Captive Embraces (19 page)

“Exactly my thoughts on the matter,” Sirena said softly. “The end of the story is this ... lady sought out this ... gentleman and ... good heavens, I don't wish to spoil the gentleman's evening. I'm certain he has heard the tale so there is no point in repeating it again. Poor man, poor, poor man,” Sirena said sadly, a wicked light in her eyes, as she followed the Baroness to her next guest.

“Darling, she is a striking woman, isn't she?” Camilla asked innocently.

Regan looked down into Camilla's beautiful, piquant face and said harshly, “Sweetheart, she's as striking as a viper!” His mood shattered, Regan felt his gaze trail Sirena every time she was within sight. Never once did she look his way, as far as he could tell.

All through the evening Regan stayed at Camilla's side. Ever on his guard for Sirena to steal a moment alone with his betrothed, Regan even refused a respite in the gardens for a much wanted cheroot. If he could help it, Sirena would not get the opportunity to regale Camilla with further tales of Java and perhaps even go so far as to reveal to his sweet and very young intended that she was once Regan's wife. Consequently, each time Sirena glanced his way, Regan was paying court to the demure flower who was to replace her.

Through the course of the evening, Sirena felt her spirits sink lower and lower. Regan appeared to absolutely dote on the girl. Sirena was reminded of how he used to dance attendance on her. He had been so loving, so tender, so attentive. When he had wanted to be, she reminded herself. Nevertheless, Regan wasn't a man who became preoccupied with a woman unless his interest in her was sincere. And tonight Regan's behavior was almost—her mind grappled for the word —vigilant! Down, down, her spirits sank and her heart was near to breaking. He loves her! He loves her! her heart cried. It's true, Regan loves Camilla!

Toward the end of the evening, Regan settled himself on one of the gilt chairs placed near a huge assortment of evergreens. Camilla had obviously retired to refresh herself. As he waited for Camilla's return, a voluptuous redhead passed him as she was led by her escort to the garden. Regan eyed the woman appreciatively as she swayed seductively and gave him a saucy smile which he returned.

Sirena, who was standing near the evergreens, watched Regan and knew in that split second that he did not love Camilla Langdon. If he had a thousand willing, beautiful women falling at his feet, Regan would have looked right through them as if they'd been carved from glass. When he loved a woman, Regan was the kind of man to whom no others existed. When they were married, after they discovered their love for one another, Regan had never had eyes for another woman. He had been completely faithful and devoted to her.

Sirena's heart lifted, her spirits soared. There was still hope, still that chance to win him back. To make him declare his love for her. To hear him say the divorce had been a mistake. He still wanted her, still loved her!

Suddenly, Regan stood and found Sirena directly in his line of vision. “Don't tell me you sought me out to finish your bitter little tale.”

“No,” Sirena laughed, her heart lighter than it had been in what seemed like centuries. “The tale is not yet finished. There is still a question as to how it will end.” Her voice was quiet, holding Regan in the unexpected tenderness of her tone. The moment between them seemed an eternity, as though time stood still, and they were caught forever in this instant of infinity.

Breaking through the spell she seemed to weave about him, Regan demanded, “Then why have you sought me out?”

“I came to bid you goodnight and to tell you how lovely your child bride-to-be is.” Sirena laughed lightly, knowing full well the message she read in his eyes.

Regan stood his ground when Sirena laughed. The sound seemed to settle around him like a mantle, enveloping him in emotions he had been struggling to overcome. He wanted to lash out. Those exciting cat-green eyes were laughing at him, mocking him, tormenting him. God, how he wanted her. Wanted her in his arms, his lips crushing hers.

Sirena smiled, joyously interpreting his thoughts. “Anything more than a formal handclasp would be tantamount to rape, Regan,” she laughed. “You divorced me, remember?” she taunted. “Perhaps I'll marry again, myself. No, no, not Tyler. Perhaps someone more impressive, like that gentleman speaking with the Baroness.” She pointed discreetly.

At Regan's shocked expression she laughed again. “Would my marriage to Lord Langdon upset you? Ah, Regan, darling, this decadent society we find ourselves in is too much for you.” A devil danced in her eyes and her mouth broke into a grin as she continued. “If I were to marry Sir Langdon, who is by the way quite enamored of me; if his pursuit of me all evening is an indication, I would then be your stepmother-in-law. It's utterly fascinating,” she laughed once more, the rich peals making Regan quake with rage.

“Bitch!” Regan hissed between clenched teeth, as Sirena left his side in search of Tyler Sinclair.

Inside Sirena was trembling. Had she pushed Regan too far? She teased him unmercifully. It was a dangerous game she was playing and she was fully aware of the consequences should she lose. Yet she was impelled to play on. She had to make Regan aware of her. Make him feel something toward her, and if anger and rage were the first steps to opening his eyes to her then she would have to take her chances and play the game out to the last turn.

She found herself beside Tyler, pleading weariness and asking to be taken home. If he noticed a strange light dancing in the depths of Sirena's eyes, he said nothing. But he looked at her questioningly, for only minutes before he had seen her talking with Regan and she had been animated. Now there was a flush on her ivory cheeks belying the exhaustion she claimed.

“You can't be leaving us so soon,” Sir Langdon interrupted them as she bade her farewell to the Baron and Baroness. “The night is still young and you've only given me the pleasure of dancing with you once. Please, won't you stay a while longer?” Though his words were pleasant enough, there was a silent demand behind his request.

Out of the corner of her eye, Sirena noticed Regan leading Camilla out onto the dance floor for the quadrille. Suddenly, her mind made up, Sirena smiled brightly and took Sir Langdon by his arm. “Perhaps one last dance,” she said sweetly, looking up into his handsomely craggy face.

Stephan Langdon was a tall man of fifty-five who appeared ten years younger. His slender physique bespoke the grace of an athlete and his manner was gracious and winning. A ladies' man, Sirena thought. She studied him as they danced. His sense of fashion was indisputable, and he wore his frothy white linen and severely cut silver-gray doublet with a flair. His legs were long and well shaped and he seemed not to care for the current fashion of adorning himself with an abundance of jewelry, save for the ruby stickpin in his cravat and a simple, masculine onyx ring on his finger.

His gray eyes were warm with golden lights as they appraised her, and his mouth was full; yet there was nothing weak or feminine about it. Rather, it was well defined and curvaceously shaped beneath a well-trimmed, steel-gray mustache which was just a shade darker than his full head of hair. His arms were strong and his hands square and able. As he talked, Sirena found herself enjoying his company. Sir Stephen Langdon was well versed in the social graces and immediately put her at ease.

“Will you allow me to show you our fair city of London?” he inquired, his arm fast about her waist, his voice warm and sincere. “Nothing would give me more pleasure than to take you to Whitehall and flaunt you before the court or take you for an excursion through Saint James' Park.”

“I would like that very much, Sir Langdon,” Sirena replied, smiling up into his face.

“Please, as a relative of the Baron and Baroness shouldn't we find ourselves on more familiar terms? My given name is Stephan.”

“Then Stephan it will be. And please do call me Sirena.”

“Sirena—how fitting a name for you. Yet, do I detect hidden excitement behind those incredible eyes of yours?” he asked flirtatiously.

Sirena dropped her glance to the floor, not wanting to reveal just how excited she was by the plan she was forming in her mind.

“I did not mean to embarrass you, Sirena. Still, a man can find himself lost in those green depths. Certainly, I'm not the first to tell you this.”

“No, not the first,” Sirena said coyly, “yet a lady likes to hear it all the same.” The music came to an end and Sirena was amused at the petulant look on Sir Langdon's face.

“I had hoped the music would have continued forever,” he murmured in a husky voice that, in spite of herself, Sirena found thrilling. His hand on her arm as he led her back to Tyler was gentle, yet there was a certain possessiveness that remained even after he removed it.

“I trust you will allow me to call upon you,” he said, lifting her hand and touching his lips to her fingers.

“Please do, Sir Langdon—Stephan,” she amended. “I will look forward to seeing you. But you must forgive me this night for I am very tired and must beg Tyler to see me home. Baron, Baroness,” she said to Tyler's parents, “there is no way to thank you for the wonderful welcome you've so graciously extended me. Especially, you, Baroness Sinclair, for all the help you've been in readying a home for me. You must allow me to reciprocate your hospitality as soon as possible.”

Baroness Sinclair smiled warmly. She sincerely liked this lovely, young Spaniard and was delighted in Tyler's obvious interest in her. “Yes, my dear,” she said in a motherly tone, “I can imagine how trying things have been for you tonight. However, there was little to be done about it, you know.” By the Baroness' tone and expression Sirena knew she was apologizing for Regan and Camilla's presence. “However,” the Baroness continued, “I am glad you count the Baron and me among your friends. London is a strange city.” Her expression grew guarded and warning. “Please not to take everyone at face value. There are those who are acceptable in society's drawing rooms, dear, who are quite unacceptable under other circumstances.”

As soon as Tyler departed, Sirena danced her way out the back door of her house to the stables. Pulling her cloak tightly about herself to ward off the chilly, damp night, she rapped on Jacobus' door to awaken the old man. Bleary-eyed, he answered the summons and immediately was put on his guard when he saw her.

“Aye, Capitana, what be the trouble?”

“Nothing, Jacobus. There's something I want you to do for me. Something I can't ask the coachman.”

“Anything, Capitana, what is it?”

“I want you to hitch up the carriage and drive me somewhere. And bring a blanket with you. I can promise you it will be a long night.”

“Aye, Capitana,” Jacobus agreed unquestioningly. “Now, if you'll just allow me to pull on me breeches—”

“Just hurry,” Sirena laughed, “and be as quiet about it as you can. I don't want all of London to know what I'm about.”

“Aye, Capitana,” Jacobus smiled, closing the door for privacy. The toothless seaman was amenable to anything the Capitana might suggest. Had it just been the moonlight or was the old sparkle there in her eyes again?

Through the city Jacobus drove the carriage, following the instructions his Capitana gave him. Due to a piece of luck and a bit of wrangling, she was able to discover from Tyler the address and location of Regan's house on Lime Street. Though the fog was still dense, it had lifted some in the cool night air and the flaring links which were burning at crossroads made it possible to read street signs. Following the now familiar Thames Street, they found Regan's office on St. Dunstan's Hill, turned left to Eastcheapside and then over six blocks to Lime Street.

Finding the address was more difficult, but Jacobus snatched a lantern from the side of the coach and searched the housefronts until he found it.

“It's just as you said, Capitana, but from the looks of it, there's no one home.”

“Good! Then we're not too late. I'll leave breaking past the lock up to you, Jacobus. Do you think you can do it?”

“Oh, aye, Capitana. And when I'm finished there won't be a sign to tell it's been picked. But before I have a go at it, do you want to tell me whose home I'm breaking into?”

“Only if you'll keep the secret. It's Regan's. Now, get on with it, will you. We don't want the watch to catch us in the act and I want to be in there before Regan returns.”

Without another word Jacobus reached under the driver's seat and removed several tools. “One of these should do nicely,” he breathed, looking up and down Lime Street for a patrolling constable. Within a few moments he was finished. “It's done, Capitana. Just go in and close the door fast behind you. No one will be able to tell the lock's been tampered with. Do you want me to go with you?” he asked, fearful for Sirena's well-being.

“No, Jacobus, I told you it would be a long night. Just pull the coach up the street a ways and wait for me there. If things go according to plan, you won't see me till morning.”

Even in the dark Sirena thought she saw the old man blush. “Well, it will be a long night at that. Don't think I'll close my eyes till you're safe in your own home,” he promised. “Besides, there'll be no sleeping in the likes of this city. I'd wager if a man closes his eyes they'd steal the bed right out from under him, let alone something as valuable as a coach and pair.”

Into the dark house Sirena crept, her hands trembling, her heart in her throat. Her eyes already accustomed to the dark from her long ride through the city, she easily found the stairs and quietly mounted them. It had not crossed her mind until she was actually inside that Regan might have a live-in housekeeper in his employ. What a sticky mess that would be if she found herself clobbered over the head to awaken with a member of the constabulary looking down at her. Chills danced up Sirena's spine and, breathlessly, she mounted the flight of steps.

Following the landing she came upon the master bedroom. She knew it to be Regan's room by the aroma of bay rum and the faint but pungent smell of his cheroots. Hastily, before she could change her mind, she straightened the bedcovers and removed her clothes. Naked and trembling with anticipation, she slid beneath the covers and waited for Regan.

The minutes passed at infuriating snail's pace. Time and again Sirena was tempted to rise and throw on her clothes and run into the street to her carriage. Then she would quiet her pounding heart and convince herself she was doing the right thing. I saw the hunger in his eyes for me, she reminded herself. He wants me just as I want him. If the mountain won't go to Mohammed, then Mohammed must go to the mountain. If he can feel my arms about him, know how much I love him, see to what lengths I'd go to have him love me again. He can't refuse me!

She sensed rather than heard Regan's arrival. He slammed the door shut behind him and climbed the stairs. Silently Sirena thanked Jacobus' expertise in picking locks. Obviously, Regan did not suspect anything was amiss. Suddenly, she was seized by panic. Suppose he had not returned home alone. Suppose he had brought Camilla with him. She didn't think for one moment that Regan would patiently await the blessing of his marriage vows before bedding the pretty girl. Regan's need for a woman in his bed was too great to wait for a legal decree.

Tensing beneath the blankets, Sirena squeezed her eyes shut, praying that Regan had not brought her. Almost without warning, Regan was in the room. Gratefully, she realized he was alone. Steeling herself for the moment of discovery, Sirena held her breath.

Not bothering to light the lamp, Regan shed his clothing. Sirena could hear the rustle of his garments as they fell to the floor or chair or whatever was handy. When his boots dropped, Sirena's heart raced. What would he do when he slid into bed and felt her next to him? God in Heaven, what had made her do this? Whatever it was, it was too late to change her mind. Regan was sitting on the edge of the high bed and she could feel the warmth of him and smell the faint aroma of his last cheroot.

As Regan's leg touched bare flesh, he let out a shout and jumped to his knees, imprisoning the interloper between his legs, his hands holding her shoulders firm against the bedding. “Who the blast are you?” he asked, shaking her shoulders in an iron grip.

“I always said you were a bull,” Sirena said quietly, her voice as smooth as silk, belying the quaking she was experiencing.

“What are you doing here?” he blustered, recognizing her voice; his eyes penetrating the darkness for the sight of her.

“Foolish man,” Sirena breathed, wrangling her arms free from his loosening grip to wrap them about his neck and surround him with her warmth.

Regan perceived her form against the white bedclothes. All of his pent-up yearnings, all of his desires rose to the surface as he slid beside her and encircled her in his embrace. Just the feel of her satiny skin, the nearness of her, caused him to close his eyes with remembered ecstasy. She belonged to him, and only to him. How could he have thought otherwise? A sound escaped him, a sound of pain as he drew her closer. As his lips sought hers, he heard her murmur, “I love you so. Never let me go. Love me, Regan, love me.”

His lips crushed hers and her head whirled as her body came to life beneath his caresses. He was gentle and unhurried, his mouth moving against hers. Her senses reeled as she strained against him, trying to make them one.

With infinite tenderness, Regan loved her, putting a guarded check on the growing feverishness he was experiencing. Sirena once again became his pagan goddess. His mind formed a picture of her as he perceived through his fingertips. The ivory luster of her full breasts; her slim waist; her firm velvet haunches. He placed a long, sensual kiss on the silky triangle her nudity offered, and Sirena gave herself in panting surrender.

A hundred times his lips touched her body, satisfying himself in his passion for her beauty. Many details, details hardly noticed before, intoxicated him with their perfection; the flatness of her stomach, the distinct curve of her thighs, the dimples in her haunches, the elegant length of her legs. But he lingered in the warm shadows of her breasts while their coral tips beckoned him in a silent and provocative appeal.

Sirena's body voiced a will of its own. She writhed as though maddened with the desire to offer herself wholly to the searchings of his fingers and lips. And Regan, sensing this in her, resumed his advances, thirsting still more for her boundless beauty and to plant his kisses on the voluptuous moistness of her silky fleece which held such attraction for him.

Regan rejoiced that his passion was met equally and totally.

He felt Sirena brush his hair back from his forehead as she kissed him lightly on the lips. Straining toward him, her body rose and fell rhythmically in obedience to her desire to culminate their love.

Her hands firm against his shoulders, Sirena pressed Regan back against the bed. His breath came in short, rapid gasps; and, when she leaned over him, pressing the fullness of her breasts against his chest, she heard him emit a barely audible groan. Beneath her touch his skin glistened with a gleaming wetness, the fine furring on his chest teased the tips of her breasts and the long, hard length of him brought comfort to her yearning need for him. She tasted every detail of his physique, touched the rippling, muscular smoothness of him. She placed her lips at the hollow of his throat and licked the sweet saltiness she found there.

His hands were on her back, drawing her closer; her legs tangled with his as she held herself above him, her body touching the full length of him, rubbing against him lightly, bringing him to the apex of his erotic desires. She crushed his face against the ripe plentitude of her breasts and reveled in the teasing touches of his mouth. He came alive beneath her fingers and she felt his expectancy throb between them. The contact of her flesh on his was as smooth as silk and her whole being concentrated on giving to him, enjoying the emotions she evoked in him, bringing him pleasure and pleasuring herself.

His well-delineated chest became an altar on which she offered herself; his firm legs were the pillars on which her house of passion was built; his arms were the cushions which protected her from falling into a dark abyss where life had no meaning and loneliness was torture to her heart.

She felt his eyes upon her, delving the darkness, sensing her love. And Sirena loved. Joyously, without reservation. And when she mounted him, they cried in unison for the time they had been lost to one another. And when she felt the river of life warm her from within, she whispered hoarsely, “You love me, Regan, I knew I could make you love me!”

Sirena lay back against Regan, her head cradled on his shoulder, peace and contentment readable on her features. Regan was silent, his breathing steady and even.

When Sirena reached out a hand to touch his chest, she felt him stiffen beneath her fingers and was aware of his retreat from her. “Regan, darling, what's wrong? Aren't you happy we've found each other before it was too late?”

“It is too late, Sirena!” Regan growled, heaving himself from the bed and going in search of his robe.

Hurt and perplexed, Sirena sat up in bed, imploring him with her eyes to look at her, to tell her what she had done wrong. When no answer was forthcoming, she pressed. “Talk to me, Regan! Tell me what I've done to displease you!”

Regan was silent, the only sound she heard was the striking of the flint box and his struggles with the lamp. Abruptly, the room was flooded with the warm, yellow light and her gaze lifted to look into the cold, agate depths of Regan's eyes. His mouth was a thin, grim line and his jaw held stubborn determination.

“Tell me what I've done, Regan!” Sirena demanded, hurt beyond words, her pride forbidding her to share her pain.

“It's nothing you've done, Sirena,” Regan said at last, his words clipped and controlled. “You're still the best piece to ever warm my bed.”

“Then what is it?” she demanded, tired of parading her emotions before him.

“You're too damned confident of yourself, Sirena. Tell me why I found you here in my bed tonight? Tell me! Wasn't it a damned plot to prove I can still be made a fool over you? Didn't you come here and throw yourself at me so you could reduce me to the idiot you already think I am?”

“No, Regan, no! I came because I love you. Because I knew you still loved me!”

“The words you used, Sirena, at the height of our passion were, ‘I
knew
I could make you love me!' I'm a challenge to you, you can't face the fact that I could divorce you as I did! So you came here tonight to tempt me with your kisses and drive me wild with your beauty.”

“No, Regan, no!”

In two strides he was beside the bed, his fingers biting into the flesh of her arms. “I won't be used, Sirena, and that's what you've got planned for me in that pretty head of yours, isn't it? You thought you'd come here and remind me of what we had together.
Had and lost, Sirena!
I never did care for a woman who was overconfident of her charms. And if you think I'd allow you to get close enough to me to gain your revenge for what you think I've done to you, think again!” he bellowed.

“Please believe me, Regan!” she implored, crawling out from under the covers, kneeling, her arms outstretched in a gesture of supplication.

“Believe you! I, who know what lengths you're capable of going to? Remember, it was I who married you thinking you were your own sister! It was my house you lived in while you were wreaking havoc on the business my father and I had spent a lifetime building! You bore my name and slept with another man! You are the epitome of deceit, Sirena, and God help me, but I loved you! I can still love you, damn my soul, but I won't let myself. I'm wiser now and I won't fall into your traps again!” In a gesture as old as time itself, Regan reached for several coins and placed them on a table within her sight. “Little enough payment for a good roll in the sack. Take it, like the good little whore you are, and get out of here!”