The Tiger Lily

by Shirlee Busbee

  "Only sometimes?" he jeered, a considering gleam in the jade-green eyes.

  "All the time!" Sabrina snapped, and carried away by frustration and the heat of the moment, she said rashly, "I would give anything to be free of you!"

  Something that looked unpleasantly like satisfaction crossed his lean features, but he only said quietly, "You always surprise me, Sabrina."

  Her puzzlement showing on her expressive face, she demanded, "What do you mean? Surely you knew that sooner or later I would fight against your restrictions."

  "But what restrictions have I put in your way?" he inquired mildly.

  "None!" Sabrina retorted uneasily. "But that doesn't change anything—I don't want to live here in your home, and if you force me to, I shall seek to have my father's will thrown out in a court of law."

  "Ah, I see," Brett murmured. "I can remain your guardian as long as I let you do as you wish." His voice hard, he added, "And that's been your trouble from the beginning—your father indulged you, spoiled you beyond belief, and made you into one of the most self-centered individuals I have ever had the misfortune to meet!"

  Deeply hurt and mortified, Sabrina turned her head, blinking back an unexpected sting of tears. It was unjust. She had been indulged, even she would admit it, but she had never taken advantage of that fact. Before she could betray how badly his words hurt, however, pride came to her rescue, and stiffly she said, "You have no right to sit in judgment upon me—you don't even know me!"

  "Thank God for that!" he growled, and rising up, he walked over to where she stood with her back against the door. "But I can sit in judgment upon you—your father gave me that right, and in the future I intend to exercise it to the fullest!"

  Tears gone, her face set, she glared at him. "I hate you, Brett Dangermond! And I will do anything to overset this despicable guardianship!"

  He smiled cynically. "You know, sweetheart, I thought it would take us months to reach this state." His hand sliding with an odd possessiveness down her throat, he continued carelessly, "Of course, I was certain I would have to play the heavy guardian a few times first—really enrage you and make you so angry by my actions that anything I suggested would find instant favor with you." Mockery in his eyes, his voice a velvet purr, he asked, "You did say anything, didn't you?"

  Suffocatingly aware of his tall body so near hers, the heat of his hand upon her throat scorching her flesh, and feeling as if some just-noticed deadly trap was opening up beneath her feet, Sabrina nodded her head. And driven to hide any weakening on her part, she declared unwisely, "Yes! Anything!"

  The jade-green eyes moved slowly over her, deliberately lingering on the full mouth and then sliding appreciatively down her slender form. Huskily he muttered. "Then I think we can come to a satisfactory arrangement."

  His mouth gently touched the corner of hers, and helplessly Sabrina felt her body respond. She couldn't think straight with him this close, with his hand slowly caressing her shoulder, his mouth tantalizingly brushing hers, and on a shamed little whisper she got out, "What sort of arrangement?"

  He lifted his head, and she was chilled by what she saw in his face. "A simple arrangement, tiger lily," he said thickly. "You become my mistress for six months, and at the end of that time, I sign all rights to your damned fortune over to you." Cynically he added, "I think that's a fair enough price to pay for six months' use of that delectable body of yours, don't you?"

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  It took a moment for the enormity of his suggestion to sink in. Dumbly Sabrina regarded him, and then she stammered incredulously, "M . . . m . . . mistress? You want me for a mistress?"

  His expression enigmatic, he replied bluntly, "I want you. I always have. I offered you marriage once, but it seems that it wasn't enough, at least not enough when I was the only thing that came with it." He smiled wryly. "So this time I'm not so foolish, although I suppose my fortune is far larger than it was then. However," he continued harshly, "I'm no longer in the market to buy a bride. A mistress, now that's another thing. ..."

  How she kept from clawing his eyes out, Sabrina never knew. Perhaps it was the promise of retaliation in his eyes, or it could have been the instinctive knowledge that he wanted her to react that way, that he was only looking for an excuse to take her into his arms. And if he touched her, if he kissed her . . . Sabrina momentarily closed her eyes in angry despair—if he kissed her, there wouldn't be any decision to make.

  Turning her head away, desperately fighting against the need to be in his arms, she said huskily, "I need time to think."

  It wasn't what she had meant to say. She had meant to throw his insulting offer back in his arrogant face, but somehow the words had come out all wrong.

  "As you wish," Brett said with apparent indifference. He pushed away and walked toward his bedchamber but then stopped and glanced back at where she stood frozen by the double doors. "I think you should be aware," he said softly, "that I'm an impatient man, a very impatient man after all, I've waited six years for this moment, and I don't intend to wait much longer. And sweetheart, something else for you to consider—I've been very kind to you these past weeks, I've actually even surprised myself, but don't make the mistake of thinking that if you turn me down, I'll continue to be so benevolent." His chiseled lips tightened. "Believe me, I won't—I'll enjoy acting the wicked guardian!"

  He would, Sabrina thought miserably as she almost ran down the hallway toward the sanctuary of her rooms. He was capable of making her life such a hell that his insulting, degrading proposal would seem like heaven. Reaching her own rooms, she threw herself down on the bed, tears of hurt and shame trickling down her cheeks. Ah, dear God, she felt as if her heart would break. And how much easier, how much simpler her decision would be, if she didn't love him so. . . .

  A muffled gasp of angry shame came from her. She couldn't love him! Surely he had killed any feeling but hatred within her? A derisive smile curved her mouth. No, unfortunately, she did still love him, and she wasn't going to pretend otherwise, no matter how humiliating the admission. It was love that had driven her to seize the first excuse to see him, love that had been behind her need to come to New Orleans; otherwise, she would have tossed his letter aside and set about breaking the will from the comfort and security of Nacogdoches. And it had been love that had delayed her these past weeks, that had stopped her from immediately seeing a lawyer and beginning to fight Alejandro's will.

  Her tears drying, Sabrina turned over on her back, staring up blindly at the white canopy overhead. All right, so she was foolish enough to still love him. That didn't mean that she had to allow him to manipulate her, to dominate her and turn her into a fawning, adoring slave. She might love him, but he wasn't ever going to know it! He didn't deserve her love—he didn't deserve any woman's love! What he deserved was to be hanged, or drawn and quartered, or boiled in oil, or . . . For several pleasurable moments she considered all the lovely ways in which she would like to torture him, but eventually she stopped, realizing that while it made her feel a little better, it wasn't solving her problem.

  And she did have a problem. Oh, it seemed so simple on the surface. She loved him, she wanted him, wanted him desperately with every fiber of her being, and he wanted her—for six months. A soft little groan of despair broke from her. If she accepted his infamous proposal, she would have six months of ecstasy, six months in which to try to make him love her. . . . But if she failed, if at the end of six months he terminated their relationship as coolly as he seemed prepared to enter it, she would have nothing but memories, memories that would turn bitter and ugly and leave the pain of shame and degradation forever within her.

  Sabrina took a deep breath and sat up, a bleak expression on her exquisite face. Dare she risk it? Dare she say yes and hope that ... A harsh little laugh escaped her. Hope for what? That he would suddenly change? That he would fall so madly in love with her, that miraculously he would become a different man? An honorable, faithful man who would want to marry her?


  And if she didn't accept his proposal, what then? He had made it abundantly clear that the pleasantness of the past few weeks would cease. What could he do to her? she wondered uneasily. Lock her in an attic with bread and water? She could bear that, but she suspected that Brett's idea of a wicked guardian would take a more original form. A more painful, humiliating form. A form that could conceivably bring her to his bed without the guarantee that he would release his control of her body and fortune.

  Dios! What was she to do? There had to be a solution! Some other way out of this coil. Suddenly feeling as if she were suffocating, Sabrina sprang up and, grabbing her reticule, started out the door of her rooms. She got five steps down the hall before she became aware of Ollie lounging near the staircase. His expression was determined but unhappy, and Sabrina's steps slowed.

  They gazed at one another, then Ollie's eyes dropped from the suspicion in hers. Pulling nervously on his ear, he said uncomfortably, "I don't like it any better than you do, miss. But the guvnor says I wasn't to let you out of my sight." Ollie cleared his throat. "Says you should be aware that trying to run away from him is one of the options that ain't open to you."

  "I see," she said calmly enough, despite the rage that burst through her. Smiling grimly she asked, "Are you very good at spying on people, at creeping around behind their backs?"

  Ollie flushed slightly. "Yes, miss, I am," he answered steadily. "I'm not so good in the forest, as you should know, but there ain't no way you could get out of New Orleans without me or the guvnor knowing it. And miss, you should know that the guvnor is very good at tracking in the forest, so don't think if you escape from me that you can escape from him!"

  Sabrina swallowed tightly and nodded her head. Dejectedly she turned away, walking slowly back toward her rooms. What was the use of leaving the house? Ollie's presence would be a constant reminder that she was no longer really free.

  Inside her rooms, she wandered lethargically around, her fingers idly brushing first one object then another, her steps as aimless as her unhappy thoughts. What did it matter, she finally wondered tiredly, if she accepted Brett's proposal or not? He held all the cards, even one he didn't know about, her love for him. Whether she agreed or not, sooner or later, he would gain his way.

  Facing that fact squarely, Sabrina realized that there really was only one choice left to her. Escape appeared out of the question. Even if she could evade Ollie, how would she live? Where would she go? Not home, that would be the first place Brett would look for her. Besides, how would she get there? She had no doubt that he had taken precautions against her simply saddling up and riding madly for Nacogdoches.

  So, she thought dryly, if she was to find herself in his bed one way or another, she had better strike the best bargain. And the best bargain he had offered was to release her at the end of six months. Her features hard, she stared out at the balcony. At least, she told herself bitterly, she had a little time. She didn't have to give him the satisfaction of an immediate capitulation. And just maybe, just maybe, in the short time that she had, some other solution would come to her. . . .

  Somehow she had expected Brett to act differently after their conversation of that morning, but to her confusion, he continued to behave as if nothing important had passed between them. That evening when he greeted her in the blue salon before dinner, his manner was the same as it always had been—mocking, slightly derisive, and unfortunately, totally fascinating.

  Francisca had recovered somewhat from her indisposition and was up to joining them for dinner, for which Sabrina was inordinately thankful. She didn't think she could have gotten through the meal if her aunt had not been present, and even more importantly, Francisca's conversation with Brett covered any silence on Sabrina's part.

  It was unusual for Brett to join them for dinner, and Francisca couldn't help commenting on it. "Well, senor, " she said snidely, "this is an honor to have you with us this evening."

  Brett smiled slightly. "I'm so happy that you are aware of it," he replied dryly, a little gleam of mocking amusement in his eyes.

  Francisca's mouth thinned, but determined not to be roused, she said less unpleasantly, "You have been gone for several days and seem to be very busy of late. Does it have anything to do with my niece's affairs?"

  Taking a sip of his wine, Brett answered easily, "Yes, as a matter of fact, it does."

  Francisca waited for him to continue, but when it appeared that no more information was forthcoming, she demanded impatiently, "Explain, if you will." Brett looked at her, and she muttered, "Please."

  "Since you asked so politely," he murmured, "I have been seeing that Fox's Lair, my plantation some miles south of here, is made ready for our removal there."

  "Removal?" Sabrina repeated sharply.

  Brett glanced at her. "Yes. Surely you know that it is the custom to retire to one's plantation for the summer months? The city is only agreeable for the winter time. But before we can leave, there are necessary alterations to be made to the house"—he flashed a charming smile to Francisca—"before it is suitable for such delightful visitors."

  Francisca was not the least charmed. "I do not think that this is a good idea! We have no intention of leaving New Orleans! " she stated firmly.

  But before she could continue further, his face implacable, Brett said coolly, "It really doesn't matter what you think, Senor . By the first of June, Sabrina and I will be living at Fox's Lair—if you wish to accompany your niece, do so. If you don't"—his voice grew silky—"I'm certain you can find other accommodations here in the city."

  Sabrina watched with appalled fascination as Francisca's hand tightened around the knife she was holding, and for one terrible second Sabrina feared that her aunt would not be able to resist the impulse to bury it in Brett's chest.

  Eyes narrowed, Brett waited, his body poised for action, but then, as if regaining control of herself, Francisca smiled sickly. "You must forgive me, Senor , " she muttered thickly. "I am not used to having my wishes held in such little regard."

  Brett made some polite reply and then went on to talk of Fox's Lair as if nothing unpleasant had ever occurred. The awkward moment was past, but Sabrina really wasn't surprised when Francisca refused the strawberry glace for dessert and excused herself early. Left alone with Brett, Sabrina started to rise, saying hastily, "I'm not hungry anymore either. I'll leave you to finish your meal in peace."

  "Sit down, Sabrina," Brett commanded dryly. "I don't intend to attack you, so don't run from me like a frightened doe."

  Indignantly Sabrina gasped, "I am not frightened! I just thought-"

  "You just thought you'd better go soothe your aunt?" he asked with a sardonic lift of his brow.

  "Well, you were rather rude to her!" she said defensively.

  "No more than she was to me," he stated wearily. Looking at her, he demanded, "Do you really think I like being so impolite? And do you really think I am not aware of her resentment and bitterness? That I don't see the black looks she sends my way, or know that she'd really have liked to use that knife on me?" He snorted. "Your aunt hates the very sight of me, and she is the last person I would want standing near me if I were at the edge of a cliff."

  A small, rueful smile curving her lips, Sabrina murmured, "It is very hard for her, Brett."

  Brett made a wry face. "It probably is—and if she would try meeting me with just a little politeness of her own, I could rise to the occasion and return it."

  Strangely at ease with him, the chill that had been around her heart melting just a little, Sabrina asked softly, "Are we really removing to your plantation by the first of June?"

  He toyed with his wine glass a second. Then his eyes met hers and he said quietly, "Yes, we really are. I think you'll enjoy it there. Chateau Saint-Andre where Morgan lives is not too far away, so you will have your opportunity to meet his beloved Leonie."

  Sabrina nodded her head slowly, bewildered and amazed that they were having this perfectly civilized conversation.
Brett was smiling faintly, a hint of warm laughter lurking in the depths of his jade-green eyes, and she felt her heart swell with love. It was times like this, and there had been far too few of them, that she treasured most. His cynical, sarcastic manner was gone. He was talking to her as he used to in Nacogdoches, beguiling her as he had then, the careless charm washing effortlessly over her, and she almost felt that there was hope for the future. That somehow, someway, the future would be good for them.

  They talked enjoyably for some time, Brett explaining the changes he was making in Fox's Lair, making Sabrina smile at his enthusiasm for the place. But then, all too soon, as if he had just remembered the situation between them, his face changed slightly, and he said in that sardonic tone of his, "Well, my dear, I believe that I have bored you long enough with my tales of the trials of a poor planter."

  His mood shift was too quick for Sabrina, and still basking in the warmth of his charm, a teasing smile on her lips, she waved her arm around, indicating the room, and murmured, "Surely not poor?"

  Brett stiffened, and with dismay Sabrina knew that this friendly interlude was over. He had withdrawn from her, and the cold, infuriating creature she so disliked was once more in command.