Wilde, Jennifer

by Love's Tender Fury

  I understood all too well. Derek loved me, but he did so grudgingly. He wasn't at all pleased to find himself a prey to the emotions I aroused. They made him feel vulnerable, and Derek equated that with weakness. One day, when he had his rightful place in the world, when he was at peace with himself, he would learn to accept his feelings. I was willing to be patient. Against his will or not, he loved me, and that was all that mattered now.

  "You had a bad night," I said.

  "I had a bad night."

  "Something happened?"

  "When we were bringing the boat through the swamp, we ran into a Spanish patrol. We exchanged fire. One of my men was wounded. We evaded the patrol, but Peters almost bled to death in the boat before I could get him to a doctor."

  "Do things like that happen frequently?"

  "It's a risky occupation. I've seen lots of men die. I've had to kill a man myself. That's why I have this scar. The chap who gave it to me intended to cut my throat. I had to run him through."

  "It must have been dreadful."

  "Some men can kill with ease. I'm not one of them. I'll have him on my conscience for the rest of my life."

  "Even though he meant to kill you?"

  "I'll never kill another man, no matter what the circumstances."

  He got to his feet and stepped over to the sideboard to pour a glass of brandy from the crystal decanter. Leaning against the sideboard, he stared down at the glass in his hand as though contemplating whether or not to drink it.

  "It was my last," he said.

  "I don't understand."

  "My last delivery. I'm finished with smuggling as of last night. My business in New Orleans is over."

  "You've always detested it, haven't you?"

  "It meant money."

  "And now you have all you need."

  "Now I have all I need. There'll be no more boat rides through swamps in the dead of night, no more fights with greedy employees who want to make a bit on the side, no more shady transactions with nervous customers who always believe you're cheating them."

  "You never told me how you got into smuggling."

  "There's a lot I haven't told you, Marietta."

  "I didn't mean to pry."

  "Before I went into smuggling, I signed on with a slaver. I met him in Charles Town, right after I'd lost the plantation. He needed a second-in-command. I agreed to take the job. We sailed for Africa. I saw things I hope never to see again. It changed my ideas about slavery entirely. On the journey back we docked in Martinique. I left ship, took what gold was coming to me, and left. I vowed never to own another slave."

  I was silent, remembering Cassie and Adam. Derek was thinking about them, too. I could tell. He looked up at me with a grim expression on his face.

  "I began to understand why you helped those two escape. I hated you for it at the time, but after sailing on the slave ship—" He cut himself short.

  "I wonder what happened to them," I said quietly.

  "I imagine Adam got a job in one of the foundries. His lot won't be much better than it was in Carolina, but at least he's a free man. Thanks to you. You did a brave thing, Marietta."

  "I had help."

  "Elijah Jones. I always knew he was involved, even though I could never prove it. Men like Jones will eventually see to it that slavery is abolished. I'll be on their side."

  There was a moment of silence as both of us thought about the past, and then Derek drank his brandy and set the empty glass down, folding his arms across his chest.

  "I met Valjean in Martinique," he told me. "That's how I got into smuggling. It hasn't been a pleasant occupation, but it's better by far than slaving."

  "And now you'll return to England," I said.

  He nodded. I waited. He said nothing about taking me with him. I stepped over to one of the windows and held back the coral drapery with my hand, peering out at the gardens in back, refusing to let myself doubt. Of course he would take me with him. I meant as much to Derek as he meant to me. I mustn't allow myself to doubt it.

  "I'm going to win," he said.

  "I'm certain you will."

  I turned away from the window, letting the drapery fall back into place.

  "I've worked so hard, so long, and at last it's about to pay off. I've been in touch with my lawyer in London, have kept in touch all this time. He's finally been able to verify the documents that prove my father married my mother. It took a lot of time and even more money, but he's finally got the proof we need."

  "You told me once your uncle had a shrewd set of men working for him. You said they'd been able to keep it out of the courts. Won't they try to do the same thing this time?"

  Derek smiled bitterly. "They'll try, but this time I have the money to fight back. I can bribe officials now. I can grease enough palms to make certain it goes before the magistrates."

  "I see."

  "It's a corrupt world, Marietta. Even those who are in the right have to acknowledge its corruptness and bow to it. It's taken me a decade, but I'm finally going to see justice done."

  "And then you'll be satisfied?" I said.

  "I'll be satisfied."

  "I hope so, Derek. I hope you can start living."

  "What's that supposed to mean?"

  "I—nothing. It meant nothing."

  "I'm not a very pleasant person, am I?"

  "I wasn't implying—"

  "I'm cool and aloof and utterly ruthless. I know. I've been told so dozens of times. I've been obsessed with my inheritance. It's driven me, shaped me into the person I am, and that person isn't charming, isn't genteel, doesn't leap to his feet when you enter the room."

  "Derek—"

  "And yet you claim to love me. You're a fool, Marietta. I treated you wretchedly in Carolina, abused you, tossed you aside in a fit of rage. And still you're here, asking for more. I don't understand it."

  He gazed at me, his eyes almost angry. He still leaned back against the sideboard, arms crossed. The beige cord breeches clung to his legs, and the white cambric shirt was so fine I could see the suggestion of skin beneath. Why, I wondered. Why must it be this moody, enigmatic man, and not some other? Why must he be the only one to set these tremulous emotions astir inside me? I didn't understand it, but it had happened and there was nothing I could do.

  "You're beautiful," he said, and it was like an accusation. "You're the most beautiful creature I've ever laid eyes on, and you've haunted me like a witch."

  "Have I?"

  "I wanted to forget you. I tried. I wanted to hate you, and for a while I thought I did. The other women—I punished them. I treated them abominably, heartlessly. I was punishing you."

  "Because I ruined you?"

  "Because I couldn't get you out of my mind. When I saw you that first night in the moonlight, looking like a vision in your velvet and diamonds, looking like a witch, I wanted to strangle you."

  "But you sent the key."

  "And when you didn't come, I cursed you. I told myself I was glad, told myself I'd been a fool to send the key in the first place. Three weeks went by, and I realized I couldn't stay away any longer. I realized the only way I could exorcise you was to bed you and prove to myself that what I felt was purely physical."

  "And now?"

  "Now it's worse than ever."

  Derek sauntered over to me and took hold of my arms, looking down into my eyes. His own were dark, filled with love and angry resignation. For a long time he peered at me, and then he shook his head as though in defeat.

  "I suppose it was meant to be," he said.

  "I suppose it was."

  He tilted his head to one side. The jagged white scar moved as he slowly parted his lips. He leaned down and fastened his mouth over mine, catching it in sweet suction and working over it with lazy, sensual deliberation that caused my senses to reel. His arms folded around me, and I moved against him, tilting my head back as his mouth plundered leisurely. The muscles of his arms tightened, tightened until I thought my bones would snap, and I wel
comed it, clinging to him.

  He moved his lips down to the curve of my throat, lips firm, pliant, smooth. I curled one hand around the back of his head, running my fingers through those dark locks, leaning back against his arm as he planted his lips between my breasts. I could feel the sweet, liquid warmth stealing through me like honey filling a comb, and the familiar ache tingled as the blossom of my passion unfurled petal by petal, blooming inside at his nearness, his touch, his scent.

  "Beautiful," he said.

  "I'm glad."

  "Mine. Mine still."

  "Yes."

  "Even more than before. Mine."

  "Yours, Derek."

  "Meant to be. It was meant to be."

  Derek lifted me up in his arms and carried me down the short hallway to the bedroom. It was small, intimate, only a few misty beams of sunlight seeping through the louvers of the closed brown shutters. The whitewashed walls were brushed with blue-gray shadows. The bed and dresser were golden oak, the mirror a murky silver-blue. A rich brown brocade counterpane covered the bed. Derek put me down and kneeled to pull off my slippers and peel off my stockings. As he tossed them aside, they drifted to the floor like wisps of smoke. He stood up, pulled me to my feet, arms encircling me as he unfastened the tiny, invisible hooks down the back of my dress. I drifted in a haze of sensation.

  Derek stepped back and slowly pulled the bodice down, bending to ease the dress over the blue and green skirts of my petticoat. I shivered as the final petals unfurled, the blossom of my passion full blown, vibrant and lovely within me, urgently demanding to be plucked. Derek undressed me as though he were unwrapping a wonderful present, refusing to hurry, savoring the joy yet to come. He unfastened the bodice of my petticoat and freed my breasts, fondling them leisurely before slipping the garment down over my hips, and when he was finally finished, when my clothes were strewn over the dark golden carpet and I was completely naked, he kissed me yet again, folding me against him. I ran my hands over his back, feeling muscle and warm skin beneath the fine cloth.

  "Witch," he said.

  "Yours."

  "I should cast you out."

  "You won't."

  "I'd like to. I can't."

  "We need each other," I whispered. "Without you I— I'm not complete. I'm only half alive. And you. It's the same with you."

  "Damn you."

  "It's true."

  "Damn you for what you've done to me."

  He eased me onto the bed. I stretched languorously, the counterpane cool and silky beneath me. He perched on the stool in front of the dresser and pushed off first one boot, then the other. He stood and pulled off the thin white shirt and let it float to the floor. He undid his trousers and eased them down, stepped out of them, and then he was naked, too, a superb nude statue pulsating with life and readiness. As he moved toward the bed, I raised my arms. The mattress sagged as he kneeled over me, and I wrapped my arms around him and shifted as he lowered himself. I gathered the weight and warmth to me, trembling beneath him.

  He entered with the softness of velvet, the strength of steel, and I rose to meet him. We were one now, no longer incomplete, together, as we were meant to be, limbs entwined, one. I ran my palms across his shoulders, down the smoothness of his back, over the swell of his buttocks, and slowly, so slowly, he filled me, caressing me as I caressed him, and wells of sensation overflowed, rising, ever rising, and the sweet tingle and the ache quickened. Caught up, he drove forcefully, seeking fulfillment now, passion mounting, caresses giving way to a savage frenzy. He thrust, and I clasped him and the wells became waves, great waves that swept over us both again and again, crashing now, carrying us to the crests. For one incredible moment we hung suspended in ecstasy, senses shredded, and he gave a hoarse cry as we went hurtling down into release.

  Derek shuddered. Several minutes passed as I held him to me, shaken to the core by the splendor that slowly ebbed, leaving in its wake a residue of glowing warmth. Neither of us spoke. We never did. I stroked his hair, damp from his exertions, and finally he withdrew and the oneness was gone and the invisible barrier was in place once more. I closed my eyes, drifting into sleep. When I awoke, Derek was no longer beside me. His clothes were gone. He had dressed while I was still sleeping. I heard him in the sitting room, glass clinking as he poured another brandy.

  It was twenty minutes before I finally joined him in the sitting room. I was fully dressed, and I had rearranged my hair. Derek was standing at one of the windows, looking out. His skin was still slightly moist, and the fine white cambric clung to his back and shoulders. He didn't turn as I entered the room. The rapturous unity might never have taken place. Each time we made love it was as though I had robbed him of part of his independence. One day he would be at ease with himself and his love, I thought. One day he would look at me with eyes filled with that love, and the invisible barrier would be gone forever.

  I glanced at the clock. It was almost four-thirty.

  "I'll have to start back," I said.

  Derek turned. His face was expressionless. He hesitated just a moment before speaking.

  "I... uh... I'll be out tomorrow afternoon, Marietta."

  "Oh?"

  "All afternoon," he said. "There's no point in your coming."

  "I see."

  "I'll... get in touch with you."

  "Is something wrong, Derek?"

  He frowned. I had the impression he was keeping something from me. I felt a tiny fear awakening inside. I curbed it, knowing I mustn't nourish it, let it grow. Derek stepped over to the sideboard to set down his empty glass, deliberately avoiding the question. It probably had something to do with the smuggling, I told myself. That must be it, must be why he couldn't discuss it with me.

  "I'll see you the day after, then," I said lightly. "I... I really must be going. Kyle is supposed to pick me up at five."

  Derek nodded and walked to the front door with me. He opened it and I stepped outside. He followed me. He was still frowning. He seemed to be indecisive about something, reluctant to let me go. Finally he drew me to him and kissed me a final time. He was trying to tell me something with that kiss. The lips covering mine seemed to convey a poignant message, one he couldn't put into words. He drew his head back, still holding me loosely, looking down into my eyes.

  "Goodbye, Marietta," he said softly.

  Neither of us had heard the gate opening. Derek looked up as footsteps sounded on the tiles. His face grew suddenly grim. He released me abruptly and stepped aside.

  I turned. Jeff strolled casually toward us, a curious smile playing on his lips.

  "Thought you might be here," he remarked.

  I stood very still—paralyzed, it seemed. The expected onrush of emotion didn't come. After that first moment of shock I felt only a deep sadness, my concern for Jeff, not myself.

  "I told myself you really were going to the dress shop every day," he said amiably. "I told myself it was foolish to entertain the least doubt, but I had to banish that doubt, you see. I had to prove to myself that you weren't seeing him."

  "Jeff—"

  "I knew he was in New Orleans, knew he'd come to the ball after I left, but I told myself you wouldn't do this. This—this afternoon I couldn't contain myself any longer. I finally went to the dress shop, and when you weren't there, I had to come here. I knew he was staying in Valjean's rooms. I prayed you wouldn't be here."

  "I'm sorry, Jeff. I—I didn't want to hurt you. It—it's something I couldn't—"

  Jeff cut me short with a gesture and then, ignoring me, he looked at Derek, nodding at him as though in greeting.

  "I guess I'll have to kill you," he said.

  "Hold on, Rawlins."

  "Shall we say tomorrow morning? At the Oaks?"

  "You're suggesting a duel?"

  "It's customary, I believe."

  "I won't fight you, Rawlins."

  "No?"

  "We can settle this some other way."

  "You think so?"

  "I've no wish t
o harm you."

  Jeff smiled and shook his head, amiably, as though he'd just heard a not-too-amusing joke. Then he stepped over to Derek, drew back his hand, and slammed it across Derek's cheek with shattering impact. I gasped as Derek stumbled back toward the door. I seized Jeff's arm, trying to pull him back. He brushed me aside as though I were some worrisome insect and stood waiting for Derek's reaction. A moment passed. Derek drew himself up. The imprint of Jeff's hand burned on his cheek, but the rest of his face was deathly pale.

  "You shouldn't have done that, Rawlins."

  "Shall we say seven o'clock? Pistols?"

  "Pistols will be fine."

  "No!" I cried. "I'm not going to let you do this!"

  "Shut up, Marietta," Jeff ordered.

  "Both of you are insane!"

  Neither man paid the least attention to me. They stared at each other, Derek grim, his gray eyes dark, Jeff superbly composed.

  "I'll see you tomorrow then, at the Oaks," Jeff said.

  Derek nodded. Jeff took hold of my wrist.

  "We'll go home now," he said. "Till tomorrow, Hawke."

  "Till tomorrow," Derek replied.

  CHAPTER 25

  It was almost six, and still the sky was dark, sprinkled with stars, not even a hint of dawn on the horizon. I let the curtain fall back in place and resumed my pacing. I hadn't been able to sleep, hadn't even attempted to go to bed. All night long I had paced, frantic with worry, trying to think of something I could do to stop this insanity. At one point I had been on the verge of going to Derek, pleading with him as I had pleaded with Jeff, but that would have been futile. Derek would have been as deaf to my pleas as Jeff had been.

  Jeff hadn't spoken a word during our ride home in the carriage, and I had been silent, too, shaken, upset, consumed with guilt yet knowing I must somehow keep calm. He had gone to his room as soon as we got back, closing the door firmly behind him. Somehow or other I had managed to change and perform my duties as hostess, and it had helped, for when the last customer had gone I was calmer, ready to discuss things with Jeff in a reasonable, civilized manner. He had stayed upstairs in his room ever since returning. I had expected to find him drunk, but when I finally knocked on his door and entered, it was to find him stone sober, sitting in his chair and staring into space like someone in a state of shock.