Till Dawn Tames the Night (15 page)

Now all she waited for was the pirate. He didn't disappoint her. In a matter of minutes after Benny left, she heard Vashon's commanding footsteps in the passage. The cabin door swung open and she was finally alone with her nemesis.

In silence he entered and closed the door. He gave her a penetrating glance, then calmly went to a chest and retrieved a fresh linen shirt. As she watched him change, she noted with some satisfaction the ugly rent in the garment he had on. She also saw the slight gash on his side, right where the muscle of his torso gripped his ribs. The wound still trickled a bit of blood. Flossie's parasol had certainly met its mark.

Her satisfaction was fleeting, however, especially when he turned his naked back to her and presented her with the dragon. The taut, well-defined muscles of his shoulders rippled beneath the beast as he pulled on his shirt. His long black queue partially hid the serpent's eyes, but when they did spy out at her, they filled her with a raw, overwhelming terror. This man was like no other she'd ever had to deal with. The only thing she knew for sure about him was that he was dangerous.

"If I'm to be held prisoner on this ship, I should like to return to my own cabin," she announced, desperately trying to keep her voice even.

Upon her unexpected statement, he turned and met her gaze. A smirk appeared on his fine lips. "We'll have a long talk,
Aurore
,
then
I'll see how to proceed."

"If it's my cooperation you seek, you'll not gain it this way." She gave a tug on her bound hands,
then
abruptly looked away, as if he were no longer worthy of her attention.

Her snub seemed to irritate him. He went to her and took a lock of her hair that was on the far side of her face. He got her attention back when he slowly pulled the curl across her mouth. She was forced to turn and face him, or risk a painful tug.

"Let me make things perfectly clear," he whispered down at her, his eyes brilliant with annoyance. "It's not I who has to win
youf
cooperation; it's the reverse. If you want your hands untied, you will earn the privilege. If you desire your own cabin, you will earn that as well.

"Lastly, let me tell you this: If all goes well, I promise you every luxury on this ship will be yours for the asking. If things don't go well . . ." His insolent gaze raked once down her figure. That one gesture was more of a threat than all his words.

She fought back her rising hysteria. She was no match for this man. By the looks of him, his entire life must have been one of rape and pillage and murder. No doubt he took anything or anybody he wanted to have, then gloried in his conquests. How could she fight him? What weapon did she have to use against him? Physically, she was less than half his size; the top of her head barely skimmed his shoulder. Her strength was puny compared to his. He was obviously a man of great power, one who had fought many an ignoble battle. Beside him she was insignificant, a little brown wren fluttering against the jaws of a lion.

But one part of her was not insignificant.
Her
will could fight him even if her body could not. Many thought her retiring and
unspirited
. John certainly had. But deep down she had always believed that was not so, and that was how she'd summoned the courage to leave the Home when she had. She'd always thought that if given the chance she would have just as much spirit as the heroines in her novels John so disapproved of. It was now the time to prove it, even if just to herself.

She looked up at Vashon and saw the glint in his eyes. He was pleased to see her so terrified. If she became hysterical, he'd doubtless be overcome by wicked glee. Suddenly her anger boiled over. Right then and there, beneath this vile pirate's heavy-lidded stare, she swore to make her will the equal of his. Or die trying.

"I should like my hands untied," she commanded in her most brittle voice.

He dropped her tress and leisurely brushed the remaining red-gold strands off her moist mouth. He seemed to enjoy the task, for he took an abominable amount of time doing it. Her lips seemed to burn with his every touch.

She stared at him, her eyes snapping with anger.

Finally he taunted, "Why don't you try saying 'please'? That always puts me in an amenable mood."

She turned away. Even in her lowly station in life, she had never had to endure such humiliation. Begging this wretched villain to untie her was beyond the pale.

"You won't say it, Aurora?"

She still refused to look at him. It would choke her to have to say "please" to this barbarian.

He laughed. "All right then,
stay
there. I can't wait to see your face when I undress for bed. If you blush so easily when I'm without a shirt, you should have a nice fit of vapors when you see my choice of bedclothes."

Her gaze darted to his.

"Still unsure?"
His hand hedonistically rubbed the dark hairs on his chest that were exposed by his untied shirt.

"I won't be bullied. Not by you. Not by anyone."

"Well, well, we're going to fight, are we?" he observed. "Then why don't I take a little nap now and we can test those
missish
nerves?"

Without pause he pulled off his fresh shirt. Her eyes widened at what he seemed about to do, but still she held her ground. She calmed herself by remembering that she'd seen his bare chest before. This worked, even when he sat on a nearby chair and pulled off his boots. But when he bent to release the first button of his trousers, her panic overwhelmed her. She turned her head away. It was all she could do not to squeeze her eyes shut.

"Come now,
Aurore
,
that's not much of a fight."

She heard a garment fall to the ground. With a rustle of fabric, the garment was kicked aside. Was he now naked and standing just a few feet behind her? The thought left her face as white as a sheet.

"What have you to say,
Miss Dayne?"
he taunted. "One word and you'll be untied."

She shuddered. Still she held her ground. She just wished she had the courage to look at him.

"Are we refusing to cooperate?"

She turned her head further away and twisted the bindings on her hands. What would he do to force her to comply with his wishes? She didn't know, but she was determined to stay where she was.
Forever if necessary.

"All right.
We can't go on like this forever . . ."

Suddenly she heard him run. His bare feet pounded on the floorboards as he took a flying leap at the bed. He landed squarely on the mattress. A scream escaped her lips. Unable to stop herself, her gaze flew to his well-muscled form. To her chagrin, she watched him toss back his head and laugh until tears welled in the corners of his eyes.

His pants were still very much on. She looked over to where he had stood and saw the waistcoat he had dropped on the floor. He had made her look a fool. At the moment she was too astonished at his trickery to even be angry.

But quickly she felt him grasp her wrists. She tried to pull away, but he had knelt at the end of the bed and was slowly pushing her hands down the bedpost. When she was forced to lower herself, he took her hair in a gentle knot and pulled her head just inches from his. With a very somber expression on his face, he warned, "You're all too easy to frighten, little wren. A twelve-year-old boy could do a good job of it." He forced her even closer. "But I'm not a twelve-year-old boy. And I know how to truly frighten little women like you. So I suggest that we drop these games and you cooperate . . . or you'll see how frightening I really am."

She tried to turn away, but his hand held her hair too tightly. She meant to hold out, but all at once a strange expression flitted across his handsome features. He suddenly looked hungry and covetous—as if she in her innocence possessed some kind of treat he'd never tasted before.

Fear as tangible as the blood in her veins pumped wildly through her body. He wanted her.
As John Phipps had wanted her.
But Vashon's manipulations were much more dark and sinister than John Phipps's had been, for this man could make her desire him in return, and, unwillingly, she already felt herself responding. Her belly grew taut and her nether regions melted and pulsed. He reached for her, and though they weren't even touching, his mouth seemed to pull at hers. She was all too aware of the dangers he presented. With one kiss he meant to punish her, free her, and enslave her all at the same time. His lips just opened for the kiss, and she buckled.

"Please"
she choked out, despising him as she had never despised anyone.

His eyes flew open. One jet black eyebrow lifted derisively. He looked thoroughly displeased, as if he'd been more looking forward to her punishment than to her co-
operatien
.
" 'Please
untie my hands,' " he prompted, goading her in his annoyance.

"Please—untie—my—hands—" she stiffly repeated.

It worked. Her bindings were off in seconds. Finally free, she stumbled back from him and groped for the door handle. Yet she found her hands too numb and clumsy to open it. She began to rub some life back into them, but before she could manage, he stopped her.

"It's locked," he said.

She spun and faced him. "I cannot return to my cabin?"

"Not yet. Come here and sit down." He motioned to the dolphin-legged couch.

When she didn't move, he grabbed the torn edges of the back of her dress and pulled her to the couch as if she were a kitten held by its scruff. He eased himself down next to her and raised his bare feet onto a nearby chair,
then
he leaned back and perused her.

"What are you looking at?" She gave him a baleful stare and indignantly pulled her disheveled gown back onto her shoulders.

"I was just thinking that we're not that far away from

St. George's. And until we are, I believe
it's
best you stay here with me. I've no inclination to go after you, should you decide to swim back."

"I cannot swim."

"Good."

"But because I haven't that avenue of escape, that doesn't mean I'll endure these indignities forever." With a great show of self-possession, she again shoved up the shoulders of her gown. But it was no use. No matter how she pulled and adjusted and stretched the coarse linen of her dress, she still despaired at the sight of her sheer cotton chemise. Finally she was forced to use her hands. With her arms crossed over her chest like a shield, she barraged him with accusatory glances.

Her silent reprimands only seemed to irritate him. Piqued, he said, "The first thing you can dispense with, Miss Dayne, is this infernal guarding of your maidenhood. I promise you, no one on this ship is going to snatch it away."

She gave him a look of utter disbelief.

He only laughed.

"I won't have you or any other man looking at my . . . undergarments," she retorted, refusing to lower her hands.

That all-too-familiar smirk appeared on his lips. "What is it you're attempting to hide? Have you, like so many fashionable women these days, developed a penchant for bust improvers?"

She gasped. "How—how—
dare
—you even mention— such a thing—
"

"Then release your hands."

"I most certainly will not!"

"I hate to crush you, my dear Miss Dayne, but I've seen a woman's chemise before, and while yours
appears
to be fetchingly well endowed, I assure you the mere sight of it doesn't inflame me beyond all control."

She shot him a shocked look,
then
damned the uncontrollable color that began suffusing her cheeks. She cared not a whit that he was left unmoved by her state of undress, but it was infuriating that he could turn things around and make it look as if she did. Yet despite his taunts, she was determined to retain what was left of her dignity. Her hands clutched at her dress until her knuckles were white.

When he noted her stiffening posture, his annoyance only seemed to increase. He gave a discouraging glance to the small teapot that Benny had brought in,
then
a grim smile twisted his mouth. "Perhaps it's some spirits we need. A little brandy should do the trick—that should loosen you up, get you talking. Perhaps even take out that infernal stick that's up your—"

"No!" she interrupted, refusing to let him finish whatever crude remark he was about to make. "I don't want any spirits. I just want to know what you're up to. In fact, I demand to settle this now so that you can turn us back to St. George's."

Ignoring her, he went to his bookcase and opened one polished mahogany door. Behind it were several decanters. He picked one that contained a brilliant amber liquid. With two cut-crystal tumblers also in hand, he walked back to the dolphin-legged couch.

"Have a drink, Miss Dayne," he ordered.

"Your wretched liquor won't affect my tongue. So I demand that you tell me your business immediately."

"Ah, that's very good." He laughed and poured a healthy two fingers into one tumbler.

"This serves no purpose. I refuse to speak a word until I understand what is going on—and until I'm treated with more deference."