Moonwitch

Edith surveyed Selena’s pale face, taking in her unbound hair and disheveled nightdress. “I was never unfaithful to your father, if that is what concerns you.”

It was some consolation, at least, Selena thought, feeling a little sick. Realizing she had better sit down, she crossed the room and sank down onto the edge of the bed.

“Avery only wants to marry you for the plantation, you know,” her stepmother continued. “You were always such an ungainly child. He never would have noticed you if not for your inheritance.”

The accusation stung Selena, particularly since she suspected it was true. “Perhaps so,” she replied with scarcely bridled anger, “but I didn’t expect him to betray me in my own home!”

“Oh, come now, Selena, you can’t be that naive. Avery is a man, with a man’s needs. An overnice chit doesn’t interest him. I must say, he couldn’t keep his hands off me once I made it known I wouldn’t spurn his advances.”

The years of schooling her features into a polite mask around her stepmother were forgotten; the disgust Selena was feeling showed clearly on her face. When she didn’t speak, though, Edith leaned forward in her chair, her sultry eyes narrowing. “I intend to be Mrs. Avery Warner before the year is out. And I won’t let you stand in my way.”

While Edith was obviously willing to fight, Selena felt the prize in question wasn’t worth the battle. She wanted no part of Avery. Edith was welcome to him.

“You may rest assured,” Selena returned with icy dignity, pleased to find that her voice remained almost steady, “that I won’t fight you for him.”

Relaxing back in her chair, Edith permitted herself a faint smile. “I am glad we understand each other, my dear. I shouldn’t like to see you hurt.”

“How very kind you are.”

Edith’s smile faded abruptly as she rose to her feet. “Don’t push me, you wretched girl, or you’ll find yourself without a home in short order. Much good your plantation will do you then!” In a swirl of lime-green chenille, she marched from the room, apparently not caring that the rafters shook as she slammed the door forcefully behind her.

When she had gone, Selena finally allowed her defenses to crumble; her shoulders slumped and she buried her face in her hands.

The next morning when Selena le

ft the house, dressed in a lavender gown of jaconet muslin and a leghorn hat with matching ribbons, there was no sign that she had spent a sleepless night trying to come to a decision about her future course of action or that she was still trying to bolster the courage to carry out the wild plan she had conceived. But her delicate jaw was set with determination. Her stepmother had provoked more than her anger; Edith had aroused a long-dormant instinct for self-preservation.

When Selena reached the stables, her white mare was waiting as she had ordered. She mounted with the help of a groom, then rode out of the yard along the same road as the previous night, though at a much slower pace.

The island was gilded with sunlight and bustling with activity. The final cane stands were being harvested, and she passed dark-skinned field hands wielding machetes or driving heavily burdened mules toward the sugar works. Beyond, in the distance, Selena could see one of the two mills of the plantation—a truncated cone of stone whose great grinding wheels were driven by oxen rather than wind, as was the other.

The road split before she came to Five Islands Bay. Selena chose the fork that led directly to the sea, preferring to ride along the shore while she rehearsed the speech she had formulated during the sleepless hours of the past night. She found the cove quiet but for the gentle murmur of the surf. She might have paused to admire the dazzling vista of pale gold sand and clear, light green waves if she hadn’t caught sight of Captain Ramsey farther up the beach.

He was standing calf-deep in water, looking quite at ease as he cast out a fishing line. He wore the same cutoff canvas trousers he had been wearing the previous night, and his sleek, sun-bronzed body was breathtaking against the backdrop of blue sky and turquoise sea. Poseidon surveying his realm, Selena thought, checking her horse abruptly as shameful memories came rushing back to haunt her.

To say that she was aghast at her recent behavior was an understatement. It seemed impossible to her now that she not only had allowed Kyle Ramsey to make love to her but had practically demanded that he do so. She had thrown away her virtue on a total stranger, and what was more, she hadn’t even enjoyed it—at least not after those first few moments of breathless passion. Indeed, she had found the experience awkward and somewhat painful. Yet she was prepared to repeat that experience… under certain conditions. First, however, she would have to get the captain to agree to her proposal.

Forcing herself to ignore the fluttering in her stomach, Selena urged her horse forward. When she halted a few yards from Kyle, she could see he wasn’t overjoyed by her presence; he had half turned to watch her progress and was observing her with an extremely wary look in his hazel eyes.

“Miss Markham,” he said, making the words more a question than a greeting.

Unexpectedly, Selena found herself the victim of an absurd attack of shyness. Up close, in broad daylight, his ruggedness seemed more pronounced, and the broad expanse of naked sinews reminded her rather forcefully of how his powerful body had felt pressed against hers.

She dropped her gaze, noticing as she did so the peels of several finger-size bananas and the skin of a large yellow mango lying in the sand. He must have carried his breakfast with him. She fixed her gaze on the fruit remnants as she tried to summon some semblance of her characteristic composure.

“Captain…I…You won’t catch much this far in from the reef,” she finished lamely, losing her nerve.

He studied her for an uncomfortable moment longer before he spoke. “I plan to take a ketch out later. But I don’t expect you rode all the way here to advise me about the sport.”

“No, I… I came to ask you a question.” She hesitated.

“Yes?” Kyle prompted.

“I should like to know… if you would marry me.”

“Good God.” The words were exhaled slowly, but otherwise, he simply stared at her.

Somewhat heartened that she hadn’t been refused outright, Selena went on. “Before you give me your answer, perhaps I should mention that my father left me a substantial inheritance. The Markham plantation has a thousand acres of prime soil, a modest size, perhaps, but highly productive. It’s rare that we don’t yield at least 350 hogsheads of sugar and 200 puncheons of rum in a year. My stepmother owns the house, however, so we would have to build one of our own—”