A Heart's Masquerade by Deborah Simmons Page B

close he could feel her breath, then lifted his hand and lightly wiped a smudge of dirt from her nose with his thumb.
    Cat could only stare at him, dumbfounded. The sunlight loved his face, illuminating the familiar brown eyes and the curve of his lips in a way that the candlelight had not, and she realized that he was still the handsomest man she had ever seen.
    He was so close she nearly reached up a hand to touch the visage that had so often haunted her dreams, but caught herself. His own light touch so unnerved her that she turned to the side table and, to hide her confusion, plucked a flower from the basket to place in the empty vase.
    "Here, let me help you." Ransom’s voice was like silk as he took the basket from her. Her hands now free, Cat began taking the blossoms and greenery and arranging them as best she could. She felt like a drowning man being lulled by the hum of the deep as his charm pulled her under.
    With an effort, she struggled to the surface and toward reason, which told her he had caught her unawares and woefully unprepared. Amelia had somehow disappeared, drat her hide, leaving Cat alone with her former captain. When she found her voice, Cat asked, "What are you doing here?"
    "I’m sorry to disappoint you," he said. "Were you expecting Mr. Waistcoat?" He leaned too close to her ear.
    "Certainly not! And his name was Pettifer," Cat answered, without looking at him.
    "So not Mr. Pitiful," he said lightly, causing Cat to smile unwillingly. "Then perhaps you were expecting another suitor?"
    Another suitor? What was he getting at? "I have no suitors," Cat said with a trace of scorn. When he made no comment, she turned to find his eyebrow cocked in disbelief. He was certainly acting strangely, she thought, putting the finishing touches to the flowers and stepping back to appraise her efforts.
    "Very lovely," he said. "But then, so is the artist. So much so that I find it difficult to believe she is lacking in admirers."
    Cat caught a curious undertone in his voice, as though he were accusing her of something. She looked at him sharply, but his face revealed nothing of his thoughts.
    "Believe what you will. I’ve been meaning to find a husband, but the task seems so tedious." She shot him a withering glance. "Men being a lot of boring rogues."
    Ransom’s brow shot upward. "I see. Well, if Pettifer is any indication of the company you’ve been keeping, your opinion is understandable."
    What conceit for the man to place himself above any other, Cat thought, forgetting that she had often subscribed to that belief herself.
    "Perhaps I can endeavor to redeem the reputation of my gender," he said, oozing the kind of faux friendliness that had little to do with the captain she had known.
    "I doubt that, your grace ," Cat said, "as I see no difference between you and any other fellow. Now, if you will excuse me, I need to freshen up, as you pointed out so indelicately. Please don’t feel you must stay on my account." With that parting shot, she climbed the stairs without a glance in his direction.
    Ransom was left standing in the foyer, holding an empty basket and the reins of his temper. For one reckless moment, he felt like storming up the steps after her, but maybe that was what he was supposed to feel. His anger dissolved as he wondered just how much of her performance was staged by Devlin.
    "Have you been abandoned, your grace?" Ransom heard the older woman’s voice behind him and turned to face her. "Come join me in some lemonade," she said, gesturing toward an open doorway, where the manservant stood holding a tray. "Or perhaps something a little stronger for yourself?"
    Finding himself in the unusual position of being at a loss, Ransom assented and was soon seated on a small divan in the cozy parlor, shaded by the Royal Poinciana tree outside.
    "I’m so glad to meet you," Mrs. Molesworth said, with a smile. While Ransom inclined his head in acknowledgement, she continued smiling and studying him in a