by Mary Martin
An unwanted bride, and soon, an unwanted wife. She stood beside him, staring up into his diamond-hard gaze. Very shortly, after a brief exchange of vows, that obligation would be met.
"Your fingers are like ice, Princess," he murmured. "Don't look so grim, it's not as bad as all that."
"Let's just get this over with, shall we," she whispered tightly. "And then once you've made certain that I can hold my head up in society again, you shall be free to pick up your life where you left off." She saw his gaze rivet upon the gold medallion beneath the lace at her breasts.
"I did not think that I had lost it." He stared down at her with steely calm. "A souvenir... or trophy?" Something flickered in his face and a cold shaft of fear gripped her heart.
"Security," she replied unemotionally, and was rewarded by discerning a flicker of unease in his eyes. It was then the clergyman began the ceremony, and they turned to face him.
Their vows were repeated in hushed, forced tones, neither of them quite certain if the other would complete the entire ceremony. But, in the end, they did, and before Starlin could shake herself free from her dreamlike state, he'd slipped a wide gold band on her finger and his lips were brushing hers in a cold, unfeeling kiss. There was no love or appreciation in the steely look he bestowed upon her as he raised his head. He appeared almost gloating, as if he'd finally won a long, hard-fought battle. His fingers entwined about hers and she couldn't suppress a shudder. He favored her with a half-smile which failed to quite reach his catlike eyes.
"You're mine now, Lady Morgan, for better or worse .. . until death us do part."
Later, when they were dancing at the reception that boasted every prominent citizen of London, he'd pulled her against him and kissed her cold lips.
"You haven't said very much all afternoon."
"I've been thinking, that's all."
He looked down at her, then raised one tawny brow. "How soon you can make yourself a widow without drawing suspicion?"
"Don't put ideas in my head," she flung back, tossing her head.
"All right, then tell me what you were pondering so deeply."
Her blood was beginning to run hot in her veins with her body pressed against his. "How we could pledge love and fidelity so easily and then both of us stumble over the word obey?"
"We're both very independent people, Starlin. It's only natural that we'd hesitate over a word that hints of shackles and lack of freedom."
"Yes ... I suppose so," she whispered against the warmth of his throat as he gently kneaded the tense muscles along her spine. She did not protest when she felt him reach up and loosen the ivory pins from her hair. They scattered about their feet on the polished floor, all but forgotten. His long fingers toyed lazily with the curls tumbling down her back. She did not see him close his eyes as the sweet scent of it filled his nostrils. He remembered all too well the feel of her satin skin, the taste of her, and how erotically she moved in her passion. A hot surge of desire shot through him.
"You make a beautiful bride, Starlin. Every man in this room must be in envy of me right now."
Starlin heard the husky quality of his voice, and leaned her head back to stare up at him. "I doubt that they would envy you long if they knew there was to be no wedding night."
For a long moment he stared into her upraised face before smiling cynically. "Ah yes, the reluctant bride. Very well, I will not touch you if that is what you wish."
"It is," Starlin returned firmly. "And remember, I am only your wife until we find out whether I am with child."
"I forgot for a moment how much you loathe me—or claim to." The last was added with a hint of arrogance.
Starlin was finding it difficult to breathe. She did not know why her pulse was beating so, or for that matter, how she could explain the queer flutter of her heart. She should Jbe feeling nothing but resentment. But the longer she was in his arms the more her senses felt drugged by that overpowering aura that was so much a part of him. He only smiled at her black expression, that innocent half-boyish grin of his that drove her to seething anger. Her violet eyes narrowed and she suddenly longed for the night to end.
"Stop holding me so tightly," she demanded. "I can hardly draw a breath."
Almost as if he wanted to prove his dominance of her, he ignored her protests and forced her to remain close in his arms. She could feel the solid muscle of his body, his long, lean legs, and a quiver of desire in his touch. She trembled with reminders of how good he could make her feel.
"You don't hate me near as much as you'd like me to believe." He lifted a finger to trace it along the graceful arch of her nose, down over her moist, pouting lips.
Starlin gave a breathless murmur that was lost in her uncle's request for a dance.
"I say, Morgan, give the rest of us a go, will you?'
Her mouth trembled as Rayne bowed low over her hand and whispered, "Until later, Lady Morgan, where there will be only the two of us."
Starlin's uncle beamed as he swept her about the floor. "It's obvious to everyone how much you two care for each other by looking at the blush on our little bird's cheeks."
She longed to tell him that it was not a bride's blush
on her cheeks, but a stain of seething anger because of an insufferable rogue who thought he controlled her emotions with ease.
"Can't tell you, my dear, how happy your aunt and I are that you've finally come to your senses and married, and a fine chap, too."
"Yes, I've heard the very same comment from several others today," Starlin stated with forced calmness. She felt tears of rage pricking behind her eyelids and wondered forlornly how she was going to make it through the entire evening. Her uncle was clucking soothingly at her.
"Just nervous jitters . . . they'll pass come morning, pet."
Starlin could only sigh. She was to lose track of her husband as the long evening wore on. She was growing tired and irritable, and was ready to slip away to the suite of rooms which had been prepared for the newly-weds in the east wing. Although she planned on retiring at once to her own bedroom and locking the door behind her, she knew that she could not leave until her husband came to claim her. And he had simply disappeared.
She remembered having seen Rayne and Susan Ellendale talking earnestly at the side of the room. Her eyes searched the sea of faces. She thought she caught a glimpse of Rayne leading Susan Ellendale out into the gardens. Damn him! she fumed. Why did he have to humiliate her by flaunting his mistress in front of their wedding guests? She hadn't wanted to invite the Ellendales, but the earl had insisted, reminding her that protocol demanded it. A sick feeling gripped her.
Susan was glaring accusingly at Rayne as they stood in the gazebo.
"You pulled a nasty trick on me, Rayne darling. And now I'm just going to have to spoil the honeymoon, I'm afraid."
"Underhanded of me, wasn't it?" he drawled.
"You can rest assured that it will be your last—"
His sharp laugh cut her off. "You never give up, do you, Susan? Now will you just calm down? I have everything under control."
"You ... do?'
"I couldn't give you an answer sooner because I had an obligation to fulfill first, and now that it's done, I'll take care of you, you can be certain of that."
Starlin had heard her husband's voice coming from the direction of the gazebo. Intending on confronting him, she had just approached the gazebo when she heard Rayne and Susan discussing plans .. . and the woman's pregnancy!
Starlin spun around and walked quickly deep into the gardens in an effort to flee her own thoughts. Images began taunting her—and every one of Susan Ellendale in Rayne's arms, smiling, gloating, and loving her husband.
Rayne didn't give Lady Ellendale a chance to say another word before he was propelling her toward the ballroom, his hand splayed against her back. To her mortification, he directed her before her startled husband and promptly congratulated him on his impending fatherhood. Everyone standing around began to offer their congratu
lations. The duke and duchess both stood in stunned silence and accepted the well wishes.
Rayne could not help grinning when he saw the duke grab his wife's arm, a very unpleasant smile on his face. He leaned over and whispered something in her ear. Susan went pale.
Starlin sat dejectedly in the garden. Her marriage was over before it had begun. She didn't know why that thought upset her so.
Suddenly, she was grabbed from behind and a hand clamped over her mouth. Kicking and thrashing, she was dragged away from her home. Something dark and soft fluttered down over her head and was swiftly wrapped about her entire body. Steellike arms banded around her. She struggled wildly, but to no avail, and she almost had to laugh at the ridiculous picture she must make being abducted in her wedding gown.
"You'd better calm down, little spitfire," a deep, raspy voice warned, "or I'll have to get rough."
Starlin almost laughed. God forbid he get any rougher. And then fear took over as she felt herself being lifted and carelessly tossed over a broad shoulder. There was a coiled tension in the muscles that met the touch of her body. Like an animal stalking, he moved stealthily through the night. Leather boots crunching on gravel, night creatures calling and . . . were those whispering voices that she heard? Jingling harness and the muffled snorts of horses drifted through the confines of the cloak. And even though not a word has been spoken Starlin realized that some horrible fiend was kidnapping her.
Rayne! her mind screamed. Help me! Mentally, a vision of her husband holding Susan Ellendale crossed her mind. He had sent someone to kidnap her so he could go off with that woman. Terror sprouted inside. This was her worst nightmare realized. An anguished sob escaped through the confining cloth.
Completely disoriented, she could only assume that her abductor had reached a carriage by the wayside and had dumped her rather carelessly inside and slammed the door. A sharp whistle, the crack of a whip, and the vehicle lept forward with a creak of hinges. Beside her, she heard a chuckle of triumph. They were rumbling over cobblestoned streets at such a furious pace that Starlin was bouncing about on the cushions. A dog howled in the distance, a lonely, plaintive sound. She tested the confining garment and found she could not manage to work her arms free. Where were they going? And what were they planning on doing with her? One thing was definite: Rayne Morgan was most certainly behind this sinister plot. No wonder he hadn't seemed disturbed when she had told him there wouldn't be a wedding night.
An hour—or hours—passed. Starlin had been lifted from the carriage and carried a distance. She now felt a violent rocking motion that made her fear she might be sick. Thunder rumbled ominously in the distance. She whimpered slightly as the cloak was removed. It was totally black here. She couldn't see a thing.
"If you scream, I'll gag you," the barely discernible voice warned.
She kicked out with her foot.
"I'm getting real tired of this," he growled as he grabbed her.
A blindfold was quickly secured over her eyes. She wondered if she'd possibly heard the sound of the docks, smelted the salty air of the sea. The distant echo of crashing waves drifted to her, confirmed her suspicions. Her abductor was taking her out to sea! Perhaps to sell her into slavery!
"Why are you doing this?' she said raggedly. There was no reply.
Her hearing strained to pick up any sound that might give her some indication who the man was. She heard nothing, only his steady breathing.
The floor beneath her feet seemed to roll. Weak-kneed, Starlin felt as if she might fall. She didn't know if her senses were still in confusion from the wild carriage ride, or if her body was truly swaying, forcing her to search with outstretched hands for anything solid to cling to.
A bed, she thought, as her knees bumped the wood frame. With relief, she sank down upon it and clutched her arms about her.
"I know you're there, you bloody cur. And while I have no idea why you've done this thing, I can assure you my grandfather will find me and you will pay!" She was gasping for breath, the stays of her corset biting into her.
Hands came out of nowhere to touch her. Starlin gave a cry of alarm and attempted to tear at the blindfold. His strong fingers were relentless as they captured hers. Terrified, she kicked forward and felt brief triumph when her satin slipper connected with his shinbone. It was like a kitten swatting at a mountain lion. He didn't so much as flinch, just laughed down deep in his throat.
Starlin did not want to beg. But she could not help the pitiful sob for mercy that escaped her upon feeling long fingers slide along her arm.
"My grandfather will pay you if you do not harm me ... I swear .. . anything."
"I didn't spirit you away for money."
His voice was so gravelly Starlin could barely understand him. And the blindfold dulled her senses.
"Then why?'
"All in good time. If you do exactly as I tell you."
It was so hot in the stuffy room that she could feel sweat trickling down her neck and between her breasts. She was growing light-headed and she wished now that she hadn't allowed Mindy to lace her stays so unbearably tight. Her struggles cost her badly needed oxygen. She felt faint. She floated backward, could feel his warm breath on her cheek. The back of his hand brushed lightly across her cheek, slid downward.
Lord, please no, she cried inwardly, hands and feet flailing in every direction to stay him off. Growling softly, he held her down, then wiped her face with a cloth. His fingers skimmed along her shoulder, then downward to curl in the low neckline of her dress.
Starlin tried to twist out of his grasp, and in doing so, his fingers tightened instinctively on the material, ripping her dress to the waist. His breathing quickened at the sound of tearing cloth and she knew she could do little to stop him from doing with her what he would. He made short work of the imprisoning stays, and great gulps of air burst into her lungs. Revived, she could only dwell on being in the arms of this brutal stranger clothed only in a thin, satin chemise.
With a primitive yowl, she bent forward and bit him on the forearm. Even through the cloth of his jacket, she knew she'd managed to inflict some pain, for he
grunted harshly before grasping hold of her. Wisps of silken hair cascaded about them as she tossed her head and bared white teeth like a cornered vixen.
"You'll not have me without a fight, you Satan's son!" she raged.
"You're making this a helluva lot more difficult, lady." His hands threaded in her hair and she automatically winced, expecting him to jerk roughly. But he only gave a slight tug toward him, and she knew then what it was he wanted. Frantically, she tried to resist by pulling the opposite way. He tugged harder this time, slowly drawing her across the tangle of sheets. With a rough jerk, she found herself sprawled helplessly between his spread legs.
By her position, and his muscular thighs wrapped about her, she could tell he was sitting on the edge of the bed. He tightened his long legs and immediately had her upper body pressed intimately against him, her hands laying flat upon his thighs, her knees resting on the floor between his boots. Both of them were breathing hard.
Trembling beyond control, Starlin shook from head to toe. She prayed that he would not hurt her and would be quick. Instinctively she closed her eyes when she felt him slip the straps of her chemise down her shoulders. His fingers kneaded the tense muscles. Starlin simply could not relax.
"Loosen up a bit... that's right, let your mind think of nothing but how good it feels."
Starlin could not believe that his words calmed her, his touch even more so. A primitive throbbing began, pulsed deep within her, demanding, coiling tightly in a sweet ache. What was happening to her?
How could she be enjoying this, Starlin wondered frantically. She should be fighting him—to her death if need be—before she'd allow him to take such liberties. Yet strange as it seemed, there was something oddly familiar about the hard, lean body pressed so close to hers. She found herself caught in the same emotions^ that had enslaved her that explosive night in th
e cave.
In bittersweet despair, she envisioned a dark, ruggedly handsome outlaw who still held her in his powerful vise even though it was another man now who appeared to have every intention of making love to her.
His hands slid down her arms, kneaded the rigid muscles beneath the dew-soft skin along her arms. Outside, the wind had increased, sighing forlornly against the porthole, shaking the craft around them until Starlin imagined them at hell's gates. A sudden strong gust blew the porthole open, cool air swirled about her naked shoulders. He shielded her nakedness with his body. More than anything Starlin longed to tear away the blindfold and confront her captor. Yet even though he hadn't been especially brutal as yet, she still did not trust him.
She could feel the heat of his gaze sear her, and knew exactly what he had on his mind. To her horror, her nipples rose impudently against the wispy material of her chemise. She heard him inhale sharply, but he did not touch her again. Desire spun and whirled in the room, making them both tremble with the intensity.
Starlin would not be able to recall later who it was who made the first move that brought her lips to his. She only knew that her limbs were no longer able to resist, feeling suddenly drained of all energy. She was helpless against him. She knew she should shout vile curses, rake his face with her nails, but in a tiny part of her darkest soul, an answering need was betraying her. She stirred against him, loving the feel of him and hating herself because of it. Her lips parted freely beneath his sensual probings and her tongue eagerly entwined with his.
Right or wrong, her hands slid eagerly from within his grasp and upward to clasp about his neck.
His mouth seared like a brand upon hers. Again and again his tongue plundered her mouth, her cold lips brushed across her teeth. Instinctively, she responded to the startling warmth of his kiss. She moaned softly, desire igniting within her. He knew women well, of that Starlin had no doubt. His touch was heaven, his kisses lingering. He sought out every warm, intimate place within the trembling hollows of her mouth, kissing her ruthlessly, drawing her to him.
