and my spirit of adventure departed company when I heard Nat had been taken,’ Drum grumbled. ‘Besides, where will we find the men to sail her? Half the crew who were captured along with Nat have already been hanged.’

‘That may be, but there must be scores of out-of-work seamen and dockers living among Wapping and Rotherhithe’s rat-infested streets and alleyways who would be willing to join you—for a price.’

‘Aye, and a high one at that if you want them to assist in stealing Nat’s ship from under the nose of the authorities.’

‘And Nat’s body. Find someone to recover it at high tide when it’s submerged by water. Let the sea be his final resting place—not some gruesome gibbet at Tilbury Point, for all to see and gloat at. Were I a man I would do it myself,’ she said, her eyes blazing with the fighting spirit of a rampaging firebrand, ‘and see to it that all those responsible for bringing Nat to this suffer the same fate.’

Drum regarded her with disdain. ‘You are loyal, but misguided, and very much like Nat.’ Deep in thought, he began to pace to and fro, for it would be no easy task to carry out beneath the eyes of the night watch. Once his mind was made up to do as she suggested, his attitude changed radically. After weeks of lassitude he had something to focus on, a goal, and he would pour all his energy into achieving it. ‘There are some I know hereabouts who remain loyal to Nat.’

There was something in his voice that made Cassandra’s heart beat afresh. ‘So you will do it?’

‘Aye—I’ll do it—but it will be a desperate, dangerous undertaking. Let’s hope that providence favours us and the heavy cloud remains, making it a moonless night.’

‘You’ll succeed. I know you will. Oh, how I envy you. There are times when my life spent at Chelsea stifles me. How I long for the kind of freedom my father enjoyed. It was kind of you to think I should know of his plight, and kinder still to risk coming to tell me.’

At this time Cassandra didn’t know how she would cope with a world without her father in it. She had few friends, and cousin Meredith had been in Kent visiting her paternal grandmother for weeks now. When she was at home, fond though Meredith was of Cassandra, the house and garden and entertaining her brother John’s friends were her passion—and the extent of her interest. A terrifying vista of emptiness lay before Cassandra. On the plus side John was on an island in the Caribbean. She fixed Drum with a steady gaze as a wave of recklessness came upon her, and she said bluntly, ‘Take me with you.’

Drum ceased pacing and looked at her as though she’d taken leave of her senses. Her words set his mouth in a thin line. ‘Out of the question! What you ask is absurd.’ His voice began to rise and he checked it. ‘Women don’t belong on pirate ships,’ he told her firmly, unable to hide his opinions where women and ships were concerned.

Cassandra’s eyes widened with pleading, and she smiled in a way that had never failed to melt Nat’s heart.

‘And don’t look at me like that,’ Drum growled, hardening his heart against the coercion of her smile. Such sentiments spelt his ruin. ‘I’m not like Nat, who you could wind round your finger like a strand of cotton.’

‘Please, Drum. There’s nothing for me here. Time and again I’ve sworn to leave when the opportunity presents itself—and this is it. Following Nat’s last visit—a visit that was witnessed by our neighbours—some people have come to know who I am, and they’re not kind. They call me names, the favourites being that I am a bastard—a pirate’s spawn—and there are worse.’ There was an edge to her voice that hardened her tone. ‘Oh, my Lord! How I hate those people. Until then I hadn’t realised the extent of John and Meredith’s protection.’

Drum checked the words of sympathy that rose to his lips. She had no need of them. There was nothing self-pitying in her, in the anger that flamed on her cheeks and set her eyes on fire. Beneath the serene grace was a soul craving excitement and adventure, a spirit struggling to be set free. Drum shook his head, his brows drawn together, for it boded ill, he was certain.

‘Nat wouldn’t thank me if I put you in danger. Do you think he would have allowed you to leave your Cousin John’s protection?’

‘Domination,’ Cassandra countered coldly. ‘I love John and Meredith dearly, but the kind of life they plan for me—married to some man I would never set my cap at—fills me with dread.’ Secretly she dreamed of marrying a man who was dashing and handsome, bold and with a sense of adventure—a man like Nathaniel Wylde.

Drum squinted at her sideways. ‘And what makes you think life on the high seas is a playground? Although I suppose the tales Nat filled your head with would have you think so.’

Drum was right. Cassandra had fallen beneath the spell her father wove. The stories he had regaled her with had been more potent than the strongest wine. But she was neither deceived nor disillusioned by them and had long since decided that the dashing heroes of Nat’s tales were outlaws, careful to keep well ahead of the law.

‘Nat’s life was fashioned by his own hands,’ Drum continued. ‘We were alike. Our souls fed on the same spirit of adventure and a desire to succeed in all we set out to do. Nat was a man of fire, who thought nothing of life if it held no challenge—and such consideration he felt for his daughter was a twist of character you would not expect in such a hardened rogue. But I knew him too well to interpret it as weakness.

‘Regardless of the risks, he was drawn back to you time and again like a lodestone, and there were times when it almost cost him his life. I loved Nat like a brother, but that doesn’t change the fact that he was a notorious pirate with a well-deserved reputation for villainy.’

The colour slowly drained from Cassandra’s face. Drum saw it and forged ahead, refusing to spare her, determined to get it out in the open and make her see Nat for what he was. Too much sentimentality was unthinkable.

‘You’ve convinced yourself Nat was practically a saint, who could do no wrong. The truth is he was much closer to a devil than a saint, and everyone knows it. You were naïve enough to believe his boast that he would never harm anyone.’

‘He was still my father and I loved him,’ Cassandra remarked defensively.

‘You loved an illusion, an illusion you created out of the tales he spun because you were innocent and idealistic.’

‘I know that,’ she said, fighting to control the wrenching anguish that was strangling her breath in her chest, ‘and blind, gullible and stupid. But I refuse to believe that the man my mother fell in love with was all bad. He was my life, my king, and the sea was his own special realm into which I have always dreamed of being initiated.’

‘Love blinds you. There’s much you don’t know about Nat.’

‘I know, which is why I want to feel what it is like to experience a little of what he did.’

‘And risk capture—even death?’

‘Yes. Please, Drum, take me with you.’ Her eyes implored him to comply. ‘I don’t fear the consequence of my actions. I don’t care if I die tonight or tomorrow or in the weeks to come.’

Drum looked at her, and then away again. ‘That is why I want you to stay here, for the same reason.’

‘Cousin John is in the Caribbean at this time on Company business. Meredith is in Kent visiting her grandmother and isn’t due back for ages yet. I’ll leave her a note explaining where I have gone. She’ll be angry, I know, but I’ll be halfway across the Atlantic by the time she returns to Chelsea.’ She dismissed her cousin without a second thought as she concentrated on the reckless, foolhardy plan forming in her mind, which was beginning to take on a positive shape.

‘You have it all mapped out, don’t you?’

When the good side of Drum’s lips turned down in censure, Cassandra’s resolution to stay calm faltered and she fixed him with a fierce stare. ‘I’m not so chicken-livered that I will faint on finding myself the only woman aboard with a shipload of men,’ she said, voicing her impatience. ‘Besides, if they respect Nat as much as you say they did, as his daughter I’ll be safe enough.’

‘I expect you would.’ Drum raised a brow in mock reproof. ‘I was considering your sensibilities.’

‘Then don’t.’ Drawing a deep breath, she controlled the urge to shake him. ‘I shall go to Barbados—to John, which is where he will be for the next twelve months at least. Oh, Drum—’ she sighed when she saw doubt cloud his eyes ‘—I want to feel the deck of the Dolphin beneath my feet—to feel the pull of the wind in my hair and smell the sea. I want to know how it was when you sailed with Nat. You of all people should be able to understand that.’

‘Aye, you’ll know how it was when you feel the deck heaving beneath your feet. Not many people can stand the motion of a ship’s deck. You’ll be sick right enough.’ Despite his exasperation over her stubbornness, Drum was filled with admiration for her courage, but the rigid, unyielding expression on his scarred face as he looked at her revealed none of this.

Cassandra met his stare, equally resolute. ‘If I am, I’ll get over it. When we reach Barbados the Dolphin is yours to do with as you please.’

Despite his misgivings, Drum gave a twisted grin and a wicked, twinkling gleam shone in his eyes. ‘I would give a thousand pieces of eight to see your cousin’s reaction when you arrive on Barbados unheralded.’

Cassandra sensed he was weakening and seized the advantage. ‘Then you agree to take me?’

He laughed quietly and rubbed his chin, his expression resigned. ‘You have a persuasive tongue—but I don’t like it. I still say a woman has no place at sea. If I do succeed in securing the Dolphin, your presence on board will be a complication. You are an innocent and as such will need vigilant protection. I don’t relish the role of knight-errant being forced on me. God willing we’ll encounter fair weather that will enable me to deliver you to your cousin before too long.’

As they walked on Drum’s eyes were bright with anticipation as he became infused with Cassandra’s enthusiasm. She was Nat’s daughter all right—tall, graceful and lithe, as slender as a wand and as agile as a faun. There was an arresting quality about her face and an inner vivacious light shone from her eyes, showing a passion for life—fire and ice. Her mind was strong, her manner bold and determined—a legacy of Nat’s.

‘There’s one thing we must speak of. Your father amassed great wealth over the years. The authorities have been unable to lay their hands on it. Only myself and the remaining members of the crew know where it is to be located. What is to be done with it?’

‘As to that, I want none of it. It can sink to the bottom of the sea or be given to the authorities. Do what you will with it, Drum. It was obtained illegally and by force. I did not condone Nat’s way of life—and I have to confess that oft was the time I wished it had been different.’

‘His way of life was set from the day he seized the Dolphin.’

‘That I know. Undoubtedly he was a villain—bold and decisive, and he cut a dashing figure—although his daring deeds made him a charming one, and the scale and brilliance of his villainy elevated him to the rank of one of the most notorious pirates that has ever lived.’

‘Aye,’ Drum agreed with a touch of sadness. ‘It did that.’

Tears clouded Cassandra’s eyes, dampening her lashes. ‘He always made me feel ten feet tall, Drum, and I loved him dearly—pirate or not—to my grief and shame. But he never hurt me so I cannot speak ill of him. When I was thirteen years old and my aunt died and he came to see me, the times I spent with him were the happiest of my life.

‘Until then, my life under Aunt Miriam’s dominance had been a complete misery, and she never let me forget the stigma of my birth. There was never a day went by when she didn’t remind me I was her dead sister’s bastard child. Everything I did I did out of a sense of obligation, but, on getting to know Nat, everything I did was to please him, out of love. Now, come,’ she said, walking on with a new spring to her step, the crowd behind them at Execution Dock beginning to disperse. ‘What about these recruits? I must return to Chelsea to get some things and instruct the servants, and in the mean time you have much to do.’

Drum was of a mind to object, to insist on her remaining at Chelsea, and he would undertake the task of finding men who would be willing to take the risk of releasing the Dolphin from her moorings, men who would know how to keep their mouths shut for a price, but he remained silent, knowing the futility of uttering any protestations.

There was only one man who could tell Cassandra Everson what to do—only one man she had wanted to please, who she would ever listen to. But he was hanging from the end of a rope at Execution Dock. It would take an exceptional man—the like of Nathaniel Wylde—to master her, to tame Nat’s illegitimate, wilful daughter. It would have to be a man who loved her, a man who could not be swayed by the false promise of a coercive, dimpled smile.

Captain Sir Stuart Marston strode away from Execution Dock with a profound feeling of relief that it was done. At last he had seen his foremost enemy suffer the punishment he deserved.

On the restoration of Charles II to the throne of England, Nathaniel Wylde had ignored a Royal pardon to surrender himself and continued taking and plundering ships bound for the West Indies. Initially, having no love of Cromwell’s protectorate in England, he had preyed only on Parliamentary ships, but over the years, as his enthusiasm for piracy flourished and his gains became richer, in his greed and lust for more it had come to matter little what flag a ship sailed under if her cargo was worth the taking.

It was almost a year ago that Stuart’s elder brother had been on one of the ships bound for Jamaica to visit his uncle who owned a plantation there, when his vessel had come under attack from pirates. In a heavy mist the heavily laden merchant vessel, having sailed wide of the convoy in which it was travelling, had stood little chance of outrunning or outgunning the two pirate ships—fast single-masted sloops with forty guns between them.

Only a handful of those on board had survived to tell the tale, and Stuart had learned that the captain of the vessel that had led the attack was Nathaniel Wylde, and that after removing the cargo he and his cohorts had left the stricken ship and nearly all those on board to sink to the bottom of the sea. News of this sinking had shocked the Admiralty and public alike in England. Driven by a need to avenge his brother, Stuart had approached the Admiralty and been granted his wish.

He was issued with a privateering mission allowing him to seek out Captain Nathaniel Wylde with his ship, the Sea Hawk, to arrest and bring him back to London to stand trial for his crimes—an unusual concession, for such licence was usually issued to a Royal Naval vessel, but the ships of the Royal Navy were needed in the long-running fight with the Dutch.

After drawing Captain Wylde out of his lair in the Gulf of Mexico, Stuart had hounded him across the Atlantic to the coast of West Africa, which had fewer hiding places than the islands of the Caribbean.

Wylde had put up a fierce fight, but eventually Stuart and the seamen under his command had managed to capture the Dolphin, her captain and half her crew. Along with his ship, Nathaniel Wylde had been brought to England in chains and hanged.

In possession of a feeling of deep satisfaction that he had avenged himself on Captain Wylde for the death of his brother, Stuart proceeded towards the Pool of London where the Sea Hawk, chartered to a private English mercantile company, was moored.

He had only one more mission to the West Indies to carry out for the Company before he was to retire from the sea and settle down to a life of ease at Charnwood in Kent, home to his family for generations, where he would satisfy his mother’s desire that he find himself a wife and provide her with grandchildren and an heir.

Absently his thoughts turned to the tall, slender young woman he had observed from a distance watching the execution of Nathaniel Wylde. There had been an intense look of concentration in her eyes, which had turned to open curiosity when they had met his. Each had briefly assessed the other with an unwavering stare, and the woman’s steady gaze had taken on an iron nerve. It was the measure of a woman confident of her own worth.

Her eyes had been the only feature exposed, but he recalled the long strand of pale gold hair escaping the confines of her hood. It had drawn his gaze like a moth to a flame, for it was the only bright feature to lighten the dreariness of the day until Nathaniel Wylde had appeared, and his own mane of hair had shone to equal that of the woman’s.

It was then the truth burst on him—that the young woman he had seen could in all probability have been Wylde’s daughter. At first his brain refused to accept it and he smiled at his foolish, fanciful thoughts, for not by any stretch of the imagination could he visualise a man’s daughter coming to watch her father hang. However, recollecting tales told by mariners that Nathaniel Wylde had a daughter of spirit and great beauty, and that she lived with relatives somewhere in London, perhaps he was not mistaken in his suspicion after all—and with Wylde’s blood in her, she would feel neither distress nor out of place at a hanging.

The more he thought about it—having observed her as Wylde had mounted the gallows, he had seen her knuckles showing white from the force with which she had gripped the hood of her cloak across her face, and recollected how both she and her companion had gone to great lengths to keep their features concealed as they remained hovering on the edge of the crowd—the more possible, the more probable it became that the woman he had seen was indeed the pirate’s daughter.

He could have turned back and denounced her companion, who was undoubtedly one of Wylde’s associates, but for some reason unknown to him he hired a hackney to take him to his ship, eager to put the unpleasant episode behind him and slake his thirst and eat his dinner in the warm comfort of his cabin, reluctant to condemn another man to the same gruesome fate as Nathaniel Wylde.

But the following morning he had grave misgivings and was compelled to examine his failure to turn back and denounce the man when the bosun informed him that, unobserved, the Dolphin had slipped quietly from her moorings in the dark of the night and was last seen heading down river towards the sea—a woman, with pale blonde hair flowing down the length of her back and dressed in breeches, her feet planted firmly apart, standing in the prow of the ship.

When the tide had receded it was also revealed that Nathaniel Wylde’s body had been cut free of the hangman’s noose at Execution Dock.

Chapter Two

A fter encountering severe storms off the mainland of South America, which severely damaged the Dolphin’s hull and forced her to put in at the first landfall, which happened to be the island of Trinidad, it was with sadness and reluctance that Cassandra, eager to reach Barbados and her cousin Sir John Everson, parted company with the Dolphin.

The burial they had given her father at sea had been a particularly poignant moment for her. She had watched through a mist of tears as the corpse of the man who had been tied to her by blood had slipped beneath the grey waters. ‘Goodbye, Father,’ she had whispered, and in the soulful wind blowing over the sea came the tempting strains of an answering farewell, strains that filled her heart, a sound heard by her alone.

And now Cassandra was glad to be moving on, to put the tragic memories of those terrible last days in London behind her. She acquired a passage on a large English merchant vessel, the Spirit of Enterprise, bound for Barbados and Antigua. During the same storms that had battered the Dolphin, the merchantman, which had been travelling in an organised convoy, since lone vessels were in danger of being attacked and plundered by pirates, had been blown severely off course, and the ship’s commander, Captain Tillotson, had put in at Trinidad to take on fresh water.

Uneasy at Cassandra being the only woman on board the Dolphin, Drum had insisted that his daughter, eighteen-year-old Rosa, accompany her. She was a quiet, comely girl, with dark features like her Portuguese mother. Drum had taken her on board when they had made a lengthy stop at Praia, his home in the Cape Verde Islands.

In desperate need of provisions, and to carry out urgent repairs to the badly leaking Dolphin, Drum was to go on to one of the neighbouring islands—an island that was a favourite haunt for pirates. Contrary to his misgivings when he had taken Cassandra on board, the sailors had taken to her like seals to the ocean, and the entire crew would mourn her departure.

Drum bore a deep and abiding love for his daughter; when the moment came to say farewell, he stood still for a moment while Rosa rested her head against him, then he patted her and said gruffly, ‘Be a good girl, Rosa, and do as Cassandra tells you.’ Promising dutifully that she would, lifting her arms she put them round her father’s neck and kissed his scarred cheek. He held her tightly for a moment and then stepped back and turned to Cassandra.

‘Try not to worry about Rosa, Drum,’ Cassandra said, aware of his concern and touched at how much feeling this hard-bitten pirate possessed for his daughter. ‘Captain Tillotson is to give us his protection until we reach my cousin. I promise to take good care of her, and ensure her safe passage back to Cape Verde. Where will you go, when the Dolphin is repaired?’

‘Who knows?’ he said with a roguish, Irish grin. ‘The ship will sail, winged by her oars, and go wherever the wind will take us.’

If Captain Tillotson thought it strange for an English woman to be travelling with just one female companion so far from home, he was too much of a gentleman to show it. However, the occupants of the Dolphin stirred his curiosity and he suspected they were sea rovers, but the captain, though fearsome to look at with his scarred face, seemed a reasonable enough individual and was clearly concerned that the young lady and her companion be delivered safely to her cousin on Barbados.

It was with the dawn on a morning in April, almost five months after leaving England, that Cassandra glimpsed the coral island of Barbados, its encircling reefs giving her a degree of security and immunity. It was a large island, hanging like a teardrop one hundred miles east of the Caribbean chain. Well situated in terms of the north-easterly trade winds and ocean currents that enabled the island to receive shipping from Europe, it rose on the horizon wreathed in a golden mist, like a mirage, bewitching, peaceful and powerfully hypnotic, and, the closer they sailed, the air blowing from inland was heavy with a thousand scents.

The ship anchored in the commodious bay at Bridgetown. The glittering waters were dotted with all manner of craft, from fishing ketches and lighters to huge merchantmen that docked at Barbados frequently. Barbados was successful in its manufacture of sugar, and Bridgetown, bustling to an ageless quick tempo, was the island’s trading centre.

The noise and colour assailed Cassandra’s senses, and the hot Caribbean sun gilded the town and warehouses that lined the waterfront in a silver glow. Everywhere disorder reigned. A never-ceasing army of bare-chested black slaves worked laboriously, driving wagons and manning the oars of the lighters—sturdy vessels utilised to transport cargo to and from the ships anchored in the bay. They were built to carry twenty to thirty tons—and in many cases passengers and cargo would be lucky to escape a drenching.

The figures on the beach were a blur in the trembling heat haze as Cassandra was rowed in a precariously laden lighter from the ship. With no room in the boat for another person or piece of baggage, Rosa had been left with no alternative but to take the boat behind. When they were halfway to the shore, the boat carrying Cassandra began to list precariously to one side as it was tossed about on the choppy water, causing the baggage to shift. Everyone in the boat realised it was about to capsize.

Overseeing the unloading of his ship, the Sea Hawk, Stuart Marston stood on the shore, momentarily distracted from watching his cargo of much-wanted metals and broadcloth being taken to the warehouses, when his attention was caught by a female occupant in one of the boats advancing towards the shore. A wide-brimmed hat with a sweeping white plume sat on top of her silvery blonde hair, and she was lavishly attired in garments that would have graced the Court of King Charles in England, yet which looked incongruously out of place on this tropical island.

Her beauty was apparent and he could not tear his eyes away from her. She seemed to exist in a shimmering pool of silver light radiating all about her. His dark gaze swept over her features appreciatively, for like all hot-blooded men he was easily moved by the beauty of a woman. Observing that the boat she was in was about to cast her into the sea, immediately he strode into the surf and began wading through the shallow water towards it.

Taken completely by surprise as two tanned hands reached out and hauled her from the boat just as it keeled over, spilling occupants and baggage into the water and causing a general turmoil, Cassandra gasped and began struggling against the person who had taken such liberty, but it was like trying to prise herself out of a steel trap.

‘Be still,’ commanded the masculine voice of her captor, his hard arms tightening about her waist and beneath her knees, ‘or you’ll have us both in the water.’

Startled by the harsh, deep resonance of his tone, Cassandra did as he ordered, torn between amusement and a certain amount of consternation, but, on seeing her captor’s handsome features and encountering an amused dark stare, she relaxed and, reaching up, placed her arms about his neck.

Smiling up at him, she let her eyes dwell on the tiny beads of perspiration, which glistened like delicate pearl drops on his brown flesh. Nothing had prepared her for the thrill of excitement that travelled deliciously throughout her body at finding herself pressed against the broad chest of such a powerfully attractive man.

‘I realise that you must have feared for my safety when you saw the boat list, and I am grateful to you for coming so swiftly to my rescue, sir,’ she murmured, feeling the hardness of his body and the tightening of his sinewy arms supporting her, and conscious of the faint scent of sandalwood, which he favoured. ‘It was extremely gallant of you. However, I can swim and the sea in this part is not nearly deep enough for a person to drown.’

‘Then I am glad I was ignorant of that fact since it would have denied me the pleasure of carrying you to the beach. Unless, of course, you would like me to put you down into the water—which I do not recommend,’ he said, the quirk in his lips deepening into an amused, one-sided grin, and his eyes sparkling with devilment, ‘for it is not unknown for sharks to swim in the shallows in the hope of obtaining a tasty meal.’

‘Then it would appear I have no option but to remain where I am. I have no mind to be eaten by the sharks, so I am perfectly happy for you to carry me all the way to the shore,’ Cassandra replied softly, falling under the influence of the stranger’s slow and easy smile.

She was content to let her eyes linger on the deep cleft in his chin, which emphasised the strength of his jaw. His mouth was wide, his lips firm, and she conceived that it denoted humour as well as hardness. The only imperfection was a small scar, which curved down one cheek, yet even that could not mar his handsome face. His eyes were impressive, fierce and black, their smouldering depths seductive and enticing, and totally alive.

Cassandra judged him to be in his late twenties or early thirties. There was a certain arrogance and aggressive quality to his features, and he was self-assured and attractive enough to turn any woman’s head. His hair was thick and unruly and shining black, and a heavy wave fell with careless unrestraint over his brow. His skin shone with a bronzed, smooth, healthy glow and he looked magnificently virile and masculine.

Feeling himself undergoing her close scrutiny Stuart looked down at her. Their eyes met, his bolder and more penetrating than any man’s who had looked at her before. They openly and unabashedly displayed his approval as his gaze ranged over her face. The slow grin that followed and the gleam in his dark eyes brought a stinging heat creeping over Cassandra’s skin and her heart turned over beneath the warmth, the power of it. Realising she was staring at him with a brazenness that was immodest, she lowered her eyes. Her sudden discomfiture broadened his smile, displaying two even rows of white teeth.

‘Do I unsettle you?’ he enquired quietly.

‘No. Not in the least.’ That was not quite true, for he did unsettle her. Having no experience of men like this, she was not at all sure how to handle the incident.

‘If so, I beg your pardon. You are an extremely beautiful young woman—indeed, it would be ungracious of me to say otherwise—and I fear I have been on board ship too long. My manners appear to have deserted me,’ Stuart confessed, looking down into her eyes raised to his, bright and vivid blue—periwinkle blue, the bluest eyes he had ever seen, the pupils as black as jet. From that moment he was intrigued.

Held in his arms, she was as light as swan’s-down and he could feel every slender curve of her body, hinting at hidden delights. The fresh delicate scent of jasmine rose from her skin that was burned golden brown, which intrigued him more, since all the young ladies of his acquaintance deemed it shocking to expose one’s flesh to the sun.

But Stuart suspected this was no ordinary young woman. He sensed in her an adventuresome spirit, which had no room for convention or etiquette. There was nothing demure about her, as was the case with the young ladies who flitted in and out of his mother’s circle back in England, whose eyes would be ingeniously cast down, even among those they knew, which was proper. This young lady showed none of the restraint instilled into young girls of good family. She stared directly into his eyes. Her own glowed with an inner light and hinted of the woman hidden beneath the soft innocence of her face.

Around the slender column of her throat she wore a diamond-studded velvet band that matched her oyster silk gown. Despite the searing heat of the day and the heavy clothes she wore, she looked cool and completely at ease, not in the least embarrassed or discomfited at being carried in the arms of a half-dressed sea captain in full view of sailors and townspeople, or concerned by the capsizing of the boat, which its occupants were trying frantically to correct.

‘So—you are English,’ he said at length, his curiosity matching his growing ardour.

‘Does that surprise you?’

‘Considering we are on the other side of the Atlantic in the West Indies, then I have to say it does, Mistress…?’

‘Everson.’

‘I am most pleased to meet you, Mistress Everson.’

‘I am here to visit my cousin, Sir John Everson.’

‘Is he a planter on the island?’

‘No. He is a director and shareholder of a mercantile company based in London—the Wyndham Company. Perhaps you know of it.’

‘There are few in the trade who don’t. Its commercial success has attracted understandable envy and admiration from its rivals. The Company has expressed an interest in expanding eastwards—to the Spice Islands and India, I believe.’

‘Maybe so. I couldn’t say. John doesn’t often discuss Company business with me. For myself, I had a mind to pay him a visit—to see something of the West Indies and widen my horizons. Should I find Barbados as pleasant as it’s been portrayed, then I shall be in no hurry to leave,’ Cassandra told him lightly, as if she were speaking of nothing more interesting than visiting the county next to the one in which she lived in England, instead of an island on the other side of the Atlantic Ocean.

‘And you live in London?’

‘More or less. I live in the village of Chelsea.’

‘Then being from Chelsea, you’ll find this climate and its people very different.’

Bathed in a tropical heat, Cassandra gazed along the shimmering line of sand. It was a vibrant and colourful scene, an unfamiliar one, with people who were strangers, not only white but black, too. These black people were slaves, of a different culture, who spoke an unintelligible language, brought over from Africa to work the labour-intensive sugar plantations.

Slavery might have economic advantages but it involved cruelty. It was a system that restricted the human rights of individuals owned by the white planters. John had explained that without slaves the plantations could not exist, which was the sad reality of the island’s success. It was a system Cassandra found abhorrent, and she was glad the Wyndham Company’s operations did not extend to the triangular route.

The triangular route began in Europe with ships loaded with trade goods bound for Africa. These goods were bartered or sold for slaves. The second leg of the journey—known as the Middle Passage—was across the Atlantic to the Caribbean, where the slaves were offloaded and sold at auctions or privately. Laden with tropical produce, the ships then returned to Europe on the third leg of their journey.

Cassandra knew that in the weeks ahead she would see slavery in all its ugliness, but today, beneath a blue sky and the white-capped sea pulsating with the forces of wind and gravity all around her, the island seemed to hold a special allure. Already she could feel herself falling under its spell. She breathed in the air of the future in the making, the strange, unfamiliar scents borne on the breeze that blew from inland, which in her ignorance of a place she had only a rudimentary awareness of she could not put a name to, but which, altogether, became the essence of the Caribbean. It was exciting and made her feel vibrantly alive and set her blood racing.

‘Oh, I think I shall come to like it very well,’ she finally replied quietly. She eased against the stranger as he continued to wade through the shallows, intensely aware of the immediate effect of her movement as she heard him catch his breath and felt his arm tighten about her waist. How was it possible that the warmth of that corded arm burned through her dress and into her flesh? She looked at his face, just inches from her own, and the bold gleam in his eyes almost halted her breath. ‘And you, sir? What is your business on Barbados?’

‘My ship, the Sea Hawk, is chartered by a mercantile company back in London—the Wheatley and Roe Company—not as successful as the Wyndham Company, I grant you, but it does well enough. I am Captain Stuart Marston, and glad to be of service.’

They had reached the shore but he continued to hold her, seeming reluctant to put her down—and it shocked Cassandra to find she was thoroughly enjoying the experience and the sensation of having him hold her so close.

She smiled up at him through her long, thick lashes. ‘We have reached the shore, Captain Marston. I think it’s quite safe to put me down now. Do you know my cousin?’ she asked as he set her down on the sand, experiencing a feeling of regret when he relinquished his hold on her.

‘No, I can’t say that I do. I did not arrive myself until yesterday.’

‘But you are no stranger to the West Indies?’ she asked, smoothing her skirts and quite unconcerned that they had been doused in seawater, for they would be dry in no time in this heat.

‘I have made frequent trips over the years—both to the Indies and America.’

‘And accumulated exciting tales to tell, I don’t doubt,’ Cassandra teased. ‘What a pity I don’t have the time to stay and listen to them. I do so enjoy tales of adventure and valour and daring-do.’

A lazy grin swept across Stuart’s tanned face, and he smiled deep into her eyes. ‘Would you make of me a braggart, Mistress Everson?’

She inclined her head in response to his disarming smile. ‘I would not be so bold, Captain Marston. Tell me, as someone who is familiar with the island, what do you think of Barbados? Can you recommend it? My cousin says you have to experience it for yourself, to take in the powerful flavours of the island, and form your own opinion. Would you agree with him?’

‘Your cousin is right. It is true that the Caribbean Islands are quite splendid—unique, in fact—and you must be prepared for a strange new experience. Their mystique has attracted travellers from all over the world.’ He glanced at the Spirit of Enterprise out in the bay, squinting his eyes in the sun’s glare. ‘I see you sailed on the Spirit of Enterprise, commanded by my good friend Samuel Tillotson. I’m glad he made it after being blown off course, when he might have fallen into the hands of buccaneers that infest these waters. Unfortunately these lawless, uncontrollable desperadoes are capable of attacking and stripping some of the greatest ships when they’re without the protection of the convoy, and think nothing of slaughtering everyone on board.’

His words were spoken with some deep-felt emotion, and there was an underlying bitterness that was not lost on Cassandra. Her conscience smote her and she averted her eyes, her thoughts locked upon her own involvement with such men. ‘Yes. We must be thankful he made it.’

‘And are you travelling alone?’

‘No,’ she replied, moving a little away from him, finding that being in such close proximity was curiously disturbing. He was uncommonly tall, a little over six foot, she thought. He wore a loose-fitting coarse linen shirt, which flapped open to expose a broad expanse of bronzed chest covered with a dusting of black hair. A thick leather belt with a silver buckle circled his waist, and beneath his black breeches, rolled up above his knees, his calves bulged and the sand stuck to his wet feet. She had seen men on board the Dolphin similarly dressed, but none had affected her in quite the same way that he did. ‘I—I have a companion with me.’

‘A lady?’ he asked, cocking a quizzical dark eyebrow.

‘But of course,’ she laughed. ‘I could not possibly travel halfway across the world on a ship with no companion other than seamen, now could I? It would be unbecoming for me to travel unattended.’ Suppressing a smile, she wondered what his reaction would be if she were to tell him she was no stranger to life on board a ship with only hard-bitten pirates for company. No doubt he would be horrified and want nothing more to do with her.

‘And your cousin—he is expecting you?’

Cassandra’s eye’s clouded and her expression became serious, for she was apprehensive of what John’s reaction would be on seeing her. ‘On the contrary. In search of adventure and to carve myself a mark in the world, when I left England I cast aside the security of home and family, knowing I faced the censure of my cousin John, who is also my guardian. I dare say he will be horrified to see me and his anger will be ferocious indeed, especially since I have no defence for my actions.’

‘And you don’t expect to escape retribution.’ Stuart’s eyes scanned her face, the twitch of his mouth revealing his amusement, while at the same time the thought did cross his mind that the young lady might be in love with her cousin.

‘Unfortunately no. I fear the consequence of my actions. John will be unable to refrain from showing his displeasure—and no doubt I will be thoroughly admonished for my unsuitable, impetuous behaviour. But once he is over the worst of his anger and has calmed down, I know he will be pleased to see me.’

A breeze rippled through the plume in the brim of Cassandra’s hat and she turned her face better to feel its coolness on her cheeks, offering some relief from the heat and humidity, finding as she did so that her eyes were drawn to Captain Marston’s irresistibly. His steadfast gaze held hers so she could not look away. She saw his face was not lacking in interest for he was beginning to realise he had met a real phenomenon.

‘So, your stay on Barbados is indefinite, Mistress Everson?’

The smile returned to her lips. ‘It is my wish to remain for as long as possible—but then, regrettable though it will be when the time comes, I must return to England with my cousin. How long that will be I can’t say until I’ve seen him. And you, Captain Marston? How long are you to remain on Barbados?’

‘When my ship has been relieved of its cargo I have to go on to Jamaica. I have relatives there I wish to see, and I have to collect a fresh cargo—mainly sugar. I expect to be gone several weeks, but I shall return to Barbados in time to join the convoy back to England.’

They turned to watch the boat that had capsized being hauled on to the beach, and the one carrying Rosa and the young midshipman Captain Tillotson had ordered to escort her followed close behind.

Stuart looked at Cassandra. His black eyes narrowed as he studied her with unnerving intensity. ‘I am reluctant to see you go, Mistress Everson. Perhaps you will allow me to escort you to your cousin?’

Cassandra averted her eyes. Being flesh and blood, she could not remain unmoved by the attentions of such a devastatingly handsome man. The feelings he roused in her were unsettling and outside her experience. ‘Thank you—you are most kind, but—Captain Tillotson has instructed one of his midshipmen to take me directly to him,’ she explained hesitantly, watching the young man of whom she spoke assisting Rosa from the boat.

‘And you know where he is to be located?’

He moved closer to her, a towering masculine presence who filled her sights. Close to, his ruggedness seemed more pronounced, and the broad expanse of his chest and arms reminded her rather forcefully of how his powerful body had felt pressed against her. Unexpectedly Cassandra found herself the victim of an absurd attack of shyness, and she suddenly felt extremely uncomfortable with the dark way he was regarding her, his gaze narrowed and assessing.

‘Y-yes,’ she stammered. ‘He—he is staying at the Courtly plantation, which is the home of Sir Charles Courtly in the parish of St George. Sir Charles is John’s long-time friend, who also has large investments in the Wyndham Company.’

Stuart nodded. Her confusion showed on her face. She was very young, her face that of a guileless child, and his own became warm and gentle, and yet at the same time ardent. He drank in her presence, quelling the insane impulse to bend his head and slowly, endlessly, kiss the smile from her soft inviting lips, to carry her along the shore away from prying eyes and make love to her.

She had no conception of her own beauty or the impact it had on men. No woman had ever affected him so deeply on first meeting. He must see her again, and the knowledge that he would exhilarated him. She fired his blood. He wanted her completely and irrevocably—with a need that defied all reason.

‘Then at least allow me to arrange some transport to take you out there.’

Cassandra accepted gracefully. There was a vigorous purposefulness in his long quick strides as he headed for the waterfront, and an air of carefully restrained power, of forcefulness, emanating from him. She stood rooted to the sand, while all of Meredith’s dark warnings about being acquainted with men such as Captain Marston rushed through her mind.

He spoke with a silver tongue, and his words, like his bold stare, set her blood aflame. He had told her he would be reluctant to see her go, and she was surprised how reluctant she would be to leave him. She told herself she was being foolish, that she was overreacting to what was nothing more than empty flattery, that it could not matter to her. Despite what he thought and said, she could not link her future with that of a reckless sea captain. In no time at all he returned.

‘It’s all arranged. A carriage is waiting to take you out to the Courtly plantation. It’s hardly a vehicle fit for a lady, but it will get you there.’

‘Thank you. You have been most helpful.’

‘I hope we will meet again before I have to return to England. Perhaps when I return from Jamaica. Everything about you intrigues me in a way that makes me want to get to know you better.’

Suspicious of his flattery, Cassandra laughed nervously, though a traitorous part of her responded to the low caress of his voice. She had to get away from him—to escape the intoxicating madness he was plunging her into. She needed all her willpower to dispel the assault on her defences. This man was too assured, too handsome, too irresistibly exciting by far.

‘And I think you are an outrageous flatterer, and capable of luring helpless females into a game at which you are obviously a master, Captain Marston. Yes, I can well believe that you are capable of charming a snake out of its basket. How many female hearts have you stolen with such honeyed sentiments?’

His look was swift and predatory, and a roguish gleam brightened his eyes. ‘Some—although I see nothing helpless about you. However, most women would think such thoughts but never utter them.’

Cassandra saw laughter lurking in the depths of his dark eyes. He was mocking her. Annoyance stirred and her eyes flashed. ‘I am not most women, Captain Marston.’

He raised an eyebrow with an amused admiration. He hadn’t missed the flare of temper in her eyes. ‘I couldn’t agree more. You are unaware of the potency of your charms that makes you different, Mistress Everson, and I meant no insult.’

Cassandra smothered a smile at the man’s outrageous audacity. ‘None taken.’

‘And you will allow me to call on you when I return?’

‘Yes, of course. I shall look forward to it,’ she murmured.

‘Thank you. Duty may take me away from you now, but not for long. I will not lose you. If you are not here when I return, then I will find you in London.’ His voice was low, urgent and persuasive, and he was studying her from beneath his strongly marked eyebrows, watching her face as he bowed his dark head politely, his expression appraising as she turned and began to move away and followed the young midshipman and her companion off the beach.

Stuart’s eyes continued to watch her. Her step was one of confidence, as if she sensed hidden dangers ahead but determined nevertheless to enjoy them. She moved gracefully, with an added fluency that drew the eye to the elegance of her straight back and the proud tilt of her head. In those first dazzling moments when he had scooped her out of the capsizing boat, neither had been prepared for the impact of their meeting, for the attraction had been mutual and instantaneous. The unexpectedness of it astounded Stuart, and Cassandra would have been surprised if she had known the depth of his feelings as she walked away from him. Suddenly, this, his final trip on the Sea Hawk, had begun to take on a certain appeal.

Young, original and fresh, Mistress Everson possessed an indescribable magnetism in abundance, with that unique quality of innocence and sexuality rarely come by. She was a woman, hardly more than a child, with a combination of youthful beauty and an untouched air of shy modesty, and yet she had about her a primitive earthiness that sat strangely at odds with her well-bred gentility. When she smiled a small dimple appeared in her cheek, and her rosy parted lips revealed perfect, small white teeth. Stuart was enchanted. He thought he had never seen anything quite so appealing or irresistibly captivating as Mistress Everson. Women like her were as scarce and as hard to come by as a rare jewel and must be treated as such, and he was determined that she would not escape him.

He knew practically nothing about her, but the violence and depth of his attraction, and his instinct, told him he had met the woman with whom he wished to spend the rest of his life. He had always avoided any sentimental attachment, yet here, against his will—for he had not thought to look for a wife until he returned to England—he found his head filled with thoughts of Mistress Everson, and he became determined that as soon as he returned from Jamaica he would embark on the most exhilarating and exciting chase of his life.

As he was about to turn away he stopped in his tracks and looked at her again, checked, suddenly, by a memory when he saw a thick strand of her silvery gold hair, having come loose from the pins securing it beneath her hat, become caught by the breeze. It toyed with it and raised it high, and it rippled and danced behind her as she walked like a ship’s pennon borne on the wind. His brow became creased in a puzzled frown when the memory stirred once more. He tried to think what it was and to remember of whom it was Mistress Everson reminded him. He got no further, for at that moment he was distracted when one of his crew drew his attention, and he was forced to turn his mind to other things.

Cassandra knew Captain Marston was watching her as she walked away through the vibrant, colourful profusion of people thronging the beach. She was tempted to turn her head and look back, but for some strange reason that was beyond her she kept her eyes focused ahead.

How could it be that after a few minutes away from him she was already craving his company once more? When he had looked into her eyes she had felt the intensity of his regard, and had known that he was passionately aware of her. Their meeting had left her tingling with pleasure, for she had never met a man so fascinating, stimulating and exciting. That he was a man of power and accustomed to obedience from others was clear.

She very much hoped they would meet again—or did she? She sighed, totally confused. What was wrong with her? Had she lost control of her reason? Was the island getting to her already? Was it the heat or some temporary madness? No one had ever made her feel this way. Could it possibly be that she was falling in love with a man she had met just once?

Chapter Three

T he Courtly plantation lay some four miles inland in the parish of St George, a broad lowland area separating the higher central uplands from the southern region. Since the settlement of Barbados by English colonists in 1627, the island had developed with astonishing rapidity, as forest clearance had proceeded apace, and the production of sugar, and its by-products, rum and molasses, had become the island’s principal economy. Barbados was politically stable, with the institution of slavery dominating every aspect of life on the island.

Protected from the sun’s hot rays by a parasol she had acquired in Trinidad, seated beside Rosa in the swaying carriage, Cassandra had a good view of the sun-drenched island. At the back of her was the jewel-bright sea, and before her stretched an undulating landscape of small settlements, modest hills and a patchwork of flat, tidy sugar fields, with the sight of expansive sugar plantations and poorly maintained settlers’ cabins dotting the verdant landscape.

Winding footpaths cut through brush and forest, thick with tropical foliage. The size and shapes of the trees, many of them towering fringed cabbage palms, were awesome. Leaving the road, they travelled down a wide track. Ahead of them were the outbuildings and the main house of a sprawling plantation. The three-storey stone and timber house, sturdy and handsome, which had been built on a rise above the cane fields to catch the cooling breezes and to look over the estate, was a stately English manor house in a tropical setting.

The plantation consisted of boiling houses and distilleries and other factory houses necessary for the manufacture of sugar, along with the squalid rows of palm-thatched slave huts, which were at the rear of the big house. They were partly hidden from sight by a barrier of trees and far enough away so any unpleasant odours did not offend the refined noses of the gentry who inhabited or visited Courtly Hall.

John had told her a little of Sir Charles Courtly, whose father, backed by merchant capital in England, had arrived on Barbados in the 1640s. Growing sugar had been his carriage to wealth and he had amassed a fortune, which, on his demise, had passed to his son. The family had become one of several that had come to dominate the island’s economy and politics. When he wasn’t in England—where he displayed an ostentatious lifestyle—Sir Charles Courtly hosted some of the most elaborate social gatherings on the island.

The carriage travelled up a long, narrow avenue lined with fringed palms. As they neared the house Cassandra’s reaction to the heat, the smell, the noise and the people she saw going about their work was almost physical. She breathed deeply with pleasure, for nothing had prepared her for this, but when the carriage stopped at the door of the house her heart throbbed. Knowing the painful interview with her cousin was close, a tension began to build inside her.

The door was opened by a servant, a man resplendent in pale blue silk, and when he saw Cassandra and Rosa, a wide, incredulous smile of welcome split his black face. The man, whose name was Henry, was so polite and his smile so infectious, that the two women were put at ease immediately.

When Cassandra introduced herself and Rosa and told him who it was she wished to see, he bade them enter. Cassandra paused to enquire of the young midshipman about paying the driver of the carriage, only to be told that the fee had been settled by the gentleman who had hired it. Cassandra’s heart warmed with gratitude for Captain Marston. If she should meet the handsome sea captain again—which she sincerely hoped would be the case—she would thank him for his kindness.

After unloading the carriage and placing the baggage in the drive, the midshipman climbed back on to the seat beside the driver and headed back to Bridgetown. At the same time as the visitors entered the house, a petite, elegant lady with a vivacious air, in middle age, breezed into the hall. The faint scent of roses surrounded her, floating from her lilac silk gown. It was the fragrance that always reminded Cassandra of Meredith, the scent of home, comfort and love. A host of memories stirred in her heart, and her conscience pricked her, sharp in its sting, for she sincerely hoped Meredith had forgiven her for disappearing like she had.

‘I am Julia Courtly,’ the lady murmured, introducing herself immediately and greeting Cassandra with unfeigned pleasure, a delighted smile dawning on her face, much of her youthful beauty still very much in evidence.

Cassandra felt a pair of brown eyes scrutinising her curiously. ‘I am Cassandra Everson, Lady Courtly, and this is Rosa, my companion. I must offer my deep apologies that we should impose ourselves on you uninvited, but I am here to see my cousin, Sir John Everson. I believe he is staying here at Courtly Hall.’

Lady Courtly looked most surprised. ‘He certainly is, my dear, but John never said you were coming.’

Cassandra had the grace to look contrite. ‘He—he doesn’t know. I thought I would surprise him.’

‘And he will be. I can’t tell you how pleased I am to welcome you to Courtly Hall,’ Lady Courtly said effusively. ‘We will not trouble ourselves as to why you have come to Barbados or how, but will see that your visit is an enjoyable one.’

‘John—is here?’ Cassandra enquired tentatively.

‘Yes, I do believe so, but not here in the house. He prefers to stay in a bungalow in the grounds.’ Her eyes went past Cassandra to Rosa, who looked as if she were about to wilt. ‘Mercy! You must think me atrociously lacking in manners. Please forgive me. You will be tired and in dire need of refreshment after your journey. Come into the drawing room.’ She ushered them inside, turning to Henry and instructing him to have refreshments sent in.

The interior of the room was cool and elegant, with exquisite silk hangings, pictures and gilt mirrors, carpets and furniture shipped over from England and France years before, a tribute to the family’s good taste.

‘You must be made comfortable at once,’ Lady Courtly said. ‘I shall see that rooms are prepared while you take some refreshment.’

Cassandra smiled her gratitude. She hadn’t expected to be greeted so warmly. ‘I thank you for your kind thought,’ she said in a low voice, ‘but Rosa and I really don’t wish to be any trouble. It was an exceedingly irresponsible action on my part to come here without a proper invitation. We will be perfectly content to stay with John.’

‘What! In that poky bungalow where there isn’t room for a body to turn round? Absolutely not. I’ll not hear of it. You are John’s cousin and there is no better place for you to stay than under this roof. Besides, with my son and his wife away in England at present, the house is much too quiet.’ Impulsively Lady Courtly put out her hand and laid it on Cassandra’s, her smile warm and entrancing. ‘I shall so enjoy having you stay and introducing you to our friends, and you can tell me all about what is happening in England.’

‘Thank you, Lady Courtly. I will speak to John.’

‘Of course you will, and I know he will agree that it is best you stay here. Oh, and my name is Julia, by the way. Lady Courtly sounds pompous and so formal, I always think. The three of you will dine here later—and then you can meet my husband.’

After partaking of much-needed refreshment, Cassandra and Rosa were directed to John’s bungalow some distance from the house by a shy young houseboy. The small building was almost hidden by the surrounding trees and sweet-scented flowering shrubs, and all manner of hanging and climbing creepers, with blossoms as dark as crimson or white as snow. The air was heavy with their perfume and the droning of bees.

Thanking the boy, who scuttled away, Cassandra stepped on to the verandah, welcoming the cool tranquillity of the shade it offered. Two bamboo rocking chairs stood side by side, and a hammock hung from a nearby tree. Gingerly she stepped through the open door, unprepared for the exotic strangeness of the bungalow, of its smell of lemons and musk. The polished wooden floor was strewn with gaily-coloured woven mats, and curtains fluttered in the gentlest of breezes at the open windows. Brocade upholstered divans scattered with corded and tasselled cushions stood against the walls.

Emerging from an adjoining room, hastily fastening his breeches, John’s appearance was dishevelled, his eyes languid. Cassandra laughed with delight on seeing her cousin, of whom she was extremely fond. Her delight was shortlived. The effect her arrival had on the man who was twelve years her senior was one of incredulity and absolute horror. Despite the heat and John’s natural high colour, his rapidly whitening wide-eyed face was enough to unsettle Cassandra’s composure.

Smiling apprehensively, she moved towards him, hoping for an embrace, but John did not laugh, and nor did the coffee-skinned, scantily clad young woman who had come to stand behind him, who was staring at Cassandra in wondrous awe.

John’s righteous display of anger fairly shook his body, for the mere fact that Cassandra had arrived unheralded on Barbados at all was bad enough, but that she should come upon him while he was savouring the welcoming and undemanding delights of his native mistress in the middle of the day was embarrassing to say the least.

‘Cassandra! Confound it!’ he exploded. ‘What in damnation are you doing here?’

‘Please, John, don’t be angry with me. Let me explain—’

‘Explain? Explain what?’ he shouted as the young woman behind him slipped back into the bedroom, her bare feet a whisper on the floorboards. ‘Nothing you have to say can justify your appearance. How dare you come all this way without my knowledge or approval? It simply will not do. Your astounding conduct is reckless and foolhardy to say the least. You always were too stubborn and headstrong for your own good, but I thought you’d more sense than to do something like this. What if I had returned to England—or been carried off by one of the infernal diseases that are forever rampant in the tropics?’

‘Then I would have no choice but to return to England myself. Oh, come now, John,’ she pleaded. ‘Tell me you are pleased to see me.’

John was unappeased by her apparent calm; in fact, it only increased his anger. He moved closer, glaring at her. ‘Have you taken leave of your senses? Have you gone mad? How can you expect me to be pleased to see you when you arrive unheralded and unattended? What in God’s name possessed you?’

Ignoring his anger, Cassandra risked a little smile, hoping that with a little gentle coercing she would succeed in placating him. After all, it had always worked in the past.

‘I am not unattended, John. As you see,’ she said sweetly, indicating her young companion who was hovering fearfully in the doorway, afraid to enter further inside the room lest he vent his anger on her also, ‘I have Rosa as my companion.’

John’s eyes merely flicked to Rosa’s stiff figure before it returned to savage his cousin. He continued to glare at her, the taut set of his face warning her of the control he was holding over his temper. He kept his voice steady when he next spoke, but its tone, like his expression, was like steel. ‘Then tell me, what has brought you to Barbados?’ Suddenly his eyes filled with alarm as a thought occurred to him, and he took a step closer. ‘Is it Meredith?’ he asked, thinking something terrible might have befallen his beloved sister. ‘Has something happened to my sister?’

Cassandra was quick to reassure him. ‘No—no, of course not. Do not worry yourself. When I left London Meredith was away visiting your grandmother. The last I saw of her she was quite well. My—reason for coming here was because—well—I had a desire to see something of the Caribbean for myself. That is all.’

‘Do you mean to tell me you have travelled all this way on a whim?’ John demanded, astounded.

‘No, not a whim. Oh, I know my arrival must come as something of a surprise to you—’

‘Surprise is putting it mildly,’ he ground out.

‘I know—but I promise not to make a nuisance of myself. In fact, I promise you will hardly be aware of my presence.’

‘That I very much doubt.’ Placing a fist to his temple, John turned away, slowly becoming resigned to the fact that he had no alternative but to let her remain for the present. Turning his back on her, he strode to the window. Of medium height and reasonably attractive—although his features were too thin to be described as handsome, his dark brown hair lightly sprinkled with grey—he stood for a moment in silent contemplation before turning to face her once more.

Her deep blue eyes bright with expectancy and warmth, she presented a perfect, delightful vision of womanhood in the centre of the room, but beneath the slim, rounded beauty she was as spirited as a young colt. She possessed a certain wilfulness—a disquietingly headstrong quality, which called for firm handling. John was a strong-minded, experienced man of the world, but he hadn’t known how to hold his young cousin in check, and with cynicism he wondered if there was a man who could. No man would better her or bridle her free spirit.

‘You are not the kind of woman it is easy to ignore. I long ago ceased to be amazed by anything you do, Cassandra—and you always did have the ability to adapt to your surroundings. However, it appears that the fact that you have incurred my deep displeasure weighs little with you. Is it your wish to embarrass me by coming here?’

Cassandra composed her features gravely and shook her head dutifully. ‘No, John. That was not my intention. I was miserable and lonely. Meredith wasn’t there and wouldn’t be back for weeks. I—I came because I wanted to get away from England for a while. I—I had to, you see,’ she murmured hesitantly, quietly.

Cassandra did not know that her expression had changed, that reverie had brought a sadness to her face which John quickly interpreted. His eyes turned cold. ‘Could your leaving, by any chance, possibly have anything to do with Nathaniel Wylde?’ He was unable to hide his scorn. His dislike of the man, the outlaw who had sired Cassandra, ran deep.

Cassandra looked at him steadily, engulfed by a deep despondency, for thoughts of her father and the cruel manner of his death awoke turbulent emotions inside her. ‘Nat is dead, John.’

Totally unprepared for this pronouncement, John stared at her in astonishment. ‘Dead?’

‘Yes. He was captured and hanged at Execution Dock on the day I left London.’

Quickly and without emotion she related the events of her father’s last weeks, of which John was totally unaware. He listened to her in silence, a mixture of feelings passing over his face. Only when she had fallen silent did he speak.

‘Then I cannot say that I am surprised. He got what he deserved.’ When he saw the pain his words caused Cassandra, he placed his arm tenderly about her shoulders and drew her down beside him on to one of the divans.

‘I apologise if that offends you, Cassandra, but I never made any secret of what my feelings were regarding Nathaniel Wylde. When my own father died, followed so quickly by my mother, and he reappeared in your life, I was unable to refuse to allow him to see you. But I did so most unwillingly. I know that after living under the strict rule of my mother’s household, being with your father was like breaking out of prison.

‘But you let your love for him cloud your mind to the true nature of his character. After being denied access to you while you were an infant—and to appease his selfish desire to have you with him—he filled your head with things no properly raised young girl should listen to. He was a villain whose world was inhabited exclusively pirates—ruthless criminals, Cassandra, who deserved to hang for the crimes they perpetrated on others.’

His voice was quiet and sombre. Cassandra’s eyes narrowed and her lips compressed. She was hurt but not offended by John’s attack on Nat because, after all, he was only repeating what he had said many times in the past.

‘Yes, I know it is over, John, and for what it’s worth I have accepted it. But I was deeply affected and revolted by the manner of his death.’ Not wishing to incur his wrath further, she omitted to tell him that she had been present when Drum had sliced through the ropes securing the Dolphin to her moorings and had Nat’s body cut down from the gallows, but she was unable to keep from him the manner of her journey to Barbados. His anger reignited and his face suffused with angry colour.

‘By God, you came to the islands on a pirate ship? Arch-villain he might be, but I gave O’Leary more sense than to take you with him. He will pay for this. If I ever get my hands on him… And Captain Tillotson? Was he aware who O’Leary was—that he was a murdering scoundrel who should have hanged with his master?’

‘No, I don’t think so,’ Cassandra answered, her eyes going to Rosa perched stiffly on a chair across the room. The young woman’s cheeks flamed and her eyes had narrowed and gleamed with anger on hearing John’s scathing attack on her father. Thank goodness she didn’t say anything. She must have a word with Rosa when they were alone. Perhaps it would be best if John didn’t know she was Drum’s daughter. ‘Please, John, let the matter rest. Does it matter?’

‘Of course it matters. While men such as O’Leary are at liberty to roam the seas at will, no ship, cargo or man are safe. All colonists who rely on the merchantmen to carry their produce live in fear that they will be attacked. It’s hardly surprising that they regard such men as common murderers and robbers and hold them in the deepest contempt. It is imperative that while you remain on the island no one must discover your identity and your involvement with O’Leary. How else can you stay here without becoming the subject of a scandal? I won’t have it, Cassandra. Do you hear?’

‘I’m sorry, John. I don’t want you to suffer on my account.’ Usually Cassandra knew better than to argue with him when he used that tone, but now she looked at him mutinously. ‘I’m not going home, John. I want to stay here with you. You will let me?’

‘You leave me with no choice. You and your companion can stay for the present—here in this house,’ he conceded, rising quickly. ‘I am often away for days at a time, in Bridgetown or meeting with plantation owners—on Company business, you understand.’

He looked towards the young mulatto woman who had emerged from the bedroom. Swathed in a heavy lime-green silk dress with a contrasting border worked in gold, she stood quietly watching them at the far side of the room, and Cassandra noticed how her cousin’s gaze softened when they rested on her.

‘Elmina will remain to take care of you. She—she is my servant—prepares my food—my clothes, you know, that sort of thing,’ he explained, coughing nervously and averting his gaze, becoming awkward and embarrassed suddenly, and seeming unable to look at Cassandra, who had risen from the divan and was watching him closely. ‘As you see the bungalow is small—though comfortable. You will find Elmina helpful. She will minister to all your needs and her English is very good, so that will not be a problem.’

‘There is no need for you to put yourself about on our account. Lady Courtly has kindly offered to let Rosa and me stay at the house. She is having rooms made ready as we speak.’

John’s relief was evident. ‘I see. That’s very gracious of Julia—and, yes, I suppose that would be for the best.’

Cassandra allowed her gaze to dwell on the mulatto woman. She had fine dark eyes and an abundance of lustrous short black hair. Her coffee-coloured skin was without a blemish, and her full ripe lips and slightly flattened nose showed her Negroid ancestry. She had a slumberous, languid grace, and possessed the requisite warm softness and the firm-fleshed litheness of youth, which was capable of awaking all too easily the carnality of the opposite sex. Having already guessed at the relationship that existed between her cousin and Elmina, Cassandra was surprised but unaffected by it. She smiled inwardly, for she could well see why John was so taken with her, and why he favoured the privacy of the bungalow to the house.

She knew interracial liaisons were not uncommon on the islands, giving rise to a mulatto population and creating a new class of coloureds. However, it would be indelicate for her to discuss the situation with her cousin for, after all, if he chose to keep a native woman in his house as his mistress then it was entirely his own affair. She felt no resentment towards the woman, but it raised a complication she had not bargained for.

‘But make no mistake, Cassandra,’ John went on, ‘you cannot remain on the island indefinitely. You will return to England as soon as I can secure you a place on the first available ship.’

Swamped with disappointment, for she had hoped to remain on Barbados for as long as her cousin, Cassandra stared at him, her face crestfallen. ‘But why can I not remain here until it’s time for you to return?’

‘No,’ he answered firmly. ‘I want you away from Barbados before the rainy season. Often the devastation wrought by the high winds and rain defies exaggeration. For the island’s planters they can spell disaster.’

‘But that is too soon,’ she objected, her thoughts turning to the handsome Captain Marston, for she had hoped to still be on Barbados when he returned from Jamaica. ‘Do—please let me stay longer, John,’ she begged sweetly. ‘I shall be no trouble to you—I promise.’

John sighed, shaking his head in defeat. ‘As to that, Cassandra, I doubt it very much. We’ll see how things turn out—but I will stress that your behaviour will determine the length of your stay. Is that understood?’

‘Oh—yes, very well,’ she replied, appeased by his concession.

‘Good. As for myself,’ he said, his gaze dwelling softly on Elmina’s appealingly beautiful face, ‘I do not intend returning to England until much later.’

There were parties and stylish gatherings of local gentry given by Sir Charles and Lady Julia Courtly while Cassandra was a guest in their house. John lost no time in pointing out that it was necessary for her to replace her pitiful, pathetic belongings before he could introduce her to his friends. He would not have her appearing like a drab and was determined that she would look her best. It made him proud to know she was admired—and maybe attract the eye of one of the island’s rich planters.

Julia whisked her off to Bridgetown, where they purchased materials of every shade and light fabrics to be made into gowns by Julia’s sempstress and her chattering helpers. Cassandra stood for hours on end as they fitted and pinned and snipped and stitched, until each gown moulded her slender form to perfection.

Barbados was a strange and exciting place to be—glamorous too, in its own way, and Cassandra enjoyed it with the reckless pleasure of a pardoned convict. The island was inhabited by merchants and many wealthy planters, who had made good and clearly tried to live like kings, setting their eyes on building palaces in the tropics, filling them with fine furniture and silver and lavish banquets served to their guests.

The people the Courtlys and John introduced her to on the whole belonged to the island’s aristocracy. They all had money and the women wore fashionable gowns and showed no signs of the hard work done by others in their fine houses. The men she met were eager to be introduced to her, paying her the most extravagant compliments as though they hadn’t seen a pretty woman before.

These men all had the same hard, alert look Sir Charles Courtly wore, like men who have much on their minds. Charles Courtly was a man of average height, with sandy-coloured hair and a rakish moustache, and his figure was as slender as a man’s half his age. He was a member of the parish vestry—one of sixteen of the elected property owners of St George empowered to collect parish taxes and rents.

He had an intimidating air of command, derived from years of managing his plantation and administering to island affairs. The charm he exerted was effortless, but Cassandra began to realise, as the days passed and she got to know him better, that he ruled his plantation as much from general fear of the retribution he could wield upon his slaves as from respect.

As the days drifted by in an untroubled haze, Cassandra dare not let her thoughts dwell too deeply on her father since they awoke turbulent emotions within her, and yet she felt that fate was not unjust, for she would be content to remain on Barbados for now, to bask in its warmth, its enchantment—and to gather fresh enthusiasm and strength to face what it had in store for her when she returned to England.

As the weeks went by and September came to Barbados, when the parching drought of summer was frequently followed by the heavy rains and wind, John often allowed her to accompany him to Bridgetown, and on his evenings at home he brought guests to dine at the bungalow—men attached to the Wyndham and other mercantile companies attending to business in the Caribbean islands.

Tonight he informed her there was to be only one guest. She watched the visitor enter and remove his wide-brimmed hat with its dancing white plume and hand it to Elmina. Those languid movements were all at once familiar. When he raised his head, she encountered an amused dark stare. Her initial surprise was quickly followed by a wild beating of her heart. A soft flush sprang to her cheeks as her eyes softened with recognition. Then they blazed with a fierce light.

John’s guest moved closer, his tall, broad-shouldered figure seeming to fill the room. As on the beach all those weeks before, his nearness was disturbing, and on meeting the dark irresistible gaze of Captain Marston, Cassandra felt that maybe she would not have to wait until she returned to England to find out what fate had in store for her after all.

Rarely had the lovely Mistress Everson been out of Stuart’s mind since he had plucked her from the capsizing boat. Throughout the weeks he had spent on Jamaica she had never left his thoughts, and he had been sorely tempted to cut his visit short and return to Barbados. Thinking of her forced him to recognise and reflect on all the things he had missed in his life and the things that would be lacking in it for all time if he didn’t give up the sea, which strengthened his decision to do just that.

On returning to Barbados and meeting her cousin Sir John Everson in Bridgetown, he had lost no time in enquiring after his charming cousin and was absolutely delighted to find she was still on the island—and he had truly thought his luck was in when Sir John asked if he would accommodate that same young lady and her companion on his vessel when it returned to England.

Sir John’s invitation to dine with them at his house and return to his ship the following morning was too tempting an offer for him to resist. Had it been anyone else he would have declined the invitation, for after a busy day overseeing the loading of more of the cargo, he could think of nothing better than going straight to bed. But his fierce desire to meet the delightful Mistress Everson again—curious to see if she really was as lovely as he remembered—was too attractive an invitation to turn down.

She stood against the light, unconscious of the spectacle she offered, magnificent and ravishing in her shimmering saffron gown, her hair, a mixture of silver and gold, hanging loose down the length of her spine and gleaming like polished silk. Her face was serene and radiant—the face of an angel. She was even lovelier than he remembered, an enchanting temptress, her beauty full blown. And he wanted her.

He sensed that it would require time and courtship to lure her into his arms. However, time was something he did not have, and having given up trying to understand the reasons for the step he was about to take, he had made up his mind not to leave Barbados without making her his wife.

Facing weeks ahead on board ship, of seeing her day after day and not being able to touch her, would be a living, frustrating torment. So fragile would be the hold on his self-control that it would be impossible to restrain the urge to drag her into his arms and make love to her. His intentions were nobler than that. With a woman like her by his side, in his bed, he would experience something better, more profound, more lasting, than the mindless pleasures he had experienced in all his affairs with others.

And so, as he deliberately set himself out to charm this adorable creature, not for one moment did he think Sir John would refuse his offer, nor did he have the slightest doubt of his ability to lure Mistress Everson. He wanted her and he wanted her immediately, and he would be damned if he’d wait until they were in England to court her. Besides, he had never actively had to pay court to a woman in his life—they were usually all too eager for his attentions.

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