Cat hesitated as she looked into his handsome face. "As I recall, you broke the last truce I agreed to by kissing me," she said.
"As I recall, we agreed that kisses were not covered under the truce," he said, his eyes holding a glint that both beckoned and warned her away.
Cat glanced at his outstretched arms, her will wavering. She knew she should not give in, but it was a beautiful day in a beautiful spot with the most beautiful of men. When would she ever have another such as this?
"Promise me that you will take me home whenever I ask, with no argument," Cat said. "Swear on what little honor you possess."
"Done," he answered, with a laugh, and Cat let him swing her to the ground. His hands seemed to linger a moment on her waist, but then were gone.
Together they explored the grove and the beach below, discovering tiny sand crabs and colorful shells, and standing still and silent as a hummingbird moved only inches from them. This was the Ransom Cat knew and loved, a man who appreciated nature and maintained a lively curiosity about the world. He was gentle and witty, and Cat was thoroughly at ease as they wound their from the beach back up to the grove.
"This is a lovely spot," Ransom said. "Have you ever painted it?"
"Oh, no," Cat said. "I never mastered the art of watercolors. I haven't the patience, and I prefer being a part of the scenery to painting it," she said with a grin.
"You have a lovely smile. It's a joy to see," Ransom said. Then, as though unnerved by his own admission, he looked away. "So you were not interested in watercolors. What did capture your attention?"
"Oh, none of the things that were supposed to. I guess I took delight in being different, and I was alone so much that I developed interests unlike those of my contemporaries." Like sailing. She was so close to speaking that words that Cat jerked, pricking herself on the rose blossom she was fingering.
With a low murmur of surprise, she put the injured finger to her lips.
"Here, let me see." Ransom stepped toward her and gently took her hand in its own.
"It's nothing," Cat said and tried to pull away.
He was standing so close she could see the tips of his boots by the toes of her slippers, and her bent head was only inches from his chest. She watched dazedly as his finger lightly traced the curves of her palm. The scent of wildflowers washed over her, and her skin tingled everywhere.
Raising her gaze to his, Cat found there something she had never seen before, something warm and lazy and wonderful. His attention never wavered as he lifted her hand to his lips and placed a lingering kiss inside her wrist, where her pounding pulse was certain to give her away.
A parrot's shriek broke the spell, and Cat snatched her hand from his, wary now.
But before she could protest, Ransom gestured toward the gig. "Let's see what delicacies your delightful cook prepared for us."
Lying neatly atop the basket of food was a faded quilt, which they spread on the sun-dappled grass. Ransom removed his boots, and when Cat glared at him reprovingly, he raised a dark brow as though daring her to do the same.
"Go ahead," he urged. "Surely, you are are not hampered by convention."
Cat gave him a black look, and with a toss of her head, she turned around to strip off her slippers and stockings. She sat down quickly, tucking her bare feet beneath her skirts, to the sound of Ransom's chuckle.
The basket was stocked with ham, leg of mutton, boiled eggs, cheese, rolls, and pastries. Ignoring the lemonade, Ransom produced a bottle of champagne with a flourish. Nibbling at a bit of everything, Cat soon was sated and leaned back on her elbows to glory in the sunlight.
As she felt the effects of the wine, it was hard for her to believe that she used to down rum with the rest of the crew. The memory of her days garbed as a boy made Cat smile to herself. Now she was dressed in a lovely white gauze gown and stretched out on a blanket with only a basket between her and the very same captain she used to toast.
Closing her eyes, Cat might even have dozed, but Ransom spoke softly. "'
What is your substance, whereof are you made, That millions of strange shadows on you tend?
'"
Cat blinked in surprise, for she’d never heard her captain quote Shakespeare's sonnets. "'
Since every one hath, every one, one shade, And you, but one, can every shadow lend
,'" she said, reciting the next lines. "My aren't we waxing romantic," she added.
"I beg your pardon," Ransom said, with mock effrontery. "I suppose this is more to your taste: '
There once was an old man from Brennart, who met up with a pretty young tart
,'" Ransom began.
But, again, Cat completed the verse. "'
She sat on his lap and gave him the clap and then ran away with his heart!
'" Cat capped off the bawdy limerick by raising her glass in salute and finishing her champagne to the delightful sound of Ransom's deep-throated laughter.
"Where did you pick up that doggerel?" he asked, but Cat just smiled. Peeking at him under her lowered lashes, she could not help admiring the fine figure he made, lying on his side, his glass held casually between long fingers.
When her heart began pounding in response to the sight of him, Cat knew she had tarried long enough alone with her captain. With a small sigh of regret, she rose to her knees to gather the remains of their meal.
But Ransom's hand on her wrist halted her. "Wait, my love. Your aunt made sure something else was in the basket, a favorite of yours, she said." Ransom rummaged in the hamper, found what he sought, and grinned wickedly.
"Close your eyes and open your mouth," he said.
Lulled by the wine, Cat obeyed, and when she tasted the juicy sweetness of a ripe strawberry, she groaned in delight.
"Good?" he asked, his voice suddenly husky. His hand caressed her cheek, his thumb delicately outlining her lower lip, and Cat's thoughts scattered.
"I adore them," she managed to answer. "And you?" She did not wait for his reply, but snatched a berry from the basket to hold it just out of reach, laughing as he tried to take it. He finally caught the fruit between his teeth, and her amusement ceased when she found her fingers captive in his mouth, his tongue running over each one in turn.
When he released her hand it fell limply into her lap while she gaped at him wide-eyed. He offered her another strawberry, and as though in a dream, she moved her mouth toward his fingers.
As she bit into the fruit, a drop of sweet juice trickled down her chin, and suddenly Ransom's lips were there, his tongue capturing the errant moisture. Then he took her mouth with his own, and the flavor of the fruit mingled with the taste of him, exploding upon her senses like the burst of a cannon.
Her thoughts scattered and her head fell back, but his strong hand was there to support it. Her own hands slipped over his shoulders to his hair, her fingers threading through the thick strands. She heard him make a sound deep in throat, and then she was lowered down, onto the quilt.
"Catherine," he whispered before burying his face in the curve of her shoulder. Her breath quickened as his mouth moved along her neck and nipped her earlobe. Her breasts against his chest felt tight, as if they were bound again, and her clothing too constricting as she pressed against him.
"Kiss me, love," he urged. Like someone in a dream, Cat obeyed, and heard his low groan. The sound set her pulse racing and emboldened her response.
"You are more delicious than any bounty," he breathed, his words inflaming her further. She heard a soft moan, unsure whether it was his voice or her own, when he began to explore the curves beneath her gown.
"Your skin is like silk," he whispered, his every whisper egging her on. Suddenly, it wasn't enough to know his hands upon her, and she pulled at his shirt, eager to feel the golden skin that she knew lay beneath.
Cat never meant to touch him so intimately. She never meant to allow him such liberties, but the warmth of the wine and the sun and his allure were too powerful to resist. The scent of wildflowers, strawberries, and Ransom filled her senses, her resolve and her modesty disappearing along with his shirt.
His skin felt alive beneath her fingers, and she raised her head to kiss the taut muscles of his chest. She could hear his rapid breathing above her own, feel the urgency in his movements as he tugged at her gown, his hands moving over her with new purpose.
When his fingers brushed the most intimate part of her, Cat gasped in shock. But he murmured soothing in her ear and soon she forgot everything except the sensations building within her until she cried out with unimagined pleasure.
Chapter Thirteen
Ransom loomed over her, breathing hard and clinging to the last vestiges of his control. He had never meant for things to go this far. He had intended to taste her charms, to gauge her responses, and enjoy himself while he did so. But not this much.
For Catherine Amberly still seemed to be an innocent, and despite all his suspicions, if she was who she claimed... Ransom's conscience struggled against nearly overpowering need as he looked down at her.
Her gown and chemise were pushed aside to reveal silken skin, flushed with pleasure. Her golden hair fell loose and glistening in the sun, her rosy lips were slightly parted, her green eyes closed.
Ransom shuddered, straining against a desire such as he had never known, alarming in its intensity. And that, probably more than anything else, stayed him, at least until he heard her soft whisper.
"I love you, Ransom."
The declaration acted upon him like an icy wave, chilling him to the bone and ridding him of any lingering desire. If she was acting on Devlin's orders, there was always the possibility that she intended to entrap him. And if she wasn't... he could just as well be entrapped.
What if she should reveal details of this afternoon to her aunt? The idea made Ransom grimace, for he had little faith in that sweet but whimsical lady's good sense. The way she prattled on, the story might get out and Catherine would be ruined, a social outcast, a pariah to all except the bravest of her peers.
Gone would be her way of life, along with her aunt's hope for an advantageous marriage. Perhaps some dull shopkeeper might be persuaded to wed her, a mesalliance that would provide an alternative to spinsterhood. But the notion of the nubile beauty in his arms spending her days as the wife of some nondescript bourgeois wrenched at his gut.
Ransom frowned at such imaginings. No one need know of the afternoon's indiscretion, and Catherine would probably go on to snag some rich codger like Claremont, take dozens of lovers, and never worry her pretty head about a thing. Unfortunately, this scenario held as little appeal as the previous one, and Ransom tried to get a firm grip on himself.
Even as he decried her future, he refused to consider a third possibility - that he could wed the girl himself. At the thought, Ransom rolled away and grabbed for his shirt.
As delightful as was the prospect of the passionate Miss Amberly gracing his bed on a permanent basis, Ransom had sworn off marriage long ago. And he was not about to change his mind over a woman whose motives were suspect. Had she set out to snare herself a duke or worse? Ransom shook his head.
And as for her whispered declaration, that was something he wanted no part of at all.
She was sitting up now, straightening her clothes, but Ransom refused to look at her. It's not as though he'd taken her maidenhead. He had given her pleasure, that was all, he told himself as he helped her to her feet, murmuring politely. And someone who swam alone in the ocean nearly naked couldn't be all that innocent...
And yet even as he helped her into the gig, determined to absolve himself, Ransom remembered how often she had claimed not to want his company, and he felt the unfamiliar sting of guilt, as well as something else he couldn't even name.
***
When Cat returned home, she couldn't face her aunt. She didn't trust herself not to come completely undone or blame Amelia for throwing her together with a known seducer. And yet she couldn't regret what had happened, only what had followed.
Hurt as she was by Ransom's cold withdrawal, Cat had not been surprised. She remembered all too clearly his rejection of his cabin boy. With Ransom one could never get too close... And she could only blame herself for blurting out the truth of her feelings.
Resolved not to show her weakness, Cat had adjusted her clothing and insisted on going home. If Ransom expected a mewling, clinging female begging for his affection, she had proven him wrong, keeping her head held high until she reached her room.
When the maid called her for supper, Cat pleaded a headache, and when Amelia herself came to the door, Cat pretended sleep. She was not ready for her aunt's probing questions about the picnic, for despite her often flighty exterior, Amelia could be sharply astute. And Cat was in no mood to dissemble.
She spent a restless night dreaming of Ransom as he had been on the
Reckles
s, at ease and at his best, and skipped breakfast, delaying the inevitable conversation with Amelia until luncheon when she finally appeared downstairs.
"Oh, Catherine, I'm so glad to see you," Amelia said. "I was worried. The maid said you were sleeping still, and I didn't want to disturb you. How are you feeling?"
"Fine, now," Cat said, bending over and kissing Amelia on the cheek. If she hugged her aunt a little too closely, the lady appeared not to notice, demanding instead that she sit and eat a good meal to chase away the lingering effects of any megrims.
"I'm so glad," Amelia said. "Not that you were ill, mind you, but I was afraid you might be angry with me."
"Oh, aunt, how could I be?"
"Well, you told me to stop interfering between you and the duke, but when he came looking for you, I couldn't very well lie to him. And then when he asked if he take a picnic, well, I naturally... I mean, we had plenty here, and I saw no reason for his grace to go to any trouble, for you know Lord Claremont's cook is so temperamental. So I knew he would have a difficult time of it there, and I really couldn't imagine him going to an inn for the food-"