Chapter Twelve

 

Genuinely pleased with herself, Rosalyn reclined against the cushions, as the carriage headed up the hill toward Wortham Manor. In her wildest dreams, she never would have foreseen such an unusual morning. Certainly Grant’s willingness to help emancipate that poor man had provided a most unexpected insight into his character! Usually he either sought to intimidate, tantalize, ridicule, or—she blushed at the thought!—seduce her. Well, he had best watch his step! After what had transpired at the wharf, she felt equal to just about any challenge, including him.

“Here we are,” Tom Sanford announced, as the carriage came to the end of a tree-lined lane and stopped in front of a great white mansion. The Sanfords’ house, a massive structure with a clay tile roof, stood on a slight elevation overlooking a number of smaller buildings.

At the top of a graceful outer staircase, a dignified lady, dressed in a fashionable, round-necked gown with a tight bodice and billowing skirts, stood fanning herself, waiting for the four young people to come to her.

“Mother, may I present Mrs. Watermann and her companion, Mistress Wallins, both from Boston,” Tom said.

“How d’ you do?” Mrs. Sanford extended two fingers, barely touching Rosalyn’s hand. “So you are traveling on the Fair Winds?” She sniffed, clearly disapproving of her son’s guests.

“Passengers, ma’am, on our way to England in a roundabout fashion,” Rosalyn explained.

“I see. And may I ask the nature of your relationship to Captain Watermann?” Mrs. Sanford asked, looking her over as if wishing to ferret out some whiff of scandal.

“Mother, Mrs. Watermann is Nathaniel’s widow,” Tom hastened to say.

Rosalyn smiled. Apparently Grant’s reputation as a womanizer had preceded him. “I was briefly married to Captain Nathaniel Watermann, who died last month,” she said, hoping to ease the lady’s mind.

Tom laughed. “Is it not amusing, Mama? This beautiful young lady is actually Grant’s stepmother!”

Everyone laughed, except Rosalyn. Blushing furiously, she felt slightly ridiculous.

Sensing Rosalyn’s embarrassment, Mercy slipped a protective arm around her waist and gave her a gentle squeeze. “Mrs. Watermann inherited a half-share in the Fair Winds from her husband. She and the Captain’s son are business partners.”

“Strictly business,” Rosalyn emphasized.

“Now that you’ve cleared that up,” said Mrs. Sanford, fanning herself, “perhaps you will join me for some refreshment. My servants are about to serve what we in Jamaica call our ‘second breakfast.’ Just a little something to tie us over until dinner.”

Tom bowed over Rosalyn’s hand and then Mercy’s. “I leave you lovely ladies in my mother’s care. Alas, Bob and I have urgent business that requires our immediate attention.”

“Until tonight?” Andrews murmured, and they strode away behind the great house.

After a light meal, their hostess gave them a brief tour of the house. “It keeps thirty house slaves occupied from morning to night.” She sighed like a martyr. “It’s exhausting, trying to keep track of them all.”

Mercy and Rosalyn exchanged a speaking glance.

“Perhaps if you didn’t have slaves, you’d get more rest,” Mercy suggested.

Mrs. Sanford chuckled. “You are such innocents! My husband insists on a beautiful house and lavish entertainments.” She trailed her fingers over a small, highly polished table in the parlor, testing for dust. “Tsk! I must speak to Mattie. This wasn’t properly cleaned today.”

“The house is lovely,” said Rosalyn. “But it seems to me, a person could become a slave to things, if that is all one has to occupy her time.”

The lady smiled. “My dear, that is what slaves are for!”

“Pardon?” Mercy wrinkled her brow, looking confused.

“My husband’s a very important man! If we didn’t properly diplay our wealth, how long do you think we would have the respect and prestige that goes along with it?”

“So wealth begets more wealth?” Rosalyn said cautiously.

“Precisely!” Mrs. Sanford led the way upstairs. “Come, ladies, let me show you to your room. It’s right next to my daughter Stella’s. I know you will get on famously with her.”

Weary after all the excitement at the wharf, and eager to escape their hostess’s obsession with cleaning, Rosalyn and Mercy dutifully followed her down the hall.

“Most ladies take an afternoon siesta,” Mrs. Sanford went on. “I myself am too busy, but because of the heat, I always insist that Stella take her ‘beauty rest’ nap.” She scratched lightly on a door in the hallway. “Stella darling, we have guests!” she called.

Presently a pretty, black-haired minx opened the door. Standing in her chemise and petticoats, she pouted when she saw her mother. “Oh, hullo, Mother.”

Mrs. Sanford made the introductions and left the young ladies to get acquainted in the privacy of Stella’s sitting room. Rosalyn and Mercy watched Stella flounce about the room restlessly.

“Have you lived long in Jamaica, Stella?” Rosalyn asked to make conversation.

“All my life,” the girl said. “I’m fifteen—practically an old maid, compared with my friends! I’ve never been anywhere except Port Royal and Kingston.”

Mercy smiled. “If you think fifteen is old, I must seem ancient at twenty-three.”

Stella made a rude noise. “Positively over the hill. Women age quickly here. My mother is only forty, and look what an old hag she is.” She threw herself into a bedroom chair and sucked on her pinky.

“On the contrary, I think your mother carries her age very well,” said Rosalyn.

“How old are you?” was Stella’s next question.

“I shall be eighteen next month.”

“And you’re already a widow,” Stella laughed.

“Stuff and nonsense,” said Mercy. “Rosalyn had barely exchanged her vows when the old captain suffered a fatal stroke.”

“Go on!” Stella sat straight, instantly intrigued. “Don’t tell me you’re still a virgin!”

Rosalyn blushed, and Stella fell into a fit of laughter, rocking back and forth convulsed by amusement. “I know more’n you,” she smirked. “I had my cherry popped when I was twelve.”

Rosalyn gave Stella a withering stare. “Excuse me? I believe it’s time for a siesta.” Yawning elaborately, she walked toward the adjoining bedroom. “Coming, Mercy?” she hinted.

Mercy smiled at the precocious teenager. “Enjoy your nap, Stella,” she said dismissively.

“You can sleep if you want,” Stella said petulantly. “I’m going down to the falls to bathe.”

Rosalyn frowned as if addressing a bothersome child. “Mind your Mama and take a nap.”

“Ha-ha!” Stella hooted defiantly. “What fun, sailing with Grant Watermann all the way from Boston! Don’t tell me he never put it to either of you ladies?”

Rosalyn spun around with a horrified gasp. “What an evil-minded—ooh!” she cried. “Surely he hasn’t done anything like that to you?”

“No. He acts like I don’t exist,” admitted Stella, startled into an honest confession. “I was just wondering what it would be like.”

“Take a nap, Stella,” Mercy ordered with a look of disgust.

Stella snatched up a pretty gown with a pink floral print and slipped it over her head. “’Take a nap, Stella!’” she mimicked. “Take one yourselves, ladies! I’m going to the waterfall.”

Rosalyn and Mercy exchanged suspicious glances.

“Where is this waterfall, Stella?” Mercy asked.

“A quarter of a mile behind the house. You can come along, if you wish.”

“But your mother—”

“Mother doesn’t mind,” was Stella’s flippant answer.

“Doesn’t mind, or doesn’t know?” Rosalyn asked.

Mercy smiled encouragingly at Rosalyn. “It would help cool us off. Let’s go with her,” she urged.

“I suppose you’re right,” Rosalyn sighed. “She really shouldn’t go without a chaperone.”

Stella summoned her maid. “Bring towels. We’ll go for a dip,” she announced.

Quietly they slipped down the servants’ staircase, followed by two maids burdened down with linen towels. In seconds they disappeared through the hedge behind the house and slipped into the woods.

“Are you certain we ought to be doing this?” Rosalyn asked, following Stella down the gently sloping path to the falls.

Stella laughed. “I come here nearly every day.”

Clearly the pool at the foot of the falls was well known to the rest of the household. As they drew nearer, feminine laughter and gleeful shouts of high jinks rose above the quiet melody of cascading waters. The three girls paused at the edge of the orange grove. From their vantage point, screened by thick foliage, they had an unobstructed view of the pool and its occupants.

Stella looked frankly down the hill at her brother, Tom, and his friends, Bob Andrews and Grant Watermann, splashing and joking around with three equally nude coffee-and-cream colored young females. These uninhibited nymphs were dividing their time between scrubbing the men’s backs and allowing them to take whatever liberties they desired.

“Goodness gracious!” Mercy whispered.

Stella obviously derived great pleasure from her role as voyeur. Brought up short by the men’s unabashed enjoyment of the servant girls’ licentious behavior, Rosalyn and Mercy froze in their tracks. The scene before them was so shocking that Rosalyn stood gawking, temporarily rendered speechless. Why, that minx! she thought. Stella must have known all along that the men would be bathing at this hour. She had intentionally chosen to spy on their uninhibited behavior!

Rosalyn drew in a ragged breath as she caught sight of Grant paddling around on his back. The slender creature on top of him straddled him around the waist!

“Let’s get out of here, Mercy,” she hissed. "Now!”

Mercy started to pull Stella back up the path. Suddenly the two maids, coming up behind, spotted the men and let out a yelp of pleasure. Dropping their armloads of towels, the maids started running down the path, shedding their clothes as they neared the edge of the pool.

A moment later, they were both in the water, splashing and cavorting along with the other three house servants. Two of them dunked Tom Sanford, who went under, his arms and legs thrashing. Another jumped Grant, who managed to evade her playful onslaught and stood up, facing the bank.

Stark naked, hands on hips, he boldly met Rosalyn’s shocked gaze. To her horror, he dared to laugh!

Rosalyn dove behind a shrub. “Duck, Mercy!” she cried.

“Really, Stella,” Mercy chided. Her face a flaming red, she joined Rosalyn in the bushes.

Stella waved casually to the bathers. “We’ll come back later, Tom. Sorry we interrupted your fun. Don’t stop on our account.”

Meanwhile Rosalyn and Mercy were already darting quickly up the narrow winding path toward the house. Stella Sanford had deliberately tricked them into accompanying her to the waterfall! As they came to the tall hedge that bordered the garden, they paused to catch their breath.

Mercy recovered her sense of humor first. “I know it was totally disgraceful, Rosalyn, but it was rather funny.” She giggled. “You should have seen your face.”

Rosalyn, still breathing hard, glared at her. “Oh, I suppose you are used to such things.”

“Of course not, silly. Although I grew up with brothers.”

“Well, I didn’t!” said Rosalyn. “If you must know, that is the absolute first time I ever saw a man without a stitch of clothing on.”

“I’d like to take a switch to Stella,” said Mercy. “She’s a perverse little—”

Panting, Stella caught up with them. “I have a message for you from your handsome friend, Captain Watermann,” she said saucily.

Rosalyn’s stormy blue eyes bored into Stella’s. “Don’t you say another word, Stella, or I shall go straight to your mother,” she threatened. She marched through the mansion's rear entrance and upstairs without a backward glance.

Mercy, her curiosity piqued, hung back.

“What was the message?” she whispered to Stella.

Not one to let her high spirits be suppressed, Stella replied in a voice loud enough to make Rosalyn cringe: “’Come on in. The water’s fine!’”

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

“Frankly, Mercy, I am thoroughly fed up with my business partner,” Rosalyn told Mercy later, as she dressed for dinner. The maid had arranged her hair in a fetching cascade of curls, and she tossed her head, preening in front of the mirror. “How do I look? Will I pass muster?” she asked, pivoting to show off the stylish pale yellow gown Stella had lent her. The little imp, now eager to make amends, if only to prevent her mother from learning of her latest escapade, had been more that generous.

“Absolutely stunning, Rosalyn,” said Mercy, tugging at the busk that shaped her borrowed dress. “Grant won’t be able to keep his eyes off you tonight.”

“I’m not sorry we blackmailed poor Stella into lending us these gowns.” Smiling, Rosalyn helped fasten the top hook on Mercy’s satin gown and stood back. “Look at us! We’re a couple of duchesses.” She sneaked a nervous peek in the mirror to reassure herself that the front of her low-cut gown wasn’t too daring. “I must avoid bending over,” she decided. “Ready?”

Their arms entwined around each other’s waists, they left their bedchamber like conspirators on a secret mission. Laughing and whispering, they made their grand entrance coming down the broad staircase in their borrowed finery, Rosalyn showing off her jaunty, new-found confidence and a fine pair of sensuously curved breasts, as did her saucy companion.

Assuming a slightly amused air, Rosalyn made a deep curtsy for the benefit of the three gentlemen lounging at the foot of the stairs. She thoroughly enjoyed Tom Sanford’s and Bob Andrews’ reaction to their stunning transformation.

Grant, too, seemed slightly taken aback by the sophisticated vision before him. As she dipped before him, he said, in a voice too low for their host to overhear: “The view from here in extraordinary, Mrs. Watermann. Such treasures should be on display more often.”

Aware that she was blushing, Rosalyn glanced up at him through her eyelashes. Barely able to keep a straight face, she replied, “I’m sure it doesn’t compare to the view I saw this afternoon. Believe me, Captain, not all treasures merit such public exposure.”

“Touché!” He threw back his head and laughed heartily. Bowing over her hand, he noticed that she seemed to exude a new confidence. He liked her better for it, he decided, whatever the reason. Retaining his grasp on her slender hand, he turned to Mercy.

“Ladies, you both look beautiful tonight,” he said with an appraising smile. “And I think all three of us men owe you an apology for this afternoon.”

“Apology accepted,” Mercy said, since Rosalyn’s expression had turned stony.

The butler choosing that precise moment to announce dinner, the elderly Mr. Sanford led the way with Rosalyn on his arm, while Grant followed with Mrs. Sanford. With Tom and Bob vying for the honor of escorting her, Mercy allowed both to do the honors. Having delayed making her appearance to the last possible moment, Stella brought up the rear alone.

As newcomers to Jamaican hospitality, Rosalyn and Mercy were amazed to see how lavishly the Sanfords had prepared for their dinner and entertainment. The table was laden with every conceivable delicacy of the sea, including eel and several fish. In addition, the poultry, pork roast, and vegetables dishes were done to perfection. These were followed by fresh fruits and a variety of wines and liqueurs. A servant stood behind each chair to supply their every desire.

As their hostess pressed more and more food and wine upon her guests, Rosalyn, feeling mellow, indeed, turned to Tom, seated to her left. “Might it be possible tomorrow to see how the sugar cane is processed?” she asked. “I have never tasted such delicious, light desserts!”

“It melts in my mouth,” Mercy purred, patting her waistline. “I fear I’ve overindulged.”

“Tom will be busy showing Captain Watermann around the storehouses tomorrow. Perhaps I could accompany you ladies instead,” his father suggested.

“How very kind of you, sir!” Delighted, Rosalyn touched the old gentleman’s hand lightly, and he immediately latched onto her hand like a bird of prey.

“How does right after breakfast sound—say, seven o’clock?”

Mrs. Sanford rose gracefully, thus signaling the end of dinner. Rising, the men bowed, and the ladies made their way to an attractively appointed parlor.

After a half-hour of pleasantries, Mrs. Sanford again rose. “My dears, pray excuse me. The hour is late. Many ladies choose to languish in bed till noon, but alas, I find such leisure impossible with my many household responsibilities.”

As she swept toward the door in a rustle of skirts, she turned to her daughter, almost as an afterthought. “Stella, please accompany me. I wish to converse with you.”

Her stern tone inspired Mercy to exchange a look with Rosalyn, as Stella submissively followed her mother into the hall and upstairs. Mother and daughter barely reached the top landing before Mrs. Sanford’s firm, quiet voice and Stella’s nervous excuses began.

Mercy stretched like a cat. “I wouldn’t want to be in Stella’s shoes for anything.”

“Nor I.” Rosalyn rose with a sigh and walked through the open French doors onto the verandah.

Joining her, Mercy gazed up at the sky. “What a glorious moon,” she whispered, then remembered the assignation she had made with the ship’s carpenter. “Rosalyn, I nearly forgot: Charles is waiting for me in the garden out back. Do you mind very much?”

“No, of course not.” As she watched her friend run eagerly down the verandah steps and disappear into the warm night, Rosalyn took a deep breath. Heady floral scents of this tropical paradise floated through the air, filling her nostrils with erotic perfume. It was a perfect evening for a leisurely stroll, and not wanting to intrude upon Mercy and Charles, she walked down the front steps to explore a grove of trees nearby. In the moonlight she could see the dim outlines of tiny dwellings on the plain below, as well as sugar cane fields. Smoke rose from one of the larger buildings, and a glowing fire reminded her that not everyone at Wortham Manor was asleep.

As her thin slippers crossed the gravel path, and she came to the mangroves, she saw the glow of a cigar in the dark. A little thrill swept over her, as a dark figure separated from the shadows and walked toward her.

“You’re even lovelier in the moonlight, Mrs. Watermann,” said Tom Sanford, with a gallant bow. “But I should warn you, it’s not safe for a woman as beautiful as yourself to stray from the house at night.”

“Very well,” she said calmly, “Perhaps I should heed your advice and say goodnight.”

Taking her arm, he walked with her slowly toward the house. “I wish I were free in the morning to tour the sugar cane factory with you.” He paused, watching her profile in the moonlight. “May I call you Rosalyn?”

She inclined her head slightly, and after a moment they continued their stroll in a leisurely fashion. He had fallen silent, and she shared his reluctance at having to turn in so early. Glancing up, she suddenly wondered, What if I let him kiss me?

The only other man she’d ever kissed was Grant Watermann. She wondered how Tom Sanford might compare as a lover, and if he could arouse such strong feelings. Why not find out? she thought, lifting her gaze mischievously to meet his pale blue eyes.

In that instant, Tom made up his mind that she was the sort of woman he’d always fantasized about taking to his bed, and besides her ability to arouse him with a single glance, she was a wealthy widow. Her breasts, softly curved above the bodice of her gown, her sultry blue eyes, delicately chiseled straight nose, and full sensual mouth, were all he could ever want. How fortuitous, he thought, to have run into a sexually experienced vixen like Rosalyn! Why settle for some sniveling local virgin, chosen by his parents, when he could enjoy the sensual delights this temptress was practically offering him?

Rosalyn would have been surprised, had she known the thoughts racing through Sanford’s mind, as he lowered his head and pressed his lips to hers. But since she was preoccupied with an experiment of her own, she reached up to encircle his neck with her slender arms. Judging by his kiss, he was experienced at seducing women. And methodical, she decided. So methodical, in fact, that kissing him made her skin crawl. But he probably expected her to swoon in his arms, lost in rapture. His body pressed against hers, and the sensation, which should have been pleasant, seemed...well, kind of creepy, like running into a vampire bat in the dark.

Disappointed that it hadn’t been more fun, she conceded that she had hoped to discover that all men were equally capable of inflaming her with hopeless passion. Clearly Tom Sanford was a skilled lover, yet neither his aggressive embrace nor her four glasses of wine at dinner seemed capable to producing more than a slightly pleasant reaction.

Oh, fiddlesticks! she thought. Perhaps her experiment had failed because she wasn’t quite herself tonight. She withdrew herself gently, but firmly from his embrace. “Fie, sir, we hardly know each other,” she protested mildly. “It was most agreeable, but I really think—not.”

“I’ve known you long enough to know that I want you.” Tom tried to take her into his arms again, but she stepped back.

Nearby the crunch of boots on gravel drove home the fact that they weren’t alone. She turned to see her business partner, grinning widely. Executing a bow, he made as if to leave.

“Sorry. Just out for a stroll,” he said. “Don’t let me stop you two lovebirds.”

Her cheeks flushed, Rosalyn realized how brazen her behavior must appear. “No, wait! Captain Watermann, I desire a word with you...in private, if you don’t mind?”

He raised a questioning eyebrow. “Perhaps some other time when you’re not busy?”

“Right now would be perfect,” she said, glad for any excuse to escape Tom’s attentions. Besides, she wanted to correct any misperceptions Grant might have concerning her behavior. She turned to Tom. “Do you mind very much? My business with the captain can’t wait.”

Tom frowned, displeased by her haste in dismissing his ardent suit. But perhaps he had read too much into her warm response to his kiss. Being a gentleman, he decided not to make an issue of it. “Certainly. I bid you both goodnight.” He bowed stiffly and went into the house.

Arms akimbo, Grant stood surveying Rosalyn. She’d been full of surprises all day, and he wondered what had gotten into her. “The night air seems to agree with you, Rosalyn,” he said, once they were alone. “Or could it be the tropics have already seduced you?”

“Nothing of the kind. What you saw was more in the nature of an experiment. Nothing more,” she assured him.

“Experiment? What kind of an experiment?” he asked, looking skeptical.

“None of your business.” Taking a deep breath, she lifted her chin. Noticing his fleeting glance at her bosom swelling over the top of her bodice, she hastily exhaled.

“Don’t be embarrassed,” he drawled. “It’s one of your finest assets.”

“I would appreciate you keeping your eyes to yourself!”

“You are a corker, Miss Prim,” he chuckled. “A minute ago you had your paws all over poor Tom, and now you act shocked because I notice how well endowed you are.”

“As usual you love to jump to wrong conclusions about me.” She put her nose in the air.

“All I know is you’re constantly sending mixed signals.”

His tawny eyes gleamed like a cat in the dim light. The muscular outline of his shoulders and chest brought back memories of that fateful night on board, when he carried her to his cabin and tried to— Rosalyn licked her lips and stared defiantly at him, miffed that he could still upset her so easily.

“Captain Waterman, I asked you to stay, because I wondered how our slave is doing.”

“He’ll mend. I’ve housed him with Mademoiselle Bizet in Kingston, where he’ll get good care. Since I stop by her place from time to time, I’ll be happy to check on his progress.”

“I do appreciate your help,” she said, wondering who Mademoiselle Bizet was.

“Think nothing of it. Slavery is a stinking business, but there’s not much you or I can do about it.”

“Yes, it’s so cruel.” She smiled. “Thanks for talking the price down, too.”

He reached out and smoothed back a rebellious curl from her forehead. “Tell me, Rosalyn, what makes you happier? Saving ten pounds, or saving a man’s life?”

“That just proves how little you understand me!” She jerked her head away from his teasing fingers in her hair.

“Just testing your reflexes,” he chuckled. “Actually I admire your spunk—and the way you made that overseer squirm in front of everyone on the wharf.”

“I surprised even myself,” she admitted with a smug little chuckle.

He grinned. “You’ve been pretty cocky ever since.”

Rosalyn smiled, for indeed she was pleased with herself. “Well, I suppose I’d better go in now. Goodnight, Captain.

Suddenly his hand closed around her upper arm, and he pulled her up against him. “You haven’t finished conducting your experiment,” he drawled.

She gulped. “My experiment?” she whispered, suddenly weak with excitement.

“Come here, spitfire.” He drew her into the shadow of a giant magnolia tree. His face filled her vision, and she knew instantly what he had in mind, as his arms tightened around her. His breath blew hot against her neck, fanning her blood to flame. For an instant she teetered between wanting to fight him and an irrational desire to abandon herself to the sheer pleasure of the moment.

Near panic, she swallowed hard. “My experiment, uhm—Just for comparative purposes, of course, would you please kiss mmm . . .”

His kiss sent her into a momentary swoon of delight. It took all the strength she possessed not to give herself up totally to the wild surge of passion racing through her veins. She wanted to believe he was just like any other man, no different than—well, his friend, Tom Sanford, for instance. But as his fingers lightly caressed her throat, and with his kisses burning like a firebrand against her lips, she found herself moaning with pleasure. Before she could stop herself, she reached up and drew his lips down to her breast.

In that split second Grant knew he could have taken her right then and there—if he chose. She was playing a dangerous game out here in the moonlight, and she was likely to get burned if he allowed things to continue. It would have been so easy to take his pleasure with her, but they still had a long trip ahead of them, and Rosalyn had already proven her ability to make his life a living hell. Aye, he decided, he’d better not let things get any more out of control than they already were! He saluted each breast with a kiss and set Rosalyn smartly back on her feet.

She swayed slightly, her eyes still closed. “Oh, Grant,” she sighed.

“Did you find out what you wanted to know?” He stuffed his hands in his pockets and gave her a wink.

He sounded so calm and matter-of-fact that her eyes flew open. Confused, she blinked. “What?”

“Your experiment,” he reminded her. “I trust it’s been educational?” He leaned forward until their faces were dangerously close and their gazes locked. “Wasn’t that what you were doing with me, my dear? It was rather amusing.”

“Oh, you!” she shrieked and darted at him, her fists raised to strike him.

Catching her wrists easily, Grant held her while she squirmed and struggled, trying to kick him. “Easy, Rosalyn. I’m doing you a favor.”

“A favor? How. . . dare...you!”

Grant shook her lightly by the shoulders, and she glared up at him with stormy blue eyes and a badly wounded pride. “Don’t be a damn fool, Rosalyn. Can’t you see how this game of yours could get out of hand?”

“Since when do you care what happens to me?”

“We nearly made this mistake once before. For God’s sake! Lead a man on, Rosalyn, and you may wind up spread-eagle beneath him in bed!”

She lifted her quivering chin in a last ditch effort to salvage her pride. “You needn’t concern yourself, Captain. It was, after all, only an experiment!”

“Don’t let it happen again, or I might be tempted to whale the hide off your backside and send you packing back to your father,” he warned.

“In a pig’s eye! I own half of the Fair Winds, don’t forget!” Her eyes flashed, full of feminine defiance.

Grant threw his hands in the air. “Sweet Saviour, deliver me!”

A curious blend of pixilated vixen and smart-assed brat flitted across her beautiful features in the silvered moonlight. “Why, Grant, is that your idea of a sinner’s prayer?” she mocked, covering her surprise at his outburst. “If you like, I could give you a few pointers!”

He chuckled at her unwarranted confidence. “I’m glad you have the Almighty’s ear, my boastful little Puritan! We may need your prayers before this journey’s over.”

“Can I go now, since you’re finished giving me advice?” she asked, desperate to escape.

“Not until you promise to behave yourself.”

“I’m finished with my experiment, if it’s any of your business.”

“I trust you learned your lesson?”

“I did. I was merely testing out a theory,” she said, tucking her hand under his arm and allowing him to escort her into the house.

“A theory about men?” They were whispering, since the Sanfords seemed to have retired for the night.

“No, you could say I was testing a theory about myself.”

“Remind me not to ask what it was.”

“Oh, it’s hardly a deep dark secret. I just found out that I was wrong about something.”

He chuckled in the dark. “I am amazed to hear you admit to being wrong about anything.”

They mounted the wide staircase together, and Rosalyn felt more at ease with him than she ever had before. As they came to her bedroom door, he gave her a platonic peck on the cheek. “Good night, Rosalyn.”

Once she was safely inside, she listened to the soft tread of his boots going down the long upstairs hallway. She hugged herself, a smile playing around the corners of her lips. “For your information, Grant Watermann, I learned a lot tonight,” she whispered into the dark. “You do care about me! And thank goodness, not all men affect me the same, or I should be utterly lost.”

Slightly amazed by the results of her experiment, Rosalyn shrugged herself out of her gown, blew out the candle on her night stand, and climbed into bed.