Swansea Destiny

by Fayrene Preston

  But from the moment she had stepped into the ballroom, she had known the night would be out of the ordinary. There was a level of excitement she had never encountered before. And then she had met its source: Jake Deverell. And within minutes she had realized the gossips hadn't done him justice. He was a man with a powerful, thrilling way of making her feel, and at the same time capable of threatening her in ways she couldn't even begin to imagine. And she now knew with a bone-deep certainty that while she didn't fear him, Jake Deverell was a man of whom she should definitely be wary.

  Before she could act on that insight, Jake put his mouth to her ear and whispered, "I'll be in your bed by morning."

  With a heart that seemed to be beating louder than the fireworks, Kenneth closed the door to Jake's study and said a brief prayer that the elaborate display outside would last long enough to give him the time he needed. At the big golden desk he began to open drawers and rifle through the papers. Some minutes later he found what he sought, and he reached for the telephone.

  "Operator, I'd like to make a long distance call, and I want it billed to my home telephone number."

  Far out over the ocean, the top half of the sun had just cleared the horizon when Lucas came to Jake's suite of rooms, barefoot and wearing only a robe over a pair of trousers.

  Jake was slouched in a big armchair that faced the east windows, but he glanced around as Lucas walked in. "What are you doing still up?"

  "One of our men telephoned," Lucas said succinctly, "Our shipment from Canada has been hijacked."

  "Sonofabitch!" Jake straightened and raked his fingers through his hair. "Anyone hurt?"

  "No, thank God."

  A muscle flexed in his jaw. "Wade."

  "Who else? Ram and Barton probably stopped at the first telephone they could find when they left here last night and let him know we wouldn't go for the percentage deal."

  Jake drummed his fingers on the arm of the chair, then surged to his feet. "This is only a minor setback. We'll be behind on our delivery schedule for a few days, but we should be able to catch up pretty fast."

  "Do you have any idea how he knew which route this shipment would take?"

  "No, but I think it'd be worth our while to turn over a few stones and see what crawls out."

  Lucas nodded. "You bet, but in the meantime what are we going to do about Wade?"

  "I don't think we need to do much of anything. Once he sees these tactics haven't worked, he'll stop harassing us."

  "I hope you're right."

  Jake watched his friend as he paced over to the fireplace, then abruptly walked to the window. He could never stay still when he was bothered by something. "It's only Wade, Lucas. He's always liked to play games."

  "Right. And he's always liked to win."

  Jake held up a finger, "But he rarely did." Lucas turned and paced to the dresser. Jake sighed. "Okay, if it'll make you feel any better, I'll telephone him and have a chat."

  Lucas stopped. "I think that would be a good idea. It's your attention he wants, Jake."

  "Then he'll get it, at least for a few minutes. And our next shipment will take a different route. There's nothing to worry about. Go back to Vanessa and get some rest."

  "Yeah, I will." He put a hand on Jake's shoulder and squeezed. "And when are you going to get to bed?"

  "Soon. Soon."

  With a knowing grin Lucas nodded. "Yeah, sure. I'll see you later this afternoon."

  After Lucas had left, Jake returned to the chair, leaned his head back and closed his eyes. The energy pulsing through his veins assured him it would be a while yet before he was ready to sleep. He was always like this when he got wound up about something.

  Wade. He smiled to himself. If Wade was trying to impress him, it wasn't working. Wade should know he didn't impress easily…

  A vision of Arabella Linden came unbidden into his head. She had been a blaze of light in her silver and gold dress. She had been a blaze of heat in his arms. And the taste and feel of her had nearly had him in flames.

  Arabella…

  Chapter 3

  The sound of someone throwing a log into the fireplace tugged at Arabella, pulling her into wakefulness. She stirred beneath the white silk sheets, then frowned. That light—Lord, where was it coming from? Had some misguided maid opened the drapes without her permission? With a muffled moan she rolled over and buried her face in the pillow. She had an inner clock that was very good at telling her when it was time to wake up, and her body was practically screaming at her that it would be hours yet before she was completely rested. She drifted back toward sleep…

  The mattress sagged as a heavy weight came down on it.

  "Arabella."

  Her eyes opened, and suddenly her sleep-shrouded mind was forced to consider the amazingly good possibility that Jake Deverell might actually be sitting on her bed. Slowly she rolled over.

  He was dressed as she had last seen him, in formal attire, except he had discarded his jacket, opened his vest and shirt, and undone his black tie. Outlined by the brilliant white light of morning, he looked dynamic and dangerous beyond words. She wasn't sure whether it was the light or the sight of him that hurt her eyes.

  "Good morning," he said.

  "Is it?" she asked in a thick, scratchy voice.

  "Is it what?"

  "Morning."

  "It's eight o'clock."

  "Eight o'clock in the morning?"

  "That's right."

  "Not evening."

  "No."

  With a groan she placed her hands over her eyes to try to block out the light, him. It didn't help. She could still see him in her mind, dark and perilously compelling. Normally she preferred to ease herself into the idea of a new day, taking a good hour before she demanded anything strenuous of her brain. Obviously this morning would be an exception. Already her heartbeat was accelerating. She let her hands drop from her eyes and congratulated herself on maintaining a calm expression. "What are you doing up?"

  "I haven't been to bed yet."

  "Good heavens."

  "You know, Arabella, I'm getting the distinct impression that you think eight A.M. is a little early."

  "Mornings are difficult for me. I never, under any circumstances wake before noon."

  He crossed his hands over his chest and nodded. "I suppose that makes sense when you dance all night."

  There had been many times in the past when she had danced until dawn, but last night, as Jake knew very well, she had not. When the fireworks display was over, she had excused herself and come upstairs. She had locked the door in an attempt to keep him and his hot touches and kisses out of her thoughts, forgetting completely that Jake would have duplicates of all keys.

  She brushed a wisp of hair from her eyes. "Was there something urgent you wanted to see me about, Jake? Something that couldn't wait until one or two this afternoon?"

  "Get up. I want to show you something."

  "Now?"

  "Now." He shifted closer to her, closed his hands around her upper arms, and pulled her to a sitting position. Her scent followed her, an essence of femininity and sensuality that worked on his mind and on his body.

  She was soft from sleep, her skin warm and velvety.

  And her silky white-gold hair hung loose around her shoulders, longer than the popular bob—but then, if he had thought about it, he would have realized she would be a trendsetter, not a follower.

  "I told you I'd be in your bed by morning."

  She blinked. "Is that why you're here? To prove to me you were right."

  He brushed at the cloud of her white-gold hair, clearing it away from her face. "Maybe I wanted to prove it to myself."

  There was a dark growth of the night's beard on his hard jaw, and she could smell the scent of spice, musk, and masculine sexuality. After a moment's thought she shook her head. "No, I don't think so. You're too confident to have to prove anything to anyone, even to yourself."

  For the first time he smiled, his amusement putt
ing a seductive, twinkling light into his black eyes. "Then there must be another reason that I'm here. Why do you think that is, Arabella?"

  The covers had fallen to her waist; her nightgown was a wisp of ivory silk and lace. But she wasn't cold in the least, she thought hazily. The fire burned high in the fireplace, and his fingers were lightly stroking the skin of her shoulders, warming her more than the fire ever could. "You said you wanted to show me something?"

  "Ah, yes." His breath fanned against the side of her face. "Actually I want to give you something, a present."

  "Jake, I can't accept a present from you."

  "Really? How odd."

  She received the distinct impression he didn't care what her answer was, that he wanted only to prolong this time with her on the bed. He hadn't kissed her, hadn't touched her with any great degree of intimacy, yet she was aware of the possibilities… At any moment he could take her into his arms and try to make love to her. And she had already taken the measure of the man—what he tried, he accomplished.

  He skimmed his fingers across her lips, then down her neck. "You must accept presents from men all the time."

  "It depends."

  "On what?"

  "On the gift. On the man."

  "And on your mood?"

  "Sometimes," she admitted. Her chest was tight, she noticed idly, and she felt strangely short of breath.

  "What kind of mood are you in now?"

  "Lousy."

  "How can anyone who looks like an angel feel lousy?"

  He was still smiling, and she wished she knew what he was thinking. "Mornings…"

  "Oh, of course."

  He was playing with her, she thought, like a tiger with a kitten, creating a languorous warmth within her until she was at the point where she wished he would do something, anything. "Jake…"

  Slowly, leisurely, he lowered his head toward her, giving her plenty of time to duck away from him. But for the moment at least, her muscles were frozen. She wanted his lips on hers, she realized with astonishment; she wanted his tongue in her mouth… And so she waited for his kiss with an eagerness too strong to suppress.

  He took her lower lip between his teeth and gently nibbled, then tugged. Nothing more, but it was enough to send heat skimming along now-wide-awake nerve endings.

  And then, startlingly, she was sitting alone on the bed, and he was across the room, opening the door to the armoire. He pulled her ermine cape out and took it off its white satin hanger as he walked back to her. Beside the bed he reached down for her hand and drew her to her feet.

  "Where are your slippers?" he asked, draping the ermine around her shoulders.

  "I don't know." At that moment if he'd asked her name, she wasn't certain she would have been able to tell him. His abrupt withdrawal from her had left her to cope with a strong, annoying sense of deprivation.

  "Here they are. Under the bed."

  She stepped into the fur-trimmed, heeled slippers, and then he was leading her to the French doors which he opened wide.

  Arabella's breath caught in her throat at the sight that greeted her. The cold air was still and quiet. All signs of the previous night's inclement weather was gone. The sky was vividly blue and unmarked by a single cloud. A pristine layer of brilliant white snow covered the grounds and layered the branches of the trees. And here and there ice crystals glinted in the sun.

  "There is my gift to you," he said softly. "A bright, fresh day with which to start the new year, 1929."

  She should have known his gift wouldn't be banal. Awed, she clapped her hands with delight. "It's beautiful, Jake. Truly. It's as if during the night God created a new shade of white and a brand-new smell of clean."

  He laughed, pleased with her response, and guided her out onto the terrace. "And if I had let you sleep, you would have missed it. By this afternoon there would have been tracks and footprints everywhere. It wouldn't be the same."

  The scene was a wonderland, enchanted and exquisite, and the tough, hard, mysterious Jake Deverell had showed it to her. She was amazed. She glanced at him. "You're right, and it's the most original gift I've ever received. Thank you."

  He pulled her back against him and folded his arms across her upper chest, giving her his warmth and support.

  "No one understands why I like to come to SwanSea in the winter but this is one of the reasons. Maybe you see a lot of sights like this on Beacon Hill, but in the North End, where I grew up, snow turned dirty the minute it hit the streets."

  "You grew up in the North End?" That might explain some things, she thought. He was an extremely sophisticated, assured man who controlled great wealth and power, yet she sensed a raw, uncivilized layer in his makeup and a coiled tension that at any moment could turn lethal. "Do you ever go back?"

  "I don't have to." His lips thinned. He carried the neighborhood with him. In fact, he never wanted to forget the crowded, airless tenements where he, Lucas, and Vanessa grew up. His hands on her shoulders, he turned her around to face him. She looked beautiful, fresh from sleep, her mouth curved with a soft smile, her golden eyes filled with the wonder he had just shown her. Her pale hair shimmered against the ermine, tone against tone. He took a handful and let it sift through his fingers. Then abruptly he stepped back into the bedroom. "Get some sleep. I'll see you later."

  She followed, closing the doors behind her. "What about you? Are you going to sleep?"

  Already across the room, his hand on the doorknob, he glanced back at her, a sardonic twist to his lips. "Are you asking me to come to bed with you?"

  Her stomach fluttered, but she met his direct gaze with one of her own, her chin high, her voice calm. "No. I believe the question was, are you going to get any sleep."

  He smiled. "I may catch a nap later."

  She waited until he had left, then threw her cape across the foot of the bed and slid beneath the covers. But sleep didn't come immediately. One thought kept going through her mind: Jake Deverell had made her his prey.

  She was used to being pursued, but the men who pursued her knew the rules of the game: Flirt, dance, and be merry, and take nothing seriously. She had known Jake for less than twenty-four hours, but already she knew that he acknowledged no rules and would be very serious about the chase.

  like a diamond, Jake had many facets. He was a man hard enough to send another woman out into a cold night to be driven home because he had found someone who interested him more. Yet he was also a man who could see the value in something as simple as a still, dear morning when the landscape was painted with snow. He had grown up poor, yet he was now rich and helped to run one of the largest and most profitable firms in the nation. And beneath all the layers was a burning drive… along with something else. When she knew what that something was, along with what he burned for, she might know him.

  Her lids grew heavy, and she wondered if truly knowing Jake Deverell was possible and if it would even be in her best interest to try. And she fell asleep wondering if he was capable of learning rules.

  "Jake, nice of you to call," Wade said on the other end of the telephone line, confident, amiable.

  Jake smiled. Wade had kept him waiting five minutes before he had come to the telephone, a tactic, Jake was sure, meant to rattle him.

  "I understand you got a problem."

  "You understand wrong."

  "Oh? I was sure I had heard you had a problem with a shipment. I figured that was why you were calling me."

  "I'm telling you, I don't have a problem in the world."

  "Then why are you calling?"

  Jake's smile broadened as he heard the impatience in Wade's tone. He had changed very little. "To tell you a few things, the first being that your stiff-arm tactics won't work with me. They never did."

  "Someone been trying to muscle you, Jake? Damn, that's a shame. Anything I can do to help?"

  "The second thing I want to tell you is, there is nothing I have that I will give you, and there is nothing that I have you can take. Got that?"


  "I hear what you're saying. I'm just wondering why you're wasting your time telling me, that's all."

  "And the third thing is, use what few brains you have, Wade. This isn't one of those games of craps we used to play in the alleys of the North End. The stakes are high. Keep your head and you'll get your share."

  There was silence, then, "You know, I used to beat you at craps, Jake."

  "Only when you cheated, Wade. Only when you cheated. Good-bye."

  As soon as Jake hung up the phone, he banished Wade from his thoughts and conjured up Arabella. He stared out at the fresh, clean day and remembered. Last night she had been the clever sophisticate, all light and beauty. This morning she had been warm, silky, and sensually pliable. It was a combination guaranteed to make men lose their heads. No wonder she was one of the leading "belles" of Boston. And he was willing to wager she would be as fascinating in bed as she was out. Desire knotted his stomach at the thought. He waited a moment, willing the painful wanting to ease. Then a new thought entered his mind: Arabella came from wealth and privilege, a Brahmin straight from Beacon Hill. Edward would be so pleased.

  Jake threw back his head and laughed.

  On a specially built platform at one end of the frozen pond crowded with skaters, a small band played "Do, Do, Do." Arabella glided across the ice in rhythm to the charming Gershwin tune. The afternoon coat she wore and its matching muff were of white velvet trimmed with white fox. The roses that were embroidered on the back of the coat were one of the signatures of the ensemble's designer, Paul Poiret, but in her honor the roses were white instead of the usual red.

  Beside her, Kenneth, in a beaver coat was wobbling. "Kenneth, watch out!" She jerked him out of the path of another skating couple, almost overbalancing them both.