Mary Rose looked over her shoulder at the seņorita with big eyes and an inviting smile. She took Anton's hand and said, "Be careful. She looks harmless enough, but I see fire under that cool exterior."

Anton grinned and winked at his mother, then walked to his prey. Mary Rose took a sip of wine when she heard, "Much the same could be said of you, Seņora Guevara."

She turned to see Mazar standing to her left. He took Anton's seat without asking, but Mary Rose was filled with too much wine to complain. "I see you have not been blown into a million bits."

"I am too fast for the Colonel, and too smart for Lafayette." He raised his hand to indicate to the waiter that he wanted another bottle of wine.

Mary Rose scrutinized him. The 'just found my way out of bed' attire he had on board was replaced with an 'I am trying to prove I can clean up well' look. He did. His tanned-buckskin jacket set off his sun-kissed olive complexion well. His tight, black pants and kneeboots were the only things about him that she recognized. His hair was oiled smooth and tied at his nape. He had recently shaved and his mustache was neatly trimmed. For some reason she didn't want to examine, she was glad she had put on one of her finest dresses, a light blue, crinoline lace number that she had had made for her for Don Hidalgo's wedding. "You were in quite a jam, last I saw you. Is my ship all right?"

"Better than you last saw her. She has been sanded and varnished." When she asked why, he replied, "The spoils of war."

"She got more than just dirty?"

"I had to replace a couple of planks. But she is built well. We were able to make a quick getaway."

"My husband built her."

"And he did a very good job. I neglected to mention it during our last meeting. You should be proud of your late husband."

"Of course I am." She finished her glass of wine and felt the dead silence. His eyes bored holes in her chest. The corset she wore did give her more cleavage than she even knew she had. If he wanted an eyeful, she got perverse pleasure in pulling her upper arms in tight and slightly leaning forward. "What do you want?" she asked without invitation, more as if to say 'suffer for what you can't have'.

The waiter arrived with a fresh bottle of wine. Mazar took it and the corkscrew from him and waved him away. "To share a glass of wine. Nothing more, Senora."

"I have had enough. Thank you, anyway." Mary Rose wiped her lips with a napkin and set it on her plate. She shifted the chair back, ready to go.

Mazar laid his hand over hers to keep her at the table. "So abrupt, Mary Rose. Do you hate me without even knowing me?"

"You have my ship."

"That cannot be the only reason. I have had it for three years. Who knows how many hands it went through on its way to me. I have taken good care of her." He squeezed her hand, which had the effect on her that she assumed he wanted. She needed air. He said, "I am only being friendly."

"You are making too many assumptions," she countered. "It is not attractive." It was, but the last thing she wanted was to be obvious. What he did most was irritate her. She didn't want to even like that man who commanded her ship, not ever.

When she rose from her chair, he stood because she did, trying to be a gentleman, but kept hold of her hand. "If wine is not what you want, how about a walk on the shore?"

Mazar was standing so close, with a firm hold on her hand, that she felt she had too much wine and would swoon. At least she blamed it on the wine. "What is it about me that makes you so forceful?"

"Let me explain it to you while we walk."

Before long, they were arm in arm, walking along the pier. Mary Rose did have to say she liked the jealous looks of young, single women who saw her with Captain Mazar, and drank in the lingering glances of men as they walked past. It had been years since she felt 'pretty'. She realized, from the glances and Mazar's pushiness, that she cleaned up well, herself. Mazar was about the most handsome man she had ever seen, and felt bad about how she had treated him. So, he had her husband's ship. At least he seemed to love it as much as they had. It might have been the wine, but at this point, she no longer wanted the ship. But she felt flushed when she realized that what she did want was walking along next to her. She had her hand tucked on his elbow, and his hand rested comfortably on her. She could feel his muscle-tone under that thick jacket sleeve. She noticed an elegant cufflink on his white shirt.

Mazar had talked of his life at sea, but it was hard to make out some of what he said because of the waves crashing to shore, and her own thoughts about being so close to his power. His low, melodic voice bewitched her. She and Anton had shared two bottles of wine at dinner, and she was feeling the effects. When she stumbled on a plank of the boardwalk, Mazar had kept her on her feet, and tight against him. He put his arm around her and said, "I am afraid that shawl is not enough to ward off the chill." He nodded to a hotel off the boardwalk and down the block. "Shall we warm up by a fire?"

A hotel? You can dress a bounder up, but that doesn't change what he is. She didn't allow him to steer her to the steps off the boardwalk, instead pushed his hands off her and drew her white lace shawl tight around her. "You haven't told me why you are on me like a dog with a bone."

"You are attractive. You are legendary. You are everything I assumed you would be. And, I am lonely. We might make a perfect fit if you give it half a chance."

"You want my wealth," she stated matter of factly, not giving him a chance to beguile her any longer.

His laugh rang through the air. "I would assume you have enough reales for your heirs to live comfortably, but I could buy and sell you. No, Mary Rose. It is not your wealth that attracts me. It is you. Your fire, your passion, and I have certainly heard of your duels. You have bested men I must admit I would have had trouble beating." He sat back and smiled. "You are about the only woman any of us knows who actually likes being on a boat."

He was a sweet-talker, she gave him that. He had zeroed in on her greatest love besides her son. "I feel as if I were born on one."

"We have so much in common."

He reached for her hand, and she swayed away and walked to the rail to look out at the choppy waves, wondering if it there would be a storm and it wouldn't be safe to sail in the morning. Mazar was right at her side, only this time, not touching her, his hands on the rail where she could see them. Some strands of his hair had broken loose from the tie and fluttered back in the wind. She could see him at the helm of her--his--ship, and the thought aroused her.

Mary Rose breathed in the salty air to stop the rising heat he stoked in her, but it didn't work. Instead of fending it off, she would accept it. "All right," she said. "Since you know so much about me, you know the location of my hacienda. We will have dinner on Friday night, with my son in attendance."

"Your son would not make a good chaperone. I will bring my daughter."

"Your daughter?"

"Yes, maybe you saw her this evening. She was the innocent flower that your eagle-eyed son made a beeline for."

"Her dress was cut mighty low to be so 'innocent', Captain."

His eyes fell to her own chest, and turned away with a smile as she covered her cleavage with her shawl. "She dresses like her mother."

"And what a brave woman she is to be married to you." He hadn't worn a wedding ring, and his finger was bare, without a tan line where the ring should be. Maybe he never wore one.

"I have to admit it took the strength of ten women to put up with me. My dear wife is now six feet under an orange tree at the edge of her family's property."

That was really the last thing she expected him to say. Many a married man had made excuses for their marriage. "She does not understand me", "we live separate lives", "she has her hobbies, I have mine". Mary Rose saw the glimmer of regret in Mazar's eyes, and intoned, "I am sorry to hear that."

He nodded his head as he looked out at the ocean. His mouth was set in what she couldn't decide was either sadness or bitterness. "She has been gone for six years. She was quite a dame, but hated the sea.  She preferred to stay on land, go to parties, wear nice clothes. I had to work hard to keep her properly attired."

"How did she die?"

"She was murdered."

Mary Rose's breath caught. "So was my husband."

"By whom?"

"I do not know. The culprit was never caught."

"In my wife's case, the culprit was never brought to justice."

She heard an undertone of loathing in those words; he did well to cover what must have goaded him all those six years. She could well understand it. In her case, there hadn't been a suspect in her husband's murder. How awful to have suspicions that had never come to fruitation. "Why not?"

"He was 'justice', and still claims to be." Mazar snarled. "Your friend, Colonel Balthazar Alfonso."

"You are joking."

"I do not joke about infidelity." His voice seared with hatred. "She was his mistress, and he killed her. I know he did it."

"Why?"

"The exact reason, I can only guess. One of the major reasons, I suspect, was to get back at me."

"No, I mean, why did she have another lover?" To have Captain Mazar in her bed and still look elsewhere? Some women were never satisfied, she guessed, but still at a loss. She wondered if it was his fault, if he had taken mistresses first.

Mazar looked surprised, and looked down at her by his side. "I guess I am not quite as revered as I like to believe."

He was unfolding like a flower. For that reaction, and the vulnerable look on his face, Mary Rose had to rethink her initial judgement of him. Her immediate hostility could have been from the shock of seeing The Mary Rose again, with a new name and commanded by someone other than Andres.

Mazar's eyes flitted beyond her and he said, "As much as I am taken with you, if your son hurts my daughter, he is dead meat."

Mary Rose turned around to see her son with Mazar's daughter, walking toward them. Their laughter now pierced the air, and Mary Rose, at first glance, thought they made a lovely couple. Anton had had a hard time of it after Camina's death; it was just in the last year that he had started to look at other women.

"You have nothing to worry about," Mary Rose declared. "My son is a gentleman. Are you?"

"That is for you to find out, Seņora." He placed a kiss upon her gloved hand after he tenderly lifted it to his lips. "Until Friday eve. I will look forward to it."

Continue to Part Four

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