Each Time We Love

by Shirlee Busbee

  Her shoulders squared, she said tightly, "It doesn't matter. The fact still remains that I am not going to marry you and you can't make me."

  Torn between despair and anger, Adam stared at her. He had tried everything. Reason. Seduction. He had even confessed some of his deepest feelings for her—feelings he hadn't even known himself until he had said the words aloud—and still she refused him. She had battered his pride and hurt him as he had never thought he could be hurt, and a savage determination to meet the challenge she had thrown at him boiled up. With mingled rage and exasperation he glared at her, and for one of the few times in his life, Adam lost his formidable temper. Where the words came from, even he didn't know, but he found himself snarling, "The simple fact is, my dear, that you will marry me. Either you will marry me within the week or I shall destroy your mother's nice little world. I wonder how you will feel when I tell all her neighbors and friends that she is not the widow of Bias Davalos, but merely a little ladybird whom he never bothered to marry. And that her illegitimate daughter is following in her mother's footsteps." His words were cruel, but he was fighting for his future—and hers, if she would only realize it. Not letting himself be moved by Savanna's white face and shocked expression, his blue eyes cold and hard, he demanded, "How do you think she'll like that? Hmm, sweetheart?"

  Savanna nearly choked on the rage that erupted within her, and springing to her feet, she went for Adam, murder blazing in her eyes. "You blackhearted devil! I'll kill you before I'll ever let you do that to her."

  Adam caught her wrists and they fought wildly before he was able to jerk her to him and kiss her angrily. "No," he said finally, when he had lifted his mouth from her stinging lips, "you won't kill me." A derisive smile crossed his dark face. "Kill the father of your unborn child? I hardly think so! What you're going to do and do damn shortly is marry me."

  Chapter 16

  Adam's prophecy proved correct: four days later, on a bright, sunny afternoon, with a tearfully beaming Elizabeth, a grimly satisfied Bodene and a grinning Sam Bracken looking on, Adam St. Clair married Savanna O'Rourke. The need for secrecy had forced the quintet to travel some distance from Campo de Verde—Sam driving the ladies in an old-fashioned phaeton, Adam and Bodene riding astride. The ceremony went smoothly; on his way to New Orleans, planning for this eventuality, Adam had stopped at a small hamlet north of the city and spoken with the pastor of the tiny church therein and made the arrangements for the wedding. If the pastor noticed that the bride seemed to view her intended husband with something akin to loathing, he allowed the gratification on the other four faces of the wedding party to overcome his misgivings—that and a generous donation by the groom to the Orphans and Widows Fund.

  More for the women's sake than for his own, and to avoid as many raised eyebrows as possible when Savanna's child was born, Adam had declared that there would be no formal honeymoon, nor an announcement of the wedding. As news of their marriage spread by means of various friends and acquaintances, there would be no mention of the actual wedding date. As far as anyone was concerned, the marriage was indeed recent, but how recent was nobody's business.

  While the honeymoon was going to be forsaken, Adam did insist that he and Savanna have some time alone before they returned to Campo de Verde to visit for a few weeks before undertaking the journey to Belle Vista. Savanna appeared as indifferent to the idea of a honeymoon as she had to everything he had proposed since the afternoon he had stated so vehemently that they would marry. Adam felt a strong urge to throttle his dearly beloved.

  On their wedding night, when the travel-weary little party stopped for the evening at a respectable but rough tavern several miles north of North Orleans, Adam suggested that the two ladies share the lone bedroom they were offered and that the gentlemen sleep on blankets outside the door to their room. He had the satisfaction of seeing Savanna's eyes widen with astonishment and he was aware that for the remainder of the evening, she watched him with a puzzled expression on her lovely face. As much as Adam would have enjoyed making love to his bride, he wanted a far more seductive setting than a tiny room with paper-thin walls and a lumpy bed.

  It didn't do Savanna's temper any good to listen that evening, as they prepared for bed, to her mother prattle on about what a considerate, charming young man she had married. Outraged and bitter at Adam's underhanded methods to gain her consent to the marriage, Savanna was in no mood to hear anything good about him. Her eyes glittering with suppressed temper, she opened her mouth to state precisely what sort of an arrogant, crafty bastard Adam St. Clair really was, when she caught sight of her mother's happy face and shut her mouth with a snap. Elizabeth was thrilled with the marriage. Absolutely delighted that her daughter was safely, respectably married to a handsome, generous, well-bred, wealthy young man, and Savanna didn't have the heart to disillusion her. Besides, her argument was with Adam and there was no reason to involve Elizabeth. Giving her mother a fond kiss on the forehead, Savanna rolled over in the small bed and, stifling a yawn, decided that this was probably the oddest wedding night of any bride—imagine sharing a bed with your mother while your groom slept on the floor outside the door. Savanna smiled. Served the insolent devil right!

  When Adam had first mentioned the stay in New Orleans, Savanna had viewed it as another sign of his high-handedness, but realizing that as long as her mother was hovering nearby she would have to keep a civil tongue in her mouth, she was looking forward to the instant the two parties separated. The next afternoon, when the little group split up, the new couple taking the two horses and detouring to New Orleans while the rest, riding in the phaeton, returned to Campo de Verde, Savanna was smiling, the light of battle shining in the depths of her eyes.

  Adam had kept his suite of rooms at the hotel and it was there that he took his not-so-loving bride. If Savanna was impressed with the gracious rooms and elegant furnishings, she said nothing. She was not going to let herself be distracted by such frivolous things as thick, jewel-toned carpets, gilt-edged mirrors, damask-covered sofas, gleaming crystal chandeliers and silk-hung beds.

  Privately she admitted that the rooms were lovely, and under different circumstances she would have been wide-eyed with delight and enchanted with her surroundings. Standing stiffly in the center of the elegant sitting room, she glared resentfully at Adam as he shut the double doors behind him, wishing he didn't look so devilishly attractive in his dark blue coat and buff breeches. Her wardrobe had always been limited, and though she had never longed for frilly gowns of silk and lace, at least never really longed for them, she felt out of place in such grand surroundings wearing her old-fashioned riding habit of plain gray cloth. That Adam, despite their days on the road was garbed in the height of fashion, from the pristine whiteness of his neatly tied cravat to the bright shine on his black boots, didn't make Savanna feel any more comfortable. In her present mood, his very elegance was just one more fault in his already vastly flawed character.

  Reaching up and destroying the cravat that aroused such black feelings within his bride by tearing it from his neck, he tossed it carelessly on one of the marble-topped tables scattered around the room and eyed her consideringly. She had been singularly docile during their ride into the city, but he wasn't fooled—she was pining for a fight. Adam wasn't averse to letting her vent her spleen—after all, in front of her mother she'd had to keep a smile pasted on her face and, though it had choked her, speak to him in polite tones. He grinned. Knowing his bride, he thought she was probably about ready to explode from having had to be nice to him.

  Settling comfortably in a deep chair of straw silk, Adam rested his hands behind his head and stretched out his booted feet in front of him. "Ah, my dear, alone at last," he drawled. "Shall we begin to bill and coo like the lovebirds we are supposed to be?"

  "I don't," Savanna ground out with eyes blazing, "love you! I hate you—you underhanded, calculating bastard!"

  Adam smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Oh, I'm sure you do. After all," he went on
silkily, "all I've done is save you from disgrace and provide my child with a name. Such a despicable crime I've committed."

  Savanna looked away, embarrassment and guilt crawling through her. There was too much truth in his words for her to ignore—even in a temper and spoiling for a fight. She found herself with no weapons against him. His words bit deep and the anger she had erected as a shield against him crumpled. He didn't fight very fair, she thought crankily. How could she possibly rail and shout at him when in the deepest recesses of her heart she knew that she should be grateful for what he had done? Sighing, she walked over to one of the wide velvet-draped windows and looked down at the street below. The words stuck in her throat, but she managed to get them out. "You did an honorable thing, I can't deny it, and m-m-most men in your position wouldn't have gone to such lengths." Her eyes suddenly glittered with unshed tears and she declared passionately, "Unfortunately, you have also chained us together for the rest of our lives. Beyond the child, we share nothing, no real feelings for each other."

  She heard Adam get up from his chair and she stiffened as he walked up behind her. He was standing so close her that she could feel the heat of his big body against her back, and her pulse leapt when his hand rested gently on her shoulder. His warm breath caressed her ear as he bent nearer and said quietly, "Savanna, I do have feelings for you. I know that we started off badly, but since we managed to create a child between us and we are married, don't you think we might try to deal better together than we have so far?"

  Savanna bit down hard on her lip, battling back tears. Adam in a kind mood played bloody havoc with her reasoning and made it difficult for her to remember that he was an unprincipled monster who had blackmailed her into a marriage she most had not wanted. She wanted to fight with him, to hurl angry words at him, but the urge to spin around and throw herself into his arms and seek comfort from his embrace was nearly overpowering and she fought hard against it. She was not going to give him a weapon to use against her. It was impossible, however, considering the state of her treacherous emotions, not to take the olive branch that he so generously offered. The thought of living in a state of constant warfare was not very appealing, and logic told her that in order to survive they must find some way of living peaceably together. Keeping her back to him, she admitted huskily, "It will not be easy—our backgrounds are very different... and I don't believe that your family will quickly forget what my father did to them."

  Adam's hand tightened on her shoulder. "I'm not going to pretend to you that Jason and Catherine will be overjoyed with our marriage, but they are reasonable people. Once they are convinced that you mean neither them nor me any harm, they will accept you gladly for who you are, not for who your father was. As for our different backgrounds..." Adam smiled and, slowly turning her around, linked his hands behind her waist. "Did I ever tell you of my life with the gypsies?"

  Distracted, as he had known she would be, Savanna stared at him, lively curiosity in her eyes. "Gypsies? What are you talking about?"

  Laughter flashed in the dark blue eyes. "Why, my dear, only that I am not quite the pillar of respectability that your mother believes—my early years were equally as harum-scarum and unorthodox as yours. Come, sit on the sofa beside me and let me tell you of Clive Pendleton, Reina, Manuel and Tamara—Catherine's name when we lived with the gypsies."

  Fascinated, Savanna sat beside him on the damask sofa and listened with wide eyes as Adam told her of those long-ago years he and Catherine had spent living with the gypsies. Adam could tell a good story, and since he had considered the entire experience a huge adventure, Savanna found herself listening to an exciting tale. When he finished speaking, Savanna sat there staring at him; he was astonished to see a flicker of respect in the depths of her gaze.

  She lifted a hand and startled him by caressing his cheek. "Was it very hard for you when Reina returned you to the earl?"

  Delighted with her reaction, Adam caught her hand and kissed her fingertips. A quizzical gleam in his eyes, he said, "Not as hard as convincing you to marry me."

  Her face closed up and she glanced away from him. Cursing his impetuousness, Adam rose from the sofa. Loving her as he did, it was all he could do to prevent himself from dragging her into his arms and forcing the response he wanted from her, but, determined to win her heart, he tamped down his baser instincts.

  Adopting a casual air, he said easily, "I suspect that you are longing for a bath and then perhaps a nice dinner, served here in our rooms?"

  Savanna looked at him gratefully, glad that he had introduced such a mundane topic. She was emotionally exhausted and the thought of a long, luxurious bath, followed by dinner in this elegant setting, was alluring. Smiling shyly at him, she murmured, "That sounds wonderful."

  Adam grinned at her and walked over to a corded bellpull. "Madame's wish shall be my command. Especially since the staff of this hotel are noted for their excellence and I have to do nothing but make your desires known to them."

  Adam remained available until everything was in readiness for Savanna's bath; telling her that he felt like stretching his legs and wandering around the lobby for a while, he departed, leaving Savanna in sole occupancy of the suite. Marveling at how splendidly events were moving, Savanna wafted dreamily into the large dressing room which adjoined the bedroom and where her bath had been prepared. It wasn't until she was decadently ensconced in the deepest brass tub of lavender-scented water and frothy bubbles she had ever enjoyed in her life that it dawned on her that Adam was sure to demand intimacy during the coming evening. Thinking of dining alone with her husband in their private set of rooms, and especially of what would happen later, had her heart beating faster and, to her utter dismay, her nipples and loins fluttering with anticipation.

  Seeking escape from the erotic images in her mind, she dunked her head under the water, cursing her vulnerability to him. She forgot to close her eyes or mouth and came up spitting out bubbles and with stinging eyes. That, my girl, she thought crossly as she wiped the soap out of her eyes, is what you get for being such a lascivious slut.

  A few minutes later, her wet hair and body each wrapped in its own towel, she left the dressing room and walked back into the bedroom, intending to find her cleanest and least-crumpled gown to wear for the evening. She stopped in astonishment as her gaze caught the incredibly lovely garments laid out temptingly on the huge bed.

  The negligee was the most delicate, feminine concoction she had ever seen in her life. Of the finest-spun gossamer silk, in a shade that rivaled the color of her eyes, with a deep inset of blond Mechlin lace across the bosom, it was undoubtedly a wicked garment—designed with seduction in mind. Savanna stared at it with longing and trepidation.

  Did she dare to put it on? Mesmerized by the negligee and the peignoir, she approached the bed in a daze. Wonderingly, her fingers ran over the soft, supple fabric of the peignoir, an equally seductive creation in a darker shade of aquamarine with a narrow gold stripe interwoven in the heavy silken material. A wide ruffle of more blond Mechlin lace flowed around the opening and across the hem of the peignoir. There was something so delightfully appealing and feminine about the garments that Savanna, accustomed all her life to the plainest, most practical clothing available, gave in to temptation.

  Throwing her towels aside, she slipped the negligee over her head, sighing as the delicate fabric whispered over her skin. Heedless of her damp hair falling in wild disorder around her face, she raced over to the cheval glass in one corner of the room, her mouth forming a startled O at the sight reflected in the glass. The negligee clung lovingly to every line of her body, every curve, every swell of her lush form clearly outlined, the milky whiteness of her smooth flesh intensified by the rich color of the garment. But it was the placement of the inset that caused her the greatest alarm—her bosom was covered only by a flimsy band of lace, and through the hazy material the tips of her rosy nipples could be glimpsed.

  As she stood there confused and undecided, she heard the out
er door to the suite open and shut, and with something akin to panic she grabbed the peignoir and slipped it on. If the negligee clung and revealed, the peignoir was voluminous, almost modest, the fabric a heavier, opaque silk which completely hid the seductive garment beneath it. Mindful of the disheveled state of her wet hair, wishing bitterly she had not given in to temptation to try on the garments, Savanna nervously pushed the fiery mane back from her face.

  At least the peignoir hid the disgraceful negligee and gave her some degree of composure. But only some degree. She had always taken her own body for granted, but she was suddenly aware of herself in a way that she had never thought possible. The friction of the negligee against her flesh made her remember the feel of Adam's hands on her body and she shivered, liking the sensation of the silk rubbing next to her sensitive skin far too much.

  Hearing the measured footsteps coming toward the bedroom, she froze, her heart beating thunderously in her breast. Embarrassed and uneasy, Savanna faced the doorway, her chin lifted pugnaciously, one hand gripping the neckline of the peignoir together as if her life depended upon it.

  Adam paused in the doorway, the sight of Savanna standing there as he had imagined her so often in his dreams stunning him. He had partially expected to find his gifts torn to shreds and lying on the floor; that she had been unable to resist the allure of the garments pleased him inordinately. She was utterly adorable as she stood there, half poised for flight, half eager to fight, and Adam was suddenly fiercely glad that she was his wife—no matter what underhanded schemes he'd had to concoct to marry her.

  Desire pulsed through him as he stared at her, knowing that under the concealment of the voluminous peignoir she was wearing the oh-so-seductive negligee he had ordered from the modiste. The lace of the peignoir framed her lovely features, caressing the clean lines of her cheek and jaw, the heavy silk falling in graceful lines to the floor, where her bare feet peeped out from underneath the lacy hem. The glow of her red-gold hair was tempered just now by dampness, but here and there the flickering candlelight picked out the gleam of fire in a drying tendril. Even with her hair falling in damp disorder about her slender shoulders, Adam was certain that she had never looked more beautiful or desirable than she did at this moment.