River of Fire

by Mary Jo Putney

  "A pity," Hampton said, his eyes twinkling. "A fine marketing opportunity lost."

  Lord Frazier watched the interplay with a faint expression of distaste. The man needed a sense of humor, Kenneth decided.

  "Time we were off. We're dining with Benjamin West tonight." Sir Anthony paused, his expression commanding everyone's attention before he continued, "West wishes to talk about my succeeding him as president of the Royal Academy."

  There was a moment of profound silence. Kenneth noted that Hampton looked surprised and Frazier looked downright shocked.

  Then Rebecca exclaimed, "That's wonderful!" She bounced up and went to hug her father. "With the backing of the current president, your election is assured when the time comes."

  "That's still a few years away, I trust. I'm fond of West and in no hurry to see him die." Sir Anthony smiled. "But when a new president is needed, I would be honored to serve."

  "Perhaps Tom Lawrence will have something to say about that," Frazier drawled. "Still, if West makes his preference plain, your chances are excellent."

  "Anthony is by far the best choice," Hampton said warmly as he shook his friend's hand. He glanced at Rebecca. "Who knows? Perhaps someday Kimball will head the academy in his turn. There's already talk of making him an associate when the next vacancy occurs. You'll have the distinction of being both daughter and wife of presidents."

  It was a flattering thought, but Kenneth saw a look of authentic rage in Frazier's eyes. He said deprecatingly, "Such talk after only two pictures exhibited is highly premature. Besides, my artistic education is deficient in many areas."

  "I'm glad you're aware of that," Frazier said acerbically. "It would be a pity if your head became turned when you are still the merest novice."

  Hampton gave the other man an annoyed glance, but said only, "Time we were going. Good night, Rebecca, Kimball."

  After the door closed on the three men, Rebecca said, "Poor Frazier—he obviously resents the fact that his star is in eclipse when everyone else's is rising." She danced over to Kenneth, who had just resumed his seat, and threw her arms around him exuberantly, almost spilling the teacup he had just lifted. "But the rest of us are so wonderfully successful that I can scarcely believe it."

  Faced with a choice between cooling tea and a warm armful of femininity, the decision was easy. He set the cup aside and pulled her onto his lap. "I owe this all to you, Rebecca. If you hadn't bullied me into painting, I would never have tried."

  He gave her a kiss that was intended to be light, but which swiftly turned serious. Her arms slid around him and her mouth opened under his. She tasted of spice cake and delight, a heady, intoxicating blend that aroused him in seconds.

  He pulled his head away and tried to pretend that he was unaffected by the embrace. "We really shouldn't do this in the drawing room. Or anywhere else, for that matter."

  Briefly he saw his own indecision in her. Then her expression changed as exuberance transmuted into reckless passion. "You're right. My studio is a much better place." She raised her hand and caressed his cheek with sensual promise. "Lavinia said The Corsair depicts every woman's dream lover, dark and dangerous and irresistible. That it is pure passion."

  It was becoming hard to breathe. He set her on her feet and stood. "Lavinia has a colorful imagination."

  "On the contrary, she's very acute." Instead of moving away, Rebecca stepped so close that her breasts almost touched him. As he stared at them, mesmerized, she continued, "Lavinia said the painting shows how I see you, and she's right."

  He should move away. He didn't. "How do you see me?"

  "Dark." She slid a cool hand around the back of his neck and caressed his nape, her fingertips tangling in his hair and her breasts a warm, insistent pressure against his chest.

  His pulse began hammering with desire and dismay.

  "Dangerous." Standing on tiptoe, she lightly nipped the lobe of his ear.

  Sensation blazed through him, tingling in his limbs and pooling in his groin.

  "Irresistible," she murmured against his throat. Her lips feathered across his cheek and her mouth slanted over his.

  He exhaled roughly and drew her into his embrace, thirsting for the rich liquor of her mouth. She was like ginger wine, soothing and sizzling all at once. Lilith, the demoness of desire. His hands glided down her supple spine and came to rest on the sculptured softness of her hips. He drew her against him, feeling every lovely feminine curve.

  It had been hard enough when he had only guessed what lay beneath her gown. Now he knew, and the knowledge was physical pain. He wanted to bare her shapely limbs to his hungry gaze. He wanted savagery and tenderness. To sink into her welcoming body. To see the wildness blazing in her eyes, and the deep contentment that would come later.

  No.

  "Lilith the demoness indeed. Sent to steal my soul and succeeding admirably." Aching with regret, he set her away from him. "To be fools once might be forgivable. Twice would not."

  "What is so foolish about making love?" She reached back and jerked loose the ribbon that secured her hair so that it fell about her shoulders like a sun-gilded auburn veil. "And let us have no nonsense about you being a lowly secretary. You are a viscount and a rising young artist."

  He tried to think what other barriers he could put between them, apart from the truth of his duplicity. "Having escaped a forced wedding once, we'd be fools to risk our luck again. I can't swear I would be able to withdraw when I should." He stroked the delicate arc of her cheek with the back of his hand. "You are too intoxicating."

  She caught his hand and pressed the open palm to her breast. He went rigid, unable to pull away.

  "If that's all, you needn't worry. Lavinia explained how to prevent unwanted consequences." Color rose in Rebecca's face, but she didn't drop her eyes. "I have what I need to... to... protect myself upstairs."

  His fragile control collapsed like a house of cards. Why should they deny what they both wanted so much? His responsibility to Beth was fulfilled, his obligation to Bowden nearly so, and he'd found no evidence that Sir Anthony had killed his wife. Within a matter of weeks, perhaps only days, his life would be his own again. The return of the jewels should save him from bankruptcy no matter what Bowden decided to do with the mortgages. Though there would still be debts, he would finally be Kimball of Sutterton in a meaningful way.

  When that happened and he could speak freely... Well, he was willing to rethink his feelings about heiresses if Rebecca would reconsider her distaste for marriage.

  As for this present moment, they both burned, and there was only one way to quench the flames.

  This time he would not allow the swift madness of their first mating. She knew how to give; he must teach her to receive. He took her face between his hands. "If the corsair is a dream lover, you are a dream mistress. Passionate. Open. Lovely beyond belief." He gave her a long, soul-draining kiss. When he broke for breath, he whispered, "Prepare yourself, Lilith, for you are impossible to resist."

  "Good," she said huskily. "I'll join you in the studio."

  They left the drawing room a demure yard apart, though anyone watching would guess what they were about to do. The message was in her glowing eyes and unbound hair, and surely on his own face as well. Luckily, no one saw them. He went directly to the studio. There he took the knee rug from the sofa and spread it on the carpet by the fireplace. He also built up the fire, since the air would be cool on bare skin, and he intended to see every glorious inch of her.

  By the time he had removed boots, coat, and cravat, she had arrived. He met her in the middle of the room and swept her into another drugging kiss.

  She pulled up his shirt and laid her hands on his bare ribs. Her palms were cool against his fevered flesh. "I've wanted this so much," she breathed.

  "So have I. Dear God, so have I." He undid the small buttons of her bodice with impatient clumsiness. The upper part of the garment fell away, revealing the creamy swell of her breasts. The little witch had removed her
undergarments so that she wore nothing under the gown. Her audacity was shockingly erotic. He knelt to take one dusky nipple in his mouth. She whimpered and wrapped her arms around his head. Her scent was ripe roses, like full-blown blossoms baking in the sun.

  As he suckled her nipples to vibrant tautness, he raised her hem and caressed her bare leg. She exhaled rapturously when his hand moved from her firm calf to the supple skin behind her knee. He stroked higher, gliding over the satiny flesh of her inner thighs.

  He had meant only to tease, to hint of what was to come. Then his fingertips brushed the damp warmth between her legs and he was lost. He slid his fingers possessively into the silky curls, searching for the most sensitive places in the secret labyrinth of folds.

  She gasped, "Oh, yes, yes," her body swaying.

  He got to his feet and tugged off her gown while she watched him with dazed, passion-darkened eyes.

  When he straightened, she said huskily, "Let me see you."

  He complied, yanking his clothing so roughly that two buttons popped off and bounced across the floor. Her ardent gaze made him feel like the irresistible dream lover of her painting.

  She said with a touch of laughter, "You're a magnificent nude. I'm torn between drawing you and kissing you."

  "Drawing can wait." He swooped her up in his arms for the sheer joy of holding her. Her hair fell over his arm, sweeping almost to his knees in a tantalizing cascade. He nuzzled his face into the angle between her throat and shoulder. "We have better things to do."

  She took advantage of his closeness to nibble provocatively on his ear. He groaned, feeling as if every nerve ending in his body were on fire. He went down on one knee and laid her on the yielding pallet before the fire. She was flame and ivory, a feast for all the senses. He stretched out beside her, raining hot kisses over her throat and breasts and belly as once more he caressed her intimately.

  She opened to him, arching her back as her slim frame trembled helplessly. "Now, Kenneth."

  Her questing hand found his rigid, pulsing shaft and clasped tight, the ball of her thumb stroking the acutely sensitive flesh. His hips heaved uncontrollably.

  Beyond thought, he rolled between her legs and buried himself in the hot silk of her body. He was lost, lost, in a savage rhythm of possession and surrender. She met and matched him, thrusting and clashing as frantically as he. They were carried helplessly in the river of fire until they reached a shattering climax that fused them, for an instant, into one spirit and one flesh.

  Consciousness returned in fragments as the convulsive shudders faded away. They collapsed together in an exhausted tangle of limbs. As he gulped for breath, he shifted to his side and tucked her against him. She seemed too small, too fragile for the fury of passion she carried within her. Yet his body was still shaking from the force of their mating.

  The only sounds were the ticking of the clock, the faint crackle of burning coals, and the harshness of their labored breathing. He slid his fingers into the damp auburn cloud of her hair. Lilith. Ginger. Rebecca. She was a collection of paradoxes, both kind and fierce, sharp and tender.

  He hoped to God that when the right time came she would have him, because he doubted he would have the strength to let her go.

  * * *

  Rebecca dozed a little, cradled spoon-style against Kenneth's powerful body. Impossible to imagine any greater contentment. But time was passing. When she felt his weight shift, she murmured, "Must we really go to the ball?"

  "I'm afraid so." Kenneth lazily stroked from her shoulder to her hip. "I think that Strathmore is the man who arranged for the Wilding jewelry to be returned. I'd like to say thank you, even if it has to be oblique."

  "A good reason to go." She rolled onto her back to admire him. Her corsair. Everything Lavinia had seen in the painting, and so much more. "For a soldier, you don't have many scars."

  "Luckily, I never received any major wounds. If I had, I wouldn't be here. Serious battlefield injuries almost always result in amputation or death." He smiled. "Except for Michael, who is indestructible."

  She sat up and glided a hand along his back. "I can feel faint ridges here. You said once that you had been flogged?"

  He nodded. "Very early in my army career. Common soldiers can be flogged for any number of reasons. In my case, it was insolence. I was sentenced to a hundred lashes."

  "Were you guilty?"

  "Absolutely." He gazed into the fire. "Though I was an enlisted man, I still had the arrogance of my breeding. I let the officer see that I thought he was an ass. He neither knew nor cared that I was the Honorable Kenneth Wilding, heir to Viscount Kimball. I was tied to a pair of crossed pikes while a whip stripped away a fair amount of my back." His expression turned thoughtful. "I'll have to sketch that for George Hampton's series. A drummer does the flogging, you know. They have very strong arms. The other drummers mark time, one beat for every stroke of the lash."

  She winced at the vivid picture he had conjured up. "You could have been killed."

  "Not at all. The regimental surgeon stands by to stop the flogging if the soldier appears to be in dire straits," he said dryly. "When the poor devil has recovered sufficiently, the rest of the strokes are administered."

  "That's barbaric."

  "Perhaps, but effective." He glanced at her with a faint smile. "I learned that being nobly born counted for nothing when I stepped outside my place in society. It was the first step toward becoming a decent soldier."

  She studied the rugged planes of his face, thinking that it was this breadth of experience that made him different from any man she had ever known. He had lived with privilege, and with harsh repression. With brutality and danger, and with a deep appreciation of beauty. Such contrasts might make him a great artist. They had also made him a matchless lover; she did not need wide experience to know that. "When you became an officer, did you order floggings yourself?"

  "When necessary. If one is dealing with hard men, sometimes hard measures are required." He got lithely to his feet. "Time to return to the mundane world, Ginger."

  More interested in his naked body than his words, she took a tablet and charcoal from a nearby table and began to sketch. "If you think that is too dramatic, wait till I portray you as Hercules. Your proportions and muscle definition are superb. I'll ask Uncle George if he would like me to do a series of engravings of tasteful, classical male nudes."

  Seeing her sketchbook, he began to stalk toward her menacingly. "Do that and Lilith will become the centerpiece of next year's exhibition."

  "No gentleman would show that picture," she said loftily.

  "Who said anything about a gentleman? You wanted a pirate, and that's what you've got. A dangerous corsair who lives to assault innocent maidens."

  She chuckled. "Then I should be safe."

  "No one is safe from a corsair." He suddenly dived at her.

  She gave a small shriek and tried unsuccessfully to escape. He tossed the drawing materials aside and wrestled her down to the blanket, kissing every giggling inch of her.

  "No one is safe from Lilith, either," she panted as she fought back, nipping his shoulder and touching him in the ways she had learned drove him mad.

  She'd learned her lessons well. He groaned and pinned her wrists to the blanket. Then he spread her legs with his knees and impaled her with one powerful thrust.

  They stared into each other's eyes, both of them laughing. Her heart constricted. She loved seeing him so happy. She had not known that playfulness could exist side by side with desire.

  As he began moving inside her with provocative slowness, she uttered a silent wish that they could stay like this forever, safe from the harsh demands of the world.

  Yet even as she fell tumbling into rapture, she knew with a chilly touch of premonition that her wish would not come true.

  Chapter 27

  Despite their amorous encounter, Kenneth and Rebecca arrived at the ball at a reasonable hour. He was amused by her demure expression as they greeted their
hosts. Anyone who didn't know her might think she was a meek creature without an opinion to call her own.

  As they walked toward the ballroom, she glanced up and their gazes met. He felt a wondrous sense of closeness, as if they were inside each other's skin.

  She gave him a teasing smile. "What are you thinking?"

  Taking advantage of the noise to speak without being overheard, he said softly, "That you transformed yourself from a naked demoness to an elegant lady with remarkable speed. That I would like to take you into an empty room; and ravish you. And that I would dearly love to spend a whole night with you."

  Her cheeks pinkened charmingly. "Will you act on your thoughts?"

  "Alas, I shall have to settle for dancing with you several more times than is proper." The music was striking up for a waltz, so he led her onto the floor. He supposed that if he couldn't ravish her, a waltz was the next best thing.

  When the music ended, they drifted around the ballroom greeting new friends. Rebecca was far more at ease than at her first ball and her dances were spoken for quickly. On the previous occasion, that had happened because Michael had asked his friends to make sure she was not ostracized. This time, men came to her because they wanted to.

  Since Rebecca was among friends, Kenneth went off for a private word with his host, Lord Strathmore. After an exchange of pleasantries, he mentioned his stepmother's miraculous change of heart about the Wilding heirlooms, and his own fervent gratitude for the result. Strathmore grinned, the mischievous light in his eyes confirming his part in what had happened.

  Hoping he would someday have the opportunity to do a good turn for Strathmore, Kenneth strolled around the room, talking to friends and occasionally dancing. He calculated that he would reach Rebecca just in time for the supper dance, which he had reserved for himself. Several times he saw her dancing, looking slim and winsome. He didn't begrudge other men the chance to dance with her. After all, he was the lucky devil who had spent half the afternoon in her arms.