She said honestly, "I am still a bit sore from yourwell, your deed of this morning."
"Deed? You are kind. Let me help you dress."
They left the cave after a bit of exploring. "It has a name?" he asked as they emerged into the late-afternoon sunlight.
"I call it Smuggler's Cave. Silly, of course, but not too bad for a ten-year-old girl."
"Why don't we call it the Trysting Cave?"
"You are a man with very limited thoughts, Lyon!"
"Yes, ma'am. Otherwise known as a randy goat."
"And I am a randy ewe?"
"There is nothing sheepish about you, Diana." He tossed her into her saddle. "I hear a turtledove."
"Yes, there in the frangipani. See him?"
"I see him. He's alone."
She gave him a slow, very satisfied smile. "He won't be for very long. His voice is sweet and seductive."
Lyon click-clicked Egremont. They rode side by side. "Perhaps," he said, smiling at her, "you will now tell me the truth about clarifiers and worms?"
She laughed, a sweet sound, and lightly punched his shoulder.
"I am forgiven?"
Since she loved him, it would be nearly beyond her not to forgive him. "Your way of apologizing was mostthorough."
He let it go at that. He imagined it would take her some time to forget what he had done.
"Look, Lyon! The turtledove --- he is no longer alone."
Nor am I, he thought, extremely pleased.
22
Heavens, with you I must look after myself!
—PLAUTUS
Diana and Patricia stood in the shade of a cascading bougainvillea at the edge of the croquet grounds behind the great house. It was late the following morning, and the sun was climbing high in the sky. Diana experienced a small flash of memory of her mother whenever she was here. She could hear light laughter, smell a strange elusive scent. She felt a moment of overwhelming sadness, but was brought quickly back to the here and now by Patricia's sharp voice.
"What is it you want, Diana?"
"I want to know why you abused my mare."
"Your mare? I was under the impression that everything belonged to your father."
"Tanis is mine. But it wouldn't matter, in any case. Why would you hurt a helpless animal?"
"I told you, the mare is a brute."
Perhaps, Diana thought, if she weren't seeing Patricia with new eyes, she would be more tolerant, more patient. As it was, she wanted to throttle the girl. To betray Daniel, kind, gentle Daniel, it was too much. Good heavens, Patricia was only eighteen and but a few months married. Hadn't the infamous Charlotte been only eighteen when she betrayed Lyon?
"Tanis is spirited," Diana said finally, bringing herself back to the subject at hand. "Her spirit is something to be encouraged, not something to be broken. You will not ride her again, ever."
"You are no longer mistress here, my lady, as Deborah told you. Nor do I take orders from you. When you leave, as you will, I shall do exactly as I please."
"If I leave, my mare will go with me, you may be certain of that!"
"Your mare is large enough for Daniel to ride. I doubt that you will take the animal anywhere."
Frustrated, Diana could only stare at her sister-in-law.
"Daniel would never abuse an animal or anyone weaker than he."
"Daniel is too soft," Patricia said with a shrug.
"You believe him soft because he is kind?"
Patricia didn't reply. Her mouth pouted; she looked like a sullen child.
"Why, then, did you marry him?"
"That, dear Diana, is none of your affair. Now, if you are quite through trying to boss me about, I have things to do."
"What things? From what I've observed, you do nothing at all, save live off my father's bounty."
"I am a lady." She waved her hand negligently at the croquet hoops. "I am also becoming quite proficient at this silly game."
Diana laughed.
"You bitch! Shut up! I am a lady!"
"What you are, Patricia, is spoiled and thoughtless. Stay away from Tanis. And stay away from my husband."
Patricia's eyes gleamed. "I saw him, you know, quite naked, coming out of the sea. He is very tanned save for hisIf you hadn't been so very close perhaps ---" She gave Diana a particularly coquettish smile. "Well, who knows what he would have done?"
Why hadn't she kept her mouth shut? Diana knew that Patricia had honed in quite accurately on her weakness. Had she sounded jealous? Evidently so. Patricia wasn't stupid. A lady, was she! She repeated, her voice calmer now, "Stay away from Lyon."
"We'll just have to see about that, won't we? After all, I am younger than you and not so dreadfully brown." Patricia gave her a drawing smile, raised her parasol, and strolled away.
I am not at all good at confrontations, Diana thought, depressed. I should have slapped her and stomped her in the ground. She sighed deeply, trying to remember what Savarol was like before the advent of Deborah and Patricia. Endlessly peaceful, that's what it had been. Perhaps a bit boring as well. How she wished now for just one day of boredom.
"You won't win with dat one, missis," said Dido, slipping into the garden from behind a frangipani tree.
"Still eavesdropping, Dido? It is not well done of you. And no, she buried me quite nicely."
Dido patted her arm. "You go away soon with dat handsome man of yours. You forget all dis nonsense."
"And what will happen to all my friends if I leave?" Diana said, her voice harsh as the sun overhead.
"It's your daddy dat's responsible. Maybe he made a big mistake with the new missis. Maybe she fooled him good. Now you stop your worrying and find dat man of yours. You make de love with dat young stallion. Dat make you smile again."
Dido was right. It certainly would make her smile --- like a dazed idiot. His power over her was frightening, particularly since he could make her as docile and soft as the morning dew with but a touch. She wondered idly if she held any of that power over him. Perhaps a bit, but as he'd told her, he was a man, and a man was quite forward and simple in that regard. No, not much power at all. After all, he didn't love her.
"I have to make things right again, Dido," she said, nodded to the old woman, and walked back to the great house.
She spent an hour penning a letter to Lucia, giving her an abbreviated version of her adventures since leaving London. She wasn't really surprised to feel Lyonel's strong hands on her shoulders, kneading her flesh gently, knowing her and her reaction to him.
"Lucia?" he said, and she could hear the amusement in his voice. "Did you tell her you made an honest man of me?" He leaned down and nibbled on her ear.
"Have I?" she asked, turning around in her chair to face him. He was wearing buckskin britches and a loose white shirt that was open at the neck. His throat was strong and brown, the visible hair on his chest thick and curling. She wanted to touch him.
He looked like a planter, not a London gentleman. He looked tanned and tough and strong. She felt a spurt of warmth deep in her belly, felt herself quiver.
He saw it. He gave her a lazy, very satisfied smile, and his hands came around her throat to lightly stroke the pulse in her neck.
"Have I what?" he said, his voice as seductive as the turtledove's.
She didn't have the faintest idea what he was talking about, and she refused to humiliate herself by asking. She said instead, "I had a most dissatisfying confrontation with dear Patricia."
"Did you plant your fist in her face?"
"No. She did me in."
His hands became quiet. "I don't believe that," he said slowly. "In my experience, you're like a terrier who never gives up. I have the wounds to prove it."
"She talked about seeing you naked and how you were tanned everywhere but yourwell, and what you would probably have done if I hadn't been close by. All that in the same breath that she was a lady!"
He laughed.
"Jealous, little one?"
She pulled
away from his bewitching hands and rose, twitching at her skirts. "It is not funny."
"Perhaps not," he said mildly. "You didn't accuse her of anything, did you?"
"No," she said, her voice miserable. "I don't know what to do, Lyon."
"It's siesta time. Let me kiss you and love you until you howl with pleasure."
"What about you? Will you howl with pleasure?"
"No howling." He grinned at her. "The manly thing to do is to groan and thrust deep while I kiss your breasts and caress you with my fingers."
She turned red.
"Ah, Diana, you please me immensely." He drew her against him and pressed her face against his shoulder. "We will figure out something, sweetheart. Try not to worry yourself overly about it. I do have some ideas, you know, at least with regard to Daniel."
"What are they?" Her voice was muffled against the warm flesh of his shoulder. She loved his scent, and breathed deeply, burrowing closer.
"I am a wealthy man. I think that Daniel and his wife should go to England. I have a feeling that Daniel would be happy as a lark were he able to study medicine. He seems quite oblivious of mundane things, more's the pity."
His hands stroked down her back, lower still, to cup her buttocks, and lifted her against him. "I want you," he said, nipping at her earlobe. "Of course, since I am such a simple being, you must know that."
He was hard against her belly. "Yes," she said. "I know you are simple, you've told me that enough."
"Doesn't it make you pleased with yourself?"
There came a loud cry. He released her suddenly, spinning around. "What the devil!"
He strode to their bedchamber door, Diana at his heels. He flung it open and stopped, staring at Deborah, who was standing over Moira. The black girl was cowering at her feet, her arms covering her head.
"Shut up, you stupid fool!"
Diana met Deborah's eyes. She was stunned at the fury she read there. The older woman's bosom was heaving.
"What do you want?" Deborah nearly shouted at Diana and Lyon.
"Stay put, Diana." Lyon calmly walked to Deborah and wrested the riding whip from her right hand.
"Why?" he said, towering over her.
Deborah knew, had known instantly, that she'd made a bad mistake. She drew herself up to her diminutive size. "She is impertinent and I will see her sold, immediately."
Moira was blubbering, the sobs louder now that Diana and Lyon were here.
Diana, impetuous of nature, found herself standing perfectly still, her brain working quickly. Moira was the only slave Deborah abused. Certainly she'd spoken of Dido's impertinence, but never had Diana seen her do anything but frown slightly when Dido clothed herself in her bossy manner. She asked quite calmly, "What did Moira do, Deborah? Perhaps his lordship and I can assist you."
Lyon's expression didn't change. His volatile and impassioned Diana, speaking so softly, so reasonably?
"It is none of your affair, miss! I will speak to your father. The little slut will be off Savarol Island by the end of the week."
"Why?"
Deborah shot Lyon a sideways look. "She is unmanageable," she said only. She stretched out her hand and Lyon placed the whip on her palm. "I didn't touch her with this, although God knows she deserves it."
"Moira," Diana said to the still-sobbing girl, "go to the kitchen and refresh yourself. And stop that infernal noise!"
"Yes, missis."
Diana, purely by chance, saw Moira's face. She saw her shoot a venomous look at Deborah. That look was alsosmug, triumphant. Because she and Lyon had protected her? Somehow Diana didn't think so. A mystery, then. One day of boredom, she thought again. Just one day without the eddies and tensions.
"We will see you at dinner, Deborah," Diana said. "Lyon, you wished to read Lucia's letter, did you not?"
"What? Oh, yes, certainly, my dear."
Once Lyon had closed their bedchamber door behind him, he said abruptly, "All right, what was that all about?"
"There is something going on that I don't understand. Deborah hates Moira, and not because she's slothful or incompetent. And Moira looked smug, pleased with herself, Lyon, I am certain of it. There is something strange happening here." She paused, sighing.
"Moira is a very pretty girl," Lyon said.
"Well, yes, that's true. What of it?"
"Perhaps nothing, perhaps everything. Now, my dear wife, where were we?"
She gave him a look that made his body tighten, but didn't answer him, not then anyway.
He didn't speak until they were naked on their bed, Lyon over her.
"Diana, look at me. I want to see your expression when I come inside you."
Her mouth opened on a cry when he drove into her, fully, deeply.
"Diana, don't move!" His voice was ragged, his large body quivering. "Merciful heavens, you make me delirious, woman."
It seemed to become more powerful, more intense each time, Diana was thinking vaguely. When he pulled out of her, she clutched at his shoulders, but he only shook his head. When his mouth found her, caressed her, his tongue stroking her, she knew that if he were to stop, she would shatter into a thousand fragments. "Lyon!"
"Yes, sweetheart. Come along, now. Let go for me."
She did, and he reveled in it. When he thrust into her again, the feelings she thought exhausted revived, and she stared at him, amazed at herself. He grinned, though it looked somewhat painful.
She thought the words were in her mind, but when she opened her eyes, so difficult at the moment because she felt as if she never wanted to move anything again, she saw him looking thoughtfully down at her.
He kissed her lightly on the tip of her nose, then her cheek and ear. "You taste like sweat, sex, and Diana."
"Faithful as a hound, Lyon?"
His grin became a laugh. "If you keep the hearth so very warm and inviting, yes, this hound will never budge an inch."
"And if I weren't sowell, so"
"Responsive? Perhaps eager is the appropriate word for a well-bred miss and a lady. And if you weren't sowell, I would just have to teach you, slowly and with great patience. But then again, you have always desired my mouth, have you not?"
She buffeted him on his shoulder. "You're sweaty."
"So are you. I wish your tub were large enough for the both of us. Tell you what, Diana, let's go swimming tonight. All right?"
"Yes," she said, her eyes gleaming, "all right." And with no Patricia about, she added silently.
It was after midnight. The great house was quiet and dark. They walked hand in hand toward the sea, laughing softly, speaking nonsense. The sky overhead was brilliant with stars and a three-quarter moon, the scent of the flowers less overwhelming as they neared the sea. A fresh breeze ruffled their hair.
Diana said in a drawling voice, "Lyon, I am not wearing anything beneath my gown."
He groaned and tightened his hold on her hand, hurrying her forward. She laughed in delight.
"I feel like we're back on Calypso Island."
"I do hope there is no one about," Diana said. "Just think of your embarrassment!"
"What about you? I have need of only one fig leaf, whereas you, my dear wife ---"
He broke off instantly at the sound of Diana's indrawn breath.
"What is it, what's the ---" Then he saw. A body, lying sprawled beside an oleander. It was a woman, curled up on her side, unmoving.
The woman was black. Lyon dropped to his knees and turned her over. It was Moira. Quite dead, a narrow hemp rope still about her neck. Her eyes were open, her tongue bulging from her mouth. He quickly removed his shirt and covered her. He picked up her wrist. She was still warm. Her killer had done his work quite recently.
He rose and turned to his still wife. "Diana, we're going back to the house now." She didn't reply and he clasped her shoulders, shaking her slightly. "Diana!"
She said in a stiff little voice, "I am all right, Lyon." Her jaw worked spasmodically. "Moira?"
"Yes, someone stra
ngled her. There is nothing we can do for her. Come along now."
Lucien was still staring straight ahead, his expression blank. Moira's body had been taken to her family's house in the village. Right now, men were combing the area. The family were seated silently, in shock, in the drawing room.
"You heard nothing?"
Her father's voice sounded so strangely detached.
Lyon said, "No, not a thing. We were going for a swim when we came upon her."
"Nothing like this had ever happened," Lucien said, looking at the assembled faces as if searching for an answer. "We've had fights, certainly, particularly after the harvest when the rum is flowing. But thisWhat kind of man would do this?"
A man? Diana wondered. Why not a woman? Moira wasn't all that strong. A woman could have come up behind her and hooked the rope around her neck and drawn it tight, tighterShe shuddered and closed her eyes. She saw Deborah standing over Moira, that riding crop in her hand, enraged with the girl. She felt Lyon's hand on her shoulder, gently pressing, reassuring.
"What was she doing out there, alone?"
Patricia gave an odd little giggle. "Meeting someone. It's obvious, isn't it? She was meeting her lover and he killed her."
"You're overwrought," Daniel said, stroking his wife's hand. "Sir," he continued to Lucien, "there is nothing more we can do tonight. Patricia needs to rest."
"Yes," Lucien said to all of them, "we will discuss this in the morning."
How could anyone sleep? Diana wondered silently as she walked beside Lyon up the stairs. There was a murderer about. Moira, was, had been, only fifteen years old.
"Hang on," Lyon said close to her ear.
He held her that night while she shivered from reaction. "I remember when she was born, even though I was only four years old. I can remember my mother saying it was a difficult birth. Moira's mother's name is Mary. She is a fine seamstress. Oh, God who and why, Lyon?"
"We will find out, Diana," he said over and over. He was remembering starkly Diana's impression of the black girl's expression the day before. To Deborah. And Deborah hated the girl.
Sleep was difficult, even if there had been nothing but the silence of the night. They could hear the intermittent wailing coming from the slave village. On and on it went.