Lady Savage

by Donna Lea Simpson

  The cupping of his hands over her breasts awoke her to the impropriety . . . or no, more the danger of the game they were playing. But still, the temptation was to linger a moment longer, to feel the fascinating flex and taut strength of his shoulders as his fingers—“Tony,” she gasped, pushing him away. His brown eyes were clouded and his pupils large, as if a drug was coursing through his bloodstream. He shook himself, took a deep breath, and passed one hand over his unruly hair, turning away for a moment and bending over. He walked a few paces away, took another deep breath, and then paced back.

  He returned to her and shook his head and with a rueful grin said, “You are so very beautiful, Savina. And kissing you . . . I don’t think I’ve ever felt quite like that in my life. I suppose I shouldn’t say that, but it’s the truth.”

  “It was a new sensation for me.” She patted her dress down and straightened the fabric as she stared into his dark eyes, wondering why she felt so lost, so bereft. They could not have gone on with what they were doing, though the temptation had been strong to follow urges and see where they led. Was that something the island was doing to them, or would the same forbidden desires be tugging at her in a London drawing room?

  “Why is it this way between us? Why do we both feel so . . .” She broke off and examined his face. Why did she not feel the same disquieting desires when facing Gaston-Reade, who was certainly more what people would call handsome? Tony was darker of mien and shorter of stature than her fiancé, and yet it was Tony who made her pulse quicken and her breath short. He entered her dreams and caressed her, and now she had so many new sensations to dream of, she would never be at peace in her sleeping hours again, she feared.

  “I don’t know how women feel,” he said simply. “I only know from a man’s perspective.”

  “So tell me,” she urged, pacing a ways away from him, feeling the need for distance. “I would like to understand it . . . how you feel.”

  Reluctantly, he acquiesced, watching her, still wanting her, she could tell. It was thrilling and frightening. “The feeling is raw, primitive, an urge of the deepest, most animal part of me. I don’t understand it, I just feel it, and it’s a need to possess you, to . . . to conquer you.” He shrugged, looking perplexed and mortified at his own words. He thrust his fingers through his increasingly shaggy hair, pulling it back from his eyes. “I shouldn’t tell you such things,” he said with a shake of his head. “I am perfectly in control, I swear it, and would never persist against your wishes. I wouldn’t have you alarmed or—”

  “I’m not alarmed,” she quickly said, feeling breathless, swept along by his vivid description, remembering the delicious abandonment of their kisses. “I know you well enough now, Tony, to trust you. Tell me more.”

  “It is all those ferocious things, and yet . . .” He stepped forward and threaded his fingers through her hair, pushing it back off her face.

  She stared up at him and saw the tenderness in his eyes, communicating itself to her on some level.

  “And yet,” he continued, his tone filled with wonder, “it is united with such overwhelming sensations of warmth toward you, tenderness, affection. I will be honest this once. I have never said anything like this before, nor will I likely again. You are the woman I never thought to meet, a woman of intelligence, sweetness of disposition, exquisite beauty. And more. You’re so strong and combative and contrary and . . .” He broke off and stared into her eyes as he stroked her cheek.

  “Tony, no one has ever . . .” Savina paused as a stiff breeze swept up the hill and fluttered her skirts. She looked up as a sudden gust of wind thrashed through the palms overhead. The blue ceiling above had turned an alarming shade of gray, and the soft, fluffy white clouds had become towering thunderheads. “The weather has turned,” she cried, pushing herself away from the palm she was leaned against. “A storm is brewing; we should go back. How far away are we from the camp?”

  He looked up and his expression turned to one of grave concern. “As the crow flies, only a mile or two, but a couple of hours of climbing in this treacherous hilly terrain. I lost track of time. You’re right. We have to go now.”

  He grabbed the canvas sack he had thrown down, put his arm around her shoulders and they started back, but before they had gone far a cold pelting rain began, finding them even among the foliage of the underbrush, and as they scaled one hillside, the surface became muddy beneath their feet, greenery mashing into a slick, slippery trail. Savina slipped and slid back down a ways, and Tony had to half guide, half pull her up the hill.

  They crested the rise to see a much different sight than they had a while before. The ocean was an iron gray, and the wind lashed the palm forest in waves of shuddering violence. Savina felt a thrill of fear but refused to let Tony see her terror. It was hurricane season. Having only been in Jamaica for seven months, Tony had never before experienced that dangerous time of year when tropical storms could smash through the Caribbean at any time, with little warning. But she knew the danger. She only hoped Zazu and the others were making preparations and lashing things down as best they could. This could last hours or it could last days. It could be the edge of the storm, or it could be the precursor of much worse to come.

  They started down the other side, but Savina felt Tony’s hand jerk out of her grasp as he tripped and slid, losing his balance and tumbling over a rocky outcropping that a half hour before had seemed so benign.

  “Tony,” she screamed above the noise of the rising wind. She skidded down the side, trying not to lose her own footing, and found him a few yards below, holding his ankle and swearing richly, using language she had never thought to hear from a gentleman. She crouched at his side.

  His face twisted in a grimace, he glanced up at her as she came to his aid. “I’m blasted sorry, Savina, but I’ve twisted my wretched ankle.”

  Pushing her rain-soaked hair out of her eyes, Savina stared down into his eyes. “You put it rather more forcefully a few seconds ago!”

  He laughed, a sharp bark of sound that ended with a yelp of pain as he tried to stand. “Damn, but it hurts!” He sat back down again on the muddy ground.

  Savina took his foot in her hands and felt his bare ankle, disregarding the caking of mud she was getting on her hands and dress. “I can’t tell; is it broken, do you think?”

  “I don’t think so. Look, we can’t stay here.” He pulled his foot from her grasp and tried again to stand. He sat back down abruptly in the muck. “Or more to the point, you can’t stay here. This rain is getting worse, and the dirt and filth . . . Savina, I’m so sorry! What a wretched protector I am.”

  “Then I shall take a turn,” she said, straightening and gazing around, wiping her hands on her dress skirt and impatiently swiping rain out of her eyes. “I saw, on my way up this slope, a cave opening. It will be shelter at least, even if it’s cold.” She helped him rise again, supporting him on her shoulder, and they descended the hill a ways further, then moved laterally to the cave opening Savina indicated.

  Using her as a prop, Tony was able to limp into the opening of the cave. “It’s very dark.”

  “It will get darker yet,” Savina said, feeling a shiver of apprehension. But she must be strong; this was no time to allow her fears to overtake her. “Let me go ahead and see if there is someplace to sit comfortably.”

  “I can . . .” Tony tried to step forward on his own but stumbled to his knees. “No, I guess I can’t.”

  Savina shook her finger in his face. “Behave, and let me do this.” She turned and advanced a little ways into the cave, out of the wind and rain, as far as the weak light would let her walk. It was not an enormous cavern, but there was a cool breeze from the interior and Savina had the sensation that it went much deeper. The floor was descending toward the back. It would not be a good idea to go too far in, for if one of them slipped and slid into the cavern, the other might not be able to help. There was a spot to the side that had an outcropping that looked smooth enough to sit on, at least for a wh
ile.

  She returned to Tony and helped him in, guiding him to the spot she had scouted for them to sit. Outside the opening of the cavern the wind picked up and howled louder, rain driving at an angle and actually into the cave, though it didn’t quite reach the two huddled together in the crude shelter. They didn’t speak for a while, but finally, Tony’s arms stole around her and he held her close to his body.

  “I can feel you shivering,” he said, his tone grim. “I even lost hold of the canvas sack, or we could have used it for a makeshift blanket. I’m so sorry about his, Savina.”

  “It’s not your fault the weather turned. We’ve seen it happen before here, many a miserable night. And I’ve lived in Jamaica for nine years; I should have been the one to notice the turn of the weather.”

  “But we never should have left the encampment without telling the others where we were going. What was I thinking? And I should have been watching the sky. I allowed myself to become distracted.”

  “Not your fault either,” Savina said. “Shall we say we both were distracted?” She turned to him and sought out his mouth and kissed him, feeling the warmth between them grow and banish her shivering.

  Lost in a sweet haze, when Savina was again aware it was to note absently that she was almost on Tony’s lap, her legs over his, his strong arms holding her close to his chest and her own wrapped around his neck. It seemed an efficient way to share their body heat.

  It was not conducive to rational thought, though, she found. Her mind was muddled by a quivering deep inside of her that made her agitated and fretful. She wanted him to keep kissing her, but his face was turned away. She reached out and turned his face toward her. His expression, though, seen in the dim light from the rainy day outside the cave, sobered her instantly.

  “What is it, Tony? You seem very . . . distressed.”

  “This is serious, Savina. I brought you to danger, ignored the weather, and now your father will be worried frantic about you. I should be hung by my thumbs for doing this.”

  “You only suggested we go for a walk,” she said, “so stop taking all of the responsibility for this on yourself.”

  He shook his head, unconvinced. “I took you away from those who are your protectors, and that wasn’t right.”

  She swung her legs off of his and moved away enough that their bodies weren’t touching anymore. The rocky outcropping jutted and poked tender areas, and she was supremely uncomfortable. “I’m so weary of all this talk of protectors,” she complained, taking a corner of her skirt and wiping dirt from her face. “Are women never to look after themselves? Are we so weak, so frail, so fragile that the merest breeze will knock us off our feet?”

  “Obviously, that isn’t so,” Tony said. “After all, you’re the one who found this cave and helped me to it.” He stretched his legs out in front of him and grunted with the effort.

  “How is your ankle?” she said, distracted from her ire by the memory of his injury.

  “Damnably painful, but it clearly isn’t broken, nor is it even truly sprained, I don’t think. If this weather clears, we can go on.”

  “If.” Savina gazed out of the mouth of the cave at the driving force of the rain and the greenery beyond, lashing wildly. “In my experience at home, once one of these deluges sets in, it is here for the day.”

  “All day? I hadn’t considered that. We can’t stay here overnight,” he said, his dark eyes wide.

  Savina thought about it. “We can if we have to. I’ll not risk our safety to calm my father’s fears.”

  “But what about Gaston-Reade? He’ll be worried.”

  “Do you think so?”

  “I do,” Tony said firmly. “It may not seem like it, but he does care for you.”

  “How do you know?”

  “He asked you to marry him,” Tony said simply, his tone hollow.

  Savina could no longer see his face in the dying light and could not read his tone. “I suppose I never examined what that meant.”

  “Trust me, Savina, in England the earl had ladies throwing their hats at him, and mothers desperate to arrange a marriage for their daughters with such a catch. I was surprised when he showed such interest in you, and then asked you to accept his hand.”

  “Why?”

  He hesitated. The wind whipped up outside and howled into the cavern. They huddled close together again, driven by necessity.

  “Don’t be afraid of hurting my feelings,” she said, raising her voice over the wind. “I know that in every material sense he could have done better.”

  “I think you know by now that I think he could do no better if judging by your sweetness and intelligence.”

  “Ah, but Albert wasn’t judging by my intelligence, was he?”

  “No. But he does seem to care for you.”

  Savina fell silent. After what they had experienced together it grated on her nerves for Tony to be defending his employer. Did he want her to marry the earl? Didn’t he care for her himself? He had said as much when they spoke of their feelings; he had said he had never felt as he did now, toward her. Or perhaps that was the heat of the moment.

  Her feelings a jumble, she began to fret for her father’s worries, and Zazu’s. They didn’t know where Savina and Tony were, didn’t even have a clue as to the direction they had taken. Her papa would be so unhappy, for despite every evidence to the contrary he still considered her his little girl, a helpless, sweet and fragile child.

  Hours passed. They spoke of the others, and wondered how they were faring through the storm, and admitted to each other how hungry and thirsty they were and how foolish they had been to set out on any trek so ill prepared.

  “Do you have family in England, Tony?” Savina finally asked, disliking the echoing sound of the pounding rain and lashing palms.

  “Not anymore,” he said. “My parents are both gone, my older brother is in Europe, and any relatives I have I lost touch with over the years.”

  “Is there no one?”

  He took her hand and squeezed it. “I have one old friend who will miss me if I never go back to England,” he said, understanding what she was asking. “I was apprenticed, when I was young, to a jeweler, and he has been my benefactor; he made sure I had schooling and helped me find my first position as secretary. Do you have family? You must.”

  “Not really,” she admitted. “Papa is everything to me. Oh, I do have some family on my mother’s side . . . cousins, and a couple of maiden aunts, one of them very wealthy and very peculiar. It is she who gave my papa the money, when we were on our way to Jamaica, to buy me something to remember her by, she said. She gave him a gold sovereign and he bought, from a native craftsman, this little coral cross.” She lifted the cross from her neck and Tony caressed it, feeling the shape in the growing gloom of their cavern.

  “It’s very pretty,” he said. “I have often admired it, thinking how well its delicacy suited you. She must have cared for you.”

  “I only remember meeting her once. I think she did the same for all of her nieces and great-nieces.”

  “You must have been special,” Tony insisted. “I will have it no other way. The woman you have become can only have had her nascence in an extraordinary child.”

  She touched his cheek and brushed away the drying grit. With much left unsaid between them, conversation dwindled and night fell, the rain settling into a steady, heavy downpour. She could hear it coursing down in heavy streams past the cavern mouth, some trickling in past their seat. Savina thought about those back at the encampment, and worried that Zazu and her father were frantic. But just as she feared her thoughts would make her mad, she turned them to pondering again what had happened between her and Tony that day.

  He told her he cared for her, and she had discovered a depth of feeling toward him that could not be denied. But she was still affianced to Lord Gaston-Reade, and it was clear from Tony’s words that he still considered her his employer’s intended bride; he had even found a way to state that the earl cared for he
r in some way. That irritated her more than anything else. She could accept that he considered her another man’s possession, but then to have him defend that man—

  She shifted her cramped body on the rock ledge and felt Tony slump heavily on her shoulder, clearly asleep. How typical. She was worried and fretting and he was asleep.

  Perhaps the kisses they had shared and the desire present between them was not enough for anything more than a few stolen moments, and Tony knew it. To her it felt like an awakening, but perhaps, having more experience in such matters, he knew it was fleeting and not the solid foundation a lifetime of togetherness required.

  She shifted positions again and offered him her shoulder to lay his head on. He nuzzled her neck, and she felt the awkward flare of warmth his proximity always enflamed. Those minutes in his arms, drugged by kisses sweeter than mead, had been strange for the quality of forgetfulness; she had forgotten where they were, what their supposed purpose for walking out was, in short, she had forgotten anything but the sensations coursing through her. His hands on her body had taught her how much she would enjoy the more intimate aspects of love, and it had made her understand some of the actions she had thought ridiculous in the romances she had read and characterized as absurd. Yearning and powerful need, expressed in overblown expressions in those books, did exist . . . unfortunately not with her fiancé.

  She turned her face in the dark and felt Tony’s lips close. Kissing; such an odd custom, she thought, but then gave herself up to one more caress of his lips. Even slumbering, he kissed back, and soon they were reclining on the rocky shelf, all discomfort dissolving as his warm caresses generated again the lovely forgetfulness she craved.

  His heavy body pressed against her and new sensation coursed through her as she felt his passion grow. Unnerved by feelings she could not explain and dared not act upon, she turned her back to him, and curled awkwardly in the protective curve of his body, shivering not from cold but from inexplicable yearnings.