Shadow Play Read Online Free PDF Page A

trunk of the fig tree, she watched him. He was not what she had expected— neither middle-aged nor distinguished. Obviously she was accustomed to comparing every man with her father or Nor- man. This American was dark and pagan and frightening. His skin was a golden bronze, only slightly lighter than that of the Indians who resided in Georgetown. His face was lean, possessing a barbaric handsomeness. His thick black eyebrows curved in a slant over his deep-set eyes—and those eyes!
    Even from a distance she could make out their color, silver, as cold as the machete he was reputed to have wielded through Japura. Those quicksilver eyes looked like they could cut through steel, and that body was hard and lithe like an animal's. Yes... She could believe these stories. This man was as wild as the rain forest creatures—and just as dangerous. She could imagine him glibly turning down her father's offer. Dear Lord, she could imagine women like the one who had just left his arms finding in him an excuse to believe in mythical lovers. If she were smart she would forget this silly notion and go home. But she wasn't feeling smart right now. She was desperate and growing more so by the moment.
    She waited until he had gone back into the house and closed the door. Only then did she approach and rap on the weathered wood.
    "It's open," came the deep, sharp voice.
    Her pulse quickened and her stomach turned over. The impulse to flee became fearfully strong.
    At that moment the door was flung open. Aghast, Sarah stumbled back.
    Morgan Kane stared down at the black-draped creature in surprise. He had been expecting Henry.
    He said nothing for a moment. Obviously his abrupt response had set the woman aback. For an instant he wondered who the hell she was to be banging on his door in the early hours of morning. Then he noted the mourning garb, and the realization struck him: the governor's daughter.
    The day before, he'd stood in the back of the church and watched her weep over her father's coffin. In truth, she had been his reason for attending Chester St. James's funeral. He'd heard rumors about the lady ever since his arrival in Georgetown a year ago, how she was cherished by British aristocrats and peasants alike. A child-woman of extremes, Sarah St. James had won over an entire nation by frolicking barefoot with the natives in the morning, then appearing in the evening on her father's arm as resplendent as royalty.
    When he'd been invited to the Governor's residence a week ago, Chester St. James had pointed out a portrait of his daughter on the wall. It depicted an extraordinarily lovely young girl in a pale green crinoline and a yellow sash, with eyes full of mischief and fiery gold ringlets falling onto fragile white shoulders. One delicate hand held a bouquet of vibrant daffodils. The painting was titled "Sunshine."
    He'd found himself mesmerized by the haunting image of childish innocence and loveliness reflected in the bluish- green eyes and rosebud mouth. That image had driven him to stand throughout the ceremony yesterday, his eyes on the sobbing figure in the front of the church, hoping for a glimpse of her mature features, suspecting that, in the process of growing up, she must certainly have lost that look of naivete that had lingered with him after leaving the Governor's mansion. He'd followed her all the way to the cemetery in hopes that the wind would lift her veil, but it hadn't.
    Now she was trembling in his doorway, peering up at him through the black lace barrier of mourning. For an instant he was stunned. Then confused. Then the realization of why she was there hit him like a hammer and he stiffened.
    She brushed past him before he asked her to enter. Even in her mourning attire she seemed oddly out of place, the understated magnificence of her dress, her regal deportment, serving to exaggerate the shabbiness of her surroundings. The fact piqued him.
    "Won't you come in," he drawled, then slammed the door.
    A moment