The Pirate's Daughter

‘I was brought up by my aunt and uncle—John’s parents. They both died when I was a child. Since that time John has been my lawful guardian.’

‘And were you close to your aunt and uncle?’

A look of desolation entered Cassandra’s eyes as she reluctantly retreated back into her past. ‘No. Quite the opposite, in fact. My uncle was a hard man and paid me scant attention—but my aunt…I hated her,’ she said quietly, her voice quivering with deep emotion. ‘Her dislike of me was intense and she made my life intolerable. During the years of the Civil War our families were divided in their loyalties to King and country, which did not help my case.

‘However, without my parents, there was no one else to take care of me. My cousins John and Meredith were the two people who sustained me. My determination to survive my aunt’s oppression during the early years of my life taught me to be my own person—which has always been my greatest strength. And, as you see, Captain Marston,’ she said with a cynical smile, ‘my spirit remains uncrushed.’

Her simple, toneless voice, giving him without emphasis a brief insight into her past, of how she must have suffered pain and humiliation at the hands of her aunt and uncle, wrung Stuart’s heart with pity, and the look in her eyes told him much more than any words she could have uttered.

‘Your cousin tells me your father was killed at Worcester fighting for the King—and that your mother died when you were born. It cannot have been easy growing up without knowing either of your parents.’

Cassandra’s eyes narrowed warily as she gave him a level stare. So, she thought, that was what John had told him, what he wanted him to think, for, apart from a few gossiping, speculative neighbours in Chelsea, himself and Meredith, Rosa and the crew of the Dolphin, no one knew she was the daughter of the infamous pirate Captain Nathaniel Wylde.

John was deeply ashamed that he bore any connection to such a man and was constantly reminding her that, for her own sake, on no account must she reveal the identity of her father. Her heart twisted with pain, for much as she would like to speak of him, she knew it was in her best interests that the part of her life she had shared so briefly with him must remain locked in her heart for ever.

‘No—no, it wasn’t,’ she replied in answer to Stuart’s question. She smiled suddenly when a soft breeze blew the folds of her skirt. ‘My aunt and uncle were Puritans and fanatically dedicated to God. Their religion dominated every waking moment of our lives. If they knew what I had done—coming to Barbados without telling anyone, to live on a Caribbean island and surrounded by slaves—without doubt my sin would be great indeed and I would be severely chastised.’ She grinned wryly. ‘I think she might have a few choice words to say to John, too, concerning his relationship with Elmina.’

Stuart frowned curiously. ‘Elmina?’

‘The mulatto woman who served us at dinner. She is my cousin’s housekeeper—and I strongly suspect she is also his mistress and the reason why he is so reluctant to return to England. The looks that have passed between them all evening cannot have escaped you. You must have noticed.’ She smiled.

‘I have to confess I did not,’ he murmured softly, his voice suddenly grown deep and husky and his eyes focusing on her lips. Her revelation dispelled his suspicion that she might be in love with her cousin, and he with her. ‘My eyes were more favourably employed.’

Cassandra felt the impact of his gaze and caught her breath, flushing softly, understanding the meaning of his words and flattered by them. ‘John has not admitted their relationship as such. I’m sure he would consider it too delicate a matter to discuss with me.’

‘Nevertheless, you do not appear to be unduly disturbed by the closeness that exists between your cousin and his servant, which I consider strange. Most young ladies of my acquaintance would be scandalised by such a relationship.’

Cassandra’s eyes narrowed and she glanced at him sharply, her cheeks flaming suddenly, for she was stung by the irony and what she considered to be an underlying note of reproof in his voice. For the first time a constraint had come between them. ‘Then the young ladies you speak of must be exceedingly dull company, Captain Marston, who no doubt spend their time talking of tedious matters like the state of their health and the clothes they wear. I am not like that.’

‘It wasn’t a reproach, but I am beginning to realise you are quite uninhibited.’

‘That is a natural characteristic of mine. Perhaps I should not have silenced my cousin when he was giving such a vivid account of my character, for then I think you would know me a little better.’

‘So there is some truth in his description of you,’ Stuart remarked, stifling a grin at the complete absence of contrition on her lovely, upturned face and jutting chin. ‘You are a stubborn and disobedient woman, whose whims must be humoured at all cost.’

Her unabashed gaze locked on his. ‘Yes—all of it. And if I had allowed him to continue you would have learnt that some of my pastimes are considered by our neighbours in Chelsea to be quite shocking.’

‘I would?’

‘Yes. John is forever rescuing me from one escapade or another. I hunt, I fish, I wear breeches like a man and ride about the countryside at home like a gypsy—which drives my cousin Meredith to distraction. I also speak my mind, for since my aunt and uncle died I no longer feel I have to curb my tongue. I do not feel the need to apologise and nor am I ashamed of what I am or what I do, so if this does not meet with your approval, then it is just too bad.’

Stuart cocked a sleek black brow, a merry twinkle of amusement dancing in his eyes. ‘I do believe you are trying to shock me, Cassandra,’ he said calmly. ‘But there is nothing about your character that I do not already know.’

‘You can read my mind?’

‘You might say that. I am beginning to feel heartily sorry for your cousin. You appear to be quite a handful.’ He chuckled. ‘There’s little wonder if he is eager to have you off his hands, for you to wed.’

Cassandra glanced across at him. His face was in shadow, but she could see that he was smiling. His eyes glowed and he looked at her appreciatively as he continued to lounge with careless ease against the balustrade, his arms folded across his chest. He was all lean hard muscle and for a moment she forgot her outburst and wondered what it would be like to love and to be loved by such a man.

He was strong, his manner one of complete assurance—and a cynical humour twinkled in his black eyes. There was also a dangerous, cool recklessness about him and a distinct air of adventure—a trait that so reminded her of her father. They might have been cast in the same mould except that Stuart Marston would despise her father’s chosen, unlawful way of life.

‘Aren’t you shocked by my unseemly behaviour, Captain Marston?’ She met his eyes and saw they were teasing and suddenly he laughed outright, a deep, rich sound, and she relaxed.

‘Not in the least—and I asked you to call me Stuart. It is part of your make-up that attracts me to you, and you know it. And I do not believe I am mistaken when I say the attraction is mutual.’

Cassandra turned her face away from his close scrutiny. There was an unfamiliar look in his eyes that turned her into a woman she no longer recognised. She was weakened by it and did not understand what was happening to her—the result being total confusion.

‘I—I really don’t know what you mean.’

‘Oh, I think you do, so do not be coy with me. Tell me, what is your opinion of me?’

‘This is our second meeting—which is hardly time for me have formed an opinion of you,’ she answered primly.

‘But each has been no ordinary encounter. I think you have formed a very strong opinion of me, and for my part I find you an immense challenge. You intrigue me. So, tell me, how would you feel about agreeing to become my wife?’

Cassandra stared at him in a kind of disorientated, bewildered state. Their gazes held, the silence punctuated by the persistent call of a night bird.

Stuart’s eyes smiled, but his voice was quiet, seductive. ‘I can see I have rendered you speechless.’

She spoke, but her voice was a strangled whisper. ‘Sir—you—you jest.’

‘I would not jest on so serious a matter to me.’

He was smiling, a mocking smile, calmly watching her from beneath his lowered lids, but Cassandra sensed he was alert and that an unfettered power struggled beneath his calm. His tone was perfectly natural, as if he were merely asking her to take a stroll around the garden with him, but its very ordinariness caused a feeling of panic and the mystery of the unknown to flow through her.

Without logic or reason she was drawn to Stuart Marston as to no other and she experienced a moment of terror when she was with him, for the sheer magnitude of her feelings threatened to overwhelm her. She felt weak, vulnerable, suddenly—at his mercy and standing on the threshold of something new. He was essentially worldly, emanating raw power that was an irresistible attraction to any woman. She was stimulated by him, he excited her, and he exuded an element of danger that added to the excitement.