She allowed the towel to slip, careful that it didn't fall below her breasts. Her lashes were lowered, but she was aware of his every expression. He looked uncertain. She wanted to laugh in his face, knowing that he was thinking of Charlotte and wondering. Yes, wondering. Distrustful bastard.
"Perhaps you could tell me also how not to conceive a child. If I ever did decide to be a mother, I should like to decide upon who to make the father. Did I tell you about Jonathan Crowley? Ah, what a handsome man he is; not good enough for me, of course, but I could certainly enjoy him without marriage, could I not?" She gave a delicate shudder and let the towel slip a bit lower. Thank goodness she was so well-endowed, else the wretched towel would have been at her waist three minutes ago. She saw that she had him well and fairly hooked now. He looked furious. He was pale. His hands were fisted. He looked rigid as a statue.
"Just think of all the comparisons I shall be able to make. I do promise to use you as the standard, Lyon. You tell me how virile you are. Perhaps in a year or two I can write and tell you just how well you compare to my other, er, partners. Come, you haven't moved. Cannot I have my first experience now? After all, the sooner I get rid of my virginity, the sooner I can move on to more elusive and perhaps more fascinating prey."
Lyon didn't move. He watched that tongue of hers glide over her lips. It aroused him, but he ignored it. He wanted to strangle her. Another Charlotte, that's what she was, and just when he was beginning to believe her different. She changed her stance slightly, beckoning him as would a seasoned harlot. Her wet hair streamed about her face, over her shoulders. It should have made her look less seductive, but it didn't.
"You know, Lyon, the thought of being some husband's faithful hound is most boring. No, I shouldn't like that at all."
That did it. He bounded from the chair, toppling it, and clutched the edges of the desk until his knuckles showed white. "You little slut! The devil, I wouldn't marry you; I wouldn't touch youYou are just like the others, aren't you? A bitch in heat! Take your virginity and peddle it elsewhere." He smacked his palm to his forehead. "How much does it take for me to learn? I must be the stupidest man alive."
He strode from the cabin, not looking back.
Diana grinned, then quivered at the loud slamming of the door. She'd won, hadn't she? He wouldn't bother her anymore. No.
She methodically dried herself and donned her nightgown. She sat on the bunk and began to comb through the snarls in her hair. She had won, it was all for the best. She'd given him a marvelous performance. And he'd believed it. Had she been that good? Or had he simply wanted to believe that she was like his precious Charlotte?
Well, it was done. He would leave her alone.
Why did she feel suddenly as if she'd ruined something very precious?
Why did she feel as though she'd lost rather than won?
He doesn't love you, idiot. It is for the best. Damn and blast his silly honor. Well, it was no longer a question of honor or sacrifice. It was no longer a question of anything.
She didn't fall asleep for a very long time.
Lyon didn't return to the cabin that night.
15
A hungry man is an angry man.
—J. HOWELL, PROVERBS
"Lyon, you look as awful as my pet cat who ate the wrong rat and died. Poor bounder, his name was LeBeau. Pity, I was really quite fond of him." Rafael had had a cat whose name was LeBeau, but he'd died of old age and in splendid comfort in his box at the foot of eight-year-old Rafael's bed. He stared at Lyon. The earl looked ghastly.
"Same to you, Rafael," Lyon said at last.
"You need to shave and change your clothes. You look like you've slept in them."
"I have."
"Trouble in paradise? I had the distinct feeling last night thatWell, no matter. Anything I can do? I still have that bottle of brandy."
"She's a bitch and has about as much moral fiber as the rat your cat died of."
Rafael whistled.
"Hell, you'd best stay away from her, Rafael, else she'll probably try to get your pants off you." He realized suddenly that it was grossly inappropriate to speak of a ladyLady, ha! "Oh, just forget it."
Lyon stalked away, his hands shoved in his pockets, his head bowed. There couldn't be a more miserable bastard alive anywhere. He waited to return to the cabin until he was certain Diana wouldn't be there.
He avoided her successfully for the rest of the day.
Over dinner that evening, Rafael found himself looking from Diana to Lyon and back again. Neither of them spoke to the other. What the devil had happened?
The captain sipped at his wine. "What did you do all day, Diana?"
"Nothing important," she said, not looking up from her still-full plate.
The ship heaved gently to port and her fork slid to the floor. Lyon and Diana leaned over at the same time and bumped heads. They both jerked back as if scalded. They both rubbed their heads.
Rollo retrieved the fork for her. Diana thanked him in a stifled voice.
"I trust you are feeling just the thing, Diana," Rafael said.
"Of course. Why do you ask, Rafael?"
Rafael just shook his head, but he was aware that Lyon was looking at him, alarm in his eyes for a brief moment.
Diana excused herself a few minutes later and fled to the cabin. As for Lyon, he remained at the captain's table until Rollo and Blick had bid their good nights.
"Why did you ask her that?" Lyon asked without preamble.
Rafael sat back in his chair and regarded the Earl of Saint Leven. "No reason, really," he said finally, as if bored. "She ate scarcely a bite and after what Neddie had told me, well" He stopped and began fiddling with a piece of bread.
"What did Neddie tell you?"
"Oh, just that he heard her crying in your cabin. He was worried, but didn't have the nerve to disturb her. Even though he was raised by a gin-swilling mother, he still is very sensitive to the female of the species."
"Damn her! That conniving little bitch hasn't a thing to cry about!"
Rafael arched a black brow, but said nothing.
Lyon cursed quite floridly. Rafael turned away to hide his unholy grin. He said finally when Lyon had completed a particularly colorful curse, "It is none of my business what goes on between the two of you. We will, however, be arriving in St. Thomas in a matter of days. I would estimate that Lucien Savarol will be reunited with his daughter within three days after that. Not a very long time to get things accomplished, I should say."
"There is nothing at all to be accomplished," Lyon said in the coldest voice Rafael had heard from him. "Not now."
Lord, Rafael thought, the earl's voice could freeze the wine in its glass. He rose and said in his most bored drawl, "Well, no matter. It is probably just as well that you've discovered the two of you won't suit. What if you were married before you found out you detest each other? As for Diana Savarol, I shouldn't imagine her father will kick her off his plantation or his island, for that matter."
Lyon didn't say a word.
Rafael rose from his chair and walked toward his cabin door. He said over his shoulder in a regretful voice, "'Tis a pity that I am not a marrying man. She is a lovely girl. Who knows? I still have several days. Since you are no longer interested, indeed, seem to hold her in the greatest aversion, perhaps I ---"
"Damn you, Carstairs! You touch her and I'll nail your hide to the mast."
"Which mast?"
"Both."
"Well, I shall have to consider that, won't I?" He was grinning as he left for his cabin.
Lyon returned to the cabin when fatigue overtook him. There was nearly a full moon tonight and he could see her clearly, secure in her little nest on the floor, fast asleep. The sleep of the innocent, he thought viciously.
In a very short time, he lay on top of the covers, naked, his thoughts in a tangle. He could hear her even breathing. His final thought before he fell asleep was, Why not enjoy her body before he left her? She had offered
herself to him, after all. Yes, why not? Then let her seduce all the other men in the Virgin Islands. He wouldn't care.
He didn't act on his decision, not for two more days.
"We're almost home," Diana said, her eyes glittering with excitement. Lyon was standing behind her, his eyes on her body. He must be losing his mind. He said nothing.
She seemed to have forgotten for the moment that they weren't speaking to each other. "Look yon, see what I told you. All the islands. Some are barren as a desert, but others, they are so beautiful. Green, lush, with marvelous freshwater streams. And all the flowers, so vivid and beautiful they make you stare."
Lyon continued quiet, but he looked. So this is what Columbus saw. It felt oddly safe to see land on all sides of the ship. And Diana was right, it suddenly felt as if they were indeed someplace definite. Not just insignificant beings floundering on an endless ocean.
It was very warm, and the water of the Carribbean was vastly different from the Atlantic. The water was myriad shades of blue. He watched pelicans plunge into the sea searching for food. And countless frigate birds. He was fascinated.
He said suddenly, not looking at her, "I have decided to accept your offer."
"What offer?"
"I will initiate you into lovemaking this evening. No, not really lovemaking," he corrected, "sex, pure and simple sex."
She gulped. Oh, dear. She drew a deep breath and slowly turned to face him. She gave him what she hoped was a siren's smile. "Will you really, Lyon? I am not so certain that I wish you to be the first. I have been with Rafael for many days now and I find him most virile, very manly."
"I thought I was the only manly man you knew," he said, his voice no longer so harshly determined.
Her damned seductive smile stayed in place, and she shrugged. "I suppose I have already begun to enlarge my horizons, so to speak."
His feelings were very simple and straightforward at that moment. He wanted to thrash her. "Not just yet," he said, his brows lowered. It was on the tip of his tongue to tell her that if she slept in the cabin this night, he fully intended to take her, willing or not. He kept the promise to himself. He could just see her trudging to Rafael's cabin and building her damned nest on his floor, curse her.
Instead, he gave her a bored salute and left her.
I've won, Diana thought, staring after him. He wants nothing to do with me now that I've convinced him I am just like his precious Charlotte.
She turned back to the rail and tried to recall her excitement on being so very near to home.
Only a day and a half from St. Thomas, she thought, settling herself for sleep that evening. She looked forward to seeing her father again. As for her new stepmother and stepbrother, she refused to think about them for the moment. Where was Lyon?
Probably sleeping on deck.
She fell into a light sleep.
Lyon smiled into the darkness toward the sound of her even breathing. He was naked, he was ready, and he was determined. He refused to think about what he was doing. No, if the chit wanted to be a whore, he would give her her first lessons. He wondered briefly how long it would take him to sell the Mendenhall plantation. And free the slaves? Certainly, it wouldn't be difficult.
Lyon eased down beside her, her face clear from the light of the full moon that streamed through the porthole.
He looked at her face and paused. She looked so very innocent, trusting. The sheet was down at her feet and she was only in her nightgown. Excellent, he thought. He moved closer and very slowly began untying the three ribbons down the front of her nightgown. She stirred, flinging one arm over her head.
Very gently, he pulled back her nightgown and stared down at her breasts. He swallowed painfully. She is so beautifully white, he thought, studying her in the soft moonlight, so very white and her nipples a soft pink. So very full. His fingers itched. He leaned down and took her nipple in his mouth. God, she tasted so sweet, so soft.
He jumped when he heard her moan softly.
He released her a moment and looked up at her face. She was still sleeping, doubtless an erotic dream, he thought, delighted. He set himself back to his pleasurable work. He cupped a breast, feeling its weight in his hand, and barely managed to stifle a groan. No man had ever touched her breasts, caressed them.
Soon he wanted more. He glanced down at the length of her at the nightgown and knew there was no hope for it. Slowly, he eased it up to her waist.
He sucked in his breath. Long white legs, elegantly slender, but his attention was quickly on the rich dark-blond curls between her thighs, and the flat belly above. He groaned, unable to help himself, his manhood throbbing and painfully hard. He laid his hand over her and felt the heat of her woman's flesh. He closed his eyes a moment, his fingers seeing for him.
It was her own moan that awoke her. Diana blinked, expecting darkness and seeing the cascading moonlight from the porthole. She felt nearly frantic, and frowned, but just for an instant. Then she felt his hot mouth touching her, his fingers searching her, and lurched upward.
"Lyon!"
"Hush," he said, not raising his head. His tongue found her then and she felt as though she were a quiescent ember being brought to flame.
The intense feelings were swamping her, spinning her mind out of control, pushing her body to respond, but she knew this wasn't right, it wasn'tShe moaned, then suddenly came to her senses, what few there were left.
"No, damn you!" She jerked away, smashing her fist against his naked shoulder. "No!"
"Very well, if that's the way you want it. But you did offer, just remember that!" Lyon came up to his knees, jerked her legs apart, and flung himself down over her.
She felt his manhood against her, pushing, seeking. His weight held her down. She felt his mouth against her cheek, then against her mouth.
"Please, Lyon," she gasped against his open mouth.
"The invitation was yours, my pet," he said. "Don't fight me, Diana." He forced her legs wider and she felt his fingers stroke down her belly, caressing her until he found her. She felt his fingertip enter her body and felt her own dampness. She shuddered. She felt his fingers opening her, then his manhood slowly entering her body.
She began fighting him in earnest, but she couldn't dislodge him. His breathing was ragged and he looked down at her as he pressed forward, slowly, very slowly.
"Lyon, please."
"Are you begging me? You did want me inside you, didn't you, Diana? I won't hurt youslowly, you're opening for me. Feel me, Diana, I'm inside you."
Suddenly there was a loud banging on the cabin door. Lyon froze over her.
"Lyon! Diana! Quickly, dress yourselves!"
It was Rollo's voice, harsh and commanding.
He wanted to yell, yet he couldn't move, his body stunned with the feel of her. He felt himself pressing against her maidenhead. Just a bit longer, a bit further.
"Now! We're going to be attacked!"
Lyon jerked out of her and came to his feet. He was breathing hard, long, painful breaths.
Attacked! What the devil did that mean? No, it was Diana who was under attack. Lyon shook his head and automatically reached for his britches.
"Hurry!" Rollo shouted.
"Get your clothes on, Diana."
She scrambled to her feet, threw off her rumpled nightgown, and grabbed for her underthings.
Lyon shouted, "We're coming, Rollo!"
They heard his pounding footsteps retreat. They became aware of the sound of dozens of running feet overhead.
"My God, what the devil is going on?"
There was no answer to his question. He was pulling on his boots, forcing himself to calm.
Diana wasn't thinking at all. She couldn't bear to. She didn't bother with her petticoat, just jerked her gown over her chemise.
"Come," Lyon said as she was slipping her bare feet into her slippers.
They raced down the companionway, up the steps, and through the hatch to the deck. They were met by Rafael. He said very
calmly, "There are two French men-of-war about three hundred yards from our starboard. They've spotted us, blast this full moon. I don't want you two aboard when the fighting starts. You could be killed; worse, if they take us, you would be captured. See the island off our port?" He pointed to the small lump of land whose outline they could see clearly in the moonlight. "'Tis not more than a quarter of a mile. I trust both of you are swimmers. I want you to dive over now and swim to the island. Once this is over I will return for you. Diana, Lyon, my luck to you both. Come along now."
They followed him in a silent daze to the bow of the ship.
"Good luck, Rafael," Diana said, eased her legs over the rail, and gracefully dived into the water.
"Take care," Lyon said, clasped Rafael's hand, and followed Diana over the side.
The water was a shock, but a moment later, it felt warm. Diana saw Lyon's head break the surface, called out to him, then began to swim in firm, controlled strokes toward the island.
Lyon realized quickly enough that he wasn't as good a swimmer as Diana, but he was strong and he kept pace with her. Just as they reached the surf, they heard the loud booming sound of cannons.
"Oh, no," Diana said softly, turning about to look out to sea. "Lyon, do you believe Rafael will save the Seawitch?"
"If any man can, he will. Come. Let's get to shore."
They both collapsed on the sand just beyond the surf line, each of them breathing hard. There were more cannon blasts and gunfire and they saw water billowing upward in the distance around the Seawitch.
"If Rafael is smart, he'll cut loose and run."
"If they haven't already surrounded him," Diana said. "There have been so few French ships in this area. I don't understand this. Why are they here?"