Free Captive Innocence by Fern Michaels

Mrs. Quince a slight bow as he took his leave.
    The music had started to play again, and Royall turned to see the orchestra. The musicians were seated on a dais above the main floor of the dining hall. They were attired in bright red waistcoats and black trousers. She was surprised to see that all the musicians were Indian. They played the popular tunes so well, one would have thought they were English or American.
    A movement caught her eye, and she lowered her gaze to the main floor. There, seated in an alcove, was the buccaneer. Suddenly, their eyes met and held. She tore her gaze away, then quickly found herself stealing another look. He was on his feet and coming toward her. Inexplicably, her heart beat faster, making her feel as though the pulsing in her throat was choking her. Her eyes followed his hindered progress through the crowded room. He was no longer looking at her; he was looking beyond her, and inexplicably her heart fell. As he approached, she noticed again how tall he was. Well over six feet, if her guess was correct.
    Mrs. Quince made a slight gasping sound behind her. “Why, it’s Sebastian. We’re in luck. I was right! It was you on the wharf in Rio!”
    He gracefully climbed the four or five steps to the level on which they were standing. He smiled, white teeth gleaming in his darkly tanned face; his eyes were black ... Indian black. “Mrs. Quince! I had not expected to see you until sometime next month. Had I known you were traveling on the same vessel as I, I would have invited you to join me at dinner much before this.” He was suddenly aware of Mrs. Quince’s wheelchair, and his brows lifted in question.
    â€œOh, posh, Sebastian, don’t ask questions and make an old woman feel more foolish than she is. I’ve broken my ankle. I’ll be fine in a few weeks, I promise you.”
    In a gallant gesture, he leaned over her hand and pressed it to his lips. “I am so sorry, Senora Quince. May you return to yourself soon.”
    â€œI’ll feel more like myself as soon as I’ve had dinner, Sebastian. Whatever are you doing in Belém at this time of year? One would think you were too busy getting your rubber to market to treat yourself to a sojourn in the east. However; I am sure, never has one been so happy to see you as I am. The maitre d’ informs us it will be at least an hour before he can seat us to dinner.” At her last words, Mrs. Quince turned to Royall.
    Sebastian’s eyes followed Mrs. Quince’s gaze, and he turned to Royall and gave a slight courtly bow. “Royall Banner, allow me to present Sebastian Rivera to you. Royall has been widowed recently and is journeying with me to the plantation, Sebastian.”
    â€œHow do you do, Senora Banner.” Sebastian’s eyes formed questions and then seemed to find the answers. He wasn’t surprised to find that Royall was a widow; it explained so many things. The night of Mardi Gras he hadn’t been surprised, thinking she was a prostitute, to find that she wasn’t a virgin. What had surprised him was her obvious lack of experience, her innocence. A smile formed on his lips. Royall had all the untouched innocence of a virgin, blended with a natural inclination for passion. No doubt her husband had never delved the wells of sensuality this woman possessed. Poor man, he found himself thinking, going to the grave never knowing what an exciting woman warmed his bed. The grin broadened; Senor Banner’s loss was Sebastian’s gain.
    His eyes flashed at her; twin circles of jet bore into her being. She felt breathless and struggled for control. Never had she met so handsome and dynamic a man.
    Regaining control, she answered, “How do you do, Senor Rivera. And that’s Royall with two L’s.”
    Sebastian’s eyes became hooded. He remained silent for a moment. Was she daring him to expose her? Or was she simply mocking him? How sweet and innocent she