Love's Tender Fury

by Jennifer Wilde

  “You’re female, my dear. You’re interested, all right. The woman hasn’t been born who isn’t interested in a man like that. He’s handsome, charming, rakish, has a mysterious background—oh yes, you’re interested enough.”

  “Nonsense.”

  “If I were twenty years younger—twenty-five, perhaps—I’d go after him myself. I’d be courting disaster, of course, men like that always spell disaster for a woman, but that’s part of their appeal.”

  She sighed, remembering days gone by as she left the room with the gown draped over her arm. I began to dress, irritated by all this talk about Jeremy Bond. I wasn’t interested in him, the man was preposterous, a jaunty, swaggering rogue, yet I couldn’t help but be intrigued by what Lucille had said about him. I stepped into the showroom a few moments later, and Lucille soon joined me, shoving back the stack of gray hair that threatened to spill over her forehead.

  “I’ll have the gown and cloak delivered to you right away,” she informed me.

  “Thank you, Lucille.”

  “It’s been a joy dressing you, my dear. I shall miss you.”

  “You mean you’ll miss the business,” I teased.

  “That, too,” she confessed. “A person has to make ends meet, but mostly I’ll miss my association with you. You’re a rare creature, Marietta. You’ve got that special quality few women have. It’s more than beauty, more than feminine allure. You attract—adventure, tumultuous emotions. Life will never be calm and easygoing for you, my dear. It will always be lived at the highest pitch of emotion—as, indeed, it has been.”

  “That’s over,” I said calmly. “Now that Derek and I are together I intend to live—very quietly.”

  Lucille smiled, clearly not believing me, but she did not pursue the matter. She patted her hair again and adjusted one of the dangling garnet earrings.

  “Did you get the trunk safely?” she asked.

  “Trunk?”

  “Last week. The one the man in the navy blue coat delivered.”

  I caught my breath, a tremor of alarm awakening inside. It took considerable effort to keep my voice level when I spoke.

  “There was—no trunk,” I told her.

  Lucille looked puzzled. “The man came in bold as brass,” she said, “he said he had to deliver a new brassbound trunk to Lord Derek Hawke and had lost the address. He’d seen you coming out of the shop—said you were with Lord Hawke when he bought the trunk—and asked me if I could give him the address. I—hope it was all right.”

  I forced myself to look unconcerned. “There must have been some kind of mix-up,” I replied.

  “Hope he didn’t deliver it to the wrong address,” Lucille said. “These stevedore types, you can never depend on them. There was a shipment of velvet, my dear, the finest velvet, several bolts of lace as well, directly from France, and do you know that it was delivered to Madame Renaldo! She actually tried to claim it.”

  “These things happen.”

  “I must say, I was rather startled when the man came in. Rough-looking type he was, low, heavy brows, mean brown eyes, thick lips curling up at the corner. Gave me quite a start. I thought he intended to rob the place, but he was as polite as could be. So was his assistant.”

  “There was—another one?”

  “Lad not more than twenty-five or six, a blond giant in a leather jerkin, good-looking in a coarse sort of way. I gave them the address, and the man in the navy blue coat thanked me and nodded, and they left. You didn’t get the trunk?”

  “It—it may have come. I’d better be going now, Lucille.”

  “You’ll have the gown and cloak in an hour or two. They will be delivered to the proper address, I assure you, or I’ll have that boy’s hide. Do come in and see me again before you leave for England, my dear.”

  “I will,” I promised.

  Lucille took my hands and squeezed them and then accompanied me to the door, her taffeta skirt crackling. The bell over the door tinkled merrily. I stepped outside, trying to still the alarm. I had first seen the man in the navy blue coat two weeks ago, but it was only during the past week that I had observed him loitering near the apartment. He must have followed me to Lucille’s, then conned the address from her with his tale of a trunk. He knew where I lived. He … he had a companion. They were planning some kind of mischief. I could feel it in my bones. Derek might not be concerned, but I was near panic.

  I moved quickly down the street, lost in thought. Who were they? What did they want? I turned the corner and started blindly down the narrow street that led to the market, eager to get back and inform Derek of what Lucille had told me. I didn’t see the man until I was almost upon him. He was leaning against the wall, watching me, and as I drew near he straightened up and moved onto the sidewalk, blocking my way.

  “Hello, my beauty,” he said gruffly. “In a hurry?”

  I stopped, and my blood seemed to run cold. He was tall and muscular and blond. He wore a leather jerkin.

  Three

  My every instinct told me I must remain calm, calm and cool and aloof. I knew I mustn’t let him suspect the panic that swept over me, panic so strong I felt my knees must surely give way beneath me. Heart pounding, I somehow managed to draw myself up haughtily, gazing at him with what I hoped was a level gaze. He returned the gaze with dark, mocking eyes, the tip of his tongue slowly moving across his lower lip.

  “As a matter of fact, I am in a hurry,” I said.

  There was only the faintest tremor in my voice. I willed my heart to stop pounding, willed the waves of panic to recede. It’s broad, open daylight, I told myself. Nothing could happen to me right here on the street, not with dozens of people within shouting distance. Behind him, at the end of the street, I could see pedestrians moving along the intersecting street, women with shopping baskets chattering gaily, several men striding along purposefully. All I would have to do was scream and a crowd would convene.

  “Step aside,” I said curtly.

  “Not very friendly, are you?” he retorted.

  “Not at all,” I snapped.

  “Figured you’d be snobby. Figured you’d think yourself too high an’ mighty to chat with the likes of Will Hart. That’s me name, Will Hart. I know who you are, know all about you.”

  “Indeed.”

  “I’ve ’ad me eye on you. Me an’ Bert ’as. Bert told me to keep away from you, but me, I ’ad to get a close look. Ain’t disappointed, either. Ain’t a bit disappointed. You’re one fetchin’ wench, all right.”

  “Who—who is Bert?”

  “That needn’t concern you.”

  “Does he—does he wear a navy blue coat?”

  “I ain’t sayin’.”

  Will Hart scowled, his wide, thin lips pressed tightly together and turned down at the corners. In his middle twenties, he was at least six feet tall, perhaps taller. His features, though coarse, were not unattractive, the cheekbones broad and flat, the large nose well shaped. Heavy lids half-shrouded his eyes, and his thick, dark brows were arched, flaring at the corners. His blond hair was the color of dark honey, one wave falling heavily across his brow.

  I memorized all these details so I could describe him later. He wore high, dirty brown boots, snug plum-colored breeches, and, beneath the leather jerkin, a coarsely woven white shirt with full balloon sleeves. His hands were very large, I observed, enormous and tanned with strong fingers capable of all kinds of cruelty. There was an aura of cruelty about all of him, a suggestion of brutal force and violence barely contained beneath the surface.

  “You’re mighty cool,” he informed me. His gruff voice was a kind of scratchy growl coming deep from his chest. “Most wenches don’t mind chattin’ with me. Most of ’em fancy a chance to chat with Will Hart.”

  “I’m sure they do,” I said.

  “Most of ’em ’ave a fancy for what I got.”

  “I would imagine so, Will.”

  I forced a lilting, flirtatious tone. Convinced now I was in no real danger, I intended to get
all the information I could from him, and I had the feeling it wouldn’t be difficult to do. The man was clearly a womanizer, a crude, uneducated lothario obsessed with female flesh. He was vain about his virility and good looks, too, that was obvious. I had no doubt countless barmaids and loose-living shopgirls had made much over those enormous hands, those broad shoulders, fanning his vanity like so many slave girls stroking the ego of a cruel and despotic pasha.

  My tone surprised him. Still scowling, he studied me now with eyes that were suddenly suspicious, and I met his gaze boldly, displaying an interest I was far from feeling. I was careful not to overdo it. I must play on that arrogant male vanity, but I mustn’t spook him. He mustn’t suspect my true motive. Relaxing, I allowed the suggestion of a smile to flicker on my lips as I brushed a lock of copper-red hair from my temple.

  “Reckon you might fancy what I got, too,” he growled.

  “Don’t be absurd,” I retorted, deliberately unconvincing.

  “Yeah, you’d fancy it all right.”

  Will Hart nodded, grinning, convinced his male allure was having its customary effect. Men like Will Hart were shockingly easy to manipulate, I reflected. Any reasonably intelligent woman with a modicum of appeal could have them eating out of her hand in no time at all. There was an element of risk involved, of course, particularly if the woman didn’t intend to follow through, but I was willing to take that risk.

  “Reckon them thin-blooded, aristocratic men ain’t male enough to satisfy a wench like you,” he said.

  “How—how dare you. Move aside immediately or—I’ll scream.”

  “You ain’t gonna scream, wench.”

  I stared at him with false defiance and then allowed my eyes to soften as I took in his powerful shoulders, his slender waist, and the prominent bulge in the breeches below. All I had to do now was pull him in, carefully, subtly. I felt absolutely no remorse in resorting to such shabby tactics. I was determined to find out why he and the mysterious Bert had been watching me.

  “Reckon that bloody toff you’re livin’ with don’t have the goods a wench like you needs.”

  “I suppose you think you do.”

  “Yeah,” he replied, nodding. “I got everything you need.”

  “Sure of yourself, aren’t you?”

  “Sure of you, wench. Bert, he told me you wudn’t nearly as high an’ mighty as you pretend ta be, said you wudn’t nothin’ but a whore at heart. You worked in a gamblin’ hall, he said. Reckon you had th’ men placin’ bets left an’ right, with plenty on th’ side.”

  “Your Bert is quite mistaken!”

  “He ain’t mistaken. He knows all about you, all about that toff who shares your bed.”

  “Oh?”

  “Knows all about you both, Bert does.”

  “Why should he be interested in us? Does he plan to rob the apartment?”

  Will Hart emitted a coarse, derisive laugh. “Bert’n me ain’t thieves,” he growled, “nothin’ as small time as that. Naw, we ain’t plannin’ to break into your apartment, wench.”

  “I have it,” I said flirtatiously, “you plan to kidnap me and hold me for ransom. That’s it, isn’t it. You think that Lord Hawke is extremely wealthy and would pay a fortune to get me back safely.”

  “I ain’t sayin’ nothin’ more. Bert’d be mad as hell if he knowed I even spoke to you.”

  “You’re afraid of him?”

  “I ain’t afraid of no one! Bert may be th’ boss of this piece of business, but he knows better’n to try an’ shove Will Hart around. I wanted to get a good look ’fore we went ahead, an’ I got it.”

  “I’ve the feeling you like what you see.”

  “I like it, yeah.”

  “Perhaps we could—talk.”

  “Talkin’ ain’t what I ’ave in mind, wench.”

  “That—maybe that could be arranged, too.”

  He nodded, dark eyes aflame with desire, lips parted. I felt my confidence beginning to ebb. I was playing a dangerous game indeed. Could I go through with it? I knew I should hurry away as fast as my feet would carry me, but I had already learned quite a bit. If I handled him properly, I felt sure that I could get Will Hart to reveal even more. I would suggest we go to one of the bars near the waterfront, and I would get him to drink several stout ales. I would flirt and simulate desire for him, and after I found out what I wanted to know I would make a hasty retreat.

  “I—I feel rather thirsty,” I said.

  “I got me a thirst, too, wench.”

  “Perhaps we could have a drink, Mr. Hart—Will.”

  “Bert wouldn’t like that.”

  “I’m sure he wouldn’t,” I said.

  “Know what? I don’t care at all. We’ll have a drink, wench, and then I reckon I’ll give ya what you’re cravin’.”

  “We couldn’t use the apartment,” I said quickly.

  “Wudn’t plannin’ to. Place I’m thinkin’ a takin’ you ’as rooms upstairs. Ain’t too fine, mind you, no satin counterpanes an’ fancy curtains, but then I don’t imagine you’re gonna be spendin’ too much time inspectin’ th’ furniture.”

  His voice was thick, his dark eyes almost completely hidden by heavy, drooping lids. The man was a fool, putty in my hands, but he was also an extremely dangerous animal. Dare I carry on with this? Dare I take the risk involved? I had a moment of terrible apprehension, and then I steeled myself. Tangible danger would be much easier to face than the nebulous, shadowy threat I had felt ever since I first grew aware of the man in the navy blue coat. There would be dozens of other people in the bar, people all around us, and he hadn’t a prayer of getting me upstairs to one of the “rooms.”

  “I—I really don’t thir: I should,” I said.

  “You ain’t gettin’ eoy on me, wench.”

  “It’s not that. I find you very attractive—very interesting, I’ve always had a weakness for strong, blond men, but what if Lord Hawke found out? He’d throw me out.”

  “He ain’t gonna find out. Who’s gonna tell him?”

  “I’m terribly nervous.”

  “Don’t worry about your toff, wench. Me ’n Bert plan to take care of him real soon.”

  “Well—”

  I hesitated, extremely convincing in my dilemma. Hart could tell that I found him sexually irresistible, that I desperately wanted to run my palms over that broad back and savor the strength in those powerful arms, and he could also see that I was worried about Derek. Derek represented wealth, fine clothes, elegant appointments, and while I felt no compunction in being unfaithful to him, I certainly didn’t want to risk losing my luxurious nest. I managed to convey all this quite easily. When dealing with men, every woman is a consummate actress. Hart believed I was an elegant harlot as obsessed with sex as he, and I would play the role to the hilt in order to achieve my purpose.

  “Reckon you need a little persuadin’,” he growled.

  “Per—haps we could meet later. I really don’t think this is a good idea, Will. We need to—plan things. You—you do have marvelous hands, so strong. I’d like to feel them—”

  “You’d like to feel ’em squeezin’ your teats,” he growled.

  “I—”

  “I’m gonna pleasure you like you ain’t never been pleasured before, wench. I’m gonna make you squirm ’n holler ’n beg for more. You ain’t gonna want to go back to your bleedin’ toff when I’m through with you. You’re gonna beg me to keep you.”

  “I have very expensive tastes, Will.”

  “An’ I got connections, wench. You think I can’t put my hands on plenty a money. You want jewels hangin’ around that pretty neck? I’ll choke you with jewels.”

  “You make it sound—very tempting.”

  “The minute I set eyes on you, wench, I knew what I wanted, knew what I ’ad to have. Bert pointed you out to me, we was hidin’ behind some bushes n’ you and your toff came strollin’ by ’n ‘That’s them,’ Bert says, ‘that’s Lord ’awke and his woman,’ ’n my tool stood straight up a
nd started throbbin’ ’n I started makin’ plans.”

  “You—wanted me.”

  “You was wearin’ a yellow dress that fit real tight around your waist and exposed half your teats. Th’ skirt was blowin’ in th’ breeze like yellow sails ’n your hair was blowin’, too, and you was clingin’ to ’is arm, and I vowed you was gonna cling to my arm like that ’fore too long.”

  “I’m extremely—flattered.”

  “A wench like you, she needs a real man.”

  “You’re right,” I whispered huskily.

  I laid my hand on his arm, melting with submission, completely overwhelmed by his virile appeal and eager to experience his prowess. My eyes glowed with admiration now, and I was ready to throw all caution to the winds. Hart smiled a smile of savage satisfaction and licked his lower lip again. The bulge in his breeches strained painfully against the plum-colored cloth. It was going to be extremely difficult to get him to sit still for drinks while all the while his mind would be on the room upstairs and the pleasures it promised. I sighed and stepped back, looking into his eyes, abject, ready to provide those pleasures. He took a deep breath, his chest swelling.

  “Reckon you’re as eager as I am,” he growled.

  “I’m still—nervous. I’ll have to have—something to drink first.”

  “You’ll have your drink, wench, but first I’m gonna give you a little sample a what Will Hart’s gonna do to you.”

  He seized me, throwing one arm around my waist, the other around my shoulders, jerking me against him and holding me so tightly I feared I would break in two. He thrust his head down and slammed his mouth over mine, kissing me with brutal greed, and I shuddered inside, fighting the impulse to kick and claw. Somehow I managed to endure, to relax, to mold my body against his powerful chest and thighs and simulate submission if not response. I felt I was going to smother, felt I was going to swoon as he forced my lips apart and stabbed his tongue firmly into my mouth. My head seemed to ring. I heard a pounding, clattering noise that grew louder, louder, and then I heard a mighty yell.