"I am sorry I forced you this morning."
Angry color surged over her face. "Forced? Is that what you call your despicable behavior? I hope you come to a bad end, Lyon. You deserve it!"
He watched her gallop down the beach. He didn't follow her. He sat still on Egremont's back and stared up the slopes of the three hills of Savarol Island. Row after row of sugarcane climbed and wound around the gentle slopes. So many souls needed to work the rows. He was rather relieved that he wasn't here during harvest time. He could picture Grainger whipping those sweating black backs when Lucien wasn't around. Then plowing Patricia in the middle of the night when Daniel was sleeping.
What the devil was he to do? He'd mucked up things with Diana, after swearing to her father that he would protect her, take care of her. The sun beat down on him and he dismounted, tying Egremont to the branch of a white cedar. He stripped off his clothes and dashed into the turquoise water. He dived forward, feeling the brief shock of cool water close over his head. The bottom was sandy and firm, the water now like a tepid bath. He imagined himself diving into the cold, muddy waters of the Thames and laughed. A pelican dived expertly into the water some twenty feet from him, emerging with a wriggling fish in its long beak.
"Congratulations, old fellow!"
He flipped onto his back and floated for a while. The sun beat upon his face but the water kept him cool. He could hear nothing, see nothing except that same circling pelican and the brilliant blue sky. He decided he would simply have to seduce Diana, treat her very gently, prove to her that he wasn't a maniac from Bedlam. As for Patricia, well, he supposed he would just have to wait and see. Perhaps he could drop some none-too-subtle comments in that girl's ears, let her know that he knew her secret. Or he could tell Lucien.
Of course he had no real proof. He had seen her, had seen the shadow of a man, knew that they were coming from the overseer's house. The man hadn't been black, of that he was certain. There were no other white men on the island, save himself and Lucien. At least none that he knew of yet. He could hear himself now saying to Lucien Savarol, "I saw your daughter-in-law just before dawn with her lover, though I didn't see his face or her face and didn't see them committing adultery, actually."
Damnation.
He turned over and touched his feet to the sandy bottom. He swam back until the water came only to his waist, then stood and walked through the gently tumbling surf. He didn't see Patricia until he was out of the water, shaking himself like a wet mongrel.
"Good morning, my lord," she called to him, her voice high.
He stopped dead in his tracks. He eyed his clothes. They were neatly piled near Egremont, some thirty feet away. He was perfectly naked. The sun was in his eyes and he shaded them with his hand.
"You are now married, Patricia," he called back to her. "However, I am not your husband. I believe you should take yourself off until I clothe myself."
She laughed merrily. He was the most beautiful man she'd ever seen, she thought, unable to tear her eyes away. Not that she'd seen all that many men, of course. She realized suddenly that Daniel was very likely somewhere near, and pulled her gaze away. "I will see you at lunch, my lord! Not as much of you, of course!" She laughed, mounted an old swaybacked nag, and cantered off down the beach.
Lyon stood quietly, looking after her for a moment. He saw her bring her riding crop on the poor animal's flank, and flinched. Life, he decided while he pulled on his clothes, wasn't simple, even in this paradise. More than one person, and things invariably got mucked up.
He didn't see Tanis in the stable when he returned with Egremont. He wondered if Diana would follow the plan of avoiding him now. He returned to the great house to find Lucien in his library with another white man, one Lyon hadn't seen before.
"Hello, Lyon. Do come in, my boy. Charles Swanson, my bookkeeper; my son-in-law, Lord Saint Leven."
Swanson looked like the young vicar in Escrick, Lyon thought. Narrow-shouldered, slight of build, pale-gray eyes, and strangely enough, very white-skinned, as if his face never saw the sun.
"My lord," said Charles Swanson, "it is a pleasure." His voice was deep and rich, again like the vicar's in Escrick.
Lyon shook the man's hand. The slender bones felt like a woman's in his strong grasp.
"Charles, here, keeps all our accounts in order," said Lucien. "Not an easy task, I assure you."
Lyon wondered briefly where the man lived. In the overseer's house? Could he have been the one he saw early this morning? No, for heaven's sake, he thought, that was ridiculous. The young man looked like an aesthete and somewhat effeminate. He wouldn't have been surprised to see him in a monk's cowl rather than breeches and a white shirt, or hunched over old scholarly volumes in a musky library.
"Did Diana give you a tour, Lyon?"
He wanted to tell Lucien that his daughter had given him a monotonous little speech and then the boot, but he merely nodded.
"Did she also swim with you?"
"No. I believe she wanted to see some of her friends." He smiled. "She deserted me."
Lucien heard nothing amiss in his son-in-law's voice. "I have told Charles that you have inherited Mendenhall plantation on Tortola. He is acquainted with the attorney for the Mendenhall estate, Mr. Edward Bemis."
"Mr. Bemis has seen to everything, my lord," said Charles. "He is a competent gentleman, and honorable. He, ah, knows that you have arrived and are here on Savarol Island."
"Does he, now?" Lyon said. "I imagine that I will meet him soon enough. Perhaps next week, once I learn a bit about plantation life and its workings."
Charles bowed his head in acknowledgment.
"Well, my boy, why don't we join the ladies? It's time for luncheon and I, for one, am ravenous."
They left Charles Swanson at the desk, poring over ledgers. "Where does he live?" Lyon asked once they were alone.
"He has a small house near Grainger's," Lucien said. "Why?"
Lyon shrugged. "I just wondered. How long has he been in your employ?"
"Not long. Just four months. He came highly recommended from Jamaica. Worked for the Barretts, you know, at Greenwood." Lucien paused a moment. "A strange man in some ways. He avoids the sun like the plague and his only request is that he go to Tortola every week. As for his glowing description of Edward Bemis, well ---" Lucien shrugged. "Who knows?"
Who knows, indeed? Thought Lyonel. "Your home is magnificent," he said as they walked up the wide mahogany stairs to the second floor.
"I know. You could transplant it to England, could you not?"
"No," Lyon said as they came onto the veranda. "Its proper setting is here in paradise."
All three ladies were seated at the long table. Diana had changed into a cool muslin gown of soft pink. She avoided Lyon's eyes. As for Patricia, she was eyeing the earl with a knowing look that made him flush a bit. Deborah was frowning toward the black girl Moira.
"My dear," Lucien said, leaning down to kiss his wife lightly on her powdered cheek.
Lyon, watching this, strolled to Diana, and said, "My love." He kissed her cheek, and as he straightened, he saw the glint of anger in her eyes. He grinned. "I told your father you'd deserted me."
"Yes," said Patricia. "He was swimming --- alone --- when I found him."
"Where is Daniel?" Lyon said quickly, aware that Diana was now frowning from him to Patricia.
Patricia gave a petulant shrug. "Likely he is tending a sick slave. There is always something wrong with them. I do hope he washes well before he joins us."
"You may serve the luncheon now," Deborah said.
"Yes, missis," said Moira, scurrying away.
"Impudent little fool," Deborah said under her breath. Lucien had told her in no uncertain terms the previous night that she wasn't to abuse the house slaves, and for many moments she'd simply stared at him, unable to find words to defend herself. In the end, she'd said nothing, merely nodded, her head bowed.
Diana was thinking; Lyon swam naked. She stared a m
oment at Patricia, who was eyeing Lyon hungrily, at least to her mind. Damnable man!
Daniel arrived a few moments later, apologizing for his lateness, spreading his warmth to everyone at the table, even to his wife, who most likely didn't deserve it, Lyon thought.
"I keep forgetting how big you are, Daniel," Diana said, grinning at him. "You make the veranda shrink."
"The curse of my life," he said. "Mother has always wondered how I could become such an oak. She believes me a changeling." He said easily to Lucien, "Thomas had a nasty cut from a machete, sir. Fortunately he didn't wait to tell me. Hopefully there will be no infection."
"Thank you, Daniel. Ah, braised rabbit in molasses. It is one of Diana's favorites, Lyon."
"Just so long as it's not mongoose in molasses," Lyon said. "I awoke on our deserted island to see one of the fellows staring me in the eye. It was most disconcerting, particularly when Diana just laughed at me."
Conversation at the table was pleasant until Patricia asked, "Tell me about your wedding in London. Was it a grand affair? Was the Prince Regent present?"
Diana's fingers tightened about her fork and she shot an agonized look toward her husband.
Lyon said easily, "Actually, we weren't married in London. We decided it would be more romantic to be married at sea. Captain Carstairs did the honors."
"Well!" This from Deborah. "Are you certain the man has the authority?"
"If he didn't, then Diana and I are living in sin," Lyon said.
"Just when did he perform this ceremony?"
"The children are married, Deborah," Lucien said, finality in his voice. "That is quite enough."
"But why didn't you marry in London?"
"Obviously because they didn't wish to," Daniel said in a repressive voice to his wife.
Lyon added, looking briefly toward his very silent wife, "Diana wanted to come home. There wasn't time to plan a formal wedding."
Deborah obviously wasn't satisfied, but she held her tongue.
"Delicious," Lyonel said. "What is this, Diana?"
"Yams and molasses."
"If it sits long enough on my plate will the molasses become rum?"
"I explained rum making to you."
"True enough," Lyon said. "I'd forgotten about the worms." No response, not even a slight smile. She'd lost her sense of humor. He'd make things right again, after luncheon.
"Diana, I want to talk to you."
She was seated on her balcony, staring out to sea, her body still, her expression thoughtful.
"Diana?"
"Yes? What do you want, Lyon?"
"I want you."
"I see. And if I say no, will it matter to you?"
"I should like to speak to you about that."
"Short of jumping over the railing, there is little I can do to stop you."
He sighed and moved to stand beside her, his elbows on the railings. He inhaled the sweet scented air. Without turning, he said, "I suppose I can make excuses --- they'll sound bloody weak to your ears, of course --- but I would like to tell you the truth." He paused, still not turning to face her.
"I suppose I could fling you over the balcony."
He turned at that, leaning back, his elbows balanced on the railing. He grinned at her. "You could try. I believe I should enjoy your efforts."
"Talk, my lord."
"Very well. I was awake very early this morning, before dawn, in fact. I was standing out here, smoking a cheroot. I saw Patricia coming from Grainger's house and he was with her. She was wearing a long cloak and I couldn't see her clearly, but I could tell she was white and young. All I could think about was that she was betraying her husband, she was betraying Daniel, a fine man, and they'd been married such a short time. She became Charlotte to me. I was enraged. I went crazy. I took out that rage on you. I apologize for it. I mean that, Diana. I hope you will forgive me for hurting you."
She sat still as a stone, watching him. His words played over and over in her mind. It was odd, but she'd imagined that something had triggered his memories of Charlotte and driven him to hurt her, a woman, the betrayer.
"It is difficult to accept."
"Which part?"
"That Patricia would betray Daniel with Grainger. He's not a young man, Lyon. Are you certain what you saw?"
"Completely. Actually, I didn't see the man clearly, simply that he was white. I do not believe that Charles Swanson is a seducer, at least he doesn't seem the sort."
"No, not Charles, I think. Are you equally certain it was Patricia?"
He paused a moment. "You mean, did I see her face clearly? No, not really, but who else could it have been? Certainly it wasn't you."
"No, it wasn't me. What are you going to do?"
"Nothing at the moment, I don't believe. What I'm trying to do is to get you to forgive me. What do you say, sweetheart? Another chance for the bedlamite?"
"She should be whipped."
"Yes, I suppose so. I don't wish Daniel to be hurt, and yet ---"
"She will continue until she is discovered? And his hurt is inevitable?"
"Just as mine was, yes. I was a lucky devil, though. I discovered Charlotte's perfidy before we were married."
"What would you have done if you had discovered it after the wedding?"
Lyon stared at a blood red bougainvillea. "I don't know," he said finally. "I truly don't know."
"Would you come with me, Lyon?"
He arched a thick brow. "Where?"
"A private place. A place I spent a lot of time while I was growing up when I was upset about something or wanted to think. I would like to show it to you."
"Do you mean to cosh me on the head and bury my body?"
"No."
"Let's go, by all means."
It was siesta time and there was no one about. They saddled their own horses and Lyon followed her past the cane fields to a rocky, forested area at the southern tip of the island. She said nothing, merely click-clicked Tanis up a narrow, overgrown trail. "We are here," she said, turning in her saddle.
Lyon stared around. They were nowhere, as far as he could see.
"It's a cave," she said as she dismounted.
His eyes lit up. He hadn't imagined anything of the sort on a Caribbean island. The cave had a narrow, low entrance, but once inside, it magically became a huge room, with great stalagmites and stalactites touching in several places. Diana lit a lantern near the entrance.
"I have never brought anyone here before. I have found some bones and jugs that are very old. Probably of the Arawak Indians, though I cannot be certain. Also, I haven't explored the entire cave. There is a passage, but it is too narrow for me to squeeze through. I haven't found another entrance."
"Thank you for bringing me here." His voice sounded disembodied, rumbling, coming back to him even as he spoke.
"I brought you here to forgive you properly."
He began to laugh. It sounded demonic and he stopped abruptly. "Spread that blanket, sweetheart, and I will show you the depths of myWell, you will see."
"Yes," she said, grinning at him, her hand lightly stroking over his chest, "yes, knowing you as I do, I most certainly shall."
"It is chilly in here, Diana. Let's put the blanket near the entrance. You look exquisite with the sun shining on your body."
He stood in front of her for several moments, not touching her, merely looking at her. Then he began to strip off her clothes, very slowly, stroking each inch of her as it was uncovered, then he laid her on the blanket. He stood over her, still fully dressed, and stared down at her. He loved the whiteness of her breasts and belly and the golden tan of her legs and shoulders. He came down on his knees. Lightly, he reached out his hand and circled a nipple.
"Lyon," she whispered, "I feel embarrassed. You are fully clothed."
"Yes," he said, and leaned down to kiss her nipple and take it into his mouth. He laid his hand lightly on her flat belly. He felt the muscles tighten and his fingers moved downward to tangle in the
whorl of dark-blond curls. He found her, moist, swelled, and smiled at her. "I have decided to keep you. You are not cold, are you?"
She felt his fingers caress and probe and stroke. Her hips lifted. "Lyon."
A finger gently eased inside her. Her muscles clenched and she watched him close his eyes a moment. He was feeling her, learning her. It was intensely erotic and she moaned softly. "Please, your clothes."
"I can't, not yet." He opened his eyes. His finger deepened.
"Lyon!" She jerked upward.
Quickly, he opened his britches and lifted her onto him, impaling her, feeling himself so deep that he nearly lost control. Her legs tightened around his flanks, her back arched back against his arms. He kissed her deeply, feeling her take more of him, offering him all of her. He watched her face as he lifted her and lowered her on him. When his fingers found her, her eyes opened wide, and she cried out and he took that cry into his mouth. He was kissing her deeply when she reached her climax. She nearly toppled both of them in her frenzy.
As she quieted, he held her close, kissing her temple, smoothing her hair, stroking her back, even as his manhood throbbed and pulsed, demanding release inside her.
"Diana?"
She gave him a dazed, sated look.
"On your back, love."
He didn't leave her, but carefully lowered her. Then he was astride her, driving deeply, feeling her legs tightly clasp his hips. And it was she, this time, who watched his face at the moment of his release.
"This is very strange," she said, hugging his clothed body tightly against her.
"You are magnificent."
"I suppose that you are also." She lightly nipped his earlobe with her teeth. "You never took off your clothes. I feel terribly exposed."
"You are, and I love it. Your pleasureit moves me, Diana. It makes me feel like I have been given a gift that is as rare and unique as you are yourself."
"But you don't love me, do you, Lyon?"
He was silent. She felt his body stiffen slightly.
"No, it is all right. I don't love you either." That was a lie, but she didn't want his pity. She felt him pull out of her and flinched just a bit.
"Did I hurt you?"
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