The Tiger Lily

by Shirlee Busbee

  THE TIGER LILY

  Shirlee Busbee

  Surrender

  Ruthlessly his lips came down on hers, the touch of his warm, hard mouth engulfing her in a maelstrom of intoxicating, bewildering sensations. Ah, but it was sweet to have him kiss her . . . to have that taunting mouth moving so urgently on hers, to feel the thunderous beat of his heart against her breast. Compulsively, she pressed her slender body closer to his, seeking more than this half-savage, half-gentle assault upon her senses. Unknowingly, her arms crept up around his neck, her head tilted backward as she shamelessly, innocently offered herself to him . . .

  Other Avon Books by

  Shirlee Busbee

  Deceive Not My Heart

  Gypsy Lady

  Lady Vixen

  While Passion Sleeps

  THE TIGER LILY is an original publication of Avon Books. This work has never before appeared in book form. This work is a novel. Any similarity to actual persons or events is purely coincidental.

  AVON BOOKS

  A division of

  The Hearst Corporation

  1790 Broadway

  New York, New York 10019

  Copyright © 1985 by Shirlee Busbee

  Published by arrangement with the author

  Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 84-91200

  ISBN: 0-380-89499-8

  All rights reserved, which includes the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever except as provided by the U.S. Copyright Law. For information address Edward J. Acton, Inc., 928 Broadway, New York, New York 10010

  First Avon Printing, February, 1985

  AVON TRADEMARK REG. U.S. PAT. OFF. AND IN OTHER COUNTRIES, MARCA REGISTRADA, HECHO EN U.S.A.

  Printed in the U.S.A.

  WFH 10 98765432

  For some ''Lilies" of my own:

  MRS. LILLIE HAYNES, Howard's sweet grandmother, a charming and wonderful lady.

  LILLIE PATTERSON, a sister-in-law, who is absolutely tops and willing, at the drop of a hat, to feed the dogs and water the plants for me. Thanks, sweetie!

  And a special sort of "Lily," STELLA SULARSKI, another sister-in-law, who has always been so good to me and is so dear to me. We miss you, Steller-feller!

  And, as always, Howard.

  PROLOGUE

  FIRST LOVE, FIRST CONFLICT

  Natchez, Mississippi Territory

  Spring, 1789

  This bud of love, by summer's ripening

  breath,

  May prove a beauteous flower when

  next we met.

  William Shakespeare

  Romeo and Juliet

  CHAPTER ONE

  "Will I be as beautiful as you, Tia Sofia, on my wedding day?" Sabrina asked wistfully, her big amber-gold eyes fixed admiringly on her aunt.

  Sabrina asked the question as she stood next to a handsome satinwood dressing table in her aunt's elegant bedchamber. Her aunt, Sofia Aguilar, was seated on a velvet-covered stool and at the moment was critically viewing the image reflected in the dressing table's gilt-edged mirror.

  At Sabrina's question, however, Sofia, looking absurdly young for a widow of thirty about to embark on a second marriage, stopped her nervous fidgeting. Momentarily ignoring the lovely cream-colored mantilla that covered her shining black hair, she shot her young relative an affectionate glance. With a twinkle in the dark Spanish eyes, she exclaimed with a smile, "Of course you will, pigeon!" Adding teasingly, "Aren't you my niece?"

  Her niece promptly giggled. But then the small face was instantly serious as she demanded, "But I mean truly."

  Something in Sabrina's voice made Sofia turn around to stare at her niece. And while Sabrina waited anxiously, Sofia's gaze traveled consideringly over her.

  It was difficult to tell, Sofia thought slowly, precisely what someone seven years old would look like when she was fully grown, but from the delicate planes of Sabrina s lively features, she rather suspected that in time her niece would be quite a beauty-though not a beauty in the usual Spanish mode. Her hair was too shocking a color, a glorious flaming red-gold mane that defied all attempts to tame it; even now, after it had been freshly brushed and firmly plaited, tiny, unruly curls seemed to spring out defiantly and cluster around Sabrina's little face. Surprisingly dark eyebrows and lashes intensified the impact of those incredibly colored amber-gold eyes, eyes that could go dark with deep emotion or burn an astonishingly bright gold when she was angry. A straight nose with a slight upward tilt at the tip, an as yet too large mouth, and a delightfully determined chin completed the features of what, Sofia was certain, would be in ten years' time a thoroughly fascinating face. As for the rest of Sabrina, her aunt smiled. At the moment her young niece resembled in both body and temperament nothing so much as a week-old thoroughbred colt—mischievous, spirited, stubborn, and possessed of a skinny body with long, unbelievably slender legs. But in time . . .

  Smiling gently into Sabrina's anxious face, Sofia said softly, "Truly, chica! On your wedding day you will be a lovely bride—a very lovely bride!"

  Inordinately pleased—for usually she cared nothing for her appearance—Sabrina threw her arms impetuously around her aunt's neck. "Oh, Tia Sofia, I am so happy that Madre and Padre allowed me to come to Natchez with them for your wedding! You are the very best tia anyone could ever wish for!" Her eyes suddenly brimming with laughter, she said dulcetly, "And you are as beautiful as I am, si?"

  Sofia laughed, and shaking her head, she answered, "You, pigeon, are incorrigible! And I think it is time that you changed your clothes—or do you intend to wear that to my wedding?"

  That was a finely embroidered white linen nightshift which reached to Sabrina's slender ankles. With a smothered gasp of half-laughter, half-dismay, Sabrina disappeared out of her aunt's bedchamber like a small, fiery whirlwind.

  Sofia's fond glance followed her. How fortunate, she thought with amusement, that while her own first marriage had been childless, Elena, her only sister, had presented her with such a delightful niece. And fortunate, too, Sofia admitted freely, that despite the distance which separated Natchez from Nacogdoches, where Elena lived with her only child and husband, she was able to see them all so frequently.

  Alejandro del Torres, Elena's husband and Sabrina's father, was a wealthy man with varied business interests up and down the Mississippi River, and at least once every two years he came to New Orleans to oversee his expanding business affairs and to discuss progress with his local man of business. It was only natural that his family would accompany him, and it was even more natural that at some point during their stay in New Orleans they would travel up the river to Natchez to visit with Elena's only relative, Sofia.

  Elena del Torres was the elder of the two sisters, and when Jaime Aguilar y Farias, Sofia's first husband, had died suddenly three years ago from one of the fevers so prevalent along the Mississippi River, she had descended upon a numb and stunned Sofia and whisked her away with much motherly clucking and concern to Nacogdoches, in the eastern part of Spanish Texas. The months spent at the lovely Rancho del Torres had been a healing time for Sofia, and gradually the heartache of her husband's untimely death had eased.

  Sofia gave herself a shake—now was not the time to dwell upon the past! In just a few hours she would be marrying Hugh Dangermond, and this was no time to be remembering how sad she had been at the death of her first husband. Today was a new beginning, and it would be a happy day.

  And yet, she wondered. The seven years she and Jamie had had together had been tranquil, contented years, while Hugh's first marriage had been anything but tranquil! For a moment, Sofia's eyes flashed angrily. How could Gillian, Hugh's dead wife, have been so deliberately scandalous—so scandalous with her lovers and extravagant expenses tha
t all of Natchez had been atwitter with it? Even more disgraceful, Sofia thought, had been Gillian's complete indifference to her eldest son, Brett. It had long been the talk of Natchez that she clearly wanted nothing to do with Brett and lavished all the love of which she was capable on the second child, Martin. Martin, who so closely resembled her with his sapphire blue eyes and golden curly hair, while Brett was so obviously a Dangermond. . . .

  Impatient with herself for again letting her thoughts stray, Sofia rose gracefully from the dressing stool and walked around the handsome room, trying to force herself to think of the happiness she and Hugh would share—and the love and affection she was more than willing to bestow upon his two sons ... if they would let her.

  She supposed that Hugh's sons were the real reason for her doubts. Hugh loved her. She was thankful that despite his disastrous marriage and the truly magnificent scandal Gillian's final escapade had caused, he had not become a misogynist, whereas Brett ...

  Sofia sighed. Brett had been ten years old seven years ago when his mother had run away with a traveling preacher, taking the then eight-year-old Martin with her. That Gillian had chosen a poor man upon whom to bestow her fickle affection was in itself surprising, but a man of the cloth! Natchez had been stunned! But only a year later when Hugh had finally found her in New Orleans, she had been openly living with a gambler well-known in the Natchez area. A gambler who had forced a duel upon Hugh, a duel that had left him nearly dead and permanently crippled.

  Sofia was unhappily aware that Brett had been the one to suffer most. Clearly rejected by his mother, he had clung pathetically to his father, and Hugh's near-death had been the final agonizing blow. In a sense, Sofia thought miserably, that duel had also crippled Brett—it was very obvious that he had decided that women were not to be trusted, that they only maimed and betrayed. Which is going to make it very hard for me, Sofia mused regretfully, thinking of the aloof manner in which her seventeen-year-old stepson-to-be treated her.

  Brett didn't trust her, that she knew. And it wasn't just her, it was all women, she reminded herself with a frown. Then suddenly her face lightened. All females that is, except Sabrina! Sabrina was clearly enchanted with the idea of having a tall, handsome stepcousin, and she had adoringly followed Brett about during the past two weeks since her arrival from Nacogdoches.

  That Brett allowed it said much for the way Sabrina could charm anyone, her aunt thought with a smile. Perhaps little Sabrina would be the one to teach him that women really weren't such terrible creatures.

  As if her thoughts had conjured them up, she happened to glance out of one of the long windows that overlooked an expanse of green lawn and spotted Sabrina, now suitably attired in a gown of jonquil muslin, standing next to Brett. The two were underneath one of the many majestic oaks that dotted the landscape, and from the unusually gentle curve of Brett's finely shaped mouth, it was apparent Sabrina was weaving her innocent magic around him.

  He is such a handsome youth, Sofia thought fondly, her gaze skimming the chiseled features that were just now beginning to lose the perfect beauty of childhood. His hair was dark, like Hugh's, and like Hugh's, his eyebrows were strongly defined. His dark green eyes, the color of jade, were deep-set, and their expression was frequently hidden by the sweep of long, thick, curling lashes, lashes, Sofia thought with a smile, she would have given a fortune to possess. Brett was tall; almost eighteen, he stood two inches above six feet. Although his shoulders and chest had not yet caught up with his height, it was obvious he would be a powerfully built man. If only, Sofia mused with exasperation, he would drop that icy barrier he keeps around him!

  As she watched the two below her, Brett openly smiling now and gently tweaking one of Sabrina's neat braids, a third person joined them, and Sofia's sweet mouth twisted with dislike. Martin.

  She had tried determinedly to like fifteen-year-old Martin, but it seemed impossible. Martin was spoiled, selfish, and a born troublemaker. The boy took enormous pleasure in reminding Brett that their mother had loved him enough to take him with her, and for that alone Sofia would have derived much joy from using a horsewhip on him! Particularly when she remembered the way Brett's face would close up and the way Martin's blue eyes would gleam with malice.

  To be fair, and Sofia always tried to be, she supposed it was difficult for Martin to adjust to living with his father and brother after the years he had spent with his mother. And it was true, Sofia had told herself repeatedly during the past several months, that he was probably still grieving from his mother's unexpected death last year in a carriage accident in New York, where they had been living at the time. Gillian's death had meant Martin's return to Natchez and a family he hadn't seen in six years. It was bound to be difficult for him, but did he have to take such delight in being so very obnoxious? He was sullen and insolently disobedient to Hugh while committing acts of petty malice against Brett.

  The sight of Elena in the doorway disrupted Sofia's unpleasant thoughts. Elena was very like Sofia, a little plumper, it was true, but she possessed the same wide, dark eyes and black hair, and although there was now a strand or two of silver mixed in Elena's dark hair, she had at forty the liveliness of a woman half her age. Elegantly dressed in a gown of soft green silk with a frivolous flounce that nearly swept the floor, a warm twinkle in the laughing dark eyes, she asked excitedly, "Are you ready? I know you dismissed your maid ages ago, and Sabrina has been filling my ears with how beautiful you look, so that I could not stay away any longer."

  Sofia sent her an affectionate smile, and then pirouetting gracefully, the full skirts of her pale yellow, almost cream-colored, silk gown billowing out lightly from her slender, fine-boned body, she demanded, "Well? What do you think?"

  Elena gave a gasp of pleasure. "Oh, Sofia, how lovely you look!" And taking in the delicate lace mantilla on her sister's head, she added warmly, "And I am so happy that you are wearing the mantilla that I wore at my wedding."

  "Now if it will only insure that Hugh find I are as happy as you and Alejandro!" Sofia said teasingly.

  Elena gave her a saucy wink and murmured, "It will, my dear, it will!" Then, glancing at the ormolu clock on the dressing table, she added, "It is almost time for us to leave for the church. . . . Are you excited or nervous?"

  Sofia smiled ruefully. "Perhaps a little of both and . . . even a bit apprehensive."

  "Oh, but you shouldn't be, chica!" Elena protested gaily. "Such a handsome man is your Hugh! And Brett is all that a stepmother could ask for, so polite and well-mannered."

  "I notice," Sofia said dryly, "you didn't mention Martin."

  Elena wrinkled her pretty nose. "Well, one must take the sour with the sweet!"

  Sofia laughed, and from that moment on there was no more time for reflections of any kind—they would be leaving for the church in minutes.

  It was a beautiful wedding, Sabrina thought blissfully as, ensconced between her parents, she watched Sofia marry Hugh Dangermond. Everything was exciting: her father had looked extremely handsome in his black satin jacket and white cravat as he had escorted Sofia down the flower-decked aisle, a shaft of errant sunlight turning his red hair to flame; her mother's new gown was lovely, as lovely as Tia Sofia's wedding dress; and the altar was breathtaking, with armloads of bright spring flowers—daffodils, lilacs, and roses. Senor Dangermond was most handsome, too, Sabrina admitted generously, the silver-headed cane he always walked with increasing his aristocratic bearing, his dark, lean face filling with a soft, warm light when Tia Sofia laid her hand in his and the black-robed priest murmured the words that would make them man and wife. Of course, Senor Dangermond was not as handsome as his son Senor Brett was, she decided judiciously.

  No one was as handsome as Senor Brett . . . not even his good friend Morgan Slade, although Senor Slade was very nice looking, too.

  Shyly her glance strayed across the aisle to where Senor Brett sat with Senor Martin. He looked so handsome, she thought with a sigh, in his bottle-green jacket and buff breeches
. But then, noticing that his features, usually so sunny and merry with her, were oddly rigid as he listened to the ceremony that married his father to Tia Sofia, Sabrina frowned. Wasn't he happy that Tia Sofia would now be his mother? The expression on his face made Sabrina vaguely uneasy.

  The huge eyes puzzled, a troubled look on her little face, she continued to watch Brett's features. Didn't Senor Brett like Tia Sofia?

  Brett didn't like Sofia. It wasn't that he held anything against her personally—for a woman, he would be the first to admit, she seemed perfectly pleasant—it was just the simple fact that she was a woman. A woman had hurt his father badly once, had almost been the cause of his father's death, and Brett would have preferred that the Dangermond men continue to live out their lives without the problems and interferences a woman could cause. Not that women didn't have their places—he and his boon companion, Morgan Slade, had discovered that exciting fact a few months ago from a complaisant, easygoing whore in Natchez "under the hill."