When I finally turned, Nicholas Lyon smiled a sardonic smile that curled lazily on his thin lips. He was wearing a loose-fitting garment of heavy bronze brocade that resembled a monk’s robe. Unbelted, it fell all the way to his feet, the sleeves very full, the plush brocade embroidered with leafy patterns in an even darker bronze silk. His thick copper hair gleamed red-brown in the dim candlelight, and his eyes were so dark a blue they might almost have been black. He stood with legs spread wide, arms folded across his chest, looking at me with chin tilted down, dark eyes raised, the smile flickering. He exuded an aura of sexuality, thick, languid, smouldering, I gazed at him coolly, unmoved, and my indifference taunted him, as I intended.
“Waiting?” he inquired.
“I’m ready, Nicholas.”
He lifted an eyebrow. “You sound less than enthusiastic.”
“I’ll perform my duty without complaint.”
“Duty? Is that what it is?”
“I’m your captive. I have no choice.”
The words goaded him, and they tittilated him as well. A man like Nicholas Lyon needed to feel power, needed to conquer repeatedly, and I had known from the first that meek submission would bore him. He strode toward me now in long, purposeful steps, the long robe swaying, and when he placed his hands on my shoulders the long sleeves slipped back, exposing his forearms. His fingers gripped tightly, digging into my flesh. I winced. He smiled.
“I’ve spoiled you,” he said.
“Have you?”
“I’ve been too good to you, too kind, too lenient. I’m beginning to think I should have taken a stronger hand.”
“You’re hurting me,” I said.
“I’m going to break you.”
“You have my body, Nicholas. That should be enough. You’ll never have my love.”
“You’re going to love me,” he said.
I shook my head, and his blue eyes grew hard and determined. The challenge was there again, and he was prepared to meet it, to conquer, to taste anew that victory.
“I’m going to force you to love me.”
His crisp, metallic voice was as determined as his eyes, and his fingers slid down to my breasts, curling around them, digging into the soft mounds of flesh that seemed to respond of their own accord, swelling under the pressure, nipples tightening. His mouth was a tight, angry line, the anger purely sexual, part of the excitement I had deliberately aroused in him. He squeezed my breasts until I gasped, and then he slung one arm around the back of my neck and parted his lips and slammed them over mine, wrapping his other arm around my waist. He kissed me with a splendid fury that only increased as I refused to yield. Turning me in his arms until I was tilted backward, he thrust his tongue into my mouth, and I had to cling to him for support, my arms around his broad shoulders.
I could feel his fury mounting, mounting, and when it reached its peak, I made a moaning noise in my throat and melted against him, submitting reluctantly. He raised his head and looked down into my eyes, his own dark and gleaming with satisfaction. I gazed up at that harsh, handsome face, the face of a ruthless villain, mouth thin, nose sharp, cheeks lean, brows slanting over eyes dark, dark blue with desire yet still disdainful and mocking. I longed to dig my claws into his cheeks, longed to hit and kick and hurt. He sensed that. It pleased him. He would conquer now, turn my cool defiance into submission, prove his strength and prowess.
“One day you’ll beg for this,” he promised.
“I detest you,” I said, knowing it was what he wanted to hear.
“You lie.”
“I detest you with all my heart and soul.”
“You enjoy these games as much as I do.”
“Think what you will.”
“I think you’re magnificent,” he growled.
He released me and stepped back, the need inside him growing, singing in his blood. The sardonic smile flickered on his lips as he looked at me, the creature who would fulfill that need, who would enable him to prove himself and relish his power. He took hold of my wrist and pulled me across the room to the foot of the bed. Then, catching his thumbs in the straps of my nightgown, he gave a jerk and tore them. He took hold of the top of the bodice, ripping it apart, and I stood very still as he continued to tear the delicate garment until it was a heap of gauzy shreds on the floor and I was completely naked. I gazed at him with a cool, passionless gaze, and again his sardonic smile flickered. Lifting me up into his arms, he dumped me roughly onto the bed. I gasped, shifting position on the silken sheets, copper-red waves spilling about my shoulders.
He stood at the foot of the bed, looking down at me, deliberately prolonging his pleasure, savoring the anticipation. Several moments passed before he pulled the robe over his head and tossed it aside. It fell to the floor like a shiny, dismembered bronze shadow. Nude, he padded across the room to put out the rest of the candles, tall and lithe, moving with panther grace, lean muscles rippling beneath the smooth tanned skin. The golden haze vanished, darkness quickly broken by the shafts of moonlight that streamed through the windows.
He moved back over to the bed and stood there for a few more moments, erect, ready, and then, abruptly, he heaved himself on top of me and pinioned my wrists to the mattress and sank his teeth into my shoulder. He took me with brutal abandon, thrusting deep in swift, savage strokes, plundering, conquering, but the victory was all mine. He had forgotten all about Burke, had forgotten everything but the moment, the madness. I allowed myself to respond at last, submitting to his fury, giving in, raking my nails across his back and praying all the while things would go well tonight and this fierce plunder would be his last.
Seventeen
I didn’t dare light a lamp, and my nerves were wildly on edge as I dressed in the darkness, the rays of moonlight providing only the dimmest illumination. It was terribly late, well after two in the morning. Corrie had been waiting downstairs in the darkness for over an hour, and I knew her nerves must be in shambles, too. My delay had been unavoidable. After that first fierce session, Nicholas had made love to me again, lazily this time, languorously, deliberately prolonging each sensation until I had been ready to scream. As I slipped the dark blue cotton frock over the ruffled white petticoat, I remembered his husky, amused chuckle as I struggled tensely beneath him, praying he would hurry.
Completely dressed now, I paused, listening. The house was still. I could hear leaves rustling in the garden and, from the distance, the sound of waves. I moved quickly out of the bedroom and into the hall. The jewelry slapped against my thigh, all of it fastened in a small cloth bag securely tied around my waist beneath the underskirts. The hall was very dark, pitch dark, but I moved confidently through the layers of blackness, reaching out to catch hold of the banister, hurrying down the stairs. Every nerve in my body seemed taut, ready to snap, and stark terror loomed, threatening to overwhelm me, but I staunchly held it at bay.
At the foot of the stairs I paused again, peering into the darkness. I couldn’t see Corrie. Had she given up and gone back to her room? The poor child must have been paralyzed with fear. I moved slowly down the wide foyer, studying the shadows.
“Corrie?” I whispered. “Corrie, are you here?”
I heard a small, barely audible whimper, and then Corrie materialized out of the shadows and hurried toward me. I caught her in my arms and hugged her. She was trembling.
“It’s all right,” I whispered. “I’m terribly late, but it couldn’t be helped. You must have been terrified.”
“I was, Miz Marietta. I was so scared—scared that Burke was gonna find me. He’s been watchin’ me. He suspects something, I know he does. I—I have a knife. I slipped into the kitchen and stole it.”
She held it up. I could barely see the blade in the darkness.
“I—I was gonna stab him,” she said. “If he came prowlin’ and found me I was gonna stab him.”
“You’re a very brave girl, Corrie.”
“I’m not. I’m—I’m still so scared my knees are shakin’.”
“We’d better hurry,” I said. “Em will be waiting. She’ll be wondering what happened.”
“Are we gonna make it, Miz Marietta?”
“Of course we are,” I told her, sounding far more confident than I felt. “Come along now.”
We moved on down the foyer, passing the large archways leading into nests of darkness. I had the feeling that we were being watched by several pairs of eyes, but I knew it was merely my nerves. Reaching the front door, I unlocked it and opened it quietly, cautiously, giving Corrie a little shove. She moved outside, and I followed her, pulling the door shut behind me and feeling a tremendous relief as we hurried down the steps. The house had been like a great, oppressive weight bearing down on me, and I felt much better now that we were free of those heavy walls and ceilings.
“We must be quick,” I cautioned, “but we must be very quiet, too. There may be a guard posted. Follow me. Keep to the shadows.”
Clouds had passed over the moon. The sky was the color of ashes, and the lawns were sable dark, cottages and barracks barely visible. We hurried toward the main gates, skirts fluttering in the breeze. As we reached the gates, the clouds parted. Silvery moonlight flooded the stockade. Em stepped out of the shadows of a shrub, seized our wrists, and quickly pulled us back into the concealment the large shrub provided.
“Jesus!” she whispered frantically. “I thought something terrible had happened! I’ve been waiting out here for hours!”
“Nick—Nicholas was in an extremely amorous mood.”
“He would be, wouldn’t he? So was Michael, but I got him so full of rum he passed out before he could lay a hand on me. He was sprawled out on top of the bed, fully dressed and snoring like an ox when I left.”
“What if he wakes up?” Corrie asked.
“He’s not going to wake up for a long time, luv,” Em promised. “By that time we’ll be well on our way. There’s a guard,” she told me, “he’s been paradin’ around all night, passed right by me a couple of times, so close I could’ve reached out and touched him. I was so bored waiting for you two I almost tapped him on the shoulder and asked him to chat with me.”
“Where is he now?”
“On the other side of the barracks, maybe up on the walkway. If he keeps true to form, he’ll be back over here by the gates in a few more minutes. Are you sure you can manage that lock, Marietta?”
I nodded, removing a hairpin. The gates were gilded with bright silver moonlight. I didn’t dare approach the lock until the clouds passed back over the moon. I frowned, impatient. Em sighed heavily, clearly disgusted. Corrie peered around the stockade, looking for the guard. Each minute seemed to drag on for an eternity.
“We can’t wait much longer,” Em said. “Too much time has elapsed already. If we intend to make it, we’ll have to be completely away from the island before dawn. Damn this moonlight!”
A thin veil of clouds drifted across the moon. Some of the silvery illumination vanished, though not nearly enough to suit me. Bracing myself, I moved over to the gates and examined the enormous lock in the hazy silver-gray light. It looked formidable indeed, much more formidable than anything I had ever attempted before, but I refused to be discouraged. Remembering those days on the prison ship when, to relieve the tedium and squalor, Angie had taught me how to pick almost any lock, I deftly inserted the tip of the hairpin into the lock and began to jiggle it, concentrating on touch and sound, eyes closed as I felt the tip of the pin scratching, exploring.
“Do hurry, luv,” Em protested. “The guard will be back any time now. I’m getting very jumpy.”
“Hush,” I scolded.
The tip of the pin touched, caught on metal, and I began to pry gently, my eyes still closed. The pin slipped, scratched, twisted out of my hand, dropping to the ground. I cursed and knelt down to find it just as the thin clouds drifted away from the moon and brilliant silver rays spilled down with the brightness of afternoon sunshine. I spotted the pin, retrieved it, and inserted it back into the lock. I could hear heavy footsteps in the distance, moving slowly, moving closer. Em was gripping Corrie’s hand with bone-crushing force, a tense expression on her face.
“Come on, damn you,” I whispered, giving the pin a vicious jab. There was an extremely loud click. “There!” I said.
I gave the lock a turn. It clicked again, much louder, and then, to my horror, it tore loose and crashed to the ground with a deafening clatter. Em gasped and grabbed my wrist and pulled me into the shadows as the heavy footsteps came running. Unlocked now, the heavy gates began to gradually ease open, swinging outward.
“What we gonna do!” Corrie exclaimed.
“I’ll divert,” Em said quickly. “You—find a rock or something, luv. Do what you have to do.”
I nodded, understanding immediately, and Em stepped out of the shadows and stood in front of the gates with her hands on her hips and a disconcerted smile on her lips as the guard came rushing up, a long, deadly looking pistol aimed at her heart.
“What th’ ’ell are you doin’!” he yelled.
“Not so loud, luv,” she protested. “You’ll wake the dead.”
“It’s you, is it—Tremayne’s woman. Whatja doin’ out ’ere at this time a night? Them gates—they’re open!”
“No need to get yourself riled up, luv,” she said reasonably. “I couldn’t sleep and I—I thought I’d take a little stroll. It’s a glorious night, isn’t it? Don’t you love the moonlight?”
“You—you was tryin’ to sneak outta th’ stockade!”
Em sighed heavily, shaking her head. “I was leaning against the gates, enjoying the moonlight, and the lock—it just fell off. It must have been terribly rusty. Shocking. I should think Red Nick would keep things in better repair.”
“You’re lyin’!” he bellowed.
“Do lower your voice, luv, and while you’re at it you might lower that pistol, too. A big strong brute like you doesn’t really need a gun in order to subdue a—a poor defenseless female like me.”
There was a playful lilt in her voice, and her ploy was beginning to work. The guard scowled menacingly, his brows forming a straight, dark line, but he was a shade less belligerent. Em smiled coyly, adjusting one of the sleeves of her dark yellow cotton frock. For some reason, the exceedingly low-cut bodice slipped even lower. The guard lowered his pistol, taking a step nearer. Corrie was so terrified I thought she might faint. I gave her hand a squeeze and, putting a finger to my lips, cautioned her to keep silent.
“I’m takin’ you back to Tremayne!” the guard said gruffly. “I’ve a feelin’ he ain’t gonna like this.”
“He probably won’t,” Em admitted. “We—don’t you think we might talk this over, luv? You seem a very reasonable chap—besides being so big and strong and attractive.”
“None a your tricks! I saw what ’appened to Grimmet. Cleeve near killed ’im. Grimmet said it wuz all your fault, said you led ’im on. Me, I ain’t” gonna be made a fool uv.”
“Of course not,” Em replied. “You’re much too sensible—and much too attractive.”
She smiled again, using her wiles with outrageous aplomb, and the guard was definitely intrigued and more than a little bewildered, obviously torn between duty and desire. Should he take her back to Tremayne, or should he take advantage of the invitation she was so blatantly making? Em brushed a thick chestnut wave from her cheek and arched her back ever so slightly, causing the low-cut bodice to slip even lower.
“You’re a man who does his duty,” she said, “I can see that, luv, and it’s your duty to take me back to Tremayne, but—we don’t have to be in such a hurry, do we? It’s such a lovely night.”
“What’re you gettin’ at?”
“I might as well confess it, luv—I’ve had my eye on you for some time. I have this terrible weakness for shoulders, and yours are so broad. I noticed right away, the first time I saw you.”
He was helpless now, utterly. Em tilted her chin down and peered up at him with melting hazel eyes
and then, stepping forward, rested her hand lightly on his cheek. I spotted a rock on the ground a few feet away. It was large enough to do the job. Cautioning Corrie to silence once more, I crept forward, knelt down, and picked up the rock, grasping it firmly in my hand.
“You want it, don’t ja?” the guard growled.
“Luv, how did you ever guess?”
He jammed his pistol into his waistband and made a noise in his throat and reached for her. Em wrapped her arms around his shoulders and turned him a bit so that I would have an easier target. I moved very quickly, leaping forward, bringing the rock up, bringing it down sharply on his crown. He didn’t make a sound. He slumped immediately, sagging in Em’s arms. She staggered under his weight, almost toppling over backward.
“We’ll have to drag him outside the gates,” she said, “can’t leave him here in plain sight. Give me a hand, luv, he weighs a ton.”
I dropped the rock and took hold of the guard, and together we dragged him out the gates and propped him against the wall on the other side, half under a large shrub. He was like an enormous rag doll, limp and lolling. Em removed the pistol from his waistband.
“He’s not dead, is he?” I asked.
“Not quite,” she replied. “He’ll be out for several hours, though, and when he comes to he’s going to have a wretched headache. You wield a wicked rock, luv.”
“I believe in being thorough.”
“We make a marvelous team, don’t we?”
“Is—is everything all right?” Corrie asked, joining us.
“Everything’s fine, luv. Let’s just push these gates shut and prop a log or something against them to keep them shut. We can’t leave them sagging open like this—someone might notice.”
Love Me, Marietta Page 28
