Enchantress (26 page)

She looked into his eyes. “You are just saying that to make
me feel better. I know the charges against you are serious. If only Simijin were here, he could help you.”

“Put all tiresome thoughts out of your mind for now. It will do no good to worry.”

Surely he must know that she was worried about him; she was worried about Achmed; she feared for his father, and she was concerned that the Turkish ship might eventually follow her to Charleston. Not worry—how could she not?

Brittany was not certain what had awakened her. She sat up in bed, her eyes searching the darkened corners. Her heart pounded in fear, for she could feel another presence in the room with her.

Her fear turned to excitement when she heard Thorn’s muttered oath as he bumped into a chair.

“Thorn, shall I light a lamp?” she asked, swinging her legs off the bed.

“No. I merely came for a change of clothing. I’m sorry I woke you.” He stood near her now. “It’s almost dawn—go back to sleep, Brittany.”

“Your father?” she asked fearfully. “Is he worse?”

“No. Unfortunately there has been no change.”

She reached her hand out to him. “Can you not come to bed? You must be exhausted.”

He was silent for a moment. “Is that an invitation, Brittany?”

“No, I…it’s just that you have had so many worries on your shoulders.” Her voice was filled with sympathy. “I know how to soothe you and make you relax.”

He dropped down beside her, intrigued by her offer. He could smell the sweet scent of her perfume, and he felt anything but relaxed. “How can I turn down such a charming proposition?” he said, stretching out across the bed. “I am now at your mercy, Mrs. Stoddard.”

The room was dark, the night was silent, and Brittany could hear only the sound of Thorn’s breathing. “You must
remove your shirt,” she informed him. “The massage will be much more effective if you do.”

The bed sagged as he sat up and did as she requested. When he lay down again, she knelt beside him, her fingers kneading the corded muscles on his back and shoulders.

“Ahh, that feels wonderful. Where did you learn this?”

“There was once a Chinese woman in the harem, and she taught me this ancient art.”

“Hmm, one of your many talents. Every man should have a wife who was trained in a harem.”

“You must think of something pleasant,” she instructed.

Thorn was weary, and Brittany’s nimble touch was so light and soothing that the tension gradually left his body. “You have magic hands,” he said, sinking even further into the soft mattress and allowing the tranquil feelings to take over his mind.

“Are you thinking pleasant thoughts?”

“Um hum. I was thinking about a certain dark haired enchantress who danced for me one night. She tortured me, and then surrendered to me.”

Brittany drew in her breath, trying to concentrate on what she was doing, but she was becoming too aware of the muscled body that rested beneath her ministering fingers.

“I am quite certain you were shocked when you found out I was not a native at all, weren’t you?”

He turned over and faced her, carrying her hand to his lips. “How could I know that there was a golden angel disguised as an enchantress.” He laced his fingers through her hair and yanked her forward until she lay across his chest. “I want you,” he whispered, his lips trailing down her cheek. “I have thought of little else but you for days. I have been tortured by the thought that you are my wife and I could not touch you.”

“I have thought of you also,” she admitted as thrills of delight moved through her veins.

He nipped at her ear. “Have you?”

“Yes.”

“Do you mean I was torturing myself for no reason? If I had come to you, would you have taken me into your bed?”

Her hand trailed up his arm, and she lightly touched his dark hair. “I am your wife.”

He pulled back. “There are things in my life that need to be resolved, Brittany. Things that make it impossible for me to have a life with you until they are settled.”

“I do not understand.”

He let out a long breath. “Some day I will tell you everything. But for now,” his hand trailed down her neck, and he pushed her gown aside, circling one rose-crested breast and then the other, “for now, I want to bury myself in you, and forget that another world exists outside this room.”

By now the first streaks of sunrise painted the room with a soft glow. Brittany looked into eyes that were like liquid blue fire. “I will give you whatever it takes to help forget your sorrow,” she said, taking his hand and placing it on her breast. “Anything.”

His cupped her breast, feeling the essence of her flowing through his body. She was as important to him as the air he breathed. He needed her goodness to survive in a world filled with deceptions and untruths.

With practiced accuracy, he raised her nightgown over her head and dropped it onto the floor. In a short time, he also disposed of his own clothing. He pulled her to him so every soft curve nestled against his hard, muscled body.

By now the room was streaked with a glow that fell across Brittany’s body, and her skin took on a golden tint.

“My golden enchantress,” he murmured as he nuzzled her neck. “I have waited all my life for you.”

Brittany felt tears sting her eyes because of his beautiful words. She was not certain that Thorn was even aware of his admission. His hand moved over her hips, and he held her to him tightly.

She ached for him to possess her, and he must have read
desire in her eyes, because he positioned her beneath him and slowly moved forward until he rested inside her. His body trembled with emotions, and she felt the ache inside her being appeased by his swollen shaft.

Thorn’s hands moved smoothly over her back, and he was pulling her even closer to him. He moved against her, slowly at first, then when they were both caught up in a turmoil of hot passion, his movements became deeper and more penetrating.

His voice was intense with emotion. “Sweet, sweet Brittany, your body was created to bring a man joy. To bring
me
joy,” he corrected.

She felt a burning need building up inside her. He made her tremble with desire by his masterful knowledge of her body. Caught in his all-consuming touch, she was in a world where a whispered command brought an immediate response from her.

In a white-hot joining of their bodies, she arched her back as he reached to the very depths of her being. Frantically, she turned her head, while a groan escaped her lips.

“Thorn,” she called out to him. “Oh, Thorn.”

He cradled her in his arms, until her body stopped trembling. “I know,” he said, touching his lips to her eyelids. “I know what you are feeling, sweet Brittany.”

She seemed to float beneath his gliding motions. She clutched at his shoulders, throwing her head back as he drove deeper, pulling at her emotions, asking more of her and giving more at the same time.

She was tossed about like a ship that had lost its rudder, with only Thorn to guide her safely to port as he had with the
Victorious.
She was aware of his every touch, his every movement. She could hear his ragged breathing, and she was aware that he called her name over and over.

Like liquid fire, his body erupted inside her, and her body gave an answering capitulation.

His body relaxed and he rolled over, clasping her to him. “You are very good, little dancer,” he told her.

She was content to close her eyes and listen to the steady beating of his heart. “I am glad I please you.”

He smiled and tilted her chin up so he could look into those beautiful green eyes. “Brittany, I like the way you relaxed me.”

Her smile was bright. “My aim is to please my lord and master.”

He shook with laughter. “The thought of anyone being your lord and master is most unlikely. I have been at your mercy ever since we met.”

She frowned, troubled by his words. “Are you saying I am—”

He placed his finger over her lips. “I am saying that I am your slave.”

Now her eyes danced with humor. “I like having control over you, but I doubt that any woman would exercise power over you for long.”

He kissed her lips and rolled to a sitting position. “Alas, I cannot remain to test that theory,” he said regretfully. “Unfortunately, I must leave as soon as possible.”

She could not mask the look of disappointment. “Must you?”

“Yes, I fear so.”

She stood up and pulled on her dressing gown. “I will have a bath drawn for you.” She moved to the bell pull and tugged sharply.

He came to her, his arms sliding around her waist. “It has been a long time since I have had anyone look after me. I may grow to like it.”

She tossed her head, her hair swirling around like shimmering gold. “I have told you that I have been trained to please a man.”

He laid his cheek against hers. “You have been trained to please
this
man,” he corrected.

“Yes, only you.” She threw her arms around him, aching inside at the thought of his leaving. “Come back as quickly as you can.”

His eyes held a serious expression as he looked down at her. “I have a lot to come home to, Brittany. I never have before.”

There was a knock on the door, and Brittany moved away to admit Livia. “Have a bath prepared for Captain Stoddard,” she said with the authority of one born to give orders, but her smile softened her words. “See that the water is hot and that there is plenty of it.”

When Livia had gone, Brittany turned to Thorn and found him staring at her with a strange expression on his face.

“Have I displeased you in any way?” she asked.

“No, to the contrary. I was just wondering how you will take to being mistress of Stoddard Hill.”

“Do not say it!” she cautioned, rushing toward him and clamping her hand over his mouth. “Do not wish anything ill on your father.”

He was puzzled, and then his laughter rang out. “So you are also superstitious?”

She looked uncomfortable, as if she did not want to be accused of believing in wives’ tales. “No, but as Simijin always cautions, it does no harm to be cautious just on the chance that superstitions have some basis of truth.”

“You are the delight of my heart,” he said, gathering her close once more and wishing he did not have to leave her. His eyes fell on the rumpled bed, and the idea of taking her to bed again was tempting indeed.

The decision was taken from his hands when Livia entered, flanked by three young boys carrying a tub and buckets of hot water. In no time at all, Thorn was submerged in the tub while Brittany folded his clothes and packed them in a satchel.

Thorn lathered his chest while watching Brittany. She seemed to know just what he would need. “You have proven most useful to me. I believe you could take the place of a valet.”

She neatly folded a white shirt. “You do not have a valet.”

“Come here,” he said, curling his finger. “I want to see if you are good at scrubbing my back.”

Obediently, she came to him. But when she would have reached for the soap, he gave her a tug and she fell into the tub with him. She sputtered and wiped the soap from her eyes while he shook with laughter.

“Now you have me wet,” she said, trying to get out of the tub.

His unhooked her dressing gown and pushed it over her hips. “So I have. I’ll just remove this wet garment.” He tossed it on the floor and pulled her on top of him. “Now isn’t that much better?”

She was incapable of answering him because his hands were moving over her hips and his mouth closed over hers. Her body became soft and pliable under his manipulation. Raising her up, he brought her down and slipped inside her.

He groaned with pleasure as she sat up, driving him deeper into her.

“You do please me, little enchantress.” His breath came out in a short gasp. “I like having you nearby. I never thought I would say that about any woman. What would I do without you?”

“Nothing I have been taught has prepared me for you,” she said, laying her head against his chest and listening to the thumping of his heart.

His eyes glazed with desire as she demonstrated just how well she had been trained. Her hands slid over his soapy body, and her lips parted beneath his. “Oh, yes, you have been well trained,” he breathed. “I will have to be careful or you will steal my heart.”

Brittany rode across the meadow toward the stable, the wind whipping at her hair and the sun warm on her face. For the first time in days, she felt almost lighthearted; she was a good horse woman, and she loved to ride.

She had been restless with so much idle time on her hands,
and it was pleasant to get away from the house, where the very air she breathed was oppressive.

Brittany waited daily for some word from her mother, and she waited to hear from Cappy, knowing he was continuing the search for Achmed. She had begun to despair of ever finding her dear friend. She also waited for some word from her absent husband—but none came.

Brittany dismounted at the mounting block, and a stablehand led the horse away. With hesitant steps, she made her way toward the house, dreading the thought of encountering Thorn’s stepmother. Fortunately, she managed to evade the woman most of the time because Wilhelmina was a late sleeper and took most of her meals in her room.

Brittany was halfway up the stairs when Wilhelmina’s voice stopped her. “Brittany, will you come into the morning room? I would like to talk to you.”

Reluctantly, Brittany came back down the stairs. She did not trust the woman’s motives, and she did not want to talk to her. “I have but a moment,” Brittany informed her, stripping off her gloves and clutching them in her hand.

Wilhelmina walked around Brittany, looking at her red riding habit. “Your gown is well tailored but somewhat antiquated. Wherever did you come by such a creation?”

Brittany sat down on the edge of the sofa. “Thorn had told Matty that I might find useful clothing in his mother’s trunks in the attic. These were his mother’s gown and gloves.” She pulled up her skirt to display the knee-high riding boots. “Is it not amazing that Thorn’s mother and I appear to be the same size?”

Wilhelmina bristled, her anger visible in her sparkling eyes. “I was just wondering how you spend your days. I hardly see you.”

“I ride, and walk by the river. I have no particular routine.”

“I am told by the servants that you have a peculiar habit of bathing each day, Brittany. Can that be true?”

“Is it a peculiar habit? Where I come from, one is expected to bathe daily.”

Wilhelmina shook her head. “Needless to say, the people of your family must not live to a ripe old age. Too much bathing is not good for one.” Her smile was cruel. “Have a care, or you may succumb to some malady.”