"I should strangle you with it," he said icily.
"Emeralds aren't my stones," I said. "The green doesn't go with my eyes."
"You'll wear them tonight, wench, and later on—later on you'll show a little gratitude."
"And if I don't?"
"I'll keep on making love to you until you do."
"In that case, I shall make it a point to show no gratitude," I said in a faintly lilting voice. ,
Nicholas Lyon wrapped his arms around me, standing behind me, holding me in a hug so tight I felt my ribs might crack. He rested his head on my shoulder, breathing deeply, still holding back, scarcely able to restrain himself. His lips brushed the side of my neck, moving up to touch my earlobe. His arms tightened even more, hurting me.
"Dinner—dinner should be ready," I said, barely able to breathe. "I ordered Cook to make all your favorite dishes and serve the best wine. After that long voyage you must be hungry.''
"I am," he replied. "Not for food."
"If you intend to do what you said, you'll need your strength. I suggest we—adjourn to the dining room."
"You're right," he said, releasing me. "Anticipation makes it even better. I've been anticipating for over two weeks— another hour or so shouldn't matter."
The meal was superb indeed, served on the finest Sevres china, two different wines accompanying the lobster tails cooked in butter and duck roasted with a sweet orange glaze. Nicholas had succeeded in temporarily stemming his sexuality, and as we dined his manner was once more cool and detached. He ate with leisurely appreciation, savoring each dish, but I merely toyed with the food on my plate, thinking of our escape plans, trying not to show my apprehension. The emeralds and diamonds glittered in the candlelight, heavy on my wrist and throat. I wondered whom they had belonged to, how many lives had been lost over them before they came into my possession.
"Burke tells me you've been leaving the stockade every day," Lyon said as fruit and cheese were brought in.
"Em and I have been—taking walks in the woods and along the beach."
"Who permitted it? Cleeve?"
"I take full responsibility. I told him you wouldn't mind. You didn't forbid it, Nicholas."
He sliced an apple deftly. "He said you arrived back at the stockade with tangled hair and a soiled dress. He said he thought you were up to something." He put the knife aside and looked at me with piercing blue eyes, the heavy copper wave completely hiding his right eyebrow.
"What could I be up to?"
"What indeed?"
"We walked on the beach and gathered shells. We gathered wild flowers, too. The stockade is—so confined. With you gone I grew restless, Nicholas. Em did, too."
"I see."
"Do you realize I've never been down to town?" I asked, hoping to change the subject.
"I'll have to take you to one of the canteens. You might find it amusing. Burke also said he found you prowling in the wine cellar."
"I wanted to check out the wines so that I could tell Cook which ones to serve tonight. Burke hates me—I don't know why. He'd love nothing better than to stir up trouble."
"That's quite true. Burke is extremely devoted to me— perhaps too devoted. He feels your presence is an intrusion on his domain. He felt the same way about Maria. I'm going to have to do something about him one of these days."
"Do we have to talk about him?" Tasked, deliberately petulant. "If you've finished eating there are—better things to do."
"I quite agree," he said. "You go on up to the bedroom. I'll join you in a few minutes."
My heart was pounding as I went up the stairs. What exactly had Burke told him? I had the feeling much, much more had been said, that Nicholas was deliberately holding back information, that his questions had been very carefully worded in order to elicit a reaction from me. I had been uneasy, had betrayed that uneasiness by speaking too quickly, answering too glibly. Moving across the bedroom, I took hold of one of the bedposts, clinging to it for a moment with eyes closed, tiny waves of panic stirring inside, threatening to build and wash over me with demolishing force.
No, no, I mustn't let it happen. There was too much at stake. I had to be cool and calm. I had to be calculating and strong. If Nicholas Lyon was suspicious, I had to drive that suspicion out of his mind, using the only weapons at my disposal, my beauty, my body. I let go of the bedpost and, pushing aside the mauve and silver hangings, I turned back the mauve satin counterpane with its tiny purple silk fleurs-de-lis. I smoothed the cool white silk sheets and fluffed the pillows, preparing the battleground. That thick, potent sexuality stirring inside him was going to find glorious release, and when it was over, when he was finally satiated, any suspicion Burke might have aroused would be lulled.
I went into the dressing room and removed the emerald and diamond necklace, the bracelet as well, holding them for a moment in the palm of my hand and studying the flashing, shimmering fires. Emeralds might not go with my sapphire blue eyes, but these stones would bring a small fortune in the marketplace, as would the other jewelry he had given me. When all of it was sold, I would be a fabulously wealthy woman. I opened the elaborate jewelry box and added the newest pieces to the collection, dropping them carelessly on top of the pearls and the rubies, the diamond hair clips and the diamond and sapphire necklace he had given to me aboard ship.
As I stared at the collection, I remembered the spectacularly lovely diamond necklace Jeff Rawlins had given me, a gift he could ill afford and one I had been forced to sell after his death. Memories came flooding back, and I was dismayed to find my lashes damp with tears. I brushed them away and closed the jewelry box with a firm snap. Tears were a luxury I couldn't afford. Memories were a hazard I couldn't risk, not now. Standing in front of the mirror, I lifted my arms behind me and began to work with the tiny hooks in back of the bodice, unfastening them. When the bodice finally fell free, I struggled out of the gown and hung it up carefully in the wardrobe, removing the petticoat and shoes, putting them away, too.
I applied dabs of perfume behind my ears, between my breasts, in the curve of my arms, choosing a particularly subtle scent that brought to mind wild sunflowers baking in a hot sun, rich, erotic, provocative. Then I slipped into a nightgown as fine and frail as cobweb, a pale, hazy gold the color of morning sunlight, delicately embroidered with a scattering of miniscule bronze flowers. The thin straps were almost invisible, and the clinging, low-cut bodice provided the scantiest covering, flesh visible beneath, my breasts swelling full, nipples straining against the fragile cloth. The skirt fell in a full, pale gold swirl that only half-concealed my hips and legs.
It was a tantalizing garment, designed for seduction, and although I usually slept in the nude, it suited my purposes ideally tonight, adding an extra bit of provocation I knew he would appreciate. I put out all the lights in the dressing room and, moving back into the bedroom, put out most of the lights in there as well, leaving only a few candles burning, enough to create a pale golden haze, softly diffused. I opened the doors that led out onto the balcony, and a gentle evening breeze caused the draperies to stir with a quiet, silken rustle. Out in the gardens a bird warbled throatily in the night, a plaintive sound.
One hand resting on the door frame, the drapes billowing beside me, I looked out across the white marble railing, watching the treetops swaying faintly in the moonlight. The sky beyond was a deep blue-black, lightly brushed with silver and sprinkled with thousands of tiny, glittering stars. Several minutes passed, perhaps ten, perhaps less, and I was suddenly aware of his presence in the room. I hadn't heard him enter, but I could feel him there, feel his eyes on me as I continued to gaze at the night sky.
When I finally turned, Nicholas Lyon smiled a sardonic smile that curled lazily on his thin lips. He was wearing a loose-fitting garment of heavy bronze brocade that resembled a monk's robe. Unbelted, it fell all the way to his feet, the sleeves very full, the plush brocade embroidered with leafy patterns in an even darker bronze silk. His thick copper hair gleamed r
ed-brown in the dim candlelight, and his eyes were so dark a blue they might almost have been black. He stood with legs spread wide, arms folded across his chest, looking at me with chin tilted down, dark eyes raised, the smile flickering. He exuded an aura of sexuality, thick, languid, smouldering, I gazed at him coolly, unmoved, and my indifference taunted him, as I intended.
"Waiting?" he inquired.
"I'm ready, Nicholas."
He lifted an eyebrow. "You sound less than enthusiastic."
"I'll perform my duty without complaint."
"Duty? Is mat what it is?"
"I'm your captive. I have no choice."
The words goaded him, and they titillated him as well. A man like Nicholas Lyon needed to feel power, needed to conquer repeatedly, and I had known from the first that meek submission would bore him. He strode toward me now in long, purposeful steps, the long robe swaying, and when he placed his hands on my shoulders the long sleeves slipped back, exposing his forearms. His fingers gripped tightly, digging into my flesh, I winced. He smiled.
"I've spoiled you," he said.
"Have you?"
"I've been too good to you, too kind, too lenient. I'm beginning to think I should have taken a stronger hand."
"You're hurting me," I said.
"I'm going to break you."
"You have my body, Nicholas. That should be enough. You'll never have my love."
"You're going to love me," he said.
I shook my head, and his blue eyes grew hard and determined. The challenge was there again, and he was prepared to meet it, to conquer, to taste anew that victory.
"I'm going to force you to love me."
His crisp, metallic voice was as determined as his eyes, and his fingers slid down to my breasts, curling around them, digging into the soft mounds of flesh that seemed to respond of their own accord, swelling under the pressure, nipples tightening. His mouth was a tight, angry line, the anger purely sexual, part of the excitement I had deliberately aroused in him. He squeezed my breasts until I gasped, and then he slung one arm around the back of my neck and parted his lips and slammed them over mine, wrapping his other arm around my waist. He kissed me with a splendid fury that only increased as I refused to yield. Turning me in his arms until I was tilted backward, he thrust his tongue into my mouth, and I had to cling to him for support, my arms around his broad shoulders.
I could feel his fury mounting, mounting, and when it reached its peak, I made a moaning noise in my throat and melted against him, submitting reluctantly. He raised his head and looked down into my eyes, his own dark and gleaming with satisfaction. I gazed up at that harsh, handsome face, the face of a ruthless villain, mouth thin, nose sharp, cheeks lean, brows slanting over eyes dark, dark blue with desire yet still disdainful and mocking. I longed to dig my claws into his cheeks, longed to hit-and kick and hurt. He sensed that. It pleased him. He would conquer now, turn my cool defiance into submission, prove his strength and prowess.
"One day you'll beg for this," he promised.
"I detest you," I said, knowing it was what he wanted to hear.
"You lie."
"I detest you with all my heart and soul." „
"You enjoy these games as much as I do."
"Think what you will."
"I think you're magnificent," he growled.
He released me and stepped back, the need inside him growing, singing in his blood. The sardonic smile flickered on his lips as he looked at me, the creature who would fulfill that need, who would enable him to prove himself and relish his power. He took hold of my wrist and pulled me across the room to the foot of the bed. Then, catching his thumbs in the straps of my nightgown, he gave a jerk and tore them. He took hold of the top of the bodice, ripping it apart, and I stood very still as he continued to tear the delicate garment until it was a heap of gauzy shreds on the floor and I was completely naked. I gazed at him with a cool, passionless gaze, and again his sardonic smile flickered. Lifting me up into his arms, he dumped me roughly onto the bed. I gasped, shifting position on the silken sheets, copper-red waves spilling about my shoulders.
He stood at the foot of the bed, looking down at me, deliberately prolonging his pleasure, savoring the anticipation. Several moments passed before he pulled the robe over his head and tossed it aside. It fell to the floor like a shiny, dismembered bronze shadow. Nude, he padded across the room to put out the rest of the candles, tall and lithe, moving with panther grace, lean muscles rippling beneath the smooth tanned skin. The golden haze vanished, darkness quickly broken by the shafts of moonlight that streamed through the windows.
He moved back over to the bed and stood there for a few more moments, erect, ready, and then, abruptly, he heaved himself on top of me and pinioned my wrists to the mattress and sank his teeth into my shoulder. He took me with brutal abandon, thrusting deep in swift, savage strokes, plundering, conquering, but the victory was all mine. He had forgotten all about Burke, had forgotten everything but the moment, the madness. I allowed myself to respond at last, submitting to his fury, giving in, raking my nails across his back and praying all the while things would go well tonight and this fierce plunder would be his last.
Seventeen
I didn't dare light a lamp, and my nerves were wildly on edge as I dressed in the darkness, the rays of moonlight providing only the dimmest illumination. It was terribly late, well after two in the morning. Corrie had been waiting downstairs in the darkness for over an hour, and I knew her nerves must be in shambles, too. My delay had been unavoidable. After that first fierce session, Nicholas had made love to me again, lazily this time, languorously, deliberately prolonging each sensation until I had been ready to scream. As I slipped the dark blue cotton frock over the ruffled white petticoat, I remembered his husky, amused chuckle as I struggled tensely beneath him, praying he would hurry.
Completely dressed now, I paused, listening. The house was still. I could hear leaves rustling in the garden and, from the distance, the sound of waves. I moved quickly out of the bedroom and into the hall. The jewelry slapped against my thigh, all of it fastened in a small cloth bag securely tied around my waist beneath the underskirts. The hall was very dark, pitch dark, but I moved confidently through the layers of blackness, reaching out to catch hold of the banister, hurrying down the stairs. Every nerve in my body seemed taut, ready to snap, and stark terror loomed, threatening to overwhelm me, but I staunchly held it at bay.
At the foot of the stairs I paused again, peering into the darkness. I couldn't see Corrie. Had she given up and gone back to her room? The poor child must have been paralyzed with fear. I moved slowly down the wide foyer, studying the shadows.
"Corrie?" I whispered. "Corrie, are you here?"
I heard a small, barely audible whimper, and then Corrie materialized out of the shadows and hurried toward me. I caught her in my arms and hugged her. She was trembling.
"It's all'right," I whispered. "I'm terribly late, but it couldn't be helped. You must have been terrified."
"I was, Miz Marietta. I was so scared—scared that Burke was gonna find me. He's been watchin' me. He suspects something, I know he does. I—I have a knife. I slipped into the kitchen and stole it."
She held it up. I could barely see the blade in the darkness.
"I—I was gonna stab him," she said. "If he came prowlin' and found me I was gonna stab him."
"You're a very brave girl, Corrie."
"I'm not. I'm—I'm still so scared my knees are shakin'."
"We'd better hurry," I said. "Em will be waiting. She'll be wondering what happened."
"Are we gonna make it, Miz Marietta?"
"Of course we are," I told her, sounding far more confident than I felt. "Come along now."
We moved on down the foyer, passing the large archways leading into nests of darkness. I had the feeling that we were being watched by several pairs of eyes, but I knew it was merely my nerves. Reaching the front door, I unlocked it and opened it quietly, cautiously, giv
ing Corrie a little shove. She moved outside, and I followed her, pulling the door shut behind me and feeling a tremendous relief as we hurried down the steps. The house had been like a great, oppressive weight bearing down on me, and I felt much better now that we were free of those heavy walls and ceilings.
"We must be quick," I cautioned, "but we must be very quiet, too. There may be a guard posted. Follow me. Keep to the shadows."
Clouds had passed over the moon. The sky was the color of ashes, and the lawns were sable dark, cottages and barracks barely visible. We hurried toward the main gates, skirts fluttering in the breeze. As we reached the gates, the clouds parted. Silvery moonlight flooded the stockade. Em stepped out of the shadows of a shrub, seized our wrists, and quickly pulled us back into the concealment the large shrub provided.
"Jesus!" she whispered frantically. "I thought something terrible had happened! I've been waiting out here for hours!"
"Nick—Nicholas was in an extremely amorous mood."
"He would be, wouldn't he? So was Michael, but I got him so full of rum he passed out before he could lay a hand on me. He was sprawled out on top of the bed, fully dressed and snoring like an ox when I left."
"What if he wakes up?" Corrie asked.
"He's not going to wake up for a long time, luv," Em promised. "By that time we'll be well on our way. There's a guard," she told me, "he's been paradin' around all night, passed right by me a couple of times, so close I could've reached out and touched him. I was so bored waiting for you two I almost tapped him on the shoulder and asked him to chat with me."
"Where is he now?"
"On the other side of the barracks, maybe up on the walkway. If he keeps true to form, he'll be back over here by the gates in a few more minutes. Are you sure you can manage that lock, Marietta?"
Jennifer Wilde Page 27
