The Pirate's Daughter. Helen Dickson

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СКАЧАТЬ 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 СКАЧАТЬ