Swansea Destiny

by Fayrene Preston

  Ram shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "Look, gents, we're only delivering the message, but if I was you two, I'd pay attention. Wade Scalia is a big cheese, and he don't take it too kindly when things don't go his way."

  "That's right," Barton chimed in. "And he feels you're making too much money out of your territory. You don't need it, he says, being as how you got all the Deverell money you want."

  Jake spread his hands out, a gesture implying that he was puzzled. "You know, it's funny. I don't remember ever giving a damn about what Wade thinks or feels, but let me consult my partner on this. What do you say, Lucas? Do you remember ever giving a damn about what Wade thinks?"

  "Can't say as I do."

  Jake suddenly dropped his feet to the floor and stood. "Sorry, boys, but I think you made a trip for nothing. I'll have one of the butlers find your coats. Have a nice drive back to Boston."

  "Coats?" Ram looked at Barton with disbelief.

  "You ain't sending us out on a night like this, are you?" Barton asked, glancing from Jake to Lucas and back again.

  "There's a snowstorm out there!"

  "No, really?" Lucas pushed away from the bookcase and followed Jake to the door. "Gee, that's too bad. But you see, guys, you came here uninvited, and we don't have any room for gate-crashers."

  "We'll sleep in the kitchen," Ram offered.

  "Sorry," Jake said at the door. "That's where my dogs sleep. Good-bye, gentlemen."

  Chapter 2

  "Horsefeathers, Bella, I saw the way you were flirting with Jake." Kenneth Linden shook his head with exasperation, his feelings decidedly mixed about his sister being at SwanSea. He was a tall man with a receding hairline made more pronounced because he combed it straight back. But he had attractive masculine features and golden-brown eyes that women couldn't seem to resist. "The trouble with you is you began flirting in the cradle and you never stopped." Just then the band started an exuberant rendition of "Runnin' Wild." A girl wearing a pink sequined dress and a headband that sported a lush pink feather took to the dance floor. Doing the shimmy, her arms outstretched, she was delectable with her thighs flashing and her bottom swiveling. The sight sent a passing waiter stumbling, but Kenneth rescued the last glass of champagne from the man's silver tray and took a deep drink.

  Arabella viewed her brother from beneath her lashes and wondered with concern how many glasses of wine he had had so far. It wasn't even midnight yet. "Really, Kenneth, you're exaggerating. Jake Deverell is our host. I was merely thanking him for having me. By the way, I think he liked the peacocks."

  "More than likely he'll have the cook make peacock stew tomorrow. Now, listen to me. Mother and Dad wouldn't be too keen if they knew you were here—"

  "How are they going to find out unless you take it upon yourself to cable them in Europe? Besides, Papa brought me here himself once when he had business with Edward Deverell."

  "That's different. You were a little girl then. And in case you hadn't noticed, Jake runs an entirely different house from Edward Deverell's."

  She had noticed. "Oh, applesauce, Kenneth. Isn't it a little late to suddenly begin playing the overprotective brother?"

  With a frown he took out a handkerchief square and patted his damp forehead. "You're my baby sister, and I'm responsible for bringing you here."

  A negligent wave of her hand told him what she thought of his reasoning. "I insisted. Anyway, SwanSea is one of the most famous houses in the country, not some terrible den of iniquity." She darted a quick glance around the room and told herself she wasn't looking for Jake. But she did happen to note that he was nowhere to be seen.

  "It's all in the perspective, kiddo. At any rate, I want you to pay attention to me because I know what I'm talking about. Jake Deverell is not a man to trifle with."

  An emotion showed on his face, and just for a moment she thought it might be fear. She was well aware she was overly sensitive where he was concerned these days, but it had almost sounded as if his warning had been meant for himself as well as her. "Kenneth? What's wrong?"

  "What? Nothing. What could be wrong? All I'm saying is be polite to him, but save your flirting for someone else. When Jake and I were at Harvard together…" His voice trailed off.

  "What, Kenneth?"

  "Never mind. It's not important." He had been about to tell her about the Wellesley girls who had been wild over Jake and gone to great lengths to gain his attention, but then he had remembered the older woman with whom Jake had been involved the entire four years they had been at Cambridge. He was sure Arabella would be fascinated to hear about that woman, but she wasn't going to hear it from him. Lord, his head felt as if it were swimming. He shouldn't have skipped the buffet table, he supposed, but his nerves had been jumping and he'd gone straight for the hooch.

  Arabella hooked her arm in his with a deliberate casualness. "You know what I'd really like? A cup of coffee. I'll bet you a nickel we can find some coffee if we really look. What do you say?"

  He patted her hand. "Sounds like a swell idea. In fact, I think I'll go sit down in a corner somewhere and have a rest. Bring me back a cup of coffee, and I'll give you a dime."

  "Big spender," she teased, but she was worried as she watched him make his way across the dance floor, weaving around the wildly gyrating couples dancing to a jazzy number. She had the real and unhappy feeling he needed more than a cup of coffee or a plate of food. He was her big brother, four years older than she, and she had idolized him from the time she was old enough to toddle after him. But now at twenty-five she felt much older. She knew something was bothering him—and had been for some time. That was why she had finagled an invitation to accompany him to SwanSea. She had hoped that spending time together away from Boston might ease his tension and make it easier for him to tell her what was wrong. She fervently prayed he wasn't gambling again.

  The band segued into a slower pace with "I'll See You in My Dreams," and Jasper Wellington, the handsome young scion of a prominent Boston family, a man she had known for years, swept her onto the dance floor. "You're holding me too tightly, Jas," Arabella said, laughing.

  "I can't help myself! You're sooo bea-u-ti-fuuul. I'm overcome!"

  She patted him on the shoulder, reflecting wryly that the alcohol content of the hooch must be pretty high tonight. "I don't think it's me that's overcome you, Jas."

  "Yes, yes, you have! And you'd make me the happiest man alive if you would say you'd be my wife."

  Arabella sighed. "I can't marry you, Jas. Remember? I've already told you several times. I can't marry you because I'm not in love with you."

  "Oh, that's right."

  "But I'm dancing with you, Jas. Doesn't that make you happy?"

  He brightened. "Yes, you're right! It does."

  "Excuse me, but I'm cutting in."

  Jas turned to the dark-complected man who had tapped him on the shoulder. "Jake! Nice to see you, old boy! And great timing. You'll never guess what's happened. Arabella won't marry me, but she has consented to make me happy by dancing with me."

  "That's nice, Jas," he said without once taking his eyes off Arabella, "but now she's going to make me happy by dancing with me. Isn't that right, Arabella?"

  "I'm not sure," she said with a feigned indifference made difficult to maintain by her racing pulse. "I did promise to make Jas happy."

  The corners of his mouth lifted. "He looks happy to me. Jas? You're happy, aren't you?"

  "Jake's right, Arabella. I'm really happy."

  "Then that's settled."

  With a suddenness that left her dizzy, Jake drew her out of Jasper's arms into his, and danced away with her just as the band switched to the slowest version she had ever heard of "It Had to Be You."

  "You look surprised," he said after a moment. "Did you really think I wouldn't come back to you?"

  "I never gave it a thought," she lied with perfect equanimity.

  "Jas didn't seem too cut up about your turning down his marriage proposal."

  "He's used to
my rejections. Besides, when he's drunk, he's like a child, easily diverted."

  "I'm cold sober and you're going to have a hell of a time diverting me."

  "From what?" she asked, quite sure no girl with a modicum of sense would have done so, much less follow up with the next question. "Are you going to ask me to marry you?"

  Her silver and gold dress had a low back, as most of her evening frocks did, but her dance partners always kept their hands at her waist. Jake's hand rested flat on her bare back, the tips of his fingers in the valley of her spine. And when he moved his fingers, as he did occasionally, it sent a burning shiver through her.

  He smiled down at her, his lips full and sensual. "I wouldn't be able to stand the rejection when you said no."

  "That's a very gallant answer."

  "Enjoy it. It may be the last gallant thing I ever say to you."

  She swallowed, wondering why they seemed to be dancing even slower than the song called for. The hard, steel-corded muscles in his thighs, stomach, and chest pressed against her as they moved to the music, making her wildly sensitive to the amazing extent of his masculinity and strength. "I hope your date doesn't mind you dancing with me."

  A dark brow quirked over amused black eyes. "Do you really care what she thinks?"

  "Are you really so hard that you don't?"

  He didn't answer, and that bothered her more than anything he might have said.

  "Where is she?" She tried to look around the ballroom, but at that moment he drew her even more firmly against him and whirled the two of them in a different direction to avoid a collision with another couple. The beads of her dress clicked together and created a blinding blur of light as the short skirt flew outward, wrapped high on her legs, then settled again.

  "She's not here. She's on her way back to Boston."

  She drew in a sharp breath. "Tonight? In the snow?"

  "The snow has died down considerably. She'll be all right. My chauffeur is driving her. Besides, I'm sure they won't be the only ones out on the road tonight."

  His scent drifted around her, compellingly primal and singularly masculine. Surely he wasn't holding her any more tightly than Jas had, yet she couldn't remember this particular sweet sensation she was feeling as her breasts brushed against the hard wall of his chest. She drew a ragged breath, unintentionally increasing the sensation. "Was it her idea to leave?"

  Jake's hand clasped hers tighter, turned it, and drew it inward. The back of his hand was pressing into her breast. This whole dance, she thought shakily, was too intimate.

  His dark, glittering gaze held hers. "You don't need me to answer that, do you?"

  She heard the bandleader say, "Ten seconds to midnight."

  "You asked her to leave," she said.

  "Yes."

  People were counting. There was a roaring in her ears. "Because of me."

  "Yes."

  Horns blew. People shouted. Glittering confetti and multicolored streamers came tumbling down from the frescoed ceiling painted and inlaid with silver, gold, and mother-of-pearl swans and peacocks.

  "Happy New Year, Arabella," Jake said right before he bent his head and took possession of her mouth.

  And it was a possession. In that split second, as a fiery shock raced through her, every kiss she had ever received faded from her memory. And reality as she knew it was suspended as his lips commanded, demanded a response.

  She sensed grave danger. She could feel him pulling her into a shimmering web of sensuality so strong that if she gave in and went, she wasn't sure she would ever be able to break free. But, at least for this small moment out of time, she couldn't seem to help herself.

  Her hand clenched and unclenched on the fine material of his tuxedo jacket. She stood on tiptoe, wanting more of his kiss, only peripherally aware of the celebration around them, the madness within obliterating the madness all around. Heat was curling down into her lower body, threatening to catch her on fire. Uncharacteristically, she felt an urgent need for that fire, and she went in search of it, opening her lips beneath his, thrilling to the feel of his tongue as it thrust deep into her mouth.

  Time had no meaning; neither did sound. The ecstasy was new to her, and she wanted it to go on and on. When he finally did pull away, Arabella thought an eternity had passed and was astonished that the band was still playing "Auld Lang Syne." His eyes were black velvet, mesmerizing, drawing her in as if they would absorb her as they did light.

  "We're going to have to do something about this," he said huskily.

  He was talking about the fire they had created, but she didn't feel capable of a coherent answer.

  "You have glitter in your hair." He brushed a hand across the blond strands, showering glitter this way and that. Then he pulled at tangled streamers that had somehow wound themselves around her until she was free, at least from the streamers. And all the while she stood still, like a little girl getting tidied up for a party. Except she felt nothing like a child. Her senses were reeling, her lips were pulsing, and her breasts were aching strangely. The clock had struck twelve, a new year had begun, and her world had turned upside down.

  "Miss Linden's wrap, sir," Marlon said from behind her.

  Arabella turned, bewildered to find Marlon holding out her ermine cape.

  "Thank you." Jake took it from him and draped it around her.

  "Are we going someplace?" she asked, dazed.

  "Just outside."

  He took her hand in his and drew her across the room to tall French doors. He opened one and led her out onto the darkened terrace, then closed the door behind them. The snow and cold swirled around them. Then Jake was pushing her against the wall, shielding her with his big body.

  Her senses ignited once more, though he had scarcely touched her. "What are we doing out here?" she managed to ask.

  "You'll see." His voice was a seductive rasp. "Put your arms around me. I'll keep you warm."

  Without fully understanding why, she did as he said, sliding her arms around his neck, letting her fingers lightly touch the ends of his hair. "You don't have an overcoat on," she whispered.

  He slipped his arms beneath the ermine and around her so that his hands were on her bare back. "You're all the heat I need. Give it to me, Arabella. Give me your heat."

  With desperation she tried to impose at least a modicum of sanity on the situation. "Jake, I don't think we should be out here."

  A laugh rumbled low in his chest. "Oh, Arabella. Don't lose your courage now."

  "I'm not. It's just that your guests—"

  "Can all go to hell."

  And then he was kissing her again, boldly plunging his tongue into her mouth, rubbing it against hers in a way that sent waves of incredible pleasure through her. Somewhere in the far reaches of her mind she was embarrassed and shocked that she couldn't find the strength to resist him. But they were isolated together, and his body was giving off a fire that was melting her. He wrapped his arms tighter around her, deepening the embrace, sliding his hands beneath her dress until his long, lean fingers were touching the sides of her breasts.

  "Which room did they put you in?" he asked, his mouth against her ear, his voice a low growl.

  "I—I don't know." She cried out with soft delight as his tongue dipped into her ear and she felt a burning need shoot to the insides of her upper thighs. "It's on the third floor."

  "But which room?"

  "I—"

  "Never mind."

  His mouth went back to her lips, this time opening them wider, plunging his tongue deeper, and pushing sheer raw passion through her bloodstream. She clung to him, soft and pliable, and helpless against his iron strength.

  He broke off the kiss with a groan of suppressed violence. "We'll go to my room."

  "What? No, I—"

  His hand closed on her jaw, and he tilted her face up. In the light from the ballroom she could see the harshness of his expression, the intent in his eyes. "I want you, Arabella."

  Her heart leapt. She was
half excited, half afraid, and her emotions were threatening to run away with her. She knew she had to say something, do something, make some sort of decision. But she was stunned by the sheer enormity of her feelings and the events and emotions that had put her into his arms.

  "Arabella?"

  Self-preservation was a powerful force. Her tongue swept moisture over her suddenly dry lips. "I—I don't think so."

  "Why not, for God's sake?"

  With his arms still around her, his excitingly blatant arousal pressing against her lower body, she couldn't think of a single clever thing to say. She blurted out the truth. "I've never had a lover before."

  Her golden eyes glistened in the pale light, full of desire, but also of uncertainty, and for a moment he almost believed her. But she played the game too well to be an innocent. "Then," he said with a softness that was a persuasion in itself, "it's a good thing we've finally met."

  A sudden series of explosions was followed by the lighting up of the sky. Colors flared in the night. He straightened away from her and pulled the edges of her cape together, swathing her once more in ermine but leaving her skin imprinted with the feel of his hands. "Fireworks," he said, "more or less on time."

  The doors burst open and people began to spill from the ballroom out onto the long terrace, oohing and aahing at the brilliant colors exploding among the falling flakes of snow.

  Arabella watched the bursts of light and pattern that lingered like frozen stars. And all the while she felt Jake's gaze on her. He could make her melt with passion on a dance floor in the middle of a crowd. He could make her cry out with need on a cold, snowy terrace. He could make a fireworks display happen in a snowstorm.

  In all her life she'd found little that frightened her. She had been raised within the security of a loving family, and rarely had been told she couldn't do anything. In the years after her debut, there had been too much to see, to do, to allow herself to be tied down. And luckily there had been no man who threatened her resolve.

  She had seen this holiday at SwanSea as an opportunity to be with her brother, with the added advantage of being able to enjoy again the great house that had made such an impression on her as a young girl. She hadn't come to charm her enigmatic host. Her entrance with the peacocks was quite typical party behavior. She used her creativity and innate sense of drama, along with her good looks, to create a stir at most of the lavish affairs she attended.