Wild Sweet Witch

339 Pages·1980·1.37 MB·English

by  Scott Araby

MASQUERADE!
Captain Adam Falconer sailed the Wild Sweet Witch but a different
enchantress held him under her spell.
She tempted him as the amber-eyed headstrong English missionary
girl, Caroline Wyeth.
She seduced him as the sensual exquisite Tahitian maid, Teu-
ra—whose taboo passion inflamed his tempestuous desire.
ShebewitchedhimasthewantonharlotaboardtheChinesepleasure
boat—and his lust showed the darker side of his soul.
But it was through the magic of her love that Caroline Wyeth cap-
tured his heart and united their passions in a rapture as engulfing
and all-consuming as the South Pacific itself!

WILD SWEET WITCH is an original publication of Avon Books. This
work has never before appeared in book form.
AVON BOOKS
A division of The Hearst Corporation
959 Eighth Avenue
New York, New York 10019
Copyright © 1981 by Araby Scott
Published by arrangement with the author
Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 80-69891
ISBN: 0-380-77339-2
All rights reserved, which includes the right to reproduce this book
or portions thereof in any form whatsoever except as provided by
the U.S. Copyright Law. For information address Anita Diamant, 51
East 42nd Street, New York, New York 10017
First Avon Printing, May, 1981
AVONTRADEMARKREG.U.S.PAT.OFF.ANDINOTHERCOUNTRIES,MARCAREGISTRADA,HE-
CHO EN U.S.A.
Printed in the U.S.A
Table of Contents
WILD SWEET WITCH
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
CHAPTER ONE
Thewomanfinishedfasteningthebodiceofherlow-cutsilkgown.It
was1805,andalthoughthiswasMontegoBay,andJamaicaaBritish
colony, the high-waisted, slender-skirted dresses of Napoleon’s Em-
press Josephine were the fashion on both sides of the Atlantic. The
woman’s waist was narrow and supple, her hips invitingly rounded,
and her overripe breasts seemed to strain for escape from the con-
fines of the emerald-green silk.
She glanced back at the velvet-canopied bed she had occupied un-
tilsomeminutesbefore,andatthemanwholaythere,watchingher.
She gave a soft excited laugh.
“Youarereadyformeagain,Adam.”Hereyeslingeredontherum-
pledsheets,andtheevidencehemadenoefforttohide.Thetipofher
tonguetouchedandmoistenedherrougedlips.“Howcanyouexpect
me to leave now?”
The man’s eyes crinkled into a slumbrous smile, and lamplight
caught a wicked glint of his white, even teeth. The eyes, like the tou-
sled hair above them, were black. “You knew damn well what you
were doing, Esmé. You’re bloody insatiable! And it must be nearly
dawn.”
“Why, Adam,” she protested with mock innocence, “all I did was
comb my hair—and put on my clothes.”
“Andinthatorder,too!Suchwastedeffort.Nowyou’llhavetotake
them off again.”
Esmé’s overblown lips curved provocatively, then pushed them-
selves into a pout. “I’m too tired, Adam. All those nasty little fasten-
ings and stays! Surely you can think of a better way? I’ve always hat-
ed this dress.”
In seconds he was across the room, his body long and lithe and
well-aroused. “She-devil!”
As he tore the fabric, Esmé’s ripe body spilled from its gown, and
moments later they fell together on the opulent carpet, too impa-
tient to return to the abandoned bed.
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Clanggggg!
ThesoundexplodedintoAdamFalconer’sconsciousness.Hecame
animal-alert,hishandreachingfornonexistentweaponsalmostbe-
fore his body had time to jerk to a sitting position.
“Damnyoureyes,Noah,that’snowaytowakeaman.”Adam’slong
lean frame began to uncoil, to lose its tenseness. He pushed himself
up against the silken pillows and glowered at the squashed face of
themancalledNoah.“You’retakinganawfulrisk!Imighthavekilled
you.”
“Jest slipped my hand, Capn. Aye! Reg’lar butterfingers I am this
morning.” Noah Mapes stooped to retrieve the large brass tray from
the floor. He had the face of a monkey and the agile bowed legs to go
with it. At the moment, his bird-bright eyes were angelic.
Several steaming silver-lidded dishes, carefully removed from the
tray, sat on the mahogany table beside the bed. “But dammit, Noah,
it’s too early for breakfast. You might have let me get some sleep.”
“Ain’t me is to blame, Capn. Some others is mighty determined to
keep a man from his nat’ral eight hours.” Noah Mapes allowed his
mouthtocreasewithpretendeddisapproval.“Nowifwewasbackat
sea, you’d a been up near five hours. It’s past eleven o’clock.”
“Eleven o’clock?” Adam Falconer winced. What time had Esmé fi-
nally left?
“Ain’t right for a man to sleep all day, Capn. Now there’s folks
worksbynight—ourhostessforone.Ladyrunsagamblin’establish-
ment, she’s used to night work. Madame Esmé, I spotted her scur-
ryin’ for her own rooms not three hours ago, wearin’ a man’s night-
shirtan’gownthatlookedmightysimilartosomeIseen.NowIwon-
der what could a kept her up till then?”
“Damned if I know.” Falconer stifled a yawn and reached for the
damp towel that Noah, good manservant that he was, had brought
with the breakfast. He rubbed it over his face and his unruly black
hair.
The face was tanned to teak, all but the rather paler feathering of
lines about his eyes—laughter lines, perhaps, or the kind of lines a
mangetsfromsquintinglonghoursintoafarhorizonunderaharsh
sun. The lines made him appear older than his twenty-nine years,
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but it was also part of what women saw when they looked at his
face—that, and the near-blackness of his eyes that sometimes held
hints of mockery, and sometimes something else, something smoky
and dangerous and not quite understood. Pride, perhaps? Certain-
ly there was pride in the mouth and a sensual quality, and traces of
something that could be cruelty or ruthlessness. But women, even
experiencedwomen,forgotthatwhenhesmiled—justastheyforgot
that they had known at once he was a man who would be faithless
toanymistressbutthesea.Surelytherewerewaystochangeaman’s
mind!
“How’s the wind, Noah?”
“Prevailin’ trades, fair to middlin’. Sailin’ weather—a man should
beontheseas!”CaptainFalconer’slastshiphadsunkunderthemnot
a year ago in a terrible Cape Horn storm, when they were heading
from the Pacific. Only two hands lost—a miracle, that, and a credit
to the captain. But with the ship had gone all his master’s hard-
earned investment. Noah gazed longingly at the sweep of Montego
Bay that lay beneath the window, and wished there were some way
out of here. “Should a never come to Jamaica. Pacific’s where we be-
long—Pacific’s where we should a stayed.”
Adam Falconer yawned and stretched, gladdened by the good De-
cember weather in the tropics. He, too, longed to be back in the Pa-
cific, but he was prepared to take each day as it unfolded. “Patience,
Noah! We’ll get back there soon enough. You know why we came
here. Now, throw me my trousers, will you, Noah?”
“Aye, an’ a cockeyed reason too.” Noah found the discarded
trousers and carried them to his master. “Tumble bad piece o’ prop-
erty it turned out to be! Might a known that man you won it off
weren’t on the up an’ up.”
Falconer made a face. The man was someone he had tried to for-
get, without success. He put his feet over the side of the bed and
started to pull the trousers over his long-muscled swimmer’s legs. “I
never was convinced he was telling the truth. But we had to see for
ourselves, didn’t we? Remember, Noah, he was desperate.”
“You ain’t still blamin’ yourself! Man commits suicide, he ain’t
doin’ it over a worthless piece o’ property. Acres an’ acres, an’ you’d
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not give a bucket o’ sheep-dip for the lot! He knew it, too. Deed ain’t
worth the paper it’s writ on. Muckin’ liar!”
“Weknowthatnow,Noah,butthreemonthsagoitseemedreason
enough to come to Jamaica.” Adam busied himself with his belt
buckle.“Anddon’tberatethedead.What’sdoneisdone—nouseget-
ting angry.”
In a strange way, the fact that the Jamaican property had turned
out to be worthless had been a mixed blessing; at least it had made
Adam feel less responsible for the man’s death. He had won the land
on a turn of the cards. The ten thousand acres existed, true enough,
but it was in that inhospitable part of Jamaica known as Cockpit
Country, a haven for slaves freed by the Spaniards more than two
centuries before. A decade back, the British had taken an expedition
into Cockpit Country and defeated these men—the Maroons, as they
were called. Cockpit Country had in turn defeated the British. It still
teemed with fiercely independent blacks who somehow scratched a
living from the pitted and unfriendly territory. Locals called it “The
Land of Look Behind”—and for good reason; Adam and Noah had
barely escaped with their lives. The property deed Adam
owned—onetheBritishhadhandedoutadecadeagoasarewardfor
service—was only paper.
“Time we moved on,” grumbled Noah. “Costs an arm an’ a leg, it
does, to stay in this fancy house! You could a earned your keep at
the gamin’ tables, too, if you wasn’t so stubborn. Might a taken in
enough to buy yourself another sweet little piece o’ timber. An' an-
other thing—”
“YouknowI’mthroughwithgambling,Noah.It’slikeliquor—best
if you can leave it alone. And dammit, I’ve decided to leave it alone!
Now stop nagging me. You’re like an old woman this morning. We’ll
leave when we can find a ship bound for the States.”
But the ships that lay in Montego Bay were mostly Liverpool mer-
chants loading sugar and rum. News of the Third Alliance against
NapoleonhadfilteredacrosstheAtlanticseveralmonthsbefore,and
now American ships’ captains were running shy of British ports,
even here in the West Indies. With the Declaration of Independence
still fresh in men’s minds; with Jefferson president and favoring the
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