The Tiger Lily (46 page)

She
was in a spacious antechamber. A brilliant green carpet lay upon the floor,
several comfortable chairs covered in a rich brown leather were attractively
arranged throughout the room, heavy marble-topped tables sat here and there,
and at one end a massive, intricately carved sideboard of Spanish design caught
her eye. The polished top had several neatly arranged objects on it—crystal
decanters and glasses and various leather-covered boxes. A huge gilt mirror
hung above the sideboard.

A
wide archway separated the antechamber from Brett's actual sleeping quarters,
and through it Sabrina glimpsed a large satinwood armoire and a balloon-backed
chair covered in velvet. Unwilling to move farther into an area she considered
dangerous, she stood uncertainly just inside the double doors. Clearing her
throat nervously, she called out, "Are you there?"

Even
expecting his answer, she was startled by his sudden appearance in the archway.
He was clad in fleshclinging nankeen breeches and calf-hugging boots of umber
leather, and was in the process of slipping on a white cotton shirt. His state
of undress didn't concern him in the least, but it increased Sabrina's
agitation. His black hair was ruffled and damp, and she guessed that he had
just come from his bath. He made no move to finish fastening his shirt, and
hastily she averted her eyes from the bronzed, muscled chest.

Embarrassed
and uneasy, she muttered, "I can come back later if I have arrived at an
inconvenient time."

Brett
shrugged. Walking farther into the room and approaching the sideboard, he
lifted the lid of one of the boxes and reached for a cheroot. Lighting it, he
looked at her. "Your message was that you had to talk to me right away.
'Right away' is either now or next week—take your choice."

It
wasn't an auspicious beginning. Sabrina wished passionately that she weren't so
aware of his potent masculinity. Her mouth dry, trying not to let her eyes
stray in his disturbing direction, she stated baldly, "I want to return to
Nacogdoches."

Dead
silence greeted her words. She waited tensely for some reply, and when none was
forthcoming, she finally risked a glance at him.

He
was regarding her thoughtfully, the cheroot clamped between his teeth. He
inhaled deeply, and then with a maddening slowness gently blew out a stream of
smoke. Almost idly he asked, "Why?"

Sabrina
had been dreading that question, unable to simply say, because I'm afraid of
you, afraid you'll destroy my own self-respect, afraid you'll reduce me to
pleading for whatever of yourself you could give me. Helplessly she stammered,
"B . . . because it's m . . . m . . . my h . . . home."

Brett
shook his dark head. "Not anymore."

"I
beg your pardon?" she replied breathlessly, a little spurt of angry fear
shooting up through her.

"Your
home is where
I
decide. And I've decided it is here."

Determined
not to lose her temper, Sabrina strangled back the hot retort that sprang to
her lips. Clasping her hands tightly in front of her, she said distractedly,
"I am unhappy here. I . . . I . . .I think it would be best, for both of
us, if I returned to Nacogdoches."

A
mocking smile on his handsome mouth, Brett cocked a thick black eyebrow.
"Best for both of us?" he drawled. "Why, my dear ward, whatever
do you mean?"

The
beast was enjoying this, she thought furiously, and unable to resist his
baiting manner, she burst out angrily, "Oh, stop it, damn you! This is
ridiculous! You never wanted to be my guardian, and I don't wish to be your
ward! The only solution is for us to have as little as possible to do with each
other." When he remained unmoved, his eyes fixed on her flushed features,
she said tiredly, "I don't want to fight with you, Brett—and while we've
managed to brush through the last few weeks without any clashes, it is only a
matter of time until . . ." She stopped, the words dying in her throat as
he slowly walked toward her.

The
cheroot tossed accurately into a brass spittoon nearby, he stopped inches from
her. His smoky breath caressing her face, he prompted, "Until?"

Sabrina
swallowed convulsively, his tantalizing nearness driving coherent thought from
her mind. All she could think of was the warmth that emanated from that
powerful form, the pleasure she had found in his arms, the sweet ache that was
spreading irresistibly through her own body. Humiliated by the betrayal that
was going on inside her, and unable to bear the intense scrutiny of his eyes,
she said huskily, "Until you push me too far."

He
gave a harsh little laugh. "Until
I
push you? Sweetheart, you are
far more likely to push me!"

Still
too aware of him for her own good and unwilling to speculate on precisely what
he meant by that statement, she said with far more calmness than she felt,
"Which only proves my point—it would be better if I were not here in New
Orleans, if we didn't see each other very often."

As
if bored of the game, Brett turned around and flung himself down in one of the
leather chairs. The expression in his eyes hard to define, he asked coolly,
"How badly does this guardianship bother you?"

Surprised
by the question, Sabrina stared at him. "A ...a...a g... great d . . .
deal," she got out almost on a whisper, wishing frantically that she knew
what he was thinking.

"Only
a great deal?" he questioned sardonically. "It doesn't chafe at you?
Infuriate you? Madden you to know that I have complete control over you—and
your much-prized fortune?"

There
was a note in his voice when he mentioned her fortune that made her frown
slightly. A note of contempt and distaste. Now why . . . ?

Brett's
voice broke into her thoughts. "Doesn't it?" he demanded grimly.

A
little angry at the whole conversation, Sabrina replied fiercely, "Yes,
yes, it does! Sometimes it is intolerable!"

"Only
sometimes?" he jeered, a considering gleam in the jade-green eyes.

"All
the time!" Sabrina snapped, and carried away by frustration and the heat
of the moment, she said rashly, "I would give anything to be free of
you!"

Something
that looked unpleasantly like satisfaction crossed his lean features, but he
only said quietly, "You always surprise me, Sabrina."

Her
puzzlement showing on her expressive face, she demanded, "What do you
mean? Surely you knew that sooner or later I would fight against your
restrictions."

"But
what restrictions have I put in your way?" he inquired mildly.

"None!"
Sabrina retorted uneasily. "But that doesn't change anything—I don't want
to live here in your home, and if you force me to, I shall seek to have my
father's will thrown out in a court of law."

"Ah,
I see," Brett murmured. "I can remain your guardian as long as I let
you do as you wish." His voice hard, he added, "And that's been your
trouble from the beginning—your father indulged you, spoiled you beyond belief,
and made you into one of the most self-centered individuals I have ever had the
misfortune to meet!"

Deeply
hurt and mortified, Sabrina turned her head, blinking back an unexpected sting
of tears. It was unjust. She had been indulged, even she would admit it, but
she had never taken advantage of that fact. Before she could betray how badly
his words hurt, however, pride came to her rescue, and stiffly she said,
"You have no right to sit in judgment upon me—you don't even know
me!"

"Thank
God for that!" he growled, and rising up, he walked over to where she
stood with her back against the door. "But I can sit in judgment upon
you—your father gave me that right, and in the future I intend to exercise it
to the fullest!"

Tears
gone, her face set, she glared at him. "I hate you, Brett Dangermond! And
I will do anything to overset this despicable guardianship!"

He
smiled cynically. "You know, sweetheart, I thought it would take us months
to reach this state." His hand sliding with an odd possessiveness down her
throat, he continued carelessly, "Of course, I was certain I would have to
play the heavy guardian a few times first—really enrage you and make you so
angry by my actions that anything I suggested would find instant favor with
you." Mockery in his eyes, his voice a velvet purr, he asked, "You
did say anything, didn't you?"

Suffocatingly
aware of his tall body so near hers, the heat of his hand upon her throat
scorching her flesh, and feeling as if some just-noticed deadly trap was
opening up beneath her feet, Sabrina nodded her head. And driven to hide any
weakening on her part, she declared unwisely, "Yes! Anything!"

The
jade-green eyes moved slowly over her, deliberately lingering on the full mouth
and then sliding appreciatively down her slender form. Huskily he muttered.
"Then I think we can come to a satisfactory arrangement."

His
mouth gently touched the corner of hers, and helplessly Sabrina felt her body
respond. She couldn't think straight with him this close, with his hand slowly
caressing her shoulder, his mouth tantalizingly brushing hers, and on a shamed
little whisper she got out, "What sort of arrangement?"

He
lifted his head, and she was chilled by what she saw in his face. "A
simple arrangement, tiger lily," he said thickly. "You become my
mistress for six months, and at the end of that time, I sign all rights to your
damned fortune over to you." Cynically he added, "I think that's a
fair enough price to pay for six months' use of that delectable body of yours,
don't you?"

CHAPTER
TWENTY-FOUR

 It
took a moment for the enormity of his suggestion to sink in. Dumbly Sabrina
regarded him, and then she stammered incredulously, "M . . . m . . .
mistress? You want me for a mistress?"

His
expression enigmatic, he replied bluntly, "I want you. I always have. I offered
you marriage once, but it seems that it wasn't enough, at least not enough when
I was the only thing that came with it." He smiled wryly. "So this
time I'm not so foolish, although I suppose my fortune is far larger than it
was then. However," he continued harshly, "I'm no longer in the
market to buy a bride. A mistress, now that's another thing. ..."

How
she kept from clawing his eyes out, Sabrina never knew. Perhaps it was the
promise of retaliation in his eyes, or it could have been the instinctive
knowledge that he wanted her to react that way, that he was only looking for an
excuse to take her into his arms. And if he touched her, if he kissed her . . .
Sabrina momentarily closed her eyes in angry despair—if he kissed her, there
wouldn't be any decision to make.

Turning
her head away, desperately fighting against the need to be in his arms, she
said huskily, "I need time to think."

It
wasn't what she had meant to say. She had meant to throw his insulting offer
back in his arrogant face, but somehow the words had come out all wrong.

"As
you wish," Brett said with apparent indifference. He pushed away and
walked toward his bedchamber but then stopped and glanced back at where she
stood frozen by the double doors. "I think you should be aware," he
said softly, "that I'm an impatient man, a very impatient man after all,
I've waited six years for this moment, and I don't intend to wait much longer.
And sweetheart, something else for you to consider—I've been very kind to you
these past weeks, I've actually even surprised myself, but don't make the
mistake of thinking that if you turn me down, I'll continue to be so
benevolent." His chiseled lips tightened. "Believe me, I won't—I'll
enjoy acting the wicked guardian!"

He
would
,
Sabrina thought miserably as she almost ran down the hallway toward the
sanctuary of her rooms. He was capable of making her life such a hell that his
insulting, degrading proposal would seem like heaven. Reaching her own rooms,
she threw herself down on the bed, tears of hurt and shame trickling down her
cheeks. Ah, dear God, she felt as if her heart would break. And how much
easier, how much simpler her decision would be, if she didn't love him so. . .
.

A
muffled gasp of angry shame came from her. She couldn't
love
him! Surely
he had killed any feeling but hatred within her? A derisive smile curved her
mouth. No, unfortunately, she did still love him, and she wasn't going to
pretend otherwise, no matter how humiliating the admission. It was love that
had driven her to seize the first excuse to see him, love that had been behind
her need to come to New Orleans; otherwise, she would have tossed his letter
aside and set about breaking the will from the comfort and security of
Nacogdoches. And it had been love that had delayed her these past weeks, that
had stopped her from immediately seeing a lawyer and beginning to fight
Alejandro's will.

Her
tears drying, Sabrina turned over on her back, staring up blindly at the white
canopy overhead. All right, so she was foolish enough to still love him. That
didn't mean that she had to allow him to manipulate her, to dominate her and
turn her into a fawning, adoring slave. She might love him, but he wasn't ever
going to know it! He didn't deserve her love—he didn't deserve any woman's love!
What he deserved was to be hanged, or drawn and quartered, or boiled in oil, or
. . . For several pleasurable moments she considered all the lovely ways in
which she would like to torture him, but eventually she stopped, realizing that
while it made her feel a little better, it wasn't solving her problem.

And
she did have a problem. Oh, it seemed so simple on the surface. She loved him,
she wanted him, wanted him desperately with every fiber of her being, and he
wanted her—for six months. A soft little groan of despair broke from her. If
she accepted his infamous proposal, she would have six months of ecstasy, six
months in which to try to make him love her. . . . But if she failed, if at the
end of six months he terminated their relationship as coolly as he seemed
prepared to enter it, she would have nothing but memories, memories that would
turn bitter and ugly and leave the pain of shame and degradation forever within
her.

Sabrina
took a deep breath and sat up, a bleak expression on her exquisite face. Dare
she risk it? Dare she say yes and hope that ... A harsh little laugh escaped
her. Hope for what? That he would suddenly change? That he would fall so madly
in love with her, that miraculously he would become a different man? An
honorable, faithful man who would want to marry her?

And
if she didn't accept his proposal, what then? He had made it abundantly clear
that the pleasantness of the past few weeks would cease. What could he do to
her? she wondered uneasily. Lock her in an attic with bread and water? She
could bear that, but she suspected that Brett's idea of a wicked guardian would
take a more original form. A more painful, humiliating form. A form that could
conceivably bring her to his bed without the guarantee that he would release
his control of her body and fortune.

Dios
! What was she
to do? There had to be a solution! Some other way out of this coil. Suddenly
feeling as if she were suffocating, Sabrina sprang up and, grabbing her
reticule, started out the door of her rooms. She got five steps down the hall
before she became aware of Ollie lounging near the staircase. His expression
was determined but unhappy, and Sabrina's steps slowed.

They
gazed at one another, then Ollie's eyes dropped from the suspicion in hers.
Pulling nervously on his ear, he said uncomfortably, "I don't like it any
better than you do, miss. But the guvnor says I wasn't to let you out of my
sight." Ollie cleared his throat. "Says you should be aware that
trying to run away from him is one of the options that ain't open to you."

"I
see," she said calmly enough, despite the rage that burst through her.
Smiling grimly she asked, "Are you very good at spying on people, at
creeping around behind their backs?"

Ollie
flushed slightly. "Yes, miss, I am," he answered steadily. "I'm
not so good in the forest, as you should know, but there ain't no way you could
get out of New Orleans without me or the guvnor knowing it. And miss, you
should know that the guvnor is very good at tracking in the forest, so don't
think if you escape from me that you can escape from him!"

Sabrina
swallowed tightly and nodded her head. Dejectedly she turned away, walking
slowly back toward her rooms. What was the use of leaving the house? Ollie's
presence would be a constant reminder that she was no longer really free.

Inside
her rooms, she wandered lethargically around, her fingers idly brushing first
one object then another, her steps as aimless as her unhappy thoughts. What did
it matter, she finally wondered tiredly, if she accepted Brett's proposal or
not? He held all the cards, even one he didn't know about, her love for him.
Whether she agreed or not, sooner or later, he would gain his way.

Facing
that fact squarely, Sabrina realized that there really was only one choice left
to her. Escape appeared out of the question. Even if she could evade Ollie, how
would she live? Where would she go? Not home, that would be the first place
Brett would look for her. Besides, how would she get there? She had no doubt
that he had taken precautions against her simply saddling up and riding madly
for Nacogdoches.

So,
she thought dryly, if she was to find herself in his bed one way or another,
she had better strike the best bargain. And the best bargain he had offered was
to release her at the end of six months. Her features hard, she stared out at
the balcony. At least, she told herself bitterly, she had a little time. She
didn't have to give him the satisfaction of an immediate capitulation. And just
maybe, just maybe, in the short time that she had, some other solution would
come to her. . . .

Somehow
she had expected Brett to act differently after their conversation of that
morning, but to her confusion, he continued to behave as if nothing important
had passed between them. That evening when he greeted her in the blue salon
before dinner, his manner was the same as it always had been—mocking, slightly
derisive, and unfortunately, totally fascinating.

Francisca
had recovered somewhat from her indisposition and was up to joining them for
dinner, for which Sabrina was inordinately thankful. She didn't think she could
have gotten through the meal if her aunt had not been present, and even more
importantly, Francisca's conversation with Brett covered any silence on
Sabrina's part.

It
was unusual for Brett to join them for dinner, and Francisca couldn't help
commenting on it. "Well, senor, " she said snidely, "this is an
honor to have you with us this evening."

Brett
smiled slightly. "I'm so happy that you are aware of it," he replied
dryly, a little gleam of mocking amusement in his eyes.

Francisca's
mouth thinned, but determined not to be roused, she said less unpleasantly,
"You have been gone for several days and seem to be very busy of late.
Does it have anything to do with my niece's affairs?"

Taking
a sip of his wine, Brett answered easily, "Yes, as a matter of fact, it
does."

Francisca
waited for him to continue, but when it appeared that no more information was
forthcoming, she demanded impatiently, "Explain, if you will." Brett
looked at her, and she muttered, "Please."

"Since
you asked so politely," he murmured, "I have been seeing that Fox's
Lair, my plantation some miles south of here, is made ready for our removal
there."

"Removal?"
Sabrina repeated sharply.

Brett
glanced at her. "Yes. Surely you know that it is the custom to retire to
one's plantation for the summer months? The city is only agreeable for the
winter time. But before we can leave, there are necessary alterations to be
made to the house"—he flashed a charming smile to Francisca—"before
it is suitable for such delightful visitors."

Francisca
was not the least charmed. "I do not think that this is a good idea! We
have no intention of leaving New Orleans! " she stated firmly.

But
before she could continue further, his face implacable, Brett said coolly,
"It really doesn't matter what you think,
Senor
. By the first of
June, Sabrina and I will be living at Fox's Lair—if you wish to accompany your
niece, do so. If you don't"—his voice grew silky—"I'm certain you can
find other accommodations here in the city."

Sabrina
watched with appalled fascination as Francisca's hand tightened around the
knife she was holding, and for one terrible second Sabrina feared that her aunt
would not be able to resist the impulse to bury it in Brett's chest.

Eyes
narrowed, Brett waited, his body poised for action, but then, as if regaining
control of herself, Francisca smiled sickly. "You must forgive me, Senor ,
" she muttered thickly. "I am not used to having my wishes held in
such little regard."

Brett
made some polite reply and then went on to talk of Fox's Lair as if nothing
unpleasant had ever occurred. The awkward moment was past, but Sabrina really
wasn't surprised when Francisca refused the strawberry glace for dessert and
excused herself early. Left alone with Brett, Sabrina started to rise, saying
hastily, "I'm not hungry anymore either. I'll leave you to finish your
meal in peace."

"Sit
down, Sabrina," Brett commanded dryly. "I don't intend to attack you,
so don't run from me like a frightened doe."

Indignantly
Sabrina gasped, "I am not frightened! I just thought-"

"You
just thought you'd better go soothe your aunt?" he asked with a sardonic
lift of his brow.

"Well,
you were rather rude to her!" she said defensively.

"No
more than she was to me," he stated wearily. Looking at her, he demanded,
"Do you really think I like being so impolite? And do you really think I
am not aware of her resentment and bitterness? That I don't see the black looks
she sends my way, or know that she'd really have liked to use that knife on
me?" He snorted. "Your aunt hates the very sight of me, and she is
the last person I would want standing near me if I were at the edge of a
cliff."