Bound by the Heart (36 page)

"And you, Monsieur Roarke? I could perhaps
arrange for a suitable companion?"

"Thank you, no, General. I have work to do aboard
the
Chimera.
If you
tell me which of your men to see about the cargo, I will make all of the
arrangements for the morning."

"All work and no entertainment," de Ville
shrugged. "But it shall be as you wish. Gentlemen . . ."

Roarke hung back as they followed the Frenchman out of
the dining hall.

"You barely came out of that one with your pants
on," he muttered. "Cannon with twenty-inch caliber? Fifteen hundred
yards? Where the hell did you come up with those figures?"

"He bought it, didn't he?"

"Aye, and he has you and Summer under his roof
while he checks with his artillerymen to see just how he should render
payment."

"What will they tell him?"

Roarke clamped his teeth down on his cigar. "That
Napoleon has twenty-caliber cannon on the line right now making mincemeat out
of the Russians."

Wade grinned. "There, you see? You worry too
much."

"And if you don't mind, I'll just keep worrying
until you and Summer are back on board the
Chimera
and we're away from this
damned cesspool."

Wade's laugh rolled along the length of the
cantilevered hallway. He gave Roarke some last-minute instructions, then
followed de Ville through the door leading into the drawing room. He walked
straight to Summer and leaned over, grazing her lips briefly with a kiss.

"The general has generously offered satin sheets
and a feather mattress for the night. Shall I say we accept?"

"But Sarah . . ."

"She'll be all right. I've told Roarke to find a
respectable girl from the village to take back on board with him tonight to see
to the child."

"Oh, but—" Summer bit her Up and saw where
the dark blue eyes had strayed. That afternoon Wade himself had purchased the
gown she wore, and although his gaze told her repeatedly that the fit was
perfect, her alarm at seeing the pink half-circles threatening to pop over the
royal blue satin bodice kept a rosy flush high in her cheeks.

"Besides," he murmured, "I believe I
would like you all to myself tonight." He straightened and smiled at de
Ville. "As you predicted,
monsieur,
my wife would be deUghted to accept the
invitation."

"Bon!
And now perhaps we can amuse ourselves with a round or
two of cards. Shall we—?" He indicated a baize-covered oak table in one of
the immense marble alcoves featured at intervals around the huge room.
"Le Chien?
Two thousand a set?"

"Fair," Wade agreed and held out his glass
to be refilled.

"Two thousand what?" Summer whispered,
following him to the card table.

"Seashells, my lovely. And by evening's end,
we'll own the whole damn beach."

* * *

Summer gasped as the last button was freed and her
breasts relaxed gratefully within the loosened folds of cloth. Morgan's hands
slid around to claim each firm mound, earning a second gasp and an armful of
swaying femininity. He laughed and released her to continue the task of
removing her clothes.

"One would think," he said dryly, "a
lesson would have been learned having gone through a similar experience once
before. Spirits taken on an empty stomach
..."

Summer swallowed hard and felt the room take a
half-turn. "I had exactly two glasses of wine before dinner."

"And four brandies after."

"Four? I thought I only had one."

"One glass, perhaps, but it was filled three
times."

"Oh."

"Yes, oh. How is this . . . better?"

"Yes, thank you. I'm sorry; I just couldn't seem
to breathe all of a sudden."

"Don't worry about it. It probably did you good
to ease up on your oh-so-proper conduct." He grinned and added, "And
it isn't every day the general has a beautiful woman sing 'God Save the King' from
his balcony."

Summer covered her mouth and swung around, staring up
at Morgan in horror. "I didn't, did I?"

"At the top of your voice."

"Oh, no . . . why didn't you stop me?"

"And miss de Ville turning apoplectic? Not a
chance. Around you go again; I'm almost finished."

Summer sighed and presented him with her back. He
worked deftly and quickly on the bindings, letting each layer of silk and linen
fall to the floor around her ankles.
 
Her
hair had been dressed formally, and he took a great deal of pleasure in pulling
the long pins out one at a time and uncoiling the thick blonde ringlets over
her shoulders.

She hardly noticed.

"Sarah is probably
miserable," she said.

"She'll be fast asleep by
now."

"And hungry."

Wade smoothed his hands down her arms and planted a
kiss low on the nape of her neck. "So am I," he murmured. "Get
into bed."

She sighed expressively and stepped out of the puddle
of her clothing. She stopped beside the enormous canopied bed and grimaced.

"What is it?"

She took a deep breath. "I have never seen black
satin sheets in my entire life. I was not even aware such things existed."

Morgan unbuttoned his coat and loosened the ruffled
jabot at his throat. "You'd be surprised at some of the trinkets de Ville
keeps lying around."

"Trinkets?" she asked, turning too sharply
and having to reach for support from the newel post. She fought off a length of
filmy mosquito netting and frowned at Wade.

The dark blue eyes grew speculative for a moment; then
he laughed softly. "No, my pet, you are far too innocent. Perhaps by the
next trip I will have corrupted you enough to let you forget you are Governor
Cambridge's daughter."

"I have forgotten already. Poor Father. I hope
the shock has not been too great for him."

Morgan's jaw tensed. "And Winfield?"

"Bennett Winfield," she mused, fluffing out
the netting. "He is only a name to me now. Why do you suppose I can say it
without hating myself? Or without hating him? I don't, you know. I think I
could pity him if I tried, but I cannot bring myself to hate him."

Morgan removed his brocaded burgundy waistcoat and
finished stripping off his shirt, not wanting to think exactly how much he
could hate Winfield without trying.

Summer dragged back the heavy quilted satin coverlet
and crawled onto the bed. The sheets were wickedly cool against her flesh, and
she purred in mild astonishment when her body sparked suddenly with a thousand
delicious sensations. She closed her eyes and stretched luxuriously, aware of
Morgan moving to stand at the foot of the bed.

The willowy, sensuous body stood out against the black
sheets like an alabaster statue. Her hair was a shock of gold, her mouth a
moist, seductive pout. Her breasts were firm and rounded, holding to their
perfect shape instead of pillowing flat on her chest as she stretched. The
cornsilk thatch of hair at the junction of her thighs caught the lamplight and
glowed like a tiny flickering pool of flames.

Morgan's heartbeat thundered throughout his body, and
he was loathe to move, loathe to shatter the moment too quickly. He saw her
eyes open slowly, catlike, to fasten on him, and his skin shivered an erotic
warning.

"Come and try the sheets, Captain Wade," she
invited.

He dropped his shirt on the floor.

"I'm of a mind to tell you first . . . you have
never looked so lovely."

"Nor you so far away," she whispered.
"Come here to me, Captain.
I'm
of a mind to make you a son this night. A tall, beautiful
son with black hair and eyes as blue as midnight."

The belt joined the shirt and waistcoat on the floor,
then the buff-colored breeches were peeled down and flung aside.

"Oh, my, yes," she breathed, leaning up on
one elbow. "A very fine son, I think."

"Shameless," he mused, smiling as he started
to reach for the lamp.

Summer caught his hand and rerouted it, kissing the
calloused palm and sighing as she directed it lower on her smooth body. Morgan
gallantly obliged, tracing a warm path from her breasts, to her belly, to the
enticing triangle of tight yellow curls.

The first stroke of his fingers won a purred vote of
approval from Summer's throat. The second won a mocking echo from Morgan when
he discovered she was already slippery with anticipation. He bent his dark head
over her, his tongue wetting a path around and between each breast, his lips
claiming each ruched peak with a purposefulness that left Summer squirming on
the black satin sheets.

She pulled him down beside her, shivering as the heat
of his body brushed against her. On impulse, she urged him flat on the bed and
copied what he had done, using her lips and tongue to arouse his nipples into
dark, raised beads. Her fingers combed through the forest of hair on his chest,
and her hands explored the rugged contours of his magnificent torso. His hard,
flat belly earned a close inspection as well, and her lips were blatantly
insolent in following the sleek cable's width of hair down to where it swirled
around his navel.

She looked up once and met his gaze, and though she
could see her own wanton reflection mirrored in their depths, she did not care.
She cared only that his hands were clenched tightly at his sides and that his
mouth, for once, was not even able to feign a careless smile.

"Summer—"

She lowered her head again and heard his sharp intake
of breath. After a moment, she felt his hands in her hair, burying themselves
in the silken web, twining around the golden skeins as he groaned in
disbelieving pleasure. His grip tightened after another few moments, and, with
a husked curse, he drew her up, drew her forward, then used his trembling hands
to flare her thighs wide and guide her down over his straining flesh.

Summer gasped and braced herself against his chest.
She squeezed her eyes tightly shut and took his flesh deep inside her—so deep
she could neither see nor hear nor think beyond the incredible thrust of his
desire. From one dazed gasp to the next she worried there was too much of him
to accommodate, but
he gentled her with his hands and his voice, and the
virile assurance of his body.

Stunned, Summer could barely do more than cling to him
and shiver around the deep, thudding friction. Her hair spilled wildly over her
shoulders and her eyes were unnaturally bright. He held her motionless, ignoring
the plea in her eyes, unsure of his own ability to withstand the torment of the
tiny, grasping muscles.

She moved and Morgan groaned. She moved again and he
cursed.

"Slowly," he cautioned.

"I. . . can't," she cried, and pushed
feverishly into the onrushing waves of pleasure.

Wade conceeded on another oath and freed her hips to
find their own pace. He held himself back until he could scarcely breathe
through the tremendous shocks of raw energy, but then her ragged cries and the
drenching, liquid heat of her was more than he could bear, and the ecstasy
blazed and soared through him, through them both, burning to cinders any former
notions of what limits their passion might have had.

Summer collapsed in a weak, damp bundle on his chest,
grateful for the arms that immediately wrapped around her. She felt a flush of
embarrassment stain her cheeks and was thankful he could not see her face.

"I suppose that came from my calling you an
innocent," he murmured, and she was startled upright by a gentle laugh.

"May I ask what is so amusing?"

"You," he said and gathered up two streaming
fistfuls of her hair. "In the beginning you fought me like a hellcat to
avoid admitting you found any pleasure in my bed." He rolled with her and
gazed down for several long moments before the emotion in his eyes was made
more eloquent by the restless stirring elsewhere in his body. "Now, by
God, you still fight me, but ahh . . . what a sweet fight it is."