by Carol Finch
Without stopping to consider the repercussions, Jeffrey doubled his fist, fully intending to plant it in Dominic's tanned face, but his gesture proved to be disastrous. Before his fist could make contact with Dominic's jaw, his arm was halted in midair and caught in a bone-crushing grip that made him yelp in surprise.
Rozalyn's mouth dropped open in disbelief. Jeffrey was behaving like a crazed idiot, taking punches at a man who could have torn him to shreds if he had so desired. And outside a theater!
The scuffle was over almost before it began. Rozalyn gaped as Dominic, with the quickness of an uncoiling snake, struck Jeffrey on the jaw. He then jabbed him with a booted foot, sending the stork-legged blond skidding across the grass to bounce off the theater wall.
For a moment, Rozalyn and every other onlooker stood paralyzed. Dominic's fighting tactics were like nothing they had ever witnessed. He'd sprung at Jeffrey—half-man, half-beast, and his lightning-quick moves had had Jeffrey dazed and downed before he'd even known what hit him. Dominic's entire body had become a weapon of defense. Rozalyn wondered if Dominic could be subdued, even if the odds were ten to one.
Awesome respect dawned in her eyes as he straightened his jacket and then strode back to offer her his arm, and she instantly decided that it was better to have Dominic as an ally than as an enemy. However, she cautioned herself never to engage in fisticuffs with this so-called gentleman.
"Mademoiselle? Shall we go?" Dominic inquired as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.
He wasn't even out of breath.
Rozalyn cautiously laid her hand in the crook of his arm and nodded mutely, still too dumbstruck to locate her tongue. As they strolled past Jeffrey, who lay in a crumpled heap like a misplaced doormat, Dominic paused to stare down at him.
"If you ever lay a hand on me or harass this lady again, I will do far more than merely gain your attention, monsieur," he told Jeffrey in a voice that indicated he was making no idle threat. Indeed, his tone was deadly calm. Although Jeffrey's vision was blurred, there was nothing wrong with his ears. He retained enough of his senses to surmise that flying at Dominic a second time would be inviting his own demise. "Consider your alternatives, Jeffrey." The name rolled off Dominic's lips like a mocking taunt. "A life of poverty might not seem so distasteful when measured against having every bone in your body broken ... at least once."
Not until Dominic had lifted Rozalyn into the brougham was she able to untangle her tongue. And when she did, she fired the questions at Dominic.
"Where did you learn to fight like that? Were you raised by a pack of wolves or have you lived among the savages? How long have you—"
Dominic brushed his index finger over her lips to quiet her, and then he flashed her a wry smile. "Which of those questions would you like me to answer first?"
All of them, Rozalyn thought. Her curiosity was eating her alive! She didn't know anything about the man riding in the carriage with her. She didn't know if he had been hatched from an egg or if he had a mother. She didn't even know if he took his coffee black, if he was just passing through town, or if he took his jacket off in a methodical way.
"I would like to know where you learned to fight and then I want to know everything about you," she insisted. "Start from the beginning and do not omit anything."
Dominic chuckled at the lively curiosity in her intelligent blue eyes. "I learned to fight from the Crow Indians, and I have sharpened my abilities by facing unfriendly beasts. I am a half-breed, Roz. My mother was a Crow maiden and my father traveled with Lewis and Clark when they explored the western boundaries of the Louisianna Purchase. When a man chooses to live in the wilds, he learns to defend himself or perish." Dominic could tell by the astonished expression on Rozalyn's exquisite features that she was becoming more apprehensive by the second. Perhaps fear will keep the little minx in line, he told himself. Yet he didn't want Rozalyn to be petrified of him. Gently, he reached out to smooth away the wary frown that puckered her brow. "I have faced wolves, grizzlies, and hostile Indians who were eager to add my scalp to their coup. But my taste for violence does not include abusing beautiful women, if that is what you are thinking."
Rozalyn breathed more easily, but his explanation did not fully satisfy her inquisitive nature. She wanted to know what motivated a man like Dominic Baudelair, she wanted to know why he had returned to civilization, and why he seemed properly educated. She was under the impression that trappers were a wild, illiterate breed of men like the ones she'd met on the wharf. But Dominic was different.
"I returned to St. Louis to complete my business transactions after rendezvous," Dominic went on to say. "Unlike your blond friend, Jeffrey, I am financially independent. I live in the wilderness because I enjoy its challenges—or at least I did until I met you.'' His hand curled beneath her chin, tilting her face to his light kiss. "Now I find myself pitted against the beast within me. There is no greater enemy than one's self. I confess that controlling myself when I am near you is one of the most difficult tasks I have undertaken."
When Rozalyn surrendered to his kiss, she told herself she was still playing her role. But her body had difficulty accepting that. And when his wandering fingertips sketched the lacy bodice of her gown, making arousing contact with the full swells of her breasts, her weak protest died beneath a quiet sigh of pleasure. Dominic was weaving dreams about her, crumbling her defenses, immobilizing her mind, and it seemed a collection of butterflies had been set loose in her stomach. She could not draw a breath without them fluttering against her thundering heart.
As his lips abandoned hers to glide over her bare shoulder and investigate the creamy skin along her collarbone, Dominic told himself he should tread carefully with Rozalyn. The primitive male needs channeling through every nerve and muscle in his body could be appeased after he deposited this innocent maid on her doorstep. But it wasn't just any woman he wanted. It was this fascinating vixen who had left Jeffrey bruised and I battered that very morning.
But his body refused to heed his warning. Rozalyn had been on his mind all day, and the dangerous game he was playing now haunted him. It wasn't enough to kiss her sweet lips. Dominic ached to know this ebony-haired enchantress by touch. He wanted to mold his body to her lusciously soft contours. He longed to lose himself in the fantasy that had hounded him since he had consented to play her love-smitten lackey.
Rozalyn felt herself being pressed into the velvet cushions, and Dominic's hard, muscular thigh insinuated itself between her legs. Something is very wrong, Rozalyn warned herself. Why didn't she protest when his roaming hand slid beneath her petticoats to map the generous curve of her hips? Why wasn't she devising a counter tactic to keep Dominic at a safe distance? That was what she had intended, wasn't it? No answers came to her. Thought was impossible when skillful hands flowed over her quivering flesh, causing passion to burst forth like a disturbed lion. If she demanded that he take his hands from her, she would be denying herself the giddy pleasure that was like nothing she had ever experienced.
His hot kisses tracked a trail of fire across her breasts, and when his tongue flicked one taut peak, a tantalizing tremor vibrated through Rozalyn. Then desire blossomed, like a rose opening its petals to the warmth of the sun. Helplessly, she surrendered to the rapture that overshadowed rational thought.
While his lips skimmed her flesh to give the same titillating attention to the other pink bud, his inquiring hands glided gently over her calves, tracing an erotic path to her inner thighs. Then knowing fingers intruded into her womanly softness, teasing and caressing her, while his moist mouth returned to hers, devouring her with hungry impatience.
Rozalyn was on fire, and her inhibitions fled from the blaze that threatened to consume her. She had never wanted a man the way she wanted Dominic, yet she couldn't fathom why. Was it her adventurous spirit that had led her down this wayward path? Why could this one man release her carefully controlled desires and make her passion burn out of control?
Her arms involuntarily
wound around his sturdy neck. Then her lashes fluttered up, and her gaze trapped in the vivid color of his eyes. Like green meadows rippling in the wind, they danced with golden sunlight, and her heart leaped with excitement as he whispered her name with such pained sincerity that she felt the last barrier of her deteriorating defenses buckling with his plea.
"Roz ... I made a promise I cannot keep. To seek out another woman when it is you I crave would only be torture," Dominic groaned, his voice tormented. "God forgive me, but I want you though I know you are not a woman to be trifled with." Rozalyn not only heard his raspy words she felt them for his sensuous lips were tracing the slim column of her throat. "Tell me to leave you alone. Order me away before I lose what little sense I have left."
A sea of tears swam in the back of her eyes. Overwhelming sensations fell upon her like an avalanche. Order him away. . . . Rozalyn could not seem to voice the thought. The words that formed on her lips were a contradiction of what he was asking of her. His touch was like warm summer sunshine, and she found herself moving closer to the solid mass of strength that pinned her to the seat instead of pushing him away.
"Show me the pleasures that have eluded me," she invited, lifting her face to his, then welcoming the pressure of his demanding mouth on hers.
Dominic moaned as her hand slid between the buttons of his shirt to make timid contact with the naked wall of his chest. He was ablaze with desire and Rozalyn's touch fed the flames. He could not seem to get close enough to her, he resented the garments that separated her flesh from his.
Like a man who had been stranded on a desert for days on end, and deprived of nourishment, Dominic took her lips and the sweetness within. His lean fingers splayed across her thighs, pushing her skirt away to allow him free access to her sensitive flesh.
"Master Baudelair? We are here, sir," Mosley called after reining the steed to a halt and waiting a few minutes for Dominic to bid the lady good night.
"Damn." He cursed his poor sense of timing. What the sweet loving hell did he think he was doing anyway? A young woman's first encounter with a man should not come about in a carriage.
Mosley's voice dragged Rozalyn from the potent crosscurrents of emotion back to reality. She was humiliated that she had behaved so shamelessly. Had she been a harlot in another lifetime? Her passions had burst free the moment she had met a man unlike those with whom she had dealt in the past. Sinful soul, she chided herself as Dominic pulled her up beside him to rearrange her clothes.
"Roz . . . I—" Dominic began, only to be interrupted by her agonized wail of mortification. Before he could continue, Rozalyn had flung open the door and had scrambled from the carriage to flee up the steps.
Dominic slumped back onto the seat and raked his fingers through his hair. His breath came out in a frustrated rush. Then he assured himself that the incident had turned out for the best. After all, he had not intended to deflower this wild rose when he desperately needed her assistance. He would simply have to relieve his cravings at the brothel. There he would find a woman who asked no more than a smile and moments of his time.
Clinging to that thought, Dominic poked his head out the window to order Mosley on his way. He stared at the wall that met his gaze. The lingering fragrance of jasmine and a vision of the lovely creature who had been so close returned to haunt him. It is better this way, Dominic again told himself, but his body was paying no attention. He had wanted Rozalyn as a man hungers for a woman who has kindled the fires of desire in him.
Chapter 6
Rozalyn collapsed against the door after she had locked it behind her. Mon Dieu, she had come dangerously close to ... She squeezed her eyes shut, fighting the emotional tug of war going on within her. Dominic's darkly handsome face rose before her mind's eye. She could almost feel his hard thighs pressing intimately between hers. He had ignited a spark as ancient as time itself and had left her with a gnawing craving that wouldn't go away. Having taken her past the point of no return, she was aching to satisfy needs she had never understood until Dominic had introduced her to the dark world of passion. Now she had yearned for his touch, reveling in the sensations that . . .
Enough of this! Rozalyn told herself. Then she bolted through the hall and leaped up the stairs two at a time in her haste to escape the phantom who tormented her.
"Rozalyn, is that you?" Aubrey called from his study, though he didn't come to the door.
"Oui, Papa," Rozalyn replied and then continued on her way.
"Did you enjoy your evening?" came Aubrey's absent inquiry.
"No, it was the most unsettling evening I have ever experienced," she muttered bitterly, knowing exactly what her father's response would be.
"That's nice. Bonne nuit."
Heaving an exasperated sigh, Rozalyn trudged up the remainder of the steps. Tess, the plump, round-faced Negress who was in charge of keeping the DuBois mansion in order, was in the hall, and when Rozalyn requested a steaming cup of tea laced with brandy to help her sleep, the old woman eyed her curiously.
"You got somethin' troublin' you tonight, girl?" Tess pried, her piercing gaze probing into Rozalyn's as if she meant to read her mind and pluck out the disturbing thought. "It ain't that new beau of yers, I hope."
"I seem to have contracted a headache after watching the play," Rozalyn hedged, refusing to divulge that it was a six-foot-two-inch headache with laughing emerald eyes and hair the color of midnight.
"Well, it don't s'prise me a bit," Tess sniffed as she waddled down the hall. "Considerin' the hours you've bin keepin'. You do so much comin' and goin' that I git dizzy just watchin' you."
A quiet smile grazed Rozalyn's lips after Tess wheeled around the corner and disappeared from sight. The housekeeper did her share of lecturing, but Rozalyn was quite fond of her, though she wouldn't have been surprised to learn that Tess was her grandmother's informant. The two of them fussed over her like mother hens, and they both kept abreast of every rumor in the wind, especially those pertaining to Rozalyn. Yes, Rozalyn was willing to bet Tess and Lenore traded information. How else would Tess have known about her "new beau"?
When Tess returned with the brandy-laced tea she presented Rozalyn with a short lecture on the necessity of getting the proper amount of sleep, instead of rising before the crack of dawn and staying out until all hours of the night. Rozalyn was too weary and frustrated to argue with the housekeeper. All she wanted to do was adjourn to her room to sip her tea and grapple with the events of the day.
They had begun with an innocent lie, one meant to appease Lenore and bring her peace. Later, to make matters worse, Rozalyn had tried to lie to herself, thereby dragging herself deeper into the web of deceit. Like a silly fool she thought she could resist Dominic's magnetism, his subtle wit, and devastating charm. She had even told herself that her reaction to his embrace was part of her act. But she knew for certain that she had not been acting a few minutes earlier in the carriage. Her heart had overruled her head, and she would have surrendered to Dominic's persuasive gentleness if they had not been interrupted. Dominic had even begged her to deny him and she could not. Could not! Rozalyn groaned miserably, then gulped down another sip of her spiked tea. Her heart was obviously as wild as her spirit, she realized. Why else would she have kissed Dominic with reckless abandon and then offered herself to him? She had always been impulsive, chasing rainbows and whims without forethought. But why did her will power fail her only when she was with that raven-haired devil? Rozalyn cursed when no answer came to mind. She couldn't fathom why she was so drawn to that well-formed mass of brawn and muscle, even when she knew the results of her attraction could be disastrous. She was on shaky ground, but she couldn't reverse direction because of the foolish lie she had told Lenore.
Sighing tremulously, Rozalyn set her empty cup aside and peeled off her gown, letting it flutter into a careless heap around her ankles. The caress of the light autumn breeze wafting through the balcony door reminded her of Dominic's tender, coaxing touch. She had learned a great deal
more about this handsome stranger in one day than she'd learned about the men who had escorted her about town. Dominic was as ornery and playful as a little boy; yet he possessed a mature man's charm and clever wit. He was an ominous foe and a potentially dangerous lover. But he employed gentle, persuasive tactics, against which Rozalyn had no defense. His warm, protective embrace had proven itself to be more potent than force, Rozalyn was accustomed to retaliating against the energetic assaults of men, but she had been totally unprepared for Dominic's brand of passion. And he was a composite of the things Rozalyn had admired in numerous men, but had never confronted in such a fascinating combination.
A demure smile hovered on her lips as she wriggled into her nightgown and then stretched out on her satin sheets. At least she knew Dominic had no intention of using her as other men had attempted to do. He had openly admitted that he had already acquired a fortune and he had no need of hers. What he wanted from her was only that which a man and woman share. If she had not been so sensitive about men courting her father's money she might have been indignant that Dominic wanted her. Oh, she had protested his proposition in a fit of temper, but when after spending an evening with him, during which time he behaved as a gentleman until passion got the best of him, she considered his suggestion more of a compliment than an insult. After all, what woman would want a man who had no physical interest in her? Dominic found her desirable. Was that so wrong? And if it were, why did it feel so right when she was in the sinewy circle of his arms?
