by Laura Parker
Cassandra looked up, amazed by the indifference in the stranger’s tone, and came once more under the blaze of his single emerald eye. His was a hard face to look upon, pale from weeks of imprisonment. When she had rushed unknowingly into his arms and been cradled briefly against the warm solid flesh of his broad chest, their momentary contact had made her believe that safety lay with him. Nothing in the dark shadows of his face promised that now. Yet the feeling persisted, compelling her to speak. Uncurling her fingers, she held out a cold, trembling hand to the manacled man. “Please,” she whispered.
Immediately, it was caught up in a warm strong hand half again the size of her own.
Dowerty licked his lips, still slick with grease from his meal. “Have it yer way, me cunning little baggage. Come the morn, I’ll have ye singing a different tune.” Chuckling, he displayed a thick-palmed hand. “The gold.”
“When you’ve handed over the key to these.” Merlyn rattled the chain attached to his right wrist.
Dowerty started to protest, but his covetous gaze fastened on the purse of gold. He could see the shapes of a dozen coins against the cloth.
Merlyn smiled slightly, reading the man’s thoughts. “I cannot make the lady comfortable chained like a beast.”
Dowerty nodded numbly. Backing out of the cell, he dragged the door with him, mumbling, “Ye can’t escape. Even without them chains, there’s a door ’twixt ye and me.”
Cassandra felt little relief as the victory in the battle of wills fell to her champion. She had only chosen between the lesser of two evils.
Sensing her discomfort, Merlyn released her hand and took her instead by the waist, pressing her close until she was scored from shoulder to thigh with the heat of his body. Bending down, he whispered in her ear, “Be easy, my lady.” His firm lips brushed her cheek and then settled in calm deliberation against her own.
For an amazed instant Cassandra felt the tantalizing pressure of the stranger’s brandy-warmed breath upon her lips. The touch of his lips, too subtle to call a kiss, was as light as the brush of a butterfly’s wing. Yet it left a burning impression upon her mouth such as if he had touched a live ember to it. And then he gently set her away from himself. Shocked by the power of his touch, she shivered in the chill darkness.
“I’ll have the key now,” Merlyn called to the gaoler in a tone that had nothing to do with the sweet taste of the kiss he had just sampled. That showed in the tiny smile curving his mouth.
“Come and get it, me tart,” Dowerty replied, inserting the key through the narrow space of the peephole.
Merlyn handed Cassandra the gold purse. “The key first, then the gold.”
Like a sleepwalker, Cassandra did as she was bid, feeling no part in the actions which sealed her fate. When she turned from the door, listening to the gaoler’s retreating footsteps, the small iron key lay in her palm like an omen of her future.
Merlyn reached for the candle and tinderbox that had been of no use to him an hour before. The spark caught the wick and light sputtered, fluttered, and then brightened into being.
Cassandra’s first clear impression of her protector was of his darkness. A thick unruly mane of black hair covered the well-molded head. Not even a dusting of powder dampened the sheen of the raven-black hair curling against his pale olive complexion. Gypsy. Pirate. The leather patch angled across his brow made her think of dangerous company and adventure. Repulsed yet attracted by his exotic countenance, she looked away, to have her gaze snagged by the mat of fine dark hair revealed by his opened shirt. Eyes sliding lower, she found narrow hips and well-muscled thighs and then the fetters that held him chained to the wall behind.
She stared at the chains. He was a prisoner the same as she. She had thought the turnkey would bring her to a gentleman who had come to give her her freedom. Instead, he had brought her to this man. The implication of that action struck her fully for the first time. Abruptly her gaze rose to his face again.
Oh, Lord! she thought. Why did I not think of that before?
“You are pleased by your assessment?” Merlyn’s tone was amused as he turned and found two great dark eyes on him. Until now he had seen very little of his purchase, but he already knew more of her than she might suspect. Her manner and speech bespoke a gentle breeding, but those had not convinced him that she was not an experienced streetwalker. It was her response to his embrace. No whore would have remained unmoved under his kiss. One softening of her lips, the smallest surrender to his invitation, and he would have caught her out. Not that it mattered. The urge was strong within him. He did not expect her to be a virgin, but it gave him satisfaction to know that he would not share his bed with a seasoned slut.
She was not a great beauty, he saw that at once, but neither did he find any cause for complaint. The long tangle of soft brown hair framing her young face was more unusual, and he marveled at it. She must be a country mouse. The dirty damp shift she wore left little to his active imagination as he quickly noted a tiny waist, softly flaring hips, and the enticing curves of firm young breasts. Yes, he liked what he saw. Washed and properly dressed, she would prove a diversion for a time.
The pattern of his thoughts brought a sudden scowl to Merlyn’s features. Unlike the times before, he would not have the luxury of growing tired of the girl. One night. It was all he had. The brandy he had consumed made him impatient to spend it as best he could.
“The key, my lady.”
Exhaustion had made her lids fall shut, but now Cassandra looked full into the stranger’s face and met a stare that made her very aware of her half-dressed state. Flushing deeply, she clutched the front of her shift to fold it high on her bosom, but the clinging silk, pulled tight, outlined more fully the curve of hip and rounding of breast, sights she wanted to keep hidden.
Watching her, Merlyn’s smile became a grin. “The key, if you please.”
“No!” Her cry surprised Cassandra more than it did the man before her. As she backed away from him, she heard the rich disturbing sound of his laughter.
“So, you have a little courage. I had begun to wonder. Perhaps you would care for a sip of brandy?” He pointed to the bottle by the bed.
This time Cassandra merely shook her head as her hand closed tightly over the small key in her palm.
“You would feel more at ease if I introduced myself,” Merlyn continued as if she had politely agreed. “Here in Newgate I am known as Jack Commoner, but I will tell you a secret.” He winked at her. “Merlyn is my name. And you?”
“Cass—” Cassandra paused. She had known her name until the moment she began to speak it, then the knowledge winked out ahead of her tongue.
“Cass? Cassie? Is that it?” Merlyn encouraged. He saw her frown, her spiky dark lashes fluttering to her cheeks in a childish gesture of confusion, and wondered at her mercurial nature. It seemed she had no skill in the art of deception, that her expressions were a perfect reflection of her emotions, but he had lived too long to trust even his eyes. The sudden thought struck him that she might be dim-witted. Merlyn smiled. His interest was in that portion of her where wits were of least value.
“I have kept my part, Cassie. You must know what I expect in return. Believe me, it would pain me to hand your lovely innocence over to Dowerty. Yet I will do it and without hesitation if you do not give me the key. Now.”
Cassandra looked up. He had made no move toward her, but she felt the full force of his will come to bear on her in his unwavering green gaze. He might have been invoking a spell, so strong was the lure. The strangely familiar sensation of helplessness before a superior force washed over her. The feeling was so clearly remembered that she knew a moment of panic. The urge to defy him made her lift her hand to throw the key away, beyond his reach.
“You won’t like keeping Dowerty company,” Merlyn warned when he understood what she meant to do.
With a cry halfway between a sob and a moan she flung the key at him and whirled away.
Merlyn caught up the bit of metal easily and inserted it into the locks holding the fetters about his wrist and ankle. If his conscience pricked him for having frightened the girl into submission he paid it no heed. He wanted her.
“No! No!” Cassandra cried when strong hands took hold of her and spun her around to face her captor. Using all that remained of her waning strength, she kicked out at him and twisted her body to be free.
“Don’t,” Merlyn said and brought her hard against his chest. Her slippered feet beat harmlessly against his legs as he captured her arms between their bodies in an enfolding embrace.
He met her gaze. “You have no choice, my dear. You are alone with me. There’ll be none to come in answer to your cries. Do you understand? And I am not a man to be swayed by a few tears.” When he saw that she was about to scream he quickly lowered his head to stop the cry.
The kiss fell unexpectedly upon Cassandra’s mouth, the warm firm persuasion of his lips. The method of his attack momentarily surprised her and she accepted the hard pressure of his mouth. After a moment she felt the parting of his lips on hers, then the touch of his tongue like a flick of flame against her tightly closed mouth.
A tiny shock went through her and she tried to struggle against the intimate gesture, but her resistance made scarce any impression on the man holding her. He merely tightened his arms until she could hardly breathe. The skin of his chest under her fingertips seemed to scald her as she pressed against him until, finally, she recognized the heavy steady stroking of his heart beneath her right palm. He was a man, only that, she thought. Whatever she might suffer from him, womanly intuition warned her that it might be tempered by her response.
Her actions were those born of an unreasoned desire to lessen the torment to which she expected to be put, not from any knowledge of men. But later, when her knowledge was greater, she knew her actions would have been no different.
When his lips parted once more she followed his example and this time his seeking tongue met not the barrier of tight lips but the warm sweetness of her mouth.
Merlyn murmured his approval of her surrender as his tongue curled into her mouth, drawing from it a measure of her unique taste. Pleasure scored through him when, hesitantly, she met his tongue with the tip of her own. The action, so shy and uncertain, convinced him that she was new to the intimacy. It did not lessen the pleasure.
When he raised his head, breaking the long, deep kiss, he felt her shuddery hiss of indrawn breath and knew he was not the only one affected by their contact. Reluctantly, he put her away from himself, smiling tenderly at her. “There, Cassie. Tell me you find me not too much to your distaste.”
Cassandra looked up into his face, wishing to gauge the effect of her actions. The glittering in his eye promised much, but it did not offer freedom. “Please, do not—” She swallowed and closed her eyes to prevent the pricking of tears. He had said they would not help.
“Innocent,” Merlyn murmured softly, reaching out to touch her wounded cheek. He frowned. “Who clawed you?”
Cassandra shook her head, lifting her face from the cradle of his palm. “The women in the common cell. Horrid creatures!”
Merlyn understood. His eyes went briefly over her. Her shift was of the finest silk, embroidered with tiny rosebuds along the neck. It was a wonder they did not strip the girl bare, he thought with a cynical twist to his lips. Of course, she would not be here now if they had. The common cells housed male as well as female prisoners, and gang rape was common. Common cells, common crimes, how aptly it applied.
“You are not a slut, are you, my dear?”
A spark of hope flared in Cassandra’s throbbing brain. “You think … you believed!” She almost laughed as she put a hand on his arm in a pleading gesture. “Oh, sir, I swear to you, I am no tart. If that is the reason you had me brought to you I must—”
“Nothing will spare you,” Merlyn inserted calmly into her frantic speech, and the effect was like a splash of water on a flame. As if bitten, she jerked her hand away. All the light that had animated her face, flushing her cheeks and widening her dark eyes, died.
Angry with himself for giving her even the momentary belief that she might somehow escape him, Merlyn decided the moment for conversation was past. She would learn for herself before the night was over that her fate at his hands would not be all unpleasantness. Without hesitation, he reached for her again. This time he lifted her up against him, an arm about her shoulders, the other under her knees, and carried her to the pile of rugs that made up his bed. The feel of her small weight reminded him again of the taste of her mouth and he sought her lips with his own.
Cassandra made no resistance when his arms went about her, lifting her up with ease. She felt as helpless as a shuttlecock, batted back and forth between her will and his. But when she felt his lips on hers, she gave up to tears that flooded her cheeks.
Merlyn bent and placed her on the bed, surprised by the taste of salt that had mingled with her kiss. He had been honest when he told her that tears would not affect his desire, but he was not unmoved. He could see her gaze clearly now and he was amazed to discover that her eyes were not brown as he had first supposed but the rich dark gold of clover honey. He pushed a silky strand of hair back from her brow, wishing that she would close the thickly fringed eyes staring up at him. They met his gaze with a hope he found touching and made him feel emotions he thought had died within him, things like compassion—and pity. But none of them altered his own need.
“Life is not fair, my lady. You would have had to learn that lesson one day.” He smiled a little. “You cannot turn me from my desire to bed you. Your kisses would never discourage a man. But I will make you a bargain. I paid the turnkey to bring you to me. I am not so miserly that I will not offer you something, also. What would you have of me?”
“My freedom,” Cassandra answered without hesitation.
Merlyn smiled ruefully. He had expected as much and was ready. “If I could arrange that, what would you offer me in return?” This she did not answer. He did not expect her to. “One night of your company, little one. That is what I want. Then I will buy you your freedom.”
Cassandra gazed at him, unaware that the mysterious golden depths of her dark eyes made the man more determined than ever to bed her. She did not know that her direct gaze of innocence also held within it the subtle lure of an unwitting temptress.
“You can purchase my freedom?” she whispered. The dark face above her did not alter a whit; he might have been made of granite but for the pulse at his throat.
She licked her lips self-consciously. Confused images animated the corners of her mind, just out of reach. But one clear thought finally emerged. She was lost and alone, without memory or protection. This would be her only hope to escape Newgate, and she knew it. “I agree.”
Inexplicably, Merlyn found her answer annoying and he frowned. “Is it that simple for you? Why should you trust me? I could take you now and forget on the morrow.”
“That’s true,” Cassandra answered, her eyes never wavering from the forbidding face so near hers. “But if I have the choice, I’ll accept the embraces of a clean man over the … the other.”
The reasoning was childishly simple, but Merlyn’s mouth tightened against the curious softening he felt toward her. Innocence was a thing lost to him before he learned to cherish it. “I wish I could believe your naïveté. To have found an honest soul on my last night on earth would make up for a great deal.”
The words startled him; he had not meant to say them aloud. It must be the brandy, he decided and quickly looked about for the bottle. “You must share my brandy, for it will make things much easier—and then we will learn together your mysteries. If you are frightened and fight me, you will only hurt yourself.”
He saw her cringe and wondered for the first time what would become of her when dawn pinked the sky. “Why are you in London, Cassie?”
Cassandra’s head moved fitfully on the
pillow, new tears splashing free from beneath her lashes. “I don’t remember.”
When she fell silent, he reached for the brandy bottle and bucket of water he had used earlier to bathe himself. There was one thing more he was determined upon before climbing into bed. He would bathe her. Perhaps she had been clean before she arrived at Newgate—her undergarments certainly were expensive—but the filth and odor of the place had quickly attached itself to her. The whores who jumped her had probably rubbed her face in filthy hay. That would be like them.
Cassandra closed her eyes. What miseries would he inflict upon her? she wondered wretchedly.
Hands lifted her into a sitting position and the cold hard touch of glass against her lips made her eyes fly open just as brandy ran onto her tongue. She gasped in surprise, inhaling a drop of the fiery liquid, and choked. Then another drop of brandy found its path down her throat, smoothing over the searing pain of the first.
“Drink, little one,” Merlyn commanded, grasping firmly the slender column of her neck and tilting the bottle to her lips once more. “I’ve precious little patience with maidenly tears this night.” He urged the lip of the bottle against her soft mouth once more, holding it steady until he was certain she had accepted enough of the potent liquid to relax her.
“Now,” he said in satisfaction, pressing her gently back down on the bed, “my lady should be ready for her bath.”
Cassandra jerked under the pressure of his hands. “You cannot be serious?”
“But I am, my sweet,” Merlyn replied silkily. “Your kisses are pleasant enough, but you smell of the sewer. I’ve a remedy for that.” So saying, he reached down to pick up the cloth he had dipped in the bucket. He wrung it out before her astonished gaze. “I’m unskilled in the art of lady’s maid, but it’s my belief we shall deal well together.”
Cassandra gasped in outrage as the cloth touched her cheek, but he held her firmly to the bed with a hand on her shoulder. “Don’t, Cassie,” he warned, and she closed her eyes. Why, oh, why could she not be left alone? She wanted only that. The brandy roiled in her, reminding her of the stale bread and bowl of gruel she had been too sick at heart to eat. When had she last eaten? Was it yesterday, the day before?