Sweet Savage Eden

by Heather Graham

  “Your Grace—” she began, and then she screamed, for he brought the whip down upon her naked back with a violent force that was shattering. She had never known such agony. Tears stung her eyes, and she didn’t know how many more she could bear.

  The door opened, but she was barely aware of it through her haze of pain. She wanted to brace herself, to prepare for the next, but Henry knew how to punish, and how to extend the pain.

  “How many lashes, Jasmine? How many do you think before you would obey me? You see, I fear that I could tear your flesh to ribbons, and still it would help little. Still, I must try.”

  “Henry, no!” came a commanding male voice.

  The lash fell again, and she could not help herself; she cried out with the agony of it.

  “Henry, stop!” came the command again. There were footsteps before her. A man approached her brother and wrenched the crop from his hands.

  “Damn you, Cameron, what right have you to stop me! You brought me this chit to harbor, and she has defied me! It is my right to punish her as I see fit. She deserves what I give her.”

  Jassy tried to blink back her tears. She wanted to die. Now Jamie Cameron was witness to this humiliation too.

  Her gown was completely awry, her breasts were bare, tears stung her eyes, and she prayed only that the tall, towering, dark man who had brought her a respite would disappear into thin air. She would rather bear the whip than the damning glare of his indigo eyes.

  “By God and all that is holy, Jamie, we are friends, but this is my business now. Do not interfere!”

  “I have the right!” Jamie declared. He knelt down before Jasmine. She wished he would go away. He untied the ribbon that held her. She had no strength left. She fell from her knees to the floor. He came around to her side, lifting her. She cried out, for the cuts on her back stung painfully, and she cried out in protest, for she was so exposed and vulnerable and didn’t want him witnessing her in this state. He stripped off his doublet and wrapped it around her gently, taking care when she flinched as the fabric hit her back.

  “Damn you, Jamie Cameron!” Henry swore.

  “It is my right, for I will marry her.”

  “What?” Henry said, astounded.

  There were others in the room then, Jassy realized, for they all repeated Henry’s exclamation.

  “But that’s foolish, man! Think of your position. You will have to have a special dispensation. You cannot marry this common—”

  “Take care!” Jamie warned. “It is my betrothed you speak of now!”

  “Jamie, you have lost your mind!” It was Jane speaking. She was kind, but she had a strong sense of propriety. “Think of who and what you are, and think of your life and your life-style—”

  “That is exactly what I am thinking of,” Jamie said curtly. He scooped Jassy into his arms. Instinctively she clung to him. He whirled around to face Henry. “Where is her room? Where shall I take her?”

  “I’ll show you!” Elizabeth said. Jassy saw her sister’s pretty face dance before her. “Come, Jamie, I will show you.”

  “This is madness, Jamie!” Henry called after him.

  “I held her when the dance ended, did I not?”

  “I would never hold you to a marriage with a bastard!”

  “I hold myself to the bargain,” Jamie replied, and he followed Elizabeth out into the hallway.

  “Jamie Cameron, you’ll not interfere with me this way! You cannot mean this! You don’t want the girl punished, though God knows why. I do not maim her!”

  “I play no game,” Jamie said softly. “I have decided. I will marry her.”

  They walked along the hallway. Dazed with pain, Jassy stared up at him. His neck seemed very bronze and powerful, and his jaw was hardened with determination. He glanced down at her, and his eyes were dark and menacing.

  “I won’t marry you,” she said.

  “No? Not even for all that money I’ve got?”

  She shook her head. “I hate you. I’ll never marry you. You should have let Henry whip me.”

  “Perhaps I should have,” he said.

  “Here, this way,” Elizabeth said before them.

  He entered into her room, and he laid her down upon her bed. He set her upon her side, then rolled her to her stomach, freeing his doublet from her and baring the strokes of the whip.

  “Please, go away!” Jassy said breathlessly.

  “Some salve will heal them. Henry does care something for you; I saw him lash a groom for thievery once, and there was little flesh left,” Jamie said flatly. “Elizabeth, my sister has a lotion that will be soothing. Other than that, the marks should fade in a few weeks.”

  “Please, go away,” Jassy implored him again, her face in her pillow. He didn’t go away. He sat at her side and continued to study her back.

  She didn’t turn around and she didn’t look his way; she felt him pick up her hand. He slid a ring onto her small finger. “This will be the mark of my betrothal. It will keep you safe from …” He paused. Jassy thought that he meant to say she would be safe from her brother, but he did not. “You will be safe from all harm,” he finished.

  “I will never marry you,’ she said dully. “And you do not mean this. You needn’t continue the charade.”

  “But I do mean it,” he said very quietly, and she felt the whisper of his voice against the bare flesh at her nape. “I do mean it, with all of my heart.” Something hot and frightening filled her as the fever of his words touched her again. She turned suddenly, seeking his eyes. Her torn bodice and shift fell, and flushing, she retrieved them, staring at him in amazement. “Why? Why would you want to do this thing? Henry is right. No one will hold you to it! I am a bastard, and you are the son of a duke. Why?”

  He shrugged. His eyes were dark and dusky, and his face was hard set. He crossed his arms over the breadth of his chest and rose, and she trembled, watching him. She remembered Lenore’s words. He would bow to no man. He would do what he chose with his life: he had asked her to be his mistress and now he was willing her to be is wife.

  “Why? Well, because I do desire you, I suppose. I want you, and marriage seems to be one kind of a price to pay. You do demand your price, don’t you?”

  She couldn’t speak. She burned beneath his gaze and felt as if they had barely scratched the surface of things, as a tempest brewed between them both. She was afraid but swore that she would not be afraid. Lenore knew him, and the strength of his will. Jassy swore then that she would fight it.

  “Excuse me, love, till we meet again,” he said. He kissed her forehead and bowed to Elizabeth, and Jassy still hadn’t spoken when she realized that he had left the room.

  “I will not do it!” she said in panic. “Elizabeth, I will not do it! He saved me from Henry’s wrath, yes, but if he were in a temper or if he had been defied, I would fear him far more than I would Henry! He can’t mean it, it will never happen—oh, why did he have to step out in front of me! He meant to catch Lenore, and Lenore meant to have him—”

  “Oh, don’t worry about Lenore!” Elizabeth said happily. “Lenore has Robert!”

  “Oh!” Jassy said, and suddenly she burst into tears. Elizabeth, distressed, tried to comfort her. “You’re in pain. I shall get the lotion. Kathryn will come. We’ll clean you up and get you a hot drink laced with rum. Then you’ll sleep, and it will all look so much better in the morning.”

  In the morning it looked even worse. Jassy woke to find Lenore beside her. Lenore kissed her cheek effusively. “Oh, Jassy, but you do carry incredible luck with you! I had thought that we were all doomed, and what happens? Of all men, Jamie Cameron determines to marry you! You! A commoner and a bastard! Henry would have whipped you and ordered me to my room until my marriage, but he is so bemused, he doesn’t know what to do! Jassy, I had thought at first that I begrudged you so very much. But I am happy. Honestly, I am so very happy! And we must be friends. Oh, you needn’t worry about the London snobs, either. I shall handle them. And the king will
accept you for Jamie’s sake, so you’ve really nothing to fear at all. It will be wonderful! We’ll all be very close. You, me, and Elizabeth!”

  “I cannot marry him,” Jassy said.

  “Don’t be absurd. Oh! I had thought that you might trap yourself a young soldier or a merchant, and now … now you shall be Lady Cameron!”

  “I cannot marry him.”

  “Oh, you’re jittery, that’s all. I suppose I might be a little afraid myself if I were to wed Jamie. He does have the devil of a temper and the will to match. But he is so handsome, and so very rich. Robert isn’t nearly so rich, you know. Thankfully there is my trust fund, which is my dowry. We shall do very well, for we love each other dearly. Well, I’ll admit, I had decided on Jamie at the beginning of the day. He kissed me and I could scarce stand. Or perhaps I kissed him. I don’t remember. But it is quite all right that you marry him. It is fate, I think.”

  “No. I cannot marry him.”

  Lenore did not believe her; neither did Jane, who came to see her later in the afternoon. “He wishes the wedding to take place by the first of June, for he will have to leave shortly afterward for his holdings in Virginia. Naturally he wants some time with his new bride. I have spoken with him at length, all to no avail. I have wondered myself if you are not completely a scheming and fortune-hunting little strumpet, but none of it means a thing to Jamie. You do not know my brother; when he sets his mind on something, there is simply no stopping him.”

  “I will stop him. I will not marry him.”

  “What are you, a complete fool? One might take you for many things, my dear, but never a fool. He brought you out of a gutter; now he is willing to marry you. He is one of the richest men in the country. And you say that you will not marry him. Fine, then, return to your gutter! Wallow in it.”

  Still, for the rest of that day she lay in bed, and she shivered and swore to herself and to anyone else who came near that she would not marry him. Then, that night, Kathryn came to her room and told her that she must get up and dress, Lord Cameron was waiting to see her in her brother’s office.

  When she entered Henry’s office and saw Jamie, her heart began to beat too fast, and trembling sensations seized her. She could not cast herself to his mercy. He knew that she hated him. This was some great and final mocking joke on his part. It had to be.

  Nor did he act much like the loving husband-to-be. He eyed her critically when she entered, and in silence. Then he spoke at last. “I have made arrangements for a dressmaker to come here. You will be available to her at all times. You must have a completely new wardrobe, for my wife must not wear hand-me-downs, no matter how fine. You will need much in wool, and I suggest that you have her fashion you warm woolen stockings and pantalets, for winters can be harsh. Also, see to it that you are supplied with ball gowns, for one never knows. Henry has seen that the church has cried the banns, and we will be married on the first of June.”

  Her throat was dry, and she could barely move her parched lips. “No. I have said that I will not marry you.”

  He arched a brow, and his mouth curled into a smile. “You mean it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, then, the offer has been made.”

  He stepped by her. She stared up at the powerful breadth of his back and his dark head, and she shivered.

  The door closed behind him. She opened it and ran, returning to her room. She asked Kathryn to pick her a few warm things, things given to her by Elizabeth, her one true friend. Henry would have her leave in the morning, she was certain.

  “Relax, love, it will work out!” Kathryn assured her. “I’ll give you warm milk and you’ll sleep, and it will look better by morning.”

  The morning did look better, for by night she had slept, and in sleeping, she had dreamed. She was back in the awful attic, and the wind was raging. It was dark and dreary and cold and filthy, and she was approaching the bed, for Linnet was dying. She had to reach her, she had to touch her, warm her. She reached out for the threadbare blanket covering her mother, and it was awful, for even before the figure turned, Jassy knew what she would see.

  She would see death.

  And still she had to touch the figure. And the figure turned, and indeed she saw the death’s-mask, awful, pitiable, horrible. It was the face of starvation and misery and age come by wear, not by years. It was the ravaged, torn face of disease and hunger and desperation.

  She started to scream. It was not her mother’s face. It was her own.

  “Jassy! Wake up!” Elizabeth was there, shaking her. The dream had been so horrible, it was hard to come from it. Elizabeth shook her again. “Jassy! It is a nightmare, nothing more.”

  Jassy looked around her. She saw by the windows that it was nearly dawn. She threw off her covers and ran to her wardrobe.

  “Jassy! Where are you going, what are you doing?”

  “Is he still there, do you know?”

  “Who? Where?”

  “Jamie Cameron. Is—is he staying at his house?”

  “Yes, I believe so. He is not due to sail until the middle of June.”

  Jassy dressed quickly. She was barely aware of what clothing she wore. She started for the door, then she came back and kissed Elizabeth’s cheek. “I love you,” she whispered. Then she ran out the door and down the steps.

  The servants were barely awake. She had to call for a groom to come and saddle Mary for her. Impatiently she mounted with no help, and she kicked the little horse with much more vigor than was needed, then she apologized to the faithful mare as she raced along. The sun still had not risen completely when she came to the gates of Jamie Cameron’s magnificent estate. She had to wait for a gatekeeper to come, and as she waited, she stared at the house. It would not be so bad. Nothing would be so bad, for this would be her home; she would be mistress of this magnificent mansion. If she married him, she would never want again for anything.

  She would have to lie with Jamie Cameron, she reminded herself. Night after night, into eternity. That would be her payment for security and riches. She started to tremble, and she almost turned around to ride back. She could remember his bronze fingers on her flesh all too clearly. She could remember his kiss, and the hot way it made her feel. She could not do it.

  She nearly turned the mare about, but then the gate opened, and she rode through. Lymon was waiting to greet her on the steps. A groom took the mare, and she started up the steps. “Is—is Lord Cameron awake as yet?” she asked him.

  “He is, mistress, and is aware that you have come. I’ll take you to him.”

  She hadn’t been up the grand staircase yet. As she mounted it, her heart hammered and she breathed with great difficulty. She tried to look at the finely carved wood, and on the second floor she looked over the fine portrait gallery, the silver sconces on the wall, and the superb deacons’ benches that lined the alcoves of the hallway. Lymon came to great double doors, and he pushed them open for her. “Lord Cameron awaits you, mistress.”

  He ushered her into the room. The doors closed behind her.

  She was in his bedchamber. It was a huge room with a canopied four-poster bed to the right of a large stone mantel. Huge Elizabethan chairs faced the fire around a circular, inlaid table. By the windows was a large desk, angled so as to make the most of the sunlight. There were brocade drapes tied away from the window. There was another door, which stood ajar and led to a dressing room and privy. It was fine; it was a palace. She could be mistress of it all! she told herself.

  Then her eyes wandered to the bed, for there would lie the crux of it all. To marry him gave him the right to have her. To touch her whenever he chose. A shiver ran down her spine.

  He was seated casually upon the thick carved windowsill, staring out at the day. He wore only a white shirt, plain brown breeches, and his high boots. He stared at the sun, and his arms were crossed over his chest. He did not turn to face her.

  “Mistress Dupré, to what do I owe this honor?”

  She tried very hard to
speak, but no sound came. “I—”

  He turned to her, and his eyes fell upon her sharply. “Come, come, speak up! You can do much better than that. I cannot believe that the cat could have gotten the better of your very adroit tongue!”

  Anger smoldered within her.

  “You could make things easier!”

  “What things? I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “You do!”

  He arched a brow. He leapt from the windowsill and walked around her, smiling. “You want me to help you, mistress? Well, then, I shall try. Have you come, perhaps, to see if my marriage proposal still remains open?”

  She couldn’t go through with it. She hated the way he scorned her with his simple words.

  She had to go through with it. She would not live as her mother had, nor would she die that way. She lowered her head and nodded.

  “I thought so. Now, let me guess.” He strode around her again, slowly, rubbing his jaw. “You awoke in the middle of the night with the sudden and amazing vision that you were deeply and desperately in love with me, and you could hardly bear another night without me. No? Ah, alas, I did not think so. Let’s try again. You woke up in the middle of the night with the sudden and startling realization that you would never get such an offer again. That you would be a lady—not that I think titles matter to you much. Ah, but you would be a rich lady. A very rich lady. Money. That is it, isn’t it?”

  She kept her head lowered. She locked her jaw and remained silent.

  “Isn’t it!” he snapped, and he came before her and jerked her chin up.

  “Yes! Yes, that is it exactly!” she cried, wrenching from his hold. “I never pretended to love you—I never pretended to like you! This has been a bizarre accident and nothing more!”

  “But you are determined now that you will marry me. A man whom you hate.”