No Choice But Surrender

by Meagan Mckinney

  Having no other recourse, Brienne forced herself to be doc­ile. She murmured a stiff apology and took the seat Cumber­land offered her, one unfortunately close to Lady Venetia. Brienne resigned herself to being an onlooker for the rest of the evening. But this was not satisfactory to Lady Venetia, who seemed to bombard the room with chatter from the minute Brienne settled into her chair.

  "How silly I must appear! What a faux pas! You see," Lady Venetia turned toward Avenel, who was standing above her, "the entire misconception began when I saw Brienne upstairs. It was after she came in from her walk. She appeared so di­sheveled—I just assumed she had been cleaning one of the flues or something of that sort. You must try to forgive me. I didn't think Rose's relative would be involved in such a messy undertaking." Venetia sipped on her claret, tilting her black patch provocatively on her upper lip. Then, staring posses­sively at Avenel, who had accepted a brandy from the footman and was easing himself into another brocade armchair, she added, "I believe you went for a walk also this afternoon, did you not, Avenel?" The woman's question hung in the air like lead.

  "Only to retrieve Rose's cousin, my lady. She has a ten­dency to wander off." Avenel calmly took a sip of the golden brown liquor just as Cumberland was consumed by a fit of coughing.

  It was a long, tedious evening. There were twenty-five knew not one topic of conversation to embark upon with any of them. There were women flounced and quilted in the best satins and men bejeweled as she had never seen before. The Duke and Duchess of Hardington were present, and she could only stand mutely in awe as she was introduced to them.

  They were a magnificent pair. The duchess wore a gown of emerald green brocade with an elaborate petticoat of vivid red. The duke cut a fine figure in his gold topcoat and breeches; he had a bloodred ruby the size of a baby's fist stuck between the folds of his neckcloth. With the exception of Avenel, Brienne felt all others dimmed in .comparison to the grand couple. Those who were only viscounts and squires were dressed in simple silks, but none seemed as dull as the little cousin from America. Brienne looked down at her violet wool and bemoaned its very existence as she sat near a woman in satin as white as her hair; embroidered vines twisted up and down the petticoat.

  Dinner was served in the eating room, and Brienne sat be­tween Cumberland and Lady Venetia, neither of whom said three words to her all evening. Not that she blamed Cumber­land for ignoring her, for she could see that he was completely enamored of Rose. The two old friends spent the evening reliving a past that was years old, and they appeared to enjoy each other immensely. She had never seen Cumberland as blissfully starry-eyed nor looking quite as young as when he smiled at Rose's every look of fancy and laughed out loud at her hints of flirtation. Brienne was genuinely happy for him. If anyone deserved the companionship of a well-bred woman, in her mind, it was he.

  Brienne herself had liked Rose almost from the first mo­ment they had set eyes on each other. She appeared to be the essence of a lady, and Brienne could tell Rose was very fond of Cumberland, which made her that much more easy to like. There were a few moments during dinner, however, when she had unexpectedly looked up from her plate and seen a strange, disconcerting look on Rose's face as she stared at her from across the large table. Brienne had spent more than one un­bearable moment under Rose's odd perusal, but Brienne had brushed it off, thinking that the woman felt as uncomfortable as she did about their play-acting.

  Lady Venetia, on the other hand, did her best to engross Brienne in her conversation with Avenel. Not that she had actually included Brienne in any of it; on the contrary, she had pointedly left her out of her and Avenel's tête-à-tête. But ev­ery overly loud word Venetia uttered and every dramatic ges­ture she made seemed to be for Brienne's benefit alone. Never had Brienne seen a woman so frivolous and coy.

  So soon after the last course was presented, Brienne an­nounced she had a headache.

  "Yes, darling, let the child go to bed," Venetia said to Avenel.

  "So soon! It seems the evening has just begun!" Cumber­land looked up from his dinner companion and gave Brienne a smart little wink. She couldn't help but smile at him. Seeing him so happy made her heavy heart a little lighter, but she quickly made her excuses.

  "Please do not end the evening on my account. It was silly of me to take so much sun, and it has affected me. I'm the one who belongs upstairs, not the rest of you," Brienne said as she stood.

  "I do hope you will be better tomorrow, dear. We have so much catching up to do! I don't know if we'll ever have enough time." Rose stood up and pocked her lightly on the cheek. She bade her good night and then returned to her seat, where Cumberland stood by.

  Brienne started to leave, but before she could get out the door, she heard Avenel distinctly announce to his guests, "I will see you up, Brienne. If you will excuse me, ladies." The familiar footsteps could be heard across die floorboards, and then she felt his strong hand at her waist. From across the room, Venetia stared holes into Avenel's broad back, but there was no disturbing Rose and Cumberland, for they were once again engrossed in their reminiscences.

  "Let the child go to bed, Master Slane. Your kind escort is not needed for so young a babe," Brienne whispered to him through clenched teeth.

  "But this particular young babe has something that I must retrieve. Preferably not in the presence of ladies," he whis­pered back, and she shot him a daring glance before they left the eating room entirely.

  It did not take long to mount the stairs. Once in the yellow bedchamber, his hand fell to her crown and snatched the comb from her hair. Her loosened tresses rippled down her back and around her face in fluffy disarray, and her lips, reddened from the claret she had drunk, peeked out provocatively from the dark auburn mass.

  "Now child, you may find your bed." He took his forefin­ger and held out her chin so that he could gaze at her beautiful face. "I take it by your silence tonight that you do not like my family or my friends."

  "Rose is very much a lady. However, I'm afraid that other woman—"

  "Careful! I will have you know that Lady Venetia's father, the Earl of Culpepper, could make for a very powerful neigh­bor one day," he said, and seemed to watch for her reaction.

  She could not hide the spitefulness in her voice. "I too am the daughter of an earl. Or have you forgotten?"

  "That remains to be seen, wildflower."

  "I insist that Oliver Morrow is my father!"

  "But is he an earl?" He brushed a thumb across her smooth cheek.

  "Why, what else would he be?" She looked up at him with confusion on her face.

  "As I said, my love, it remains to be seen. But I have guests to attend to, and I am afraid that, as painful as that may be to you, I am obliged to return to them."

  "There's no pain for me to bear. I've had too much of your company for one day."

  "One would not have thought so when I first came upon you in the Temple. You appeared rather starved for my com­pany then."

  "I was asleep! I thought I was dreaming."

  "Of me?" He looked down into her face, keeping hold of it with only one strong finger.

  "Of course not!" She spoke truthfully, remembering her vision of Pan just before she awoke. "I am sure Lady Veneda would dream of you if you would but ask her to." She pulled her face from his touch. "But I shall dream of what I wish. Despite being held here like a prisoner, you cannot control that."

  " 'Tis true, I cannot control your thoughts." He seemed to brood for a long moment with this last statement as if he were thinking something through. He sat down on the yellow settee as if to ponder his idea. But when she passed him to fetch a ribbon for her unruly hair, he quickly pulled her onto his lap. Wild-eyed, she looked about the large room for Vivie, but the woman was nowhere to be seen. "But if I commanded your body, I imagine your thoughts would not be far behind. You talk a good game, little one. You lift your nose at me and say you have no use for my lovemaking. But if that's so, then I'll wager you. Kiss me now." He took her fingers of o
ne hand and placed them on his lips. "You say you've been dreaming of someone else. Then kiss me, and I will wager that you will dream of no one else but me from then on." -

  "I will not kiss you, you self-serving beast!" She struggled against him in their age-old game.

  "I am not asking you; 'tis more than that. I am daring you." He held her down effortlessly.

  "It's not worth trying. You have no effect on me." She stopped momentarily to look at him. Had he gone mad? Was there not a woman downstairs who would gladly play his games? Why must he always taunt and trifle with her?

  "Then kiss me. Prove me wrong." He slouched back on the settee and stretched out his long, powerful body so that her buttocks rested easily on his thighs.

  She looked down at his cocky face and wished wholeheart­edly that she could wipe that arrogant smile off his visage. She considered his proposition, seeing the ridiculousness of it, but finally she had to conclude that if, by kissing him this once, he would leave her alone for a while, then perhaps it was worth the risk. Vivie would be appearing soon, so that any scurrilous thoughts he might have of forcing her to go further than one kiss would soon be put to an end.

  "What about your precious guests? I would hate for them to be kept waiting," she said, making one last attempt to avoid him.

  "Cumberland and Rose have no desire for my company to­night. As for the others, none of them are sober enough to realize I have gone. Lady Venetia, of course, might have to wait longer than she would like, but if you're correct, this should not take very long. Just place those sweet lips on mine, Brienne. We will find out how dispassionate our relationship is."

  "This will greatly disappoint you." She lowered her thick lashes. Summoning her strength—for it seemed to go against her nature to kiss this man—she took a deep breath and bent down to where his head rested on the back of the settee. His black lashes lowered over the glowing silver of his irises when her lips touched his, and he was rigidly still as she kissed him fully on the mouth. Despite her self-control, she lingered in the kiss perhaps a little longer than was safe. Inhaling his warm, masculine scent, she felt herself lean limply against the broad muscular expanse of his chest. Before she could re­cover, his hands swept through her hair and held her head to his, not as a gesture of force but as a directive measure. Her thoughts became fogged as she felt a melting sensation be­tween her legs. And that sensation was heightened almost un­controllably when his tongue found its way into her beckoning mouth. She moaned deep within herself, but whether it was because of the battle she knew she was surely losing or from her exalted senses, she could not be sure.

  They kissed until she thought she was surely losing her mind. When they parted, there was no smug, self-righteousness in his visage; rather, there was a desperate, hungry look that made his face appear lean and handsome and gave a wild blue spark to his snowy eyes.

  He sat forward with her still on top of him, and he bent his dark, glistening head over the ivory flesh exposed at the top of her bodice. His lips felt so warm, it was as if their warmth went through to her heart, which was beating furiously. She moaned again but felt hopelessly complacent as he unpinned her stomacher. She watched the woolen triangle fall silently to the carpet as he started in on her laces. Slowly, inch by inch, her stays yielded the tantalizing flesh they held so securely. He laid her back onto the settee and grazed his sun-bronzed hand just over one rose-colored nipple. He looked her full in the face, and when she showed no fear, he placed his hand fully on her breast, possessing its every blossoming curve as he bent down to kiss her once more.

  The sheer madness of the situation was intoxicant enough, but there was no containing the unbridled passion that burst forth from every part of her body. Her nipples grew taut un­derneath his warm, coaxing fingers, and even though her mind might have been saying, "Enough," her body cried and begged for him to go on. To find that ultimate release was the only salvation possible, for without it this was unbearable tor­ture.

  "Ah, my lady, is that you?" Vivie's voice could be heard coming through the dressing room. Avenel's head jerked up just as she entered the room bearing a large tray with a fresh pot of chocolate. Seeing the two of them, Avenel's face granite hard and Brienne's serene eyes glazed with desire, the French­woman blanched and uttered apologies. Immediately she turned from them and fled the room, taking the tray with her.

  The silence that followed was ominous. Slowly Brienne caught her breath, but it was some time before she could sit up and wrap her arms modestly around her chest to cover her bared flesh. She looked on as Avenel stood and scooped up his top coat and silver waistcoat from the floor. She was amazed that she could not remember his taking them off. She looked up as he towered over her, then he slowly bent down and placed a sensuous kiss on the overflowing flesh that her slen­der arm could not possibly cover all of. Shaken and confused, she watched Avenel go only after he stated the obvious in a deep, irreverent voice: "You lose, my lady." Then he left, and she stared at the dosed door behind him for a long, long rime.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  The ball was three days away, and day after day Brienne watched in awe as preparations were made for the event. Rose had been the mastermind of the proceedings. Everything, from what the guests would drink with their salmon mousse to where they would place their cloaks when they came in from the courtyard, fell under her ultimate control.

  Brienne couldn't help but admire Avenel's cousin. Often when Rose poured out tea in the late afternoon or as she directed a footman where to place a vase of pale pink tulips, Brienne pictured her mother doing exactly the same thing so many years before. Rose was actually very close to her moth­er's age, had Grace Morrow still been alive; many wistful thoughts entered Brienne's head on these occasions that ech­oed the same sentiment: "What if things had been different?" It was easy to picture herself with two loving parents at her side, growing up rich and spoiled at the Park, as Lady Venetia had at Culpepper House. Her mother would have been hap­pily married to that mysterious person whose handsome face was painted on her miniature. There would have been proper suitors calling for her, chaperoned weekend visits, and balls to plan. And she would have known exactly what to expect at Avenel's ball.

  Brienne had yet to tell anyone that this ball absolutely terri­fied her. She had been to few social events in her life and never one of this magnitude. How to behave and what to say in the presence of the ton were enigmas to her. The lively conversation that seemed to be an art with the well-bred guests was beyond her grasp. To make matters worse, she knew she would be questioned constantly about her "home­land," and she would have to fabricate replies all evening.

  Lady Venetia had become the bane of Brienne's existence precisely because she'd developed an interest in her. She asked all sorts of confusing questions about her family and what life had been like in the war-torn Colonies, none of which Brienne could answer truthfully or knowledgeably. Even now, as the female guests were seated in the drawing room, Lady Venetia continued to pry from her information about her past.

  "I have heard that in America there are so few women that most of them are married even as children. How is it that you were able to escape such a fate and not become shackled to a Colonial?" Lady Venetia's soft hand stroked her lapdog.

  "I . . . ah . . ." Brienne started but was not quick enough with her answer. As she was doing with embarrassing frequency, Rose interjected an explanation.

  "Brienne can afford to be choosy. Am I not correct?" The pretty woman looked at Brienne, who threw her another grateful look.

  "I suppose that's a luxury not many women can afford." Venetia looked at Brienne's simple worsted round gown and then adjusted the satin ecbelle that ran along her own elabo­rately embroidered floral stomacher. "Especially one who is so obviously less endowed. But I suppose it is worth the sacrifice. Spinsterhood is a small price to pay to leave what must be a heathen land."

  "A heathen land? Lady Venetia, you must be mistaken." Brienne could not swallow her anger this time. The
woman's barbs were becoming sharper every day. Despite her lack of knowledge about the Colonies, she was determined to stand up for herself this time and not force Rose to pave the way. "Some of the finest palaces in die world are in Maryland! While I personally was not raised in such castles, I can tell you that there are very civilized and well-bred people in America who would be soundly shocked by the sad lack of manners found in many of the ton here in England."

  "I never! How dare you speak to me that way!" Venetia's eyes rolled furiously, and even the Pekingese seemed to mimic her by jumping up and barking.

  "Lady Venetia, you must calm yourself. Brienne was not implying—" Rose tried to soothe the ruffled feathers.

  "She was, I tell you. Besides that, she is lying to me. There are no castles in the Colonies! Your cousin is a fool to think I would believe such nonsense! She is a fool and a liar!" Lady Venetia stood up and placed her pet on the floor.

  "Perhaps we could go for a walk through the garden. This has gotten you upset and so unnecessarily." Rose stood up also, but despite her calming demeanor, Brienne was pleased to see her eyes twinkle with amusement when Venetia bent down to attend to her dog.

  She watched on in unremorseful enjoyment as Rose led Ve­netia away toward the gallery. As soon as the carved mahog­any door was shut behind them, Brienne burst into laughter, feeling momentarily relieved.

  " "Tis very funny." Avenel's voice could be heard behind her, and she spun around to find him watching her from the open door to the tapestry room.