Flame of Fury

by Sharon Green

  "Ah, I see," he said, nodding in a suspiciously neutral way. "You don't like me, so you won't respond to me. Since you're so certain of that, I'm sure you won't mind if I amuse myself for a moment or two. Will you?"

  Rianne had no idea what he was talking about, but she trusted him just about as far as she would have been able to throw him. It came as no real surprise when his free hand reached to her shirt, but when he brushed it open to expose her breasts she became more than simply uncomfortable. His entire attitude - interest was too simple and inadequate a word - made Rianne feel as though more than her freedom was at risk.

  "Now this is part of what those popinjays were after," he said, briefly sending her a glance filled with amusement. "That green gown you wore teased about what it covered, and every man in the room pictured himself looking down at you without that covering. If they'd been able to manage it, this is what they would have done."

  His face lowered so that his lips might touch the tip of her right breast, and as they did his tongue flicked out to taste what he'd kissed. If Rianne hadn't been holding her breath she would have gasped when he blew lightly on the flesh he'd dampened, causing her nipple to immediately harden into a point. He shifted to her left breast and did the same, the touch of his tongue almost burning her, and then he raised his head again with a grin.

  "That wasn't so bad," he had the nerve to tell her, devilment now dancing in those normally cold gray eyes. "In case you aren't aware of it, little one, what you just did was respond to me. It looks like you've changed your mind about not liking me."

  "You do think I'm completely innocent," she answered, what had to be anger making it impossible to keep her voice steady. "That was my body responding to you, not my mind. Aren't you experienced enough to know the difference?"

  "My, don't we sound worldly," he said with brows raised, once again refusing to be insulted. "Yes, I know the difference, but I didn't think you did. How did you come by this vast store of knowledge? More trashy books?"

  "What I do or don't read is none of your business," she stated, stopping herself just short of mentioning Angus and Cam. "I might have learned that from all the lovers I've had. My stepfather never mentioned the possibility, now did he?"

  "No, you've got me there," he allowed with a sober nod. "Your stepfather never did mention you might have taken lovers. How many were there?"

  "That question just proves again how little you know about being a gentleman," Rianne replied, trying not to hope too hard that he would believe her. If he did and felt humiliated enough to throw her out… "I wouldn't think of going into details."

  "A gentleman never discusses his conquests," he commented with another nod, those gray eyes very thoughtful. "I'm familiar with the concept, but once again I'm surprised that you are. Most gently reared young ladies aren't even told that gentlemen have conquests, let alone that they're not supposed to discuss them. Did you find that out from one of your lovers?"

  "I might have," Rianne answered with the blandest look she could manage, the hope growing. "I told you - I don't intend to discuss it."

  "That's really odd," he observed with a small shake of his head, his stare unmoving from her face. "The men I know refrain from discussing their love affairs in an effort to keep other men away from so accommodating a lady, but women don't usually behave the same. Among the ones I've met who have had multiple lovers, not one will hesitate an instant in discussing everything about the men. As a matter of fact, you're lucky if she doesn't start comparing your performance while you're still in the middle of it. You can see why that leads me to wonder about your behaving like a man rather than a woman."

  Rianne felt that he was waiting for her to add something of her own, but in all truth she was too shocked to do it. Women who had lovers talked about them? As though they were discussing the intricate stitch they'd used on a new dress? And to men? Cam had never told her that, and Angus hadn't even hinted…

  "That expression you're wearing now makes your eyes look three times wider than normal," she heard, and then she noticed his grin. "Those two you do your highway work with must be very close to you, close enough to tell you things that most girls don't hear. Haven't they told you that men with experience know when the woman in their bed is a virgin? Or are they too young themselves to have gotten that kind of experience?"

  The heat of embarrassment filled Rianne, but then it drained away again when she realized the brute had been lying just to make her look like a fool. He hadn't believed her at all, hadn't had the least intention of throwing her out. He was interested in nothing beyond using her - in one way or another.

  "I do hope you've been enjoying this little amusement," she said, the words as flat and cold as any she'd ever used on a man. "I'd hate to think I've been put through this for nothing."

  "I'm not the one who tried suggesting you had lovers," he reminded her in a halfhearted way, suddenly touched with what looked to be guilt. "But you're right, and I shouldn't have done it. I just seem to get carried away when I talk to you… Let's go back to what we were originally doing."

  With that he stood up from the bed, taking her hand and drawing her up after him. Two tugs and her shirt was gone, one push and her breeches were down around her feet. An instant later she was lifted out of them, and then was being pulled by the hand toward the tub.

  "If the water is too cold for enjoyment, you have no one but yourself to blame," he said, lifting her and setting her into the tub with a small splash. "If you weren't so adorable, I would have had no trouble rushing that undressing. As soon as you finish washing, you can -What in hell is this?"

  Rianne didn't need the touch of his fingers to the scar on her lower back to know he'd found it. Any time a new maid had found it, the girl would gasp and pale. It was an ugly, lumpy thing, horrible despite its being relatively small. She folded her arms across her breasts, and tried not to think about what had brought it into being.

  "How did you get this scar?" the brute asked, his voice having turned very hard as he moved her hair even farther out of the way. "I could almost swear it was made by a knife. And it looks old. How long have you had it?"

  "Probably as long as it will take you to learn to mind your own business," she answered, pretending she wasn't hugging herself to keep the chills from starting. The water she sat in was still warm enough to be fairly comfortable, but that had nothing to do with it.

  "Look, you really don't have to make this harder than it is naturally," he said, and then he had moved to stand beside the tub on her left. Rianne wasn't looking up, but she could feel those hard gray eyes on her. "As of today you are my business, and I'm afraid your not liking the idea doesn't change that. A scar like that isn't come by accidentally, and I want to know who gave it to you. Was it your stepfather?"

  She couldn't help the sound of ridicule that escaped her, but that was all the commenting she did. She wasn't this big brute's business, which she intended to prove when she got away from him.

  "Doesn't it matter that I'm concerned about you?" he asked after a moment, and then he was crouching down and using one hand to turn her face up to him. "I'm asking you to trust me only enough to give me an answer."

  "And if I don't?" Rianne countered, raising one brow. "What will you do about it, add a scar of your own? That would be an unexpected surprise."

  "I've got half a mind to haul you out of there and put you across my knee for that," he growled, furious anger suddenly blazing from him. "I've never hurt a woman in my life, but that's the second time you've accused me. I want an apology, and you'd better be damned quick getting it said."

  "I'm terribly sorry if my knowing nothing about you offends you," Rianne couldn't help coming back, distantly confused about that anger. Why would he be mad…? "I based my estimation of your character on the beautifully romantic way you proposed, but obviously that was a mistake on my part. I do hope you'll forgive me."

  Once again his expression shifted dramatically, and Rianne had the ridiculous feeling she'd h
urt him with her response. He seemed to know she'd spoken the truth, and therefore couldn't bring himself to contradict her. But that was stupid. He'd forced her into marriage, and now was holding her prisoner. If he really did feel guilty about what he had done, he'd let her go.

  "I stand corrected," he said at last, the words almost painfully neutral. "Your apology was completely in order, and is therefore accepted."

  He straightened then and walked back to the middle of the room, leaving Rianne to wonder who he thought he was fooling this time. He'd been trying to pretend he was decent, but when she'd proven otherwise he'd simply dropped the subject. It was just like it had been all those years ago, the way she was supposed to pretend nothing had happened…

  Suddenly Rianne knew she had to get out of that tub. It was all that brute's fault, making her think about things that were better left buried in the past. She stood abruptly and stepped out, ignoring the way the bottom half of her hair was dripping, then looked up to see the beast turning away from a chest with what looked like a cloth in his hands.

  "I'm finished," she announced curtly, ready to fight if he tried to make her go back in. "Now I want my clothes returned."

  "You'll have to do without them for a while," he answered after the briefest hesitation, shaking out the cloth in his hands as he moved toward her. "Even just barely rinsed you're cleaner than those clothes, and you still have a nap to take. You can cover and dry yourself with this."

  "This" was the cloth he'd gotten from the chest, a very large, double thick length of soft yellow cotton. Rianne barely had time to wonder if it was that big because it was what he used after a bath, and then he was swirling it around her. It covered her from head to toes, and as soon as she had it pulled closed in front he surprised her by picking her up again.

  "Don't you get bored showing off how strong you are?" she asked as he carried her toward the bed. "I can tell you I'm getting bored seeing it."

  "You'll be able to stand it better if you grit your teeth," he commented, apparently paying very little attention to what he was saying. Most of his attention seemed to be focused on moving the covers down, and then putting her into the bed under them. Once he pulled them back into place, he leaned down with his hands on the pillow to either side of her head.

  "You're in this bed to take a nap," he said slowly and patiently, as though he were speaking to a child. "The rest won't do you any harm, and might even do some good. I'm asking this as a favor, you understand, but if you can't see your way clear to granting it, I'll just have to stay to keep you company. Would you prefer that instead?"

  "No," she answered at once, in no way uncertain. "I'd rather take the nap." The quicker he left her alone, the better. She intended to use the time to make plans.

  Her decision seemed to satisfy him to a certain extent, enough so that he straightened again, gave her one last glance, then turned to leave. After the door closed she heard the sound of a key, telling her she was back to where she'd been. Or almost back there. She'd learned something from the brute's visit, and that despite his effort not to show her anything but a facade of supposed concern.

  It had suddenly come to her that what he called her was "little one." Not Rianne, not Mrs. Machlin, but little one. The books made it perfectly clear that a man who was truly interested in a woman spoke her name, softly and lovingly, savoring it like the taste of ambrosia. As a matter of fact, even her pack of suitors had usually done that, even though they obviously hadn't meant it. If a woman's name was too long the man in love with her might shorten it, but then he spoke that name softly and lovingly. Calling her something else entirely meant he had no real interest in her at all.

  So her new husband had let slip something he didn't realize, but nothing very surprising. And he'd had the nerve to ask her to trust him. Of course she would, almost as far as she would trust a complete stranger. After all, didn't one always put one's trust in a man who did everything wrong?

  Including asking her ridiculous favors. Rianne wasn't tired enough to nap so she wouldn't, but this bed was a good deal more comfortable than she'd been expecting. The lounge she'd spent the previous night on had been hard, and the floor she'd been sitting on even harder. Still, she wasn't tired enough to sleep no matter how comfortable that giant cotton wrap made her feel. Comfortable, and warm, and held, and safe…

  Bryan waited until he reached his sitting room before he stopped to close and rub his eyes, and then he went for another whisky. He didn't realize that Sarah was in the room until he turned away from the decanter with glass in hand. His partner's wife sat staring at him with brows raised, but he didn't care. He sipped at his drink with the fond hope that it would raise his spirits from the depths they'd fallen to.

  "I was going to ask you how it went," Sarah offered, her voice filled with compassion. "Now I don't think I have the heart."

  "I was right in all my estimations of her but two," Bryan said with a sigh, walking to the chair opposite Sarah's and dropping into it. "She does have more guts than any man in her house, and she does hate me with everything in her. I miscalculated in thinking I could smooth things over with mere Herculean effort, but it wasn't a total loss. I did get her into a bath, and I left her in bed to take a nap."

  "Two out of three isn't bad at all," Sarah ventured, refraining from commenting on the wetness of his shirt and the rumpled look of the rest of him. No man had ever been able to do that to Bryan Machlin… "What was the second thing about her where you guessed wrong?"

  "At some point in her life, that girl was very badly hurt," Bryan said, leaning his head back against the chair and resting his glass on its arm. "Rather than weakening her the episode made her stronger, possibly too strong. She isn't in the least afraid of me, and intends fighting me with everything she has. I'm her enemy, and that's what one does with enemies."

  "Once she knows the truth, that should change," Sarah said, aching for the deep weariness she could see in her husband's best friend, needing to try to ease it. "She'll know then that you're on her side, and she'll stop fighting you."

  "Sarah, I married her for no reason other than to reach her stepfather," Bryan reminded her with strained patience. "She wanted nothing to do with marriage, but I involved her in my plans and forced her to go along with me. Haven't you exchanged enough words with her to guess how she'll undoubtedly take that truth? To give you a hint, my favorite estate is Gray Willows."

  Sarah Raymond blinked as she contemplated Bryan's words, trying to make sense of them. A girl was getting the best of Bryan? He was bigger even than her Jamie, both taller and broader in the shoulders, and his gray eyes were never easily met. She had seen men step aside for Jamie with tremulous smiles on their faces, praying they'd done nothing he would take offense at. And Jamie had once told her he hoped he would never have to face Bryan as anything but a friend, but a girl…!

  "Oh, Bryan, what are you going to do?" she asked anxiously, then noticed that he watched her through half- closed lids above a faint smile. "And stop laughing at me! If she's crazy enough to threaten you, she might be crazy enough to try carrying through. Since you admitted you don't want to spend the rest of your life sleeping with one eye open, why don't you reconsider that idea about an annulment - "

  "No, sweet Sarah, no annulment," Bryan interrupted without losing his smile. "I never knew I was looking for a girl like her, but now that I've found her I have no intention of giving her up. She'll take a lot of convincing, but I happen to believe I can do it. Do you think I can't, or are you just afraid she'll overpower me?"

  "Now that's why so many men lose out to so many women," Sarah returned in annoyance, pointing a finger at Bryan. "They know they're bigger and stronger than the woman, so they discount her entirely and laughingly turn their backs at the wrong time. At least Jamie was smart enough not to turn his back on me…! Why do you have to keep her? If you really want her, set her free and then go courting."

  "Sarah, dear, that worked with you because you're a reasonable woman," Bryan poin
ted out with even more amusement. "My gentle little bride is a too-strong, willful girl who was raised by a man who couldn't stand up to her, and courted by dandies who gave in to her every whim in an effort to reach her bed. If I turned her loose now, I doubt if I'd ever see her again."

  "And you've decided not to accept that," Sarah said, leaning back as she studied him closely. "You're seeing her as the ultimate challenge, and you've never turned away from a challenge in your life."

  "Something like that," Bryan murmured, sipping again at his drink. In memory he saw the girl lying under him as he opened her clothing, completely unaware in her struggling how extremely desirable she was. And how tempted he'd been to have her then and there. Her body was silk to the eye and hand, curved and soft and demanding to be explored. If he hadn't sworn to himself that after the wedding itself, at least the wedding night would be properly done… And when she'd escaped from the tub and he'd seen the look on her face, he'd been damned glad he'd kept his vow…

  "She has a small scar on the left side of her back, low down where most people would never see it," Bryan said, all amusement gone from him now. "It has to be a knife scar, but it's more than that. Do you know how you make a permanent, easily visible scar like that one? The natives did it on that island Jamie and I saw on our voyage to Spain a couple of years ago. The natives we came across used scars on their chests and arms to indicate social status."

  "No, Jamie never mentioned it," Sarah said, suddenly fighting to keep her voice calm. Bryan was very distracted, otherwise she was sure he would not be saying these things to her. Jamie was always careful to keep his discussions of their travels light, emphasizing the exotic landscape they'd come across but ignoring strange customs such as this.

  "They did it by not letting the original wound heal before using the knife on it again," Bryan said, his gaze still turned inward. "After that kind of treatment the wound healed ridged and very visible, and honor demanded that they make no sound while the scar was being put on. Any of the times. I think my wife would have gained very high social status among those natives."