Breaking the Rake's Rules Page 7

  Maybe it was because there were onlookers and Mrs Selby had puckered her mouth up into a sour frown or maybe it was simply the intimacy of the act that made her entirely self-conscious. She noticed everything acutely in those brief moments of contact: Kitt’s face close to hers, blue eyes laughing as if he knew Mrs Selby’s mouth currently resembled a prune, Kitt’s fingers sweeping down the curve of her jaw as he stepped back. ‘There, that will do for now.’ The smile on his face suggested he was up to mischief with this latest endeavour and she was not in on the entire joke.

  To be sure, she was in on part of it. He’d enjoyed getting a self-righteous rise out of Mrs Selby and he divined correctly that she wouldn’t mind a little fun at Mrs Selby’s expense. But there was more to it than that, Bryn would bet on it. She’d bet, too, that Kitt wouldn’t be around when the other proverbial shoe fell. But it would fall, she could feel it. Mrs Selby was fairly bristling beside her as Kitt took his leave and conversation was forced as the ladies finished their errands. The shoe would fall soon and she would bear the brunt of it all on her own even though she hadn’t asked for his attentions.

  * * *

  It fell over tea in the lobby of the hotel. ‘I am sorry for the distasteful instance with Captain Sherard,’ Mrs Selby said, trying to sound casual and sympathetic as she passed Bryn a teacup when in reality she was neither. ‘He’s quite the ladies’ man in these parts.’ She smiled, trying to appear friendly. ‘It’s not your fault, my dear. You’re new, you couldn’t possibly know what sort of man he is.’

  ‘What sort of man is that, Mrs Selby?’ Bryn asked bluntly.

  That had her nonplussed, Bryn was gratified to note. Mrs Selby hesitated, weighing her options before answering with a hedge. ‘Of course, the men like him a great deal as does a certain sort of lady, but a young woman like yourself needs to take care. He has a way of turning heads without really meaning to. I wouldn’t want you to read too much into his gesture this morning.’

  Or his kisses on my balcony. You know he’s had his hand on more than my face, Mrs Selby. Bryn smiled politely. ‘Surely he’s not as bad as all that. He appeared quite the gentleman a couple of nights ago at the Crenshaws’.’ She smiled at Eleanor Crenshaw, hoping to engage an ally. Eleanor had invited him, after all. ‘Where does he fit in? Is he a gentleman or a rebel?’ Bryn asked point blank.

  All three of them were stymied, exchanging awkward looks. It was Eleanor Crenshaw who answered, ‘We tolerate him, of course, because he’s rich and there’s so little society in the islands, but he has no people. No one really knows where he’s from.’ She said the last in a little whisper as if it were the gravest of sins.

  Bryn decided to bedevil the subject a bit further. ‘Miss Caroline Bryant didn’t seem to mind.’ She might disagree with Mrs Selby’s assessment of Kitt Sherard, but Bryn wasn’t about to let this conversational opening go unused. It was the perfect chance to learn more about one of her father’s investors.

  Alba Harrison pitched her voice low. ‘Caroline is the quartermaster’s daughter.’ She arched dark brows as if emphasising Miss Bryant’s connection to the quartermaster explained everything. ‘Captain Sherard strings her along because it’s good for his business,’ Alba Harrison added when it was clear the emphasis was lost on Bryn. Alba Harrison leaned forward, her words coming fast, her brown eyes intense. ‘He’ll do the same to you as well if you’re not careful. He wants in on the joint stock bank and he’ll use your influence with your father to ensure his place. It’s the truth, I don’t mean to be cruel.’

  Yes, you do. Bryn met Alba Harrison’s gaze evenly. This was nothing different than the catty politics between women in London ballrooms: the endless battle between those who held a man’s attention and those who wanted it. How much of this was jealousy and how much was truth? ‘I see. Thank you.’ She did see, far more than Alba Harrison realised. Alba’s rather vociferous condemnation of Kitt Sherard was not in character with the woman who earlier this morning had softly advised leaving all sense of finance and business to the men.

  That was when Bryn realised two things: One, Alba Harrison had lied. She was into the family finances as deep as her husband, no matter what she professed publicly. She understood perfectly well what was riding on this opportunity with the bank. There was no doubt in Bryn’s mind, Alba had come shopping with one goal in mind—secure a place on the board of investors. Second, Kitt had used her. He’d known his actions would provoke this sort of conversation. The question was, had he done it to expose Alba Harrison’s true nature or to expose his? Now Bryn understood why he’d smiled. She just didn’t understand the reason behind it. But she was going to.

  If Alba had thought to gain favour with her warning about Kitt, she’d be surprised to note it had just the opposite effect. Bryn made up her mind on the spot. When tea was done, she would find Sherard and confront him. He would soon learn she did not care for the role of unwitting accomplice. He’d set her up and he would have to pay.

  Chapter Seven

  The rum at his hand was cold and the stones on his back were hot. Life was perfect. For the moment. Perfection never lasted and he knew better than most that life could change without notice or warning. He’d learned to take the moments where he could find them. Today there were no bandits, no knife fights on beaches, no assassins in the shadows.

  Kitt shifted beneath the thin white sheet draped over his buttocks, the only part of him that was covered as he lay in his open-air pavilion on a raised bed that looked out over the white carpet of sand and turquoise expanse of ocean. This was Paradise on earth, maybe even Paradise period. And it was all his: a private home, a pristine beach, bought and paid for with rum money and danger. C’est la vie—such is life, the French would say. Everything, Paradise included, had a price.

  ‘How does that feel, Mr Kitt?’ The Bajan beauty working him over placed the last of the small heated stones on his back, her accented English a gentle lilt at his ear, quite a different earful than the sharp tongue of Miss Rutherford who’d likely want to skewer him the next time she saw him.

  ‘Like heaven, love.’ Kitt gave a groan of appreciation as the masseuse kneaded away the tension that had taken up residence between his shoulder blades. A gentle breeze passed through the open-air pavilion, mixing deliciously with the heat of the stones against his bare skin. After the last two days, he deserved this. When he’d finished in town, he’d come here straight away with strict instructions to Passemore that he not be disturbed. This was his own private hideaway, a place where he could relax, plan or think as the mood suited.

  Right now, a little of all three suited that mood. With Devore on the loose, he couldn’t allow himself to relax entirely no matter how tempting it was. Even in the safety of his home, his body tensed at the thought of Devore. The man was evil incarnate, a man who calculated his cruelty to exact every possible ounce of suffering from his victims. He would never be completely able to rid his mind of images of what Devore and Gridley had done to Emma. He probably should have put a bullet in Devore when he’d had the chance.

  He took comfort in knowing there was little Devore could do to him. Outside of Ren and Emma, he had no other interpersonal attachments and Ren would protect Emma. It was one of the benefits of having reinvented himself. No one relied on him. He had no one to worry over. Still, if Devore was on the move, he’d be watching, looking for some weakness, some sort of leverage to use against him. Devore would not hesitate to strike at any chink in his armour, perceived or otherwise, further proof this was not the time to pursue anything that remotely resembled familiarity with Bryn Rutherford. Kitt would not tolerate an innocent bystander caught in the crossfire of revenge.

  His behaviour in town had been all about convincing Bryn to keep her distance without ruining his business chances with her father. His behaviour had been outrageous, but not out of character and it should have served as a final reminder of the sort of man h
e was; completely unsuitable for a princess like her. He’d warned her earlier with words, now he’d warned her with actions.

  Right about now, the shrewd Miss Rutherford should be heading home, ready to mull over all the news the ladies of Bridgetown had imparted about him. He felt a smile of satisfaction creep across his mouth. She would be coming to her senses while he was basking in Paradise, enjoying the quiet and...the sound of footsteps? What the bloody hell?

  Kitt reared up, dislodging the hot stones, his hand sweeping under the pillow for his knife as he leapt off the bed, his body immediately alert to danger. There was relaxation and then there was stupidity, after all. He preferred not to face an attacker in his altogether, but it was too late to do anything about the latter now.

  ‘Passemore!’ Kitt lowered his knife, the adrenaline induced tension ebbing from his body as he recognised his first mate. ‘Dammit, I told you I wasn’t to be disturbed. Cleo will have to start all over now. This had better be good.’

  A snatch of green and a flicker of white skirts garnered Kitt’s attention on the path over Passemore’s shoulder. Good God! Passemore had not come alone. Kitt waved the knife in her direction with a growl at Passemore. ‘What is she doing here?’ But he knew. She’d got one over on Passemore. He almost felt sorry for William. Almost.

  ‘I couldn’t stop her,’ Passemore stammered, unusually unsure of himself. ‘She insisted she ride along with me when I brought the supplies out.’ Kitt had left his first mate in town to load up the wagon, never guessing Bryn would want to track him down so quickly, if at all. The magpies were supposed to have sent her running the other direction with their gossip, not draw her here.

  ‘You need to get laid, William,’ Kitt muttered under his breath. He wasn’t surprised his first mate hadn’t been match enough for Bryn Rutherford, but he was surprised she was here. So much for keeping her at arm’s length.

  ‘Mr Sherard, I need a word with you,’ Bryn began before she even came to a full stop. ‘If you think you can set me up like that...’ She paused mid-sentence, her eyes dropping down his length as the scene hit her full force. ‘You’re naked.’

  ‘And you’re staring.’ Kitt grinned, enjoying taking the edge off what was likely a well-planned tirade she’d rehearsed all the way out. He’d stood naked before plenty of women and he had nothing to be ashamed of. As for Miss Rutherford, he was probably her first. His grin widened. ‘See anything you like, princess?’

  Of course she was staring, how could she not? He was as gorgeous as he was arrogant and Kitt Sherard was arrogant in the extreme. Not without reason. That tan, sleek body of his rivalled the gods of Olympus. Arms bulged with muscle, his torso an atlas of ridges and planes as it tapered to narrow, defined hips and a rather robust phallus announcing its presence. It was hard to look away. A girl didn’t have such a fine specimen of manhood displayed for her every day. But she would not let him thwart her efforts at conversation with this rather bawdy display of man flesh. First, however, she had to find her voice. Bryn cleared her throat with what she hoped was the sound of authority and not nerves.

  ‘Is this how you greet guests? Armed and naked?’ With nearly superhuman effort, she managed to flick a cool glance at the knife in his hand. She was trying so very hard not to look, to pretend that she conversed with naked men all the time. Heaven knew what she’d interrupted. The cocoa-skinned woman had discreetly withdrawn, but not before Bryn had been aware of her presence. There were only so many conclusions one could draw about a woman and a naked man without being completely obtuse.

  ‘Perhaps you and I disagree on what constitutes a guest, Miss Rutherford. Where I come from, guests are invited.’ He held his arms out to his sides, giving her eyes free rein. ‘This is how I greet people who take me by surprise in the middle of a massage. Technically, that makes you a trespasser.’ He gave a wicked grin that sent a tremor of excitement through her. ‘There’s a forfeit for trespassing.’

  Yes, please, I’ll pay it, the rather heated part of her imagination all but yelled in her mind. Part of her knew she shouldn’t have come here. Decently bred ladies didn’t seek out gentlemen and they certainly didn’t go barging into a gentleman’s private quarters. She was getting her just deserts for intruding. The other part of her thought those deserts not only just, but delicious. But she had to play this coolly, had to be aloof, had to appear unfazed by this blatant display of nudity. ‘It hardly seems fair that you can climb my balcony, but I can’t walk on your beach.’

  ‘You want to “walk on my beach”?’ He had a way of making even a simple statement sound erotic. ‘There’s a forfeit for that, too, princess. This is turning into a pretty expensive visit. Make sure you can afford it.’

  It was her turn to laugh. If he meant to frighten her off, he was doing a poor job of it. ‘You don’t scare me, Sherard.’ Just the opposite. He was exactly the sort of gentleman who would indulge her wild fantasies, who would be her lover without exacting marriage, but their situation was anything but ideal. She could not mix his brand of pleasure with her father’s business. She needed absolute objectivity in order to help her father select the right men.

  He arched a blond brow. ‘If we’re to go, ah, “walking”, as you like to call it, we should dispense with the formalities. It sounds like a bad romance novel: Miss Rutherford and the Captain. I prefer Kitt.’

  Kitt, reached for the sheet and wound it about his middle with a pointed glance at her feet. ‘You might want to take off your shoes. And your stockings.’ He paused, considering her hem. ‘You might want to tuck up your skirts, too, if you want to stay dry.’

  It was Bryn’s turn to raise a brow. ‘Anything else you’d like me to take off?’

  ‘Not at the moment, no.’ Kitt laughed. ‘But I reserve the right to amend my suggestions.’

  It was definitely the most decadent walk of her life, strolling barefoot on the beach alongside a man wrapped only in a sheet. But it was worth it to feel warm sand between her toes and the occasional wave the temperature of her bath gently lap against her ankles.

  ‘This beach is really yours?’ Bryn asked. The calm waves had taken some of the fire out of the intent of her visit. She felt less like fighting with him than simply wanting to talk with him, to learn about this enigmatic man who owned this peaceful Paradise while being anything but peaceful himself. Perhaps that’s why he consented to let her walk along the shore instead of ushering her to the door. Refusing to see her would only have served to stoke her anger. This was distraction at its finest. Kitt had proven he was a shrewd tactician. She must remain alert. But what harm could there be in a walk when she knew what he was playing at?

  Kitt stretched his arms wide, pride evident in his voice. ‘All this is mine, the house and the beach as far as the eye can see. Since the house isn’t on farmable land, the owner had no use for it. It was just a decoration and that was fine with me. I wanted a decoration. Somewhere I could be alone.’ The last was intended as a pointed commentary on her intrusion.

  ‘Your home is lovely.’ She meant it, choosing to overlook his slur. The house resembled a Mediterranean villa with its white stucco and arches. A quick glimpse of the interior as she’d passed through with Passemore had revealed the place was well furnished. The gardens in the back leading down to the shore were immaculately groomed and full of colour. There was even a fountain that trickled enticingly into a tiled basin on a patio.

  ‘Thank you, but that’s not what you came to discuss.’ They’d come to a cove with a wide, flat-topped rock formation set fifty or so yards from shore. Kitt tugged at her hand with a nod towards the rock. ‘Are you game? We can sit on the top.’

  There were so many reasons to decline the invitation. Well-bred ladies didn’t climb rocks with men in sheets, they didn’t walk beach shores with them either. It certainly wasn’t part of the promise she’d made her mother. But the line of propriety had been crossed long before th
is latest breach. She’d crossed it the moment she’d sought out his company alone in his home. Maybe even before that, when she’d allowed him indecent liberties on her balcony instead of screaming for help.

  And yet, her wild side argued as she scaled the rock with Kitt, hadn’t she come to Barbados especially for this? How could she refuse the offer? Look where her choices had led so far: To a beautiful beach, to scrambling up a rock and sitting beside a half-naked man, letting the breeze off the water cool her skin while she took in the stunning view of the ocean and the coastline, half a globe away from the world she knew, the world that would condemn taking advantage of a moment like this. What did that world know anyway?

  In a declarative act of defiance, Bryn took off her hat when they reached the top. She arched her neck, letting the sun and the breeze bathe her face. ‘I never dreamed there was a place like this on earth.’ Her legs dangled over the side of the rock alongside Kitt’s. Below them, waves hit the rock, the spray tickling her legs. Her skirts would be damp no matter how far she tucked them up, but right now she didn’t care.

  Bryn gave herself a few minutes to enjoy the scene before returning to the subject at hand. ‘This doesn’t mean I’m not still upset with you about this morning. You can’t bribe me.’

  Kitt shrugged and played innocent. ‘What did I do this morning?’