Dangerous Waters Read Free Page B

briefly, anxiously, at Phoebe. She gave her head a single brief shake, afraid to accept: afraid the tremor in her hand would reveal the depth of her distress. Topping up his own glass he replaced the bottle on the sideboard and resumed his seat.
    William Quintrell drank deeply, released a gusty sigh of satisfaction and addressed her again. “I admire your style, my dear. That I do. I must say I wouldn’t have been surprised at a few tears or even an attack of the vapours.”
    He would never know. None of them would ever know what it was costing her to deny them such a spectacle.
    Carina Bishop clicked her tongue, saving Phoebe from the need to respond. “For shame, Mr Quintrell. You do Phoebe an injustice. She is made of sterner stuff. And, of course, she is very sensible of the compliment you are paying her.”
    â€œIsn’t that just what I’m saying?” He turned to Phoebe once more. “To be mistress of a sugar plantation requires very particular capabilities.” He leaned forward, enveloping her in warm wine-tainted breath. “I’ve heard all about your skill with herbs and such like. And George here tells me you’re not afraid of hard work. Not that you’ll be expected to do anything that might soil those pretty hands. The slaves see to all that. There were a dozen taking care of the house before I left. But if you want more then more you shall have.” He beamed, making an expansive gesture. “Just remember to keep them on a tight rein. It wouldn’t do to let them get the better of you. But from what I’ve heard you’ve got more sense than to allow anything like that.”
    Phoebe glanced at her uncle. Already flushed from good food and wine his colour deepened. He avoided her gaze.
    â€œYou’ll be an ideal wife for my son,” William Quintrell stated. “You’re exactly what he needs.” He emptied his glass.
    Somehow Phoebe managed to hold her smile in place as she silently dipped her head in a gesture she hoped might be construed as modesty. Already her shock was being crushed beneath helpless resignation.
    She had told her uncle she could not accept as a husband any man unwilling to allow her to continue her work. And Carina Bishop, her uncle’s intended, did not want her included in their new household. A match between herself and Rupert Quintrell resolved both problems at a stroke. It was the perfect solution. Most marriages were the result of family discussion and approval. It wasn’t unheard of for the two people most concerned to be unfamiliar with each other.
    Nor was there any other branch of the family to whom she could apply for asylum. Uncle George was her mother’s sole remaining relative, and he was only a half-brother. Her father’s family had disowned their wayward son when he contracted a marriage they deemed beneath him.
    So if she was to travel to the other side of the world to marry a total stranger, the responsibility was entirely hers for refusing to accept those earlier proposals. There was no doubt that this match offered far more in terms of wealth and status. And at least William Quintrell approved her skills rather than condemning them.
    What would be his son’s response? But with an ocean to cross first would she live to meet him? She swallowed hard as hysteria bubbled in her throat.
    â€œIf I had come back to England when Rupert first took over I would have spared myself a couple of bouts of fever. But I didn’t like to leave him by himself. Not until I was sure he could handle it.” William Quintrell’s smile radiated pride. “I needn’t have worried. In the last couple of years he’s expanded the cane fields and almost doubled the production of sugar, rum and molasses. I tell you, Miss Dymond, my son and I have built Grove Hill into an estate of considerable importance. Ooops, I nearly forgot.” He reached into his waistcoat pocket and drew out a