Beautiful Lies by Emilie Richards

The boy scrambled for it as Archer continued up the road.
    Had he just kept walking he would still have recognized the third house as Somerset’s. Although it didn’t begin to compare with the houses of rich men in Texas, in contrast with its neighbors, Somerset’s home was a castle. The house was imposing, but it still fitted into the local landscape and architectural traditions. The verandas surrounding it were cavernous, trimmed lavishly with lacy gingerbread and trellises smothered with vines. The floor was raised off the ground on blocks, and the green metal roof was peaked, with a door facing the front and a narrow walkway leading off it. Archer imagined that the pearling master could catch sight of his luggers going off to sea from his private vantage point.
    The grounds were lovely, with a variety of palm trees and young specimens of the other-worldly boab trees with their massive bulbous trunks. The trees and a collection of shrubs rose in landscaped clusters to soften the edifice. A golden shower tree drooped beside a sober iron fence that looked as if it might have been imported from across the seas. He stood sheltered by the tree’s weeping branches and stared.
    Archer wondered what life must be like for the daughter of this house. Had she lived here always, or had her father sent her away to become a proper lady? Did she love this town, with its pungent smells, exotic vistas, its barbaric population? Would she refuse to leave, no matter what the enticement?
    As if he had conjured the image, a woman in a nightdress glided across a veranda on the western side of the house. Through the sheer gauze at the windows he could see her moving silently, gracefully, toward the veranda railing. She lifted the gauze-draped frame and stood looking out over the garden.
    Archer held his breath, not certain if she could see him. For a moment he had been afraid that Sebastian Somerset’s wife would be staring back at him, but this woman was young and slender, with a single braid of golden hair draped over one shoulder and the hint of a softly rounded figure under the fabric of her white gown and robe. He couldn’t see her face clearly, but he saw enough to realize her features were pert and symmetrical. She leaned against a veranda pillar and folded her arms.
    The sun rose higher, and the sky brightened with the passing moments. The birds, like everything else in the heathen town, were too brash for Archer’s tastes. Now one landed in the tree above him, flashing the colors of the rainbow and chattering as if it expected him to answer.
    At the noise the woman turned and saw more than the bird. She leaned forward, her hair spilling over the railing like Rapunzel enticing her lover. Archer stepped out from the shadow of the tree and held up a hand in greeting. She moved to the steps and stood just above them.
    â€œDo I know you?”
    She didn’t speak loudly, but even though the distance between them was considerable, Archer heard her.
    â€œNot yet.” He flashed his best devil-may-care grin.
    â€œReally? And why would that change?”
    â€œBecause I’m the man you’re going to marry.”
    She didn’t seem disturbed by his impudence. “Do you think so?”
    â€œI’ve made up my mind.”
    â€œAnd why is that?”
    In the most dangerous moments of his life Archer’s intuition had always been keenest. That sixth sense had saved Tom in Cuba. Now he sensed that Viola Somerset was a formidable woman, one who would want to know the truth because it would help her plan her next move. This was no shy virgin who expected a devotion no man was capable of. This was a woman who would scheme to get her heart’s desire. He just wished that he knew exactly what that desire might be.
    â€œYou’re going to marry me because we’re two of a kind,” he said at last. “I want you because you’ll give me pleasure in bed, strong sons and a wealthy