Wild Silver - the Delaneys

by Iris Johansen

  Challenge. It had been he, not she, who had issued the challenge. It had been ridiculous of him to claim anything else. She had wanted only to punish him for doing this to her. No one should be allowed to victimize another human being, and he had victimized both Etaine and herself. It made no difference that he knew nothing about the child. Nicholas Savron’s arrogance was intolerable and she had punished him. Why did it leave her feeling so lackluster and drained?

  She would think no more of him, she decided. She would sleep and gain strength for the struggles to come. She sat up, drew back the filmy bed curtain, and blew out the flame in the oil lamp on the bedside table. Darkness. Sudden, overpowering darkness that smothered and took her breath. She was excruciatingly aware of the closeness of the room, of the locked door holding her captive. She found herself panting, her heart pounding wildly, she was smothering with the sense of her own helplessness.

  Etaine. Was this how Etaine felt when she was attacked by that horrible breathlessness? Dear God, how could the child bear it so patiently? Etaine was a prisoner in so many ways, a prisoner of her illness, a prisoner of the cage, a prisoner of her monster of a father. In her place Silver would have gone mad or broken herself fighting against the bars of her helplessness trying to escape. Yet how much longer could Etaine withstand the kind of treatment she was receiving? She must be freed, and to do that Silver must free herself.

  She suddenly leaned forward, her hand fumbling in the darkness until the lamp was once again lit. That was better. At least the light banished the smothering sensation. She lay down again, drawing the muslin sheet up to her throat and turning on her side to gaze at the oil lamp on the nightstand a few feet away. Seen through the sheer batiste of the bed curtain, the flickering flame appeared like a golden chimera, she thought absently. Would Nicholas return tonight? Probably not. He had told her he would seek out another woman, so she doubted she would see him before morning.

  She was glad, relieved, she told herself. This time alone would allow her to think of Etaine and recover her strength of purpose.

  Silver was asleep.

  Her golden cheek was cradled on the softness of the white muslin of the pillow, her dark lashes forming feathery shadows on the beautiful line of her high cheekbones. She slept deeply, like a child exhausted from a day at play.

  Nicholas stood in the doorway, his hand clenched on the china doorknob, his gaze on the sleeping woman in bed. Dammit, it wasn’t fair for her to look so innocently vulnerable. This was the woman who had stabbed Mikhail with her dagger, who had taunted him with her body, who had confessed to frequenting whorehouses. Why was there no sign of dissipation or corruption on her face?

  He softly closed the door and crossed the room to stand beside the bed. The clean line of her cheek possessed an air of purity in the mellow pool of light radiating from the oil lamp on the nightstand. As he watched, her rose-pink lips parted and she sighed, her cheek moving restlessly on the pillow as if fierce wariness still held her in thrall. How deeply must that wariness be embedded to erect barriers even while she slept. God, no child should feel such a strong need to protect herself, he thought with a strange tightness constricting his chest.

  Child. He had not thought of her as a child before this. In spite of her youth, she had seemed as totally adult and womanly as any Eve or Delilah. While she was awake he had seen only the strength and the fire of her. Hell and damnation, that was all he wanted to see. He didn’t want to think of her as a child growing up torn between Indian and white and yet wanted by neither. He didn’t want to remember how painful it was being uprooted from the land you loved and sent to live among strangers. All he wanted was to lie down beside her in this bed and lose himself in her body. It was passion not tenderness he wanted from Silver. Yet he couldn’t deny it was tenderness he was feeling for her now. Aching poignant tenderness that was almost unbearable in its intensity. Unexplainable, frustrating tenderness. His hand impulsively reached out to touch the flowing richness of her hair.

  Then he stopped, his hand dropping to his side. His wish not to wake her was as unexplainable as the gentleness coursing through his veins. He had come here tonight to begin the first foray in the battle to which she had challenged him. In the past hours he had indulged himself with two bottles of wine and the cloying attention of several voluptuous women. The wine had only made him morose and the women had no effect upon him whatever. It was Silver Delaney he wanted and Silver Delaney he would have.

  But he knew now he would not have Silver Delaney tonight.

  He turned down the wick of the crystal-prismed oil lamp, blew out the small lingering flame, and moved toward the door in darkness. His Cossack training told him he was a fool to let an enemy rest and gain strength, and his body told him he was worse than a fool not to appease the lust besetting it. He smiled crookedly as his hand closed on the knob of the door. Oh, well, it was said that the angels had a special blessing for fools and madmen, and God knew, he had need of all the help he could get from that elite circle. He would search out an empty stateroom and lie chastely in its bed, planning his campaign against the dubious virtue of Silver Delaney.

  The thought of chastity in connection with himself caused his smile to become a chuckle of genuine amusement as he quietly slipped out of the stateroom and locked the door behind him.

  “Awaken, sweet damsel.” A knock had sounded on the door and the deep masculine voice that immediately followed was definitely not that of Nicholas Savron. “I’ve brought you a breakfast fit for the gods. Well, perhaps not the gods, they were noted for very peculiar tastes at times, but certainly fit for anyone who inhabits this mortal plane.”

  Silver sat up hurriedly, pushing an unruly strand of hair behind her ear and automatically pulling the sheet and velvet spread up to her throat. She was just in time, for the door was unlocked and a handsome young man strode into the stateroom carrying a tray, kicking the door shut behind him with one elegantly shod foot. “I hope you’re hungry. Mikhail insisted you must have everything from eggs to fried fish.” His bright blue eyes gleamed with both amusement and curiosity. “I told him it was very foolish of him to give you added nourishment, considering what you did to him on only schoolroom fare, but Mikhail seldom listens to me. He considers Nicky the only person who deserves his attention.” He set the tray on the bedside table, his gaze appraising her with frank interest. “You don’t appear lethal. I find it difficult to believe you stabbed Mikhail and put Nicky to flight.”

  “Who are you?” Silver asked bluntly.

  “My apologies.” The young man nodded formally. “I’m Count Valentin Marinov, and I’m delighted to make your acquaintance. Of course, I’d be more delighted if you’d tell Nicky what he wants to know so that we can return to Russia.” His gaze wandered to her smooth, naked shoulders only half concealed by the velvet spread she was clutching. “You may find it difficult to eat unless you release your fierce grip on that coverlet. Are you, by any fortunate chance, naked beneath that spread?”

  Her eyes flickered warily. “Yes.”

  “And still Nicky left you? How interesting.” He walked the few paces that separated him from the large mahogany armoire. “And unprecedented. Tell me, do all young American ladies sleep unclothed?”

  “I don’t believe so.”

  “Pity. I thought for a moment I’d found a reason to stay here in spite of the abominable climate.” He opened the armoire, took out a dark green velvet robe, and tossed it onto the foot of the bed. “This is Nicky’s, but I’m sure it will look far better on you.” He turned his back to her, folding his arms across his chest. “Do you notice what a gentleman I’m being? That’s because Mikhail warned me he’d squash my head like a walnut if I insulted you in any way. What magic did you work on the poor fellow?”

  “None.” Silver threw the covers aside, stood up, and reached for the robe. She slipped it on and found it was far too big. Still, the material did feel like a soft, sensuous caress on her flesh, and the scent … She curiously lifted h
er arm and sniffed at the velvet sleeve. Tobacco, soap, and the faint hint of musk she already identified with Nicholas Savron. It was like being sheathed in the man himself, she mused. Then she felt the hot color stain her cheeks at the thought.

  “May I turn around?” Valentin asked politely.

  “Yes.” She finished buttoning the robe and hurriedly combed her fingers through her hair as he turned to look at her. She did not care how she appeared to Nicholas or any of these men, she assured herself. It was only that it was vaguely unpleasant to feel so disheveled and untidy in front of anyone.

  “Lovely,” Valentin said softly. “That color is ravishing with your complexion. Nicky tells me you’re half Indian.”

  “Are you sure he didn’t say savage?” Silver asked dryly.

  Marinov’s eyes twinkled. “I don’t believe that word was used, though perhaps the implication was there. He was quite savage himself last night when he joined our party after he left you. I don’t suppose you’d care to divulge what happened to make him so bad-tempered?”

  Silver smiled ironically. “Perhaps his highness felt insulted by a rejection from one so far beneath him.”

  Marinov’s amusement faded. “Not Nicky. He’s had to battle too many insults and snubs himself to knowingly offer one to someone else for reasons of birth.”

  “Why would a prince suffer insult?” she asked in disbelief.

  “His father was a prince, one of the most powerful boyars in all Russia, but his mother is the daughter of Igor Dabol, a Cossack leader of the Kuban who raised himself from serfdom by becoming the most superb fighter in the steppes.” Valentin’s lips twisted in a sardonic smile. “A boyar does not wed the daughter of a serf, and, if he does, the child of such a marriage is not accepted warmly by the nobility.”

  “And by the Cossacks?” Silver aked slowly.

  “Among the Cossacks any man is allowed to prove himself, and Nicky was leading one of Igor’s bands when he was only sixteen. He was chosen as Igor’s successor and would have become—” He broke off and slowly shook his head. “You’re too curious. Nicky wouldn’t approve of me discussing this with you. Why don’t you sit down and eat that breakfast Mikhail ordered for you?”

  She sat down and rolled up the wide sleeves of the robe. “You’re of the nobility and yet you’re evidently his friend.” Her gaze lifted to meet his. “Why?”

  “You know, you have truly magnificent eyes,” he said absently. Then he shrugged. “Why does any friendship begin? We were in the army together. God knows, we’re nothing alike. He’s rich and I’m poor. He’s reckless and I’m cautious. He has the soul of a poet and I have the soul of a sybarite.”

  She simply looked at him, waiting.

  He suddenly laughed. “Very well, he’s the best friend I’ve ever had. We’ve fought together, gotten drunk together, even cried together. He’s never failed me. Is that what you wanted to know?”

  “Yes.” It was as she had thought. Nicholas Savron was not a man to let down a friend or break a promise. If he could inspire loyalty in men like Kuzdief and Marinov, then his promise was even more binding than she had first believed and the weapon in her hands far more powerful. “That’s exactly what I wanted to know. Why did you bring me my breakfast? I would hardly expect a count to lower himself to act as a servant.” She picked up the fork beside the plate. “Though I’ve never met a count before. Perhaps you all—”

  “You’ve never met a count before?” Marinov interrupted. “But what about …”

  She glanced up. “What?”

  He studied her thoughtfully. “Nothing. How’s the fish?”

  “Very good.” She began to eat swiftly and with enthusiasm. “You didn’t answer me.”

  “Oh, I was curious.” He stood watching her, a slight frown wrinkling his brow. “It’s the only flaw in my otherwise perfect character. Actually, Mikhail was going to bring your breakfast, but I persuaded him to let me do it instead. Nicky is giving permission only to Mikhail and myself to come into the cabin.”

  “I see.” She finished the fish and eggs and began eating a large fluffy biscuit. “Am I to be allowed out of the cabin?”

  He lifted a brow at the almost empty plate in front of her. “There’s certainly nothing finicky about your appetite. I thought abducted ladies were prone to languish and swoon.”

  “I don’t know how to languish and swoon.” She finished the biscuit. “Perhaps you’d be kind enough to show me.”

  His delighted laughter rang out and was so contagious that Silver found herself smiling in return. “No?”

  Marinov shook his head, a smile still lingering on his lips. “I believe I can see why Nicky was thrown into a tumult. I’m afraid swoons are not acceptable in dashing young men of impeccable lineage. You’ll have to be tutored elsewhere.”

  “Too much trouble. I’ll just have to get along as I have been.”

  He chuckled again. “You don’t seem overly worried about your situation.”

  Her gaze was direct. “My situation will change soon. I will not let myself be kept here. In the meantime, there’s no need for me to starve myself.”

  He glanced at the crumbs on the tray. “Very sensible. May I add to your comfort in any other way?”

  “A bath,” she said promptly. “And my clothes cleaned and pressed.”

  “Anything else?”

  “I want to go for a walk.”

  He frowned. “I don’t know. Nicky—”

  “Is not here.”

  “True. But when he does make his appearance, he’ll probably have a head as big as a paddle wheel.” He grimaced. “He was drinking wine as if it were water last night.”

  “Then he deserves to suffer.”

  “But I don’t, and he has a tongue that can sting like frostbite when he’s displeased.” He bent to gather her discarded clothing from the padded bench at the foot of the bed. “I’ll take these and give them to a servant to clean, and arrange for a hip bath to be brought to you, but we’ll have to see about your little promenade.”

  “There’s no reason—”

  “No,” he said with surprising firmness. “My dear Miss Delaney, you will please quit pushing me where I don’t wish to go. I get more than enough of that from Nicky.”

  She studied him with amusement and the beginning of respect. Marinov was stronger than she had first thought. Then the amusement vanished as she realized that this meant Nicholas must also be stronger to merit Marinov’s loyalty. “My name is Silver. May I call you Valentin?”

  “I am honored,” he said warily. “I think. You aren’t, by any chance, attempting to seduce me, are you?”

  “No,” she said, looking at him in surprise. “I don’t know how to do that either.”

  “No? I understood that—” He broke off. She was gazing at him with clear-eyed honesty that was as guileless as it was bewildering. There was something wrong here. The girl before him was like no other he had ever met, and he did not understand her. Boldness and innocence did not usually walk hand in hand in his experience, but he had seen both qualities in Silver Delaney. “Perhaps a small walk would do no harm.”

  “Where is she?” Nicholas asked tersely as he strode down the deck toward Valentin. “For God’s sake, I didn’t tell you to give her the run of the boat.”

  “She wanted to take a walk,” Valentin protested innocently. “And as you weren’t stirring, I decided someone should escort her.”

  “And then you promptly let her wander off by herself.”

  “You malign me.” Valentin shook his head mournfully. “She isn’t by herself and I know exactly where she is.”

  Nicholas gritted his teeth and immediately regretted it as the aching throb in his head tripled its tempo. “Valentin …” He spaced each word carefully. “Where is she?”

  “The last I saw of her she was up in the pilot house steering the Rose.”

  “What!”

  “Not by herself,” Valentin said soothingly. “Robert is with her, of course. He appears t
o be quite proud of her progress. He told her she’d make a fine pilot given a year or two on the Mississippi.”

  “I didn’t bring her aboard the Rose for her to apprentice as a riverboat pilot.” Nicholas looked up at the pilot house perched like a tiny gingerbread cottage on the Texas deck. “And how the hell did she get Robert to let her invade his sacred domain? He doesn’t let anyone up there.”

  “I’m aware you have another apprenticeship in mind for her,” Valentin murmured, his gaze following Nicholas’s to the pilot house. “And I’m sure that any of Madam LaRue’s ladies would be a fitting tutor for the occupation you’ve chosen for her.”

  There was an edge to Valentin’s voice that caused Nicholas to look at him sharply. “What is that supposed to mean?”

  Valentin’s gaze remained on the pilot house. “It means I think you should limit your vengeance to Dominic Delaney. Silver told me a few things about herself, and her life hasn’t been easy. Did you know she was left on the Delaneys’ doorstep at Killara and they rejected her and sent her back to her mother’s tribe? Isn’t it possible to let her go?”

  “No.”

  Valentin’s expression was troubled. “There’s something wrong, Nicky. She’s not …” He shrugged helplessly as he searched for words. “What I expected.”

  “She’s not what I expected either,” Nicholas said tightly. “But that doesn’t mean—” His fist suddenly crashed down on the wooden rail. “What is there about her that’s making all of you turn soft as bonbons? First Mikhail, then you, and now—”

  “You?” Valentin eyed him shrewdly.

  “I assure you I’m feeling not at all soft toward Silver Delaney.”

  “No assurance necessary.” Valentin chuckled. “Your ‘hardness’ toward her is more than obvious.”

  Nicholas cast him a quelling glance. “I was referring to Robert. How did she mesmerize our young river pilot?”

  “Why don’t you go see for yourself?” Valentin asked softly. He straightened away from the rail. “In fact, I believe I’ll go with you. I told Silver I’d be back in an hour anyway.”