Tempest

by Sandra Dubay

Slipping a hand behind her knees, he swept her into his arms and carried her to the narrow, canopied bed she had not even realized stood in the opposite corner.

  In the enveloping darkness, Justin laid Dyanna on the high, curtained bed. Trembling with fear and yearning, she felt Justin's hands upon her. The intricate lacings and hooks of her costume yielded beneath his fingers as if by magic. In a few scant moments she lay clad only in the undulating shadows of the night-dark room.

  Caught in his sorcerer's spell, Dyanna quivered as his hands caressed her in long, lingering strokes that swept down her arms to the trembling fullness of her passion-tautened, rose-tipped breasts, over the slight swell of her belly to the valley of her ivory thighs. He teased her silken skin, his lips moving, bestowing fluttering kisses along her throat, his tongue stroking the place where her heartbeat throbbed wildly. Her flesh, her senses, had awakened beneath the enchanting ministrations of his fingers, his hands, his lips, his tongue.

  She moaned, writhing on the satin counterpane, her hands clutching at him, drawing him closer, as he pulled off his own disguise. His passion had risen apace with her own and he could no longer deny its demands for release. He moved above her, hands stroking her thighs as he moved between them. His lips at her ear formed soft love sounds as his hands slipped beneath her hips and lifted her. Dyanna whimpered deep in her throat, aching for him, afire with the need that burned inside her, the need her mind denied even while her very blood boiled with it.

  Justin took her then, quickly, savagely, unaware that the body into which he drove himself was untouched, virginal.

  Dyanna's cry of shock, of pain, was smothered by his hard, penetrating kiss. She clung to him as he moved against her, within her, faster and harder, rising and falling, until at last they soared together, breaking free of the web of enchantment the night and their love had woven about them, caught in rapture's embrace.

  Dazed, Dyanna lay beside Justin, her pulse still pounding, her limbs atremble. Her body still seemed to burn with the heated aftermath of their lovemaking.

  Turning her head on the pillow, she saw him, nearly concealed in the deep-shaded darkness. His eyes were closed, his lips slightly parted as he slept. Beads of perspiration dampened his forehead and upper lip. His skin was sheened with it where the moonlight touched it.

  "Justin," she whispered softly, longing to touch him just once more. Her hand came up and reached out to him, but she drew it back before it grazed his flesh. Much as she longed to stay, dearly as she desired to lie there beside him reveling in the sensations, the emotions, the pleasures she had just been awakened to, she knew she had to be gone when he awoke.

  Slipping off the high bed, she groped in the darkness for her costume. It lay in a heap beside the bed, tangled with his. With shaking fingers made clumsy by nerves and the need for haste, she put it on, arranging it as best she could without the help of either sufficient light, a mirror, or a maid. Feeling her way across the room, she felt on the floor for her hood and mask. Finding them, she put them on, stuffing her hair into the hood's caul with short, nervous strokes.

  When at last she felt presentable, she went to the door and opened it. A shaft of golden candlelight fell through the doorway. In its glow, she saw Justin lying on the bed.

  "Justin," she murmured again, her eyes caressing the strong, masculine beauty of his naked body, committing the image to memory. "I love you."

  Then, silently, without waking him, she slipped out the door and went to find Lady Hayward who, along with Geoffrey Culpepper and the Marquess, were frantically searching for her. Pleading illness, she begged them to take her home.

  Dyanna awoke the next morning stiff and sore. But the aches that plagued her evoked such delicious memories that she could not help reveling in them. Surely, she told herself for the fiftieth time since returning home the night before, surely Justin had known who she was, surely he had seen through her disguise, surely he must have known who it was he held, kissed, loved. Surely he must love her as she loved him. Secure in the thought, she stretched her arms above her head and smiled, content.

  But as she lay there in her bed, she heard noises from the downstairs hallthe sounds of bustling feet and slamming doors.

  Curious, she threw back the covers and climbed out of bed. Pulling on a pale pink wrapper, she left her rooms and padded barefoot to the landing overlooking the entry hall.

  Justin appeared below her, dressed in bottle green and buff, handsome as always but dearer to Dyanna now. She shivered, her body remembering their lovemaking, remembering the feeling of that powerful body against her own as he strode across the hall. She watched, silent, as he opened the door and stepped back to allow a battery of footmen to enter bearing trunks and boxes.

  From outside, a low-pitched purr of a feminine voice cried:

  "Justin! Oh, my darling! I've missed you so!"

  "Caro," Justin murmured in reply, holding out his arms. "Come inside."

  Before Dyanna's bewildered, horrified eyes, a vision of golden beauty in heliotrope silk swept through the door and into Justin's arms. A heart-shaped face of breath-stopping perfection was tilted coquettishly toward his and two pouting, bee-stung lips were offered for a kiss that was bestowed without hesitation.

  "Dearest Caro," Justin said tenderly, his arms drawing the girl tightly against him. "You're more beautiful than I remembered, impossible as that seems."

  "And do you still love me?" she asked, long-lashed, almond-shaped eyes twinkling up at him.

  "More than anyone in the world," he replied before lowering his head to kiss her once more.

  The woman, Caro, laughed and said something more, but Dyanna did not hear. By then she was stumbling back toward her rooms, heart tearing in two, eyes half blinded by hot salt tears that spilled unheeded down her flushed cheeks.

  Chater Fifteen

  After the storm of her tears had passed, Dyanna tried to collect her thoughts and view the situation rationally. There was no telling who this new arrival was, she reasoned. She might be a relativethat was it, a cousin, up from the country. Perhaps she was married with children of her own and Justin was no more than a favorite relation to whose house she paid a visit whenever she managed to escape the rustic seclusion of her country home for London.

  ''That must be it," she told herself, dabbing her eyes and peering into the dressing table mirror to assess the damage her little tantrum had caused her. "No doubt she's married to some ancient, doddering old peer who has a crumbling manor house in the wilds of Northumberland that is positively packed to the rafters with screaming, quarreling, colicky children who all look exactly like their faltering old father."

  The image made her smile. She felt the weight of uncertainty and dread lifting a little from her shoulders.

  "Of course she's happy to see Justin. Who wouldn't be relieved to see a handsome young man after having been shut up all winter with some crochety old curmudgeon? I'm quite certain she is a charming and sweet young woman and we will be friends."

  She smiled, pleased and optimistic, at her reflection. A movement behind her caught her attention. She swiveled on the stool just as Charlotte came bustling into the room.

  "Your bath is almost ready, miss," the maid announced. "Milord wishes you to come down as soon as you've bathed and dressed."

  "To meet his guest, I suppose," Dyanna mused.

  "Yes. Who is she, I wonder? She's very pretty."

  "She is. She is some relative of Lord DeVille's, no doubt."

  "I thought while you're in your bath, I'd try to have a word with her maid. Though she's a sour old puss by the look of her."

  "That would be a good idea," Dyanna said.

  "I daresay she is likely no more than a country cousin come up to the big city to enjoy a little taste of society under Justin's sponsorship."

  "Speaking of society," Charlotte teased her mistress as she went to the dressing room to collect Dyanna's morning gown and accessories. "Did you enjoy the ball last night?"

  Dyanna a
verted her face to hide the flush that stained her cheeks. "It wasenlightening," she admitted.

  "Exciting?" Charlotte asked.

  "More so than you can imagine," Dyanna murmured. Rising from her bench, she moved toward the sitting room. "Will you see if my bath is waiting now, Charlotte?"

  Wishing Dyanna would tell her more about the ball, and curious as to why she was so closemouthed about it, Charlotte nevertheless left the room. Behind her, Dyanna frowned, thinking of the night before. She had been so certain that Justin knew who it was he had held in his arms at the Barkleighs'who it was he had loved with such passion. But if that were true, wouldn't he have come to her last night or this morning? Wouldn't he have told her he loved her? That they would always be together? That last night was only the first of a hundreda thousandnights, the start of a lifetime of sweet, sensuous nights in one another's arms?

  "He didn't have the chance," she reasoned

  as she soaked in a tub scented with essence of hyacinth. "I was still in bed until the very moment his guestwhoever she isarrived. Doubtless after she leaves . . . I wonder how long she's planning to stay?"

  Later, dressed and seated before her mirror while Charlotte swept her hair into a mass of ringlets intertwined with blue ribbons that matched her flounced morning gown, Dyanna asked:

  "Did you discover anything about Lord DeVille's guest while I was in my bath?"

  Charlotte, who was bursting with her news, nodded vigorously.

  "Her name is Naysmith, miss. Caroline Naysmith. Her mother is Georgiana, Lady Naysmith. Her father, Lord Naysmith, is dead. Apparently, he died when Miss Naysmith was but a babe in arms."

  "Naysmith," Dyanna repeated. "It seems to me I've heard the name. Naysmith. Yes, I'm sure I've heard it but I cannot remember where."

  "I talked to Tilden, Miss Naysmith's maid," Charlotte went on. "She doesn't mind a little gossipping, that one."

  "I'm not surprised," Dyanna muttered, comfortably ensconced in her notions of who and what Caroline Naysmith was. "Being shut up in the country with a relic of a master and all those children."

  "Master, miss? Children?" Charlotte was confused. "But Miss Naysmith is not married. She has no children. Tilden says she was visiting at the country home of the Earl of Bittern and is now on her way home to Devonshire. Tilden says as how the Naysmiths' land borders on Lord DeVille's land. They grew up together from the nursery, so Tilden says."

  "This Tilden is very open-mouthed about her mistress," Dyanna complained, annoyed at being stripped of all her pleasant misconceptions. "I hope you were not so forthcoming about my affairs."

  "Oh, no, miss. Though I have to say she does have some odd notions about you."

  "What kind of notions?"

  "She seems to think you're a child. 'His lordship's little ward,' she called you. 'The child,' she said. Where do you suppose she got those notions?"

  "I can't imagine." Dyanna sighed, remembering those notions she had conjured up about Miss Naysmith, which had given her so much comfort.

  Charlotte stepped back as Dyanna rose. With a silk-fringed shawl drapped about her shoulders, Dyanna left her rooms, marching resolutely down the hall and down the stairs, unable to put off the moment of confrontation any longer.

  On the stairs, she met Bertran. The Swiss valet smiled and made her a courtly little bow.

  "Good morning, Miss Dyanna," he said softly.

  "Good morning, Bertran. My maid said Lord DeVille wished me to come down as soon as I was ready."

  "Ah, yes. Doubtless he wishes you to meet Miss Naysmith. They are strolling in the garden."

  "In the garden? Perhaps I should wait for them to come back. I wouldn't want to interrupt . . ."

  She let the thought die. Averting her glance from the valet's face, she did not see Bertran's look of amused fondness. But he said only:

  "His lordship did ask that you join them as soon as possible, miss. I'm certain he would not wish you to wait in here for him to return from the garden."

  "I see. Thank you, Bertran," Dyanna said.

  Continuing down the stairs, she went out through the music room into the garden. In the distance, in the small, domed folly at the far end, she saw Justin standing over Miss Naysmith, who sat on a bench. Squaring her shoulders, Dyanna went to join them.

  Caroline Naysmith's musical voice reached Dyanna's ears long before she reached the folly.

  "Don't tease me, Justin," the girl entreated, laughing. "You know I always hated it, even as a child. You used to tease me unmercifully."

  "I did not," he protested, smiling. "I can't help it if you were so gullible you believed every word I said."

  "It was not gullibility, it was simple trust. I believed you meant every word." She pouted prettily. "I suppose you didn't mean any of it. Not even that you love me."

  "I meant that, Caro," he said, his eyes tender as he gazed down at her. "You know that."

  "And what about marrying me? You know you always told me there was no other girl in the world you'd rather have for a wife."

  On the path, concealed from Caro and Justin by a tall hedge, Dyanna paused, holding her breath, waiting for Justin's reply.

  "And I meant it, dearest Caro," he vowed. "From that day when I was ten and you were five, and I proposed to you there on the path near the bridge. Do you remember?"

  "Of course I remember. And you know, I mean to hold you to it. I pity any woman who tries to steal you away from me. She'll be lucky to escape with her life!"

  Justin laughed. "You're a ferocious little she-cat, Caro. But then, you always were."

  His head came up as Dyanna appeared from behind the hedge. "Well! Here's our little lie-abed. Dyanna! I was beginning to despair of ever seeing you again."

  "I slept in a little late," she admitted. "And then I was not sure if I should join you. I thought perhaps you and your guest might like to be left alone at least for a while."

  "Nonsense! I want you two to meet. Caroline, this is Dyanna McBride. Her father was the Viscount McBride. Her grandfather was the Earl of Lincoln. I believe I've mentioned her to you before."

  "Indeed, you have." Caroline rose from the bench and turned to face Dyanna. The cool, golden beauty so evident in the hall when Dyanna had glimpsed her from the landing, was even more pronounced upon closer inspection. Like Justin's looks, Caro's beauty seemed an almost physical force that struck one and took one's breath away.

  "Dyanna," Justin went on, "Miss Caroline Naysmith, daughter of Lady Naysmith and the late Sir Richard Naysmith. We grew up as neighbors. Caro's family's lands border mine in Devon."

  "Neighbors! We grew up in one another's pockets!" Caro's copper-colored eyes skimmed over Dyanna. "Good God!"

  A panic seized Dyanna. She wondered if she'd spilled something on her gown or might be wearing mismatched shoes.

  "What is wrong?" she asked anxiously.

  "Nothing, with you, my dear," Caro assured her. "It is Justin who will have to answer for this!"

  "For what?" he demanded.

  "For all those letters in which you spoke of 'little Dyanna' and 'my little ward' and 'the child'. Sweet heavens above, Justin, I expected a toddler!"

  Justin laughed, equally amused by Caro's misconception and by the scarlet flush of embarrassment that flooded Dyanna's cheeks.

  "I apologize if I gave you the wrong impression," he told her, not seeming in the least sorry. "But after all, Dyanna is very young. She is my ward. I am, in a manner of speaking, her foster father. Which makes her, also in a manner of speaking, my foster daughter."

  "Balderdash!" Caro scoffed. Moving to Dyanna's side, she slipped her arm through Dyanna's. "Listen to him! I've never met a man so quick to justify his own mistakes. And with such imagination! I swear to Heaven, he could seduce a vestal virgin and excuse it by saying he thought she was a courtesan! Come away, dear. You and I must get better acquainted." Deviltry sparkling in her glistening copper-brown eyes, and she arched a graceful eyebrow toward Justin as she said:

  "Let me tel
l you something, Justin. You may enjoy being someone's old papa, but once we are married, I refuse to play mama to a woman only two years younger than I."

  "How many years younger?" Justin asked pointedly.

  "Hush! Wretch!" Caro ordered, showing him the tip of her tongue for his impudence.

  Laughing, she led Dyanna off in the direction of the house, not noticing how pale and shaken she had turned.

  Chater Sixteen

  ''When is that woman going to leave!" Dyanna demanded one morning a week after Caro's arrival. "Charlotte? Charlotte!"

  The maid appeared from the dressing room where she'd been putting away some of Dyanna's freshly laundered gowns and underthings. "Miss?"

  "Charlotte, can't you speak to Tilden and find out when Miss Naysmith is going to go home?"

  "I can ask her, miss. I'm sure if she knows, she'll tell me."

  "Then go and ask. Go now, Charlotte. I need to know."

  The maid left and Dyanna rose and wandered into her sitting room. From the tall bow

  window, she could see the garden. Caro was there, radiantly beautiful in a gown of yellow silk flounced with lime green. She was calling to Clancy, who pranced near the shrubberies but refused to come any nearer.

  "Good dog, Clancy," Dyanna muttered. At least the great, shaggy wolfhound was loyal to her.

  A movement at the garden's edge caught her eye. Her mouth tightened into a strained white line as Justin appeared and crossed the garden toward Caro.

  "Justin," Dyanna murmured, her eyes clinging to him as he walked along the sunbathed path. They hadn't had a moment alone since his precious Caro had arrived. But even so, Dyanna had noticed him looking at her, a thoughtful, almost disturbed expression on his face. She felt certain that had it not been for Caro's presence, Justin would have come to her and told her he knew she had been 'Madame LaBrecque' at the Barkleighs' ball. But of course he could say nothing with Caro in the house. How could he broach so delicate a subject in front of an outsider? She would simply have to wait until the beautiful Miss Naysmith departed for Devonshireif she ever would!