The man's startled gasp seemed to come from a vast distance. "Eh, look at that, my friend. This one's a real beauty, by God." Stabbing fingers dragged the velvet down to her waist. "Look at that skin — like milk. And these!"
Ruthlessly the man grabbed at her breasts, pinching her nipples cruelly. Her dress tore in half, the shredded fragments falling to her ankles.
Dear God, she had to get her wits about her! If she didn't get away, they'd soon be astride her.
Fighting to steady her ragged breathing, Tess forced herself to relax beneath those cruel hands, willing herself to listen and wait for an unguarded moment. With a little sob, she caught her lips between her teeth, biting down to stifle her revulsion as the hungry fingers swept over her.
"So the rabbit likes that, does she? Jesus, I'm so stiff I'm about to explode!" The fingers tightened, pushing her to her knees, searching between her legs.
Dimly Tess heard the other man curse, grabbing for her. A moment later her captor fell back.
"I take her first, damn it! You always get everything before I do. But not this time!"
Tess heard a thud, then the sharp sounds of a struggle. Suddenly she was free!
Blindly she pulled herself to her feet and began to run, while behind her the angry, fighting sounds continued.
She reached the terrace and stumbled inside, jerking the French doors closed behind her.
"She's getting away, you fool!"
Ashen-faced, she ran her fingers along the wooden door frame, searching for the bolt. Finally she found it and jammed the cold metal home.
"She's locked the door, the bitch!"
Rustling — more grunting.
With a terrible crash, the glass burst, raining in a shower about Tess's feet. Dear God, what was she to do now?
"Damn, I've cut my hand. Bitch! It will go all the harder for you now," her unseen assailant snarled.
Heavy feet clambered over the door frame and crunched across the glass.
Cold with terror, Tess stumbled back toward the door to the kitchen.
And ran headlong into a rock-hard body. A man's body!
Her heart hammering wildly, she flailed the air, biting back the sobs that threatened to suffocate her.
"Hush, bihan."
With a moan, Tess fell into the powerful arms that reached out to circle her. "Oh, God, Andre —"
But the Liberte's captain pushed her behind him. "Go inside, woman."
Tess shivered, hearing the harshness in his voice, the barely suppressed violence. The voice of a stranger, almost.
The voice of a man who could kill, and kill easily. Happily, even.
Behind her the crunch of glass abruptly ceased.
"What do you think you're doing, Breton pig? The bitch is ours. Maybe after we've finished with her, we'll leave something for you. Get out of our way."
In the narrow doorway Tess turned, hearing a quick, muffled thump and then a soft gurgling.
After that there was nothing.
"What about you? Want to stay around for what your friend just got?" Andre growled softly.
"Fuck you!" the unseen man snarled back, already retreating through the shattered doorway to the garden. "Fuck all of you stinking Bretons! You'll pay for this, just wait and see!"
Stumbling and cursing, the man dragged his semiconscious friend behind him across the grass and crashed through the hedge the same way he had come.
Straining to hear, Tess waited, frozen, her breath coming and going in little jerky gasps.
"More blood," Andre whispered. "Will it never end?"
Tess heard him turn, his feet crunching on glass as he moved toward her.
"You've cut yourself, bihan." His voice was harsh, his movements unsteady as he cupped her hand and traced the wetness that stained her fingers.
Tess felt the light brush of his lips. A wild shudder ripped through her. "Thank God you came."
"What in the name of heaven were you doing out there, woman? Did you go looking for them?" Suddenly his voice was different, cold and hard as a knife. "Has the novelty of my body faded so soon?"
Tess froze, disbelief tightening her face. What was he talking about?
Calloused fingers gripped her wrist, painfully tight. "Answer me," the Frenchman ordered flatly.
Anger blazed through her. "Release me," she hissed "You have no right —"
"On the contrary, Anglaise, I have every right. To bed you, to break you. To do whatever else I want with you. I've shed blood for you, you see, and that makes you mine," he growled. "To take whenever and wherever I choose." His fingers tightened, drawing her implacably toward his chest. "Starting right here."
"Stop it!" Tess cried, shoving vainly at his iron fingers. "I should have known you'd be just like all the others!"
"Have there been so many, then?" His voice was soft — infinitely dangerous.
"Too many," Tess breathed, feeling tears slip down her pale cheeks. "I — I thought you were different."
With a growl, Andre crushed her against his hard length, cupping her hips to drive her into the saddle of his thighs. "I'm just a man, bihan. A man hungry for you. Diaoul, I don't mean to lose you — not when I've just found you!" His mouth came down savagely, grinding against her lips with angry friction. He drowned her protests stillborn, careless of the pain he caused her.
On and on he kissed her, with cold, calculating fury, until Tess swayed from lack of air and tiny flares exploded behind her blind eyes.
Suddenly, without a word, Andre released her, pushing her away sharply. "Go on!" he growled.
Ashen-faced, Tess turned, trying to run, ordering her feet to move — finding it somehow impossible.
"Go, Anglaise!" he said hoarsely. "It will only get worse, I promise you. Much worse. A little time — that's all I wanted. But —"
He bit off what he would have said next.
Still Tess stood, paralyzed by the pain in his voice.
Through the shattered, paneless window the moon cast down a shimmering bar of light, painting her skin silver; to Andre she seemed a creature from another world, hauntingly beautiful, a mermaid poised uncertainly between the worlds of man and sea.
Tess heard his strangled cry a heartbeat later, and then the thunder of his feet.
"Forgive me, bihan," he said harshly, cupping her cheeks in his strong fingers. Moving closer behind her, he slowly turned her face to meet his gaze, almost as if afraid to face her directly. "It was rage and fear and —" His breath swept over her cool skin, his lips following an instant later. "It doesn't matter what it was, if only you can forget. Yes, I must somehow make you forget."
Hard thighs grazed her soft bottom. With a dark groan, Andre pulled her against him, arching her back until her head fell onto his shoulder. Slanting his face, he searched for the wild pulse that throbbed at her ear.
"Sheathe me in your dark silk, sea gull. Take me where the storms rage. With you it will always be storm and shadow, then the sweet forgetting."
Dimly Tess felt her body grow liquid and weak; with a little choked whimper she turned, seeking his heat and hardness.
But some shred of sanity made her halt.
Dear God, had she no pride left, no remnant of reason where this man was concerned? Even the cursed Viscount Ravenhurst had never left her so mindless, so desperate.
Her hands tensed, shoving at his arms. "No!" she cried furiously.
"So close," he whispered, as if she had not spoken. "I might have lost you. That I could not bear, bihan." His hands swept over her hungrily, as if to reassure himself she was well. "Did they harm you? Did they hurt you in any way?"
Tess moaned, her head dropping back as his hands began to work their drugging magic over her bared skin. She should fight him, she knew. But it was so slow and good and new, what he did to her. Just this once, she would not fight. Next time — yes, next time.
His strong fingers circled her waist, turning her to face him. "Tell me!" There was fear and desperation in his voice now.
&n
bsp; "No, they — you — just in time," Tess managed to answer, the question already half forgotten. She whimpered, her throat raw, her blood flowing thick and hot in her veins.
Already she was on fire for his touch.
Dimly Tess heard his dark groan of relief. With a growl, he kicked away an errant fragment of glass, then knelt on the floor and pulled her down beside him, keeping her locked against him, chest to chest, thigh to thigh.
Tess's eyes widened as she felt him draw her down astride his hard thighs to face him. Hot and achingly engorged, his manhood strained against her bottom.
A low moan escaped Tess's lips, and then another, as he arched her back in his arms so that his tongue could graze a dusky nipple.
"Fly for me, sea gull," he muttered hoarsely. "Let me see your pleasure. Then perhaps I can believe this is more than just another empty dream."
She heard him mutter something beneath his breath, and then his lips closed, suckling her fiercely.
Tess whimpered, squirming at his touch, aflame with furious desire. Dimly she felt his fingers move, combing through the wild curls where their bodies met and strained.
When he parted her, he found her slick and hot, already melting for him.
"An Aotrou Doue," the Frenchman breathed. His fingers teased the velvet bud of her desire and slipped deep to explore her sweetness.
"Now, Andre," Tess whispered raggedly. "Please."
Muttering a dark curse, he struggled with the buttons at his breeches.
An instant more and the offending garments were shed, but to Tess it seemed a long and cruel eternity. Dimly she heard the sharp rustle of cloth, followed by Andre's harsh breathing.
Then only pleasure, sweet aching pleasure as he fought free to find her and fill her, sliding home to the hilt inside her.
Cupping her soft, rounded bottom, he showed her how to move against him, matching each silken thrust to her breathless descent until Tess thought she would die of the building pleasure.
Moaning, she pressed harder against him, urging him to hasten his pace, but he would not, fiercely determined to prolong this slow, sweet slide of exquisite friction.
Her nails curled, biting urgently into the rippling muscles at his shoulders. "An-dre!"
"Doucement," he muttered. "This time is forever. Ah, bihan, I could go on and on, for filling you this way is Heaven."
Wild with need, Tess rained frenzied blows over his forearms, fitting herself to him with wanton abandon. Some ancient woman's instinct made her tighten when he would have pulled back, and that silken contraction finally pierced the iron armor of his control.
"You don't — Gwerhez Vari! — play fair, bihan!"
"The devil with — ohhhh — fair. I want you, Andre. Now!" Again she tightened, shot through with fire when she felt him groan and shudder against her.
"Then take me, bihan. Take me now and know that it is forever."
Strong and hard, his hands opened to anchor her, pulling her down to meet his driving thrusts, all caution and restraint cast to the wind. With savage mastery he loved her, with dark fury, with everything that he was and ever would be, muttering rough, unintelligible Breton words as he filled her with aching beauty.
Her head thrown back, Tess listened and felt herself take flight, knowing he was inside her and that he felt all the same dark magic she did. This time when her silken tremors began, her lover drove hard and true, splashing her with sunlight just as he had promised.
Trembling, Tess clutched at his rigid shoulders, drowning in waves of pleasure. Dimly she heard him groan as he rose to meet her again and again, piercing her with beauty.
Gasping, she tensed deep within, wanting to hold him tight when his ecstasy came.
The movement drove Andre over the edge. "Yes — ahhh! My sweet love, hold me!"
With a harsh groan he stiffened and then arched fiercely, rising up to meet her, pouring all of his hot man's seed deep within her.
And Tess held him endlessly, joining him in wild, soaring pleasure, anchoring him until the shudders stopped, until his fingers loosened and her knees buckled. Then together they tumbled, sprawling, down onto the cool wooden floor.
* * * * *
Even spent, Andre did not leave her, only drawing her against him while they drifted, wordless, on golden streams of drowsy contentment. Throughout the long night they discovered each other again and again, laughing like wild children, touched and touching, rapt with this rare, fierce splendor they had found.
When they were hungry, he made plates of fluffy omelettes and fed her with his fingers.
When they were thirsty, she filled a steep crystal goblet and held it for him to drink.
Only once did Andre leave her, after settling her in his big bed. When he returned, he pressed a tiny, carved mermaid into her hands. Carefully Tess ran her fingers over the polished curves and delicate tresses, knowing she would treasure this gift forever.
"For you, my wild sea-creature. For all the joy you've brought me. And this, too." He pressed a small, hard object into her hand. "Marthe found it in the pocket of your cloak."
With a little cry Tess closed her fingers around the edges of her forgotten hairpin. She had lost its mate sometime during her ordeal at Ravenhurst's town house. Of carved tortoiseshell, the ornaments were among the few possessions of her mother's that had escaped her father's greed. Though small and insignificant, they were of inestimable value to Tess.
"Oh, Andre — it was my mother's. I'm so glad it was not lost." Her fingers clenched for a moment, then opened, with the brown hairpin balanced on her palm. "Please take it," Tess said, her voice suddenly urgent.
"Your mother's, was it, bihan? Then yours it must remain. Only promise me you'll let me take it from your hair now and then." His voice darkened. "Along with whatever else I choose to remove."
At his husky request, Tess's heart lurched and passion began to flower through her once again. "But I — I have nothing for you, Andre," she whispered.
"Not so, bihan." The Frenchman's voice was dark and smooth as rum. With startling rapidity, his arousal made itself felt anew.
"Andre!"
"Ummmm?"
"Again? But — so soon?"
"Are you complaining, Anglaise? Yes, move ... just so. That's it."
With a low groan, he drew her down atop him until she sheathed him completely. Long, breathless moments later he tensed, then shifted them together until they lay side by side, their thighs intertwined as they found the exquisite rhythms of love once more. "Nothing to give me?" he murmured.
"But —"
"Still complaining, me kalon?" Andre asked hoarsely, with each stroke wrapping her in new splendor.
"Complaining? M-me?" Even as she spoke, Tess felt the dark suns begin to burn inside her anew.
Outside, the moon rose and the stars gradually faded. A soft wind teased the camellia petals. A lone bird began to sing.
So the night passed, lit with their warmth and laughter, which spilled out and filled the little rose-trellised cottage on the edge of the cliffs.
* * * * *
"I don't even know what you look like." Sometime near dawn Tess stretched and sleepily traced the hard line of Andre's face, the thick mat of his beard. "Are you fair or dark? Green-eyed or blue?"
"Guess," he whispered, reaching up to guide her slim, searching fingers to his mouth.
Bold in the aftermath of passion, Tess sketched their full curve, teasing the edge of his moustache. "Golden-haired, I think. With eyes like the night and a face that makes women shiver and make promises they ought not to." Tess's teasing fingers dropped lower, following the line of his neck down to the wiry fleece of his chest and then circling his small, flat nipples.
Andre growled, fire jolting through his groin.
Tess's lips curved into a dark, secret smile as she felt him swell and harden. "A big man," she breathed huskily. "Oh, very big, I think," she purred.
"And you are making me bigger every second, witch," Andre growled. "Painful
ly so! For that, you'll pay dearly, Anglaise, since I'm no sweet-faced knight with chivalry on my mind. This night my vessel is out for plunder and my cannons fully primed. My black flag warns all who see to beware." His voice turned dark with bitterness. "Nor am I what you imagine. My fingers are rough, bihan, the scars on my body myriad and deep. Will they repel you, when your sight returns?"
"If," Tess corrected, smoothing the hard lines of his face. "And still the answer is no. I will always love you, Andre — seen or unseen."
"Prove it," he rasped, already hungry for her again.
And so she did. Not once, but twice. To their total, gasping satisfaction.
Chapter Thirty-Four
"Anglaise."
Tess frowned, turning her head into the pillow, seeking her haven of dreams. Ah, but what dreams — sweeter than she had ever imagined possible.
"You must wake up, bihan." Cold fingers shook her shoulders.
Tess mumbled a protest, trying to shake them away. "S-sleep. Je veux dormir."
"Not now. You must wake!" The hissed urgency of that low voice finally penetrated Tess's haze, and she sat up sharply.
"Wh—"
"Hush." It was Marthe. "Come outside." With trembling fingers the old woman pressed a thick woolen robe around Tess's shoulders. "But you must hurry!"
Tess tossed back the thick cloud of her hair and shoved her hands into the scratchy wool sleeves. Frowning, she slipped from the bed, hearing Andre mumble and shift behind her.
The old woman's fingers tugged her ruthlessly, forcing her into the kitchen. Beneath her bare feet the stone floors were frigid; the shock of contact cleared the remnants of sleep from Tess's mind. By the time Marthe pushed her into a chair, she was wide awake.
For a moment there was a strained silence.
Tess cocked her head, straining to hear. "Marthe?"
"She's gone out, bihan."
"Padrig? What are you doing here?" Already cold splinters of fear began to work deep into Tess's heart.
"I've come for you — we must leave immediately. It is no longer safe for you here. The soldiers have discovered their wounded comrade, and they are on their way here right now. Le Fur managed to slip out from the dock several hours ago; right now he is waiting for me on the far side of the island. But we must go now."
The Black Rose Page 38
