Scott had wooed her long and hard with gifts, compliments, love words, and kisses but there was always a certain point where she stopped him. Angela wasn’t adverse to a little love play like now—in fact she liked the innocent tussling, that he knew. But whenever he tried to press the issue she froze. So although she was his wife it was in name only and Scott wondered if it could ever be more.
He could have taken her a hundred times if he had wanted to use force but what good would that do? It would only alienate her further, wipe out all his careful cultivation of this fragile exotic flower. She wasn’t disinclined to a frolic in the snow, but he wanted her in his bed.
There had been no other women either. Not because they hadn’t been willing, in fact many had thrown themselves at him, but because he simply wanted no one but Angela. On some nights he thought he would go insane with wanting her, the way he had in Scotland during his self-enforced abstinence.
Scott kissed her again, liking the way her fingers raked through his hair pulling him closer. He dared to cup one breast lost beneath layers of clothes, wishing it was her bare satiny skin instead of velvet and fur. Angela strained against him and he covered her body with his pressing her deep into the drift.
She stiffened beneath him, no longer laughing and he knew that he had gone too far—again. Not that she ever told him no or even fought him. She would just lie there with her eyes tightly closed and the color draining from her cheeks, shaking as if he were a rutting animal about to rend her frail body. Yes, it was starting again, her long dark lashes trembled against white cheeks and she went limp, a look of panic on her face. The hands that had been clasped around his neck slid down pushing gently against his shoulders.
She was not his Angela anymore, but a frightened little snow-bird trying to escape from him. Time and circumstance had changed her; yes, that and a French pirate and his own selfish cruelty. Lack of understanding, plots, and counterplots had all brought this new frightened creature into existence. Her wings beat frantically, uselessly against him but escape was impossible. Scott would never let her go—not while he lived—not while she breathed.
He rolled off her and helped her to her feet, retrieving her hat and glove. Angela brushed the snow from her clothes and glanced shyly at him beneath her lashes. No longer was Scott her laughing companion. His face was smooth and impassive, that of a stranger, as it always was when their play ended in this way. She wanted him back the way he had been a few minutes ago, bold and slightly wicked, but not at the price of surrender. She wanted to let him love her but she just couldn’t. Something inside her always stopped the passion before it really began.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered accepting her hat and tucking her hair into it. Looking into his dark, inscrutable face she almost wished he would get angry, shout at her, vent the rage and frustration he must be feeling—but he never did. She couldn’t recall his ever raising his voice to her and never had he touched her with anything but gentleness. Still she was afraid, thinking of her infrequent nightmares, knowing that at one time he had treated her worse than a whore.
“No matter,” Scott said lightly, but she knew differently. “I wasn’t going to do anything.”
“I know, it’s just that—” She stopped unsure of herself. Now the rest of the day would be spoiled and she had been so happy.
Scott walked over to the horses and she followed him catching his sleeve and he half turned, his sherry-brown eyes cold. She looked up at him appealingly and those brown eyes that could melt ice softened. She smiled tentatively, wanting to offer him an explanation, wanting to trust him.
“Forget it, Angel. I will.”
“No, you won’t,” she said so softly he had to bend his head closer to hear her. Grasping the front of his coat as if he meant to leave her there Angela whispered,
“I .... I wish I could be a proper wife to you. I like it when you kiss me. I feel all warm inside, but when you go too fast it scares me. All I can think of is my dream.”
Scott gazed at her with one raised eyebrow. He knew she had nightmares sometimes, he heard her scream in the night and heard, through the adjoining door, her maid come to her aid. But he didn’t know before this minute that her nightmare was the cause of her coldness and she had never volunteered any information about it before.
“What happens in your dream, love?” He put his hands over her small fists clinging to his clothing.
Angela looked down at the snow, but not before he saw the telltale blush staining her face. Now all he could see was the silvery fur crowning her head.
“You make love to me!” she burst out suddenly trying to pull away. But he wouldn’t let her go.
“That is nothing to be ashamed of—we are married you know.”
“But—but—”
“Don’t you like what happens in the dream?”
“At first,” Angela admitted. She hadn’t talked about this to anyone, even Hazel. All she had told the woman was that he hurt her.
“Do I kiss you and caress you?”
“Yes.”
“Are we naked in bed?”
Only a jerky nod.
“And you like that?”
“I’m on fire for you!” Angela said, startling him and herself with her stark honesty.
“Then what’s wrong? Why do you scream?” Scott inquired gently.
“You change—you hurt me. ‘Whore’ you shout in my ear. You turn me over and press me into the bed. You—you—”
“Shh!” Scott said taking her into his arms, holding her heaving body close against him. There was no need for her to finish because he knew the conclusion. Angela dreamed about what he had done to her in the gum tree forest at Thornhill. His sins were coming back to haunt him.
“I would never hurt you again—you know that don’t you, sweetheart?”
“Yes, but I can’t help the way I feel. Did you do that to me? I can’t believe you would!”
“Yes, I did. In a fit of blind rage I ruined our whole relationship. You will never know how sorry I am for that mistake—not because I want you physically and can’t have you, but because of how deeply I hurt you! You are the only one that matters, Angel. It’s you I care about—you I love!”
They rode home in silence. What more could either of them say? He was being denied what he wanted most because of his stupidity in the past. If he tried to make love to her again it would probably be worse than before because now it wasn’t just a nightmare, now she knew it had really happened. What must Angela think of him?
As soon as they reached home Angela fled, disappearing without a glance at him and Scott dejectedly led the horses to the stable.
“Your Grace,” the butler said as she rushed into the house. “The Duchess of Remington is in the morning room.”
“Oh!” Angela had never felt less like a duchess herself, still flustered from Scott’s confession. “I will be down shortly.”
Hurriedly she changed wishing Jane had not chosen this particular morning to call. Although Angela couldn’t remember their friendship from the past they had built a new one and were again fast friends. She and Owen were at Bentwood for the winter and they often visited bringing their two boys. But right now her mind was in a whirl and she didn’t feel like making pleasant conversation.
When she joined Jane she found, much to her relief, that she could remain relatively silent while her friend chatted on about everything. Angela found herself relaxing in spite of herself and the blazing fire and a cup of tea warmed her so that she slumped drowsily in the chair.
Jane was a blond English beauty and being round with her third child only added to the bloom in her cheeks and her radiance. Angela watched her enviously. She had a perfect marriage to a charming, devoted husband, two healthy sons and another baby on the way.
Impulsively Angela leaned forward blurting out her secret yearning: “How I envy you, Jane. I would give anything to have another baby—a black-haired daughter like .... Lorna.”
Jane stared at her shocked
into silence for a moment. “Obviously not anything, Angela. You need a man to get a baby.”
“Oh!” She turned scarlet with mortification at the implication of those words. Had Scott told her? They were fast friends.
“Servants do talk. Everyone knows that you have separate rooms and haven’t slept together since you ran away in New South Wales.”
Angela stood up ready to flee but Jane’s next words stopped her.
“Sit down, Angela. Since we’re on the subject you need a good talking to—and since no one else seems to want the task I guess it falls to me. Your own husband won’t even talk about it!”
She sat down abruptly, glad the chair was there, otherwise she would have collapsed on the floor.
“We have been friends for a long time, eleven years to be exact and we haven’t always seen eye to eye.”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” Angela protested finding her voice.
“You will! Many times in the past your own outspokenness has been directed at me and I didn’t like it at the time. Only later did I realize it was for my own good. Now it’s your turn to listen—and listen you will!”
Jane paused for a breath looking quite stormy and Angela stared at her with her mouth open as she continued.
“What are you trying to prove, holding out on Scott? He’s a man with hot blood in his veins and this monkish existence of his can’t last forever. Ten months is a long time, Angela—especially for a man like him. Do you want to drive him into another woman’s arms? Do you want to wreck your marriage? Because that’s exactly what you will do if you don’t put a stop to this foolishness.
“Oh, right now he’s punishing himself for his cruelty to you, like a fanatic wearing a hair shirt or flagellating himself for past sins. But that won’t continue indefinitely. Sooner or later he will need a woman, and if it isn’t you then it will be someone else!
“Are you playing with him to see how long he can last? It’s been almost a year now—do you think he can manage two? Stop torturing him! You are his wife; you owe him that much. He has every right over you under law. A husband cannot rape his wife because if he takes by force what is his, there is no crime. In the past he wouldn’t have hesitated, but he’s changed.
“Scott has been kind and patient and considerate in a way I have never seen before. He has changed, Angela; his love for you has worked a miracle! He wouldn’t hurt you for the world and if it means giving up what he covets above all else to please you, then he will. But things will not remain the same and if they change you have only yourself to blame!”
Jane looked long and hard at Angela. She had seen anger and shock chased by embarrassment cross her face and now she sat very still with her hands clasped tightly in her lap, her eyes downcast like a scolded child. She wanted to shake her.
“Go to him, Angela! Be his wife in the full sense of the word—be his lover! Only when you give yourself completely, asking no reward in turn, will you know the total meaning of love.”
“I’m afraid,” she said in a very small voice.
“Then conquer your fear. Force yourself to do it even if it gives you no pleasure. Believe me, it will get better as time passes and you get used to it. He has given you so much, not just material things but himself. Can’t you do this one small thing—make this one sacrifice? Stop thinking only of yourself. Scott needs your love as he never has before. You will never regret it.”
“I—I’ve tried to let him love me, but I go all cold inside.”
“Think about something else, anything. Look, everyone has told you how much Scott loves you and so has he. But somehow I don’t think you believe it. You think he just wants you physically or because you’re the mother of his children. Do you really want to know how much he cares for you?”
Jane’s sapphire eyes challenged Angela to say no, commanded her to listen. Leaning forward she said very softly, “Clare is not his daughter! She is your illegitimate child, fathered by a pirate that got you pregnant as revenge on Scott.”
“No! You’re lying. I won’t listen to this!”
“It’s the truth! He loves you enough to accept his enemy’s child as his own—because she is yours. And he has never reproached you for it, knowing how it would hurt you.”
“Scott said Clare was ours,” sobbed Angela.
“Because you couldn’t remember and he wouldn’t have you upset needlessly. That’s how much he loves you. Can you deny him now?”
Angela ran from the room near hysterics and Scott looked after her and then at Jane who came out of the morning room.
“What happened?” he asked, upset because Angela was.
“I just got something off my chest and Angela didn’t like it one bit; but maybe she will think about it.” Jane smiled sadly. “For your sake—and hers—I hope she does.”
Angela stared at the sensual creature in the mirror unable to believe it was her. She glowed pink from a hot bath and her hair hung to her hips like a shimmering mantle. Maggie had just finished brushing it for over half an hour. The nightgown she wore was a cobweb of silk, the same color as her eyes and the only thing holding it on her were thin silver straps. It fell straight to the floor in a myriad of tiny pleats. No, not straight, she corrected herself, for her breasts thrust the material out in front and when she turned the firm curve of her hips and bottom was clearly visible.
Nervously she looked at the door separating her apartments from Scotts, wondering what her reception would be. Surprise, surely—and after that? Would he be gentle or would all the pent-up passion rush out in a fury, hurting her in his frenzy to possess her?
Force yourself, Jane had said, and that was exactly what Angela did, for each step toward the door was harder than the last one. She didn’t even knock for fear she wouldn’t go through with it.
Scott was standing by the bathtub, naked but for a white towel around his hips. As he looked up shock registered in his glowing eyes at his recalcitrant wife entering his room for the first time, and dressed in only a whisper of a nightgown!
“Is something wrong, my love?”
But she said nothing, her eyes riveted on him. And he feasted his eyes on the glimpse of paradise long denied him. The light from her room cast a golden glow around her, outlining every curve through the sheer material. Rosy-tipped breasts rose and fell quickly and her hair was a glory of silky curls. The long supple line of thigh, hip, and waist made him shake with frustration.
She found his man’s body no less beautiful in symmetry and looked at him curiously. The long, hard legs that had so disturbed her on the ride to Sydney were bared almost to his narrow hips, strong columns supporting his body. He gleamed like bronze in the candlelight and even the scars on him didn’t detract, but rather added to his masculinity. Curly hair covered his chest which looked as unyielding and hard as carved stone. The firelight threw the corded muscles of his arms into sharp relief. He was a lean virile animal and he was her husband.
But his face had lost the harsh expression she had seen earlier, and even though the white scar on his cheek made him look like a dashing barbarian, his eyes were as full of love as they were of golden sparks.
“Don’t they just melt you?” Hazel’s words echoed through her and Angela smiled walking toward him.
She knew then that he would be gentle and she only hoped that she wouldn’t disappoint him and disgrace herself. Stopping just inches from Scott she raised her hands and undid the silver cords. The silk slithered to the floor with a sigh and pooled around her feet like a Jamaican lagoon.
She heard his gasp of surprise as she stood naked before him and then with a shaking hand Angela reached out and touched his chest lightly with her fingers. They trailed down through the light fur and still he made no move to touch her. Reaching the towel she pulled it free and it too fell on the carpet.
Angela couldn’t look down, she was too scared—of what she would see and of her own boldness. But when his arms slowly pulled her against him, molding their bodies together, she felt
the wild surge of his desire and slid her arms around his neck.
Scott’s hair curled damply beneath her moving fingers and he gazed deeply into her huge eyes, shining like aquamarines. Had today’s confession, on both their parts, finally laid to rest the ghosts between them? He could think of no other explanation and with infinite care not to startle her he lowered his head to hers, grazing her velvet cheeks with light kisses. She shook in his embrace and he realized what an effort her coming to him had taken.
“Sweetheart,” he whispered huskily in her ear. “It was worth the wait, and you are a brave little temptress. I am completely in your power. You have woven your spell well, my love, let me take you to Cythera.”
Scott’s mouth found hers, rediscovering the nectar of her yielding lips. Slowly, the heat from his kiss spread through Angela’s veins like golden, melting honey. Those strong brown arms lifted her and he carried her to the bed, placing her in the middle and lying by her side.
A soft moan escaped her as Scott leaned over her, his face dark with desire. His hands moved, one in her outflung hair the other cupping a breast, fingers making it tauten and quiver.
“Angel, love!”
Her dream had begun.
Fire turned to ice, as cold as the winter landscape outside their window. She shivered under his hot ardent kisses and caresses, stiffening involuntarily at his boldness.
The tide of his passion, so long pent up burst the barriers he had built and in spite of the way that Angela lay, cold and rigid, he couldn’t stop himself. With a groan of defeat and frustration that she was no longer his wild Angela of the past, Scott took her.
She thrashed beneath him, half fainting with fear. So this was the way it was between a man and a woman—the awful invasion of her body, an animalistic ritual where the man became the victor forcing submission. It wasn’t happening exactly as her nightmare went but the panic was the same.
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