The Flame and the Flower (16 page)

"He is a handsome man," she thought. "Perhaps it would not be so bad to have a son like him."

He stirred slightly and turned his face away, leaving her to stare at the back of his rumpled head and the broad expanse of his chest where her hand lay. She gazed at the ring on her third finger and marveled at the brightness of the gold. It looked strange on her hand and what was even more odd was the way she suddenly felt. The thought of being this man's wife seeped through with new realization. It was something he had said the day before—forever and for always she would be his. And now she mused: "Even in eternity I will belong to him."

Very slowly and carefully, so as not to awaken him, she drew the covers over his chest, but she soon realized her mistake with thinking him chilled. It didn't take long for him to kick the covers away completely, making her blush profusely.

His body lay bare to her gaze now, but she did not turn away though her face flamed with her own temerity. Instead she let her eyes roam over him slowly and with much interest, satisfying her curiosity. There was no need of others to tell her what she could see herself—that he was magnificently made, like some wild, grand beast of the forests. Long, flexible muscles were superbly conditioned, his belly flat and hard, his hips narrow, Her hand, slim and white, appeared out of place upon his brown and hairy chest.

Disturbed by the strange stirring within her, she eased from him and moved toward her side of the bed. She turned away, trying not to think how her eyes had lingered on his body, and she saw a leaf fall to the floor of the balcony. She huddled under the covers, wishing she were as warm-blooded as the man beside her.

The mantel clock had long before struck nine chimes when the two giggly girls returned to dress her. They rapped on the wood lightly and she heard their snickering through the door. It maddened her and brought a bright flush of color to her face as she slid from the bed. She glanced back over her shoulder at her husband and found him still asleep and undraped. Very cautiously she went around the bed and pulled the sheet up carefully over his nakedness. He awakened instantly, startling her so much she jumped. She drew back her hands as if she had just touched fire and went a few shades redder as his gaze swept her, making her extremely conscious of the filmy garment she wore and of its even more revealing slits. A slow, amused smile curved his lips and made her tremble, and she turned uncertainly and went to the door, knowing his eyes followed her.

The two twittering, sniggering maids came in together, one carrying a tray of food. They glanced about the room curiously as though they expected to see some secrets of the night before unfolded in front of their eyes. Seeing Brandon propping himself up on the pillows with only a sheet drawn up over his lap, they were sent into renewed giggles. He chuckled with amusement at their nervousness, but Heather desired greatly to give each a pinch, especially when they kept right on staring at her husband with such a hungry look in their eyes, giving her to wonder if they were so chaste as their fidgeting implied. They went together to the bedside to show him the great assortment of food on the tray, and Heather waited impatiently as they cooed over him, spreading a napkin over his lap with maddening slowness and pouring him tea. In the midst of all this, his eyes lifted to her own bright, angry face and mocked her, and she turned away smoldering.

Finally the maidservants remembered their duties and returned to attend her, preparing a rose-scented bath and laying out her bridal gown again, it being the only gown she possessed. Under the interested and observing eyes of her husband, they stripped the blue veil from her and helped her into the bath. Their giggling did not cease as they scrubbed her back and arms, but when they began to wash her shoulders and bosom, she could not endure it any longer. She snatched the sponge and soap from their hands impatiently and snapped at them to leave her be. She immediately regretted not being more tolerant when Brandon laughed at her with mirth, throwing his splendid head up high with his glee. She glowered at him, feeling intense hatred rise up once more within her. But she did not dare hiss the words at him she wished to, fearing he would silence her again with his fierce, heartless hands. Besides, she would not give the two skinny, homely girls the satisfaction of knowing she and the handsome beast were anything but newly wedded and in love.

Rising from the tub in shimmery wet splendor, she allowed them once more to assist her, standing motionless as they patted her body dry under Brandon's unrelenting gaze. He watched with such a slow, unhurried regard that her skin burned from its intensity. She was more than willing to don her shift though its transparence and immodest décolletage were hardly very comforting. As they brushed and combed her hair, she found herself as fidgety as the young girls, and she cursed herself silently for allowing Brandon's appraisal to make her nervous. But it was almost more than she could bear to have him lounging back against the satin pillows watching her, and the two servants seemed to take forever doing her hair. When they stepped back to compliment each other on their artistry, she breathed a sigh of relief. But her short lived comfort came to an abrupt end when Brandon swung his long legs over the side of the bed and stood up, dragging the sheet with him. He managed deftly to wrap it around him without revealing more of himself to the girls, and he came to her, holding the sheet around his narrow hips. He dropped a kiss on one round breast just above the lace of her shift.

"A rewarding experience, my love," he murmured easily. "I must admit I've never had the honor before of being present at a lady's toilette."

For a moment their eyes met in the mirror, his warm and devouring, hers nervous and uncertain. But under his openly admiring regard, she flushed crimson and dropped her eyes to her lap, still feeling the brush of his lips upon her breast and the strange tremor which they had evoked. She heard his soft laugh and then he turned and made a show of kissing each maid's hand, and he might as well have been fully garmented the way he acted. He was completely at ease and terribly confident of himself.

"You truly have done well, my ladies," he purred to them. "My wife is greatly appreciative."

The two almost swooned, never having such a thing happen to them before and certainly never by such a fine specimen of a man. They fell against each other giggling unceasingly and ran to ready his bath. When they finally left the room, Heather sprang up from the bench and flounced angrily to the bed for her dress.

"What need was there for that?" she snapped. "They should have been severely reprimanded for the way they acted, and you only encouraged them to be worse."

He smiled slowly, his gaze moving appreciatively over her back. "I'm sorry, my love. I wasn't aware that you were so jealous."

Her blue eyes flashing, Heather spun around in a rage, prepared to send a string of insults flying at his head, but Brandon only laughed and dropped the sheet to the floor.

"Attend to my bath, will you, sweet? I have trouble reaching my back."

She could do nothing but splutter and spew and turn a bright red. His odious manner riled her blood to the boiling point. Yet as he was, standing unclothed before her and daring her to speak with amused patience, she had to back down. She could not stand and curse him for the wretch he was, when both of them were conscious first of all of his nakedness. He waited for her answer in a relaxed stance, hands on hips, one knee bent and slightly forward. She hated him for his coolness, his mocking gaze, but she would not call him names.

Holding her teeth clenched tight, she brushed past him and picked up the sponge and soap and waited for him to get in the tub, her back as rigid as stone. She heard his amused chuckle and she gritted her teeth more. Then he was easing into the tub of hot water in front of her.

She hesitated but a moment over his back, then with frigid determination she bent over him and began to lather the soap over it. She scrubbed hard, venting her anger into the strokes she used. But when she had gladly concluded that task, he just grinned.

"You're not finished, pet. I would like to be washed all over."

"All over?" she squeaked weakly, incredulously.

"Of course, sweet. I'm very lazy."

She damned him with unuttered words, knowing he was making her bathe him because it satisfied his need for vengeance. His excuse of being lazy was meant only to flaunt his mastery over her. He was most aware that having to touch him in any way was agony for her, and he had chosen the intimate chore of bathing him as punishment. She'd have gladly taken a beating rather than to do it and he knew this well.

Despising him, she jerked up the sponge again and bent to her task as he leaned back in the tub. She ran the soap through the mat of hair on his chest and over his broad shoulders, her face burning under his casual scrutiny. His unflinching stare caressed her white arms, the long, slender neck, and finally her bosom whose beauty was revealed even more as she worked over him, exposing part of one round breast.

"Did you have someone you were fond of in your uncle's village?" he asked suddenly, a frown wrinkling his brow.

"No," she said sharply, then rebuked herself for not being more cunning.

The frown vanished. He ran a wet finger across her breasts and smiled. "I'm sure there were many who were smitten with you."

Angrily she snatched her shift up high over her bosom and rubbed it against her flesh where the water trickled down between her breasts. When she let go again, the garment returned to its place, now quite damp.

"There were a few, but you needn't worry. They weren't like you. They were gentlemen."

"I'm not worried at all, my pet," he answered easily. "You were well guarded."

"Yes," she retorted sarcastically. "That is, from everybody but you."

He chuckled and swept her again with his burning gaze. "It was my pleasure, sweet."

She went livid with rage. "I suppose it pleases your male ego too, to have me breeding now! You must surely be proud of yourself!"

His grin was mocking. "I'm not displeased. I happen to like babies."

"Oh, you—you—" she sputtered, seething.

The grin was gone with frightening speed. "Finish attending your husband's bath, my dear," he said sarcastically.

She choked off a sob and squeezed the sponge out over his knee. There was nothing left to wash now but the lower half of his body, and she could not bring herself to be that familiar with him. Tears sparkled in her long lashes and fell from her cheeks.

"I can't," she murmured.

He reached under her chin and lifted it up gently. His gaze went deep into her eyes. "If I choose, you know you will do it, don't you?" he asked softly.

She closed her eyes in agony and nodded her head. "Yes," she whispered miserably, tears falling freely now.

His hand caressed her fragile cheek. "Gather my clothes then, will you, sweet? I'm sure everyone is waiting to see how you have fared."

She went gladly and collected his clothes from about the room, more than grateful because he had been lenient with her. It would be a long time before she'd dare call him names again or flare up in anger at him. She would have to remember he disliked insolence and would not stand for it. She had been effectively disciplined and would do his will as an obedient wife. Cowardly she was, and she hadn't the nerve to do anything else.

When they left the bedroom, she walked beside him silently, completely docile. She even managed a timid smile when he slid his hand behind her back to her waist and glanced down at her.

In the drawing room the two older couples waited anxiously, though Aunt Fanny for an entirely different reason. She was hoping for the worst, but she frowned blackly as her niece came in seeming at ease with the man beside her. His lordship went to Heather immediately and embraced her.

"You're looking radiant as always, my child," he said with relief in his voice.

"Did you expect anything else, my Lord?" Brandon asked coldly.

Lord Hampton laughed softly. "Do not hold a grudge against me, my son. To me, Heather's happiness comes first."

"Yes, you've made that abundantly clear. Now, will I be allowed to take her to my ship today or must we again have your hospitality forced upon us?"

In good spirits, his lordship was not easily vexed. "By all means, take her with my good blessings. But first, would you be opposed to eating the noon meal with us? It's not a command, but an invitation. If you're not so inclined, we will understand. It's just that we hate to see Heather go. She's like our own child."

"I suppose it will do no harm to stay," Brandon answered stiffly. "But I must get back to my ship soon after. I've been away too long as it is."

"Of course. Of course. We understand. But I desired to talk with you about Heather's dowry. We are prepared to settle the matter ourselves—generously."

"I wish nothing from you, sir."

His reply drew shocked attention and most of all from Heather. His lordship stared at the Yankee captain for a moment, completely baffled.

"Did I hear you correctly, sir?"

"You did," Brandon said formally. "I have no intentions of taking payment for marrying my wife."

"But it's expected! I mean, a woman should bring to her husband some form of dowry. I am more than willing—"

"The dowry she will bring is the child she is carrying, nothing more. I'm quite capable of taking care of my own without gifts. Just the same, thank you for the offer."