The Captain's Caress (25 page)

“Oh, I stop at quite a few. I like my women soft and yielding,” Brent crooned in her ear.

“That never stopped you from plaguing me constantly,” Summer pointed out, aware that she was exposing her jealousy, but unable to stop doing so.

“You were the only woman at hand, so I made do with what I had.”

“You worthless brute.” Summer’s raw nerves were further irritated by his needless cruelty.

“Not worthless,” Brent needled. “I’m very useful in certain ways.”

“A person only has value as he is desired,” retorted Summer from between clenched teeth.

Brent laughed so heartily that Summer grew even more angry. “I suppose you think that has put me in my place, but I warn you it has put me on my mettle instead. Before the month is out, my lovely countess, you’re going to want me.”

“Never!”

“And I’m going to make you admit it,” he declared with sudden intensity.

“Impossible!”

“I’m going to make you beg me never to let you go, to make love to you until we grow exhausted from trying.”

“I’d die first,” Summer swore.

“You’ll finally learn what love really is, and realize that your life would be much poorer without it.”

“I long to be taught that lesson,” she flung at him, almost in tears, “but I’ll never learn it from you. That is one thing you can’t force me to do.”

“Don’t bet anything you value against it.”

“I have nothing of value left,” Summer said, utterly dejected. “You and my father have seen to that.”

Chapter 22

“Madame will have to hold still, or I may have to do it all over again,” cautioned Jeanne as she applied the faintest touch of rouge to Summer’s cheeks.

“I don’t want to look like a courtesan,” Summer said pettishly. She had seen Brent just twice in the last four days and her mood was very brittle.

“Señora,
you could never look like anything but a lady,” Chichi assured her with unbounded enthusiasm.

“That’s blind favoritism speaking,” Summer said with a bleak smile. She had wrung from Brent a promise to accompany her to this affair and she was determined to look her best.

“Don’t frown,” Jeanne warned. Summer schooled her face to impassivity, but her thoughts remained in disarray.

Brent was almost never at the hotel during the day or the evening, but his carriage was seen to leave it late every night. Several times Summer was so desperate to know where he went, she had almost sent Chichi to find out, but each time she had held back, afraid of what she might learn. She had done her best to think of something else,
anything
other than Brent. However, she had little to do except dress and eat and await this evening of socialization. Now she was ready so there was nothing to do but wait.

“I’m finished, madame.” Jeanne put away her pots and brushes.

Summer stared closely at her image, and for the moment Brent was forgotten. She still found it difficult to believe that the sophisticated, modish woman who stared back at her could be herself. Jeanne had done such a superb job it was almost impossible to tell she wore rouge, but her luminous eyes and luscious lips were highlighted to give her face a whole new character. She still looked like Summer Ashton, but she appeared to have a completely different personality. Her off-the-shoulder gown bared much of her breast, for it was designed to make the most of her physical allure without compromising her position.

“I look like the marquise,” Summer said aloud, stunned to find that she looked as worldly as the dazzling Spanish beauty whose name was being coupled with Brent’s more and more frequently.

“You are more beautiful than the marquise,” Jeanne said firmly.

“Don’t be absurd. I hear someone in the salon,” Summer announced, suddenly forgetting everything else. “It must be the captain.”

“You can ask
him,”
suggested Chichi.

“I’d rather die!” Summer exclaimed. “And if you dare to open your mouth, you outrageous child, I’ll choke you.”

But when Summer entered the salon she found Lane, rather than Brent, waiting for her. Her first thought was that something had happened to Brent, but when Lane stood gaping at her rather than hurrying into an explanation she knew Brent wasn’t coming. He had spurned her company once again. He hadn’t completely forgotten her because he had sent Lane to take his place, but Summer would have preferred that he had sent no one at all. For a brief moment she was so heartsick she thought she would break down right in front of Lane and Chichi. What could this be but a clear message that the intimacy they had shared on the ship was over!

Summer had feared that this day would come, and she’d wondered how she would be able to endure it. Now she knew: she felt as though she had just died. Suddenly she was a hollow shell, completely empty inside. She could feel the loss, but not the pain. Unable to move, to speak, even to faint, she stood helplessly waiting for the shock wave to hit, knowing that it would almost be a relief when it came.

Lane hadn’t seen Summer since she’d left the ship, and he was so stunned by her beauty that he didn’t notice she looked like a statue.

“Milady, is that
really
you?” he asked, unable to believe the evidence of his own eyes.

“Of course it is the
señora”
answered Chichi, dancing about delightedly. “How do you like the countess?” she asked, bubbling with excitement. “Aha!” she exclaimed happily when she received no answer. “See
señora,
you have made him speechless.”

“You’re like a vision,” Lane declared.

“I told you so,
señora,
I told you how it would be,” Chichi said, gleefully jumping up and down like foam on a windy sea.

“Has anything happened to the captain?” Summer finally asked. It felt odd to hear herself speak. Her voice didn’t seem to come from her own lips.

“The captain is fine,” Lane answered, still too astounded to notice her shocked state. “You look so different I wasn’t sure it was you.”

“But where is he? He promised he wouldn’t be late.” Summer’s words were spoken in a hollow, uninflected voice, and, upon hearing them, Lane noted her stupefied expression.

“The captain sends his apologies,” he said, reciting the message he’d memorized, “but the press of business makes it impossible for him to accompany you this evening. I am to go in his place.”

Summer felt completely deflated, utterly without value; she didn’t really want to attend this or any other party. How could she smile and pretend to be gay when her hopes were in ruins? Even though she had told herself for weeks that this day would come and that she had no one to blame but herself, it was cruel to expect her to parade before the curious and cynical eyes of Havana’s aristocracy on the heels of such a rejection. Summer was about to refuse to accompany Lane, but she changed her mind almost at once, anger and pride coming to her rescue.

Brent had used her, had shown a callous disregard for her feelings; there was nothing she could do about that. She had been his captive, physically incapable of holding him off; but she would
not
give him the satisfaction of knowing that she was suffering greater agony than she ever thought possible. She was a countess, and, if he wanted her to play that role, then she would do so. And she hoped Gowan
did
come after her. If she was lucky some fatal fever would carry her off before she reached Scotland; then Brent Douglas wouldn’t have the satisfaction of knowing that she loved him and longed to feel his strong arms around her.

Summer told herself she didn’t care if he did go to the affair—it wouldn’t matter one wit if that predatory marquise was on his arm—she would show him
and
everyone else that the Countess of Heatherstone languished because of no one, especially not a pirate captain.

But after Summer had been socializing for two hours she wished she hadn’t left the hotel. She was heartily tired of feeding fish, exploring grottos, and admiring exotic plants; her new shoes pinched and her patience and good humor were at an end. Trying to remember names got on her nerves, but she continued to smile, all the while cursing Brent under her breath.

Finally, unable to stand it another minute, she sent her youthful escort to find her something to drink and wandered off to a quiet corner. She hoped he would not find her for several minutes; it was rude, but she didn’t care. She needed to calm her nerves so she might stop looking for Brent at every turn, listening for his voice. He’s with the marquise, she told herself, and you might as well get used to that fact. Saying he was protecting your reputation was just an excuse to be with some black-eyed witch. That way he didn’t have to tell you he was weary of you; you could figure it out for yourself.

“You don’t seem to be enjoying yourself.” The voice came from behind the stone bench where she was seated; Summer started and turned sharply. She found herself looking into the face of a dark young man. It had a Spanish cast, and his black eyes twinkled merrily. He was tall and his smile was quite contagious. “Have you lost your way? You can’t have been abandoned.”

“I haven’t been so fortunate. I’m just resting while my escort goes for something to drink.”

“And I thought you were trying to escape a procession of young men too tongue-tied to put together a single intelligent sentence.” He laughed.

“Well, yes,” Summer confessed. “You’ve been spying on me and that’s not nice.”

“Not spying exactly, but I have been watching you.”

“Then you know I’ve seen every part of the garden at least twice. It’s really quite lovely, but it’s impossible to admire it for a third time in the same day.”

“I should think so.” He nodded. “I’m surprised you didn’t try to escape altogether. May I join you, or have you foresworn all human companionship?”

“I don’t think you should,” Summer replied. “I don’t know you, and it’s quite improper for me to be sitting with a perfect stranger in a retired part of the garden.”

“That’s easy to remedy,” he said, promptly executing a formal bow.
“Señora,
I would like to introduce Gonsalvo de Aguilar, beloved only son of Vincente and Doñ a Isabella de Aguilar,” he said in a perfect imitation of her host’s voice and manner. “He is a handsome youth of upstanding habits, exemplary character, and the heir to a great fortune.” Summer was shocked, but she burst into a ripple of laughter.

“And he is extremely modest.”

“But I would never say such things about myself,” Gonsalvo said, using his own voice now. “It would be much too impolite.”

“But it’s all right if someone else says them for you?”

“Of course. Who can argue with the Baron de la Rocha? Besides, he is a great admirer of my family and believes I shall become as fine a man as my father.”

“Will you?” she asked, wondering what he would say next.

“His life has been but a prelude to the wonders I shall accomplish,” her companion replied, seating himself next to her with a smile that was almost too broad to be genuine. “I shall perform such amazing feats that all of Spain will stand dumbfounded. The King himself will seek to reward me.”

“And of course you will tell him of your deeds, just in case he happens to miss one or two?”

“Naturally. It is the duty of all loyal subjects to see that the King is well informed.”

“But could such a hero as yourself remain the subject of a mere King?”

As Gonsalvo paused and wrinkled his brow in deep thought, Summer struggled to suppress a giggle.

“I cannot say,” he finally replied gravely. “It would be extremely difficult to bend my knee to one so inferior, but as I do not have the royal blood in me, I cannot but see that I should have to accept him in the end.”

“It would be a sacrifice,” Summer stated in an unsteady voice.

“Yes,” he responded, “but I should be quite ennobled by it.” He stared straight before him as though concentrating on a beatific vision. Summer’s laughter bubbled up.

“Do you always talk such perfect nonsense to strangers?” she asked as she moved a little away from him.

“Not unless they have a crease between their eyes, and are frowning as though they have lost their last friend.”

“How unhandsome of you to describe me in such unflattering terms,” Summer protested.

“But it was a beautiful crease and an entrancing frown,” he added hastily.

“There is no such thing as a beautiful wrinkle,” declared Summer. “A freckle is hardly a worse tragedy.”

“As you have neither, you may continue to entrance me with the loveliness of your smile and the delicious sound of your laughter.”

“You do know how to say pretty things.” Summer favored him with a rueful smile. “I suppose you have half the girls in Havana hanging on your every word.”

“All of them,” he stated confidently. “Could you expect less?”

“Perhaps not.” Summer admitted to herself that he was quite handsome and very charming. “But if you carry on like this I’m surprised that any mother would let her daughter come near you.”

“But my father is very, very rich,” he added.

“Ah,” she said, a twinkle in her eyes. “I’m sure that accounts for it.”