by Linda Ladd
Alysson was silent for a moment, and he held his breath as she looked over at him, her lovely face tinted gold in the candlelight. Her reply was very low.
"I came here, I think, because I would rather be your mistress than his wife."
Their eyes locked, and Donovan stood, moving until he was so close that Alysson was forced to tip her head back to look into his face. His black eyes were intense as he ran a finger down the elegant curve of her cheek. Alysson drew in a startled breath as the caress moved lower to the upper curve of her breast.
"I'm going to make love to you now, English,” he said very low. “Don't try to stop me."
Stopping him hadn't even occurred to her, and she closed her eyes in breathless anticipation as his hands came up to close gently around her throat before sliding ever so slowly down to her shoulders and beyond, taking her gown with them. Long quivering shivers chased his fingers as his other hand went to the buttons of her bodice, and the gown fell with heavy rustle of satin. Another deft twist sent her petticoats to the floor after the gown until she stood him in only the delicate silk of her chemise.
Her eyes fluttered open to find him smiling down at her, then his mouth came down on hers, strangely gentle and undemanding, but she could only feel the closeness of him, the heat and strength of his muscular body. She pressed herself against him, wanting his arms around her again, and Donovan made an indistinct sound of pleasure at the feel of her soft body. He had wanted to possess her like this, to touch her and hold her, for so very long.
Alysson was hardly aware when he lifted her, carrying her to the bed, then he lay half atop her, his weight pinning her into the softness of the pillows. The smell of her perfume filled Donovan's head, made his blood race in surging, boiling currents, and he stared into her slanted eyes, seeing both the fear and arousal in them. He slid his fingers into the soft mass of her golden hair, tracing the contours of her face with his thumbs, disbelieving the silky softness of her skin.
Alysson's eyes closed as his thumb touched her trembling bottom lip, but her lashes opened again as he raised himself away from her and moved about the room, snuffing candles with his fingers, her body captured in a shivering, shuddering state, lying in trembling wait for his next touch. She looked away in a sweet fearfulness as he removed his clothes in the shadowy light. Then he was beside her again, pulling her against his naked chest. Alysson moaned at the feel of the hard, molded muscles, felt his hands in her hair again, his lips on hers, hot, moist, devastating. Her heart beat wildly, then stopped as he pulled loose the ribbons of her chemise to sweep away the last thin barrier between them. Alysson tensed, suddenly terrified as she felt the crisp fur of his chest against her breasts.
"Please, I have not known a man before."
Donovan grew still atop her, and Alysson's heart thundered as he rolled to his back, his arms tight around her.
"That pleases me more than anything else, my love,” he whispered, and Alysson relaxed in his embrace, shutting her eyes as his palms slid down her back to her naked hip. “Don't ever be afraid of me, Alysson. I won't hurt you, I swear."
His quiet words did calm her, but she soon forgot her fears as he began to kiss her, his hands sliding over her body, exploring the silken hollows and curves, and she gave an inarticulate sound as his mouth found hers again, moving over her cheeks and lips, tasting gently, insistently, knowingly, her passion growing with each touch. His dark head moved lower, and Alysson sighed with pleasure as he reached the peak of her breast, his hair soft under her hands. Her body came alive, pulsating as his palm moved up her bare leg, over her thigh to the deep curve of her waist.
When he moved atop her, she could feel the thudding of his heart as he pressed his hips into hers, and she tensed as a sharp hurt tingled in her loins. She muffled her cry in his shoulder, and he held her tenderly, kissing her cheeks and eyelids and lips until she no longer felt anything but the heat of his body. When he began to move again, she slid her hands over the smooth brown skin of his wide shoulders, feeling the strength of his powerful muscles moving beneath her fingertips, and as she held tightly to him, her sense of reality began to fade. She felt as if they were one person, their limbs entwined, their breaths mingled, lips, tongues, hearts. She heard only her heart's wild beating and his low words of love until the sweet ecstasy they sought was reached at last in a shuddering, quivering explosion of swirling stars and rocketing colors as their love was fulfilled.
Donovan held her tightly afterward, but tenderly, for he had realized just what it meant to him to have her, to have her as his wife as he should have long ago. Alysson lay in contented wonder in his arms, sated, fulfilled, at peace with herself and with him. After a long time, she felt his mouth nibbling upon her ear, and she smiled.
"If I had known about this, I think I should have become your mistress aboard the Halcyone when first you asked me,” she murmured, snuggling closer to his long hard length.
Donovan laughed, low and pleased. “And I would have kept you as my wife that first night instead of waiting until now."
Alysson's heart stilled, and she turned her face to look into his eyes.
"You want to marry me?” she asked doubtfully and he smiled, lifting a lock of silky red-gold hair to idly caress it between his fingers.
"I am already married to you, and have been for quite a long time."
"But the annulment..."
"I tore it up."
Joy swelled in Alysson's heart, joy such as she had never known before, and she met his mouth eagerly as he lowered his lips to hers in warm possession. She was his wife. He wanted her for his wife, she thought over and over, until his mouth left hers, and she could think again. She traced her finger along his chin, still disbelieving that they could really be man and wife.
"I do not feel like your wife. I feel as if we've just done something wicked and wanton and deliciously exciting."
Her breath caught as Donovan's hand moved up over her ribs to her breast.
"You are definitely my wife, my love, even though our wedding was a long time ago, and not exactly worth remembering."
Alysson did remember, vividly, and for the first time, such memories brought a smile to her face.
"It wasn't really so bad,” she said, giving him a wicked sidelong glance. “They only held one gun on you."
Donovan laughed, then rolled until he was on top of her again. He looked down into her eyes, his hands holding her face.
"You should have had a wedding worthy of you, in a great cathedral,” he murmured, his eyes serious. “In a gown of white silk and fine lace.” His hand moved to the slender column of her throat, his thumbs resting lightly upon the rapid pulse he found there. “With five strands of pearls around your neck."
Alysson smiled. “I need none of that. I only wanted you to want me."
"Oh, I want you, love, you can believe that?"
His lips ended all thoughts of conversation, and Alysson met his passion, her heart bursting with her newfound love.
When light again misted their bedchamber, Donovan sat motionlessly in an armchair close to the bed. Alysson still lay in peaceful repose, but he had risen quietly an hour before to bathe and dress. Now he looked at his wife, asleep in his bed where she should have been since her arrival in New York. She lay on her side, one slender shoulder bare above the quilted comforter, her hand lying palm up beside her face, making her look very young and vulnerable.
Donovan shut his eyes, dreading the moment when she would awaken and he would have to tell her. He opened his eyes as she stirred, sleepily murmuring his name before she grew still again, and a surge of emotion rocked him where he sat. He had wanted her from the first moment he had ever seen her, the night they had been forced to marry.
Then he had fought his desire throughout the voyage home when she had been so near yet so unattainable—the night of the storm, the day she had bathed so innocently behind the screen, the night she had turned him down. Every single night since he had set foot in New York he had dreamed of possessi
ng her. He had thought himself caught in her spell, one that would be broken once he had made love to her. But now he knew it would never be broken. He loved her. He loved her as he had never loved another woman. It half amazed him still, though now he could admit it. It had grown slowly, steadily, inside him, and the depth and intensity of his feelings for her were almost frightening. He needed her, needed her love, her smile, her presence in his life. And as soon as she awakened, he would have to hurt her.
Upset by his own thoughts, he rose to sit on the edge of the bed, looking down at her. She had been hurt so much already—by her father, by Donovan himself when they had first met. It shamed him now to think of the cruel way he had treated her. A curling lock lay over her cheek, soft, with the gleam of spun gold, and as he gently smoothed it behind her ear, her long black lashes lifted to reveal sleepy emerald eyes.
"Good morning, my love,” he murmured, and Alysson immediately raised her arms toward him.
Donovan pulled her up and against him, savoring the softness of her slender body.
"Did you sleep well?” he asked against the top of her head.
She laughed softly. “We barely thought of sleeping. Don't you remember?"
"I remember all too well,” he answered, stroking her silky blond hair with his hand, then smiled as she snuggled closer. He had been astounded at the passion with which she had met his caresses through the night. It had been so good between them, fulfilling in a way he had never thought possible. “I shall have to take better care of you then and let you get your rest."
"I do not think you could take better care of me than you did last night."
She raised her face with a smile so adoring, yet so seductive, that Donovan had to laugh.
"I believe I have married an insatiable woman,” he said, but Alysson only smiled, contentedly resting her head upon his broad shoulder.
"But that is your own fault, because you are too wonderful for me to resist."
Her words came shyly, and Donovan's expression softened. He laid her back, leaning down to kiss her, and Alysson met him eagerly, wrapping her arms around his neck and pressing her soft nakedness up against his chest until he groaned with the need for her. After a long moment, he forced himself to let her go.
"I have business I must attend to this morning, my love, and you are making it very difficult for me to leave you."
"Must you go?"
"I have a meeting at the Tontine, but I will be back this afternoon."
"But wait,” Alysson said, glancing at the clock on the mantel. “It is nearly nine, and I want to go to the theater at noon for my after opening rehearsal. If I dress quickly, will you take me there? Then perhaps you could come back early and watch us for a while."
Donovan's eyes dropped away from her, and Alysson watched as he rose and moved away. She waited uncertainly as he leaned an elbow against the mantelpiece, staring down into the cold grate. When he turned, the look on his face sent a chill of foreboding rippling up her back.
"What is it?” she asked fearfully, clutching the bed-covers against her breasts.
His voice was very quiet. “I'm sorry, Alysson, but you won't be playing Cordelia anymore."
Alysson stared at him in confusion. “I don't understand. What do you mean?"
"I mean I don't want you performing at the Park anymore."
Their eyes met, and to Donovan's shock, Alysson's silvery laughter tinkled into the air.
"You are teasing me, of course,” she said, but when his face remained solemn, her own smile faded.
"I'm not joking, Alysson. Now that we are married, I don't want you performing there anymore."
Alysson sat up in rigid alarm now. “But you can't mean it,” she managed at last, her eyes wide with stunned disbelief. “You know how much it means to me, arid I have only just had one performance. Please, I am committed—"
"I'm sorry, truly I am, but it has to be this way,” Donovan said to cut off her entreaty, unable to bear the shattered expression in her eyes. If only he could tell her the whole truth, tell her Adam was an American agent, that he was her father, that Compton was a dangerous traitor, then perhaps she might understand. But he couldn't, he couldn't tell her anything. He looked back at her and found her eyes full of hurt tears, and unable to stand her suffering, he went to her, taking her hands and pressing them to his lips.
"Please try to understand, my sweet. You are a MacBride now, my wife. My family is well known and respected here in New York. It wouldn't be seemly for you to be on the stage, especially in Compton's theater. I've told you of his reputation for seducing his actresses. He's notorious for it, and there's already gossip about you and him. Half the people in the city think you are his lover. I don't want you anywhere near him."
He was jealous, Alysson thought, letting out a relieved breath. That was why he was saying such things to her. “Nothing happened between Douglas and me, you know that now, after last night, and nothing ever will, I swear it. But if it concerns you, I will make sure I am never alone with him, not for a minute, and you can come with me and watch us the whole time, if you wish. I'd like that very much, truly I would."
Donovan swallowed hard, wavering beneath her beseeching plea and imploring green eyes, wanting to give in to her, wanting to give her anything she ever wanted. But he couldn't, he couldn't allow it. It was too dangerous, for her, for Adam, for all of them.
"No,” he said firmly. “It's out of the question, and it's too late now to change anything, because I sent a note to Rosalie and the others last night telling them we were married and you were giving up your role in the play."
Alysson looked as if he had slapped her hard across the face, and Donovan winced as she backed away from him. Her face went pale as if some kind of realization had dawned on her.
"This is your revenge, isn't it? You promised me once that you'd make me suffer, and now you've found a way to do it!"
Donovan shook his head impatiently. “That's ridiculous, Alysson."
"How long have you been planning this?” she demanded then, anger taking hold. “And will it be worth it? Having to marry me like this? Or did you? Was that a lie, too?"
Donovan stared at her. Her accusations made no sense; her words were those of despair. She would come to realize that after she calmed down and had time to think, but he doubted very much if she would believe him until then.
"You are very definitely married to me, and if you want to see the annulment agreement for yourself, you'll find it in that desk drawer, torn in two as I told you. If I hadn't wanted you as my wife, you would not be in my bed now."
Alysson hardly listened to him, the full, devastating impact of his decree hitting her, crumbling all her happiness. He meant it, all of it, and Alysson had never felt so cold inside. Last night when she had fallen asleep, curled in his arms, she had thought everything was wonderful, that she had everything she had ever wanted, but now he had taken it all away from her, everything. She felt betrayed, weak, sick to her stomach.
"Why are you doing this to me?” she cried, her voice breaking. “How can you say you love me yet do this to me?"
Tears she could not stop welled and rolled down her cheeks, and as she turned away from him to sob into her pillow, Donovan gritted his teeth in frustration. He forced down his own feelings of helplessness and tried to soothe her.
"I know you're disappointed now, sweetheart, but after you have time to think about it, you'll understand my reasons.” He hesitated, the sound of her weeping like talons puncturing his heart. He stood and looked around, his fists on his hips, not knowing what else to do. It would take her time to adjust to the idea, and he would just have to wait until she did.
"We'll talk about it again when I come home,” he said finally, then paused at the door, looking at her huddled form upon the bed. “I'll send Stephens to Mrs. Thackeray's for your things."
Alysson didn't answer, and he sighed, closing the door quietly behind him.
The moment he was gone, Alysson came upright
in the bed, wiping at her tears, fury boiling over. He couldn't do this to her! She'd leave him! She'd divorce him! Her friends would help her! Or Douglas! She'd go to Douglas, and he would help her get a divorce and Donovan could be damned! If indeed they were married at all, she thought bitterly. She was not at all sure he was telling her the truth about the annulment.
She turned her eyes to the desk, then crossed the floor to it, pulling open the first drawer. Lying on top was the legal document that she had signed aboard the Halcyone, torn in half, but her gaze went to what lay beneath it. She picked up one long, golden lock, her eyes filling with tears again. Her hair. He had kept it from the day when she'd cut it, the day the British had stopped them at sea. He had cared about her even then. She sobbed, unfolding the other paper in the drawer to find a playbill with her picture upon it. He did love her, he really did. She sank to the floor and wept into her hands, her feelings about him all mixed up and confused.
After a time, she got up and sat down in the desk chair. She would not cry anymore, she told herself firmly; she was tired of crying. It didn't do any good anyway. Now it was time to decide what she should do. She tried to think, to understand why Donovan was insisting that she quit acting. The reasons he had given her still did not ring true, but the accusations she had made to him seemed less reasonable now that she was calmer. Donovan was a rich and powerful man, and if he had wanted revenge upon her, there were ways he could have done it without marrying her. And though she knew Donovan was domineering, and even cruel at times, she couldn't believe he would take her career away from her for no other reason than just to hurt her. She remembered the way he had touched her during the night, remembered the way he had called her his love, and the way he had smiled as if pleased when she had said she was willing to become his mistress. There had to be some other reason, some good reason that he wasn't telling her.
He had not been vindictive or cruel when he had forbidden her to go back to the theater, but almost regretful, now that she thought of it. Hope rose inside her. Perhaps she could persuade him to change his mind. She loved him; she wanted to be his wife, but she also wanted to be an actress. More than anyone else, Donovan knew that. She had confided more to him about her dreams than she ever had to anyone else. She thought of the way he had sent the note to Rosalie without even discussing it with her, before he even knew if she would agree to remain his wife. She grew furious to think of such arrogant self-confidence, but her rage faded quickly. How could she be angry with him for that? All along, she had wanted him to want her for his wife, and she had come to his house with the intention of becoming his mistress. She loved him, she loved him!