Surrender to Love

by Rosemary Rogers

  “You certainly pick things up quickly, I see,” he drawled aggravatingly. “And don’t think you’d get away with going for me with those sharp little claws of yours, because I can move faster than you can and as you’ve already surmised I’m not your usual polite gentleman—I don’t possess too many scruples either.”

  “You’ve certainly made that much quite obvious, haven’t you?” Breathing deeply, Alexa made an attempt at icy coldness, although her voice still shook slightly. “And you’re a cruel man as well. I think you enjoy fixing others on the sharp pins of your ridicule and your sarcasm, just to watch them squirm. Well, if I’ve provided you with enough sport for one evening I should like to be escorted back to my aunt, if you please. I am not enjoying myself— or your company either.”

  “No? But then, since I am a bastard, why should I let that make any difference to me?” Suddenly, the mockery in his voice deepened to harshness as he added, “And that, little virgin bitch-goddess, is why I intend to claim my forfeit for returning that precious bracelet of yours before I return you to your tia duena!”

  Without warning he had grasped her roughly by the shoulders; his fingers pressing into her flesh as he bent her backward against the railing; and during those first few instants Alexa thought fearfully that he meant to break her in two. And then his lips descended over hers with all the fierceness of an eagle swooping on its prey, cutting off her breath along with her reason, so that for some moments she actually thought that he meant to kill her as Othello had killed Desdemona—with a punishing kiss.

  Was it only terror that held her still after her first, shamefully brief attempt to tear herself free? Alexa felt her head fall helplessly back against his arm as he forced her lips apart to explore her mouth, and almost instinctively she raised her arms, meaning to beat against him with her fists before it—the same strange thing that had happened to her before—seemed to take hold of her. That frightening, helpless feeling as if all her bones were melting and running together, so that she could hardly stand and needed to hold on to him for support. Heat—suddenly flooding through her to make her face, her breasts, her whole body burn and tingle as if she had a fever that had rendered her mindless and incapable of resisting either him or her own worse instincts. She felt the rippling movement of the muscles in his back, even under the jacket he wore, and remembered without shame how he had looked naked—the feel of his flesh under her hands. And now her fingers touched his hair, wanting on their own to memorize its texture; and if she didn’t know what she was doing or why, she wasn’t sane enough to care at that moment. Not even when he brushed his fingers gently and teasingly down from her temple and along the arch of her neck—and even further down to touch her breasts, seeming to burn through the stuff of her gown and knowing exactly where to linger.

  Why was she encumbered by so many layers of clothing anyhow? Alexa realized suddenly, or rather her body did, that she wanted the feel of his fingers against her skin, touching her everywhere, not stopping. No thinking to cloud this surge of pure, primitive feeling. She felt like a pitch-soaked torch, suddenly ignited and flaring into brilliant life; and yet at the same time she had no real understanding of why she felt so, or what it meant, or even of where such feelings might lead her. She had not even asked herself why she had so recklessly allowed herself to be carried beyond caution and carefully set boundaries as her body arched eagerly and almost fiercely against his and the sea-murmuring in her ears was the sound of their breathing, his and hers, as he held her and took her even more closely against himself until Alexa could almost feel that she was melting into him. Melting—dissolving...

  It was Nicholas, in the end, who broke away; firmly disengaging her clinging arms from about his neck while he cursed himself for having allowed himself to be goaded into yielding to a wildly irrational impulse. Christ! He, at least, was certainly old enough to have known better and to have thought of the possible consequences. What if someone else had decided to come out here for a breath of the cool night air and had seen them? Unfairly enough, it would have been her reputation that would have been ruined, and he had neither reason nor any right to do that to her, after all.

  She was staring up at him in a dazed fashion, her eyes wide and uncomprehending, her mouth... But he had better not start thinking along those lines again, Nicholas warned himself grimly. She was passionate, and obviously man ready, as he had already gauged; and he could not prevent himself from almost regretting that he could not be the one who would take her for the first time, making her like it. But she’d probably end up marrying some clumsy oaf who wouldn’t take the time or the trouble to discover what a prize he had; and in the end she’d turn cold and hard, substituting expensive trinkets, which could be shown off, for feeling and emotion. For all that she seemed to be possessed of a daring and adventurous spirit now, there was no doubt that in the end she would be made to conform and would turn out exactly like all the other young women of her class and background.

  Poor, pretty, ingenuous Alexa! A mixture of both pity and regret made his voice unusually gentle as he touched her face and was not able to resist lightly tracing the contour of her soft lips with one finger.

  “Dammit, I suppose I should tell you how sorry I am for having allowed myself to get carried away; but that would be hypocritical, for I thoroughly enjoyed kissing you and I would have Liked even better to have been able to make love to you, little moon maid. But I suppose that would have created quite a scandal, and I’m not as completely devoid of scruples as you accused me of being.”

  “Stop it! Stop talking down to me as if I’m a child, even after you... Yes, you are a hypocrite of the worst kind, Senor de la Guerra, and I wish...I wish... No, don’t!” Alexa’s shaking voice suddenly became fierce, warning him to silence. “There is really no need for you to explain, or to say anything more. I think you proved whatever it was you meant to prove quite well, didn’t you? And I suppose I should be grateful to you for being so instructive in showing me the dangers of giving way to weakness. I shall certainly be much more careful and less trusting in future, I assure you! And now do you mind if we went back inside before my aunt begins to worry?”

  Chapter 9

  Nicholas de la Guerra was a base, despicable libertine of the worst kind and had almost succeeded in spoiling for her the whole exciting occasion of her eighteenth birthday ball. Thank goodness he had decided to make himself scarce following the scathing set down she had given him after he had dared to force himself on her, Alexa thought. She would dearly have loved to have said even more—to have told him in the most cutting tones exactly how much she disliked and despised him and how much the very memory of his insolent boldness in taking advantage of her embarrassment and fear of scandal disgusted her. But of course he was hardly worth thinking of, and since it was fortunately not likely that she would ever set eyes on him again she must really learn to put him firmly out of her mind like any other unpleasant or irksome thought that only served to disturb her. Some things were best left in the past where they belonged, and she should remember only that what was done could not be undone—although she had certainly learned a lesson that should serve her well in the future.

  Her color high, Alexa tried to force herself into concentrating only on studying herself critically in the mirror. Her new riding habit, just made up for her, was a dark forest green. Not a color she particularly cared for, but Uncle John, who had helped her pick out the material and style, had told her emphatically that it was flattering to her and set off her hair to perfection. And after all, it was Uncle John who had paid for it, the darling. Turning around to view herself from every angle, Alexa thought that the tailor had done very well considering the short notice he’d been given. Of course he’d been paid double his normal charge, but that was still less than a tenth of what one would have had to pay one of the fashionable modistes in London or Paris.

  Am I becoming as worldly and blasé as Aunt Harriet feared I might? Alexa wondered as she tried to perfect a bored ex
pression before she started to smile irrepressibly at her own silliness. But she had promised her aunt that she would not let herself become too spoiled during her stay in Colombo with her indulgent Uncle John; and in fact she had even promised recklessly that she would at all times be unfailingly polite and respectful to the ferret faced Mrs. Langford, who for her part couldn’t quite manage to disguise the fact that she disliked Alexa and would dearly love to find as many faults and flaws in her as she could to relate to her cronies. As if that promise wasn’t hard enough to keep, she had even had to give her word that she would try very hard to make friends with that silly ninny Charlotte Langford and would include the girl in as many excursions as possible; even when she was invited to go riding with Lord Charles. Hemmed about...! Alexa began to scowl at her reflection that scowled back. That was how she had begun to feel, surrounded by Langfords! And it was all the fault of that certain vile, inconsiderate wretch who had kept her out on the gallery with him for far too long a time, and against her wishes too. Otherwise she need never have been forced into making so many promises to Aunt Harriet, who would otherwise have continued to insist that since Alexa had proved how irresponsible she was and how easily she let herself forget everything she had been taught about decorum and what was proper and what wasn’t, they would both return home the very next day.

  “But all we did was talk! About California and what life is like there!”

  “Huh! I know very well that that was the excuse he offered—with that twist of his lips that’s supposed to pass for a smile and that irritatingly sardonic look on his face that seemed almost to challenge me to make an obvious fuss. But I’ll have you understand, miss, that I don’t accept excuses, as you should know very well. And even though I might have found this Senor de la Guerra quite an interesting conversationalist, you might recall that we conversed here, in public, and not alone with the night and the stars.” Harriet had snorted again before adding: “And you can spare me that look of injured innocence too, my girl, for I’ve known you too long for you to fool me. I was young and foolish myself once, believe it or not! The man’s far too old for you in any case, and far too... Well, never mind. I am sure you know exactly what I am driving at.”

  Stubbornly, Alexa had managed to keep to her story, staring angrily down at her clenched hands while she wished she could let her temper explode along with the resentment and positive hatred she felt towards Nicholas de la Guerra, who was the cause of her aunt’s wrath. It really wasn’t fair or just that she should be the only one to shoulder all the blame, and to be punished by being marched upstairs to bed by her aunt after being allowed only two more dances (“only in order to squelch any gossip!” she had been reminded), just as if she had still been a child.

  In the end it had been Sir John who had persuaded Harriet to relent. Alexa never learned just how he had managed to convince her aunt that she deserved another chance (just as if she had been a criminal, she fumed inwardly), but at least she had been allowed to stay behind in Colombo— after all sorts of solemn promises had been extracted from her first. Not fair, when it hadn’t been her fault at all; and in any case, why was it that her every action and her life should be controlled by a nebulous “they” who had made up all the rules that were supposed to govern what everybody could or could not do? And what made “them” qualified to decide what constituted “sin”? It wasn’t considered a sin if an angry planter beat one of his coolies to death for what he thought of as insolence; but to lie naked with a man or to allow him to kiss you or touch you in certain ways was the unforgivable sin! Hypocrisy. That was one of the things that he had spoken of, of course; but obviously it had been only in order to gain his own ends, Alexa thought darkly. Part of the insidious poison he had tried to feed her—as dangerous as the sudden rush of unwanted memory-pictures flashing through her mind.

  Annoyed at the wayward direction her thoughts had begun to take, Alexa scowled at her reflection in the mirror and snatched up her hat, adjusting it at a jaunty angle on her head so that the feather that adorned it curled enticingly about the brim before it swooped down to almost brush her cheek. She could only hope, of course, that Lord Charles, who was doubtless used to moving in much more sophisticated circles than this, would not find her too unstylish; and if he did not it was again due to her dearest and most understanding Uncle John, who had, like a benevolent magician or fairy godfather, arranged for both the new riding habit and the hat as well.

  “Oh, Alexa!” Alexa swung around angrily with her straight dark brows drawn together; but Charlotte Langford never seemed to realize that she was intruding when she burst unannounced into Alexa’s room without so much as a perfunctory knock. “He’s here! The Viscount Deering, I mean. And on such a magnificent horse, too! Don’t you think it so exciting that it is us he has chosen to honor with his attention? How envious every other female in Colombo will be, to be sure!”

  “Oh? Do you think so?” Alexa managed to respond coolly enough as she turned back to the mirror to make sure her hat was pinned securely on her coiled up hair, stepping back to study the effect of her whole outfit taken together.

  “Oh, but of course we will be envied and thought lucky. I suppose, living upcountry you could have no idea how people gossip in a city like Colombo. A Viscount—asking us to go riding with him in public, just as if we had a Rotten Row here in Colombo! And especially after all the marked attention we’ve been paid during the past few days—his calls...”

  How was it that Charlotte always sounded so breathless while she rained spun-sugar inanities on her unfortunate victims? On the verge of gritting her teeth Alexa surprised herself by managing to say in quite a civilized voice, “And I suppose that since Lord Charles has been so kind and attentive it is the least we can do not to keep him waiting, don’t you think?”

  From Charlotte’s giggles and pink cheeks it might seem as if it were really Charlotte Langford that Lord Charles had called upon almost daily and not Miss Howard. There had, as a matter of fact, not been a single minute when Alexa had been left alone with the Viscount, for Charlotte’s redoubtable mama had always made sure that Charlotte sat with them in the parlor or out on the verandah; ensuring that all their conversation remained stilted and formal. And it had been difficult indeed to carry on any kind of intelligent conversation at all when Miss Langford, who lacked both tact and sensitivity, might interrupt during any slight pause to comment on the continuing good weather or the bazaar her mama had recently organized to raise money for Christian orphans. There had been moments when Alexa’s unruly tongue and temper had almost burst out of control, and she found herself grinding her teeth together much more often than usual. But at least she had earned herself the right to enjoy this particular outing, which she’d looked forward to almost greedily for the past few days.

  As she leaned down to pat the arched neck of her horse, Alexa realized how much she’d missed her daily rides on horseback. Her favorite out of all the horses in Sir John’s stable, the high-spirited chestnut mare she rode had been foaled at his horse farm in the hill country, where Alexa had already ridden her several times before. Although, she could not help thinking almost painfully now, it had been so different there! Cold, dew-pearled mornings with the smell of wood smoke in the air and the excited yelping of hounds waiting to be let out for their morning run. She could ride comfortably astride, and without a hat; her carelessly finger-combed mane of hair tied back with a ribbon and the weight of a pistol at her side to remind her of the dangers she might encounter at any time. A poisonous snake, an enraged wild boar...

  But not here, in Colombo, on such a very decorous outing as this one had turned out to be, Alexa thought with mounting indignation as she listened to Charlotte Langford’s high-pitched voice chatter on and on between giggles and pronounced sighs and could not help wishing that she had brought a pistol with her after all. Not only had Charlotte been inflicted upon her but two other men of Mrs. Langford’s choosing as well—a middle-aged and terribly boring major who was a f
riend of Colonel Langford’s and Mr. Sutherland, the pompous young man who had bored her with his solemn relation of all the duties of an aide to the Governor and the importance of such a position. The two native grooms trailing behind their party made them seem an entourage, and it had not been meant to be like this! Lord Charles had asked her to ride with him, without making mention of anyone else, and his surprise had showed in his eyes for an instant or two before he had masked it with his usual polite manners.

  Manners! Alexa thought rebelliously as she toyed with the wicked idea of pretending her mount was running away with her, just in order to enjoy a real gallop instead of being forced to conform to a sedate trot for Charlotte Langford’s sake. Why is it considered good manners to be sickly sweet to a person you really despise and dislike? Why are people never supposed to be completely honest and truthful with each other? Stripping away dishonesty and lies like so many unnecessary layers of clothing and being able to face together the naked reality of truth? I shall never understand—and least of all why I must let myself conform and pretend and be all those things that I despise the most. It was not fair that now, too suddenly, she was expected to make her real self disappear behind a decorous social mask. To act instead of reacting. Not fair!

  It was perhaps fortunate, considering the angrily mutinous trend of Alexa’s thoughts, that Lord Charles’s voice broke in just then.

  “I say, Miss Howard, I’ve just hit on a capital idea, you know. That is, if you don’t mind...‘” Viscount Deering’s rather diffident voice was belied by the almost conspiratorial smile he wore, as Alexa discovered when she glanced at him in an almost startled fashion. She had almost forgotten, in her preoccupation with her resentful thoughts, that he had quite cleverly contrived to be the one to ride beside her when the riding path had become narrower. Until now, barraged by the bright flow of small talk kept up by the others in their party, both Alexa and Lord Charles had remained comparatively silent; and she had almost begun to imagine that he had begun to think of her as being far too provincial and naive to be worth his time and attention. Now, however, his next words belied that fear as he continued with a twinkle in his expressive brown eyes: “D’you think perhaps that this might be a suitable opportunity to practice our French and Italian on each other? I seem to remember your mentioning that you did not have many opportunities to converse in those languages in order to keep fluent, and since I too have the same problem I thought... Do you mind?”