to recognise her limit, for she said nothing else on the matter, but the toss of her head with haughty Latin arrogance told Shona that it was not forgotten.
Antony introduced himself and his wife to Captain Fitzgerald and welcomed him to the island. The captain did likewise, presenting his first mate and the reverend—slightly stressing the word reverend.
‘Aye,’ Singleton explained with a merry twinkle in his eye as the reverend sidled off to the nearest waterfront tavern. ‘The captain considers it necessary to have the crew’s spiritual needs taken care of on a long sea voyage.’
Antony nodded, not having noticed that there was anything untoward in the first mate’s words. ‘And does he keep their spirits up?’
‘Oh, aye—when there’s enough faith aboard.’ And enough rum aboard, he almost added, but thought better of it.
‘When I was informed of your ship entering the cove,’ Antony said, addressing himself to the captain, ‘I thought I would come and greet you myself. I have heard of you, of course. Your name is well known throughout this part of the world.’
The captain raised an eyebrow. ‘Indeed? You flatter me, Mr McKenzie.’
‘Your ship looks as if it has taken a battering.’
‘A few days out of Virginia a storm blew—by ill luck the severity of which was quite exceptional in those latitudes for this time of year. We were blown over two hundred miles off course and lost the convoy we were with. The damage you see is minor and can soon be mended.’
‘Where are you bound?’
‘Martinique—and then London. Rather than delay for another month or even two, awaiting the gathering of another convoy, I will take my chance on being able to catch up with the one I was parted from.’
‘Very wise,’ Antony agreed. A merchant vessel as large as the Ocean Pearl, weighted down with cargo, would be lucky not to attract the attention of privateers of all nations. Not by the score, but by the hundred they swarmed in both European and American waters. In consequence, except for especially fast ships, a system of convoys had long been organised.
‘We’ve put in for a general replenishing—to take on supplies and fresh water—and then we’ll be on our way. I am indebted to you, Mr McKenzie.’
‘You are most welcome, Captain Fitzgerald, and still more so if you will accept my invitation to dine with us tonight—while you give me news of what is happening in the colonies. I do have newspapers delivered from Virginia and London—old news is better than no news at all—but there’s nothing like hearing it first-hand. I shall send a carriage for you and Mr Singleton later.’
Captain Fitzgerald turned away, his gaze again falling on Shona still in the same spot. His eyes narrowed, half-shaded by his lids as he coolly stared at her. Something nagged at the back of his mind, telling him that she represented the worst kind of danger to a freedom-loving bachelor, warning him that there might be repercussions should he accept McKenzie’s offer to dine at his house, but she was so damned lovely he ignored the warnings.
Shona straightened her back, her chin moving slightly upwards in an effort to break the spell he wove about her with his eyes.
He threw her a salute, bowing ever so slightly, then headed off towards the town.
Without waiting for Antony to order her to be gone, Shona turned her horse about and headed in the direction of the house.
* * *
The evening was gentle and warm, with a soft quality known only on the Caribbean islands. Overlooking the bay stood Melrose Hill, the McKenzie residence, the long curved drive lined with huge coconut palms. Melrose Hill was a two-storeyed, sprawling white mansion. It was sheltered by the rise of the land and by the trees surrounding the house. Swathed in native flowers, a wide veranda ran the whole of its length, riotous colours of frangipani and bougainvillaea clambering in profusion over trellising. The sun had already gone down behind the hills so the house was now in shadow, but a number of large lanterns had been lit along the veranda.
On entering a wide, airy hall, Zack was impressed. A long, crystal chandelier was suspended from the lofty ceiling, the shimmering prisms setting the hall aglow with myriad dancing rainbows.
The house smelled of resin and wax polish. Through the door into the dining room, finishing touches were being put to the large oval table by two dark-skinned footmen under the supervision of a mulatto major-domo.
The French-style furniture and gilt-framed paintings were elegant, and throughout the house rich Aubusson carpets, rugs from Persia, marble from Italy, lacquers, jade and ivory from the Orient and other treasures from around the world embellished the rooms. Floor-to-ceiling French doors opened on to the flower-laden terrace and the gardens at the back of the house, and filmy curtains wafted in the night breeze, cooling the stately dining room. In fact, the setting was as civilised and luxurious as any Zack had seen in the houses of noblemen who owned great estates in the sugar islands.
* * *
As she prepared for the evening, Shona sat at her dressing table as Morag painstakingly arranged her hair in an elegant coiffure. For some reason she wanted to look her best—could it be the extra guest Antony had invited? Her corset had been clinched tightly over the shift, pushing her bosom upwards until its fullness strained against the gossamer fabric. Everything was in readiness and equally blended portions of tension and excitement grew in Shona’s breast as she donned her gown.
The satin bodice was covered with lace, the scallops of which overlapped on to the bosom. The low sleeves were full, ending just below the elbow, and were attached to the bodice beneath the arms to leave the shoulders bare. A wide deep blue sash was tied about the waist and trailed in streamers down the back of the ivory lace and satin skirt.
‘You look grand,’ Morag remarked as Shona studied her reflection with a critical eye in the long mirror, giving a slight adjustment to the neckline. Miss Shona’s was that rare beauty which was almost never at a loss. If she could find herself a husband, she would stir his heart to burgeoning pride, if not open lust. ‘A sight for sore eyes you are.’
Shona smiled at the maid who seemed to have been with her family for ever. Born in Glasgow, Morag had come to the island as a young girl as maid to her mother. On her death she had transferred her devotion to Shona, and since returning to the island she attended to all her personal needs. ‘It’s funny you should say that, Morag. Someone else said the same thing to me earlier.’
‘Well now! Anyone I know?’ she asked, fluffing up the lace on the sleeves.
Shona lowered her head to hide the sudden flush that sprang to her cheeks, which the mere thought of Captain Fitzgerald brought about. Knowing she would be in his presence in just a short while caused her pulse to leap and a thrill to rush through her. Morag’s question summoned her back from her lovely reverie.
‘I’m afraid not—but we are expecting him to dine with us tonight. He’s the captain of the Ocean Pearl—Captain Fitzgerald.’
‘And is he handsome, this Captain Fitzgerald?’ Morag thought that he must be if the glow in Shona’s eyes was anything to go by.
Raising her head, Shona flashed a brilliant smile. ‘Oh, yes, Morag, he is very handsome. Very handsome indeed.’
‘Then it’s a good thing you’re looking your best.’
Morag was fastening the tiny buttons down the back of her dress and they failed to note Carmelita’s entry into the chamber.
‘Are you finished, Shona?’ Carmelita enquired sharply, concealing her envy as she glanced at her sister-in-law in her stunning gown.
Morag quickly fastened the last button, then stepped away and quietly disappeared from the room.
Carmelita was petite and sultry, with long black hair and deep brown eyes. Ever since Shona had returned from England to find Carmelita married to her brother, they had never got along. When they had first set eyes on each other,