Surrender to the Fury

by Connie Mason

  “WE DON’T HAVE TO BE

  ENEMIES, AIMEE.”

  Her animosity was so real, Nick could almost touch it. Yet there was more than hatred between them.

  Aimee held her breath as Nick walked toward her—broad of shoulder, hard and lean, undeniably male. “I never wanted to hurt you,” he said softly. “We shared something special that night.” His eyes traveled down the length of her. “You’re still exquisite.”

  Aimee closed her eyes, and when she opened them, Nick was standing so close that his warm breath fanned her cheek. “Let me take away your anger.”

  Before she could fling back a retort, his mouth closed hotly over hers.…

  SURRENDER

  to

  the FURY

  CONNIE MASON

  © 1998, 2011 Connie Mason. All rights reserved.

  Contents

  Copyright

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Epilogue

  Prologue

  Aboard the Dixie Belle 1859

  He strolled into the smoke-filled room at the stroke of midnight. The width of his shoulders first caught her attention, then his eyes, which were an incredible, startling green, fringed with long, thick lashes as black as his hair. Beneath the superfine material of his exquisitely tailored suit, his body was strong, almost leonine. He strode through the crowded gambling salon with the supreme confidence of a man who knew what he wanted.

  Their eyes met as he reached her side. Thick cigar smoke rose above the cardplayers seated around the poker table, curling around his head like a halo. Instinct warned her that this man was no angel—he looked more like a devil.

  “I’m Nick Drummond. May I join the game?”

  Her first thought was: He’s a damn Yank! Rumors of impending war made her leery of all northerners. His clipped accent set her teeth on edge.

  The four men engaged in the poker game with the lovely lady gambler slid their chairs closer together to make room for the newcomer. Nick grabbed a nearby chair, wedged it in place, and sat down. The four players grunted out their names. Nick nodded to each in turn, raising an inquiring brow when his eyes settled on the sultry beauty who had drawn him to the poker game like a moth to flame. He already knew her name was Aimee Fortune. He had heard all about her before he boarded the Dixie Belle in New Orleans. Aimee Fortune. Obviously that wasn’t her real name, but she was so damn beautiful, who in the hell cared?

  She wore vivid red, quite appropriate, Nick thought, given her rather flamboyant calling. Her honey brown eyes and golden hair were a perfect foil for the creamy expanse of skin revealed by the deep décolletage of her gown. Though the low neckline was daring, he’d seen more revealing displays at society functions on proper ladies. She looked cool and composed and confident, as if she knew exactly what she wanted and how to get it He’d never seen a more cocksure professional gambler anywhere.

  He has a dimple! Right in the middle of his strong, square jaw. Aimee frowned. Where had that thought come from?

  “They call me—”

  “Aimee Fortune.” Nick grinned. “I’ve heard of you, Miss Fortune.” Her voice was cool and cultured, with just the barest hint of an accent. French? Nick was intrigued. The mysterious lady gambler created a heat in his blood he hadn’t felt in a long time.

  He wanted her.

  Aimee stared boldly at Nick Drummond. For the first time since she had taken up gambling as a means to reverse her rather dismal fortune, she felt a thrill of apprehension shoot down her spine.

  Nick returned the stare, thoroughly enjoying the sensual journey over Aimee Fortune’s lovely features and enticing curves. Lady gamblers weren’t all that common, though there were a few, but this lady was unique in the fact that she was young—surely no more than twenty—fresh and enchantingly lovely in an innocent way that belied her unladylike profession. Nick was enthralled by thick strands of long blond hair artfully arranged around a flawless face—wide eyes a warm light brown fringed with long lashes, lush red lips which begged to be kissed. Slim, bewitching, alluringly fashioned, her body alone was exquisite.

  Nick watched Aimee closely as she picked up the deck and shuffled. Satisfied that she wasn’t cheating, he relaxed, keeping his eyes on the cards. Though not new to the game of poker, Nick wasn’t the professional gambler Aimee assumed him to be. In New Orleans to visit friends, he had heard of Aimee Fortune, and curiosity compelled him to book passage aboard the Dixie Belle to Natchez on his way back to Chicago. Nick had always liked poker and enjoyed incredible luck whenever he played, but had little time to indulge in the game. But he knew enough about it to spot a cheater, and he was convinced that Aimee Fortune wasn’t dealing from the bottom or palming cards.

  Aimee concentrated on the play of the cards, carefully avoiding Nick Drummond’s eyes. They were devil’s eyes, clear and green and compelling. As long as she was able to resist the lure of those eyes, she was confident of winning. She had learned poker at her father’s knee and had honed and perfected the game in the months following his tragic death. Though she loved her father dearly, the man had been a gambler and rake and had left her deeply in debt.

  After the funeral she had gathered her wits and realized she lacked the necessary skills to support herself and her faithful nanny, Savannah, who was the only mother she’d known since she was twelve. She had maternal relatives in England who had disowned her mother when she had married her ne’er-do-well father, and an uncle somewhere in Texas. But for all intents and purposes, she was alone in the world, dependent on her indomitable spirit, her wits, and her extraordinary skill at poker. She didn’t include her beauty, for she didn’t consider herself classically beautiful.

  During the past six months she had won enough money to comfortably support herself and Savannah. A few months more and she could retire and start a new life away from the gossipmongers of New Orleans, who never let her forget that her father had been killed in a duel over a woman.

  Nick smiled as he raked in another pot. He had been lucky tonight, which pumped up his confidence. Everything seemed to be going his way; he could do no wrong. As the pile of chips in front of him grew, Aimee’s hoard of chips dwindled. When he caught her looking at him, he winked. She rewarded him with a scowl. Nick couldn’t help but notice that she carefully avoided looking him in the eye and he chuckled, pleased that he discomfited her enough to make her lose her composure.

  Aimee’s scowl deepened. Things weren’t going according to plan. She knew the only way the damn Yankee could win nearly every pot was by cheating, but for the life of her, she couldn’t detect how. But she wasn’t going to let him get away with it. She’d encountered cheaters before and bested the scoundrels.

  Nick Drummond continued to win at an alarming rate, sweeping in every last cent Aimee had amassed thus far as well as the reserve she kept in her reticule resting on her lap. One by one the other gamblers dropped out to seek their beds.

  “Are you ready to call it a night, Miss Fortune?” Nick asked with a mocking smile when he noted that he and Aimee were now the only two people left in the gambling salon.

  Aimee’s slim fingers delved inside her reticule, searching for money she knew wasn’t there. Nick Drummond had beggered her with startling efficie
ncy. Abruptly her hand touched cold steel. She had nearly forgotten the pistol she unfailingly carried for protection. Its weight felt comforting.

  Her temper flared when she thought of how easily he had won her money. “You cheated!” Her mind utterly rejected the notion that Nick Drummond could have won honestly, though she had no concrete evidence suggesting otherwise.

  “I don’t cheat at cards.” His voice was quietly menacing. Had Aimee been a man, Nick would have challenged her.

  “No one could be so lucky. You had to cheat.”

  Nick grinned and gave a careless shrug.

  To Aimee that shrug served only to reinforce her belief that Nick Drummond was a hard-bitten Yankee cheater who cared little for his hapless victims or the havoc his cheating wrought. Before she had time to consider her reckless behavior, she whipped the pistol from her reticule and waved it in Nick’s face. Nick blanched, leaping to his feet.

  “Dammit, Aimee, what in the hell are you doing? I didn’t cheat. I won fair and square.” Aimee stared at him with accusing eyes.

  Nick had to blink to break the spell. Never had such overwhelming hostility been directed at him by another human being. For a moment he considered himself a dead man. But the feeling quickly dissipated when he looked into Aimee’s warm honey eyes and knew she wasn’t capable of pulling the trigger. Still, it was damn annoying looking down the barrel of a gun.

  Aimee’s hand trembled, but instinct told Nick she wouldn’t shoot him. She wasn’t the type. She might be a gambler and a whore, but she was no killer.

  “Put the gun down, Miss Fortune.”

  Aimee faltered. Nick Drummond had ruined her. He’d won every cent she’d accumulated except for a small amount she’d left with Savannah for safekeeping. Her mind told her that no one would condemn her for killing a cheater, but her heart whispered that she hadn’t the instinct for killing another human being. Her finger caressed the trigger. Nick smiled, the cleft in his chin deepening. Dismayed, Aimee gaped at the arrogant rogue. What kind of a man laughed in the face of death?

  “You’re a gambler,” Nick taunted, “not a killer. Let’s compromise. I’ll give you a fair chance to recoup your losses. I dare you to draw against me. Winner take all.”

  Aimee gasped. “You want to draw against me?”

  “I didn’t mean a duel with guns. We’ll cut the deck for high card. If you win, everything I’ve accumulated tonight is yours.”

  “What’s in it for you? You’ve already cleaned me out; I’ve nothing of value left.” Why was he taunting her? She knew better than to trust a cheater, but his challenge had goaded her into recklessness.

  A look of pure deviltry turned Nick’s eyes into gleaming emeralds as they raked her voluptuous figure. “I’ll think of something,” he drawled. The underlying sensuality of his voice sent a ripple of awareness through her.

  His highly charged words left little doubt in Aimee’s mind what he wanted from her if he won. If she lost, he’d strip her of her last valuable asset. Aimee chewed her bottom lip. Surely her luck was bound to change. If there was a God, he wouldn’t let her lose to a Yankee devil like Nick Drummond. Too much depended on her winning. She needed the money to survive, but it was merely a game with him. The gambler in her accepted the challenge before her practical mind could reject it.

  “Well, Aimee Fortune, which will it be? I seriously doubt you’ll shoot an unarmed man. You can walk away a loser or accept my challenge and take a chance on winning a fortune. It’s your choice.”

  The choice he so gallantly offered was really no choice at all. No damn Yankee was smart enough to beat her at cards. She knew she was good at the game, and until tonight, no one had even come close to beating her.

  “Very well, I accept, but only if I’m allowed to shuffle. One draw only. High card wins.” She felt her heart beating rapidly.

  “Agreed,” Nick conceded, sketching a mocking bow. “Be my guest.”

  Aimee’s hands shook as she slowly and carefully shuffled the deck. She was all too aware of Nick’s amused scrutiny and she did her best to avoid looking into his eyes. When she finished, she placed the deck on the table between them.

  Nick gestured toward the deck. “Ladies first.”

  Aimee held her breath as she reached out and quickly cut the deck. She turned over the ten of spades. Not bad, she thought. She gave a loud, shaky sigh.

  Nick rewarded her with a devastating smile. “Very good, sweetheart, but is it good enough?”

  His mocking endearment infuriated her, but her eyes remained on his large brown hand as it paused briefly atop the deck before dipping down and flipping over the top card. The queen of hearts!

  Aimee groaned.

  Nick laughed.

  The gun clattered to the floor.

  “My win, sweetheart.”

  Utter disbelief seemed to turn Aimee to stone. How could she have lost?

  “Are you prepared to honor your debt?” His voice held a note of contempt that made Aimee bristle indignantly. She considered a gambling debt a debt of honor.

  Unable to speak, she merely nodded her head in affirmation. Grinning with slow relish, Nick bowed and offered his arm. “I’ll collect my debt in private. Actually, I’ve thought of nothing else since I set eyes on you. We’ve many hours left before the Dixie Belle docks.”

  Aimee moved on wooden legs as Nick led her from the gambling salon to his cabin. She entered Nick’s cabin just as the first blush of dawn made an unheralded appearance in the eastern sky.

  Nine months later.

  “Push, Aimee, push dat baby out. C’mon, chile, dat’s it, I can see his head.”

  “The devil take you and this baby!” Aimee sobbed, nearly senseless with pain. “He’s the spawn of the devil, just like his father.”

  Savannah shook her gray head. Her black face was bathed in sweat, her clothes soaked with it Her beloved Aimee was bearing a child she didn’t want, and Savannah could do or say nothing to ease her pain. “Don’t talk like dat, chile; de babe is innocent in all dis. You got only yourself to blame, Aimee LaMotte. I done tole you you were in over your head when you started gambling on dat boat and called yourself Aimee Fortune instead of the name your parents gave you. I knew no good would come of it. We woulda survived somehow.”

  “Oh God!” Aimee let out a loud shriek. The dreadful knowledge of giving birth to a child she knew she would hate made her pain even more difficult to bear.

  “I can see his head!” Savannah cried, jubilant. “He’s got dark hair, honey. Push; it’s all gonna be over in a few minutes.”

  “Over,” Aimee panted bitterly as she bore down. “You’re wrong, Savannah, it’s only the beginning.”

  The words were ripped from her throat as her body contorted in agony. She uttered a single scream and the baby slid into Savannah’s waiting hands.

  “It’s a boy, honey, a perfect baby boy with dark hair.” As if to confirm her words, the room suddenly reverberated with the child’s lusty cries. Savannah chuckled in delight as she gently cleansed mucus from the baby’s mouth and nose, and wiped his body clean with a soft doth she had prepared beforehand. Still smiling, she held him aloft for Aimee’s inspection.

  Aimee stiffened and turned away, refusing to look at the tiny mite she had given birth to. “Take him away; I don’t want to look at him.”

  “Honey lamb!” gasped Savannah. “Don’t talk like dat.”

  “I mean it. I’ll have to live the rest of my life knowing how this child was conceived. His father walked out on me without a backward glance.”

  Savannah looked troubled. “He’s your own flesh and blood, honey. Who’s gonna look after him if you don’t? He needs his mama.”

  “Don’t you understand, Savannah? I don’t want him. Every time I look at him I’ll be reminded of his father.”

  Shaking her head and ducking her tongue in obvious disapproval, Savannah lay the babe in a small cradle beside the bed while she tended her mistress. Then, her lips compressed in a thin line, she gather
ed up the soiled linen and carried it from the room. Aimee was nearly asleep when the child’s whimpers jerked her awake. For a long time she tried to ignore him while his soft mewlings continued. Then Savannah’s words came back to haunt her. He’s your own flesh and blood. He needs his mama. Rising on her elbow, she cast a resentful glance at the tiny mite lying in the cradle, expecting to see the face of a devil. Instead she saw an angel.

  The tiny, wizened face was screwed up into the most endearing expression she had ever seen. He was sucking vigorously on one fist while waving the other in the air. A tuft of dark fuzz covered the perfect, round head, and his eyes were wide open, staring back at Aimee in a bold, demanding way that reminded her of his father.

  Nick Drummond.

  The handsome, arrogant rogue who had demanded her body in payment for a debt of honor and took her virginity without ever realizing she had been a virgin, piercing her innocence in one swift thrust that changed her life forever. He had assumed she was a whore and took her in a fury of passion. She had gained no honor by submitting to Nick Drummond. In a few short hours he had cheated her out of her winnings, robbed her of her virginity, and planted his Satan’s seed in her. What made it all the more unbearable was the damning fact that she had surrendered to the fury.

  He had introduced her to a splendor she had never imagined existed. He had taken something only a husband had a right to take, and made her feel as if it belonged to him. His sizzling passion had made him senseless to her virginity, not that it would have made any difference to the rogue.

  She hated Nick Drummond.

  Hated him for transporting her to paradise, despised him for being a Yankee and for planting his babe in her. Detested him for walking out on her the next morning without a word of good-bye. Loved every damn minute she had spent in his arms.

  She had relived those perfect moments so often, they were etched forever in her brain. The thought of looking at a part of him every day for the rest of her life filled her with dread.