Master of Sin (27 page)

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Authors: Maggie Robinson

BOOK: Master of Sin
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Gemma's eyes clouded. “I don't think that would be a good idea.”
“I assure you, madam, my recovery time is the envy of every other man of my acquaintance.”
“Brag all you want, but I think we've made a mistake.”
He rolled off. “A mistake! Now I'm offended. Just because I was a little precipitate doesn't make the act wrong. You told me to ravish you, and I obliged.”
“Andrew, the point of our courtship is to get to know each other. We already know that we're compatible in the bedchamber. As you've often pointed out, you're compatible with anyone.”
“A direct hit.” He said it jokingly, but he truly was stung. He did not need her to remind him of his shortcomings. He resolutely stared at the shadows on the ceiling instead of her earnest little face.
“I see what you're trying to do—you think you can seduce me and tie me up in knots so I'll have no objection and do your bidding, whatever it is. Marry you. Follow you to—Antigua? Is that what you've decided on? Or is it Barbados? It changes every night. But you can still get my company as Marc's governess without marrying me. Marriage lasts a lifetime. I shouldn't want to be forced to smother you in your sleep if you disappoint me.”
“Now I'll have to sleep with one eye open. How have I disappointed you, Gemma? I'm being as honest with you as I can.”
She sighed and wiped the tears away. “I know. I just wish you'd realize—” Her vexing little mouth snapped shut. “Never mind. I'm being a shrew. Thank you, Mr. Ross. The encounter was lovely.”
“ ‘The encounter was lovely
,' ” he mimicked. “You make it sound like we took a stroll together. And do stop calling me Mr. Ross when no one else is around. You know what my true name is.”
“I do it so I won't make a mistake, Andrew. What if those men are still looking for you?”
“Jesus.” He pushed his hair from his forehead. Now she'd given him something else to worry about. That afternoon on the boat had joined his triple-nightmare to become a quartet of uneasy dreams. It was just as well Gemma refused to sleep beside him—she'd bear the brunt of his thrashing and shouting.
Odd that he never felt an instant's guilt about the death of Gianni's henchman. But Nicky, and even the old bastard Donal Stewart, still haunted him.
Oh, he was becoming maudlin. This encounter, as she called it, was supposed to relieve his tension and soothe his black soul. Now she'd stirred up memories he'd crossed the Sea of Hebrides to avoid. He sat up.
“If anything happens to me, Gemma, I want you to take Marc to the Christies. They'll take care of both of you, not out of any love for me but because it's the right thing to do. Edward Christie is the epitome of duty, and Caro has a foolishly warm heart when she's not throwing things.”
Gemma's eyes were wide. “I'm sure nothing will happen to you. The Italians have probably forgotten about you by now.”
Andrew shrugged. “Gianni must know I'm still alive. Word surely got around about our stay in the fisherman's cottage. He pawned my jewelry for me so I'd have enough to travel on.”
“Didn't you tell me he'd say that he found your body washed up on shore?” By now, Gemma knew virtually every one of his secrets from their nightly talks. He'd not even spared her stories that shone a very dim light on his character. If she was to marry him, she'd said reasonably, she wanted to touch all his invisible warts. The confessions had been oddly liberating, and it was amusing to watch Gemma try to come up with some girlish scrape to vie with his years of wickedness. Her relationship with Franz was the closest she had come to falling off the straight and narrow path, and he dismissed it as childish infatuation. Everyone was entitled to make some mistakes, even if the number of his rather strained his allotment.
Andrew gave a twisted smile. “That was the plan. I had to make drawings for him, too. It seems the only person lately who understands me is you.”
“I do understand you, you know, and I like you just the same.”
Andrew was relieved she didn't say she loved him. There'd been no more talk of love since New Year's. He had the feeling she was thinking it, though, when she came apart a few minutes ago. Women cried when they thought they were in love, and Gemma's eyes had been filled with liquid crystal.
How many times had Andrew been the recipient of tears and entreaties from past lovers? He'd never softened, just counted his money and moved on. He had plenty of money now. Beyond his investments, he'd been remembered kindly in an old duke's will, much to the mortification of the man's children. Andrew didn't bother to explain that he'd played chess with His Grace more often than let him suck his cock. The duke was lonely despite his enormous wealth and privilege, and Andrew had time to be a friend. He'd be lying if he said he never expected recompense, but the amount had been a most welcome surprise.
“So marry me, Gemma, if you like me so much.”
She rolled her eyes at him. “I'm considering it. You really ought to stop pressing me. There's no one to do the deed here anyway. The priest is not due until the spring.”
“Can't we stand inside a ring of stones and chant something?” he teased. “You know I'm a heathen.”
“These islands have been considered to be holy places for centuries. There's something quite mystical about them. That probably would work.”
“Yes. I've read up. I know I'm not the first hermit to live out here.”
“Some hermit you are with a woman in your bed.”
“Right where you should be.” He skimmed a finger across her lip. “We could go to the mainland to marry.”
“How? Walk on water?”
“Don't
you
be a heathen. The Lord will smite you if you mock.” He grinned at her look of outrage. “At some point, my dear, the ferry will return. All of us could take a trip. Make a holiday of it. We'd have to spend three weeks somewhere for the banns to be read.”
“But we're not members of any parish.”
“Details, details. I can afford a special license, though. Perhaps that might be best. And then we could go on a honeymoon—somewhere warm. Tropical. Turquoise waters as far as the eye could see. Why, we just might like it so much we'd stay forever.”
“I should have known this is just a ruse to get me to agree to go to the Caribbean.”
“I don't see why you're so reluctant. Batter Island is hardly paradise. We haven't been outside for days.”
“I haven't time to go outside! Oh, I do wish Mrs. MacLaren would get well and come home.” She looked at her red, rough hands with resignation.
“I've had no luck getting more help, Gemma. I've drawn so many damn pictures my hand is sore.”
“I know.” She sighed. “I don't understand why people are opposed to coming here.”
He may have been telling her everything night after night, but this one little nugget he had held in reserve. “Best as I can tell, it's because of the ghost.”
Gemma sat straight up to join him against the headboard. “What?”
He patted her shoulder. “Calm yourself. We've seen nothing untoward, but apparently—” he lowered his voice to an ominous rumble—“the ghost of the old birder haunts Gull House.” He grinned. “Or at least the islanders think it does. That's why everything was left just as is here for decades.”
“Ridiculous! I don't believe in ghosts.”
“I quite agree. But you must admit the house is rather noisy. The people here are a superstitious lot. You said it yourself—the island is one of those ‘thin places,' where the spiritual and the temporal worlds collide.”
“Wind. Uncaulked windows. Faulty construction.”
“Yes, yes. Your practicality does you credit. A pity the natives are not blessed with your attitude. So you'd better get used to the domestic drudgery if you insist we stay here. At least you have Mary to help you. She isn't frightened—a ghost is probably less fearsome than all her little brothers.”
“I can't believe people here would turn down your money on the basis of some silly ghost story.”
“I'm surprised myself.” He unbuttoned his shirt and pulled it over his head. “But where would they spend it? They haven't much, and are used to it that way. They're happy enough to eat shag and puffins, and Lord knows they're plentiful. I've never seen so many birds in my life, even in the dead of winter. I thought birds were smart enough to head south. Just as we should.” He winked at her.
“You are incorrigible.” She made no effort to undress or leave the bed, and Andrew was encouraged to finally take off his boots, stockings, and breeches. He didn't miss the keen interest she showed in his naked body as he warmed himself before the fire.
“Stay with me tonight, Gemma,” he said softly.
“Tell me more about this ghost, and I might.”
“You want a ghost story to frighten you enough to give in to me?”
“I can take care of myself against any old shade. No, I'm just curious.”
Andrew sat back on the bed. “Shove over. I want to get under the covers.” Once he'd arranged himself so that his manhood was properly covered from Gemma's speculation, he began.
“I don't know much, really. From what I've been able to piece together, the old man who lived here fell to his death from the cliffs. I gather he was looking for nests. Probably slipped on bird droppings, poor fellow.”
Gemma's brow wrinkled. “That's
it
?”
“Remember the language barrier, love. As far as I know he didn't place a curse on the house when he fell, but no one's lived here since. I do know the MacEwan was over the moon to find an ignorant sod like myself to buy it.”
Gemma sniffed. “That's not a very good ghost story at all. Caterina would have done much better.”
Andrew knew Caterina was Gemma's childhood nurse. He settled against the pillows and drew her to him. “So tell me one of hers, then.” Idly, he fingered Gemma's buttons, and she didn't slap his hand away.
“Let's see. Two boys were once walking in a beautiful garden. There were bougainvillea and oleander. Cypress and cedar trees, marble statues. Wisteria tumbling from arbors. Roses of every color—”
“I don't mean to interrupt, but I don't think boys would care about all the flowers. Now the statues—if they were of naked goddesses—that might be a different story.”
“Be quiet. The boys were walking in the most fabulous garden in all the world, with flowers of every description, which they noted because they were training to be scientists, when they saw a woman in the distance. She was
not
naked, but veiled and mysterious. Because they were training to be scientists their curiosity was piqued, and they followed her even though their parents had told them to never speak to strangers.”
“I sense a moral coming.”
“Of course. Everything Caterina told me had a point, even to making me look up names of flowers,” Gemma said. “Now, are you going to let me finish?”
“I can't wait,” Andrew murmured. Her bodice was now down and her nipples swollen and luscious from his attentions.
“The woman turned and gestured to them. They were now in front of the most beautiful mansion in all the world, equal to the garden they had walked through. And there was music—the most beautiful music they'd ever heard.”
“Is nothing just average in this story?” Andrew asked before fastening his lips on Gemma's left nipple.
She inhaled sharply but continued. “Nothing. Everything is the most beautiful, the most wonderful—oh! I don't know if I can finish the story if you keep doing that.”
“Try,” Andrew whispered into her skin.
Gemma cleared her throat. “The boys followed the woman up the stairs to where the musicians played. They were all masked and played like angels. The woman turned to one boy, then the other. She danced with each of them, spinning them around and around in the room until they were dizzy and happier than they'd ever been in their lives. The only thing that would make them happier, they decided, would be to see the face of the woman who had given them such pleasure. Ahh.”
“Go on.”
“Um.”
“Pleasure was your last word.” He suckled hard and felt her go slack in his arms.
“They begged her and b-begged her to remove her veil, and she just laughed, the most beautiful laugh in all the world. She gave them wine to drink—”
“The most delicious wine—”
“Y-yes. And the most delicious food. The boys were drunk and their stomachs were full, but she made them dance with her one more time. This time she held both their hands, and they danced from one end of the ballroom to the other.

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