"But..." She felt the shock reverberate within. There had been no proof of her innocence. There was no way she knew of to convince him, save trust.
His finger to her lips silenced her. ' 'No more. We will speak of this no more. You will come with me to my homeland and be my mistress. I'll take care of you just as I told you earlier, and you'll want for nothing. I will cherish and protect you. I--"
"I will be a wife or nothing." She rose, her insides a quivering mass of hate and love for this insufferable man. "I was innocent until you touched me. I don't care what you think. I don't care if you found me lacking. I should have insisted you listen to me." She turned, her spine stiff, and marched to the door.
Her anger knew no bounds. The door was still bolted shut.
"Misha! Misha!" She pounded on the door until her fists hurt as badly as her heart, until she could not raise her hand. Angela sank to the floor, her skirts rippling around her. She leaned against the wall and closed her eyes, willing Alexi and the horrid truth of his words to the back of her mind. Convincing him was hopeless.
He wouldn't allow her to escape, even into the hollow recesses of her mind. His voice came to her gently and soothingly.
"Come here, little one. In time you will learn that being a mistress is much better than being a wife. I will give you a house of your own and servants, all the jewels you want. You can see me most every night, lie with me, bear my children."
"No." But her answer sounded weak. She had no force behind the word.
He held out his hand to her, and woodenly she came to him.
When she stood beside the bed once more, she inhaled deeply, praying for the courage to tell him what he needed to hear. "I will not be your mistress. I will not climb into bed with you ever again except as your wife. And if you ever touch me"--she took another deep, cleansing breath--"if you ever touch me intimately, I-I will scalp you."
His laughter came from deep inside, rambling up to fill the room. "You can try, angel. You can try. Believe me when I tell you that you aren't the first to threaten me with that particular dire event. No one has succeeded yet.'' Once again he patted the bed. "Come now. Sit on the bed with me. We can speak of more pleasant things."
"I will do more than try," she said, her fists clenched tightly.
"Very well," he said. "I will allow this tantrum for a while. But you will see the way of things soon then you will come to me. Angela, I cannot marry you. A marriage with you was difficult yet possible when I thought you were coming to me a virgin. But now..." he shrugged. "There is no way I could convince my grandmother of your suitability."
"Suitability!"
Fury raged within her, and, ready to explode, Angela drew her hand back but caught herself. The twinkle of amusement was still in Alexi's eyes. "A passionate woman is all I've ever dreamed of. I will give you everything your heart desires," he said. "And more, much, much more."
"You look for a wife as you would a horse."
"Bloodlines are important."
"Ha! When the same bloodlines are mixed so thoroughly that people turn crazy, they mean less than nothing."
"Point taken. I still cannot marry someone like you. I will give you trips to Moscow and to the sun-drenched Crimea. After my heir is born, we can explore Italy and France together. Everything you want is yours."
"Everything but your name and respectability."
She thought she saw regret--or perhaps a moment of pain--in his expression before he shuttered his feelings to her. "As my mistress, you'll have respectability," he told her, his tone soft, soothing.
If he meant to ease her mind, he only made the situation more intolerable. "I meant what I said. Lay one hand on me in the way of a lover and I'll see that you regret the day you were born. When I'm through with you, if you can still walk, you'll be minus your scalp."
He sighed deeply.' 'I will agree to this hands-off arrangement for a short time and under one condition. You must be able to tell me no."
"All right," she agreed quickly, her voice trembling, knowing that if he set his mind to her seduction, he would have her in the palm of his hand. "I have to say no, and you have to stop. Agreed?"
He grinned shamelessly. "I do believe I've won the first battle. I promise you I'll win the war, and you'll find yourself in my arms and in my bed. While I admire your courage and your convictions, I do mean to make love to you."
Stubbornly, she sat down on a chair on the opposite side of the room as far from the bed as she could manage. Folding her hands in her lap, she looked at her fingers, twined them together then undid them. The silence between them seemed to stretch on forever.
She had nothing more to say to him, and she didn't dare look at him.
The rustling of sheets across the room set strange sensations pummeling her insides. She clenched her fingers together then peeked at him through lowered lashes. He'd put his hands behind his head and relaxed. The sheets lay draped across his lap, concealing very little. His eyes were closed, but she knew he watched her. She knew, though, that the pose was merely pretense. Her dark warlord would not give in easily.
Wind whistled through the sails of the ship as it began to pick up speed. Crewmen bellowed orders, and bells clanged. From her position, she could see outside. New York swept by, the Statue of Liberty stood tall and proud then there was nothing but open sea and the breaking dawn of a new day.
The rhythm of the ocean and the sway of the ship began to lull her to sleep. She nodded, then jerked awake. A comfortable position eluded her.
"You can lie down beside me." The deep voice sounded soft and gentle.
She did want to lie down beside Alexi, but she wouldn't.
She ignored the offer and curled up in the chair. Once again she nodded off, her dreams haunting her, but she did sleep.
~ * ~
When she woke she was in Alexi's bed, naked, the sun shining through the open window and the smell of salt spray vibrant in the air.
"Alexi," she whispered, Alexi wasn't in the room. Angela stretched, every muscle in her body screaming out painfully. She rose and wrapped a sheet around her.
A pitcher of water and a bowl sat on a table. She washed then took care of her other needs in a closed-off room of the cabin.
"You have a lot of nerve, Devil Blackmoor,'' she said indignantly, one hand holding the sheet in place as she searched for her clothes. "You're insufferable, and I'll have you know that your little game won't work. Keep me naked, for all I care."
"Now that's what a man likes to hear."
How he'd opened the door without her knowing or hearing was beyond her. He stood just inside the doorway, his hands full of platters of steaming food, a lascivious grin on his face.
Her stomach rumbled.
"Hungry?" He laughed.
"You know I am." She picked up the ends of the sheet, walking awkwardly to the table where he set the food down and looked at him expectantly.
"No food until I get a kiss," he told her solemnly and straight-faced.
She felt a sledgehammer hit her gut again. "That's blackmail."
"No, it's payment for all the work that went into the breakfast." Platters still in hand, Alexi moved farther into the room.
"Then I should kiss the cook," she told him tartly.
"I am the cook." He laughed. He set the dishes on the table, silverware and china rattling noisily. She rose quickly, thinking to step by him.
"You're not going anywhere," he said and wrapped her in his arms, his mouth descending to hers. The kiss was hard and demanding. His lips pressing against hers evoked pent-up emotions and a deep-seated anger. Alexi ravaged her mouth and she responded hungrily, once again giving him power over her heart and body. But he didn't seem to want the power. He ended the kiss by nibbling on her bottom lip, then soothing the small hurt with his tongue.
The smile bestowed upon her then was all-male and powerful. He knew he could have swept her off her feet. He could have made love to her if he'd wanted to. His smile told her that he chose
not to.
She stepped back, shamed by her reaction, admonishing herself for her own weakness.
"You didn't say no," he told her, his voice gentle, almost as if he understood the raw emotions ripping through her--and the indecision. Almost as if he knew she battled herself.
"I'm saying it now." Bravery in the face of such tenderness was hard to come by. She gathered it, shielding herself from her need to give him all the love she felt deep in her heart, reminding herself that he meant only to use her and shame her.
"Ah, but I do believe your denial comes after the fact. Deny me all you want, but it won't change what just happened here. I could have made love to you, and you would not have protested. Nor will it undo the kiss you just bestowed upon me. One you thoroughly enjoyed. Be honest with yourself. You want me as much as I want you."
"Wanting you was never an issue." She spoke with heartrending honesty. Still, he didn't understand. She was afraid he would never understand.
He studied her carefully, a puzzled expression on his dark features. "Angela," he began. "You're carrying this too far. A little rebellion I can tolerate, but..." He piled her plate high with eggs and ham. Fresh bread was set beside the plates, sliced and spread with butter.
She changed the subject. "When are you going to give me something to wear? When I sleep with you?" she asked, wishing she could see this his way, knowing she couldn't. No amount of coercion on his part would make her. She would never give in to his proposition.
"My fair lady, you do me wrong."
"Then where are my clothes?" she asked, trying desperately to keep the anger and the childish tantrum that threatened to explode from doing just that.
"In the laundry," he replied, forking a piece of egg and holding it out to her. He ran the food across her lips. Her stomach rumbled and he laughed. "Come on; eat," he said, and like a lamb being led to the slaughter, she allowed him to feed her.
He kept her mouth filled, which kept her stomach happy.
"I do like your compliance," he said, just as her lips closed over a succulent piece of ham.
Compliance?
She nearly choked on the food. Her hand went to her throat, and her meager covering slipped. She grappled with the sheet for a few minutes, knowing Alexi must have surely glimpsed parts of her she didn't want him to see.
"This is not compliance. What you see is hunger."
"Of course, whatever you say, angel." He rose.
Angela squirmed on her chair, not liking the look on his face at all. He walked slowly behind her chair. His hands suddenly rested on her bare shoulders. She squeaked.
"Hush, I'm only going to massage away the kinks you got last night when you foolishly tried to sleep in that horrible chair. You really should take better care of yourself. When there is a perfectly comfortable bed available, you should use it. You have nothing to fear from me. I always hold true to my promises.'' His hands worked magic on her muscles. She didn't want to relax. Relaxation could prove too dangerous.
He kissed her neck where he'd pulled her hair away, then brushed his lips lightly down the column of her throat.
She sprang from the chair. "No!" Angela had turned and faced him, her anger and fear roiling inside, sweeping through her. If nothing else, she was determined. "No," she said again, a little less forcibly, but the panic was still in her voice.
He smiled a jaunty smile and walked from the room.
The lock grated closed.
~ * ~
For a few glaring minutes, Sam Chamberlain let the fury rumble deep in his chest, let it grow until the anger and frustration he felt erupted in a wild Sioux war cry.
In unison the men loading a merchant ship nearby turned to stare at him. At his sides his fists clenched and unclenched. He thought of the knife he'd strapped to his leg, hidden by the pants he wore, and what he'd like to do with it--bury it deep inside Devil's heart. High-handed aristocrat or not, Devil Black-moor would pay for what he'd done to his daughter.
Drizzle spilled relentlessly from the heavens above, and a cold wind stung his cheeks. He longed for a fight, for release from the pain he felt. He had meant to protect his daughter from her own foolishness and had failed. The Mystic's sails slowly dipped below the horizon as Sam paced the docks in New York harbor, cursing Devil Blackmoor and Misha and whatever gods had allowed this to happen.
Blackmoor would pay a hundredfold if he'd touched his daughter intimately, if Angela had been hurt in any way. There would be no place on earth Blackmoor could hide.
The next ship to England wasn't due out until the evening tide. Frustration pooled in Sam's gut. Anger surged in mercuric flows in his bloodstream. At least he would be only a few hours behind that son of a bitch. Staking the bastard out in the desert would have to wait. When he caught Devil, he meant to feed him to the sharks--forget the desert ants and foul-smelling buzzards.
"Fool," he berated himself. "Idiot." He glared at the heavens above. When Angela had stepped on that train heading for the finishing school, willing and eager, he should have known something was wrong. He should have known she was up to something. Her running away with Devil Blackmoor had come as a complete surprise.
He should have never placed his trust in Misha. Misha had led him a merry dance, one that took him over most of New York City and into the early hours of the morning.
Misha would pay, too.
After Misha left him, he'd finally located Devil's room in the Waldorf, only to find out that Devil had departed along with his paramour--as the bellboy had delicately put it--early that same morning.
"Angela." His breath vanished in the gray afternoon, the single word swallowed by the cold drizzle. "How on earth could you have let that man deceive you so? Didn't I teach you to be a better judge of character?"
The blame was his own; he knew that for a fact. He'd allowed Angela to chase after wild dreams, never imagining that she'd run from him. Yet Angela had always been surrounded by people she could trust, had never known the shadier side of human nature.
Blackmoor was a devil.
All along he'd known Angela craved adventure, but he'd never guessed she would run after it and abandon all the rules of propriety he'd taught her.
He should have seen the warning signs.
It was not like him to misread his daughter so completely.
He had never believed she was old enough to think herself in love.
"Son of a bitch!"
He could curse himself a thousand times in several languages, yet all the swearing in the world would not bring Angela home or keep her out of Blackmoor's bed. She'd already slept with the devil, of that he was sure.
The room in the hotel had been ripe for romance, a candlelit table, a soft, glowing fire--and the bed had been well and truly rumpled, as if they'd frolicked there for hours.
From his coat pocket he pulled a crumpled piece of paper. The note Misha left him was water-logged, the ink running in rivulets down the parchment. The words, etched hi his mind, infuriated him even more two hours later than they had when he'd first read them.
Nice meeting you, Angela's father, I'm sure we'll meet again, but not for a few months. Alexi's clipper ship the Mystic is faster than any other ship in New York harbor.
And Europe is a huge continent. I'd wish you good luck in your endeavor, but I wouldn't mean it. It might take you years to find us in his homeland. My heart would go out to you if I weren't such a loyal subject to the prince.
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