Daughters of the Summer Storm by Frances Statham (good fiction books to read TXT) 📕

overwhelmed her, and to keep the tears from becoming reality, Maranta shut her eyes.

The man's booted foot, perched carelessly upon the railing next to her, was the first thing she saw when she opened her eyes again. She did not know how long the man had been staring at her. With a sudden start, Maranta stood up, ready to flee the arrogant, dark-haired stranger who met her glance boldly and continued to look her up and down as no gentleman in Charleston would ever think of doing.

"Senhorita Tabor," he called when she had taken only a few steps from him. "There is no need to run away. I promised Dona Isobel that I would not ravish you here on deck."

His laugh followed her as she fled to her cabin. He knew her—knew who she was. And that thought frightened her more than anything else.

Breathlessly, Maranta closed the cabin door and sank onto the large cushion on the floor. She had left both her bonnet and reticule on deck. But she would not go back for them. She would willingly give up her new blue silk bonnet and all that she possessed never to see the man again.

"What is it, Maranta?" the old condessa's voice questioned. "You look as if you have met with a ghost."

The adjoining door was open, and the condessa stood, looking down at the small, frightened figure fighting for her breath.

"Not a ghost. I. . . I think it was a devil, instead," she managed to answer.

The puzzled expression on the condessa's face cleared when the deep laughter sounded behind her.

"Ruis, what a bad boy you are—to frighten Maranta so. And what are you doing with her bonnet and reticule?"

"The frightened child with the sorrowful eyes left them on deck," he answered nonchalantly, walking into the room to rid himself of Maranta's belongings.

"Maranta," the condessa said, while the girl struggled to her feet, "I wish to present my elder son, Ruis Almeida José da Monteiro, the Count of Sorocaba. He has come to help us disembark. Ruis, my son, this is Vasco's noiva, Maranta Tabor."

He took her small hand in his and, bowing before her, he brought her hand to his lips. As quickly as she could, she withdrew her fingers from his grasp. Her dark eyes betrayed her relief. He was not Vasco, but his older brother, the conde and fazendeiro, master of the plantation.

"I. . . am sorry to have been so frightened on deck," the girl apologized. "It was just that. . ."

"And I, too, am sorry, menina. I should not have startled you—especially when you had been dozing in the sun."

"I was not asleep, senhor," she protested. "I had merely closed my eyes for a moment."

His white teeth were in contrast to his bronzed skin as he smiled at her answer.

"You are ready, Mãe?" he asked, turning to the white-haired woman.

"Sim, Ruis. We are more than ready to leave this ship."

Maranta, with her blue silk bonnet now covering her dark hair, felt foolish as she walked beside Dona Isobel. For Ruis da Monteiro watched their progress with an undisguised amusement.

The little green bird chirped loudly in its swinging cage, held gingerly by Maranta—almost as if it were protesting the disparaging glances of the important fazendeiro standing impatiently to help them across the plank.

The condessa had already been ushered across and into the open carriage, where she sat with her spine stiff as a farthingale. When their turn came to cross onto shore, Maranta hung back to let Dona Isobel go first. The woman required little help in negotiating the gangplank. But when it came Maranta's turn, the swinging cage overbalanced her, and had it not been for Ruis, she would have fallen into the water.

His arms enclosed her and steadied the cage, while a green feather floated upward to land on his lapel.

"Th-thank you," Maranta uttered in an embarrassed voice.

Ruis, still with one arm holding her, took his other hand and disdainfully flicked the stray feather from his immaculate coat. "You must have much regard for this silly, molting bird—to risk falling into the water for it."

Maranta's eyes immediately darkened into a stormy glint. "Fado is not molting," she declared. "He was merely shaken up by the sudden movement. And I do have much regard for him, since it was the captain of the ship who gave him to me."

"So you are not quite so meek as I had thought," Ruis said, still laughing. Then he leaned down and whispered in her ear, "Does the condessa know how quick and fierce you are—to defend another?"

"Ruis," the voice sounded from the carriage, "don't keep the child standing there. I am in a hurry to get to the hotel."

"We are coming, Mãe."

"Is. . . is Senhor Vasco at the hotel?" Maranta inquired on her way to the carriage.

Ruis frowned at her question and took his time in answering. "Vasco has not been well. We thought it best for him to remain at the fazenda."

His look discouraged any more questions that she might have had concerning her future husband, and besides, they were at the carriage.

"If you will trust me with Fado," he said, reaching out to take the cage, "I will see that he is securely placed."

There was nothing to do but hand over the little green bird. But Maranta's eyes remained on the cage until it was safely wedged in the seat beside the driver.

Ruis followed Maranta into the carriage and eased himself beside her, in the seat facing the Condessa Louisa and Dona Isobel.

"Would you like to swap places with me, senhorita?" Dona Isobel asked Maranta. "You cannot see anything of the city when you ride backward."

"Oh, yes, please," Maranta answered eagerly, not so much from wanting to view the city as to escape from the conde's side.

As soon as the switch was made, Ruis nodded for the driver to leave the wharf. Already sent ahead were the many trunks belonging to the condessa and two belonging to Maranta and Dona Isobel. All