Tempest(29)

“What are we doing?” asked Cathy.

“I’m providing your sea-bath. You can have it out in the open sunshine instead of inside that absurd bath house. If you long to do something shocking, my dear, this is your chance.”

The horses were nibbling the lush vegetation that edged the beach, and Alice was already climbing down to walk toward the white sand and aqua water.

“Do you mean it?” She clapped her hands and Adam grinned at her show of enthusiasm. “Where shall I change into my bathing costume?”

He looked deep into her eyes and replied, “You don’t need one, you know. I’ve never seen anyone else come to this hidden beach. It was my grandparents’ secret place.”

She nearly said yes, but too many fears crowded in. “Let me wear my bathing costume this time, and then perhaps I’ll get some courage.”

“I take it you don’t want me to help you undress?”

Oh, she did, so much, and yet the thought of it panicked her. “I don’t mean to seem so prim, but I’m not used to being seen in broad daylight...”

He shrugged, and Cathy realized that Gemma Hart wouldn’t bother with foolishness like bathing costumes, nor would she miss a chance to have Adam undress her. She probably gloried in the beauty of her own body and all its erotic possibilities.

Adam stripped naked, and soon he and Alice were swimming together in the tranquil sea. It took Cathy longer to get out of her restrictive clothing, then her corset and pantalets, and longer still to get into the blue belted tunic and drawers of her bathing costume.

But it was worth it.

Standing on the sugary sand and looking out at Adam and Alice, she called, “Is it at all chilly?”

“That’s right— you’re used to the waters off New England,” he rejoined, laughing. Perhaps that’s why you are so overdressed! No, it’s not chilly. I’ve had baths that were cooler than this.”

And he was right. Not only was the Caribbean Sea the loveliest color Cathy had ever seen, but it was soothingly warm and placid.

“It’s like a dream,” she decided, having waded out until even her shoulders were immersed.

Adam approached with the aged Alice, who now allowed her master to support her underwater so that she could float effortlessly. Her Labrador face wore a smile of utter contentment. “Don’t you wish now that you could feel that water on every inch of your body?”

Their eyes met and another layer of her reserve fell away. “Yes.”

“You still can.”

“Next time,” she promised. “I’d drown trying to get all the fastenings undone.”

“Next time, then.” His blue-gray gaze was brilliant against the sunlit water. “I can hold you just like Alice. Would you like that?”

For a moment, she allowed herself to imagine the joy of swimming naked in this heavenly sea and being held in Adam’s hard-muscled arms. She could wrap her legs around his waist and they’d drift together, kissing, tasting salt...

“Cathy?”

Color flooded her face, and she looked up to see that he had read her thoughts. “Yes,” she said huskily. “I would like that.”



One sultry afternoon nearly a week after their swim, Adam was back in Bridgetown, walking alone down Broad Street toward DaCosta & Co. All around him, the city’s black citizens were covered from head to toe; the men in suits and fedoras, the women in high-necked shirtwaists, long skirts, and feminine boaters, carrying umbrellas to ward off the day’s unusually punishing heat. A mule tram clattered by on the tracks that bisected the dirt street. Someone onboard waved to Adam, but he pretended not to notice.

Inside the spacious store, which sold everything from dry goods to hardware, Adam took Cathy’s list out of his jacket pocket and wandered over to the far wall where the kitchen items were stocked. Looking at her neat script, he thought back to that morning.

They had been sharing breakfast in the sunny dining room when he announced that he was going into Bridgetown. His wife had accused him of running away from her and, remembering now, he supposed it was true.

She’d become so much a part of Tempest Hall in so short a time that he’d begun to see her just as clearly as its mistress as he had his grandmother. When he was at home, every move made by the growing corps of workmen reminded him that Parrish money was paying for the repairs to the home he loved. It was easier to ride off on some errand. One day, he’d told Cathy that he was researching the feasibility of planting sugar beets now that the Brussels Convention had lifted the bounties on the crop replacing sugar cane. And so, Adam had visited other planters who were still solvent. He’d drunk rum punch with them, reminisced about his grandparents and the golden days of plantation life, and then had gone home to find his bride still working alongside the hired help. Even Alice stayed behind with her, loyally following Cathy from room to room.

Last night, when he’d gone off to his room alone and mumbled something about catching up on his reading, Cathy had whispered, “Coward.” That one soft word had been like an arrow in his back. And then, this morning, she’d rubbed salt in the wound with the “running away” comment.

“Looking for something for your new bride, my lord?”

Adam turned in surprise, nearly colliding with a portly fellow wearing a bowtie and a walrus mustache. “Have we met?”

“I’ve overstepped my bounds, no doubt, but of course everyone knows you. How many viscounts have we got on the island, after all?” The fellow’s jowls wobbled when he grinned. “I’m George Eliot, manager of kitchen goods. I know what you’re thinking, my lord, but I must disappoint you. I am not the author of Silas Marner.”

Adam waited until Eliot had stopped laughing. “I wasn’t thinking that.” He cocked an eyebrow at him. “You do know that George Eliot was really a woman, don’t you? A woman using a man’s pen name?”

“How kind of you to instruct me, my lord. Meantime, what were you looking for?” His tone turned businesslike.

“Nothing I can’t find on my own. My wife gave me a short list: a nutmeg grinder, a new wringer for the washtub, a large jooking board.” He pointed toward the latter, a thick slab of corrugated wood used to scrub clothes. They were used by Bajans who did washing at standpipes, the sources of freshwater on the island, but Retta insisted on “jookin’ out” stains on a board laid on top of their washing tub.

“Would I be overstepping my bounds again if I said that I suspect that you were searching out the perfect Christmas gift for her ladyship?”

“I might be.” Warming to the idea, he looked around the store. There were perfume bottles, matching sets of jewelry, gloves, and handkerchief boxes. Christmas! He had forgotten all about it.

“May I suggest one of our newer items?” Eliot gestured with a flourish toward a wooden tub with a crank. “The Shepard’s Blizzard Ice Cream Freezer!”

Adam was about to dismiss the fellow when he had a vision of Cathy. He could see her, curls coming down and her lace collar wilting, as she helped mix the cream and eggs, and chip ice. They would turn the crank together until the ice cream was ready. Her eyes would be dancing, and she would laugh when he pulled her onto his lap, kissing her, tasting the sweet cream in her mouth...

“Shall I wrap it up, my lord?”

“Hmm? Oh, yes. Thank you, Mr. Eliot. And, could you assemble the other items for me? Here is my wife’s list.”

When the man was gone, Adam stood alone and closed his eyes, aware that he’d grown hard with desire for Cathy. The warm rush of emotions that came with that physical clench made his heart pound with uncertainty.

Opening his eyes, he saw Gemma Hart coming toward him with a tiny boy in tow. She stopped halfway across the store and waited for him to meet her. Her hair was drawn up in a perfect pompadour, and her elegant face was set off by skin the color of coffee mixed liberally with warm, rich milk. Everything about Gemma was proper and controlled, yet under the surface ran fierce passions. That blend of intellectual discipline and sensual heat made a potent combination, but Adam now found himself curiously immune to it.

“I would like to talk to you,” she said. “Come over to the hotel, where we can be alone.”

“I’m actually running late.”

Her eyes darkened. “I won’t take much of your time. I know how many responsibilities you have now, my lord, but I must look after your son’s interests.”

“All right. I’ll be there in a quarter hour.”

“How generous you are.”

George Eliot tapped Adam on the shoulder. He was holding the ice cream freezer aloft, beaming. “Lord Raveneau, I thought you might like a closer look before I put it in the box. Shall I put a large bow on top? I’ll bet that would put a smile on your lovely wife’s face, eh?”

“Yes, thank you.” When Adam turned back, Gemma was sweeping out of the store and Paul’s little legs were struggling to keep up with her. Then, as if Adam didn’t have enough to worry about, he saw Basil Lightfoot standing near the linens display and watching with interest.



Gemma sat at her writing desk in the Hart Hotel office, adding up accounts, and didn’t look up when Adam entered the room. He cleared his throat.