Captive Innocence by Fern Michaels Page A

Erected on the banks of the Amazon on the wealth from the rubber boom, deep in the mysterious jungles of Brazil.”
    Settling her bandbox on Mrs. Quince’s lap, Royall squared her shoulders and started to push the rattan wheelchair in the direction of the low-slung buildings at the wharf’s edge.
    A small boy dashed past her. As she swung sideways to avoid colliding with him, she noticed a tall, dark, hatless man staring at her. The boldness of his gaze was disturbing, and she rushed forward to escape his rudeness.
    â€œ... You’ll be delighted with the paddle boat. It’s just what a young girl needs. Gaiety and music. Our paddle boats here on the Amazon rival those on your Mississippi for luxury and food and entertainment. This will be a chance to wear your loveliest gowns.”
    Royall smiled as she watched Mrs. Quince’s pale, slate-colored eyes light with anticipation.
    After booking passage on the Brazilia d’Oro, Royall guided Mrs. Quince toward the wharf. “We can have our trunks transferred to the Brazilia when we board.”
    The gangplank stretched ahead of them, waiting for the purser to validate their boarding passes. Rosalie Quince was engaged in a lively conversation with the agent when, for a second time, Royall became aware of eyes staring at her. Boldly, she looked around. Her heavily lashed, gold-flecked eyes lifted to the promenade deck. Staring down at her with a cool, mocking gaze was the buccaneer from the Mardi Gras.
    God in heaven, what was he doing here on board their ship? He couldn’t be sailing with them. He just couldn’t. Memories of Mardi Gras flooded through her as she struggled to gain control of her composure. This couldn’t be happening to her. She raised her eyes slightly. He was leaning nonchalantly against the rail, never taking his gaze from her. Royall’s back stiffened. She stared back, her eyes bold and just as mocking. A pity, she thought, that the sun was so blinding that it was making her squint. Or was it the starkness of his white tropical suit? She found herself craning for a better look and was immediately annoyed with herself. What did he think? As if she cared what the arrogant bastard thought. How dare he look at her that way? Make her feel conspicuous and embarrassed. A small, sick curl of heat wormed in her stomach. This couldn’t be happening! The buccaneer was supposed to be aboard a ship in Rio, sailing out of her life forever. If she had ever suspected that their paths would cross again, she would never have allowed herself to be compromised this way. Impertinently, refusing to allow him to get the better of her, she tilted her chin upwards, continuing her bold stare. A tumble of dark hair, ruffled by the soft wind, grazed his brow. He brushed it aside impatiently, never taking his eyes from her.
    Again, Royall was struck by his handsomeness, his masculinity. And if appearances were not deceiving, he was still very interested in her. More for deviltry than for any other reason, she lowered her left eyelid in a seductive wink, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. He straightened and nodded his head imperceptibly, acknowledging her small flirtation.
    Rosalie Quince turned to face Royall. “Did you ever see a more beautiful thing in your life?”
    Mistaking Mrs. Quince’s words, Royall laughed. “No, Mrs. Quince, I can truthfully say I have never seen anything quite so ... so ... dashing.”
    Rosalie Quince grimaced. “I don’t believe I’ve ever heard of a ship called dashing before. Whatever, it’s of no mind. I do so love these paddle-wheelers.”
    Royall’s eyes were following the tall man on the promenade deck. “I’ve only seen pictures of them,” she replied distractedly.
    â€œIs anything wrong, Royall?”
    â€œWrong? Of course not, Mrs. Quince.” She couldn’t allow the garrulous Mrs. Quince to suspect that there was a man aboard the