He returned to the bedroom to find Storm standing near the window, dressed in his discarded shirt. It reached mid-thigh, the soft fabric clinging to her body outlined every feminine curve. She swung around when he entered the room and gave him a tremulous smile.
“I’ve brought your clothes and warm water for you to wash in.”
She stood motionless. Alone, confused. Like a deer caught in the firelight. He glimpsed the dark outline of her nipples and a shadowy tantalizing triangle between her thighs. To bury his mouth in those soft pubic curls would be pure heaven on earth.
“Get dressed, Storm.” He tried not to make it sound like an order. Stepping back, he cursed the swirl of desire in the pit of his stomach. One touch and all would be lost. He would take her back to bed and spend the whole day there. Much as he ached to bed her, now was not the time. This latent spark of decency surprised him. He could not remember when he last considered anyone else’s feelings. Once she recovered from her ordeal, a couple of days at most, he would drink of her passion until sated. Her soft loveliness would slake the desire rampaging through his body.
Storm joined him downstairs within a short time. The shabby skirt and blouse did not detract from her beauty.
He handed over buttered toast, which she devoured.
“I have to go outside to check for storm damage. You stay here in the castle.”
“Please, let me come with you. Don’t leave me alone.”
“Nothing will hurt you if you don’t go outside.” He leaned over her. “You can clean up for me. Do you cook?”
“I…I don’t know.”
“The pantry is through those doors. I’ll be back about noon, see if you can rustle me up some food.”
“But, Martin…”
“You will remain here.”
He strode out the kitchen door, annoyed for wanting to stay and kiss all her fears away. What was wrong with him? “I’ll give you money and send you away in a couple of days,” he muttered, knowing he would keep her here until his desperate need had been assuaged. A couple of weeks at most. He never did have much staying power with women.
* * *
Martin entered the castle through the rear door and sniffed the pleasing kitchen aromas. The mess he had let build up had been cleared away. A plateful of hot biscuits rested in the middle of a table laid out for two. Storm leaned over a pot, which smelt so delicious his mouth watered.
“My, you have been busy.”
She swung around and gave him a shy smile. Warmth flooded her cheeks with pink as she pushed her hair behind pretty, shell-like ears. Standing on tiptoe, she patted his cheek in a soft caress, gentle as a summer breeze, yet every nerve ending felt it.
“Sit down. I’ve got everything ready for you.” She waited on him with a touching, old fashion courtesy.
The biscuits tasted light and fluffy, the stew hot and aromatic and he ate hungrily, enjoying the best meal since Mrs. Irvine’s departure.
“Martin.”
“Mm.”
“Can I stay with you until my memory returns?”
“Well, I suppose so, better wait and see what happens before we decide.” He frowned, not daring to have a permanent woman in his life, but the anguish in her eyes stopped him from saying this was a short-term arrangement only. He picked up her hand and cradled it between his own.
“You saved my life,” she whispered through trembling lips. “I’d rather die than go back there.” Fear contorted her pretty face.
“Who hurt you?”
She didn’t answer for a moment, her blue eyes filling with tears, her pupils dilating. “Darius.”
This Darius was a dead man if they ever met. What had he done to provoke such terror? How did the Black Stallion fit into the picture?
Rage almost consumed him, but he fought it so she would not become even more frightened. He had to show kindness, not aggression. “I enjoyed the meal.” Pushing his empty plate away, he stood. “Time I headed back to work.”
“Don’t go,” she pleaded, although he chose to ignore it.
“I have to, my sweet, there’s work to be done. Left to their own devices, the men would sit on their asses all day. I’ll be home at sundown, surprise me with a nice dinner.”
“I’ll give you a big surprise.” She gave a wistful smile. What would she be like under her amnesic veil?
* * *
Over the next few days, life settled into an enjoyable pattern for Martin. For the first time in years, he felt happy. His father’s legacy, hanging over him like a tainted shroud, had dogged his life for years. Cost him the one woman he had ever wanted to marry. When her family found out he was Black Jack Mulvaney’s son, they ordered her to terminate the betrothal, and she did. Worse still, she secretly aborted his baby. Stood before him and calmly told him what she had done, and like his father he resorted to violence. He would have choked her if he had not come to his senses at the last moment. Within three months, she had married a wealthy army officer and sailed off to India. He would never risk putting himself through such hell again.
Storm only left the castle to go to the clothesline or wood shed. Hot tasty meals waited for him when he returned from work, and she waited on him hand and foot. Her eagerness to please him everywhere except in bed, bordered on desperation. Sometimes he saw defiance in her eyes, a determined set to her chin when she thought he wasn’t watching. At night in bed he cradled her in his arms, kissed her soft sweet lips, asking for nothing more, even though a fire raged in his groin. God alone knew how he controlled his sexual urges. Her fear of contact with his manhood was genuine. No woman could act that well. Had she been sexually tortured by Darius?
* * *
Martin downed his second cup of tea, pushed the remnants of his breakfast to one side and stood. “I’ve decided to go into town,” he announced moving away from the table.
“Why?”
“I need to see Ollie, a friend of mine. I want to buy you a few clothes, too. I’m tired of seeing you wear those same old rags all the time.”
“Can I come?”
“No, I want you to stay inside.”
“Why?”
Her sudden flash of defiance riled him. “You’ll do as I say. Leave the castle and I won’t let you come back inside again.”
Her lips trembled. He regretted the harsh words the moment they fell out of his mouth, but couldn’t let her wander off and get lost, or worse still, mix with the men. Like a greedy child, he wanted to hoard this prized possession. He despised himself for this weakness, yet could do nothing except hide it from her.
She bid him farewell, waiting in the doorway as he strode to the buggy. He waved before driving off, and she looked so little and sad standing all alone, it smote his heart. If she ever found out how vulnerable he was to her predicament, it would give her power over him. Like all women, she would not hesitate to wield it fiercely.
* * *
After Martin left, Storm dashed inside, locking every door and window. The gypsies should be long gone. If they weren’t? Her legs shook so much she stumbled to a chair and sat there, arms wrapped across her breasts, rocking from side to side.
Why couldn’t she remember who she was? Where she came from? What her life had been like before? Flashes of memory came and went, always so jumbled they didn’t make sense. An old man with snowy white hair flitted through her brain.
Don’t think of Darius or the awful deeds you witnessed and heard at night. If Martin sent her away, what would she do? Where would she go?
The man was moody, often short-tempered, never brutal like Darius, though. He had not insisted on his due, although instinct told her his impatience grew, and if she didn’t please him, he would banish her from his life. What would become of her?
I’ll try harder to please him, and when the time came for him to claim his due, I’ll do what Leila said. Spread my legs and let him have his way.
If she kept him happy in bed, he would let her stay. To think like this was shocking and wrong; she
had no choice. It was a matter of survival. She needed somewhere to stay until her memory returned, or at the very least, she felt stronger. The thought of leaving Martin whether her memory returned or not disturbed her. She liked him more with each passing day. He made her heart flutter, her pulses race. Pure folly thinking along these lines because he would never think of her as anything more than a brief diversion passing through his life.
* * *
On arrival in town, Martin ordered supplies from Dunstan’s general store, and bought a couple of gowns and undergarments for Storm. If she stayed for a time, maybe they could travel down to Melbourne and buy a complete new wardrobe of clothes, the prettiest, most expensive gowns from high-class dressmakers. Pointless buying too much now when he only had the span of his hands to calculate her size.
He made the Black Stallion his last port of call. It was situated at the far end of town, away from the vitriolic Mrs. Dunstan and her Temperance Society cronies. Sanctimonious old hypocrites.
Ollie welcomed him like a long lost brother, slapped him on the back and forced a drink into his hands the moment he stepped over the threshold.
“How’s the world been treating you since we last shared a drink?” Ollie chuckled.
“I’ve no complaints.” Martin took a long swallow of the amber liquid, enjoying the smoothness as it trickled down his throat. Ollie would not condone what had happened to Storm, some deed so horrible she had blocked it out of her memory. In any case, being part owner of the Black Stallion himself, he would insist Darius be dismissed.
“A couple of those new girls from Melbourne are exceptional.” Ollie grinned. “You’d enjoy them.”
“I don’t have time.” This statement surprised himself and his friend.
“Always time for a beautiful woman.” With a suggestive wink, Ollie gave him a little punch. “One of them is French. Ooh-la-la. The woman’s insatiable, would exhaust even you, my friend.”
“I don’t think so.” Martin laughed. “When I’ve got more time I’ll take up your challenge. How many new women did you bring here?”
“Five. Business is booming, thanks to the gold strike a couple of months back.” He slapped Martin on the back. “You’ll more than treble your money, like I promised. I use eight rooms at the one time and it’s never enough. The girls have complained about the number of men they service, even though I doubled their wages. Reckon they’re sick of spending so much time on their backs gazing up at the ceiling.”
“Who is Darius?” Martin all but spat the name out.
“Darius? Never heard of him. Why?”
“Not employed here in the lounge?”
“No.” Ollie fingered his moustache. “Might work at the front bar.”
“If he’s still here, dismiss him,” Martin snarled.
“Why?”
“Because he abused one of your girls.”
“What!” Ollie jumped to his feet. “You know I don’t condone brutality here. Who?”
“A young blonde whore became so terrified of him she ran away.”
“Are you mad? No whores have run away from here?”
Martin banged his glass on the table. Storm had lied to him. Invented a story so he would take her in. Damn, am I some besotted fool.
“I better go now, Oll.” He tried to be civil. “See you next time I come in.”
“What’s up with you?” Ollie walked him to the door.
“Nothing.” For a king’s ransom, he would never admit how he had been gullible enough to let blue eyes and soft white skin fool him. Oh, her terror had been real enough. Darius must be her pimp. The thought nearly caused him to regurgitate his last drink.
With purposeful steps, he strode to the buggy. Wait until I get my hands on her. He would not dwell on why her betrayal cut him so deep. I’ll partake of her tonight then banish her. No woman makes a fool of Martin Mulvaney.
Glancing at his pocket watch, he quickened his pace. By the time, he arrived home and unloaded his stores darkness would have closed in. He climbed into the buggy and whipped the horse up. As he drove along his anger intensified. If Storm proved exceptionally talented in bed, he might keep her for a while. He had toyed with the idea of taking her into town. Not that he flaunted his mistresses. Discretion had always been part of his nature. Being rich, people feared him and the townsfolk never forgot Black Jack’s depravity and cruelty. Why did a son have to pay for the sins of his father?
The scandal of the missing child Amy Campbell, resurrected year after year by old Fergus Campbell, still tainted the Mulvaney name. Hatred surged in his breast every time he thought of his mortal enemy.
* * *
Disobeying his instructions, Storm dashed down the driveway to meet him, hair streaming out like a banner in the wind.
“Martin, Martin.” She veered to the left and charged at the buggy.
His tug on the reins was so sharp the mare reared, her front legs pawing at the air. The buggy rocked and boxes and parcels slid around in the back. Once he got the horse under control again, he leapt down and strode over to Storm. She could have been trampled. That beautiful white body smashed to pieces. The vividness of the picture made his stomach churn.
“I told you not to leave the house. Didn’t I?” He almost grabbed her by the arm, but stopped himself just in time. He dared not touch her when he was so enraged in case he hurt her. Unbelievable how this lying little whore had got under his skin. How she still affected him.
Her whole body shuddered. “You stayed away too long.”
“You could have been killed.” Fury surged through him because she did not comprehend how dangerous her actions had been. “Get inside and stay there or I’ll hand you over to Darius.”
“Please, he’ll kill me,” she sobbed. Her cheeks turned ashen, her chest rose and fell in a struggle to breathe as she slumped on the top step.
He didn’t dare dwell on why his gut clenched when she placed herself in danger. It raised questions better left alone.
Shouldering the front door open, he stacked his purchases in the hallway. He returned outside and she had not moved from the step. “Get inside before you catch a chill.”
He stomped over to the buggy, leapt into the seat and drove over to the stables. After handing the horse and buggy to a groom, he strode over to the castle. When he got there, his fury at her putting herself in such danger, had burned itself out, leaving only anger at being duped.
Nothing short of criminal to hand her over to a brute like Darius, but the little liar wouldn’t be staying here for long. A few days maybe, if she pleased him in bed then he would give her money and send her away. It didn’t make sense, her amnesia and fear of Darius was genuine. What was her story? He would forgo a large chunk of his fortune to find out.
A roaring fire lit up the sitting room. His chair was positioned close to the hearth with a glass of whisky and his cigars resting on the side table. He flung himself into the chair, stretched his legs out, and rested his booted feet on the hearth.
“Storm.”
She darted up to him. “Do you want me to take your boots off?” For a little while because Martin had been kind, she forgot Leila’s instructions to be submissive. “Light your cigar?”
“No. Come here.” Reaching out he pulled her on to his lap. “I’m sorry for being such a brute before.” He could not believe the panic he had felt when she placed herself in danger, but his later reaction terrified him. He had raised his hand in anger to a woman, something he vowed never to do after witnessing his father’s brutality. Was it in the blood? Pushed into a corner, would he strike out at a woman as he had done once before? The thought sickened him.
He took several deep shuddering breaths. “You shouldn’t have lied to me.” He ran the flat of his thumb along her tear stained cheeks. “Who is Darius?”
She clutched his hand as tremors shook her body. “I…I can’t remember.”
“He hurt you, didn’t he?”
“Yes. He’ll kill me if I go back. Please, M
artin,” she pleaded.
I’ll get to the bottom of this, not now, though, she’s too upset. Tonight I’ll claim what I should have claimed when she first lobbed on my doorstep.
“Y…you won’t send me away?”
“No.”
She sagged against him with relief.
Playing with the buttons on her gown, he said. “I’ve brought you new clothes from town.”
“Can I see them now? Oh, please. Can I?”
“No, after we’ve eaten.”
“All right.” Do whatever your man asks of you, Leila always said. “I roasted a chicken for our dinner.” She smoothed the furrows from his brow with her fingertips.
“Chicken? Who killed and plucked it?”
“I did. I don’t know how I knew what to do.”
Where did she come from? Why would a good cook and competent housekeeper turn to whoring? “Is the food ready? I’m hungry.”
“Yes, I can dish up straight away.”
The mouth-watering smell of the seasoned chicken reminded him of a Christmas lunch he had once eaten in the London home of an Earl.
When Mrs. Irvine was here, his meals were served in the small salon, although he preferred eating in the warm intimacy of the kitchen with Storm. Would her memory ever return? If so, what would she be like? Not fearful or submissive like now. He had noticed a stubborn tilt to her chin sometimes, a glint of defiance in her eyes. He could not decide whether he wanted her memory to return or not. What had happened to produce such terror that she constantly fawned over him?
The chicken tasted succulent, cooked to perfection, the roast vegetables crisp on the outside, soft and fluffy inside. He ate with enjoyment as she hovered near his elbow, ready to do his bidding.
“You don’t have to wait on me all the time. Eat your own food before it gets cold.”
Her eyes widened with surprise at his concern, mere prettiness suddenly turned into beauty. He felt an unfamiliar yearning for his life to run a different course. Damn it all, he didn’t want to feel anything for Storm except a degree of pity and rampant lust.
Savage Possession Page 3