Night Shadow

by Catherine Coulter

  “Eat first; then you can go straighten yourself up.”

  “Thank you. I’m quite famished.”

  Knight watched her sink her teeth into a slice of Cuthbert’s lemon cake. He waited until her mouth was full before he said, “I discovered what the fellows want. They want sparklers. Jewels, in other words.”

  She nearly choked. He quickly slapped her back, then handed her a cup of tea. “Oh, forgive me. Yes, I’m all right now. I know of no jewels. Goodness, why—”

  “They were Tris’s cohorts. They murdered him, unfortunately before they found out what he’d done with the jewels they’d stolen. He evidently double-crossed them, an act, I think, that wasn’t very well thought out. Tris called the jewels Billy’s Baubles, after a fellow named Billy who had them commissioned for his fiancée, Charlotte. Charlotte appears to have broken the engagement, and the jewels were on their way back home—wherever that is. Tris and his fellows stole them.”

  Lily could but stare at him. Slowly, very slowly, she said, “I don’t believe that. Tris wasn’t a criminal. He was a fine man, a wonderful father—”

  “And an exceedingly loving husband as well?”

  Lily couldn’t bring the words out for several moments. She stuck her chin upward and said firmly, “Yes, of course he was. He wasn’t a thief. He wouldn’t have associated with the likes of those men.”

  “Lily, it’s true. Stop railing against the facts. The only question I have—well—actually, there are two questions. First, where are the sparklers? Second, from whom were they stolen? Who is this Billy fellow?”

  “I tell you there aren’t any jewels. Don’t you think I would have found them after Tris’s death?”

  “Monk and Boy firmly believe that you know. They also firmly believe that Tris hid them. It is up to us to find them and give them back to their rightful owner. It seems logical to me that Monk and Boy would then have no more reason to do away with us.”

  Lily drank down the remainder of the tea. It couldn’t be possible, no—She squeezed her eyes closed, fighting the tears. Oh, Tris, no, no.

  “You shouldn’t have come here.”

  She heard his words, the flat tone of his voice. It took her a few more minutes to gain control. “I had to,” she said, opening her eyes to see him regarding her with no expression whatsoever on his face.

  “Why? You and I are no relation, Lily. None at all,” he said, his voice deliberately cold.

  He was different. Very different. He was acting as if he hated her.

  He continued, not waiting for her to reply. “Perhaps—perhaps you are playing a very deep game. I am now the children’s legal guardian. I am now responsible for them. And you, ma’am, well, you could now leave the children in my care and remove yourself to wherever you wished to go, a fortune of jewels with you.”

  “Wh—what did you say?”

  “You heard me.”

  She jumped to her feet, nearly upsetting the tea tray. “Why are you acting so strangely? So cruelly?”

  “Did you come back with Charlie to spend my last hours with me? Perhaps you thought I would be so grateful for your concern that I would marry you on my deathbed. I would make you a very wealthy woman, you know. Probably far more wealthy than the stolen jewels would.”

  She was pale now and very, very cold inside. But composed. Her chin went up. She was bedraggled, dirty, her hair a ratty nest, and she looked beautiful.

  Knight held firm. He had to.

  “Or, Mrs. Winthrop, you figured that even if I survived my bullet wound, your presence here in my home—without a chaperon—would do the deed for you. I would feel compelled to marry you. Certainly you know how much I want to bed you, I’ve been unfortunately very obvious about that. But marriage, ma’am? I am not that great a fool. You will leave Wintrhop House whenever it pleases you. I care not if your reputation is in shreds. I wouldn’t marry you, won’t ever marry you.”

  Lily said quietly, “The two men—they told you, didn’t they? They told you I wasn’t married to Tris?”

  Knight laughed, a harsh, low, ugly sound. “If you mean they referred to you as Tris’s fancy piece and Tris’s whore, yes, they told me you weren’t married to him.”

  Lily didn’t make a sound. She just stood there, looking incredibly composed, incredibly—wounded.

  He had to hold steady. He would no longer be taken in by her beauty, her remarkable acting ability. “You act the doting mother to perfection, ma’am. Everyone who’s observed you must agree with me. Loving, kind, all the things one expects from a mother. So your father gave—rather, sold—you to Tris when you were all of fifteen years old? He recognized a harlot even if she was his own daughter. Or perhaps Laura Beth isn’t even your child. Perhaps that is just another ploy to gain sympathy for the poor, grieving widow. Spare me the truth of that question. It doesn’t matter. Not to me. Finish your tea, ma’am. Do eat more of the cakes. You are rather thin at the moment, and you need to gain flesh to assure that your next protector is a man of wealth and position.”

  She felt frozen, a wasteland of pain, more than she’d believed possible.

  “What, no comment to that, Mrs. Winthrop? Well, no matter. I do recall how such a very short time ago you did escape on your own. What a pity that Ugly Arnold must needs ruin all your carefully laid plans. And I, of course, just like a fool of a St. George, came galloping to your assistance. You didn’t even want my assistance, did you?”

  She just stared at him, mute. Slowly, she nodded.

  Knight didn’t notice. He was pacing now, not looking at her, the words flowing from his mouth. “Very wise of you not to run from me after I’d dispatched Arnold and his miserable hireling. And then I had the utter misjudgment to attack you in the carriage. And you loved it, didn’t you, Lily? You, my dear, have all the theoretical attributes of a very skilled whore. Unfortunately, you are honestly passionate, I think. Take my advice. A truly successful whore is as cold as a corpse.”

  Knight, finally exhausted of words, gave her a mocking salute, then turned on his heel and strode from the library. He didn’t slam the door behind him but closed it very slowly and very quietly.

  Lily eased down onto the settee. She stared straight ahead, seeing nothing, wishing, quite simply, that she were dead.

  If she’d had the energy, she would have left at that moment. But she was simply too exhausted, both physically and mentally. She went upstairs to her bedchamber. Betty brought her bath. Mrs. Allgood brought her dinner on a tray.

  “Is his lordship at dinner?” Lily asked.

  “No, he’s dining at his club this evening. Why, I don’t know.” Mrs. Allgood frowned. “I would have thought that since you came all the way from Castle Rosse—” She shrugged. “Well, it’s none of my affair, is it? What do you think of Mrs. Crumpe?”

  “She is very kind. To all of us.”

  “She should be. She’s my cousin. Emily’s her name. I wrote her, of course, that you and the children were coming and told her how nice all of you were. I’ll bid you good night, Mrs. Winthrop.”

  A small world, Lily thought. She was asleep by eight o’clock, her dreams dark but undefined.

  At one o’clock in the morning, Knight gently squeezed down on the handle. The door swung open without a sound. It was dark as pitch. He strained to see Lily but couldn’t even make out her outline.

  A candle, he thought. He wanted to see her, he had to see her. He stumbled over a chair leg and nearly cursed aloud. He got control of himself. He didn’t believe he’d ever been so determined on a course in his adult life.

  The candle lit, he walked slowly toward the bed.

  Thirteen

  There was a slight chill in the room. Knight quickly built up the fire. He wanted the room warm because he intended to have her naked.

  He didn’t move until orange flames were leaping upward. He approved his handiwork and rose, dusting his hands on his dressing gown. The front of the dressing gown parted slightly, and he was disgusted to see that he wasn’t a
s indifferent to her as he told himself he was. Damnation, he hurt and he hadn’t even seen her yet, hadn’t even touched her. He pulled the belt tighter at his waist, but it didn’t really help.

  He stood over her, making no noise, simply staring down at her. The room was growing warmer by the minute, and he could see the shadows of the leaping flames on the wall opposite her bed. One arm suddenly came out from under the covers, and she pushed at the blankets in her sleep. They bunched up at her waist. Still he held himself back.

  He wanted to look at her, to once and for all get his fill of her. Her hair was free and smoothed out over the pillow. Incredible hair, so beautiful he swallowed, wanting desperately to run his fingers through it. Her lashes, darker than her hair, fanned against her cheeks. In her sleep she looked very young, and very innocent. Innocent be damned. He nearly snorted his derision and self-contempt aloud.

  His look became more derisive as he regarded her nightgown. It was virginal white, high-necked with small buttons marching from near her waist to her throat. He tried to imagine how she’d look in a confection like the one he’d bought for Daniella some months earlier. It was a peach silk affair that shadowed and framed and hinted at and defined. But as much as he tried, somehow he couldn’t pin down the image.

  He set the candle upon the small table by her bed. Enough was enough. He sat down beside her, still not touching her.

  “A whore,” he whispered to the empty room and the sleeping woman. “The most appealing woman I’ve ever known in my life, and she’s a bloody whore.” He laughed.

  Lily heard that laugh. It wasn’t part of her dream, it was real. It was here, with her. Her eyes flew open. She turned her head slightly on her pillow and saw him.

  “Knight?” How odd that he was here, sitting on her bed, smiling down at her. No, he was laughing. Surely that was strange. Had she said something amusing and not realized it? Was she still dreaming? “Are you truly here?” She raised her hand to his face, then dropped it. “Oh, dear, is something wrong? The children?”

  “Hello, my dear Lily. Yes, I’m here, and no, nothing’s wrong.”

  He was here in her bedchamber, in his dressing gown. “No! What are you doing here? Surely—” She broke off as she struggled to sit up.

  Knight grabbed her shoulders and pressed her back down. “Oh, no, Lily, I want you on your back.”

  She stared up at him, confusion written clearly in her eyes. “I don’t understand you. What are you doing here? You promise nothing is wrong?”

  He didn’t laugh this time, but his lips twisted in a parody of a smile. He didn’t release his hold on her shoulders. “Nothing at all, dear Lily. I’m here to test out a theory, no more.”

  “What theory?”

  Ah, that incredible bewildered, innocent look. “You do that so well, Lily. Perhaps you could give acting lessons to the opera girls.”

  She didn’t understand him; his words made no sense. “Are you foxed, Knight?”

  “Nary a bit. It perhaps would have been better had I drunk myself into oblivion, but I didn’t. No, I wanted to see, to understand, to know the results of my experiment. Now, my dear, I want to look at you.”

  Something was very wrong. This man wasn’t the Knight Winthrop she knew. But then again, that bitter, sarcastic man who’d insulted her endlessly and quite thoroughly earlier in the library wasn’t either. She wasn’t afraid, but she wished that he would say something sensible. His eyes were narrowed and the gold lights in them were pronounced in the candlelight. His fox’s eyes, Mrs. Crumpe had called them. He was looking at her, looking beneath her lawn nightgown, and she understood then his intent. She sucked in her breath. “No,” she said quite clearly. “Go away, Knight.”

  “Not this time, Lily. Now—” Suddenly without warning, he ripped the front of her gown from her throat to her waist. He yanked the material apart. She heaved and struggled frantically against him, but it was no good. He simply held her until she was too tired to fight him.

  There was fear in her eyes now, but he refused to be drawn in by it. That, too, was an act. There wasn’t a single thing real about her save her passion. At least that was what he believed, what he intended to prove. He grabbed her wrists and jerked them above her head. Then he stared down at her breasts. “Those gowns you wear, Lily, they really don’t do you justice. Your breasts are quite nice, you know, full and so white, and your nipples, a very soft, dusky pink.” He wanted to touch her, to take her into his mouth. But no, he had to retain control.

  “Stop it, Knight. Why are you doing this? I’m not a whore—please, you must let me explain.”

  “Ah, very nice, Lily. You have something you wish to explain to me? You had all the opportunity in the world this afternoon in the library. But you didn’t say a single word, deny a single thing, did you? Now, where was I? Oh, yes, your lovely breasts. They’re not that large, but your shape, Lily, and the texture of your flesh—let me see about the texture—” He held her wrists with one hand, and with his other hand he touched his fingers to her breast. His eyes didn’t leave her face.

  A deep, raw cry ripped from her throat. “No, you can’t do this, Knight. You cannot force me.”

  “Force you? You mean rape you? Of course I shan’t. It isn’t my style. Not at all. I believe I already told you that. Oh, no, Lily, you like this, don’t you? Soon you will be babbling, you will want me to touch you so much.” His fingers were on her breasts, and she saw in his eyes that he wasn’t going to stop. He was utterly determined on his course. She went berserk. She bucked, pulling against his hold, kicking up wildly with her legs. “Let me go, Knight. Damn you, go away! I shall scream, I promise I shall—”

  His hand left her breast and came down firmly over her mouth. He leaned close, his face but a breath away from hers. “No, you won’t, Lily. I’m going to kiss you now and you’ll want me again, as you did that night in the carriage. Hush now, Lily, and just see what I’ll make you feel.”

  She felt his warm breath on her cheek, saw the male harshness in his eyes, and felt a spasm of utter terror. Oh, God, no, she thought, and wildly twisted her head away. But his hand clasped her jaw, hard, and jerked her face back, holding her still. “I’m not a whore, Knight,” she said, but it didn’t matter. It was as if he were beyond her, beyond understanding her. His mouth was covering hers now, warm and firm. She felt his tongue lightly stroking over her lips. She moaned her protest and he shuddered at the sound. She had to stop this; she had to make him see reason. His hold on her jaw loosened and she jerked away, yelling, “No!”

  “Damn you,” he said, fury and cold purpose filling his voice. He rolled over on top of her to keep her still and found her mouth again. He held her arms away from her body and she felt his full weight. He wasn’t gentle now, nor undemanding. He deepened the pressure of his mouth, and his sex strained hard against her belly. He pressed downward, then forward, in a parody of the sex act, and at the same time his tongue slipped into her mouth, thrusting forward, then withdrawing. Again and again he did it, and she thought: It’s Knight doing this, it’s Knight making me feel empty and hot and wanting, and it’s so incredibly erotic I can’t bear it.

  Knight knew the instant she responded to him. He knew what was making her wild and he took immediate advantage. “Lily,” he said into her mouth. He clasped her wrist and brought her arm down as he rolled off her. He pulled her hand on his belly. “Touch me, Lily. This is what you do to me.” Her fingers brushed against him and his hips jerked despite his intentions. Suddenly her fingers tried to close about him through the thick velvet of the dressing gown. He felt intense frustration and groaned deep in his throat. He pulled back the dressing gown, then guided her hand to him again.

  Lily couldn’t believe what she was doing, what she wanted to do, what she was aching to do. Her fingers touched the alien male flesh, so hot and hard and smooth. She shuddered, her body quivering as her fingers explored him. She was frightened of his maleness, his strangeness, the size of him, and yet so excited she felt her
own body trying to move toward him, to rub against him, to draw him inside her, into her.

  He suddenly shoved her hand away. “Stop,” he whispered. “You’re too skilled, damn you.” He came down over her again, his mouth covering hers, his tongue instantly demanding entrance, and she gave it to him.

  Skilled at what? She didn’t care, not about anything except him and what he was doing to her, what he was making her feel.

  He was touching her cheek, her nose, her throat. She wanted more, but she didn’t know what it was she wanted. She felt a throbbing ache between her thighs and quivered. He reveled in the fact that it was he who was responsible. He settled himself between her legs.

  “Wider, Lily. Open your legs wider.”

  She obeyed him without hesitation, without thought. Again he thrust toward her, and now there was only her ripped nightgown between them.

  She was beyond herself now and he knew it. She was crying out, helpless cries into his mouth, and they filled him with triumph and a fierce joy that he denied. He leaned back, his sex hard against her, and he pushed and heaved and she opened her eyes, stared up at him, and whimpered. Her hands were on his shoulders, jerking at his dressing gown.

  “No, Lily.” He couldn’t let her undress him. He would lose to her, he knew it. He couldn’t let that happen. He wouldn’t let her win. Quickly he rolled off her onto his side. She moaned his name, trying to turn toward him, find him, bring him back to her. Her hands were on his face, his shoulders, closing over his arms.

  He kissed her again, deeply, and his hand went over her breasts and he felt the furious pounding of her heart, the ripplings of her flesh, her need. He splayed his fingers and rested his open hand on her belly. He felt the tension in her muscles, knowing that she was trapped now in her need. He had her. She was completely under his control. He’d won.

  “Lily, look at me. Open your eyes. I want to see your face when I touch you. I want you to know I’m looking at you when I touch you.”