“It is hardly the value I place on myself, but my memory of the unfailingly brutal and callous manner in which you have always treated me that makes me feel you are merely playing some kind of cruel game with me!” Alexa blazed back at him. “Or could it be that your pride demands that you come up with a conveniently understanding fiancée you can produce for the world to see before Helen breaks off the understanding you two obviously had? Why should I let myself be used by you again?”
“The Spaniard,” she remembered Charles Lawrence calling him laughingly in that long-ago time in Colombo. And at this moment there was none of the English Lord to be discerned in his harsh, high-planed dark features. Only the proud, vengeful Spaniard with twin white lines of barely checked fury on either side of his mouth and the slight, ominous flare of his nostrils that she remembered from before. Just as she recalled all too well the particularly throaty softness of his voice, reminding her unpleasantly of the low growl of a crouched black panther ready to spring.
“Have I used you indeed? Forgive me for pointing out that my recollection is quite different. In fact, almost the opposite! I think I had you—or used you, as you put it— for the first time and the only time at the bordello known as the Temple of Venus, and that you charged me quite an exorbitant price for your surprising virginity, which I paid! And I also recall quite clearly that I did not go there seeking you out in order to use you—quite the contrary, in fact. There I was, half-asleep in my hashish dream and perfectly content until I was disturbed by the intrusion of a priestess of Venus who—it soon became apparent— wished to make use of me! Should I go on?” “No!” Alexa said strongly, painfully aware of her warmly flushed face. “No, I don’t wish to be reminded of anything unpleasant, and I’ve no intention of entering into a pretended engagement to you only in order that you might save face, as they would say in the East!”
Having made her defiant speech, she was immeasurably relieved when the carriage jerked to a stop and she heard the announcement that they were home at last. The same sense of relief enabled her to turn to Lord Embry and say politely that her carriage was at his disposal, should he wish to be set down elsewhere.
“Thank you, my sweet, but later, perhaps? I believe there is still much to be discussed and decided between us.”
Chapter 36
Afterwards it was easy to tell herself that she should have been warned by the way his words sounded as if they had been bitten off, or to wonder why she hadn’t kicked and struggled and screamed out aloud for help, even if he had had the insolence to whisper as he carried her out of the coach and up the steps of her house with the servants and poor Mr. Bowles staring, “If you’d prefer to ‘save face,’ as they say in the East, my darling Alexa, then you will let them all think that you are actually in a swoon, which is what I intend to say unless you’d rather have everyone think otherwise.”
And then there was the other, more fatalistic part of her mind that told her he would have done what he meant to do in any case, no matter what her reactions might have been! But at first, however, even when he carried her upstairs and she heard him demand from Bridget where her room was, even then she had no real inkling of the outrageous, monstrous act he meant to perpetrate. Not even when she heard him say grimly to Bridget, “And you can stay outside this door, do you hear? And if you and that butler have any sense you’ll keep the rest of the servants downstairs and out of sight!”
“But...oh, but my lord! If my Lady’s ill someone should be seeing to her.”
“I’ll be seeing to your lady. And if you have to tell them something you might as well say we’re discussing plans for our betrothal and wedding—in private, you understand?”
He had dropped her onto her bed to lie sprawling against the patterned brocade spread, just as he had once dropped her into the Indian Ocean, uncaring if she would sink or swim. And while Alexa continued to lie there in a daze of shock, her eyes wide and staring in disbelief, he locked and bolted her bedroom door quite calmly before turning back to survey her with an expression she neither liked nor trusted and did not wish to see. Squeezing her eyes tightly shut, she told herself that this was only a nightmare, nothing more. Not something that could actually happen to her—to the wealthy Lady Travers—in this civilized day and age. Why, when she opened her eyes again she would be able to laugh at herself for imagining...
“You can keep your eyes closed or open—it’s all the same to me. And you can take off that ugly purple dress you’re wearing, and all your damned petticoats and your corset as well—or if you prefer it, I’ll rip the clothes off your body myself! But either way, my mermaid, I’ll have you naked the way I first saw you; and I mean to use you, my virgin slut, as I should have done then and later. In every way and every fashion I see fit. Bruja, do you understand me? Is this the way you really want a man to take you?”
The purple taffeta ripped under his hands with a loud tearing noise that made Alexa flinch. The petticoats tore, and her shift; and she lay there with her teeth gritted together, willing herself not to cry out or beg him for mercy. She only flinched again when she felt the coldness of a knife blade against her skin as he cut away her corset, although she kept her eyes closed and stayed unmoving even then.
She could hear her own breathing and his, and she felt the bed give and felt the warmth of his body as he leaned over hers; but she would not open her eyes and give either him or what he meant to do to her any recognition. She lay with her legs and her arms outspread like a whore and was as cold inside herself as a whore while only her mind screamed for him to do it—whatever he wished to do with her body—do it and be done, freeing her, by his act, of himself and his image in her mind and her blood and her flesh. Free of the terrible, frightening chemistry that had bound her to him all this time and still did and still would unless he was the one to wield the sword that would cut her away from him forever. The sword of his own flesh... Why in God’s name didn’t he do something?
Alexa’s eyes flashed open to trap his unguarded for less than an instant before he shuttered them again and awarded her that one-sided, twisted smile she had come to know far too well. “You remind me of a pagan sacrifice, you know,” Nicholas said drily. “What I should have done in the first place was chain you to the nearest rocks and let some poor unsuspecting dragon have you!”
“Does that mean that you are not going to rape me after all? I mean, after going to so much trouble and exertion?”
She thought she discerned the slightest twitch to his lips before he retorted: “I was merely waiting until I had recovered my breath, as a matter of fact. You are no light weight, you know. Perhaps you should consider giving up puddings.”
“Oh!” Alexa exclaimed, sitting upright, “you’re despicable!”
“So you’ve said before, quite often. And you, of course, are a teasing little bitch!”
Her sharply uttered “No!” was caught and lost against the sudden, savage attack of his mouth over hers that opened her to him in the end—to his hands, charting her curves and hollows, and later to his lips and his tongue that savored and lingered over certain of her most sensitive parts. And she too let herself touch him where she wanted to touch him and put her mouth on him wherever she wanted to bestow it until at last he moved from her for just long enough to take her under the arms and slide her body up over his and against his until he tasted her mouth again and she tasted his. And in that time Alexa felt him both impale and fill her and make her hips arch fiercely and demandingly up against him, learning the counterpoint to each movement of his hard, man’s body and the rippling feel of different muscles under his skin. Learning, feeling, rising and climbing as she grew tauter and tighter and more breathless until she moaned and whimpered against his shoulder while she felt eruptions everywhere before, fragmented into feather-light foam, she burst and scattered against the sky.
She should have been able to stay sky-flung like a star. Why couldn’t she have? “Goe and Catch a Falling Star...” John Donne. Why did stars have to
fall? Or the whirling of the Earth be capable of pulling her away from a star? Even if it was only a meteor, or two, or three! More! Oh, yes, infinitely more! Smiling to herself, Alexa sat up and stretched before falling back onto the bed with her arms spread wide and her imagination busy.
“Bridget, I think I’d like to sleep for a little while. But you’ll wake me up by seven, won’t you? Unless Lord Embry should call earlier, that is.”
“Yes, milady. I won’t forget, I promise.”
Did I really say those words? Dear God, I’m as insane as he seemed to be, then. Turning over onto her stomach, Alexa buried her face against a pillow with an angry motion. Fool! She jeered at herself. Did he say anything about love? No, it had been convenience instead. And what had Harriet tried to teach her a long time ago? Logic and reason should always outweigh emotion—God, she must try to think that way always! Think how suddenly it had all come about. Think of... Supposing he already knew everything about her and had been made to realize what kind of threat she could turn out to be? Perhaps that was their plan—to make sure Alexa was kept tame and silent until they had decided how to deal with her. And if he actually went so far as to wed her, what would it mean and what would he have to lose? Perhaps a year or two at the most, before she met with a convenient accident that would free them all of the threat she represented. Just like poor Amy Robsart in Sir Walter Scott’s novel Kennilworth. And if they were married, he’d own everything she now called her own. Wealth, possessions—even her body itself! She’d be completely at his mercy. At their mercy, in fact. Her grandmother knew very well who “Lady Travers” was and what she represented. Of course she would have to be got rid of, even if Helen had to wait a year or two for her husband. Her rich, widowed husband.
Soaking in a hot bath perfumed with Oil of Attar of Roses helped Alexa to relax somewhat after she had realized that she could not manage to fall asleep. With her hair bound up, she leaned her head back over the edge of the tub and closed her eyes, aware that her poor faithful Bridget was watching over her to prevent her falling asleep and drowning. Lying heavily between her breasts on her own gold chain was the signet ring that Nicholas Dameron, Lord Embry, had given her; so like the one Gavin Dameron had once given Victorine Bouvard that she had not been able to prevent the shiver that ran through her body when it was carelessly bestowed on her—almost as an afterthought.
“Oh, here! It’s customary, I suppose, until I have bought you a proper engagement ring. You won’t be able to wear it on your finger, but perhaps you have a plain gold chain to thread it on?” He had been half-dressed already when he had turned around to drop the heavy ring between her breasts. And she had still been floating somewhere in a delicious daze of contentment, not really paying too much attention to the ring while she was watching him.
“And what is supposed to happen next? Where are you going? I cannot recall having agreed to become engaged to marry you, you know. I had made up my mind that...”
“Querida, you might as well make up your mind that we’re betrothed, and you are well and truly compromised. Think of Lady Acton and the Duchess of Atherton, not to mention your own servants, who are not above gossiping, I’m sure. And as for the rest, I do hope you will not take to asking me questions! I was advised that Helen was prepared to be a most understanding wife, the kind that any man would appreciate.”
“Helen! Why didn’t you compromise her instead? And I can only hope that you prove just as nobly understanding as you expect your wife to be!”
That, Alexa recalled, had been the point when he had bent over her and kissed her very thoroughly into silence, while he whispered against her mouth between kisses that he was not at all understanding and would strangle her and shoot any man he found her with. Oh God! What was she to think? Was he playing some secret game with her? And worst thought of all—was this the same way that Gavin Dameron had seduced her mother before he had abandoned her? Ah, but Victorine’s daughter would not prove so easy.
The scent of roses followed her everywhere, even after she had dressed in one of her new gowns, which had quite a daringly low neckline that showed off her emeralds. Bridget was so upset she was almost sulking. “But, ma’am! I mean, milady, you’re surely not going out tonight? You haven’t rested properly yet, and there’ll be the ball tomorrow. And what if Lord Embry should come by and ask for you?”
Alexa twirled around in her bronze silk gown with gold lace flounces and smiled brilliantly. “If Lord Embry should find enough time to call, why then you may tell him that I’ve gone to Sloane Square to Lady Fenton’s card party and that I may go from there to Chelsea to visit the Carlyles, if it is not too late; or Cremorne Gardens, perhaps, if we can make up a party of sufficiently daring souls! He may find me easily enough if he wishes to, I’m sure.”
The perfume of roses followed her all the way downstairs, and there were two silver vases of crimson roses standing on the table in the hallway, along with the silver tray piled with cards and envelopes. On the point of ordering the roses taken away immediately, Alexa heard Mr. Bowles say in a purposefully expressionless voice, “Lord Deering is already here and waiting for you, my Lady.”
“Admit it! You had quite forgotten that you had agreed to my escorting you to Deirdre Fenton’s card party.”
“Oh, very well then. I had forgotten. But I am glad that you had not, because I would have hated to walk into such a crowd alone.” Alexa turned her head to smile at her escort before looking about them and adding: “But I’m even more relieved that you are escorting me on my first visit to Cremorne Gardens, although I think it isn’t really half as wicked as it’s made out to be!” If her voice sounded slightly strained, Lord Charles did not seem to notice as he gave her elbow a small squeeze.
“How could you recognize evil when you are so innocent yourself? So innocent and so open—the first qualities I remarked and admired in you when we met. I remember dancing with you and riding with you and all the conversations we used to have, particularly those in French. And if you could only know how I have suffered since then, thinking of what might have been if only I had not been drugged! Lady Travers—Alexa...”
“Nicholas told me that your intentions were far from honorable, and that all you wanted was to have a virgin, until you tired of her and wanted another,” Alexa said guilelessly, noting with relief that Lord Charles, about to gather her into his embrace, had let his hands drop and was staring at her with a mixture of hurt and indignation.
“He told you that? After everything he said to me about you, his insinuations...”
“Then he told you that he arrived in your place? He did leave me a virgin, however. Or did he take the trouble to mention it?” Alexa’s voice sounded brittle, and she had forgotten her earlier apprehension at having been separated from the rest of the party they had arrived with here from the Carlyles’ house. “Not that it matters at all to me what he says or leaves cunningly unsaid, of course,” she added insouciantly, and had started to turn away when she felt Lord Charles take her by the elbow.
“If you honestly feel the emotions you have just expressed, then for God’s sake tell me why you’ve agreed to marry him? How did he manage to coerce you into it? I had sworn to myself that I would keep silent since my motives could be misunderstood, but now I cannot for your sake hold back any longer. Be careful. Be on guard always. There are those, unfortunately, to whom money is everything—especially if they play for high stakes.”
Alexa stared into his face as she said slowly and almost disbelievingly, “Are you telling me that Embry is in need of money? Why, I thought...”
“My grandmother pays him a handsome allowance as long as he flatters her and follows her dictates. That is all he has until whatever trouble it was that he got into in California is forgotten and he can safely return there, which cannot be, I’m sure, for many more years.”
“What kind of trouble are you speaking of? Something very bad?”
“It was...”
Lord Charles hesitated and se
emed to have difficulty choosing his words, and Alexa wondered impatiently why he was suddenly so stiff and reluctant, until she heard a voice say pleasantly from behind her: “It was the worst crime of all, wasn’t it, Charles? Murder. In fact, I was accused of murdering my wife.”
Chapter 37
“How dare you act as if—I was—as if you owned me?” Alexa panted in a furious, almost breathless whisper. “I have never felt so humiliated in my entire life! And poor Charles—we were only... He was only trying to...”
“I can imagine quite easily what your ‘poor Charles’ had in mind once he thought you were convinced of my perfidy and opportunism,” Lord Embry grated in an equally furious undertone as he dragged an angry and unwilling Alexa along by the wrist. His eyes, caught momentarily by gaslight, flashed with the dangerous green brilliance of those of a stalking Bengal tiger. “One of the dark alcoves, or perhaps even a private room, if he felt sure enough of you. Was that the kind of adventure you came seeking tonight in Cremorne Gardens?”
“You judge everyone else by your own vile standards, don’t you? But I am not accountable to you or to anyone else for my actions! Do you hear me, damn you?” Alexa’s words were blurted out vehemently between gasps. “I will never marry you! I refuse to be engaged to you either! Let go of me, you...you murderer!‘”
For a moment she thought it was because of what she had said that he halted so suddenly that she would have fallen against him if he had not at the same time released her aching wrist with a kind of backward shove that almost made her lose her balance. There was what felt like a rough-textured wall at her back and the innocuously soothing, splashing sound of a fountain nearby. And over all those sounds and sensations the awareness of the two burly men who had appeared from nowhere to block their path. Conversationally, one of them said, “Seems to me, Jimmy m’boy, that this pretty lady was screaming for help.”
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