Wild Silver - the Delaneys

by Iris Johansen

  She had to think, to seek out a weakness in Savron. She was silent, her mind leaping from one possibility to another. “What promise did you give Mikhail Kuzdief?”

  She felt him stiffen beside her. “Do you actually expect me to tell you?”

  “Why not? I’m only a woman.”

  He chuckled. “That bit of irony would have done justice to Marc Antony at Caesar’s funeral.”

  “Well?”

  His gaze searched her face. It would be unwise to tell her, yet he knew abruptly that he was going to do so. She was as valiant as the warrior Mikhail had called her and they had stripped her of every weapon. Giving her back one small assurance would surely do no harm. “I promised him I would never take you against your will.”

  “I see.” She tried to keep her voice emotionless, to hide the tingle of excitement his words had ignited within her. “It was very kind of him to care. I owe him a debt.”

  “Mikhail has a gentle heart.” His lips twisted. “He’s completely unlike myself in that respect.”

  “I agree.” She turned briskly toward the stateroom. “Can you summon him from your cabin?”

  He nodded. “There’s a bell pull beside the bed.”

  “Then send for him. I’m very good with healing. Sometimes a minor cut can be very dangerous if a bit of cloth or dirt gets into the wound.”

  “You’re suddenly very solicitous,” Nicholas said dryly. “It couldn’t be that you think you can persuade him to help you?”

  She looked at him in surprise. “No, he told me he was loyal to you. I know he would not betray you.”

  “Then why do you want to bind up his wounds and soothe his fevered brow?”

  “He is a good man,” she said simply. “And I owe him a debt. I always pay my debts. Besides, it was not his fault he felt bound to help you any more than it was mine that I had to defend myself. Until there is reason for us to fight again, we can be friends.”

  He gazed at her blankly. There was no doubt of her sincerity. At that moment she had the clear simplicity of a small child. “You hold no grudge?”

  “Not against him.” She strode past him toward the stateroom. “Only against you, your highness.” Her tone was coolly mocking. “I most definitely hold a grudge against you.”

  “Don’t you think formality is rather absurd considering the intimacy of our circumstances? My name is Nicholas.”

  She glanced at him over her shoulder. “I think perhaps you’re right. In one way or another we shall be more intimate than you dream, Nicholas.”

  She opened the door and entered the stateroom without another backward glance.

  “You must change the bandage morning and night until the wound forms a scab.” Silver’s brow furrowed in concentration. “It seems clean, but I’ve seen lesser wounds than this fester and cause a fever.”

  Mikhail nodded as he stood up, his brawny muscles rippling in the lamplight as he reached for his tunic on the table beside him. “I, too.” He pulled the tunic over his head. “Remember Boris Kravitz, Nicholas? One week hale and hearty with a tiny cut on his thumb.” He drew his index finger across his throat. “The next week we were measuring him for a coffin.”

  “I remember.” Nicholas’s tone was abstracted, his gaze fastened on Silver. “You were telling the truth; you do know a great deal about caring for wounds.”

  “I should. Except for four months a year, when Rising Star insisted I come to Killara for schooling, I spent my entire childhood in an Apache village.” Her lips twisted. “There was much opportunity to learn about healing battle wounds.”

  “Rising Star?”

  “My aunt who married Joshua Delaney.” Her lashes suddenly lowered to veil her eyes. “She died in childbirth four years ago.” She turned back to Mikhail. “I have no salve to give you for the cut. If you’d allowed me to pack a portmanteau instead of snatching me away with nothing but a cloak, I could have brought my medicine and herb box.”

  He shook his head, his eyes twinkling. “You gave me enough trouble without stopping to fetch luggage. Perhaps next time—”

  Silver’s smile lit her face with warmth as she held up her hand to stop the flow of words. “Next time I’ll do the snatching, Mikhail Kuzdief.”

  Mikhail burst out laughing. “Only if you put on two hundred pounds and grow two feet taller, little one.”

  Jealousy. My God, I am actually jealous of Mikhail, Nicholas thought with amazement as he gazed at Silver Delaney’s glowing face. She had not smiled for him. It was Mikhail who had caused that sudden sunburst of radiance that made him realize yet again what a magnificently beautiful woman Silver Delaney was. Before, he had been conscious only of her stormy sensuality, now he knew she possessed an attraction infinitely more complex. He found his nails digging into the palms of his hands as his fists clenched, and he consciously forced himself to relax. But it should have been him, dammit. She should have smiled first at him.

  “My aunt was fond of telling me a tale from the Bible about a giant named Goliath and a boy named David.” Silver’s eyes danced. “I immediately went out and began practicing with a slingshot. I became very good at it.”

  Mikhail chuckled. “Better than with your little knife?”

  She tilted her head as if to consider. “Well, the—”

  “If you’ve finished, perhaps Mikhail should go to bed,” Nicholas interrupted. “We wouldn’t want him to become overtired.”

  Mikhail looked at him in surprise. “I am not—” He stopped and then nodded in comprehension. “I will go to bed.” He glanced at Silver. “Thank you for bandaging my wound, little one. Do not worry. No harm will come to you.”

  “I know,” Silver said calmly. “Sleep well, Mikhail.”

  When the door closed behind the Cossack, Silver turned to Nicholas. “I’m tired. I also wish to go to bed. Where do you want me to sleep?”

  There was no smile, no hint of provocation; her expression was coolly matter-of-fact. He gestured toward the bed. “Did you expect any other answer?”

  “No.” She took off the waist-length jacket and began unbuttoning her high-necked white blouse. “It doesn’t matter to me where I sleep, though perhaps it will to you.”

  His gaze clung compulsively to her rapidly moving fingers unfastening her shirtwaist. “No perhaps about it.” He sat down in the chair Mikhail had just vacated and stretched out his legs before him, crossing them at the ankles. “It’s of the utmost importance to me. I’ve thought of little else since I left you this afternoon.”

  “That seems a long time ago.” She took off the rumpled white blouse and tossed it carelessly on the padded velvet bench at the foot of the bed. She heard a soft sound as if Nicholas had drawn a deep breath, but she didn’t look at him. She had not thought this would be so difficult. Her hands must not tremble, she must show no signs of the turbulence she was feeling or she would be lost. Nicholas was a man accustomed to reading women and would leap on any hint of weakness. If she was to defeat him, she must show him nothing but indifference. She sat down and briskly unbuttoned her ankle-high boots and pulled them off.

  “Would you like any help?”

  He had asked his question in a voice that was hoarse, she noticed with satisfaction. He was hurting. “No.” She set the shoes neatly together beneath the bench and stood up to begin untying the white silk ribbons of her camisole. “I am not a child who cannot unbutton her shoes. Why should you help?”

  “Because I want my hands on you.”

  “Are you disturbed?” she asked coolly, still not looking at him. “I wonder why?”

  “My God, you’re bold. How many other men have you undressed in front of like this?”

  She didn’t answer as she slipped the strap of her camisole off one golden shoulder.

  “How many, dammit?”

  “I don’t see what difference it makes. How many do you suppose?”

  She heard a muttered curse as she pushed the other strap off her shoulder. The thin muslin slipped down until it barely crest
ed her upper breasts, only their roundness keeping the garment from falling to fully reveal the lush bounty outlined beneath the material. Her fingers mustn’t shake. It merely took strength of will, she reminded herself. She glanced around the room to avoid looking at him. Her eyes widened as they encountered the murals on the walls and her gaze swung back to Nicholas in surprise. She immediately regretted the lapse.

  Nicholas’s broad cheeks were flushed, his lips thickly sensual, his dark eyes fastened on her with an intensity that caused an odd current of heat to flow through her. She hurriedly looked away. “What … interesting murals you have. Exactly what I would have expected of you.”

  “You’re not shocked?” His voice was suddenly rough. “One would almost think you’re accustomed to the accoutrements of a bordello.”

  She shook her head as she unfastened her skirt. “I’ve only been in one bordello, and there were no pictures like this.”

  “Only one?” He laughed harshly. “At the advanced age of nineteen? Pray, what have you been doing with your time? May I ask whether you were purchasing or selling?”

  It seemed she had struck pay dirt. Something she had said was evidently annoying him exceedingly. “Neither. Though Rina did once ask me if I wanted a job.”

  “Rina?”

  “Rina Bradshaw.” She took off her blue skirt, draped it over the bench, and stood garbed only in the camisole and her petticoats. “She runs a whorehouse in Hell’s Bluff.”

  “You must have impressed her. Will you take off that goddam camisole?”

  “You wish to see my breasts?” She shrugged. “Very well. I don’t understand why white men become so excited when a woman takes off her clothes. Indians are much more sensible. They accept a naked body as a part of nature.”

  She took off the camisole, revealing a glimpse of full, heavy breasts crowned by pink areolas for only a tenth of a second before she turned her back on him to lay the camisole with the other garments on the bench. “Indian children run naked unless the weather becomes cold.” She quickly finished disrobing. “Yet white children and even women are forced to wear layers and layers of clothing and become smothered with—”

  “Turn around.”

  She could feel the muscles of her spine stiffen with tension and she forced herself to relax. Now she must face him and he must see no weakness. She slowly turned and unconsciously lifted her chin. “Yes?”

  Nicholas hadn’t thought he could become more aroused, but he now realized how mistaken he had been. The muscles of his stomach twisted and he could feel his manhood thrust against the material of his trousers as his gaze moved over her. Why had he sat there in a torment of lust while she teased him to this unbearable pitch? She had challenged him with her body and those damn cool words that incited anger and desire and jealousy until he thought he would go mad.

  “Enough?” she asked, lifting one winged brow. “I’m getting chilly.”

  “No, not enough.” He wasn’t sure at that moment that he’d ever get enough of looking at her. Lord, she was beautiful. Golden rose-tipped breasts flowing to a narrow waist and then to sweetly curving hips and firm buttocks. Shining ebony hair streamed straight and silky to the middle of her back, and her eyes were brilliantly alive, challenging his mind almost as much as his body.

  His gaze traveled down to linger on the soft thatch of hair protecting her womanhood. The palms of his hands on the arms of the chair began to tingle as he thought of rubbing them against that soft nest and then parting her thighs and— “Come here.”

  “Why?”

  He looked up impatiently. “My dear Silver, the reason couldn’t be more obvious.” He glanced down at his lower body and made a face. “Oh, yes, very obvious.”

  “Why?” she repeated.

  A muscle jerked in his cheek. “To consummate the fire you’ve built so skillfully. I want to touch you.”

  “But you can’t touch me.” Her gray eyes met his with absolutely no expression. “That wasn’t what I intended at all.”

  His gaze narrowed on her face. “And just what did you intend?”

  “I wanted you to hurt.” Her voice was suddenly fierce. “I wanted you to want me as men always want women and not be able to touch me.”

  “The hell I won’t!” His eyes were blazing with fury. “I’m going to—” He stopped. His promise to Mikhail. Dammit to hell, his promise to Mikhail!

  She nodded slowly, the faintest smile touching her lips. “You will not do it because you promised your friend you would not. You value your friend, and I think you’re a man who also values your word. You were very foolish to tell me of your promise.”

  “You little she-cat,” he said through clenched teeth. “I told you that to make you feel more secure. I didn’t want you frightened of me.”

  “I wasn’t frightened.” Her eyes blazed back at him. “I was angry. You forced me to come here against my will. Did you care that I have my own life to live? There are things I must do. The circus is leaving soon and I—”

  He stiffened. “How unfortunate that you’ll have to live without the embrace of your lover.”

  “My lover?” She shrugged impatiently. “All you can think of is …” Her gaze moved significantly down his body and rested with satisfaction on the hard column outlined beneath his tight trousers. “But that’s what I want you to think of tonight and every night we are together.” She whirled on her heel, her hair flying wildly about her silken nudity, and crossed the few paces to the bed. She brushed the sheer batiste bed curtains aside, jerked the peach-colored spread down, and slipped into bed. She glared at him across the room. “I told you I would punish you.”

  He could feel the fury surging through him, blinding, hot, breathtaking. Anger almost as intense as the desire that was a jagged torment in his body. He slowly stood up and moved deliberately across the room. “What a vengeful little bitch you are,” he said softly. “I thought I had learned all the wicked little tricks a woman could find to torture a man. I was wrong.” He stood over her, his gaze meeting her own. “I supposed I should have expected that you would be especially well versed in such arts. I’ve heard that savages were skillful in the ways of torture.”

  She flinched. “We are, but we acquired most of our knowledge from the white man. We never flaunted killing until they taught us how to scalp and count coup. How many scalps have you hung at your belt, Nicholas?”

  “I’ve never counted.” His hand suddenly tangled in her hair and jerked her head back. “But I believe I’m about to start.”

  She stared back at him fearlessly. “No, you won’t. You’re like most men who have honor toward men and not toward women. You won’t break your promise.”

  He gazed down at her for a long moment, his chest moving harshly with the force of his breathing. Then, slowly, finger by finger, he released her hair. He straightened, moving jerkily, as if his every muscle was atrophied by age. He closed his eyes. “No, I’ll not break my promise, damn you!”

  His hair was tousled gold in the lamplight, his nostrils flaring with each breath, his bronze skin pulled tight over the broad bones of his cheeks. She had a fleeting memory of the first moment she had seen him, when she had thought he looked like a sensual Apollo. that resemblance was even more pronounced now. He was a deity burning, Apollo in a fever of passion. A woman would have had to be made of ice not to be stirred by Nicholas Savron in that moment. Ice, Silver prayed desperately. She must be ice.

  His eyes flicked open and he smiled down at her. Surprise rippled through her. His smile was almost … loving. “A challenge?” His voice was velvet soft.

  “No!” she protested.

  “I think you lie, Silver.” One finger gently touched her cheek. “I think you’re a woman who must always have a challenge. Well, I intend to accommodate you. I won’t force you. I won’t even touch you without your permission.” His finger trailed lazily down her cheek to the corner of her mouth. “Until you ask me to sheath myself in you and give you what you want.”

  “
I won’t—”

  “You will.” His lids half veiled the gleaming darkness of his eyes. “Because you didn’t count on one thing. Your body. That very lovely body that wants me just as much as I want it. I knew the first moment I saw you that you were a very sensual lady. If I’m in pain, then you’ll be in pain too.” His finger slid down to the hollow of her throat. His smile deepened as he felt the sudden leap of her heart. “You see?”

  “I see nothing.” In spite of her effort, the words held a slight quaver.

  His hand dropped away from her throat. “And to think I believed you were an honest woman,” he said mockingly. He turned and strolled to the door he had told her led to the grand saloon. He paused with a hand on the doorknob to look back at her. “And I have one other advantage not available to you. There are any number of women on this boat who will allow me the relief you deny me, and I have no intention of allowing you to receive a similiar satisfaction from any other man. If you burn, you must appeal to me for relief.” He gazed at her a moment longer, his expression a mixture of desire, anger, and pain. Then he was gone and she heard the door lock behind him.

  The room was suddenly larger, less threatening, yet … empty. Silver drew a deep, quivering breath, her taut muscles wilting like wildflowers at the first frost. She was shaking, she realized, surprised and indignant at her body’s betrayal. There was no reason for her to respond in this fashion. Nicholas was only a man, and she had been the victor in this encounter. This sudden weakness must be due to the strain of the evening. After she had rested she would be better able to face the challenge Nicholas offered.