I sat down on the edge of the bed to put on the elegant high-heeled slippers covered in bronze satin. They fit perfectly, as did the other shoes in the wardrobe, a fact I considered quite fortunate. Corrie helped me into the exquisite bronze satin gown, fastening the tiny, invisible hooks in back while I adjusted the narrow, off-the-shoulder sleeves and extremely low bodice which clung like a second skin. Corrie fastened the last hook and stepped back to help smooth down the skirt which spread out in scalloped panels that parted halfway down to reveal an underskirt made up of rows and rows of ruffles in green, blue, yellow gold and turquoise, the colors of a peacock’s tail. The gown was a magnificent creation, designed, no doubt, for some Parisian courtesan.
“I never seen anything so lovely,” Corrie said. “That bronze cloth shimmers, and when you move them—those ruffles underneath flutter just like peacock feathers.”
I smiled and moved over to the full-length mirror. The bodice and scalloped overskirt were cut in clean, simple lines, unadorned, the multicolored ruffles beneath the scallops providing a striking contrast, the colors all the more vivid against the bronze. Jeremy Bond would have approved of the gown, I thought, and I frowned, wondering why he came to mind, wishing I were able to forget those merry, mocking blue eyes and that wide grin that was so devilishly attractive. Why must they continue to haunt me? I recalled the conversation Em and I had had this afternoon. Why had it irritated me so? Had my voice and eyes indeed conveyed something when I had first told her about him?
The clatter of musketry and sound of voices coming from the courtyard drove all thought of Jeremy Bond out of my mind. I glanced at the clock. It was seven thirty. Red Nick and his entourage had entered the stockade, and he would be coming inside soon.
“I better get back downstairs,” Corrie said. “I’ll be waiting in the foyer for you tonight, Miz Marietta. I’ll be standing in the darkness, still as can be.”
She hesitated a moment, standing across the room, and then she hurried over to me and flung her arms around me. I held her close, hugging her tightly, and for several moments we clung together, this frightened child and I, both longing to burst into tears. When I finally released her, she stepped back and looked up at me with moist, shining eyes and a brave smile that was utterly heartbreaking. She was so young, so lovely, totally dependent on me. I wasn’t going to let her down. I brushed a tear from her cheek and returned her smile with one I hoped was reassuring.
“You’re going to have that shop, Corrie,” I promised.
“I believe you, Miz Marietta.”
“We’ve both got to be very brave this evening.”
“We will be,” she replied. “I’m not going to be scared. I’m going to be just as brave as you and Miz Em is.”
She left the bedroom with a flutter of blue cotton skirts, and a few minutes later I heard the front door opening downstairs and footsteps in the foyer. I remembered the way Maria had flown down the stairs, calling his name and demanding to know what he’d brought her. I waited almost ten minutes before leaving the bedroom. I slowly descended the curving staircase, cool, regal, showing no emotion whatsoever. Nicholas Lyon was still in the foyer, talking with Burke. Both men looked up and, after a word from Lyon, Burke scowled and left, going down the side hall toward the servants’ quarters.
Red Nick stood in the foyer, tall and lean, watching me with those piercing blue eyes that seemed a darker blue, dark with male appreciation as he watched me moving on down the stairs. His high black books were polished to a high sheen, his dark maroon broadcloth breeches cut narrow, closely fitting. His maroon frock coat fit closely, too, emphasizing his broad shoulders and slender waist, the full skirt flaring slightly at the hips. A white lace jabot spilled from his throat, and lace spilled beneath the cuffs of the coat as well. He carried a broad maroon hat adorned with sweeping black plumes. His dark copper hair was burnished by the candlelight, a gleaming red-brown, the heavy wave slanting over his right eyebrow. The blue eyes glowed darkly, yes, but the lean, harshly handsome face was immobile, thin lips curling faintly at one corner.
“Good evening,” I said, pausing at the foot of the stairs.
“Hardly an effusive greeting,” he observed dryly.
“You want dramatics?”
“I’d like to see a gleam of pleasure—or even anticipation. I’ve been away two weeks.”
“Two weeks and three days,” I corrected.
“So you did miss me?”
“Perhaps.”
“You’re a deliciously infuriating creature, Marietta. I don’t know whether to thrash you or take you in my arms.”
“The choice is yours.”
The lips curled a bit more in the suggestion of a smile. The blue eyes were sardonic. He moved toward me, stopping a few feet away from where I stood, folding his arms across his chest. The lace at his wrists dripped down like delicate white foam.
“Maybe I should thrash you,” he remarked. “Maybe then you’d learn to appreciate your position.”
“As your prisoner?”
“As my woman. You look quite spectacularly lovely. You’ve never worn that gown before. You put it on in honor of my return?”
“Perhaps.”
“Infuriating,” he said, placing his hat on a table.
“You can always replace me.”
Nicholas Lyon shook his head slowly, his eyes holding mine. “I fear you’re irreplaceable, my dear. You’ve bewitched me.”
“Indeed?”
“All the time I was gone I kept thinking of you. That disturbs me. I don’t like for any woman to have that kind of hold on me. No woman has—before. What shall I do about it?”
“I’ve no idea.”
He stepped closer, unfolding his arms, resting his hands on my shoulders. I could smell the clean, pleasant musk of his body, the virile smell of flesh. His fingers squeezed my shoulders, his grip growing tighter as he pulled me to him and parted his lips, the tip of his tongue flicking out as he tilted his head and lowered his mouth over mine. I was rigid and unresponsive, making him work, stirring him to force the needed response from me. After a few moments I yielded, curling my arms around his back, rubbing my palms over the maroon broadcloth and feeling the muscles beneath. Satisfied, he released me, eyes sardonic again, blue and faintly mocking.
“One day you’ll respond quite eagerly, my dear.”
“Will I?”
“One day you’ll want me as much as I want you.”
“Perhaps,” I said for a third time.
Nicholas smiled a twisted smile and, taking my arm, led me into the spacious sitting room. He sat down in one of the chairs, spreading his long legs out, tilting his head down toward his chest and lifting his eyes to watch me as I went over to the liquor cabinet to pour him a brandy. He wanted me. He wanted me badly. I smiled at the knowledge. Despite his cool, mocking demeanor, he was filled with a sexual tension so intense it was almost tangible, crackling in the air. Other men would have ground their teeth, would have gripped the arms of the chair so tightly the fabric would tear, but Nicholas Lyon restrained himself, waiting, maintaining that icy detachment as the tension grew inside.
I carried the brandy over to the chair and handed it to him, and as his fingers curled around the glass I reached down quite casually and brushed the heavy copper wave from his brow. It splayed back down as soon as I moved my hand. He caught hold of my wrist, looking up at me, sipping his brandy. When I attempted to pull free, he gave my wrist a savage tug, twisting it as he brought me down to my knees in front of him. He took another sip of brandy and ran his tongue over his lower lip, heavy lids half-shrouding eyes dark with desire.
“Sit,” he ordered.
“If that’s what you wish.”
He spread his knees apart, and I sat on the floor between them, resting my back against the chair, shoulders against his thighs. I folded my legs under me, my skirt spreading out, indeed resembling a fan of peacock feathers against the bronze. He lifted the dangling ringlets and curled the fingers
of his left hand around the back of my neck, massaging it as he continued to drink his brandy. It was extremely erotic, and I felt my nipples hardening, straining against the restraint of gauze and satin. I arched my back as his fingers pressed the side of my neck, his thumb digging against the top of my spine.
“I assume your mission was successful,” I said.
“Quite successful.”
“How many men did you kill?”
“It wasn’t necessary to kill anyone. We merely rendezvoused with another ship, The Green Parrot, and transferred their booty onto The Sea Lyon. It was a bloodless expedition.”
“For that you had to leave me for over two weeks?”
“I learned a long time ago that, when it comes to booty, I need to supervise things personally. So you did miss me?”
“Only at night,” I said coolly.
He finished his brandy and set the empty glass on the floor. He stood up and pulled me to my feet, holding me loosely against him, eyes gleaming, mouth twisting with a sardonic curl. He seemed to vibrate with animal sexuality, so strong it was like a separate force enveloping him, yet he held back, controlling it, storing it up so that release would be even more potent. I tilted my chin back, looking up at that lean, harsh face. I detested him and made no effort to conceal it, yet as I gazed into those half-shrouded eyes I felt a physical response quickening inside.
“You’re not interested in what I brought you?” he inquired.
“Not particularly.”
“Maria would have begged and wheedled.”
“I’m not Maria.”
He took hold of my wrist and, reaching into the pocket of his frock coat, pulled out a heavy bracelet of square cut emeralds, each at least forty carats, burning with shimmering blue-green fires and completely surrounded by diamonds. He fastened the bracelet around my wrist and waited for some reaction. I gazed at it without feeling, and he grimaced and reached back into his pocket to pull out a matching necklace with even larger stones set in diamonds, emerald pendants dangling from the band of square cut emeralds. He turned me around roughly and fastened the necklace around my throat, drawing it tight.
“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?” I asked, 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 ri
sk, 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.
Love Me, Marietta Page 27