“I’ll do no such thing!” she declared, her voice rising. “Let me inform you that your presumption, your sheer gall, passes all bounds. I owe you nothing, do you hear? Nothing! It will give me the greatest pleasure if you do not speak to me again.”
He had, perhaps, gone a bit too far, Ryan thought, hearing the accents of loathing in her voice.
Their host apparently thought so too, for there came a thumping overhead, as if someone were stamping on the floor. A voice hissed: “Quiet down there!”
They fell silent.
It was astonishing to Elene that she could have become so involved in a quarrel with Ryan Bayard that she had forgotten their danger. There was no excuse she could make for it, except that he was a most infuriating man. Discovering her glass still in her hand, she took a deep swallow of brandy, then fought for breath. How very strong it was. Not that she was a connoisseur; ladies naturally did not drink such strong spirits. She actually felt a little dizzy. Most peculiar. Except that now she considered, she had eaten nothing since early morning, and even then only a roll and coffee. She had not felt able to take so much as a morsel at noon for the clench of apprehension in her stomach. Devota had offered her a bite of meat and roll this evening while she was dressing, but she had refused. There had been a grand feast planned for after the wedding. No doubt the victorious slaves had enjoyed the sumptuous viands that had been prepared over the past few days.
She really should not have any more of the brandy, but was afraid that she might spill what was left when she set the glass down. She drank it off quickly, then got to her knees, reaching to put the glass out of the way with the other things Devota had brought.
“What are you doing?” Ryan asked.
His voice, so near, startled Elene and she jerked away from him. She was thrown off balance in the dark. She could not catch herself with the glass in her hand. She came down on one elbow, a smothered cry of pain escaping her before she clamped her lips shut.
Warm, hard hands fastened on her arms, pulling her up. She was dragged across a taut thigh, cradled between strong legs. “Are you all right?”
“Perfectly,” she said, though the words sounded breathless to her own ears. The realization was annoying. “If you will release me, I will be better still.”
“By all means.”
His grasp loosened. She pushed herself from him, put away her glass, and subsided once more at a fair distance with her back to the wall. Odious, interfering man. It would serve him right if she threw herself into his arms and persuaded him with wild and passionate art to make love to her in order to enslave him. He would then go slowly mad with desire for her because she would certainly not permit him to touch her again. How would he like that, him and his wenching in salons?
A soft laugh bubbled up inside her, and she clamped her hand over her mouth to prevent its escape. Goodness, but she must be more tipsy than she knew. Even if Devota’s extravagant claims for the perfume were true and even if she could bring herself to lure Ryan to her, she knew very well that being the object of such a man’s desire would not be a laughing matter.
“Are you crying?” Ryan asked, the words a fine balance between trepidation and impatience.
She took instant umbrage. “No, I’m not crying.”
“What is the matter with you then?”
“Nothing. Nothing whatever! Why should there be anything the matter with me? I’ve merely seen dozens of people horribly killed, most of them my neighbors and friends, not to mention being forced to leave my dead father unburied, unmourned. I’ve escaped death by a hairbreadth myself, only to be nearly assaulted, and am now shut into a tomb with a strange man while in the house of a thoroughly untrustworthy individual who may or may not turn me over to a madman whose particular joy is torturing women. Why, I’m happy as a bride. Never better in my life. I give you my word!”
“All right, it was a stupid question.”
“On that we are agreed.”
“It might be best if you lie down, try to sleep,” Ryan said softly.
“Thank you, no.”
“Here I was thinking what a practical and sensible lady you were, not given to fainting or emotional displays, ready to do what was best for yourself. I should have known you were merely too stunned to make a fuss.”
Elene swung her head to stare at his dark form. “What a pity for you that I show signs of reviving.”
“Yes,” he said, heaving a sigh.
Suspicion moved in her mind. She scowled. “You are teasing me.”
“Am I?”
“The question is, why?”
“My frivolous nature.”
“I don’t think so,” she said slowly. “I would guess, instead, that you thought it for my own good.”
Ryan thought he would have to be careful with the clever Mademoiselle Elene Larpent. She was most acute. He answered her in dry accents, “You malign me.”
“Do I indeed?” she said, the words thoughtful.
Silence, it seemed to Ryan, was the best answer. The minutes slipped past. There was no longer any noise from overhead, as if the household had gone to bed. Through the foundations of the house could be heard the faraway murmur of the sea and, now and then, the rustle of a night breeze through a clump of palm and sea grape trees that grew at the side of the house.
Elene tilted her head, listening to the distant sounds. Finally she asked, “Your ship that Favier is to contact, where is it?”
“Somewhere offshore.”
“Somewhere—? You mean you don’t know where it is. I should have known.”
“Well, it didn’t seem wise to drop anchor at Cap Française.”
“I would imagine it wasn’t wise to set foot on the island at all, but you’re here,” Elene said in quiet asperity.
“I had a cargo to deliver.”
“Taken from some blameless French merchantman, I don’t doubt.”
“English, as it happens.”
“In anticipation of the resumption of war between Britain and France.”
“Correct.”
“I suppose you just hove-to in some protected cove nearby and brought it in to Favier.”
“Exactly so. The cove just before the house here, as a matter of fact,” Ryan said.
“And then your ship stood out to sea again to wait for you while you arranged your business.”
“What a privateer you would make!”
“You may stop jeering!” Elene hissed. “I’m only trying to think how Favier is to let your ship know that you require to be picked up again.”
“A light from the headland will suffice.”
“So I would imagine. That is, it will if your crew decides to put in near enough to check for one.”
“Precisely.”
“Therefore the three days, which is no doubt the time that will elapse before they begin to look for your signal.”
“I congratulate you,” Ryan said.
“It would have been more to the point if you had explained these matters to me.”
“But you were so enjoying figuring it out for yourself.”
“I would also enjoy watching you hanged as a pirate,” Elene said with sweet reasonableness, “but it isn’t necessary to my happiness.”
“How fortunate for me. You are all such bloodthirsty creatures on this island,” Ryan said in mock seriousness. “It must be something in the air.”
“Abominable man.” The words were tired, without heat.
“No doubt. If I allow you the last word, will you go to sleep?”
“How can I be sure it’s safe?” she asked.
The tension in the air was sudden and severe. “Safe from me?” he asked, his voice quiet. “Oh, you can’t, but it’s a chance you will have to take, won’t you?”
4
ELENE WAS NOT HERSELF. She had been annoyed with Ryan Bayard and so had deliberately insulted him. She usually had better manners. True, he had been provoking in the extreme, but she should have remembered what he had done fo
r her this evening.
The trouble was, she had known perfectly well that she was safe with him. She had known also that the suggestion of doubt would disturb him. She had, in fact, credited him with the instincts of a gentleman. It was not what one would expect ordinarily of a privateer.
Not that she had any intention of apologizing. He had been equally insulting, and patronizing on top of it. She wished, however, that she had known how uncomfortable discord between them would be in such a confined space. If they were to spend the next three days sitting in strained silence, it would be unbearable.
Beside her, Ryan shifted. She looked toward him without moving her head. She thought he meant to speak and waited expectantly. When the seconds ticked past and he said nothing, she looked away again. Her chest rose and fell in a silent sigh.
Ryan could not remember when he had been so affected by a woman as he was by the one beside him. He wanted to strangle her for the aspersions she had cast upon his character, but at the same time he had a near uncontrollable urge to hold and comfort her, particularly to hold her. He had expected to be troubled by the restriction of movement in this hole and the prospect of hours of inactivity, but he was beginning to think they might be bearable simply because of Elene Larpent’s presence. Her quick wits, sharp tongue, and unexpected gallantry fascinated him. More than that, her perfume was driving him slowly mad.
It was not that the fragrance was cloying, it wasn’t that at all. If he felt the need for a breath of fresh sea air, it was not because it bothered him, but because he liked it much too well. He did not consider himself a fanciful man, but he thought he could easily become lost in it, and in the woman who wore it. Utter nonsense, of course. Maybe one of the blacks this evening had fetched him a blow to the head he had not noticed at the time.
He stretched with what he recognized himself as more than a little ostentation. “I’m going to get some sleep,” he said to the stiff form so near him. “You can do the same, or else, seeing we’re a bit cramped, lend me your soft lap for a pillow.”
“Certainly not!” To think she had been feeling remorse over what she had said to him!
“Certainly not which? You won’t lie down, or won’t be my pillow? It must be one or the other for the sake of room.”
At the thought of his head weighting her thighs, pressing into them, Elene was aware of an odd heaviness in the lower part of her body. She had no illusions that he would not make use of her lap; she thought he might even enjoy it. In which case, he would not get the chance.
She removed herself from the pallet, allowing him room to stretch full length. Even then his head was nearly in their makeshift pantry, for she heard the clink of bottles and glasses as he brushed against them. He swore softly at their close quarters as he settled himself, then all was quiet.
Elene did not have to lie down beside Ryan on the piled quilts of the pallet. Instead, she could sit on the hard stone floor for the rest of the night. Pride was all very well, but she was suddenly weary beyond words, and she could see no reason to permit the privateer to have sole possession of the quilts Devota had provided for her comfort. Perhaps if her behavior was casual, matter-of-fact, it would not seem so daring of her to join him on them.
Moving without undue hesitation that might reveal her reluctance, Elene sat on the edge of the pallet. She removed her ruined satin slippers, feeling their split sides and the dirt embedded in them as she set them neatly side by side. Taking care not to touch the man beside her, she lowered herself to the soft surface until she could lie down with her back to him.
“Here, have this.”
A hand was thrust under her neck, lifting her head, and a small pillow was pushed underneath. It was Ryan’s folded coat. She put up her hand to grasp it. “It’s yours, you keep it.”
“For God’s sake, don’t argue,” he said in goaded tones, “or I refuse to be responsible.”
“What about you?”
“I never use a pillow.”
She took a wrathful breath. “Then that threat—”
“No pillow,” he said, a laugh vibrating in his chest, “only laps.”
“Despicable.” She pulled the coat back under her head with a sharp tug, though much of her anger was for the sharp leap of the senses she felt as she realized he might have wanted to press his face into her thighs.
“Oh, agreed,” he answered.
She heard the bleak note in his voice, heard him stir, as if searching for a comfortable position on what was in truth a hard bed. She did the same. They were both still. Her eyes closed. She opened them again. She had already decided, hadn’t she, that what had happened this evening was no excuse for lacking of manners. Quietly, she said, “Thank you. For the pillow.”
There was no answer. She slept.
Dark phantoms cavorted in the dusk. Hideous of visage, grinning, they attacked the innocents, rending, tearing. Elene tried to scream but could not make a sound, wanted to run forward but was unable to move, reached for a weapon only to have it slip from her hands. She was forced to stand watching the slaughter, powerless to intervene. And the phantoms knew. They tormented her, jeering at her over their shoulders. Until all their victims were dead and they turned to advance upon her. Still she had no defense, could not move or cry out.
She awoke with a strangled sound in her throat. Strong bonds held her immobile. She struck out with clenched fists.
“Hush, now. Be still.” Ryan’s voice was soft at her ear as he captured her flailing arms at the wrists, holding her close against him. “It was a dream, only a dream.”
Elene ceased all movement, drawing in her breath with a harsh, smothered gasp. Then the hot, difficult tears came, burning the back of her nose, scalding as they squeezed under her tightly shut eyelids. They ran in stinging salty tracks down her face. Her chest heaved with her breathing and the effort to hide and control her grief. The horror of it could not be contained, and a sob caught, rasping, in her throat.
“Shh.” Ryan rocked her, his clasp firm but gentle as he stared into the darkness above her head.
“There was … nothing I could do.” The pained, constricted words seemed to be jerked out of her as she shuddered.
“No, of course not.” Ryan drew back a little, frowning as he released her wrists.
“There were so many. It was over so fast.”
“You’re safe now. Don’t cry.”
She wiped futilely at her eyes with the heel of her hand. “I don’t know why I should live when so many died. So many.”
The guilt of the living for being alive, for having survived. He had known it himself. He might have guessed a woman like this one would feel it also. He cleared his throat of an unaccustomed tightness.
“There was nothing anyone could have done. Don’t think of it any more.”
“How can I not?” she cried, her voice rising. “That’s all there is in my mind. It will always be there. Always!”
She must be quieted. He could try more brandy, but the half of a glassful she had drunk had apparently not been so effective, especially considering that she had been asleep for less than an hour.
“Hush. You will forget, I promise, if you let yourself.”
“What do you know of it? You didn’t s-see!” Another hiccupping sob wrenched through her.
There was a method that might silence her, from sheer rage if nothing else. Ryan cupped her chin in his long, hard fingers, turning her to face him. Bending his head, he placed his lips upon hers.
Elene choked on a raw, indrawn breath. Her every muscle went taut. Disbelief bloomed in her mind, along with a scorching anger that stopped the flow of tears. She tried to wrench her head away.
Ryan’s grasp tightened. Somewhere in the back of his mind he remembered why he had begun this, but the reason was fast receding, routed by the feel of the warm and vibrant woman in his arms. He molded his lips to hers with infinite care, soothing their tender surfaces, offering comfort, surcease, an intimation of desire. He tasted the sensitive corners
where they joined, and flicked the moist line of their meeting with his tongue in delicate, pensive pleasure.
Elene pressed her hands to his chest. She wanted to push him away, but seemed to have no strength as the tension ebbed from her body. Her mouth softened, beginning to throb. The privateer’s kiss was not threatening, but offered instead a few minutes of practiced beguilement and forgetfulness. The last was the greatest enticement. What could it hurt if, hidden in the darkness, she allowed herself to be swayed? Only for a moment.
The beat of her heart quickened and she could feel the swift race of the blood in her veins. She permitted her lips to part infinitesimally. With a soft sound of surprise, Ryan took instant advantage of that capitulation. He probed the sweet and fragile lining of her mouth, tasting it, running his tongue along the smooth edges of her teeth. He ventured deeper, advancing and retreating in such tantalizing rhythm that excitement burgeoned inside Elene and she followed his lead, touching her tongue to his in her turn. He drew her nearer so that her breasts were pressed hard upon his chest and she could also feel the ridged muscles of his thighs against the smoothness of her own. She could also feel, through the bodice of her gown, the muffled thudding of his heart.
That evidence of his arousal affected her strangely. She had thought him armored inside himself, immune to the weaknesses of the flesh or to any appeal that did not concern money. She had misjudged him. The exposure of his vulnerability gave her a sense of affinity with him. There in that dark hole they were both at the mercy of the unkind fates and their own needs.
She spread the fingers and palm of one hand over his shoulder, enjoying the feel of the hard muscles beneath the fine linen of his shirt. The last vestiges of her nightmare terror eased away. In its place there grew a lassitude that spread, carrying warm acquiescence in its wake.
His mouth tasted of brandy and the sweetness of tempered passion. His tongue was gently nubbed, deliciously abrasive. Elene reveled in the awakening responses of her body, feeling her senses expanding until she was aware with every fiber of her being of the man who held her, the firmness and strength of his long form, the heated male scent of him, the thick crispness of the hair growing low on the back of his neck, the taut resilience of his skin. The play of the shoulder muscles under her hand was a fascination, until she realized he had moved his arm to place his hand on her breast.
Louisiana History Collection - Part 2 Page 43
