Moonwitch

Edith raised her head then and stared at the curtained windows for such a long moment that Selena realized her gasp must have been heard. She knew she ought to leave at once so that she wouldn’t witness any further evidence of Avery’s betrayal, but the nausea welling in her stomach kept her rooted where she stood long enough to hear Edith’s next words.

“How can you marry that chaste little puritan?” Edith asked as Avery strode over to the dressing table chair, where his coat was draped. “Selena won’t give you what I do.”

With infinite care, Avery picked up his jacket and began examining it for creases. “Precisely because she is chaste, my dear,” he replied in a bored tone.

“And because she owns the land you covet—don’t deny it! If Thomas had left me the plantation, you would be marrying me.”

“Gentlemen take virgins to wife, my dear, not wantons. You, Edith, are a complete wanton. Selena, on the other hand, is a lady. She hasn’t a wanton bone in her body.”

Selena took another step backward, digging her nails into her palms to keep from crying out her hurt and humiliation.

“You’ll miss this when you are married,” Edith declared irritably.

“I’ve told you before, I don’t intend to give you up simply because I have a wife. I mean to have you both as well as the land.”

Edith cast a glance at the windows then and smiled slyly, triumphantly. Selena turned away, stumbling, blinded by tears, knowing only that she had to escape her home.

Somehow she found her way to the stables and threw a bridle over the head of her favorite horse—a white mare named Pallas. They made a pale blur in the moonlight as they streaked through the night, heading for the sea. Sobbing with anger and pain, Selena bent low over the mare’s neck, her hair streaming in a silver cloud behind her.

When they reached the quiet cove, the glittering waves of the Caribbean stretched out to infinity before them. Nearly blinded by tears, hardly aware of what she was doing, Selena flung herself from the mare’s back and threw herself at the swelling surf, driven by a primal need for solace.

“What in blazes…?” a startled voice growled behind her just as the warm sea closed over her head.

She felt her slippers come off as she struck out wildly through the waves. The skirts of her wrapper and nightdress had entangled with her bare legs, making it difficult to stay afloat, yet when she heard a shout from that same masculine voice an

d then a splash, as if someone had dived in after her, Selena redoubled her efforts. She was too distraught to face her pursuer. She only wanted to be left alone.

In only a moment, though, she could tell that she was losing the battle; the sound of his powerful stroking was almost directly behind her. And then a hard arm threaded around her waist, jerking her back against an even harder chest.

“Stop it—unhand me!” Selena cried, flailing her arms as she sobbed with wounded fury.

“I’m not gong to watch you drown yourself,” a deep-timbred voice grated in her ear.

She realized then that this stranger had feared for her safety, but she was in no mood to countenance a rescue from him. She tried to pry away the muscular arm and found that it was like prizing open a steel trap. All she could do was struggle helplessly as she was dragged backward through the surf.

When they reached the shore, Selena was kicking furiously and choking on all the salt water she had swallowed. Her captor hefted her from the waves and carried her like a sack of grain over one hip, but as he made to deposit her on the beach, her foot somehow got entangled with his long legs and he tripped, falling to his knees on the damp sand, swearing as he barely avoided crushing her beneath him.

Selena was still sobbing, her breath coming in shallow, quick gasps, but she managed to turn onto her back so that she could use her fists against his broad shoulders. “You!” she sputtered. The tall man who was sprawled half on top of her was Kyle Ramsey. Through a veil of bedraggled hair and tears, she could see the rugged planes of his face shadowed by moonlight.

“Damn it, be still,” he ordered gruffly as she squirmed beneath his great weight. When she continued to push against his chest, he threw one muscular leg over her thighs and grabbed her wrists, holding her arms above her head.

His action only reminded her of how Avery had pinned Edith’s wrists during their coupling. Selena quieted then, closing her eyes, tears streaming down her cheeks as she relived that horrible moment. Avery had betrayed her in her very own home, yet he still intended to marry her. Gentlemen take virgins to wife, my dear. And she was undoubtedly a virgin. He had vowed to have the Markham plantation, as well—

“What the devil were you trying to do?” she heard Captain Ramsey mutter. “Kill yourself?”

Startled by the intrusive demand, Selena opened her eyes and saw that the captain was peering down at her with concern. His heavy brows were drawn together in a frown as they had been earlier that day, just after he had kissed her. He was shirtless now, as well, the wet, powerful muscles of his arms and shoulders gleaming in the moonlight.

Feeling those sinewy muscles ripple beneath his damp skin as his naked chest pressed against her, Selena couldn’t help but remember how brazenly she had responded to his kiss. And then a sudden thought struck her. Avery wanted a virgin bride, did he?

Her slender jaw hardening with resolution, Selena met Captain Ramsey’s gaze directly. “Captain,” she said very clearly, even though her voice was husky with tears, “I would like you to make love to me.”

Chapter Two

Kyle stared at Selena, wondering if he had heard her correctly. He knew who she was now. His first mate had enlightened him about her identity and warned that there might be repercussions from his bout of drunken revelry; Miss Selena Markham had some rather high connections on the island.

Kyle regretted now the wicked impulse that had led him to kiss her earlier today in the street. She represented the worst kind of danger to a freedom-loving bachelor. Normally he steered clear of entanglements with females of marriageable age or any females who might place demands on him, preferring instead the more honest and uncomplicated relationships with women of a lower class and of lower expectations. It was safer that way, he had learned from experience. A brief encounter with a lonely young matron who needed consoling had left him shackled by bonds that could never be broken. He wasn’t about to repeat that mistake.

Not that he could believe he was being asked to do so. “I didn’t drink that much this afternoon,” Kyle muttered under his breath, “and I’m entirely sober now.”