Captive Splendors by Fern Michaels Page A

comforting to know you understand.”
    â€œYou wily old fox!” Caleb exclaimed. “I never said I would do anything of the kind! Wren’s a wonderful girl, a beautiful girl, but she’s hardly my kind of woman. I doubt that I could bring it off, Father. And even if I did, then what? I would be the scoundrel who broke her heart.”
    â€œOh, so you admit you could turn her head and take her mind off Weatherly?”
    Caleb smiled. “Of course. Don’t you know whose son I am? Say, did I ever tell you about that little tavern wench with the unusual appetites whom I happened upon in Cádiz?”
    Regan leaned forward in his chair, a proud smile on his face. For the next hour they shared intimate details of the women they had loved and left behind.
    Swirling the dark rum in his glass, Regan seemed intent on the burnished liquid when he casually remarked, “So, Cal, all the success you speak of with the fairer sex—it’s mostly with tavern wenches and admitted prostitutes, right?”
    Caleb raised an inquiring brow and smiled crookedly. “I think it’s safe to say that those women are accepted authorities on the matter of what constitutes a man.”
    â€œHmmm. I suppose you could say that; however, that’s their business. Let me put it this way: you wouldn’t take the word of a horse trader who was interested in your money for his nag, would you?”
    â€œIf you’re saying that prostitutes always tell their customers what they want to hear because that’s the way of business. . .”
    â€œExactly,” Regan said softly, watching Caleb’s indignation rise.
    â€œYou know perfectly well that women of breeding aren’t allowed to associate with seamen, Regan . . . or have you been married so long you don’t remember?” Caleb baited.
    â€œI remember . . . I remember,” Regan laughed. “And a catastrophe that is. Even when a girl is betrothed, there is always someone peeking over her shoulder and standing guard, not allowing a moment’s intimacy. A catastrophe,” Regan repeated, shaking his head.
    â€œCome, now! A catastrophe? You’re exaggerating. It’s just the way things are. Every family wants to protect its daughter from bounders.”
    â€œAre you saying you’re a bounder, son?” Regan raised his eyebrows and observed his son critically.
    â€œHell, I hope not. But I haven’t had much traffic with the kind of girl I eventually hope to marry. I can’t quite see myself with a tavern wench.”
    â€œNo, I wouldn’t imagine so. You’ve always wanted someone like Sirena, if I remember correctly, from when you were this high.” Regan held his hand at waist level.
    Caleb laughed uneasily. What was his father aiming at? Had he discovered that Camilla and he had carried on a love affair behind his back?
    â€œWhat I’m saying, Caleb, is that I know you through and through. You regard marriage seriously. You’d want your wife to be your mistress as well. And you’d be right there. Nothing could be better than for a husband and wife to love each other totally, sharing their bodies as well as their souls, without the slightest hint of reticence. False modesty has been the death of many a marriage. Yet if you persist in your present attitude, you would certainly spoil any chance you have for such a marriage.” Regan stared into his glass, his thoughts flying to Wren. How he would hate to think of her locked into a marriage with an unfeeling, self-serving bastard who thought only of his own satisfaction. How much happier Wren would be if she were loved by a man whose main concern was bringing her to a full realization of her passions. He thought of Sirena, his woman, beautiful, self-possessed and without inhibitions when she was with the man she loved.
    Caleb laughed again, uneasily. This was by far the most difficult conversation he had ever had with Regan.