Come the Dawn

by Christina Skye

  Devlyn Carlisle, seasoned soldier that he was, knew the full strength of his adversary. And he knew, despite all his struggles, that he had lost. His logic had fought for control, but his damnable heart had prevailed. There would never be another woman like this one and he could no more resist her than cease to breathe.

  Dimly he heard the crunch of feet on gravel.

  “Er, beg your pardon. Didn’t realize this spot was taken.” Two figures slipped past Devlyn, heading to the bower’s mouth. They spoke quickly, and then were gone. But the thunder in Dev’s blood was too intense for him to pull away as he should have. Not when India’s fingers were buried deep in his hair and her body lay curved against him, supple as a young rowan tree in spring. He drew her to him, savoring the heat of her body. At this moment at least, she was opened to him, lushly welcoming. Her lips were softly tentative as she kissed his jaw, his cheek, and then the curve of his mouth.

  A shudder ran through him. The night was too tempting — she was too tempting. Her cheeks were vibrant, flushed. He smelled the rich sweetness of champagne on her lips and wondered how many glasses she had had. “I’ll go away more often, my dear, if you promise to welcome me back like this.”

  He felt her stiffen, heard the sharp lurch of her breath. She drew back and closed her hands to fists. “Don’t think it means a thing, Devlyn Carlisle. You were strictly the first convenient person at hand when I needed to escape those ruffians.”

  “Indeed?” The lantern played over the gossamer silk, molded lovingly to her splendid body. She was so beautiful that he ached, Thorne thought wryly. Silently, his fingers slid over the lush curve of her hips and he pulled her back against him.

  “Stop that.”

  He paid not the slightest attention. Smiling lazily, he let his hand play through the magnificent red curls that covered her neck and coiled artlessly across the ripe swell of her breast. He caught one curl, warm and smooth as satin. Holding tightly, he drew her closer.

  “Let me go, Devlyn. This is a reprehensible game you’re playing. I won’t stand for it, do you hear?”

  His smile grew until the lazy heat in his eyes flamed into unbridled hunger. But she did not move. She waited tensely, watching the vein that throbbed at his neck.

  “Devlyn, this is dangerous. It is a bad idea for us even to think about—”

  He pulled her the last few inches, hands claiming her waist. He took a step backward, searching for the cool stone bench that ran along one wall of the bower, but instead of granite he met something small and furry that screeched and darted away in the shadows. In the process, Thorne lost his footing and toppled backward onto the leaf-covered ground, cursing darkly.

  Something sharp gouged into his back. “What in the devil is this?”

  “My pistol, I imagine.”

  Her pistol. Of course, why hadn’t he thought of that? “I suppose you were giving pistol lessons here?”

  “I was defending myself. Then I saw the monkey.”

  “The monkey.” He sat up, wincing. “Don’t tell me.”

  India frowned down at him. “Devlyn Carlisle, have you been drinking? You’re making no sense at all.”

  “I make no sense? I am not the person who is talking about monkeys and pistols, my dear.”

  India glared down at him. “I suppose I should have let those two men paw me as they threatened to do?”

  At this, Devlyn lunged to his feet. “Why didn’t you say so! I’ll kill them. I’ll see the pair of them hung from the oak tree opposite the orchestra pit.” As he lunged around the overturned table, his ankle caught on one of the wrought-iron chairs, throwing him forward so that his head struck the granite bench.

  “Devlyn, are you all right?”

  “Wonderful! I quite enjoy being attacked by a feral monkey, spraining my ankle and then suffering severe trauma to the head when I trip over your blasted pistol in the darkness.”

  India found her way to the long stone bench and sat down heavily. She caught a ragged breath. Then she began to laugh.

  “I hardly see what’s so funny,” Thorne snapped, rubbing his aching forehead.

  “It — it’s the sight of you, sprawled out on the grass. First the pistol, then the monkey, now this. Oh, I do beg your pardon, but it was really the end of enough. And that dreadful creature has broken the champagne goblet. Be careful that you don’t sit down on a piece of glass, won’t you?” Her voice gurgled. “Here’s another piece.” She frowned down at the bench. “Except it is very large. In fact, it’s even bigger than the first one.” Her voice caught sharply.

  “What is it now?”

  When there was no answer, Devlyn moved closer to India. What he saw made his own breath catch. In India’s outstretched hand, lit by the lanterns, lay a gem of unparalleled brightness, its hundred facets gleaming like the first pale streaks of dawn.

  “It — it’s beautiful,” India said breathlessly. “But how in the world did it get here?”

  Thorne’s eyes were locked on the pink stone. “Those men, I’d say.”

  India shook her head. “I doubt they were here long enough. Of course, it was very dark and I did have my mind on other things at the time.”

  “Like shooting them through the heart.” Devlyn’s voice was grim as he studied the stone’s gleam in the restless light. “Sweet heaven, the thing must be sixty karats at least.” His voice hardened. “And pink. A pink diamond. I know of only one like that. But it couldn’t be…”

  “Couldn’t be what?” India frowned at Devlyn as he removed his mask. “Dev, what were you about to say?”

  A thousand grim speculations flashed through Thornwood’s head. Was it possible that the diamond shipment had already begun, and the first gems were to be exchanged here tonight? There could be few better places than Vauxhall for people to mix unobserved and unquestioned, rich and poor, English and foreign. And among them always, quiet and clever, passed some of the worst criminals of the London streets. Yes, Vauxhall would be the perfect location for a jewel exchange. Thornwood could only kick himself for not having thought of it sooner.

  “Devlyn? Tell me what you meant.”

  He couldn’t, of course. Meanwhile, his brain was raging to understand all the implications of this discovery. “What? It was nothing. And now if you don’t mind I would like to have a better look at that jewel.” He held out his hand.

  But he was too late. The jewel had disappeared. Devlyn frowned. “What are you doing?”

  “I’ve put it away for safekeeping.”

  “Then you can just dig into your reticule and bring it out again.”

  India’s full lips curved. “But I didn’t put it in my reticule,” she said sweetly.

  Thorne’s eyes narrowed. There was no spot on that diaphanous gown where she could conceal a gem of such size. No place at all.

  Except…

  Throne’s eyes locked on the luscious expanse of her breasts. By God, she couldn’t have had the utter gall to slip the thing into her bodice!

  “India?”

  “Yes, Devlyn?” came the sweet, purring reply.

  “I’ll find it, you know. It’s only a matter of time. You can’t hope to keep it hidden from me.”

  “You might if you dared, but somehow I don’t think you will. You see, Dev, you are afraid of your emotions. You’re afraid of what you see when you look at me and what you feel when you touch me. That’s why I wager that the diamond will be perfectly safe where I’ve hidden it.”

  A muscle flashed at Thorne’s jaw. The woman was positively Machiavellian, just like her grandmother. And the fact that she was utterly right in her assessment only added to his irritation.

  Yes, Thorne was afraid of what he was feeling at that moment. With one touch he would be lost, his control shattered, and he knew he couldn’t risk the chance. Not here in this silent place of shadows and moonbeams, a place made just for lovers and for those who were fortunate enough to hold onto their dreams.

  Dreams were something that Devlyn Carlisle ha
d lost long before in a muddy field in Belgium.

  His voice fell. “Damn it, India, give me that diamond.”

  “Fetch it yourself, my lord.”

  So she thought he was a coward, did she? He cursed darkly and pulled her to her feet. Light danced over her reddish curls, making her dress shimmer like fairy wings. She was light in his arms, fragile, almost a creature of a fairy world herself, and his throat tightened as he caught her drifting scent of violets. “Don’t make me do this, India. It will hurt you just as much as me.”

  “Do you really think so?” Her head slanted, her eyes agleam. “For myself, I can’t agree at all. I believe I would enjoy myself very much.”

  “I’m trying to protect you! Why do you make it so difficult?”

  “Maybe because … I don’t want to be protected.”

  He gripped her shoulders. “I must have that stone, India. It is important — more important than you can know.”

  “Why, Dev? What is so special about that particular gem?”

  Devlyn bit back a curse, knowing he had already revealed too much. “I-I simply don’t care to see a jewel of that size lost.”

  “I don’t believe you. There is something you’re not telling me. Quite a lot, I suspect.”

  His eyes hardened. “The only thing I’m not telling you is what we both know. We are not right for each other. Why can’t you accept that?” His hands slid along her bare arms and then cupped her waist. His jaw tightened as he brushed the slope of one breast, his actions in direct opposition to the force of his own words. “If this is a game, you’re going to be damned sorry for playing it.”

  “This is no game, Dev. Of course, if I knew what you were really doing here and why you were so interested in that diamond, I might be more inclined to help you.”

  Thorne’s eyes glittered as he pulled her back against him and ran his long fingers along the translucent silk. “I want that jewel.” Beneath the cool fabric he felt the lush crests pebble at his touch. A dark groan gathered in his throat.

  Dangerous, fool. Too soft — too tempting. Too close to everything you’ve ever wanted.

  “India?”

  No answer. Nothing but softness and heat. Nothing but danger.

  At her slightest resistance, he would have let her go, but there was none. Her body was all suppleness and giving, and she knew it perfectly. It was that stubborn arrogance, coupled with her skill at knowing him even better than he did, that made Thorne respond in kind, planting his long hands around her creamy skin. There he found not diamonds but treasures of a more tormenting sort, their velvet heat more perfect than any of the hot fantasies he had brought back from Europe with him.

  He felt her shiver against him. “Have you had enough?” he whispered hoarsely. “Say the word and I’ll stop, India.”

  But she only laughed darkly. “Don’t you know we Delameres never stop? It is not in our nature. Any hint of opposition is like a red flag to us.” Her eyelashes veiled her smoky blue eyes. Slowly her back arched. Ever so gently she drew her body closer against his probing fingers.

  That single seductive movement very nearly drove him over the edge. A thousand fantasies whirled through him, each one intensified by the knowledge that they were standing in a place of shadows and silence, a place meant for the baring of flesh to flesh. One movement and she would be his, lovers cushioned on the soft leaves while their bodies met in blind need. Devlyn Carlisle was too experienced a connoisseur of women not to recognize all the symptoms of her racing pulse, husky voice, and unsteady breath.

  But damned if he was going to give up all reason again. Brussels had been one thing, the whole city swept up in madness. Then Devlyn had had an excuse for his blindness, but now—

  Now he had no excuse for wanting her until he thought the pain would shred him up into tiny little pieces, no excuse for needing to hear her quick, sudden laughter and yearning to feel her lips trail slowly over every inch of his hungry body.

  He looked down, scowling to see her dress lowered and one taut crest trapped beneath his fingers. “This is madness, India. Sweet madness, but very dangerous.”

  “I don’t care.”

  Outside the boxwood hedge voices drifted through the night. “But I’m certain I saw him over here just a few moments ago.” There was no mistaking Helena Marchmont’s high-pitched complaint.

  “Perhaps you were mistaken. It is very dark along these walks, my lady.” Ian Delamere spoke loudly as he walked beside the countess.

  As Ian had planned, his words carried to India. She struggled to move away, but Devlyn held her still, pulling her toward the back of the bower.

  “As you can see there’s no one here.” Ian’s voice held a trace of lazy mockery. “Perhaps I should escort you back to the refreshment area?”

  “That will hardly be necessary,” the countess snapped. “And I will find him, you may count on that.”

  Her slippers crunched away over the gravel. After a moment Ian’s soft laughter heralded his own departure.

  India felt silence press around her. Then Thorne’s voice moved like wind through a spring meadow. “I need you, India. God help me, but I do. You give me life when I think it is lost. That is your sweet power.”

  Dimly India heard the break in his voice. And then his fingers tightened.

  A kiss? Never so tame, this thing he gave her. The force of his body drove her back against the hedge, her back arching like a bow over his arm, her lips parting beneath the force of his possession. She did not try to fight him, knowing it was beyond her willpower. Instead she drove her body closer while his control was tested as surely as her own. India knew that he would never hurt her. The anger radiating from his taut body was all for himself, for being unable to curb his desire.

  And at that moment her only thought was heightening the desire he struggled to deny. Only in that way could she have honesty from him at last.

  Her neck arched. She touched her tongue to his and instantly his fingers tightened. Skin met, fought, joined, until India thought she would die of the melting heat that surged through her body. She wanted him and was too honest to deny it. Every harsh line of his own body told her that he was feeling the same need. With a stab of woman’s instinct she saw that something beside his lack of memories held him back from her.

  Some new and dangerous mission that he had been called to fulfill?

  Her eyes darkened as she used her very best weapon to answer that question. Her head fell back, offering him the sleek curve of her throat.

  “India, don’t. I’m trying to stop. For both our sakes.”

  “No.” Her hand brushed his lips. “Not yet.” Not ever.

  His fingers tightened and he kissed a fierce path along the naked skin she had offered. He hesitated only a moment at the creamy expanse of her breasts and then his lips closed over the thin barrier of silk. Around them the night was rich and dark, all sound lost in the fierce thunder of their hearts and the pulse of their heated blood.

  India didn’t care about secret missions or convoluted responsibilities that would endanger Devlyn’s life. All she cared about were his hands sliding over her. All she wanted was to know that he remembered what they had once shared and to find out whether they could share such joy again.

  Clearly he wanted her.

  Clearly he needed her. Equally clearly, the man was as honorable as both her brothers and as stubborn as they were too.

  She smiled darkly when she felt his fingers inch beneath her gown and ease lower.

  Silk trembled, giving way to heated skin. She would have her answer at last, India thought. There would be no more lies between them.

  And then she gasped. The rogue had found the edge of the diamond, hidden deep in the gusset beneath her arm. Damn the man! “Devlyn, stop,” she said hoarsely, fighting the rush of blood and heat.

  But he didn’t. His lips opened, searching her mouth while his tongue tangled with hers. His body was a fierce, unbroken line of need against her while his heart beat in wil
d thunder like her own.

  Then his fingers closed and the jewel was his.

  At the same instant his other hand covered the naked thrust of her breast.

  India went entirely still, her body trembling, her whole soul shivering in a wild rush of anger and need and confusion. How did he always manage to kindle such a storm of emotions? With any other man, she was cool and calm and detached.

  His lips toyed with the sensitive skin. He laughed softly. “It seems I have found my treasure,” he murmured. “And now I think it’s time I had a better look.”

  With one final tug the silk slid free. Cool air swept over India’s trembling skin.

  “Beautiful.” His fingers traced the perfect coral thrust of her. “I’d forgotten—” He breathed harshly, whispering low, raw words of praise.

  She swayed, her hands buried in his hair as his mouth slid over her.

  Heaven — and aching torment as memories washed over her.

  “They must be here!” Feet crunched over gravel. “I’m sure I remember the turning.”

  “You can’t even remember where you’ve left that doll of yours.” This voice, drifting over the boxwood hedge, could belong only to Andrew.

  India tensed. The children! She could not allow Devlyn to discover that they were here.

  But it was too late. His body had hardened and there was a slow flare of anger in his eyes. “More of your work?”

  “No, I—”

  “Then they have disobeyed me on their own. They will soon know the penalty, I assure you.”

  India caught his arm desperately. “You mustn’t be angry with them. They came because Alexis was convinced I was in danger. She saw that man, the one that she has dreams about.”

  Devlyn’s brow hardened. “She has many nightmares after Waterloo. We all do,” he added. “But I cannot allow them to endanger themselves this way.”

  He pulled away from India, distracted, and in that moment his fingers lost their grip on the diamond. “It seems that you have bested me yet again, but now I know where your treasure lies.” There was a sensuous undercurrent to his words that made India’s cheeks flame. “You may count on the fact that I shall remember — and be back to reclaim it.”