Free A Heart's Masquerade by Deborah Simmons

not care for the questions I was asking," Ransom said, eager for a change of topic.
    "Ah. You learned something, then?"
    Ransom released a derisive snort of laughter. "Indeed, I discovered that Ben has been doing a little work lately for an old associate of ours."
    Bert shook his head in disbelief as Ransom continued. "It seems he’s found a new partner in Devlin."
    "No," Bert said. "Devlin may be a bad one, but he’s not one of Ben’s kind."
    "You think not?" Ransom asked, lifting a brow. "You give him too much credit. Those two are cut from the same cloth. Only the design is different."
    Bert grunted in disgust, then eyed him sharply. "And now?"
    "And now," Ransom said, his fingers tightening around the glass in his hand. "We look for Devlin." He downed the rest of the whiskey in one swallow.
    "It’s time we settled our score, once and for all."

Chapter Five
    When the Reckless anchored in Carlisle Bay two days later, dawn was spreading over the neat shops and houses and wide, clean streets of Bridgetown. But Cat wasn’t so much taking in Barbados as taking her leave of her friends.
    "You’ll miss these wooden walls when you land in prison," Harry said, slapping her on the back so hard that her wounded arm ached.
    "You’ll be back when you tire of land life," Bull warned, and the other sailors hurled a few coarse jests her way. It was their idea of a fond farewell, Cat realized.
    "Whatever you do, don’t get married," Tom warned, and Cat assured him she would not fall for any young lasses, pretty or otherwise. She was still smiling at the notion when Ransom appeared.
    How he stood out among the rabble. He was half a head taller than most, yet it was not his height that set him apart, but an intangible air about him. Ignoring the sudden melancholy that enveloped her at the sight of him, Cat moved toward Bert, awkwardly shaking the first mate’s hand with her left.
    "Good-bye, Bert, and thank you," Cat said, sincerely.
    She grasped his fingers longer than necessary, but the old sailor did not seem to mind. "Good luck, lad," he said.
    "I’ll take you ashore," Ransom offered.
    Cat nodded silently, without even glancing his way.
    He was quiet in the boat, and Cat did not say a word. Memories of the past months at sea moved in front of her eyes like a multicolored canvas, dipping and swaying with highs and lows. Each scene that came to mind in seemingly random recollection was a poignant reminder of the man she was leaving behind.
    She remembered the night of the storm when she felt Ransom’s shoulders beneath her fingertips. Her thoughts ran shamelessly through every innocent contact between them, then drifted to the more exotic and less innocent activities described to her by Blossom. And there they remained, sparking a scandalous notion that, try as she might, Cat could not dismiss.
    She eyed Ransom speculatively. The breeze tossed his dark locks and caught his open-throated shirt as he manned the oars, his wide shoulders moving rhythmically, and her whole body tingled in response.
    Cat let her gaze travel over him one last time, from the tips of his long, lean fingers to his dusky hair, lingering on all those places that spurred her senses and finally coming to rest on the smooth firm lips that had fascinated her from the first. Her heart hammering in her chest, Cat knew she should not, could not, do what she most desired to do.
    Ransom had been ignoring her scrutiny, but finally looked up, and Cat nervously glanced away. But his image remained. She knew his every feature like the back of her hand, and longing welled up in her chest, threatening to choke her.
    When the boat came to rest, Cat leapt out and turned to face him.
    "Well, lad, this is it," Ransom said, a little too coolly for her taste. "I wish you well," he added perfunctorily. And suddenly Cat knew she must follow through with her scheme.
    Despite her nervousness, despite the risk, she reached for her captain, knowing that soon he would be gone from her