The Tiger Lily (16 page)

At
her small sound he reluctantly stopped kissing her.

His
voice thick with desire, he got out, "Did I hurt you? I didn't mean to,
but . . . oh, Jesus, Sabrina, you're driving me insane! I must have you! I
must!"

Somberly
they stared at one another, and seeing the wondering passion in her lovely
eyes, he muttered something under his breath and urgently sought out her mouth.
Sabrina was lost, she was drowning in his lovemaking, her young untaught body
aflame with needs she had never envisioned, aw6u*e of nothing but the magic of
his touch.

For
the first time in his life, Brett was totally ruled by his emotions, Sabrina
affecting him in a way no other woman ever had—perhaps ever would. He knew he
should halt this wild madness, but he simply could not. He wanted her too
badly, she was too tempting, too warm and responsive in his arms, for him to
gain control of the fierce desire that was dictating his actions. Compulsively
his hand once again closed over her breast, his thumb moving rhythmically over
the pulsating nipple. Pushing her onto her back, he slid his mouth sensuously
down her throat, across her chest, to the breast he had bared. Tantalizingly,
savoringly, his tongue curled around the nipple, his teeth lightly grazing it.

The
hot ache of desire that had been coiling within Sabrina's stomach tightened
unbearably at the touch of the knowing mouth on her nipple, and convulsively
her fingers clenched in the dark hair of his head, pulling him even closer to
her. Shockingly the thought occurred to her that she wished they were entirely
naked, that her hands could roam at will over his hard body, that she could put
her lips to his breast and do the wonderful things to him that he was doing to
her.

As
if guessing her thoughts, Brett lifted his head, and with infinite slowness he
undid the remainder of the lacings, shoving the bodice of the gown down around
her waist. His gaze seemed bewitched by the smooth golden flesh that he had
exposed, the firm breasts jutting proudly under his look, the coral nipples
full and erect.

Shyly
Sabrina watched the expressions that chased across his face, the wanting and
the passion that were so clearly revealed, and she shivered with both joy and
fear. He wanted her as a man wanted a woman! And, oh, dear God, it might be
wrong, her soul might be damned for all eternity, but she desperately wanted
him to complete her initiation into womanhood. No matter what happened in the
future, she would have this to remember—the sweetness of his touch, the passion
of his mouth, and the ecstasy of his possession.

And
yet, when at last his hand slid up her thigh, his fingers seeking that most
intimate part of her, she stiffened. What exactly went on between a man and
woman making love was a mystery to her, and despite her arousal, despite
wanting him to be the one to teach her, she was totally unprepared for what
possession really meant. His fingers caressing her inner thigh suddenly
frightened her, and when he touched the soft red-gold curls between her legs,
her heart beat with a suffocating tempo.

He
was kissing her passionately, but Sabrina was oblivious of it, all her
concentration on that searching hand. What was he doing to her? Her fingers
painfully clutched his broad shoulders, her throat tight with apprehension as
gently his exploring fingers parted the springy curls and softly stroked the
tender flesh.

A
flood of heat and desire swept through her body at the probing intimacy he was
wreaking on her, but it warred with a growing feeling of alarm. Moaning with a
curious blend of fright and pleasure, she began to struggle against his
invading fingers, her hands pushing him away, her body rejecting his advances.

Tearing
her mouth from his, she said breathlessly, "Please, Senor , please stop! I
... I don't want you to . . . Oh, please stop!"

Through
a red haze of passion, Brett heard her words, heard the faint undertone of
panic, and with an agonizing effort he painfully brought himself back to reality.
For a long moment he stared blindly down at her, forcing his breathing back to
normal, forcing his brain to think coherently. Almost with surprise he noted
their positions on the carpet, the rumpled disarray his searching hands had
created with her yellow gown, and suddenly aware of the enormity of what had
nearly happened, he was engulfed by a wave of revulsion and disgust. His eyes
closing with repugnance at his actions, writhing with embarrassment and fury at
how easily he would have betrayed his own ironclad rules and Alejandro's trust,
he flung himself away from Sabrina. Lying on his back, one arm thrown across
his eyes, he muttered, "Dear God in heaven! What possessed me?"

Sabrina
made some inarticulate sound, appalled and as shocked as he was by what had
transpired. Her face flaming with shame, she was fumbling with her gown, trying
miserably to cover her naked breasts.

Brett
heard her, and putting his arm down, he glanced over in that direction. Passion
gone now, filled with anger and disgust at himself, he sat up and with less
than gentle movements quickly and efficiently made short work of the green
ribbon lacing. In a matter of seconds, Sabrina was correctly clothed, the only
sign of their passionate interlude her still swollen mouth and some suspicious
creases in the yellow silk gown.

She
could barely bring herself to look at him she was so embarrassed, and when she
finally did, her heart sank. His face was cold and implacable, the dark green
eyes shuttered and unfriendly, and the full, sensuous mouth had a grim slant to
it.

She
wanted to say something to break the increasingly hostile silence that grew
between them, but the words stuck in her throat, and Brett's expression didn't
help. Once they were standing, she risked another glance at him, wondering with
a dull ache in her heart at how swiftly the teasing, mocking, passionate lover
had disappeared, leaving only this hard-faced stranger.

Never
a particularly kind man, distrustful of women and unused to denying himself
anything he wanted, Brett was at odds within himself. The unpleasant thought
occurred to him that this entire episode might have been cleverly planned, and
yet he didn't want to believe such a thing of either Sabrina or Alejandro. He
wasn't a conceited man, but he would have had to be both blind and deaf not to
know that he was considered a more than eligible party, and Sabrina wouldn't be
the first gently reared young lady to use her body as a way to snare a husband.
What made him angriest, though, was the galling knowledge that he had almost
fallen into the trap, if indeed it had been a trap.

The
jade-green eyes hard and icy, he looked across at her and said evenly, **I will
not apologize for what just happened—or nearly happened. However, I will admit
that my conduct was both insane and inexcusable." His voice bitter, he
added, "You can rest assured that I will not forget myself again—no matter
what the provocation!"

Stiffly
he bowed and without another word stalked from the room, leaving Sabrina to
stare after him in stunned dismay.

CHAPTER
NINE

 It
was nearly dawn before Sabrina finally fell asleep. Embarrassment and shame had
given way to confusion and bewilderment at first, but then even that had faded,
and she was left with only humiliated anger. She couldn't lay all the blame for
what had happened at Brett's feet either—she had certainly not discouraged his
very improper advances! No, she remembered with shame, she had blatantly
courted them.

Her
thoughts tormented her. One moment she was appalled at herself, and the next
she was assailed by a feeling of sharp disappointment that she hadn't
experienced fully what being a woman meant. Even now, several hours later, just
the thought of the way he had caressed her caused her body to ache for the
touch of his hands and mouth. With a muffled sob, she turned her head angrily
into the pillow, wondering miserably why he alone affected her as he did. No
one had ever aroused within her the fierce, terrifying emotions that he did,
not even Carlos, and with a jolt she suddenly realized why.

Her
tears drying, she uttered softly, disbelievingly, "I'm in love with him!
That's
why I've been such a goose since he arrived.
I love him!
" The
knowledge should have brought her joy, but it didn't. She might have stupidly
fallen in love with him, but it was glaringly apparent that she was caught in a
situation that could only bring her pain—had already brought her pain. She
turned her face once again into the pillow, realizing now so many things—why
his indifference had hurt, why she had been so eager for his touch . . . and
why Carlos or any other man had never touched her heart or emotions.

Restless
and unhappy she rose from her bed, unwilling to spend more time in the
fruitless search for sleep. Instinctively, like a wounded animal, she sought a
place in which to soothe her pain, and a few minutes later, dressed in a white
cotton shirt and calzoneras, she slipped quietly from the house.

Intent
upon reaching the one place that spelled solace for her, she hurried through
the darkened pine-wood forest, oblivious to the night sounds and the movements
of the wild creatures. There was the barest glimmer of the dawn light to guide
her, but Sabrina was as familiar with these woods as she was the hacienda, and
shortly she reached her destination—a tiny clearing at the edge of the small
lake that could be glimpsed from her balcony.

It
had been a favorite spot of her parents also when Elena had been alive, and the
place held happy memories for Sabrina. The family had come here often, and
Alejandro had even overseen the construction of a small, graceful gazebo for
their further enjoyment. Sabrina could remember long, hot summer afternoons
spent here, laughing meals held alfresco, her mother smiling and merry, her
father's face full of the love he felt for them both.

Alejandro
never came here anymore, but he had maintained the gazebo, knowing that Sabrina
took comfort from the place. Inside was a small round iron table, and built
against the lower walls were wide wooden benches. The benches were covered with
comfortable cushions of vivid orange, and large, soft pillows of bright yellow
and green were scattered about. With a sigh, Sabrina sank down onto one of the
cushions, unknowingly wrapping her arms tightly around a yellow pillow.

The
bottom half of the octagonal gazebo and the roof were of solid whitewashed
wood, but the upper half of the charming building was made of a delicate
latticework. The doorway was a tall, wide archway cut into one of the walls,
the other seven being broken by long, narrow open arches in the latticed walls.
Honeysuckle and trumpet vines completely covered two sides of the gazebo, the
sweet scent of the honeysuckle filling the air as Sabrina stared blindly out of
one of the arches.

She
sat there for a long time, her mind blank, letting the peacefulness and
tranquility of the place seep into her body. The lake lapped gently at the
shore, a hunting owl hooted in the distance, and there was the faint rustle of
a light breeze.

Sitting
there in the chill of the April dawn, staring numbly at the silver glitter of
the lake as the rising sun struck it, she admitted bitterly that she had always
loved Brett Dangermond. She had loved him as a child in Natchez, and
unconsciously she had carried that memory of him with her always. Flinging the
pillow away from her, she clenched her fist in angry denial. How ridiculous!
she berated herself savagely. Children didn't fall in love! But they did, a
part of her persisted sadly. They did . . . you did!

Her
lovely face pensive, her fist slowly unclenched in defeat, and with a low moan
she threw herself facedown on the orange cushion. She might have learned that
she loved him, but it changed nothing; he was not in love with her . ... or
ever likely to be, she thought wistfully, remembering the cold look in his eyes
tonight just before he had stalked from the library. Various phrases of Tia
Sofia's letters came back to haunt her. ... "I worry continually about
Brett—he is so cold and distant with women. I sometimes feel that he actually
hates us all." . . . "We had hoped that he would make a match of it
with a suitable young lady when he visited Spain last year, but nothing came of
it. When Hugh asked him about it, Brett just got that contemptuous look I so
dislike on his face and said something awful about a wife being needed only for
an heir and that Hugh had plenty of those! I could have boxed his ears!"
In another letter she wrote, "Brett has all the young ladies in the area
atwitter—he is so handsome and manly that I am not surprised, but he cares
nothing for any of them. He sneers about love and has made it plain that women
have only two uses (most improper of me to mention that to you, but I'm certain
I'll be forgiven). He stated flatly on his last visit home that he doesn't need
the one and the other can be easily obtained without love or marriage! How
Gillian's rejection has eaten into his heart!

And
then there was that terrible affair with some English girl. I doubt very much
that he will ever experience love or even consider marriage—pity the woman,
Sabrina, who makes the fatal mistake of loving him! He would be a devil! People
call him 'Devil' Dangermond sometimes, and I wouldn't be at all surprised to
learn that a woman coined that name!"

Sabrina's
face twisted. Half of what Tia Sofia had written had gone over her head at the
time she had read those letters, but not any longer. Now she knew what Tia
Sofia had been referring to. How could her foolish heart love so unwisely?
Sabrina wondered helplessly. Her plight was hopeless, and knowing what she did
about him, how could she even dare to think that he might suddenly fall in love
with her? He'd had the choice of every beautiful, eligible young woman in
Europe and America, so why should he single out an unsophisticated young lady
like herself for his attentions? Especially one who greeted him with a knife!

Sitting
up ramrod straight, Sabrina faced her problem squarely. It was both unwise and
idiotic to love Brett Dangermond. She must somehow protect her unruly heart and
teach it not to love him. She didn't want to love him, and she was quite
positive that he would never love her. So. A lifetime of unrequited love
holding absolutely no appeal at all, she reluctantly and painfully concluded
that her safest and most sensible course was to armor herself against his
dangerous, insidious charm. She wouldn't love him!
She would not!

Finally
having gained some measure of peace, she drifted off into uneasy sleep just as
the sun rose fully above the tree tops. Brett was not so fortunate.

When
he strode swiftly into his rooms after leaving Sabrina so precipitously in the
library, Ollie, who had been waiting up for him as usual, took one look at the
black scowl on Brett's face and bit back the impertinent greeting that had been
on his lips. Instead he walked over to the tray of liquors that sat upon a
heavy mahogany chest and splashed an overly generous measure of brandy into a
glass. Handing it to Brett, who stood rigidly staring out the opened balcony
doors at the courtyard below, and treading where no proper servant would have
dared, Ollie asked brazenly, "Something wrong, guvnor?"

Brett
swallowed the brandy in one long gulp, and passing the glass back to Ollie, he
muttered, "Shut up, Ollie, and give me another one."

Silently
Ollie did as he was told. When he turned around with the refilled glass, he
found Brett lounging carelessly in a large chair of red Cordova leather. His
long legs stretched out in front of him, his dark head resting on the back of
the chair, Brett appeared to be absorbed in studying the open-beamed ceiling,
but when Ollie approached, he looked at him and demanded grimly, "As long
as you've known me, have I ever seduced an honorable young girl?"

His
lips pursing thoughtfully, Ollie finally said, "Can't say that you ever
'ave, guvnor. There's been many a rum doxy you've set up as your mistress for a
brief spell, but I can't recall that there was ever one that wasn't already in
the trade, so to speak. Now then, there 'ave," he added fairly, "been
one or two leg-shackled gentry morts among your ladybirds, but never one that
you could call honorable."

Brett
tossed down the second glass of brandy as quickly as the first, and slamming
the empty glass on the table, he snarled, "Then why in the hell am I on
the point of doing it now, for God's sake? My very kind and honorable host's
own daughter at that!"

"Never
say your fancy's lit upon that red-haired termagant!" Ollie gasped
incredulously, his first unfavorable impression of Sabrina having faded little
during their stay.

Brett
sent him a look that made Ollie wish he had not been quite so forthright in his
speech, and in a tone of voice that did nothing to calm him, Brett asked
silkily, "And if it has?"

Ollie
swallowed. In the many years that he had served his master there had been
several sharp exchanges; Brett allowed him unthinkable license, and Ollie was
not at all inclined to keep a civil tongue between his teeth. But for the first
time in their odd association, Ollie was aware that he was treading on
dangerous ground. Warily he eyed Brett's set features. Obviously there was more
to this queer situation than Brett was telling him—women never cut the guvnor
up rough, but that she-viper, Sabrina, apparently had. Concluding that a
conciliatory reply was his wisest course at the moment, at least until he could
get to the bottom of this, Ollie answered cautiously, "If that's the way
the wind sits, guvnor, it's no bread and butter of mine." Piously he
averred, "It's certainly not for your most 'umble servant to tell you 'ow
to go on."

His
black mood lifting slightly, Brett snorted with laughter. "And you are
running a rig, jackanapes! I know you well enough—you are merely waiting for a
more opportune time to give me the sharp side of your tongue."

Ollie
grinned, relaxing. "Now guvnor, 'ave I ever been an5rthing but a dutiful
servant to you?"

Brett
grinned back at him. "I won't answer that question. My plate is quite full
enough as it is!" His grin faded, and moodily he stared down at his booted
feet. "I think I must be just blue-deviled, Ollie—leave me alone and go to
bed. Forget what I asked earlier."

Ollie
hesitated. "Guvnor, if there's anything I could do . . ."

"Nothing,"
Brett said flatly. But forcing his thoughts away from his tangled emotions, he
asked abruptly, "Do you remember a young Spaniard by the name of Carlos de
la Vega? We might have crossed paths with him a few years ago."

Ollie
shrugged his narrow shoulders. "Can't say as I do. Describe him for
me."

Brett
did, and when he finished Ollie frowned. "Seems to me, guvnor, there was a
fellow in New Orleans who looked like that. Don't know if it was the same one,
though—them Spaniards all look alike to me. But remember when the old captain
was killed and we joined the smugglers? Remember that 'igh and mighty Spaniard
that cut up Frenchie's favorite girl?"

Brett
suddenly sat up straight, Ollie 's words reminding him vividly of the incident.
Of course, that's where he'd seen de la Vega before! It had been a minor
confrontation, just one of the many violent encounters he'd experienced, and he
had completely forgotten about it until Ollie reminded him.

Frenchie
had been the leader of the renegade band of smugglers that had killed Sam
Brown, and it was while Brett was part of their band that the incident with
Carlos had occurred. Frenchie had operated a saloon and bordello on Girod
Street in the notorious area known in New Orleans as "the Swamp." It
had been there that Frenchie conducted his business of disposing of the
smuggled goods. The actual transactions took place privately in a back room,
and afterward it was Frenchie's policy to send his best customers upstairs to
sample on the house some of the latest wares procured from all over the world.
Nubile young girls direct from Africa were the most common commodity Frenchie
had available, but there were also unfortunate young women from India, the
Orient, Europe, and even Greece.