She took his arm, hugged it and looked up at him. Her eyes were taunting and her lips inviting as she murmured, "How serious you are! We're going to have a wonderful, wonderful time together. That much I promise you!"
A little of Ethan's tension evaporated. "There's so much to be decided, Melanie." It was the first time, to his conscious knowledge, that he had addressed her by her Christian name. "And I hardly know where to begin. I was an army officer until recently, and I'm just starting out on a new career." And that career, he told himself, could be quickly terminated when Talbot Courtney learned that his daughter had been rudely and unforgivably jilted. "I don't know whether we'll live in New York or—"
Melanie laughed musically, interrupting him as the carriage drew up before the main entrance to the mansion, where a pair of the inevitable armed men stood guard. "You're not only serious, darling—you worry. But you'll soon learn better. I'll teach you to enjoy each day for itself!" She allowed him to help her to the ground, and then, still laughing, she lifted her skirts and ran into the house, leaving him to follow.
Boline and the better-dressed of his followers had already arrived, and were gathered in a high-ceilinged chamber that gave an impression of marble columns and alabaster floors, of cool stone walls lined with graceful benches. Apparently the master of St. Pierre was intent on observing all of the amenities, for slaves carried trays of wine and stronger spirits to the guests, and at the far end of the hall was a long table piled high with food.
The scene might have been that of a wedding party anywhere, with one notable exception—the bride was the only woman present. But Ethan had no chance to ponder on this unusual state of affairs, for when he and Melanie appeared the gentlemen quickly came forward to extend their congratulations. Melanie greeted each one by name and formally presented Ethan, who made no attempt to distinguish one from another. The room was filling rapidly—Ethan's one strong impression was that he had never encountered so many nationalities. There were English and French, Spanish, Dutch and Portuguese, and here and there he caught the distinct accents of colonials from New England, Pennsylvania and Virginia.
After a time he realized that Marinus Boline remained in one place throughout the reception. The host stood near a window, his expression as inscrutable as his manner was courteous, and he was aware of everything that was taking place, although he seemed completely indifferent to the babble of voices around him. He neither ate nor drank, and Ethan saw that the men did not approach him freely; they came to him only when summoned to his side, they listened carefully to what he said but spoke little in return, and they deferred to him with an obsequiousness usually reserved for royalty.
But Ethan forgot him momentarily as a familiar figure approached, and he saw Jed Moulton, a guard on either side of him. Never had the chief clerk of Courtney and Wade been so out of his element, and his attempt to achieve a smile as Ethan pumped his hand and presented him to Melanie resulted in total failure. He muttered a few banalities in a dry, choked voice, and then he tried to draw-Ethan aside.
"Have you lost your wits, or have I?" he demanded. "Less than twenty-four hours ago you came out here to meet Boline on business, and now you're a member of his family! She's pretty, Ethan, but what about Prudence? And what about the deal for a plantation? What—"
Francisco Hernandez moved suavely but firmly between them. "This is no day for serious discussions, Senor Moulton," he said. "Another time will be more appropriate, don't you agree? I am sure the husband of our Melanie has eyes and ears only for his wife, is it not so, Senor Wade?"
"As a matter of fact," Ethan responded promptly, "there are a number of things I want to discuss with Master Boline, and the sooner—"
"You have much to learn, my friend." Hernandez looked at him with what appeared to be genuine sympathy. "Senor Boline initiates all discussions in which he wishes to participate, and only he decides when they will be held."
Ethan felt a wave of irritation; he had been patient long enough. By marrying Melanie he had paid quietly for his mistake, and he would continue to make reparations as long as they both lived. But now the moment had come for him to assert himself. There was nothing to gain by wrangling with Hernandez; he would simply cross the room and speak his mind to Boline. Before he could move, however, Melanie read his intention in his face, and took his hand.
"No, you mustn't!" she said urgently. "Don't you know what would happen if you approached him unbidden? There are perhaps one hundred men in this room. There would be one hundred knives in your back—that is, if you were fortunate. If you were less lucky, you'd be sent to Dominica."
Dominica was a small island about twenty-five miles from Martinique, and all that Ethan knew about it was that it had long been in dispute between England and France, and had been seized first by one, then the other, for more than two hundred years. It was impossible for Ethan to guess what connection Boline had with the place or why a threat of being sent there was a less preferable alternative to death. He only knew that Melanie's words had an immediate effect on Hernandez, who paled and glared at her.
Obviously she had said something wrong, but she hastily and artfully rectified her error, first beckoning to a slave carrying a tray, then smiling mistily at Ethan. "This is no day for you to talk to Marinus," she whispered, moving closer to him so that her body brushed against him. "Let's drink a toast, instead. To each other."
He turned to her and lifted his glass. "To us," he said.
Her smile deepened and became more intimate. If she was thinking of the only previous occasion on which they had shared a drink, the memory quite obviously was not an unhappy one. "To us," she echoed.
They looked at each other again, and a current flowed between them, a feeling so overpowering that it made them unconscious of anyone but themselves. Boline and his curious guests no longer existed; for Ethan there was no one in the hall at this moment but Melanie, and a surge of passion swept over him. He reached out his right hand for her, and the touch of the cool, smooth skin of her arm further inflamed him. Neither spoke—there was no need for words. With one accord they walked out of the room, oblivious to the grins of the guests, aware only of their desire for each other.
When they reached the privacy of their bedchamber, the girl turned away from Ethan briefly, her hands busy at her back. She wriggled sinuously, provocatively, and her wedding gown slid down slowly to the floor. She glanced at him with an expression that was at the same time bold and demure, then she sat down on the edge of the bed and very slowly, very deliberately removed her stockings. Rising again, she faced him, and lifting her arms, removed pins from her hair so that it fell in loose waves and curls around her head, framing her face.
Her body, the most seductive he had ever seen, was clearly outlined beneath her flimsy silk shift. Her high breasts, her slender waist and her rounded hips caused him to catch his breath, and he crossed the room swiftly. Picking her up, he tumbled her onto the bed, and she promptly teased him by trying to escape from his embrace.
Holding her firmly with his right hand and arm, the fingers of his left hand fumbled with the ribbons and laces of her undergarments. They struggled silently for several minutes, and at last her shift fell away. Ethan stood and looked down at her. Melanie's face was flushed, her lips were parted and the yearning in her eyes was an invitation so urgent, so demanding that his own desire soared.
Removing his own clothes hastily, he threw himself on the bed. He reached for her, and she came to him eagerly, sliding her arms around his neck. Their embrace tightened, and they were blind to everything but each other.
Melanie's suite, which Ethan now shared, consisted of a sitting room, a small but comfortable dressing room and the bedchamber. Ethan, lolling in a padded chair in the dressing room shortly before noon on the day following the marriage, felt more out of touch with reality than ever before. He watched a slave girl deftly set Melanie's hair and apply cosmetics to her face, a ritual he was seeing for the first time, and he felt faintly uneasy. Per
haps he was merely showing his provincial ignorance, and he tried to tell himself that he must develop a broader and more tolerant outlook, but the fact remained that in New York young ladies like Prudence were content to dust their faces with a little rice powder, and anyone who used cosmetics immediately labeled herself a trollop.
However he had more important considerations on his mind, and he stirred when the maid departed, leaving Melanie to apply the finishing touches herself. "How do I go about seeing Master Boline?" he asked. "Do I apply to someone for an interview, or do I just wander around the house until I find him?"
Melanie finished daubing her eyelids before replying. "You may wander around the house all you please," she said softly as she inspected her face in the mirror, "but you won't find Marinus at home for the next two weeks."
Boline's continuing elusiveness made Ethan angry. "But I've got to see him! The business I was sent down here to transact is more important than ever, now that I have a wife to support!"
"How quaint you are, darling!" Melanie stood, let her dressing gown of clinging silk fall to the floor and moved to a long rack on which a score of gowns were hung. "I'm sure we couldn't be more comfortable anywhere than we are right here. And eventually Marinus will decide what we're to do, so there's no need for us to worry about it. Which of these would you like me to wear—the red or the silver or the blue?"
"I'm in the habit of making my own decisions regarding my future!"
"You simply don't understand—yet!" Melanie frowned in concentration, then took a cloth-of-silver dress with a wide, low neckline and a slender skirt from its hanger. "I don't think this is too exotic for a shopping trip, do you, Ethan? After all, I am a married woman now, so there's no reason I can't wear it into town."
His sense of frustration increased. "You're the one who doesn't understand, Melanie! My home is in New-York, and that's where I hope to earn a living—for both of us. I'm certainly not spending the rest of my life here in the tropics!"
"Hook up my gown, there's a dear." She bent down to kiss him lightly, tossed her lovely blonde hair and presented her back to him.
"Apparently you didn't hear me, Melanie! I said—"
"I heard every word, Ethan, but you weren't listening to me. There are many things you don't yet know, things that Marinus will reveal when he sees fit." She faced him again, and for the first time since he had known her, there was neither coquetry nor provocative amusement in her face. "Darling, I implore you—heed what I say. I think a great deal of you, more than I imagined I would or could. If you value your life, just relax and enjoy each day for its own sake. Be content, ask no questions and don't try to solve your own future. Marinus Boline has taken charge of your destiny, and whether you'll admit it or not, there's nothing you yourself can do about it"
Eight
JED MOULTON'S face mirrored his relief as he stood in the bedchamber he had shared with Ethan at the Fleur-de-Lis, and he pumped his friend's hand enthusiastically. "I wasn't sure if I'd ever see you again. I thought maybe Boline would try to keep you a prisoner out at his house forever."
"I wasn't too sure myself." Ethan sat and stretched out his long legs. "But apparently I'm free to come and go as I please now. At least, it's working out that way. Melanie had some errands to do in town, and nobody tried to stop us from leaving the estate."
"Melanie! What's that all about ? How did you happen to marry her? And who is she?"
Ethan related what had happened, but knew no details of Melanie's background other than that she was Marinus Boline's ward. Jed listened intently, then shook his head gloomily.
"I don't like any of this," he said. "If we're smart, we'll forget about that plantation down here. We'll get ourselves passage on the first ship that leaves St. Pierre, and we'll go back to New York as fast as we can sail there."
"You go ahead, Jed. I can't say I blame you for feeling the way you do. But I can't leave with you."
"Why not?"
"Because I was sent here on an assignment. How can I go home admitting failure—and show up with a lovely bride? Uncle Robert will think I've squandered my time, and he'll want nothing more to do with me. His partner," Ethan added dryly, "won't be likely to encourage him to keep me on, either. My disgrace in New York will be complete. And then what am I to do ? Melanie is accustomed to a life of luxury. I can't take her out to the wilderness with me."
"No, I don't suppose you could."
"What's more, I don't think she'd leave Martinique unless Boline approved of her going. Oh, I know that she's my wife and that in theory she's supposed to obey me. But Boline's word is law to her, as it seems to be to all of his people. She's afraid of him." Ethan rose and moved to the nearer window, where he stood and stared moodily down at the street.
"She's not the only one who's afraid of him." Jed frowned and traced the outlines of a design on the arm of his chair. "These past couple of days I've been trying to find out what I can about him, mostly from the people with whom Courtney and Wade do business here. And everybody freezes up when you just mention his name. St. Pierre is frightened half to death by him."
"Well, he doesn't scare me, and when he comes back from this new trip he's on, I'm going to comer him and put our deal to him straight." Ethan turned and hooked his thumbs in his belt. "After all, we're not asking for favors, Jed. We're offering him two thousand pounds in gold for his land!"
"These trips he takes, now!" Jed said. "Folks hereabouts are upset by them. They know he sails over to the island of Dominica, but nobody knows why. There's nothing there but a boiling lake up in the mountains, and natives who attack strangers with poison arrows they shoot out of little blowguns. Why does Boline go there all the time? It's not natural, and sure as we're in this oven of a town, he's up to no good."
"I don't care what he's doing or how many people turn and run away when he scowls at them." Ethan spoke firmly and unconsciously raised his voice. "I'm staying until I've concluded my business with him."
"Then I'm staying, too," Jed said doggedly.
They clasped hands, and Ethan's mouth was set in a grim line. "All right, then. We won't return to New York until we've finished our task here. And when we go, Melanie will come with us. Maybe she isn't the wife I'd have chosen, but I'm married to her and I accept my responsibilities for her. I won't fail her, just as I won't fail Uncle Robert and his partner." He paused and took a deep breath. "The one person I've disappointed is Prudence, and I'll be haunted for the rest of my life by what I've done to her. I'm not going to let anyone else down again, not even myself."
There was a sense of excitement in Melanie as she and Ethan drove back to Boline's estate in the little carriage, but she would not tell him the reason until they returned to their own suite. Ethan humored her, and when she insisted on retiring alone to her dressing room, he acquiesced gracefully and idled away the minutes looking down at the gardens that so resembled a military parade groimd.
Turning away from the window, he began to pace up and down the length of the drawing room restlessly. He loathed idleness, but circumstances were giving him no opportunity to employ his time usefully. And so he smiled when Melanie came into the room; no man could ask for a more charming companion to help him while away time. She was wearing one of her soft silk dressing gowns, and as always she looked entrancing. Her hair hung in loose waves to her shoulders, she had removed the dust of the road and town from her face and had applied a fresh coat of cosmetics that enhanced her luminous eyes and full lips. She accepted his embrace eagerly, then drew away from him,
"Look," she cried, extending her left wrist and pointing to it dramatically.
She was wearing the most magnificent bracelet Ethan had ever seen, a double row of precious gems—diamonds, rubies and emeralds—that gleamed in the late afternoon sunlight. "It's fit for a princess," he said.
Melanie laughed joyously. "I bought it from a goldsmith in St. Pierre today. I've always wanted jewelry like this, but it wasn't right for me to own any until I became a marrie
d woman. So you see what you've done for me."
Her extravagance shocked him, but he worded his reaction carefully. "I know nothing about your personal wealth—it's a subject we haven't discussed. But I think you're foolish to spend your money so lavishly on a trinket, no matter how splendid it is."
"Oh, I have no funds of my own, darling." Her eyes were round, her tone casual
"Then—"
"You had two thousand pounds in safekeeping at the goldsmith's, Ethan."
He stared at her, stunned. "That isn't my money, Melanie! Those two thousand pounds are funds I've been given in trust to buy a plantation here."
"You aren't going to deny me the one thing I've wanted all my life!"
"I'd buy you a dozen bracelets—if I could. But I'm a pauper. I have no money of my own! You'll have to return the bracelet at once!"
"I can't," Melanie objected sulkily. "It was sold to me at a very special price provided I'd keep it. It's been bought and I've paid for it, so the goldsmith wouldn't take it back."
Ethan's heart pounded, and he gripped her by the shoulders. "You paid for it? You had no right to spend that money, and the goldsmith had no right to take it! I insist—"
"You may insist all you please, darling, but what's done is done. As your wife I had a perfect right to use the money you had on deposit. And not only was it legal, but no goldsmith in St. Pierre would dare to refuse the least desire of Marinus Boline's ward!" Melanie wrenched free, her eyes stormy.
"How can I make you understand that the money isn't mine to spend, that it doesn't belong to me? My uncle and his partner could send me to prison for this!"
She sighed wearily, as though the subject bored her. "Marinus will repay you, if that's all you're worried about. A mere thousand pounds means nothing to him!"
Devil's Prize Page 9
