Secret Harbor by Barbara Cartland Page A

I knew Paris before the Revolution, and I have also been to London.”
    “And you enjoyed it?”
    “When I was young I found it very intriguing, and yet I knew that my real place was here among the islands.”
    “You love Martinique?”
    “It is my home, and will be my home again.”
    The way he spoke was very moving, and Grania said softly without thinking:
    “I shall pray that it will be returned to you.”
    A smile seemed to illumine his face before he said: “Thank you, and I am ready to believe, Mademoiselle, that your prayers will always be heard.”
    “Except those for myself,” Grania replied.
    Then she thought perhaps she was being unfair. She had prayed last night to escape from Roderick Maigrin, and for the moment she was away from him.
    There was always the chance that if she was alone with her father she might persuade him such a marriage was so intolerable that he would not inflict it on her.
    After all, he had loved her when she was a child—there was no doubt about that—and she was sure that it was only because her mother and she had gone away that he had fallen so completely under Mr. Maigrin’s thumb and was ready to acquiesce in anything he suggested.
    The expressions which followed each other across her face were more revealing than she had realised, and she felt uncomfortably that the Comte could read her thoughts when he said:
    “You are very lovely, Mademoiselle, and I cannot believe that any man, even your father, would not listen when you plead with him.”
    “I shall try ... I shall try very ... hard.”
    He walked to one of the port-holes before he said:
    “I think you should now return home. If your father arrives and finds you not there he will be very shocked to learn that you are with somebody like myself.”
    “I am sure if you met Papa in other circumstances you would like each other.”
    “But circumstances being what they are we must remain at a distance,” the Comte said firmly.
    He walked towards the door of the cabin and there was nothing Grania could do but rise from the chair in which she had been sitting.
    She had the strange feeling that she was leaving safety and security for danger, but she could not put such feelings into words and she could only follow the Comte up the companionway and onto the deck.
    The sailors watched her from the corners of their eyes as she walked towards the gangway.
    She was sure because they were Frenchmen they were admiring her, and she told herself it was impertinent of them to do so because they were outlaws and pirates who in fact, should be frightened in case she betrayed them.
    Again the Comte must have read her thoughts for as they stepped ashore he said:
    “One day I hope I shall have the privilege of introducing my friends to you, for that is what my crew are: friends who have no wish to be outlaws but have been forced to flee from your countrymen.”
    The way he spoke made Grania feel ashamed.
    “I am sorry for ... anybody who has been a ... victim of war,” she said, “but those who live on these islands seem to know ... nothing else.”
    “That is true,” the Comte agreed, “and it is always the innocent who suffer.”
    They walked through the thickness of the trees and the bougainvillaea bushes until the house was in sight.
    “I will leave you here,” the Comte said.
    “Please do not ... go,” Grania said impulsively.
    He looked at her in surprise and she said:
    “We have not yet heard what Abe and your man have found out about the revolutionaries. Suppose they are on their way here? I could only escape if you let me come aboard your ship.”
    Even as she spoke she knew she was not so much frightened of the revolutionaries as of losing the Comte .
    She wanted to stay with him, she wanted to talk to him, and most of all she wanted him to protect her from Roderick Maigrin.
    “If the revolutionaries are here,” he said, “I doubt if even as a pirate I would be safe.”
    “You mean they will think of you as an