Rebel Heart (31 page)

"If I'm to win her, I must let her meet Cameron. The longer this goes on the harder it will be. But now is not the right time."

He slipped the mask over his head, laced it tightly, and strode inside the cabin, not bothering to knock or announce his presence in any way. She had donned one of his shirts and it gave him a strange sense of pleasure that she wore something of his. Yet watching her standing before the fireplace, warming her hands, he felt a moment's guilt. He could have started the fire for her, should have seen to her needs, but he'd been so upset when he'd left.

For a few seconds he watched her, feeling heat suffuse his body. The length of her hair shimmered like warm brandy in the firelight. It seemed to cascade around her now as an enticement for his caress as if calling him. She was looking at him with a sweet innocence he was beginning to associate with her.

All the time he studied her, the power of his desire kept him frozen halfway between paradise and hell. Then he walked into the room, turning into the kitchen in hopes of avoiding her and perhaps appeasing another hunger. He searched through the pantry. He found a bottle of fine Bordeaux and two crystal goblets, found a long loaf of French bread and some brie.

Occasionally, he'd look out the door and he'd find her watching, but then when she noticed him, she'd turn back to the fire, pretending indifference.

"Hungry?"

Ah, but that brought on another overpowering surge of desire. He was his own worst nightmare.

She looked up then, her eyes wide. She smiled.

Maybe she knew what he'd been thinking, perhaps not, but that smile of hers left him gritting his teeth and his cock hard.

"Yes," she said, rising and walking slowly toward him.

The shirt was far too sheer to hide the soft curve of her breast or camouflage the dark shadows where they crested and held the fabric up to his devouring eyes. It reached to a point just above her knees, but the last button was much higher, and as she walked, he was enticed further with a tantalizing provocative view of her legs.

He held up one of the glasses of wine, and as she accepted the drink, their fingers touched. Their eyes met. His breath caught, and he thought surely his heart had ceased to beat. Hell! She would torture him his entire life, wondering just how to find some middle ground with her.

No. He did not want to find a middle ground. He wanted the entire woman, all of her.

Ignoring his emotions and his frustration, he broke off a piece of bread for her. She accepted it and sat down.

"Thank you," she said, smiling. "Wouldn't you be more comfortable with your mask off? What difference would it make, now, if I were to see your face?" She grinned. "I could help you take it off."

He stiffened, surprised by her comment. "No one, not even you should know my identity. It would jeopardize many."

She waved a hand dismissively. "Trust me."

The words struck home.
Trust me.
No, he might feel the most potent desire for her, but he did not trust her. Not yet. He shook his head. "You ask too much." He picked up the goblet of wine and swallowed it down as if it were water, shuddering fiercely but glad of the warmth that filled him. If his refusal bothered her, she didn't show it. She demurely lifted her own glass to her lips. Again, her eyes met his and he was sure he saw the depth of her desire within them.

"Do I?" she challenged.

He refilled her glass. "Drink," and for a moment he thought that if she had enough of the wine, she might even tolerate Cameron Savage.

"Here's to The Phantom," she said.

"To Victoria," he countered, and swallowed down his wine.

He poured another cup for each of them, still amused by her obvious antics.

She was not a quitter. But if she did not stop soon, she would regret it in the morning--when he brought the real Cameron Savage to meet her.

"When will Savage be here?" Her blatant question startled him then he laughed. It was the way she said his name that caused his mirth.

"You are in a hurry to meet him again."

"Of course not," she bristled.

He poured them both more, finally beginning to enjoy this game for what it was.

This time she brought the glass close so she could smell the bouquet. "Umm, this shouldn't be wasted. It should--" Her ploy was an obvious attempt to change the direction of the conversation.

She broke off abruptly when she realized her words were already slightly slurred. What was she going to say?

He leaned forward. "It should be what?"

"It should be savored," she said lightly. "Have some more."

He smiled mockingly. "More?" One eyebrow rose. Love should be savored also. "Why not? There must be more where this came from. Savage must have more in the cellar. We can savor later."

He gritted his teeth again, knowing full well what she had in mind. It wasn't going to work. She wasn't going to seduce him with wine.

"I don't think Savage would be pleased to find his betrothed drunk, naked in my bed and in my arms when he arrives here."

"How crude. And he would blame you, wouldn't he? Vile man. I'll simply tell him you had nothing to do with this." She broke off a piece of cheese and managed to consume it quickly and very daintily then she looked up. She was both very hungry and very eager to seduce him. Were he not caught in the middle, the entire situation might be amusing.

Her hand touched his. She rose suddenly, moving around the table to stand next to him. Her hair rested on his shoulder as she leaned over him, and he could see beneath her shirt, see all that was meant for Savage. The little hellion.

"Sit down, Victoria." His voice quavered tensely. His hands clenched the arms of his chair fiercely so he would not be tempted to touch that which was being offered to him at this very moment.

She smiled and moved even closer. "I don't want to."

He felt her against him, breathed her sweet feminine scent. Her dove-gray eyes had darkened and were shimmering with volatile emotions. Her hair cascaded down her back and across her breasts, framing them and displaying them blatantly. He had reached an impasse. He wanted her desperately, and he no longer had any thought of denying himself. She waited for him, her body tense, almost as if she were afraid of what she had conjured.

He picked up his goblet and drained the wine. She refilled it quickly. He caught the bottle from her and refilled her own. She swallowed it, still inviting, a challenge for him to do the same with his own.

"Do you always drink so much?" he asked, amused.

She made no attempt to hide her reaction. Indeed she looked very smug, pleased with herself. "The sisters at the convent and a few of the other girls--sometimes when there was nothing to do, we'd sneak down to the cellars and talk for hours upon hours. Oh, I could out-last them all--but you know, sometimes when I think back on it, I don't think they drank anything at all. I suppose they were just lending me their very own spiritual guidance--protecting me. But they did like to tell stories." Her voice had turned wistful, almost as if she cherished the stolen moments and the small transgression.

Even the nuns, he thought, had been caught in her devilment, unable to refuse the smile, the wide-eyed innocent stare of hers. It seemed no one could say "no" to this little devil.

"And what would you talk about?"

She giggled. And she sounded so young to him.

"Everything... Sometimes men. They loved to talk about the men who traveled the roads, the salesmen that brought food and clothes, the priests. Oh they had so very much to say about the priests." She looked at him then and suddenly seemed to remember what she was about. "Well, you know how it goes, one drink led to another. There were so many bottles that no one missed them. If they did, they never mentioned it. But we had to be quiet and so careful not to laugh too loud." Again, she was telling him more than she meant to say. She leaned closer, trying to make it look like she was getting a little bit tipsy. "But what of you? Surely you have some amusing tales to tell."

Again, she poured wine into his glass. And he poured wine into hers. They drank it, all the while keeping their gazes on each other.

It had become more than a game now. "To women," he said.

"To men," she replied with a wink.

Her smile was more alluring than he could remember, and her cheeks were flushed. She started to pour from the bottle again, allowing her arm to brush against his as she reached for his glass.

He clamped his fingers tightly around the bottle. Surprised, she quickly looked at him. She would not relinquish her hold.

"All men?" he queried. "Even Savage?"

"Never," she told him coolly.

"Be forewarned that I am not going to become so hazy you can seduce me. I do know your game. We could match glass for glass and still you would succumb far sooner than I."

She dropped her hand from the bottle. The alluring smile vanished, her expression unreadable and her stance untouchable. Then despair was etched clearly in her face, sadness clouding her eyes once more. "I can imagine you've had a great deal of practice," she countered. "Rest assured I will never try anything so foolhardy again."

He smiled. She had been trembling so hard that for a moment he believed her. At least, he thought wryly, she wouldn't try it with him. The humiliation was obvious, and he didn't like himself very much for it, but what the devil was he supposed to do? "So the good sisters speak of men. I find that amusing."

"You would. You think they are different from others, that they have no curiosity." She hesitated a moment, thinking. It seemed he could see the wheels turning in her mind.

"Curiosity? Ah, so they sit in the cellar, giggling, wondering what it would be like to be with a man, and you reward them with your vast experience," he mused, smiling.

"I know what a man looks like. One of the other girls at the convent stumbled in on a young man who was there to take refuge for the night. He was as naked as the day he was born and...well...he was...." She caught her lower lip beneath her teeth then frowned thoughtfully.

"Go on." He leaned back, propping his feet negligently on the seat of a chair.

She stepped toward him again and spoke very softly. "I cannot understand why you find this so amusing, nor can I understand why you insist on turning me over to Savage. I will wither and die."

He pushed away from the table with a mercuric oath, standing and walking around her to study her. "You are exhausting my patience. Understand this. You will not leave here. You don't realize the danger beyond these doors. Do you think your father and Jonathan are fools? Why do you think he added the codicil to his will?"

"I--to torment me."

"Your father, even in his death, cared about your safety. Far more than you, it seems."

"I don't need a man's protection."

"Ah, but you do. What do you think would have happened the other night if I had not arrived in the nick-of-time, so to speak?"

"I would have gone down the tower ladder by myself. That is not so hard to comprehend."

He shook his head. "And when the rung slipped from its upright, you would have plunged to your death. You underestimate Quentin Morray. Neither he nor Sheridan will quit. Morray is heavily in debt and he needs the revenue from the lab in order to pull himself out. He needs you as his wife. A marriage to you would offer him more prestige than he could ever acquire on his own. Your only recourse is marrying as your father specified."

Her eyes blazed. She was magnificent in her anger and her passion. She rose and walked to the fire, her chin held at a slight angle, hiding her emotions from him. Had she accepted her fate at last? She stood there in silence.

Suddenly, she whirled around to confront him again, battling always. The light from the fire behind her cast her face in shadows, and still he could not see her eyes or her expression.

"The wisdom of a wise man; a man, though, who does not look upon a woman as an equal," she said very softly, but there was venom in her words, a ferocity she tried to hide.

Just the fervor in her voice made a cryptic, scorching tension surge through him.

"In many regards and in this era a woman is not equal."

She held herself rigid for a moment. The silence, thick and heavy, surrounded them. He knew she would misinterpret his words and he did not care how she saw them, but he also had to convince her how much she needed him, needed Cameron.

"So you think a woman is good for only one thing?"

"I never said that."

"I would give you what you want."

As he studied her, he made a huge effort to stamp down his rising temper and yes, his passion. You don't understand anything."