Mystic Mountains

by Tricia McGill

  Chapter Fourteen

  All too soon they were in the buggy and Tiger was turning it for home.

  They'd passed Hyde Park and the horse was trotting briskly along Elizabeth Street when Isabella could stand the silence between them no longer.

  Glancing at him she said softly, "I had a grand time."

  "Hate to say it, but I told you so."

  "Thank you for being insistent." Isabella took a deep breath of the fresh midnight air.

  "I know what's best for you, Bella. Always will." He patted one of her gloved hands. The patronizing gesture infuriated her.

  "Now why did you have to spoil it all by being your usual conceited self?" Unthinkingly, she slapped his thigh.

  "I am what I am." He lifted his shoulders indolently. "Neither of us will ever change, I think."

  "I've changed," she said, looking at the shaft of light thrown by the carriage lantern. She spotted a pair of eyes staring from beneath a bush, but they were soon swallowed up in the darkness.

  "Oh yes, your hair has grown and you look exceptionally fetching in your fine clothes, but you'll always have a sharp tongue and a grudge where the English are concerned."

  "Maybe so." She flicked at a loose tendril of hair that tickled her cheek. "But I've changed where you're concerned. I haven't called you a pig in a long time."

  "True." He shot her a wide smile then clicked his tongue at the horse.

  "Look at those stars." She craned her neck. "That's something I find so different out here; the skies are so clear, the nights so sparkling."

  "Perhaps it's just that you didn't notice such things in London. Surrounded by grime and filth, struggling to fill your belly, you tend not to look to the skies."

  "That's a fact. You spend so much time on the lookout for something to nab that often you forget that the flowers still blossom in spring, and the lambs are still born no matter what. All I wish is that my Ma and brothers and sisters could be here with me to see all this." With an expansive gesture she took in the shadowed pastures, stretching endlessly across this vast dry land.

  Tiger slowed the horse and turned the rig in at the main gate. Isabella sighed. She didn't want this night to end.

  "Such a big sigh." Tiger peered at her and she shrugged.

  Should she tell him how she felt? No doubt he would gloat. Still and all, if he hadn't been so persistent she would never have known the thrill of dancing. More than a few of the women there had spurned her, it was true. But she had the satisfaction of knowing most of them were eaten up with jealousy because, apart from that one dance with the Miss Bacon, Tiger barely left her side all evening. Doubtless it was an act, but she'd never felt so wanted in her life.

  The house lay quiet as Tiger pulled the horse up by the gate. He hopped down then walked round to lift his arms for Isabella. As he lowered her to the ground time seemed suspended, as for a long time he held her around the waist, then let her slip slowly to the ground. Isabella gasped as his hands gripped her. His nearness, his warmth, sent her heart pounding against her ribs.

  "Thank you for your gracious company, Bella," he said, his voice low, his breath a sweet caress on her hot cheek.

  "Don't tease me, Tiger," she whispered.

  "Now why would my thanking you be considered a tease?" he asked, clearly surprised.

  "Because you're always telling me what a nuisance I am, and what a shrew. I don't know your reason for taking me with you to the ball, but I'm sure it wasn't for my gracious company."

  "My sweet girl." He laughed softly, and the beauty of his face took her breath away. "You're a lovely woman. Why would I need an ulterior motive for taking you to the ball?"

  "Don't tell me lies, please. I'm not lovely and we both know it." With both palms on his chest she pushed away, but he tightened his hold on her.

  "You have this very annoying habit of accusing me of lying to you. For once and all kindly take my words at their value."

  She began to tremble when he pulled her forward until she could feel every inch of him against her from his knees to his chest.

  "Didn't you notice how the men were looking at you with admiration in their eyes tonight? Why do you think I didn't let you out of my sight for too long? Because I was worried if I turned my back someone would whisk you away."

  Isabella bent her head, her forehead resting on his shirtfront. Should she remind him he had more or less assured his friends he was about to set his cap at Prudence Bacon?

  But then she forgot all else as he nuzzled the flesh of her shoulder with his mouth.

  "I find you a very desirable woman," he murmured, feathering kisses along the slope of her shoulder and up her throat.

  Isabella stifled the tart answer that trembled on her lips. Why not throw caution to the winds and enjoy these few moments out of time? Tomorrow he would be back to ignoring her, back to being her overlord and master. Tomorrow she would be back to being the kitchen maid, spending her days wishing for things that could never be. In reckless abandon she lifted her face as the unfamiliar longing swept her along, tempting her to taste forbidden fruits.

  Tiger touched his mouth to the soft place below her ear, to the warm base of her throat where a pulse pounded wildly. She shivered, moaning deep in her throat as his lips moved tenderly against the lobe of her ear.

  Tiger swallowed a groan. How he desired her. Sweet heaven. Perhaps he'd wanted her since the first moment he'd seen her with her face scrubbed clean and her hair damp and smoothed back from her delicate face. Although her beauty might not be of the classical sort that made artists swoon there was something about her that drew him like a moth to a flame.

  She was pressing her body to his, unknowingly offering what he knew was not his for the taking. Why had he broken with Selena? If he needed a woman why didn't he go to her? But perhaps his fate had been decided when he'd finished with his mistress; perhaps this had been ordained. Why had he picked this woman out of the bunch on the wharf that fateful day? Nothing could have warned him he would have such a lust for her.

  Unable to help himself he pulled her hard against his body. A groan wrenched from him at the feel of her softness. It had been a long time since he'd had such an urgent desire for any woman, a desire that would never be sated. He pressed his mouth on hers, ignoring her small whimper of surprise, or was it acquiescence, kissing her with a demanding force. He knew he should be gentle with her, but desire roiled inside him, seething and hot. Her lips had the sweetness of spring and the heat of a summer's afternoon. To know she returned his desire was like an aphrodisiac, goading him on.

  "No," she protested on a small cry as he lifted his head a fraction to gaze down at her.

  By the carriage light he saw that her mouth was swollen from his kisses, and he sighed as he touched it, stepping back a pace and loosening his hold on her.

  "Perhaps you're right," he said. "Go to bed, Bella. Go, while you can. I'll settle the horse."

  Abruptly he turned away, combing his fingers through his hair. They were shaking so much he clenched them tight as he waited for her to leave.

  Isabella ran up the path. Inside the house she pressed her back against the door and took a few heaving breaths, her hot cheeks cupped in her shaking palms. Someone had left a candle alight, and by its flickering glow she sat on a high backed chair, breathing a tired sigh. Her foot was throbbing. It hadn't ached all evening; or she hadn't been aware of it. Slipping her feet out of the soft dancing slippers, she crossed her bad foot over her knee and began to rub it, closing her eyes as she massaged the tired toes.

  "Let me," Tiger offered, and her eyes shot open in dismay.

  "I didn't hear you come in. I was just going to bed." She made to rise, but Tiger's hand, firm but gentle on her shoulder, pushed her back down.

  Going down on his haunches he lifted her foot with infinite tenderness. As he began to rub, working up from the arch to the top of her deformed toe a glow seeped into her, warmth flowing from where his fingers touched her going right up to her belly, t
hen onwards until it filled every part of her.

  "Please don't," she whispered, but he shook his golden head, glancing at her with eyes that held a strange intensity.

  "Why not? Doesn't that feel better? Don't you like it?" he asked, his tone one she'd never heard before, deep and somehow strained.

  Like it? She was burning inside; melting with a kind of warmth that seeped into her bones at the delicious sensations his touch evoked. His movements, begun as impersonal, changed, growing seductive as his fingers worked over the top of her foot, then lingered on her ankle. Those hands, which she'd seen put to heavy tasks about the farm, now touched her with a kind of soft reverence that made her skin quiver with sensuous pleasure.

  His hair fell forward as he bent to his task and Isabella fought the urge to push the strand back. Then, of their own accord, her fingers lost the battle and she reached out. He looked up, as with trembling fingers she touched it.

  He dragged in a sharp breath, then gave her a slow smile that sent her stomach tumbling.

  "Yes, you like it."

  Momentarily she felt a stab of annoyance at his supreme arrogance, then as he moved, stroking his fingers further up her ankle, over her calf, lingering on her knee, she forgot everything but the touch of his fingers, and the warm brush of his breath on her skin.

  A moth fluttered round the lamp, and in the quiet all she could hear was its wings flapping, Tiger's breathing, and her heart pounding, drumming through her head. Her lips parted on a small sigh and his eyes rested on them as if he'd fallen under a trance.

  Tiger knew he should stop, but his hands moved with a will of their own over her skin. Her body drew him on like some nymph, luring him to taste her irresistible charms. Her eyes mesmerized him like refreshing pools on a scorching day, drawing him in as a siren calls to a sailor too long at sea.

  "You've had too much to drink. You wouldn't be doing this otherwise," she whispered as he ran his fingers along her silken thigh above her stocking top.

  The touch sent a jolt through her, making her tremble. It fired his passion, ignited a flame of desire within him.

  "Perhaps we both have. Perhaps we both feel the magic, Bella. This night has been like no other. Why don't we forget who we are, forget everything and just taste the pleasures we both know we crave." Slowly he bent his head. Pushing aside her undergarments he placed a soft kiss on the inviting bare skin his fingers had just caressed.

  She gasped. "No!" The denial burst from her lips. She shook her head, but as his fingers moved higher she made no move to stop him. He saw her bite her lip, and knew she was stifling a moan of protest, saw her hands clench into fists as she fought the urge to push him away. She was as lost as he; as wrought by a passion she didn't understand.

  But he understood it fully. Moving onto his knees he pressed forward between her spread legs then buried his face into the softness of her breasts. She arched back when his hands inched up her thighs and cupped her bottom.

  "Please, Tiger," she whispered in a husky voice that echoed the longing engulfing him.

  In one swift movement he was on his feet, drawing her up with him. Her body sank against his, yielding, soft, womanly. It was too much for him; she was too irresistible. He groaned his need as she wrapped her arms about him, pressed her softness against his hardness.

  Isabella realized in the moment before his mouth touched hers that she wanted this kiss as much as he did. Probably more. Because he could get any woman at the lift of a finger, but this might be the only chance she would ever get to savor this delight, this heaven that was Tiger.

  "Come with me." He drew her across the kitchen with a gentle tug on the hand.

  Isabella had enough wit left to recognize that had she refused him he would accept it. But deep in her heart she knew she might die with the pain of it if she said no to him.

  He led her to her small room, not to his own. In a moment of instinctive panic she pushed at his hands as if to free herself.

  "No, Bella love, don't fight me." He closed the bedroom door behind them.

  "I don't—"

  He cut off her protest with his mouth and she was lost to everything but the touch, the taste, and the scent of him. All other thought fled. The smell of his skin, hot, earthy, manly, filled her, sent her senses spinning. The touch of his thighs against hers made her shiver. How many times had she dreamed of being thus with him? How many nights had she lain in her bed and longed for him to come to her, to take what she knew had always been his by right? And not because he was her master, her owner, but because he was the possessor of her soul.

  In the soft moon glow streaking through the narrow window he looked driven by his need, intent. He'd never looked more handsome. Her hand reached to touch his beloved face, her fingers tracing a path down his jaw then over his lips.

  With the ease of a practiced lover he undid the hooks of her gown, the ties of her many petticoats, her camisole. With a gentleness that touched her deeply he picked her up then set her down on the narrow bed. Sitting beside her he kissed the rounded fullness of her breasts while he peeled her stockings off and tossed them to a corner along with her dancing slippers. His eyes never leaving hers he unpinned her hair then pressed his lips to the strands as he ran it through his fingers.

  "Let me do the same." She released his golden mane from the ribbon at his nape, smiling her pleasure as she copied him.

  Her desire built until she knew no fear, no inhibition. Arching against him, she wordlessly pleaded with him to end this torment. When he left her she whimpered a protest.

  "Hush, love," he murmured, hastily removing his clothes until he stood before her, his body majestic in the half light.

  Her eyes froze on the dark figure above her, so very powerful with its broad chest and muscular limbs, legs as firm as tree trunks. The evidence of his desire filled her with awe even as she shivered with sudden trepidation.

  "You're beautiful," she whispered as he came back to her, stretching out at her side, letting her feel the hardness and strength of his magnificent body. Unexpectedly his skin felt like silk beneath her fingertips; silk over muscles as taut and firm as those of a thoroughbred horse.

  He chuckled as his hands roved over her, from the curve of her shoulder, across the tip of her peaked breast to the rounded line of her hip. "Men aren't beautiful, love. But you are. Your skin is so soft; softer beneath my fingers than anything I've ever touched before. It's so pale, so smooth." He bent to circle her nipple with his hot tongue and Isabella bit down on a cry. One last vestige of apprehension made her stiffen, but then he muttered, "Don't fight me, Bella. This was meant to be, love."

  His husky words enticed her. He was right. From the moment she'd laid eyes on him she'd known in some deep part of her heart he would change her life.

  "I don't wish to fight you, Tiger."

  Her words seemed to break something inside him, and with a growl his great golden body covered hers. His mouth claimed her while his hands explored her, then both hands and body roused her to a wildness that was untamed, almost savage in its intensity as she spread her thighs and welcomed him between them.

  "Dear God, Bella!" he bit out in the moment before he possessed her. Then his mouth covered hers, muffling her cry.

  He began to move and sensations urged Isabella to join with him in the rhythm he set. When her world finally exploded in a burst of dazzling light she instinctively squeezed, encasing the man inside her. For one moment in time, or was it an eternity, they were as one.

  He let out a soft groan, his grip on her tightening as she lifted her hips from the bed. Her name burst from his lips in a voice she barely recognized. In the moment when his seed burst from him and he pulsed inside her, Isabella knew without a doubt that she was helplessly in love with this man; he would hold her heart in his hand until the day she died.

  * * *

  Tiger watched Isabella as she slept.

  Ye Gods, what had he done? In the warm drowsy aftermath of their coupling she'd murmured words
of love.

  The heavy scent of passion hung in the sultry air, a reminder of his foolishness.

  His fingers shook as he ran them through his hair. He groaned. Hell! What was he to do now? It had been a long time since he'd let his senses rule his head. Personally he wouldn't regret what happened between them this night, but knew what it would mean to Isabella. She would lump him in with the Englishmen she so despised, the one who had taken advantage of her mother, and the other who raped her and left an unwanted child in her womb.

  Taking great care to not waken her, Tiger eased away from the arm pressed so endearingly on his chest. A pang of something like shame shot through him as she let out a soft sigh and murmured his name.

  With his feet on the floor he stared down at her, then rubbed his face with his hands, muttering a curse. At himself, not her.

  Rum had a lot to answer for. If he hadn't drunk so much he wouldn't have succumbed to her irresistible charms. That's right, Timothy, blame drink. You're a mature man who prides himself on his honesty. Admit you've wanted her from the first. He had no excuses to offer. But Lord, he dreaded facing her in the morning, probably more than he'd dreaded a lashing when first transported.

  What to do? Let the morrow decide. Let her take the lead. Perhaps she'll not remember, or perhaps she'll think it a dream. Yes, and pigs might take to the air along with the birds.

  Tiger rubbed his nape, then paced back and forth before pulling on his breeches. The temptation to touch her silken flesh once more proved too much for him and he leant over her, tracing a path over her shoulder, down her arm. She made a small sound of pleasure and whispered his name again, her soft lips curving in a smile.

  A stab of self-loathing tore through him. She didn't deserve to be treated like a whore. But there could be no future for them. His future was planned. Mistress Prudence Bacon might not set him on fire, might be as plain and ordinary as a bag of beans, but possessed what he coveted most: the entrance to a world so far denied him. True, he was wealthy, and the Governor allowed men such as he to own land and property, but still he was on the outer edge of society. A society he craved to be a part of. Even if only to thumb his nose at them.