Five


Felix entered his home and shut the door. When he opened the letter, his grandmother's name at the bottom of the missive grabbed his immediate attention. He hadn't talked to her since he left London right after he'd been disinherited by his father. Anxious, he skimmed the message. The news slammed into him like a runaway team of horses. Shaking his head, he read it again.

Dearest Felix,

Your father hasn't been well of late, and just last week, pneumonia claimed his life. Because your older brother died of a gunshot wound a year ago, you are now the Earl of Blackwood. Please return home and resume your responsibilities. If you fail to do so, or to contact us, you will be declared dead and the title will be given to your cousin, Stanley, who is, as you know, a spendthrift. The title is rightfully yours, and I wish you to weigh this decision carefully.

Sincerely,

Dowager Countess of Blackwood

Groaning, Felix sank into a cushioned chair and closed his eyes. For years, he'd fought his father on the issue of him becoming a vicar, as second sons of peers often did. Felix had been stubborn in his decision of not becoming a man of the cloth and so was cut off.

Regret swelled in his heart, and he wished he'd made amends with his father before he died. Truly, it was Felix's responsibility now to take over as Earl, even though the prospect didn't sound enticing. His grandmother's worry over Stanley stepping into the role was not misplaced. Felix's cousin had always been a reckless man as long as Felix had known him. He wasn't too sure becoming an earl would straighten out his cousin. Indeed, Felix should step into the role.

He rubbed his now throbbing head and glanced at the telegram. With a sinking heart, he knew what must be done. He'd been his grandmother's favorite grandson as a child. Now she needed him, and he couldn't let her down.

Children's laughter rang from outside the window, drawing his attention. They played a chase game, and it reminded him of when he was young and lived at home. Nostalgic memories engulfed him, bringing with them a bitter-sweet pang to his heart. If he took over the earldom, this would be his last time in Macapá.

This would be his last adventure, so he might as well make it memorable.

* * * *

The rickety old hackney jerked to a stop in front of the docks a half hour before Katrina's scheduled arrival time. She peeked out the window of the hired coach at the large white steamer with filigree and railings of shiny brass, wishing she would be sailing instead of traveling in a bumpy coach.

The sun had already begun its climb into the early morning sky, creating a palette of purple, blue, and orange. As she scanned the area, a few men loaded several crates onto the boat, but she didn't see her escort. If Mr. Felix Knightly came late, she'd never let him forget it. She'd show that all-too-arrogant man he couldn't push her around. Although she had promised to obey, she'd do it on her own terms.

With help from a Portuguese manservant, she stepped down from her conveyance. He then picked up her trunk and carried it onto the dock. A few men glanced her way in curiosity. Unease shot through her, causing strange chills to raise the small hairs on her arms. Thankfully, she'd taken her mother's advice and hidden a dagger in her boot just in case any man got the wrong impression and wanted to treat her any less than she deserved.

Acting her part as a well-bred lady, she daintily sat on her trunk, folded her hands on her lap, and kept her back ramrod straight while she waited patiently for Mr. Knightly to arrive. She stared up the street and watched for his carriage, but after ten minutes passed with other vehicles stopping to unload and no sign of her guide, panic welled inside of her.

Had he changed his mind? Perhaps she shouldn't have shown him her temper yesterday, but Mr. Knightly knew how to spark anger inside of her quickly. She shouldn't have goaded him so much when they spoke in the lawyer's office, but there was something about him that made her want to rebel. She definitely didn't like the way he treated her when he thought she was a spoiled little rich girl. At the same time, she knew she wouldn't tolerate his judgmental attitude when he finally discovered she had been poor all of her life.

Several times during their conversation she wanted to shake him and make him see reason. The only reason she hadn't followed her instincts was because she was afraid of touching his broad shoulders...and liking it. She'd never met a man quite as robust as this one. It frightened her that if she made contact with him, the sensation might be too enjoyable and she'd never want to pull away. Heavens, he was built very well. Thinking of him and his muscles wasn't a good thing, either.

More than anything, she wished she could hate him for judging her so harshly. She wished she could stop admiring his physical appearance and concentrate on his black heart, instead.

This morning, her mother had diligently assisted Katrina with her packing and readying for this journey. Her mother's hesitation in allowing Katrina to go alone was obvious, but really, there was nothing to be done about the stubborn Mr. Knightly.

Her mother kept reassuring her how much she loved her. She reminded Katrina that because her father was dying, he would probably say things he didn't mean. He'd more than likely tell her that he'd thought of her often through the years and wished he had gotten to know her.

She rolled her eyes. Katrina would always resent her father for his abandonment in the same way her mother had. No matter how sweet and loving he tried to be when they finally met, she would know what had truly been in his heart for all these years. His absence had proven it.

A bead of moisture ran down her neck, and she reached up to brush it away. This weather was so searing, she wondered if this town sat in the middle of a volcano. Where was Mr. Knightly who had wanted her here promptly? She grumbled under her breath. Couldn't he follow his own rules?

Her temperament had been spurred already by her absentee father's request, and Mr. Knightly's attitude wasn't making things any easier.

From up the street, a man sauntered toward the docks. Even from where Katrina sat, she recognized the wave of the man's raven hair and the shape of his body.

It was Knightly.

As he passed a run-down inn, a brown skinned woman called his name and darted over to him. He laughed at what the woman said, and the baritone ring sent shivers down Katrina's spine. As he stood with the other woman in the street, Katrina assessed his appearance. His beige shirt hung open at his chest and draped loosely from his shoulders to his narrow hips.

A small gasp sprung from her throat. Glory, he did have muscles. Lots of them. She'd never known a man so ruggedly built, and so blindly handsome. She shook away the thought. Thinking of him in this manner was out of the question.

The woman next to Felix rose on the tips of her toes and flung her arms around his broad shoulders. In return, Felix slipped his arms around her waist, pulling her close. The bold woman was the first to kiss him, but it appeared Felix didn't have any problem drinking in her passion.

Katrina sucked in a quick breath. Working most of her life in a tavern, she hadn't been sheltered from the mating rituals of men and women, but witnessing Felix openly kiss this woman stirred something deep inside Katrina, awakening her curiosity. What would it feel like if she was the woman in his embrace? The newfound feelings frightened her in an odd way, turning her mouth dry.

Felix kissed the woman one last time and then pushed her away. He stared after her as she sashayed back toward the inn, swinging her rounded hips as if trying to entice him. Thankfully, Felix didn't take the hint, but instead, continued walking toward Katrina. A smile of satisfaction lit up his handsome face...until he saw her.

Blinking, he shook his head. He glanced up at the hints of orange streaking against the morning sky, then back to her as if not believing what he saw. He walked right up to her and met her stare.

"What are you doing here?" he snapped.

Her gaze dropped to his lips, still swollen from kissing. She moistened her throat with a hard swallow. "I'm waiting for you, and by the looks of your laboring crew," she stood and glanced at the steamer, "I'd say not only are you late, but you're a poor excuse for a leader since you're not working alongside them in preparing for our journey."

He folded his arms across his chest, slightly tilting his head as he studied her. "If you knew anything about leaders, you'd know they delegate responsibility. And for your information, I'm not late. We'll leave on time, my lady, so don't get your pantalettes in an uproar."

Despite the feelings that had begun to stir moments ago, her palms itched to slap his all-too-handsome face. She tried to calm herself, but realized what a mistake it was to stand so closely to him. The scent of his provocative musky cologne surrounded her, and she wished a strong wind would kick up and blow it away.

She lifted her chin a little higher. "The only reason you delegate to your crew is to cover up that you overslept this morning, probably because you were up late last night drinking tequila and...carousing with a female companion."

His eyes widened and then a relaxed expression came over his face and he grinned. "Actually, the drink here in Brazil is not tequila...but is called cachaça. And although it's really none of your business, I wasn't drinking nor was I with a woman."

Embarrassment washed through her, but she tried not to show it. Instead, she arched an eyebrow. "Nevertheless...uh, you are late."

He took a step closer, and his pants brushed the material of her dress. Flutters danced in her chest. Up this close she couldn't stop from letting her gaze fall to his open shirt. Just like she'd thought, his bare chest looked entirely too smooth with only a small patch of hair sprinkled across his skin.

Oh, good heavens. It wasn't wise to stand so close or to look at him this way.

He tilted his head to the side. "Miss Landon, you weren't trying to get me to tell you if I was with a woman last night, were you?"

"Oh! How dare you insinuate—"

"Sweetheart, the proof is written on your flushed face." His knuckles brushed her cheek.

She quickly swatted his hand away. "Don't touch me," she growled. The heat from his fingers burned her skin and made butterflies dance in her belly. This feeling was not acceptable. How could she continue to play the part of a spoiled rich girl if she couldn't think straight?

He raised his hand to his forehead in a mock salute then bowed. "Your wish is my command, my lady."

My lady? Why did he keep calling her that? Unless, the only rich girls he knew were from titled families. But it didn't matter. The name didn't sit well with her at all.

She threw him a glare and then turned toward her trunk. "Here are my things."

His gaze moved from the trunk to her, before he howled with laughter. "You cannot be serious. Do you actually think I'll allow you to take this on our trek?"

"But of course."

"We're going through the jungle, Miss Landon, not to a weekend picnic at the estate of one of your high society friends."

Once again, she felt the urge to correct him, to let him know she was poorer than most people he'd met, but the awakening demon inside her couldn't resist teasing him. It would certainly become more entertaining by just playing along and pretending she was someone different.

"But I need everything I packed," she said with a slight whine.

He tilted his head and scratched his chin. "Did you not receive the list I had sent to your hotel room yesterday?"

"Of course I received it."

"Did you pack everything on that list?"

She shrugged. "Well, not exactly—"

"What's in your trunk?"

"My clothes and some personal items."

"What kind of personal items?"

Her cheeks burned from his improper question. "That, Mr. Knightly, is none of your business."

"Fine. What kind of clothes did you bring?"

His gaze skimmed over her attire from the round neck of her blue day dress, down to the hem that barely covered her woman's boots. She shivered from his close scrutiny.

"I brought my dresses—"

"Your dresses?" His voice rose. "How foolish can you be? Fancy dresses do not belong in the jungle."

She huffed indignantly, placing her hands on her hips. "Then what pray tell, oh knowledgeable-master-of-all-things, am I supposed to wear?"

"Men's trousers and shirts, of course. The very things on the list I gave you."

She released an unladylike snort. "Men's clothing will not match well with my fancy high-heeled boots."

He rolled his eyes. "No, my lady, that's why you'll wear men's boots."

She laughed loudly, trying to hide her excitement. Thank goodness he didn't want her wearing the stiff, new dresses she'd purchased before this trip, and especially the heeled boots she had on now. She'd love nothing more than to be in comfortable clothing, but she couldn't let him know that. "Ha! You can't possibly expect me to wear those."

"Actually, I do." He took a step closer. "And you have exactly one hour to collect the proper clothing or I'm calling off our excursion."

His hot breath blew across her face. He was correct when he told her he hadn't been drinking. In fact, his breath smelled like peppermint. "You cannot call it off."

He grinned. "Watch me."

"But I don't have—um, I mean I can't buy..." Her heart raced when she tried to explain to him she was without money. She wanted him to think of her as a wealthy lady for a while longer. How could she tell him she had limited funds without confessing her true identity?

Laughter built from deep within his chest the longer he watched her, and she wanted to punch him in the nose.

He scratched his cheek. "Don't tell me your father has tightened his money bag and won't let his daughter spend any more of his precious coins?"

She furrowed her brows and pursed her lips. "That, too, is none of your business, Mr. Knightly."

His laughter grew as he shook his head. "Fine, Miss Landon. Go up the street to Consuelo's store and charge whatever you purchase to my account."

Her spirits lifted. Why would he do this for her? No one ever did anything nice for her, and he hated her. Didn't he? "Are you certain?" she asked.

His laughing stopped and he smiled. "Yes. If it's the only way for you to bring the proper clothes, then it must be done." He shrugged. "Your father will reimburse me, I'm sure."

Her heart leapt as she stared at his irresistible mouth. "Thank you," she said meaningfully. "Then I'll meet you back here in one hour?"

"No. I'll meet you in the store to make sure you have everything you need."

She licked her dry lips. "As you wish." Keeping her chin high and back straight, she marched up the street toward the store, inwardly boiling with anger. How could one man be so impossible to understand, and at the same time, so irresistibly attractive? If not for his devastating smile, she would have verbalized her thoughts and let him know he was not her keeper. Why couldn't she get rid of these mixed emotions created inside of her whenever he was around?

In the many years she'd served in the tavern, she ran across a lot of men who tried to tell her what to do, and those men, in particular, tried to take advantage of her innocence and vulnerability. Those experiences taught her how to fight, and she always came out a winner.

Mr. Knightly was going to be difficult, but he intrigued her and she actually looked forward to their adventures just so she could push him to the limit and see his reactions. Teasing him would also keep her mind off those strange sights she'd had, and her flirty mood would entertain her until she reached the plantation.

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