“Oui, cherie,” Jean broke in. “We brought him back on the December voyage last year. Purchased from the debtor’s block, I believe.”
“But Jean, the clothes! Certainment he eez not still—”
“Oui, ma petite,” the Frenchman responded, annoyed that his wife should find another man fascinating. He could not know the ploy she used to spur his jealousy; she was a loving wife but she had had enough of his meandering. Jean straightened his scarlet coat and testily brushed the cuff. “The bondsman has gained the squire’s favor and some say he’s earned it, though rumors have a way of being wrong. Why, some would even go so far as to claim he eez a man of letters and a skilled engineer. Do not believe everything you hear, ma cherie.”
“Ah, but strange, Shanna,” Fayme mused aloud. “How a man of much talent eez being a bondslave. He eez magnifique!”
Jean Duprey chafed and grew a bit red-faced. Shanna watched him with satisfaction and freely joined the conspiracy. Perhaps he would be a little less free-footed if aware that his wife might also be tempted. For revenge’s sake and because she had been so lenient with the man before, Shanna felt a desire to heighten Jean’s qualms.
“Aye, Fayme,” she whispered behind her fan, just loud enough for Jean to hear. “And I’ve heard it rumored he has a habit of sleeping without any clothes.”
Fayme sucked her breath in through her teeth. “Such a man!”
Jean blustered and cleared his throat. He beckoned a servant near and took a fresh glass of champagne, eyeing his wife carefully as he sipped it. Suddenly he saw her in a new light and realized that the title “wife” had not detracted from her beauty.
“Capitán Morel,” Shanna said, smiling graciously at the tall Spaniard, “Tell me of Spain. It has long been my desire to go there, but, alas, I have found so little time to bring that dream into reality.”
The man, thin and swarthy but not overly handsome, turned his full and appreciative regard upon her. “Señora, I would take you there myself. If you but speak the word, I shall go to prepare my ship. But,” he spoke aside to his young lieutenant, “we must cover every man’s eyes lest the beauty of this princess blind them or distract them from their duties.”
Shanna laughed behind her fan. “You are enchanting, Capitán, but you flatter me overmuch I fear.”
“Flattery, señora? Never in my life more serious have I been,” the man assured her warmly. Lifting a glass of champagne from the tray the servant held for him, Captain Morel presented it to her with a slight bow. “Señora, you make the glory of the heavens dim in comparison to your beauty.”
And so Shanna played. Her laughter rose with a sweet, seductive softness that entrapped men’s minds. She was gay and charming, but she limited much of her flirtations to the Spaniards, for they would soon be gone, and she would not be encumbered with unwanted attentions overly long. The dinner was served, and Ruark was placed beside her father at the far end of the table and well away from her. In a quiet moment after they returned to the drawing room, Shanna stood alone, and her gaze slowly swept the room. Pitney and her father had settled into chairs in a corner and were arguing over the chessboard they had left the night before. She saw Ralston nearby, alone as seemed his preference. The agent nodded in greeting as their gazes met, and Shanna coolly returned a smile. She paused to sip from her glass of Madeira. Then, with a suddenness that was startling, her eyes met Ruark’s. He stared across the shoulders of two men who were discussing some matter in front of him, and she realized he had been watching her for a long time. Now there was almost a naked hunger in his eyes as they burned into her. Though he voiced no words, she heard his thoughts as if he had shouted them across the room.
Lord! Shanna turned her back to him and drained her glass in a single breath. Her hand shook as she set the goblet on a nearby table. Suddenly the room was warm and stuffy, and she began to feel lightheaded. There were too many bodies pressing in too close to her. The mood of gaiety slipped away, and Shanna felt an urgent need to be alone for a moment, if only to compose her thoughts. The shock of that golden gaze across the room and the unguarded message it conveyed had stunned her to a point where her mind reeled in confusion. Her breasts tingled, and her loins ached, yet her mind withdrew in horror from the bold, unmistakable urging of her body.
It was as if she viewed herself from a distance. The beautiful woman, pale but calm, passed through the crowd, acknowledging greetings, and somehow made her way to a deserted corner of the veranda.
“Damn the bastard,” she raged silently. Her fists clenched tightly as she swayed against the railing and gasped for air. “He comes at me from a thousand directions at once. I crush him here, and he is thrice there! He is only a man! A man! A man!” Her fist thumped the balustrade with each repetition.
Trying to regain serenity, Shanna drew a deep breath and then another. Some measure of quiet returned to her, and she renewed her resolve to go back and enjoy herself in spite of him. Let him stand and gawk if he would.
She turned, once more reassured, took a step—then almost screamed.
He was there! Leaning calmly against a post and smiling at her. Every bit of the courage she had strived so hard to erect was shattered in an instant.
“Get away from me!” Shanna sobbed. “Let me alone!”
She pressed a hand across her lips to still their trembling and fled. She brushed past Jason at the door and flew up the stairs, never pausing or caring until she was safe behind her locked door.
Her bedchamber was hot, though she stripped and donned a light gown. She wiped beaded perspiration from her trembling upper lip and sat on the edge of her bed, trying to stem the shaking that had seized her body. An awareness persisted she could not thrust away. She knew what he wanted, and her own loins throbbed with her answering need.
The night grew strangely still. The sounds of the guests died away as the last of them took their leave. Shanna’s bedchamber was stifling and seemed to close in on her. Fretfully she rose from the bed, blowing out the candle beside it, and began to pace the dark, determined to think of anything but Ruark.
Attila! On his back! Riding as swift as the wind! Attila! A sharp piercing whistle! Ruark! Angrily Shanna shook her head and tried again.
The sea! Floating on its swells! Diving to watch the fish! Coming out on the beach! Soft, warm sand beneath her feet. A shadow on the cliffs! Ruark!
A ride with her father in the carriage! Ruark!
Her own breakfast table! A dinner! Ruark! Ruark! Ruark!
Shanna stood with her eyes clenched tightly, her fists pressed against her temples. Everywhere she turned it was Ruark!
But not here, not now. She was safe.
Shanna relaxed, heaving a sigh, and opened her eyes. She walked out onto the terrace outside her room. The wind had freshened, and heavy clouds flitted across the face of the moon. A wide halo shone about the silver disk, a sure sign of approaching rain. Leaning against the balustrade, she stared at the yard beneath, one tree at a time, watching until the fickle moon gave meager light to each. But alas, they were all barren. None bore the shape of a man crouched at its base.
Suddenly Shanna stiffened as it came to her that she was looking for Ruark! The name blazed across her mind. Anger stirred because she had so little control of her own thoughts.
Petulantly Shanna returned to her bed and threw herself upon it, flinging her arm across her brow and closing her eyes tightly, determined to sleep. But she had tasted the sweetest of nectars; she knew now the long, sleek hardness of his thighs, the rippling muscles of his back, the flat, hard belly, the strength of him pressed against her. Her eyes flew open and Shanna realized she lay sprawled tense upon the bed.
With a muted groan she rose again and dressed in a long skirt and loose blouse, the usual garb for women on the island. She bound her hair in a brightly flowered kerchief. Her bedroom had ceased to be a haven, and Shanna fled from it, climbing from her balcony and dropping to the ground. The cool, damp grass beneath her bare feet brought m
emories to mind of her childhood when she had run across the lawns with carefree abandon. Slowly she strolled away from the manor and sighed as she stared up toward the moon. The clouds had gathered in density and the wind had quickened, whipping her peasant’s skirt about her. Aimlessly she meandered through the trees and reveled in the privacy the darkness gave her. When as a child she wished to pass unnoticed, she often dressed as a peasant. Few gave a young, commonly garbed girl more than a second glance, and although she could not bear close scrutiny, she could with casual caution pass unhindered. Now she wandered the grounds of the mansion as she pleased, pausing as a memory marked a tree or a path. It was not until she stood before a porch and saw the light of a single lamp burning in a dining room, that full awareness penetrated, and she realized she had come the way her mind had so often led her of late.
A great weariness had come over Ruark in the quiet of the cottage. The battle for Shanna’s attention suddenly seemed inane and pointless. She ever welcomed the considerations of other men and ever rejected his. The labors in the heat of the day as well as the party had sapped his strength, and his mood plunged into the blackest depths of despair. He lay naked across his bed in the unlit room and stared upward into the darkness. His mind was numb, and the very air he breathed seemed heavy and oppressive. His eyes closed, and wispy, foglike tendrils of slumber drifted about him. It was as if he stood in a dense mist while colored lanterns moved about beyond his sight; then a single bright beacon flamed alight, and he hastened toward it until he came into a stone-walled garden, sunlit and barren but for a single stem which bore a rose of such beauty as to make him halt for breath. As he stared the stem dissolved, and the rose floated free amid glittering mists that obscured all else. The deep red bloom filled his mind. Then it seemed to drift away, shrinking, lightening, changing shape. It was a pair of lips, moist, gently parted; then above them pale green emeralds became a pair of eyes, sea-green and haunting, with a depth that beckoned to him. The swirling mists became a face of fragile beauty formed with the skill of an artist expending all his talent in one effort. The eyes held him entranced. The lips formed voiceless words that enthralled his soul.
“Reach out thy hand. Pluck me. Take the bloom. ‘Tis yours for the holding.”
When he stretched forth his hand, a long, black-tipped thorn thrust into his flesh, and in searing pain, he withdrew. The face laughed and tossed brilliant tresses which flowed about it in a wild disarray of dark honey streaked with gold.
It retreated from him until it floated in the midst of a leafless thorn-twined jungle. The siren song increased and became intense, blinding his will to all but the beauty that beckoned, calling, crying out for his touch. He lunged forward carelessly. His fingers almost seemed to brush the blood red petals before the vines caught him, held him, and with evil eagerness the thorns plunged deep into his limbs and body until he sobbed in agony and the burning whiteness of the pain wiped away his vision. He tried to withdraw, but each movement freshened the ecstatic torture. Then he was falling, plunging through a green, flower bedecked forest—
Ruark’s eyes flew open, and he stared into the darkness again as his senses returned. Cursing he rose, lighting a candle beside the bed, and donned his short breeches. He would turn to work for ease of mind, and he’d be damned before he would let Shanna’s little games torture him.
He strode into the dining room where he had been working and sat on the table’s edge. An oil lamp hung on a chain overhead, and in its light he stared blankly at the parchments and the sketches scattered across the table’s surface. Even here, Shanna was too much on his mind to allow him freedom.
Slowly Ruark felt a presence in the room and raised his gaze to see the shadow of an island woman. She leaned silently against the door. With fluid movements she came forward into the light, and Ruark rose quickly to his feet, recognizing Shanna. He tossed the quill to the table and then went without a word to the sideboard, there pouring a glass of Madeira. Returning to her, he offered her the goblet, standing close before her, desiring yet not daring to touch her. Was this another dream which would fade if he reached out to take her?
Shanna took the glass with both hands and sipped from it while her green eyes softly searched his face. The goblet was lowered, and Shanna’s gaze followed as confusion filled her mind. She could find no word to break the spell. Ruark’s hand came up and gently swept the kerchief from her head, loosening the long, thick tresses, spilling them downward over her soft, white shoulders. He set the glass on the corner of the table then blew out the oil lamp. Shanna’s lips parted in a low, wordless moan as his arms went about her, folding her into his embrace and bringing her against his hard muscled chest. His mouth touched hers and tested the softness of her lips, playing, warming, rousing until her arms crept about his neck. He bent slightly, and his arm went behind her knees, lifting her from the floor. A soft sigh escaped Shanna as she laid her head upon his shoulder. Ruark strode swiftly through the rooms until he gained the softly illuminated bedchamber where without pause he turned and fell on his back across the bed, still holding her clasped in his arms. Shanna gasped at the fall then braced up on an elbow to stare down in wonder at his face. Folding an arm about her, Ruark pressed a kiss upon her lips and traced a molten path downward to her neck and finally to her bare shoulder. In her mind, Shanna wanted to pull away from his touch, but her mind stumbled and fell before his persistent caresses. Shanna rose above him slightly, shaking her head until her hair formed a shimmering canopy about their faces. Staring into those hungry golden eyes, she lowered again to kiss him long and ardently, moving slowly, the hot peaks of her breasts teasing his chest. His hands moved to her waist, and the skirt fell loose. A tug at the tie of her blouse and it was off her shoulders. Like a savage cat Shanna crouched on her knees above him, tempting him with a kiss, an intimate touch, until Ruark rolled, pulling her beneath him. Then with fierce, naked abandon he possessed her, sweeping her with him to breathless, spiraling heights.
Climbing up from the depths of sleep, Ruark woke as if from a trance, for a brief haunting moment fearing that he had dreamed it all. But then he felt the soft, warm body entwined with his, and he relaxed upon the pillow. The memory of Shanna’s passion fanned the fires in his mind. She had teased him like a vixen, tempted him with her softness, made love with him as openly as if she were a cherished wife. Her effect on him was total and complete—devastating when wanting her only led him to frustration and agony of mind and body, beautiful when they joined in love and she was his, for a time, for a space. The fragrance of her perfume filled his brain, and her lovely curving form nestled close against him, a warm, soft thigh resting casually between his, her arm flung out across his chest. She moved against him, and her breath was a warm tickling at the base of his neck. Her lips touched there, and as he looked down, she drew back, her eyes smiling into his. Their lips met and met again as if each kiss were sweeter than the one before. His arm beneath her curled about her shoulders, and his other hand caressed downward along her spine to press her hips close to his. They moved apart then came together with a heat that melted them into one, each oblivious of everything but the other. All that had gone before was dimmed in the brilliance of the union.
Jagged lightning cracked the ebony sky, and raindrops pattered on the leaves of the poinciana trees close outside the window. Errant breezes brought the fresh smell of the storm to fill the room. Both of them were awake, but they were silent and somewhat awed by the bliss they had found together. Shanna lay nestled in his arms. Her finger traced the outline of his ear, and she brushed the tousled hair back from it.
“I am to bid you go before my father learns of us,” she said quietly. “Hergus fears what will happen.”
Ruark chuckled softly. “And I am to go, just like that? Upon my word, the woman is blind, else she would see how you have bewitched me.”
Shanna rolled her head to watch the play of flashing bolts across the broad expanse of velvet blackness. It was strange the strong sense o
f security she felt here with Ruark as the storm enveloped the world beyond the windows. She had always slept alone, and as a child she had been frightened of the thunderous winds and the blinding flashes that lent an eeriness to her bedroom long after the storms passed. On more than one occasion she had fled in terror to the safety of her parents’ chamber, only a few doors away from her own. Now with the raging winds outside, the comforting arms within, she could not find it in her to leave them.
Ruark’s fingers brushed the softly tangled curls from her soft nape, and his kisses ventured unhindered along the creamy whiteness. Shanna closed her eyes, bathing in the peace of her contentment.
A long sigh escaped her. “I suppose I should go back before the storm worsens.”
Ruark’s lips brushed her temple and pressed a kiss to her cheek. “Stay ‘til dawn,” he breathed against her ear. “ ‘Twill be past by then. Let me hold you for a few hours more.”
Shanna turned her face so her lips might meet his, and their mouths played with increasing warmth as she whispered, “But you’ll need your rest. What of the morrow? You have to work.”
“I’ll manage.” His mouth became insistent. “Stay. Will you?”
Shanna nodded slightly, and her voice was muffled beneath his kisses. “Aye, ‘til dawn.”
The storm rattled against the window, and together they watched while the heavens played out their fiery dances and tiny twinkling stars appeared between the racing clouds.
The chimes of the clock in the hall sounded the hour of four, and Ruark came sharply awake, aware that Shanna lay curled against him, sound asleep. Gently he kissed her, urging her to wake as he spoke her name. She moaned sleepily, slipping a silken arm about his neck. His mouth lightly caressed the softly parted lips as he murmured huskily
“Come, love, there’s no help for it. I’ll take you back.”
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