Sea Mistress (18 page)

Soon she would be Mrs. Seth Garret, wife of the captain of the
Sea Mistress
for better or worse. In name only, yet, her life would be changed forever.

Bess experienced a nervous fluttering in her stomach, an odd prickling across her skin.

Why should she worry?

Because Seth was an overwhelmingly attractive, desirable man—and off limits if she wanted to gain her revenge.

This part of the Brazilian coastline was lovely with its white sandy beaches and blue water, and the lush green of its bordering woods. Bess was achingly aware of her future husband as they crossed the hot sand toward the forest together. She felt damp and sweltering in her gown. Did it show? Was she too disheveled to be a bride?

Seth looked wildly attractive. Before leaving the ship, he'd donned a dark vest over his white linen shirt. Barefoot and clad in dark breeches, he resembled a dashing, swashbuckling buccaneer.

He'd never been more appealing to her.

He must have bathed and shaven that morning, she realized, slanting him a glance. His jaw was smooth, his sideburns neatly trimmed. And as always, he smelled wonderful, like soap . . . like Seth . . . like the sea.

Seth continued to hold her arm, assisting her whenever she stumbled. Her skin tingled wherever he touched her, and her body reacted with a jolt of sensation each time.

He stopped at the edge of the woods and waited for his men to set down the dinghy, then he retrieved his boots from inside the boat and put them on. Next, Seth grabbed Bess's slippers and shielded her from the men's gazes while she put them on. In a sudden move that took Bess totally by surprise, he picked her up again in his powerful arms and proceeded to carry her through the tropical forest.

When she protested mildly, he explained. “Snakes” was all he said, and that one word was enough to keep her silent.

They walked through the woods a short distance before they came upon a break in the trees. There, in a beautifully landscaped clearing, stood a crude hut, constructed of sticks and grass and some kind of large leafy fronds.

The door to the hut swung open at their approach. A woman of mixed color and descent greeted them, gesturing them to come forward. She said something to Seth that Bess couldn't hear.

“Arabella,” Seth said, his blue eyes wandering down her length.

Bess felt a frisson of intense jealousy that he would look that way at another woman—as if he found the partially clothed woman pleasing to the eye. She was young with firm breasts that swelled over the top of her tunic, and long legs that were bare below the garment's mid-thigh hemline. Studying her thoroughly from head to toe, Bess could only gape at the shocking display of skin.

“You're staring,” Seth said.

“And you weren't?”

Her answer was a lift of his dark eyebrows. Seth put Bess down and took her by the hand to lead her into the hut. She resisted.

“Why are we going into that woman's house?” she asked, experiencing again a prickle of jealousy.

“The house isn't hers. She's merely a servant. Mr. and Mrs. George Dunnon—the minister and his wife—live here. They've been living here for the past five months, since their arrival.” He paused. “Come on.”

“How did you know her name?”

“Arabella's?”

She nodded.

“She just told me.”

“Oh.”

“Let's go.”

She went, because she had no other choice. Unless she chose to live indefinitely in a foreign land with people who were strangers to her. Except John Reeves.

Still, she was slow to move.

“Bess.” Seth was impatient. There was nothing Bess could do to change things, so why was she being so stubborn about accepting the course fate had set?

She made a face at him and waved forward with her arm. “Lead on, Sir Captain Garret.” Seth couldn't help chuckling. He squeezed her hand in reassurance, and then pulled her into the hut.

The interior of the structure came as a shock to Bess, who viewed the expensive furnishings with widened eyes.

Seth, too, appeared astonished, so she was safe in assuming that he'd never been here before. She thought of Arabella and was glad that Seth had apparently told her the truth about never having met the woman before today.

Her attention was caught by an unusual object, a gold statue of a woman on a polished table. There was a strange mixture of odors about the hut, none of which she could identify.

“How long did you say they'd been here?” she asked Seth.

Seth met her gaze, and his expression said he'd been thinking along the same lines. “Five months.” His voice lowered so that only she could hear him. “Looks as if they've acquired quite a bit in such a short time. Makes you wonder . . .”

She nodded. It did make one wonder about the minister and his wife. Such a display of wealth didn't seem appropriate in the house of a minister. Did these things actually belong to a missionary—a man of God?

There didn't appear to be anyone inside the small hut when they entered. Then a curtain moved at the back of the room, and Bess realized that the cabin had not one but two rooms.

“Mr. Garret.” The man who came toward them was heavy set with thick jowls and small, beady eyes. His lips were thin and looked almost lost in the fleshy wrinkles of his fat face. He made Bess decidedly uneasy. “So this is your lovely intended?” He spoke to Seth, but his gaze was on Bess alone. His gold-colored eyes were both unusual and eerie-looking.

Bess turned to Seth in time to see him nod. “Allow me to introduce you,” he said. “Bess, this is Mr. George Dunnon. Mr. Dunnon, my fiancee . . . Elisabeth Metcalfe.”

The man's head bobbed, and as she watched his jowls jiggle, she had to stifle the urge to laugh.

“Mr. Dunnon,” she said, her amusement fleeing in the face of the man's continued regard. “Nice to meet you.”
Liar,
she thought. She was suddenly anxious to have the ceremony over and done with, so she could escape this odious man's disturbing presence.

“A lovely gown, Miss Metcalfe.” George Dunnon was eyeing Bess with a frank appreciation that seemed almost lewd. “On you, it's most becoming.”

Suddenly on edge, Seth felt his teeth clench and his muscles tense with the urge to strike the missionary. He fought the inclination; Dunnon was the only person he knew who could legally marry him and Bess. Yet, the condition set by Dunnon to perform the ceremony was beginning to bother him . . .
Just as it's going to upset Bess,
he thought.

A tense silence filled the front room of Dunnon's home.

“Would you like something to drink?” the man asked. “Some of our Brazilian coffee, perhaps?”

“No, thank you,” Seth said politely. “Bess?”

Bess met her husband-to-be's glance. “No, I'm not thirsty.” In this heat, she thought, how could the man think of offering coffee? And then she felt guilty for such thoughts, because some might have wondered equally about her taking a hot bath.

“We've very little time before we sail, actually,” Seth said.

“Oh?” George seemed alarmed. “I hadn't realized the ship would be leaving so soon.”

Seth's smile was thin. “We have a schedule to keep.”

George nodded. “I understand. I truly do. Don't you worry, we'll be ready in no time at all. I expect my Mathilde any moment now.” He paused and addressed his next words to Bess. “Mathilde is my wife.”

Bess, who had managed to avoid meeting his gaze, was forced to make direct eye contact with him. “I see,” she said, before looking away again.

Mathilde Dunnon arrived a few minutes later. An obese woman with dark hair and a loud, booming voice that made Bess flinch the first time she heard it, she burst through the open doorway of the hut in a swish of purple skirts that were faded and torn, at direct odds with the grandeur of the belongings inside her living quarters.

“I love weddings!” she explained. “They—” She sniffed. “They make me cry . . ..” And she began to sob indelicately.

George patted his wife's arm. “There, there dear. Let's not get too emotional. Captain Garret just told me that the
Sea Mistress
will be leaving soon. There's really very little time for this.”

The woman seemed startled. “Yes, yes,” she said. “Let's begin the ceremony, then.” She beamed at Bess, all tears gone. “Such a lovely gown, dear. A lovely, lovely gown.”

“Thank you,” Bess said. The lady too made her feel uncomfortable. With both Dunnons in the same room, she felt claustrophobic. Mathilde Dunnon smelled of body sweat and some strange exotic oils. The scent made Bess queasy, and she reeled on her feet, feeling dizzy.

“Seth,” she whispered, touching his arm.

He bent down close to her so she could speak to him without anyone else hearing.

“Please, could we have the ceremony outside? I can't breathe in here.”

He glanced at her with concern, saw her pale face, and nodded. “Mr. Dunnon, my fiancée and I would like to marry outside.”

“What?” Mathilde said, sounding indignant. “You don't care for our home?”

“No, no, it's not that at all,” Bess assured her. She swallowed against bile in her throat. She needed to get away from the house, the strange scents, and being in such close quarters with two oversized people whose nearness overwhelmed her.

This is not how. I envisioned my wedding,
she thought.

“The girl looks ill,” George said. “Let's get her outside.”

“Ill?” Mathilde whined. “How can the girl be ill?”

Bess and Seth left the hut quickly, as much to escape Mathilde's whiny voice as to flee from the stifling odorous air within the small confines of the hut. The crew from the
Sea Mistress
waited in the clearing for them.

She could hear Mathilde, who had yet to come out. The woman was most exasperating; she was complaining of the ghastly insects that inhabited the woods, the outside heat, and her husband's refusal to see reason and insist that the ceremony take place inside.

It was cooler inside the Dunnons' hut, no doubt because of the construction of the structure—the large green fronds that covered the roof and shaded the windows. Bess could see that some of the leafy greens had dried, yet it seemed obvious that they were replaced often to keep in the cool moisture that lowered the temperature of the hut. Still, she preferred by far to be outdoors.

Bess moved through the clearing like a sleepwalker, her heart hammering her thoughts on the marriage and what could occur should Seth ever learn that she owned E. Metcalfe. Seth walked a step or two behind her.

“Bess?” Seth's soft voice infiltrated her musings. “Are you all right?”

She swallowed. “I'm fine.” She made a big production of checking her surroundings. “Is there a stream nearby? I'm thirsty and long for a cool drink.”

The captain eyed the missionary who had come out of the house followed by his sullen wife. “Dunnon? Is there fresh water near?”

“Yes,” the man said, gesturing toward a forest path, “directly down there.”

Bess moved toward the trail without waiting to see if anyone followed her. She was scared. She was disappointed that things were happening this way.
I should have been married at Metcalfe Manor . . . I should have been a happy bride.

Seth caught up with her just as she reached a small crystalline pond. She felt his hand on her arm and smelled his clean, woodsy scent, but didn't look at him. Her attention was caught by the clear body of water ahead and to her right. The sunlight was diminishing, but the air was warm. She noted with awe the beauty of the spot . . . the lush green ferns scattered low about the woods and the bright, colorful profusion of wild flowers.

Memories of a certain place on Metcalfe Manor returned to her . . . of Seth making love to her . . . of the sweet scent of the tall green grass that cushioned their naked bodies . . . of hours spent frolicking nude in the cool, pristine waters of the pond.

She looked at Seth and saw by his strange expression that he was remembering too.

“It's lovely,” she said, almost afraid to speak lest she lose the wonder of the magical moment.

Seth met her gaze, and the flame of desire that lit his blue eyes made her gasp and her hand flutter to cover her left breast . . . near her heart.

“Shall we marry here?” he suggested.

Her eyes glistened. Whatever had happened since those two weeks they'd spent together in Wilmington on her uncle's estate, those two weeks remained cherished memories, for the time had been truly wonderful.

She nodded. “I'd like that.” It would somehow make up for the haste of their marriage, the odd circumstances. Here, in this lovely place, she could pretend that she was a willing bride—that Seth's love for her was real.

“Yes,” she murmured, “I think that would be lovely.” She turned away then and went to the edge of the pond, bending to cup a handful of water, which she drank.

She could hear Seth speaking to the Dunnons, hear the loud, grating tones of Mathilde Dunnon complaining, and then, after a few more moments of conversation with Seth, George's hearty and Mathilde's somewhat more subdued agreement to perform the wedding ceremony in the woods near the pond.

James Kelley came to Bess's side. “You seem pensive,” he said.

She had risen from the pond and was staring out over the water, watching, in fascination, the ripples made by a fish that had jumped. The circles widened and then disappeared until another fish came to the surface for food.

She faced the first mate. “Pensive? Doesn't every bride experience a moment of doubt?”

James nodded. “He's a good man,” he said after a silent pause.

She smiled at his attempt to reassure her. “You know that for certain, do you?”

He seemed taken aback by her words. “If you don't believe it true, why are you marrying him?”

Bess realized her mistake, a mistake she had to rectify if the first mate was ever to believe that she and Seth were happily married and in love. “No, no, it's not that . . .”
Have I a choice?
she thought. She sighed. “Forgive me, James. Of course, I think Seth is a good man. It's just I'm a little unnerved by the haste and all the excitement . . . and . . .” Her voice became a whisper. “George Dunnon is not my ideal for a man of God.”