Tynan grinned at the lecturing tone, and sipped his port. Finding the glass empty, he gestured for another, which was quickly delivered. "But in the end, he betrayed them, did he not?"
She made a noise of outrage, a tsk. "He did not! His brother died, making my father Earl, and he came home to do his duty and find a wife with whom to make an heir. Gabriel and his mother wanted for nothing."
"And your mother did not mind?"
"She forgave him his youthful indiscretions." Now her face softened, and she warmed to the family legend. "He met her at a cotillion. She was quite beautiful." She gestured to the small, tiny blond sister who danced elegantly with a London fop. "Ophelia is her very image, and my father was smitten on sight. Theirs was an honorable love, rare, but true. While he was married to her, he did not stray."
"So how did the lovely Cleo come about, hmmm?"
"My mother traveled with him to Martinique one year," she said quietly, her face turned from him, "and en route conceived a child. The climate did not agree with her, and although she managed to deliver Ophelia into the world, she did not survive the birth."
"So your father took refuge in the arms of his mistress."
Her gaze moved back to him, even and calm. "She saved him, I think. He was quite mad with grief and guilt."
A strange pluck of emotion ached in his chest at the steady honor in her face as she said that. He felt chastened without knowing why. And suddenly he thought of his twin, his black-shrouded body on a litter carried by grim-faced villagers up the long hill to the estate. He bowed his head.
"My father could not bear to return to England and the life he had shared with my mother," Adriana continued, "so he sent for us, and we lived there four years. Gabriel and Cleo were part of our family. When we returned, because of the brewing war in the colonies, they came with us." She gestured to a tall, straight black woman in a brightly colored cotton gown. "So did Monique."
Intrigued in spite of himself, he asked, "Did you like living there?"
Her gaze flickered away. "It changed us."
"Did it, now?" Tynan leaned forward, hearing something in her voice. "How did it change you, Lady Adriana?"
He saw a shift in her eyes, a worry, and then her posture softened, and her neck seemed longer as she inclined her head. He thought of a swan. Her nostrils flared, as if she scented wild blossoms and humid evenings, and her gaze focused on something distant. "It changed everything," she said softly. Then her lips tightened and she shook her head, as if in rejection. "Everything."
For a brief moment Tynan spied the tall leafy plants, vowed he could feel heat and wet against his flesh. The rigidness that had lived on his spine since his brother's murder eight months before eased the smallest bit. A tiny bit of the bitterness he slept with slid away from his mouth, and for the space of five heartbeats he longed to sustain himself on something besides hatred.
Then the music ended abruptly, and the polite clapping and soft murmurs of approval from the dancers interrupted him. He realized he was leaning close to her, thinking not of himself and his goals at all, but some far distant land he would never see—and longing for it.
But it was a colony, as Ireland was, and the love Adriana felt for the land as a colonist was not the same pleasure the slaves forced to work the land would feel. Contained in her body was all that he loathed—and he would do well to remember it.
Tynan straightened. "Well, much as I enjoy your story, my lady, perhaps it is time we… retired."
It caused her a moment's discomfort, quickly hidden. Smoothing her black skirts, she raised an imperious chin. "First, sir, tell me why you have married me."
"Your father asked it."
The steeliness in her eyes did not fade. "You waited a year to offer."
Tynan discarded the easy lie—that he'd waited out of respect for the mourning period. For one long moment he met her gaze, wishing briefly once again that she were in some way a little more attractive. From his pocket he took a heavy, engraved ring, set with a ruby, and put it in her hand.
She made a small, choked noise. "Where did you get this?"
"A peddler, believe it or not. He came straight away to my estate, knowing there'd be no one else in the district able to pay for such a prize. I recognized it immediately, and wrote to you the very same day."
Now there were deep sparks in her hard eyes. "What good is it to you if he's dead? The title will pass forever out of reach."
"Ah, but there's the point of it." He smiled coldly and plucked the ring back again. "If he is dead, we wish to keep that knowledge among ourselves as long as possible."
A shimmer of tears covered the blue eyes, and her cheeks and lips grew rosy with emotion. A braid of desire, regret, and pity rose in him, and he reached for her hand, slim and white, on the table. "Madam, forgive—"
She yanked away. "Don't," she said fiercely. "Don't ask it. You wish my brother dead for your own gain, and I cannot but hate you for that." She stood, the movement furious and graceful at once, and regally, she pushed the chair into place. "I will send for you shortly."
He captured her wrist. "Sit down."
She resisted, peering down her nose at him. "I need not. You may speak as I stand."
Their gazes clashed in a battle of wills. He simply stared hard at her, and though few had ever met his will at such moments, Lady Adriana did. Color increased in her face, and he saw the agitated rise of her breasts below the stiff, unflattering fabric, but she simply stared right back.
He kicked the chair with his foot. "Sit and listen, madam. I have a tale to tell you."
Abruptly, she perched on the edge of the chair and tugged at her wrist, still clasped in his hand. "Let me go."
He released her. "Listen well, for I will not say it again."
She waited, back straight, chin high.
"I've my reasons for what I do here, and they are good ones. I mean you no harm—I'll be as good a husband as I am able. I have money for your land," he gestured, "for your home and your sisters. I'll give you children, if you wish it."
At that, there was a flicker over her eyes, a glimpse of hunger, and Tynan nodded. "Ah, so there's your reason for wedding me, is it?"
She swallowed. Took a breath. Nodded with a bowed head, as if it shamed her. But it made him like her the more, that small admittance.
"I do not wish your brother dead, Lady Adriana," he said, and took a hand to prove he meant it. "I'd rather the House of Lords still thinks him missing, for as long as he is alive, there will be no move to do anything about the title and estates. All I ask of you is the connections your family has cultivated these many years, to smooth my way a little."
A bewildered, faintly bitter expression came on her face. "You might have chosen a bit more wisely if it was political power you wanted, sir. It may have missed your notice that I… that my…" She pressed her lips together. "That my reputation leaves much to be desired."
"Your father was most insistent it should be you."
She winced visibly. "I do not think I like your brand of honesty."
"Do you not? Isn't it easier to have it all on the table here, where we know what is what and who is who?"
She looked up. "I suppose it is." For a moment she did not move. "You are not what I expected," she said, and stood. "I will send for you shortly."
* * *
"Braid it," Adriana said, "tightly."
"But milady!" Fiona protested, spreading the gilded length over Adriana's shoulders. "It's so beautiful! It will please the lord a good deal."
An ache—part terror and part despair-pulsed through her. "Do as I say."
When she was finished, Adriana gave her instructions. "Tell him to come to me in ten minutes."
Fiona bobbed politely and left her mistress alone.
Adriana had not come back to her own chamber. She would keep it to herself. Her retreat. This was an old chamber, part of the ancient keep. An embrasure hung with heavy velvet curtains took up most of one wall, and the enormous
, high bed with its draperies engulfed another. On the stone walls hung tapestries woven by the St. Ives women in gentler centuries.
On the wall in front of Adriana was a silver mirror, round and dark, which reflected far more than she wished. In the candlelight, she looked luminous and overheated, her skin aglow with desire. Without the black to leech color from her flesh, the natural peach tones of her skin shone free, and even Adriana could see the invitation in her limpid eyes.
She took off the wrapper to examine herself in the fine lawn nightrail she'd chosen. It was modest enough, with long sleeves and a drawstring neckline that covered her to her collarbone, but in the chill, her nipples pressed outward against the cloth, and candlelight shining through the fabric showed the outline of her legs.
She nearly wept at the overwrought emotions welling up in her, a volatile mix of sorrow over the ring and fury over Tynan Spenser's cavalier attitude toward it, dread over the coming hour, and worst of all—anticipation.
It was that creeping, insidious desire that caused the most distress. She wanted him. Wanted to tear off the gown and lie next to him, wanted to wrap his long black hair around her wrists, wanted to open her mouth to those sensual lips—
"Stop it!" Adriana closed her eyes and willed herself to breathe deeply.
Whatever else her experiences had taught her about men, she had learned that there was a great gulf between the way men and women experienced sensuality. Tynan Spenser, that Black Angel, could stride in here with laughter in his eyes and skill in his hands, and have sex with her, then amble away whistling and never look back.
Women were not made the same way. Her heart would be snared along with her sex. In a month or a week or a year, when he tired of the novelty of a passionate wife and took up his old life, she'd be shredded, humiliated.
And wouldn't they all laugh at her then!
Whatever else transpired in this marriage, she vowed she would resist the temptation of enjoying him. It only led to trouble.
A heavy booted heel sounded in the passageway beyond her door. In terror, Adriana blew out all the candles and rushed to the bed, clambering up to it and lying down before he entered. There, rigid and afraid, she waited for her husband.
* * *
Tynan lifted his candle higher in the gloom of the chamber. It was dark, but for the fire in the grate, and even that had burned down to low, red embers. "My lady?"
"I am here." The words were astringent, and came from the bed.
He chuckled. This one wanted a little port, he'd wager, and was glad he'd brought a bottle along with him. Carrying both candle and bottle to the bed, he set them down on a table nearby and unlaced his shirt. "I neglected to bring a cup for the port. D'you have one here?"
"I do not."
She lay flat on her back, staring at the ceiling, her gown carefully arranged about her, except at the shins, where it was in a little pile that suggested haste. Her ankles were white and trim, and impulsively he circled one with his hand. She jumped.
Even worse than he expected. "I won't hurt you," he said quietly, rubbing the fine bones with a gentle hand.
She said nothing, but a fine tremor shook her.
Puzzled, Tynan asked, "Did we misfigure, my lady?"
"What?" She turned her head to at least look at him.
How to ask it? "This is a matter of some delicacy, but are the gossips wrong? Are you still a virgin?"
"Oh. No."
"I see." He lifted the bottle and took a swig from the mouth, then took her hand. "Have a little. We needn't rush."
"I don't take spirits, sir."
"Ah, but now you're lying. I saw you nipping some brandy not an hour ago."
"That was medicinal."
He smiled. "Am I so terrifying?"
"No." With an exasperated sigh, she said, "I would just as soon be done with this."
"Doesn't speak well of your lover."
She stared at the ceiling. "I asked you not to speak of that."
Amused and oddly challenged by her coldness, Tynan set the bottle down. "Very well. Let's be done with it." Quickly, he stripped off his shirt and boots, and paused a moment to see if she would glance at him. Most women found his form pleasing enough.
She did not look at him. Exasperated, he mounted the steps and stood at the top, right next to her. His body cast shadows over the deepness of the bed and over her white-shrouded form, leaving only a single rectangle to illuminate the curve of her cheek and the tip of her nose.
He inclined his head, waiting for her to look toward him. She displayed remarkable stubbornness, however, laying still for a long, long moment, her fists curled beside her, her body utterly motionless, the hair slicked back and hidden away in a braid that snaked out beside her. Tynan tried to make out the shape of her body, but the single, guttering candle was no match for the gloom.
At last she turned her head and cold eyes flickered over his torso. "I do not wish to kiss," she said. "And I would much prefer to extinguish the candle."
A prick of annoyance stabbed him. "Are you determined to make this difficult, madam? It needn't be unpleasant."
"I have wed you, sir. I will lie with you to solemnize our vow and to get us some children, which I would like, but do not expect more than that." As if she could not help herself, she folded her hands across her belly. "For the rest, you may go to your mistress. A man such as yourself must have any number of them to choose from."
He narrowed his eyes. "And if I do not?"
She made a soft, disbelieving noise, and suddenly turned her face toward him. "I shouldn't think you'd have trouble finding a new one."
In the moment of her turning, the gilding of candlelight washed over her face, and Tynan spied quite another woman than the one bound up in black bombazine. In this light, her eyes were sultry, a color of bruised grapes, and her mouth was fuller than he had first believed, and he saw, before she could hide it, the flickering of her gaze over his torso, reluctantly snaring in the region of his hips.
He smiled and rubbed his belly with an open palm.
She jerked her head away. "You forget, sir, that I'm quite familiar with the habits of rakes."
His eyes narrowed. He'd not expected so cold a woman, but he'd be damned if he'd leave her without consummating the vow. With a shrug he said, "So be it," and turned to pinch out the candle.
In darkness, he climbed to the bed and sank down beside her. She smelled of lavender, unexpectedly pleasant, and he leaned close to her neck to breathe it. His breath crossed her shoulder, and he felt a tiny ripple of reaction in her, but whether revulsion or desire, he could not have said.
He'd never faced the prospect of bedding an unwilling woman, and found it went against the grain to simply mount her. Thinking of nervous horses, he reached out a hand and stroked her arm. When she didn't shy, he took her hand and rubbed the limp fingers, kneaded her wrist, worked his way up to her shoulder. She went rigid again—he supposed it was the thought of his hands on her breasts.
So instead he slid a hand over her waist. He'd expected the giving softness of a plump belly, but instead found hipbones and a smooth, flat plane that was very nice indeed. He roved in a circle, exploring warm flesh beneath crumpled lawn, and touched ribs, thinly veiled with flesh, and the sleek flare of a hip. She simply lay there, unprotesting, silent, but his body responded with anticipation.
"It is not necessary to try to arouse me," she said into the dark. "Just be done."
Uttering an expletive, Tynan lost patience. Roughly he positioned himself between her legs, shoved up her gown, and set himself free. "I'd have spared you this," he said, and plunged—into the quivering moistness of aroused female flesh, flesh that gave a pulse as he moved within her. It so startled him that he halted, buried within her, and looked up. In the faint red from the fire he could see that her chin was upthrust, her jaw rigid as if she strained to keep from crying out. Her fists were tight at her sides.
With a flash of intuition, Tynan slid his hands under the fabric o
f her nightrail, over that sleek belly, upward to the ribs, then into the plush, unbelievable weight of glorious breasts.
He could not halt the murmur of approval that rose in his throat, and braced himself on his elbows to gather the luxurious flesh into both palms, feeling his body—and hers—leap in pleasure as his thumbs grazed aroused nipples. A faint, helpless noise came out with her breath, and impulsively Tynan bent his head to kiss her breasts. She cried out a little as his mouth closed around her, and distinctly mewed when he began to suckle. Pleased, he moved his hips ever so slightly, teasing from her the response he knew awaited. He felt it building around him, a quivering and pulsing that grew with each flicker of his tongue, each thrust of his hips, until she at last was moving with him, and her hands flew up to his hair, gripping it tightly, pulling him closer, deeper, with the innate, sensual gestures of a woman who knew what pleased her. Her orgasm was violent, shattering. Her shoulders rocked beneath his hands, and her knees closed hard on his hips, and her body spasmed with such power around him that Tynan was lost to it, and roared out his pleasure, lifting her hips to him as he spilled his seed, rocking deep, sweating and shaking.
In the blind aftermath, he fell against her, astonished and delighted—and in moments, ready to continue. He lifted his head, about to kiss her throat, when she shoved him, hard.
"You have your consummation. Now go."
He caught at her, bewildered. "What?" He'd thought she would be pleased. "I'd rather—"
She trembled with the aftermath, but there was power in her when she shoved him, an almost desperate strength. "I said go."
Fury struck through him and he pulled away violently. "So that's the way it will be." Angrily, he swept his shirt off the floor and shoved his arms into it. "I will have an heir from you, but once that's done, I'll not trouble you again."
The Black Angel (The St Ives) Page 3