Desire in the Sun
Karen Robards
The cruel code of her plantation society forced her to renounce the man she could never forget. Lilah Remy would marry another, her days filled with anguish, her nights with torment. But Joss San Pietro had vowed to possess the woman whose beauty haunted him and enslaved his body and soul!
Karen Robards
Desire in the Sun
I
"Miss Remy-Delilah-you are in my thoughts night and day! Like that Delilah of old, you are an enchantress, and you have enchanted my heart! I…"
"Pray say no more, Mr. Calvert," Lilah murmured, trying to repossess herself of her hand. The infatuated Mr. Calvert, impervious to her tugging, clung doggedly to her fingers as he sank to one knee before her. She looked down in dismay at the curly brown head bent over her hand.
Michael Calvert was hardly more than a boy, perhaps a year or so younger than her own age of twenty-one. She was no more in love with him than with Hercules, her great-aunt's pampered spaniel, who was curled blissfully beside her in the porch swing at that moment, his short red hairs shedding copiously all over the fragile white silk of her Empire-style gown. But so far it had been as impossible to convince Mr. Calvert of her disinterest as it had been to discourage Hercules. Neither of them seemed the least inclined to take a polite hint. Mr. Calvert had been courting her assiduously for most of the three months she had been visiting her great-aunt, Amanda Barton, at Boxhill. Nothing she had said or done to indicate her complete lack of interest in his suit had served to deter him in the least. Now he was clearly determined to have his say. If he heard her soft-spoken plea, he disregarded it.
Lilah sighed, making no effort to muffle the sound. Trapped in the night-dark corner of the verandah as she was, and unwilling to make a scene, she had little choice but to hear him out.
"I love you! I want you to be my wife!"
Much more had come in between, but she had missed a great deal of it. Now he recaptured her attention by pressing his face to her hand, kissing its back with moist enthusiasm. Lilah tugged at her hand again. He held it in a grip that would not be broken.
"You do me too much honor, Mr. Calvert," she said through gritted teeth.
Under the circumstances, it was difficult to force herself to adhere to the ladylike phrases that had been drummed into her by Katy Allen, her beloved former governess, whose thankless job it had been to supervise her growing-up years. The proprieties had not mattered so much on her home island of Barbados, where, for all the inhabitants' pride in being more British than Britain itself, manners were much freer than they were here in the best houses of colonial Virginia.
At Boxhill manners counted. Though the Colonies had officially freed themselves from British domination more than a decade before, and were by this time, the year 1792, enjoying an ardent love affair with all things French, that love affair did not extend so far as embracing French ideas of what was considered acceptable behavior for unmarried young ladies of good family. In this one area the Colonies remained as Britishly circumspect as ever, with every word and gesture rigidly prescribed.
Following her natural inclination to reward Mr. Calvert's devotion with a shove that would land him on the seat of his breeches was sure to be frowned upon by the old tabbies within, the undisputed leader of whom was her own formidable great-aunt. During the weeks of her visit, Lilah had developed a healthy respect for the vinegar of Amanda Barton's tongue. Unless forced to it by the direst of circumstances, she would just as soon forgo another scolding. It shouldn't be impossible to pass the three weeks remaining of her visit without treading on another of Amanda's sacrosanct tenets on the behavior expected of proper young ladies.
"To do you too much honor would be impossible," Mr. Calvert rhapsodized, pressing his lips daringly close to her wrist. "As my wife, you will be worthy of every honor!"
Lilah stared down at the boy kneeling before her, annoyance puckering her forehead. Really, this was getting absurd! The eligible gentlemen of Mathews County apparently found her particular combination of golden- haired beauty and Barbados sugar plantation riches irresistible, which of course was just as it should be. Never in her life had she lacked for male attention, and she had not expected colonial males to be any different. Four years after her debut, she had nearly two dozen proposals of marriage to her credit, all of which she had unhesitatingly declined. Mr. Calvert's was the third proposal she had received during her stay at Boxhill, and two more gentlemen were paying assiduous court to her, but she had so far managed to keep them from coming to the point.
She sighed again. The truth of it was, she liked none of them any better than the next, and certainly none of them well enough to marry. But she was not getting any younger, she was her father's only child, and as he lost no opportunity to point out to her, it was time she was wed and producing heirs for Heart's Ease. It was beginning to look as though she could do no better than to accept her stepmother's nephew, Kevin Talbott, who had a standing offer for her, made when she was seventeen, that he renewed regularly and she just as regularly re- fused. Kevin was her father's choice for her, and her father, for all his faults, was the smartest man she knew. At least marrying Kevin would have the advantage of permitting her to live out her life at Heart's Ease, which she loved with an unswerving devotion, while at the same time providing the plantation with a competent manager for years to come. As her husband, Kevin would continue to serve in his present capacity of overseer until her father's death. Then he and she would inherit, and life on the vast sugar plantation would continue as it always had. Her father seemed to find that thought immensely comforting. Lilah found it more than a little distressing.
She had had such hopes for this visit-such dreams that, in this new and (she'd thought!) excitingly different place, she might find a man who'd sweep her right off her practical little feet and make her fall in love. But as her stepmother had warned her before she set sail, such dreams were just that, and harsh reality was this ridiculous boy at her feet. Looking down at him, Lilah had a momentary vision of him climbing into bed with her on their wedding night, and she actually shuddered. Better by far Kevin, who for all his rough-and-ready ways was at least familiar. Her father, as usual, was in the right of it. Love was nothing more than the blather of fools, and if she used the brain she'd been born with she'd marry for sound, sensible reasons.
"… say you'll be mine!"
Despite her lack of attention, Mr. Calvert was still making declarations of undying love, and kissing her hand with the devotion of a puppy. The tart response that hovered on the tip of her tongue had to be suppressed in favor of the polite phrases fashioned for such situations. She certainly could not tell him that, with his high-pitched voice and curly hair, he reminded her of nothing so much as a large-sized version of Hercules!
At least not unless he continued his slavering over her hand past the point where she could bear it.
"Pray release my hand, Mr. Calvert. I cannot marry you." There was the slightest edge to her voice. Her free hand was itching to box his ears. But she would hold off just a little longer, and perhaps Mr. Calvert would see reason before she had to blot her copybook so thoroughly. It would be nice if she could escape from this encounter with Mr. Calvert's image of her as a spun- sugar princess intact. But if his mouth crawled much farther up her arm…
Mr. Calvert, carried away by an onslaught of passion and apparently afflicted with deafness besides, began pressing kisses on each of her fingers. Tugging ineffectually at her hand again, Lilah cast despairing eyes around the shadowy verandah to assure herself that the ridiculous scene was unobserved.
An outdoor party had been given by her great-aunt in her honor that afternoon. As night had fallen the company had moved indoor
s for the dance party that was the traditional finish to such an entertainment. Music and merriment drifted through the open windows onto the verandah and beyond, over the green velvet lawns and carefully cultivated rose gardens. Couples strolled through those gardens, but they were mere murmuring voices in the distance, too far away to cause Lilah any embarrassment. Besides, they were too caught up in their own concerns to spare a thought for what might or might not be happening on the verandah, which except for herself and Mr. Calvert was presently deserted.
Light as well as music spilled out of the long windows, making the corner of the porch where she was trapped seem even darker in contrast. It was July, and the night was warm. The tuneless chirping of cicadas and the scent of the honeysuckle growing around the porch joined with the music and laughter to form a ridiculously romantic backdrop to her predicament. Earlier in the evening she had danced every dance with scarcely a pause in between. At the last break in the music, she had been feeling more than a little dewy (a lady would never sweat!). So she had succumbed to Mr. Calvert's urging that they go outside and sit in the swing to catch their breath. And in the swing she was sitting still, while he knelt before her on the well-swept boards of the wide verandah that wrapped around three sides of the white-columned house, pressing kisses to her hand while she all but gave up on finding a polite way to repulse him. It was becoming increasingly clear that he was not going to release her hand without drastic action on her part.
"Oh, Lilah, if you will but consent to wed me you will make me the happiest of men!" Mr. Calvert, passion inspiring him to an act of uncharacteristic daring, actually went so far as to touch his tongue to her palm. Shocked, Lilah jerked hard at her hand, the slight frown on her face transforming into a full-blown scowl. Beside her, Hercules, disturbed by her sudden movement, raised his head. His disgruntled bug eyes moved from her face to Mr. Calvert's. His glare settled on Mr. Calvert, and he gave vent to a low growl.
"Hush, Hercules!" Lilah snapped, exasperated, then turned her attention back to Mr. Calvert. "No, I will not marry you, so give me back my hand!" she hissed, her patience exhausted at last. Mr. Calvert looked up. His brown eyes that were almost identical to Hercules' glazed with ardor as they met hers.
"This shyness of yours is most becoming. I would not like my wife to be overly bold," were the vexing words that followed. Apparently blind to the expression on her face, he raised her hand to his mouth and pressed his tongue to her palm again. The provocation was too great. Temper flaming, Lilah lifted her dainty slippered foot, placed it squarely in the center of Mr. Calvert's thin chest, and shoved as hard as she could while at the same time pulling on her hand. The effect was not quite what she had intended. True, Mr. Calvert released her hand and fell over backward-but so did she! The force of her push flipped the swing. Before she knew what was happening she was tumbling backwards off the rail- less verandah, too shocked to manage more than a hoarse cry as she came crashing down on one of the flower-laden honeysuckles that edged the porch. The shock of the impact surprised an unladylike oath from her. Hercules, thrown out of the swing with her, landed on the ground nearby with an indignant yelp.
"Lilah! Oh, dear lord!" Mr. Calvert's horrified gasp was almost as shrill as Hercules' yelp.
For a long moment Lilah lay sprawled across the broken bush, stunned into silence. Sharp little branches poked her skin, but already she felt that more damage had been done to her dignity than to her person. Her temper, already lit, blazed out of control. The horrible certainty of how ridiculous she must appear, lying facedown and spread-eagled across the crushed bush, her skirts twisted anyhow around her legs, baring, she shuddered to think, how much of her person, was less than balm for her sense of outrage.
Hercules' frenzied yapping warned her of Mr. Calvert's approach and unavoidable witness to her dishabille. Lilah wriggled wildly as she sought to escape the bush, but the branches had snagged on her gown and she found herself thoroughly caught. If she tried to rise she would rip her dress, with who knew what disastrous consequences to her modesty. She worked feverishly at disentangling a branch that had attached itself to her bodice.
"Pray allow me to assist you…"
The laughter that he was doing a lamentable job of suppressing distorted his voice. His obvious amusement acted on her anger like alcohol on a fire. Her bottom was up in the air, while her head dangled only a few inches from the ground. She was trapped-trapped!- with her thrashing legs in their garters and white cotton stockings bared to his view. Brown earth littered with a shower of broken twigs and blossoms was all she could see-except for a growing tide of red! She was so angry she could have cheerfully killed the giggling fool! She reached around and tried without success to find the hem of her skirt and jerk it down to the level of decency. To her horror, she felt his hand do what hers could not. His knuckles actually brushed the backs of her thighs!
"Take your hand off me, you blackguard! How dare you touch me! How dare you laugh! This is all your fault, you spineless ninny, and I take leave to tell you that I wouldn't wed you if…! Stop laughing, damn you! Stop laughing, do you hear?"
The uninhibited male chuckles, increasing in volume in response to her tirade (or the ridiculous picture she made flapping around as she tried to extricate herself from the bush!) maddened Lilah past the point of caring about anything except revenge. Thrusting herself up to the accompaniment of a loud ripping sound, Lilah came off that bush like a ball out of a cannon and launched a very unladylike but richly deserved roundhouse punch at the cause of her discomfiture. Just inches before the blow landed, her fist was caught in an iron grip. To Lilah's horror she found that the gentleman who had had the gall to pull down her skirt, whose eyes still twinkled at her even as his hold prevented her from breaking his nose, was not Mr. Calvert at all. Instead he was a complete and total stranger who was laughing at her with the greenest eyes she had ever seen.
II
"Oh!" she said, completely nonplussed. To put the crowning touch on her discomfiture, a rosy blush swept to her hairline.
The stranger grinned down at her. His teeth were white and faintly uneven, and a piratical mustache slashed the swarthy face above them. His hair, secured in a tail at the nape, was black and thick and softly curling. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and dazzlingly handsome despite the maddening grin. He was dressed for travel in a dun-colored, many-caped riding coat that hung open over a pristine white shirt with an elegantly tied cravat and snug buff breeches. From the riding crop in the hand that was not occupied in holding hers, she surmised that he had just arrived, and had been on his way to the house from the stables when he had witnessed her humiliation.
"You there! Unhand that lady! Unhand her, I say!" Mr. Calvert, having found his own feet and rushed by way of the steps to assist Lilah, was clearly miffed to find himself no longer needed. He came around the corner in an anxious rush, only to stop short, staring, before coming on again, bristling with protective zeal. Hercules, apparently emboldened by Mr. Calvert's advent, let loose with another volley of yaps and made a darting rush at the stranger's dusty boot, only to abandon the attack a good two feet short of its target.
"Oh, be quiet, do!" Lilah snapped, ostensibly to Hercules though her eyes included Mr. Calvert in the admonition. The stranger's grin broadened. The black slashes of his eyebrows lifted slightly as they took in the size and style of the boy advancing on him. But he spared Mr. Calvert no more than a glance before his eyes returned to Lilah.
"I applaud you on your good sense, ma'am. I wouldn't have him either." The confidential note in his voice brought a quivering smile to her lips.
"Why you… you…!" Mr. Calvert spluttered, his fists clenching at his sides. He stalked over to hover near Lilah's right shoulder, glaring at the stranger all the while. "What business do you have commenting on a private-very private!-matter? Who the devil are you, anyway?"
The stranger inclined his head politely. "Jocelyn San Pietro, entirely at your service, sir. But my friends call me Joss." His eyes slid
back to rest on Lilah's face as he said this last, and she realized that he was blatantly flirting with her. Despite her lingering embarrassment, the very outrageousness of his conduct appealed to her. All the men she had known so far in her life had treated her most deferentially, as if she were a glittering prize to be won. This fellow with his handsome face and bold grin was not at all intimidated by her, and she found that she liked him for it. But he was still holding her hand, and that was beyond the bounds of what was permissible. She tugged discreetly. He looked down with a fleeting expression of regret, but let her go.
"How do you do, Mr. San Pietro? I am Lilah Remy. And this is Michael Calvert." Lilah turned a commanding eye on Mr. Calvert, who sulkily inclined his head.
"I'm very pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Remy." The formal phrase took on a whole new aspect when accompanied by a meaningful glance from those bold green eyes. He completely ignored Mr. Calvert, who bristled. To her surprise Lilah felt herself growing pleasantly flustered. Ordinarily she was totally in command of herself when talking to gentlemen. After all, she had been much courted and admired for as long as she could remember. But this man was something beyond her ken. At the realization she felt a tingling little sense of excitement spring to life inside her.
"What is your business at Boxhill? You can't have been invited to the party," Mr. Calvert said sharply, his eyes narrowing as they moved between the other man and Lilah. "It was for close friends and neighbors only. And I've never seen you before in my life."
"Are you the new owner of Boxhill?" Mr. San Pietro inquired with a well-feigned expression of surprise. Mr. Calvert, glowering, shook his head. "Ah, then I have not come in vain. My business is with George Barton, and none other."
"Perhaps I could take you to him? He is my uncle- well, really his wife is my great-aunt," Lilah said.
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