Till Dawn Tames the Night

by Meagan Mckinney

  He flung the scissors far over the edge. "You don't think after the work you made of that banana I'd let you keep them to try them on me, do you?"

  "But now I have nothing left," she gasped.

  "You've got one thing." He tweaked her locket as he passed to return to his seat. "Ironic as that is, since the locket rightfully belongs to the Viscount Blackwell."

  "Peterborough?"

  He smiled, not answering.

  She stared at him, curiosity getting the better of her. She wanted to ask him about the viscount, but it was clear from his expression that now was not the time. As if to change the course of her thoughts, he motioned for her to take her seat. She looked down and again became self-conscious of her dress. She needed to squelch the urge to tug up her corsage.

  "I must change my gown," she insisted.

  His gaze flickered over her attire, pausing slightly where the sheath was tied beneath her breasts. "No, leave it on."

  She was just about to protest when he admitted, "You don't know how beautiful you look in it, Aurora. Truly beautiful. So I—ask you to leave it on."

  His tone surprised her. It was almost respectful.

  "Please sit and have breakfast with me." He rose and held out her chair. She was so taken aback by his man­ners that she found herself complying before she could stop herself.

  After Tsingtsin had served, Vashon said, "I have a sur­prise for you today, little wren."

  She glanced at him, still distrustful. "And what would that be this time? An abduction by Charon? A grand tour of Hades? To be honest, Vashon, I don't think I could endure another surprise from you."

  He laughed. "Yes, I suppose I have given you a few too many. But this one, I think you'll like." He pushed a small inlaid zebrawood box across the table to her. It was such an elaborate little coffer that she was amazed she hadn't noticed it before.

  "This looks too small to be filled with centipedes . . . or do they come in sizes I don't know about?" She raised one eyebrow, taunting him.

  "I assure you there are no centipedes in there." He smiled. "Open it."

  "Knowing you, I don't dare."

  He chuckled. "Open it. It's a present for you."

  "But why would you give me a present?"

  "Because it's your birthday."

  She stared at him, an embarrassed flush staining her cheeks. "It couldn't possibly be my birthday. You know I haven't got a birthday."

  "You do now. I declare today your birthday. So open my gift."

  She glanced at the box, but she just couldn't bring her­self to open it. Looking up, she said, "If it was as simple as all that, I would have given myself a birthday long ago."

  "But you can't give yourself one. Someone else must give it to you. And it begins with a gift." He pushed the box closer to her until it was nearly in her lap.

  She didn't know what to say. Was he playing some kind of cruel joke on her, callously teasing her about her inauspicious beginnings? Or was he truly being so thoughtful as to give her a birthday because he knew she didn't have one? She bit her lip, looking deep into his eyes for any signs that he was making fun of her. When all she could see was his amusement over her perplexity, she decided to summon her courage and open the box.

  With great trepidation she lifted the lid. Expecting all sorts of monsters to come crawling out of it, she was quite surprised to see instead a heavy gold-and-ruby chain nestled in a bed of scarlet satin. When she picked up the chain, she found an ornate brass key dangling on it.

  "Pardon its simplicity, Aurore," Vashon whispered, "but what does one give a woman too beautiful for jew­els?"

  She looked up at him, the chain falling over her trem­bling fingers. In her entire life she couldn't ever recall anyone doing such a thing for her. The chain was cer­tainly lovely, but presenting it to her as a birthday gift was probably the greatest thing she'd ever received. And coming from Vashon—Vashon who had kidnapped her and killed for her, fought with her and made love to her —she could hardly bear the emotion that was suddenly blossoming within her. Again she was reminded of that man who had helped Benny through his trials, that man whom she thought she could love. Now, as she stared across the table at Vashon, she suddenly accepted that he was the man she did love.

  Tears helplessly welled in her eyes, and because she didn't want him to see them, she rose to her feet and dashed toward the house. She got halfway across the ter­race before he caught up with her.

  "What is it?" he asked, grabbing her into his arms. "Have I offended you so much that you must run away? Are you disappointed? Do you think the necklace pal­try?"

  "No, no, the necklace is too beautiful!" she cried.

  "Then what is it that has you in tears?"

  She glanced at him and hoped he couldn't see the des­peration on her face. He'd done the most despicable things to her, seduced her, abducted her, humiliated her. But prompted by this one gesture, she knew that sud­denly and irretrievably, she had fallen in love with him. And she knew, too, that with that came vulnerability, even terror.

  "Vashon, why did you do this for me?" she gasped.

  "I wouldn't have if I'd thought this would happen." He smiled wryly and touched a tear clinging to her lashes. "It's too easy to move you, love. You're like a child sometimes."

  "Well then, I must be your perfect complement, be­cause it's impossible to move you," she said bitterly. She looked at him and knew he wouldn't find favor with her next words. "But yet, I recall you were moved once."

  Just as she expected his voice turned rigid and cold. "What happened on Grand Talimen has nothing to do with this. That night, by both our accounts, should never have happened."

  She fingered the necklace, hopelessness eating away at her heart. With a sob she said, "As cursed as it is, it hasn't been that easy to forget, and I dare you to say that it has."

  "It has," he said tersely.

  She looked at him, but he wouldn't meet her gaze. As if trying to change the mood, he took the necklace from her numb hands and fastened it behind her neck.

  "I think we should walk on the beach this morning. Are we done with breakfast?"

  His fingers were rough against her skin, but still she ached for them. What had she ever done in her pitiful life to deserve this wretched, unwanted desire? Had it been running from John Phipps? Was God punishing her for turning down John's righteous offer by throwing her into Vashon's cold embrace? She looked down at the brass key dangling heavily between her breasts. She was curious about it, but she hadn't the heart to ask him about it now.

  "Shall I show you Dragonard's beach?" he said softly.

  "Not today," she answered, suddenly feeling ill.

  He pulled her into his arms. "Let's forget this, and go down to the beach. I've something to show you."

  "I really—"

  "Please."

  Their gazes met. She moaned and closed her eyes. How perfectly he fit the role of a rogue; though she knew bet­ter than to go with him, he dazzled her into compliance.

  "All right," she said, knowing herself to be every kind of fool.

  The corner of his mouth lifted in a smile. "Good." He escorted her back to the table.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Was there really a place as beautiful as Mirage? Or was it all something she had dreamed, an island she'd created out of longing and imagination? Aurora began to under­stand more and more why Vashon loved it so. Mirage's beauty grew every time she explored it. And at times such as now, as she sat watching Vashon walk on Dragonard's black beach, she wondered if the island was truly an illusion. If she embraced it too closely, would she only hold fistfuls of sand?

  Vashon left the gentle surf and returned to where she sat by the sea grape. He walked toward her, glistening with seawater, his black locks an exotic contrast to his broad sun-bronzed shoulders. Wet, his white trousers were almost transparent, and as he came nearer she could see every dark hair on his thighs, and even more, if she'd not had the discretion to look away. There was one thing a
bout Vashon she knew only too intimately. No one could ever dispute his manly endowments.

  "Come into the water with me," he said, holding out his hand.

  She shook her head. "I can't."

  "Why not? Are you concerned about your dress?"

  "Partly." She tried to remain cool.

  "Bother the gown. If you're really that concerned, take it off."

  She gasped and looked at him. He never failed to get her attention. "I certainly will not!"

  "Shall I rip it off you? The dress is exquisite but—"

  She crossed her arms protectively over her bosom and dared him to try.

  He only laughed.

  "Come into the water with me, Aurore."

  "You know I don't swim. Is this why you asked me here? To drown me?" She raised one eyebrow.

  "Don't think I haven't been tempted." His lips twisted in a wry smile. "But not today. Come along, there's a whole world for you to see out there. Let me show it to you." He pulled her to her feet.

  "Vashon," she protested, "it's hardly proper for a lady to bathe in public—"

  "Ah, yes, another slap in the face of propriety." He pulled her across the black sand. "You'd best be careful, they may yet show you the door the next time you pa­tronize Almack's."

  She laughed, unable to help herself. "Somehow I don't think that difficulty will present itself."

  He dragged her to the edge of the surf, but she refused to ruin the costly gown. Finally in frustration he picked her up and carried her into the surf, keeping her skirts clear of the water.

  "This is insane!" she said, clinging to his strong, corded neck.

  "Look down, do you see them?" he whispered. She tipped her head and peered through the waist-high crys­tal-clear water. Several large fish, the color of rainbows, slipped through Vashon's legs. She'd never seen anything like them.

  "Why, they're lovely. They look just like angels," she whispered in awe.

  "Yes, angels."

  She put her hand in the water. Another fish, a brilliant cobalt-colored one, flitted up and bumped her palm. Frightened, she snatched it back, then giggled at her folly. She turned to Vashon, but she wasn't prepared for the expression on his face. He was staring at her so in­tensely, he fairly took her breath away.

  "Vashon—" she began, but he didn't let her finish. He lowered her legs until her feet touched the sandy bottom and her dress clung wetly to her hips. Then he pulled her to him and kissed her like a sinner seeking salvation, the doomed begging for redemption. In her mind she thought about fighting, but it would be useless. The way he so violently held her to him, he'd refuse to let her go.

  But if she didn't pull away, she didn't succumb either. She was too afraid of him, afraid for the same reasons she was afraid of Mirage. Her entire life she'd feared being left with nothing. Her father had given her fistfuls of nothing when he abandoned her at the Home. And for all John had offered, she knew in time he'd take away the few things she did have: her poems, her Perrault, her locket; he'd immure her in her imagined virtue, and then she'd find herself more alone than she'd ever been, adrift in a desert filled with loneliness in place of sand.

  Yet now there was Vashon. And as his lips demanded more and more of her own, she wondered if she took him to her, would he be the one to save her from all the loneliness? It was wrong, she knew that. He offered no family, no neat little cottage, no marriage vows, not even love. Yet what did she really know of any of those things, least of all love? The most she ever knew about love came from Mrs. Bluefield, and as wonderful as her mentor had been, Mrs. Bluefield had always been more generous with guidance and instruction than with affection. In truth, she wanted something she knew nothing about. So why did she want it at all, let alone so desperately?

  When they parted, she clung to his embrace, terrified all over again, terrified of losing him, and worse, of never having him. He seemed to indulge her, for he held her and let the water lap against them, and let the exquisite Caribbean seascape melt to oblivion until she felt there was nothing but him. The moment went on for an eter­nity, yet too, it seemed only a second. To preserve the spell, she slid her arms around his neck and savagely held him to her, her cheek against the pounding of his heart. But she should have known it would be all too fleeting.

  "Little wren, what is this?" he said, obviously sur­prised by her passion.

  "Hold me, Vashon," she whispered against his warm, solid chest.

  "Since when are you so anxious to have me hold you?" He playfully tugged on her locket.

  "You were right, no one ever held me at the Home."

  The confession was out before she could stop it and after it was made, she didn't dare look up and watch his reaction. She knew better than to ask things of him, be­cause she couldn't bear to ask them only to see the frost in his eyes, only to feel him pull away. Yet she thought she might snap if he left her now, so she decided upon a rash course of action, unleashing a passion she'd never thought was in her. Her lips turned hungrily to his while her hands clutched him, clinging to his shoulders as if she were drowning.

  Brutally he ended the kiss, pulling away as if he'd found himself embroiled in something he hadn't meant to be a part of.

  Crumpling, Aurora looked away, out to the cool blue of the Caribbean as if it offered a balm that could soothe her.

  "What is it about you?" he whispered harshly. "I feel like I'm mad when I'm around you."

  "Is that what this is? Madness?" Tears burned again in her eyes. She was hurt so deeply she was surprised she could even feel hurt anymore.

  Of course, he was to blame. It hadn't been right for him to kiss her. And now he hadn't even left her with the grace to feel seduced, especially when she had just so eloquently proved how much she'd wanted him to hold her and kiss her.

  "Yes, this must be madness," he whispered. "You have the uncanny ability to make me want to kiss you even though I promised myself to leave you alone."

  "So you may break this promise and kiss me, but I may never kiss you back?" Quietly she wiped a tear from her cheek.

  "I want you to kiss me back, but I don't want to see that look on your face."

  "And what is that look?" she asked, crying once more.

  "That look that demands to be loved." Angrily he turned and slammed his hand across the water, making a long splash. "Understand this, I can never love you, Au­rora. There is no place in my life for love."

  "Then your life is unworthy of living," she whispered. "But, of course, by your every action and word you've demonstrated that you already know that." She began to move away, but he grabbed her arms.

  He held her in front of him and said, "Look, it's obvi­ous you don't know what to make of me, and I certainly don't know what to make of you. So let's quit this. Good God, I don't even know why I want you. You're beauti­ful, I'll admit, but I've had my share of beautiful women and they've never had me this crazy."

  Her face was taut with unexpressed emotion. "It's per­fectly clear why you want me, Vashon. I'm a challenge. A thing to be conquered. You've never had someone like me before, and when I'm no longer a challenge—"

  "But you're not a challenge." His eyes forced her to recall that painful night in Grand Talimen. "I have had you, and though the experience should have cured me, it's only made me want you more."

  "Could you love me?"

  He stared at her as if she had just uttered a forbidden curse.

  Her voice wavered. "The question is not do you love me, nor is it will you love me. You've made that clear enough." She looked at him and the tears in her eyes began to fall again. "But could you—?" Her voice broke with a sob. Bitterly, as if she herself recognized the folly of her words, she lashed out. "But why am I asking this at all? You've more than proved you've not the ability to love anyone."

  "I'm not the man for you." He shook her. "I can't be. Don't you understand that?"

  "I've no illusions about your character."

  "This is out of hand." He tipped her chin up and wiped a tea
r with his thumb. "The only thing to do is end this right here and now. Tell me"—he forced her gaze to lock with his—"have you any more information about the Star? If you say you don't, Aurora, I'll take you at your word, and you can sail away on the Resolute with Flossie."

  She looked at him, her heart breaking in two. If she helped him, she would never see him again; if she didn't, this torture would continue until she was completely de­stroyed. Suddenly she felt as if she were faced with the decision of a quick death or a slow one.

  She averted her eyes, too hurt even to answer him.

  "Tell me, Aurora. Tell me what you know and you'll be going to St. George's this week."

  "I—I'm not sure—" she said, her voice catching.

  "What do you mean, you're not sure?"

  She shook her head. "I don't know what you want. I don't know what I know."

  "Then we'll go back to the house and talk. If you're honest with me, I'll know it. I'll take the information you can give and send you back with Flossie." He took her hand, his face as grave as she had ever seen it.

  Woodenly she followed him out of the glittering tur­quoise surf, and in her grief, she forgot once more to ask him about the key.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  An angel from heaven came tumbling down

  And asked the way to Aran

  "I've come to find my long lost Star

  Can you help me with my errand?"

  Lizzy Lizard sat and smiled

  And stared across the sea

  "I know the way

  But cannot tell

  So silly, silly me!"

  She was finally in the dragon's lair.

  Vashon's apartments were done in malachite, black, and gold, and were executed with a richness in which even the Regent would have found himself at home. The antechamber possessed the only fireplace in the entire household, and because it was hardly ever used, it was covered with an enormous Thomas Hope fire screen of swags, rams' heads, and arrows.

  Vashon motioned her to a wicked-looking chair with chimera arm supports, and unmindful of her wet skirts, she sat on the chair's costly black silk squab cushion. She watched him as he went to a gilt-and-ebony desk and rolled out a detailed map of the world. It was obvious he planned for her to show him where the emerald was, as if she could just rise and point to the spot. She suddenly knew even if she could do that, she wasn't sure she wanted to.