When I'm with You (2 page)

It'd been nearly a year, so why wasn't he beyond it? Would he ever be beyond it?

If not, what difference did it make if he married Sally or some other woman?

The ship bumped its slip gently, and several crewmen jumped to the docks to catch the heavy ropes and secure it to the pilings. With the ship moored, there was nothing left to do but go ashore and climb into the carriage that would take them to Marchand Hall.

“All I ask is that you keep an open mind. I will respect your decision, even if I don't necessarily agree with it.”
Papi
still looked unsettled as they bounced their way up the narrow, winding road inland. “If you choose not to do this, your mother will eventually understand. You know that. She won't be taking a switch to you or disowning you. She might stomp around and grumble for a few weeks, but it will eventually fade away as old news.”

“And Sebastiano Distillers?”

Inigo rubbed his chin. “I'd have to see about Conn or Galen marrying one of these girls.”

The resignation in his voice made Rafe smile for the first time in what felt like months. “Lady Sally probably won't appreciate being passed around like an old shoe. Surely she's going to put her foot down, if she hasn't already.”

“We will cross that bridge when we reach it.”

“I'm not so certain
Mami
will understand any of it.”

“Of course she will. Above all else, she wishes you to be happy. That's always been the most important thing to her. She might not like how it has to be done, but she wouldn't want any of you to suffer.”

“I was happy.”

Inigo shot him a dark look. “Must we really debate this again?”

Rafe sank deeper into his seat. “No. There's no point. I let my mother chase away the one woman I thought I wanted. Why am I fighting anyone on this? You're all determined to see me marry Sally, and I suppose I'll have to accept it, whether it's what I want or not.”

Papi's
jaw tightened. “That isn't fair, Rafael. You must see it from
Mami's
point of view. People knew about Katie. They knew what she did. There was no way for you to pretty it up.”

The drollness of his father's voice brought a heat to Rafe's cheeks. “They knew because they chose to believe gossip. People believe what they wish to believe.”

“But in her situation the gossip was true, which makes for a world of difference.”

“It no longer matters, seeing as how I'm here and she is God only knows where. Everyone can sleep easily at night, knowing I will not fall into the clutches of a harlot and tarnish my good name.” Rafe rubbed his eyes with one hand. “Although everyone knows I've slept with her and sees nothing wrong with that.”

Papi
coughed, a faint flush staining his cheeks. “I don't know I'd say that. But dallying with a tart and marrying one are two completely different things.”

“A tart.” Rafe snorted. “Never mind how she saved Aidrian's life. How she helped Vanessa when she had nothing. Katie had only a bit more than nothing herself. None of that matters. All anyone sees is a fallen woman. A very far-fallen woman, who wasn't a pure-white virgin when she came to my
bed.”

For a moment, Inigo looked as if he'd been punched in the gut, but he recovered quickly. “It isn't fair, I'll agree. But it is also in the past. And if she cared so much for you, why did she choose to leave? Why not fight for you, the way you did for her? And you
did
fight for her, you know.” Heat crept into
Papi's
voice now. “She chose to
walk
away
. Perhaps she didn't care for you as much as you think.”

“I didn't fight when it mattered,” Rafe grumbled.

They rocked through the gates of Marchand Hall and rolled up to the doors, where the lord and lady of the house stood waiting for them.

“Captain Sebastiano!” Lord Marchand's smile split his fat, jovial face as he clasped
Papi's
hand in his own. “And…er, Captain Sebastiano! How good to see you again.”

Rafe forced a smile. “It's good to see you as well, Lord Marchand. Lady Marchand.”

Lady Marchand's smile was as welcoming as any he'd ever seen. “It's wonderful to see you both. I only wish Aidrian and Vanessa could have joined you. I'm so anxious to see their new arrival. I understand she had a boy?”

Papi
beamed like the proud
abuelo
he was. “Yes, she did. Two boys, actually.”

“
Two?
How wonderful!”

“We were all taken by surprise.”
Papi
chuckled. “They were quite unexpected.”

Rafe tried to ignore the pang he felt at the mention of his brother's children. They were beautiful boys, and it was terrific to finally see Aidrian so happy, as he'd endured a great deal of suffering. But Aidrian's joy served as a reminder of what Rafe had lost at the same time. And lost through his own stupidity, no less.

Still, Rafe smiled at the Countess as she beamed at him, her voice light and airy as she said, “I'm sure it won't be long before you will be the one showing off a strong son.”

He wanted to choke, but held it off. “No doubt,” he managed to mutter.

Lady Marchand's smile grew wider still. She was a handsome woman, tall and slender, with shimmering dark hair artfully swept back from her thin face. Her skin was only slightly sun-kissed, and she'd passed on her unusual aqua eyes to both her daughters. If she was a portrait of what Sally would look like in a score, he would never have to fear the fading of her looks. He might not love her, but there was no denying Sally was a beauty and would remain one. Perhaps it made him shallow, but he was honest with himself.

“I will be sure to send you back to St. Phillippe with
two
gifts, then,” Lady Marchand said, a silvery chuckle laced through her words. She slipped her arm through Rafe's. “Sally has been so looking forward to your arrival.”

“Tell her not to monopolize him,” Lord Marchand broke in with his usual good-natured bluster as they made their way inside. “I'll need him to sit in on our meeting since I assume 'twill be
his
ship running most of our goods.”

Papi
nodded. “His and Conn's, most likely. Conn has the responsibility of bringing his mother and sisters from Puerto Rico, with Galen. The
Persephone
shouldn't be much more than a few days behind us.”

“It's no matter of great concern. We look forward to their arrival. The girls, especially. They will be happy to have more ladies in the house.” Lord Marchand steered them down a wide, airy corridor to the large office at the rear of the house. It overlooked the great expanse of the Atlantic Ocean and, as he watched whitecaps break on the waves, Rafe itched to be out there, putting Bermuda behind him and the Royal Colonies before him. Perhaps that was all he needed, a good long voyage to a part of the world he rarely visited. Until recently, Aidrian had overseen the runs to the Colonies, but since the arrival of his sons he was obviously more interested in remaining on dry land for the time being. Which suited Rafe just fine.

“And have you?”

Rafe jerked back into the present to find himself staring down at Lord Marchand's great, blinking gray eyes. He hadn't heard anything after the Earl's remark about other ladies being in the house. “I beg your pardon, but I didn't hear you,” he said, his face growing warm. He despised looking foolish.

If Lord Marchand was put out by Rafe's seeming lack of interest, he didn't let it show. His smile never wavered. “Ready to sail for the Carolinas? I asked if you've prepared yourself. It's a far cry from St. Phillippe at this time of the year.”

“I look forward to the change of scenery. It will be welcome after all this warmth and color. And snow would make it all so much better.”

Either no one heard him or no one found any humor in his words, for both older men ignored his comment. No matter. He shrugged and tried not to lose any more of their conversation. For all he knew, they'd already arranged for him to reside permanently in the colonies. His family was doing their best to make his important decisions for him. What would one more matter?

“I only hope it won't be too cold for Sally.” Lady Marchand directed this to Inigo. “She's a bit too delicate for frigid climes, I'm afraid.”

Inigo shook his head. “You needn't worry. The
Eastwind
is warm enough to keep Lady Sally in excellent health. Isn't it, Rafe? The stove in your cabin should suffice, I think.”
Papi
said this far more pointedly than necessary.

“It will. Easily.” At least now it made sense, why his father had insisted he have something so useless as an oversized stove installed in his cabin. He hadn't understood it at the time, as he rarely took meals alone and wasn't much of a coffee or tea drinker, but his father had suggested it so many times that Rafe had finally given in. “If she insists on coming, I'll see if I can have someone at the harbor move the stove into her cabin instead.” Which was where it should have gone to begin with, as far as he was concerned.

Inigo didn't look happy about that suggestion, muttering, “More money we can scarcely afford to spend right now.”

Rafe glanced at Marchand, who was busy checking his watch, and then looked back at his father. He held
Papi
's stare easily. “Then perhaps I'll just go alone. I can always retrieve her when I return.”

His choice of words definitely caught the Earl's attention this time, for he jammed his timepiece back into his waistcoat pocket and swung about to level Rafe with a steely-eyed scowl. “
Retrieve
her? You make her sound like wild game.”

“I meant no offense, of course.” Rafe cleared his throat. “Might I go up to my room and freshen up a bit? It's been a long journey. I'm a wrinkled, rumpled,
tired
mess and would like to change.”

“Of course.” Lord Marchand lost his annoyed look and gestured to the footman striding toward them. “Robert, please take Captain Sebastiano to his room.”

Relief flooded Rafe. At least he'd be able to have a bit of time to himself, to try to gather his thoughts and hopefully keep from making an even bigger ass of himself. “Thank you, m'lord.”

“There is no need for thanks, m'boy!” Marchand clapped him on the back with such force that Rafe stumbled toward the footman. “After all, you're going to be family.”

He swallowed the sour taste rising in his mouth and managed a nod. “Of course.”

Chapter Three

Katie heard Rafe's voice long before she saw him, which was a good thing. She didn't have enough time to hide, but she swallowed hard and tried willing the heat from her cheeks. They weren't the only parts of her body to feel warm. The low pull of his voice was enough to send an uncomfortable hum through her. It made her fidget and want to do things like smooth her skirts and run her hands over her bodice. And her hair! She instinctively reached a hand upward. She had to fix her hair. It was half braid and half rat's nest.

Would she really have to suffer through the next few decades, or would it fade once she acclimated herself to knowing Rafe was Lady Sally's husband? That sounded awful to her; the words actually hurt her brain to think. She tried not to dwell on it, but couldn't help but wonder how she'd feel, being maid to the lady who shared Rafe's bed each night.

She simply wasn't strong enough.

“Stop,” she muttered, squeezing her eyes shut for a moment. Her stomach painfully turned over, and she swallowed hard again.

“Are you all right, Katie?”

She nodded as Martha touched her shoulder with a light hand. The other maid knew nothing of Rafe, only that Katie had arrived in Bermuda nursing a shattered heart. She'd never said who'd done the shattering, and there was no need to do so now. “I'm fine.”

“You don't look fine.” Martha leaned closer, her eyes narrowing, her forehead puckering. “You look a bit pale. Are you feeling ill? Should I tell Mrs. Bates you're not up to serving tea? She might not mind if you took a bit of a rest. Especially if you're coming down with something.”

“No!” The word burst out with more force than she'd meant, and at Martha's look of surprise, Katie swallowed the sense of urgency and shook her head. It wouldn't do to make Martha suspicious. “It isn't necessary. I'm fine. Really fine. In fact, I'm wonderful, so there's no need to say anything to Mrs. Bates.”

Before Martha could prod further, and Katie lost all ability to keep herself from babbling, she marched to the small table holding the silver tea service. The butterflies beating her insides had much bigger wings than usual, judging by the way they hammered against her. Her breath came more quickly and black dots—alternating with silvery flashes of light—danced before her eyes. As soon as she crossed the threshold into the library, she'd see
him
. For the first time in almost a year, outside of her dreams. She wasn't at all certain she wouldn't faint. How would that look? What would happen if she simply dropped to the floor, sending silver and hot water crashing down around her? Perhaps she should have Martha take in the tray after all.

“Katie?”

Katie peered at Martha over her shoulder, the request hovering at her lips. But the words remained there, unspoken, as a low rumble of laughter rolled toward them. The overwhelming urge to step into the room, to lay eyes upon Rafe once more, rose and stepped over the faintness. She just wanted to see him and, on some level, wanted him to see her. What did it matter now? She should just do it and get it over with. Then it would be behind her and everything would come more easily.

With no way to avoid her duty, she squared her shoulders, as best as she could with the tray, and strode into the room, proud of herself when the silver only clinked a little. She marched past everyone gathered there. The women—Lady Marchand, Lady Sally and Lady Edna—sat on the sofa nearest the hearth, while Lord Marchand stood near the fire, chatting with a dark-haired man who was several inches taller. As she passed, she recognized Rafe's father and held her breath, hoping he didn't recognize her as well.

He didn't. His countenance never changed.
Thank heavens.

Rafe had his back to everyone, facing the shelves that lined the wall alongside the hearth. Even if she hadn't already known he was there, she'd have recognized him at once, with his broad shoulders and the shaggy dark hair that curled haphazardly about them. Her hands trembled as she set the tray on the table before the sofa. “Your tea, m'lady.”

“Thank you, Katherine.” Lady Marchand's voice was airier than usual. She'd put on an air of formality, considering she usually addressed Katie as “Katie” and almost never as “Katherine”.

It was amusing, watching the Countess as she tried so hard to impress the Sebastiano men. Or perhaps this was simply her way of flirting. Katie couldn't tell.

“Is there anything else I can get for you?” Katie peered up through her eyelashes to see if Rafe reacted to the sound of her voice. Nothing. He was still busy trailing a fingertip over the row of leather-bound tomes on the third shelf. Good. She didn't care anyway. And that pang in her belly? A bit of undigested luncheon. That was all.

“No.”

Katie set the strainer over Lady Marchand's cup and poured the tea. By the time she finished filling all the cups, Rafe must have selected his book, for just as she straightened up, he turned and his gaze locked with hers.

At that moment, all the air in the room felt as if it'd been sucked out.

She winced as a muscle in her neck tightened. He had the most mesmerizing eyes she'd ever seen—swirling amber that seemed to change from yellow to brown depending on the light. They reminded her of topaz stones, polished and beautiful. A memory flashed through her mind of those eyes, heavy-lidded with smoky passion, gazing down at her in a darkened room.

Now, for a fraction of a moment, his eyes widened.

At least, she thought they did. It came and went so quickly, she couldn't be certain, and his face remained impassive and hard. He was looking at her no differently than he had at any of the servants in the Sebastiano villa back on St. Phillippe.

Had she meant so little to him? Could Rafe so easily push a woman from his life and then promptly forget about her?

Her insides twisted sharply. Had he moved on to another bed?

He'd be perfectly within his rights to do so, but that didn't mean she had to like it.

Don't think about it.

But it was there, firmly entrenched in her mind—the image of Rafe holding another woman in his arms. Kissing her with those soft, skilled, wonderful lips. Pinning her beneath him as he—

Her hand shook and the teapot clinked loudly against a cup, to which Lady Marchand admonished, “Take care. I'd rather you didn't break the cup.”

“I beg your pardon, m'lady,” Katie responded automatically, willing her hand still and her thoughts to simply go blank.

“Was this interesting?” Rafe turned to Lord Marchand, holding out the book he'd chosen, and Katie pressed her lips together as she set spoons on each saucer.

“Oh, yes. I think you'll find this fascinating—” Lord Marchand's response was swallowed up by the rush of Katie's blood through her ears. The air in the room was no longer warm and welcoming but felt hot and oppressive, and she wanted only to take her leave.

The passageway was far cooler, more comfortable, and once she rounded the doorway and was out of sight, Katie sank against the wall. She was quite used to being insignificant to most people, but she'd never thought she was insignificant to Rafe. Once, he'd made her feel as if she was the center of his world.

Now she wondered if it had just been her imagination toying with her.

Their time together had been mercilessly short, and Rafe was the sort to have a lady in every port. Which was just as well. The last thing she needed was to lose this job. Work was difficult to come by on the small island. The Marchand family was one of the most prominent, and hers was a coveted position. She didn't relish the thought of starting over, and if she received a reference at all, it was guaranteed to be a poor one should Lady Marchand catch her dallying with a man who was not only a guest but also Lady Sally's intended.

Rafe's lack of reaction still hurt. It might be for the best, but it stung just the same. Her pain only intensified when another rumble of laughter—several rumbles, of varying pitch—rolled their way from the library.

“Well, fine,” she muttered, scowling at the library doors. “I've wasted enough time pining for you, Captain Sebastiano. I'm through with all of it.”

“Pining for whom?” Martha asked as she came down the corridor. “They're going to think you're going mad, you know, if you keep talking to yourself.”

“Let them. They already wonder about me as it is. Why do they show such curiosity? I'm nothing but a maid.”

“You're a maid with a shadowy past. And everyone is curious about someone with a shadowy past.” Martha held her hands up, palms out, and wiggled her fingers as if to show smoke. “They all think you're a long-lost princess, or wife to someone infamous like Captain Morgan.”

“Captain Morgan's been dead for ages, before I was even born.” Katie shook her head. “I will admit it would be exciting if I was a long-lost princess. I should like an armoire stuffed to the gills with the finest silk and satin and velvet ball gowns, and to wear diamonds and rubies and sapphires just because it's Wednesday, and never wear the same gown twice. I could get used to that.”

“Girls are still allowed to dream, aren't we?” Martha tucked a loose curl back beneath her cap. “The bell rang again, but I'll go see what they need. Mrs. Bates was looking for you, so you'd best see what she wants.”

“Where is she?”

“The laundry.”

The laundry was down below, beneath the kitchen. It was a dark, dank, musty-smelling room, and Betsy, the laundress, was always wrinkled and waxy-looking. Her hands were battered and rough from so much time immersed in water, scrubbing clothes on the ribbed washboard, and chapped from the harsh soap used to get everything clean. It wasn't Katie's favorite room in the house. She cast one last look at the library, long enough that Martha nudged her and said, “Mrs. Bates?”

“Right.” It was never wise to keep the housekeeper waiting.

Katie made her way to the laundry as quickly as she could. There she found Mrs. Bates frowning at Betsy, who was flexing her red and sore-looking hands as if to stretch the chafe from her skin.

Katie cleared her throat to catch the housekeeper's attention. “Mrs. Bates? Martha said you were looking for me?”

“Stay right here, Betsy,” said Mrs. Bates, her scowl tight. “We aren't finished discussing this.”

Betsy nodded, frowning at her outstretched hands. “Yes, Mrs. Bates.”

“Katie, I need you to go above and see to it that the Captain Sebastianos' chambers are readied. Betsy has just informed me that only half the rooms' linens were sent up this morning.”

“Why?”

“That's what I'd like to know.” Mrs. Bates shot another frosty glare at the laundress, who now stared at something on the floor. “But, since it appears our linens have taken a holiday, this needs to be dealt with at once. I'll not have either man going to his Lordship because he'd like to go to sleep, only he can't because his bed is nothing but a bare mattress.”

Katie eyed the huge basket piled high with freshly laundered linens. She hated bed-making with a passion, as it meant wrestling with uncooperative sheets on rather large beds, but since saying no wasn't an option, she bobbed her head. “Of course, Mrs. Bates.”

“I've told Martha to help you as soon as she finishes in the library. Between the two of you, it shouldn't take too long.” She squinted at the small clock on the shelf above one of the washtubs. “They'll be along to dress for supper in a bit, so you'd best hurry.”

The basket was every bit as heavy as it looked, and by the time she reached the second floor, where the bedchambers were, Katie was out of breath and sweating as if she'd just sprinted from the beach in the dead of summer. Her arms were rubbery and her muscles burned, and she actually grunted, “
Ooof
!” as she dropped the basket on the floor.

The linens were still warm from the sun and lightly tinged with the scent of a sea breeze. It was difficult to tell whose room she was in, as the sea chest at the bed's foot looked neither old nor new, and it was shut, so she couldn't take a peek at the contents. For a moment, she toyed with the idea of lifting the lid, but thought better of it. Getting caught with an open sea chest would be nearly as bad as being caught dallying with a guest. Both meant one last walk through the kitchen doors, with no hope of ever returning.

Despite being one of her least favorite chores, bed-making did give her mind a chance to wander. Her thoughts bounced from the houseguests to her walk on the beach, to whether or not they'd have pie for dessert. Occasionally, her thoughts made it as far away as Kingston and a handsome bartender with sleek dark skin and a brilliant smile. Then
those thoughts leaped back to the houseguest with rougher olive skin and an equally brilliant smile.

“Did you think I wouldn't recognize you?”

Rafe's voice came from nowhere, and she spun around, stumbling over the long sheet. He lounged in the doorway, arms folded over his broad chest. Time had neither dimmed nor embellished her memory of him. He still looked every bit as handsome. His dark hair was a little longer, a bit wilder in its curl as it fell about his face, but that was the only difference.

She tried to gather her scattered wits, her mind racing at top speed to keep ahead of him, ahead of her own maddening thoughts. “What makes you think I thought that at all?” she asked, skirting the bed to the far side to smooth the remaining sheet.

“What are you doing here? How long have you been here? I thought you were returning to Jamaica. That was the last thing you said to me. You were going home.” He caught the opposite end of the sheet and pulled. “And you left before I could even try—”

“Plans change.” Her voice was as taut as the sheet they held. She tugged at the linen. “And I really don't need your help, Captain.”

“I don't mind,” he responded easily.