Till Dawn Tames the Night (38 page)

He studied her with that piercing emerald gaze. Then his eyes turned to the bed. He dropped the handful of jewels. "These trinkets must seem very vulgar to you."

He didn't let her answer. She thought he was angry, but then he did the strangest thing. He caressed her cheek and slowly released the pins from her hair. She was too shocked to even attempt to stop him and soon her tresses cascaded down her back like a shiny gold-red waterfall.

"They suddenly seem very vulgar to me," he whispered before laying a soft kiss upon her lips. His expression changed. His gaze dipped to her gown and he smiled a slow, wry grin. "But say you'll wear the gowns, Aurora. Ah, but you do look fetching. . . ."

She thought he might kiss her again, but he surprised her once more. He abruptly stepped aside and allowed her to pass. In amazement she turned to stare at him, but he only bowed, motioning her to exit her luxurious jail.

They dined on the marble terrace overlooking
Dragonard's
glorious black beach. The sun sank slowly behind the mists of Mount Soufriere, gilding Nevis in the foreground. Encircling them were two magnificent flamboyant trees, their scarlet blossoms as vivid as a flame. As they ate, the Caribbean sank into a deep turquoise twilight while a sensuous, caressing wind hinted of the scent of oranges.

The breeze touched Aurora's hair and swept it enticingly off her brow. She watched Vashon from across the table. The meal, of course, was extraordinary: salads made with breadfruit and papaw, guinea fowl from the market in Basseterre, and lastly another carved pineapple, a delicacy of which Aurora could never get enough.

Vashon speared a piece with his fork. Perversely, she watched as he brought it to his mouth,
then
ripped it cleanly away with his teeth. For some reason, she found the whole display oddly titillating, and she watched him again, this time closely—noting how his strong jaw moved as he chewed, studying the way his lips clamped the fork, thinking about the taste of the pineapple as it squirted into his mouth.

"Enjoying
yourself
?"

Her gaze shot to the rest of his face. He was smiling as if he had been reading her mind.

Disturbed, she jerked her attention back to her meal, but her thoughts weren't easily diverted. Unbidden, the picture of him eating that piece of pineapple came back to her again with acute detail. She closed her eyes as if that would erase the image, but still she could see him, his tongue meeting it, his teeth crushing it.

She mentally shook herself. What kind of depravity possessed her? What was wrong with her that she couldn't rid herself of this strange fascination? Anxiously she took a bite of her own pineapple. She chewed it absently until she chanced to look at him and found that he had stopped eating, and was now staring at her with equal intensity.

She swallowed and nearly choked. Her stomach felt as though it had dropped two feet.

"What on earth are you looking at?" she gasped.

He put his elbows on the table and rested his chin on his fist. He wasn't smiling, but from the glitter of his eyes, he should have been. "I was looking at the same thing you were."

"I was not looking at you in that manner!" She tried to dismiss him, but nonetheless the glint in his eye was making her supremely uncomfortable.

"No, I assure you, you were staring at me just this way."

"I—I really don't know what you're talking about," she said, growing flustered.

"Ah, I see. Well, let me make myself plain." He lifted his fork to her, a chunk of dripping pineapple on its tip. In a rather obscene manner, he pulled it off with his tongue and sucked it into his mouth. "Is that what you were watching with such rapture?"

Even though she was blushing, she did her best to look indignant. "Ridiculous! Where is the rapture in watching another person
eat
fruit?"

He smiled. And what a wicked smile it was. "Believe me, I could find all kinds of rapture." He removed a piece of fruit from the fruit bowl and laid it before her like a dueling pistol. "Why don't we start with you eating this banana?"

"I haven't the vaguest idea what you're talking about."
"All the more delightful."

She gave him several distrustful glances, as if he'd suddenly gone out of his mind. She didn't understand what he was implying and it bothered her.

He smiled and took another piece of pineapple into his mouth. When he caught her eyeing him, he wiggled his tongue at her.

Disgusted with his prurient behavior, she steeled herself and went back to her dinner. He wasn't making any sense, and she wasn't going to stoop to try and understand him. The best thing she could do was to ignore him.

But that wasn't easy.
Especially when his eyes seemed to linger on her every motion, from raising the fork to her mouth to her very last swallow.
This went on for hours, it seemed, until she couldn't take it anymore. Abruptly she dropped her fork on her plate and stood.

"Flossie must be wondering where I am by now. I must go," she announced.

"Flossie doesn't know you're coming. Sit down." His gaze commanded her back to her chair. Slowly she complied.

"You haven't finished." He looked at her half-filled plate.

She pushed it away. "I most certainly have."

"All right.
Sit there and watch, then." He continued eating, all the while appearing as if he was immensely enjoying himself, quite at her expense.

She refused to give him any further satisfaction. Ignoring him, she turned her attention to the sea that now encircled them like a dark blue band.

When he finished,
Tsing
delivered him a brandy and
her a
cup of tea. She wondered when this interminable dinner was going to end, but just as she did so, he brought something out of the pocket of his waistcoat and tossed it to her.

She looked down. Her locket glittered against the pristine white of the table linen. Slowly she picked it up.

"Are you giving this back?" she asked.

"I shouldn't. After all, it's rightfully mine."

"Is that how you rationalize everything you steal?"

He smiled and sipped his brandy. "You know, Aurora, I'd have never believed you could be so obstinate."

"It's been all my pleasure, believe me."

"But now I'm in a quandary. I need you to help me decipher this rhyme. So do I coax you with honey, or"— he studied the amber liquid in his tumbler—"do I crush you like a blossom beneath my boot?"

She stared at him, her eyes darkening with worry.

"Is big dilemma," he whispered to her, quoting
Tsingtsin
.

She tore her gaze away. Though the night was warm and she was in an abominably ornate gown for the climate, she suddenly felt a chill. How could she be so comfortable in this man's presence when he was such a blackguard? It would never cease to amaze her. Sometimes she almost forgot who he was and what he stood for. Then he would do something or say something that would remind her all too clearly of the terrible power within his grasp.

"How do you think to crush me?" she asked.

"I won't enjoy it," he stated and for once she believed him. But because he wouldn't enjoy it didn't mean he wouldn't do it.

"If you think to repeat more nights like the one we had in Grand
Talimen
, then you're sadly mistaken," she whispered defiantly.

He met her gaze. "If that night upset you, I could make it look like a stroll through Kensington Gardens."

She utterly believed him. "You're threatening me with rape?"

"I don't want to threaten you at all. I just want that emerald and the means to it. Unfortunately, you are the means."

She was silent.

He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms across his broad chest. "What are you thinking of, Aurora? Are you thinking of an agreement? Are you bargaining with me in that head of yours?"

She shot him an angry glance. "Certainly not," she assured him haughtily. "Even a simpleton knows enough not to bargain with Old Nick."

Her superior air made him laugh. "Yes, I can see you, our tight-laced Miss
Dayne
, making a pact with Satan." He took another sip of brandy and chuckled. His mood seemed to improve. "You know, I've never told you this, Aurora, but you remind me of someone. Someone I once held in very high regard."

"And who was that?" she asked smartly. He couldn't be comparing her to Blackbeard and that was the only person she could think of whom he would hold in high regard.

"Her name was Miss Prendergast. Old
Prinny
, we called her. She was my governess—a staunch disciplinarian for whom I caused much grief." He smiled with the remembrance. "But despite all the toads beneath her coverlet and all the spiders in her desk, she persisted to the very end trying to reform me. In truth, we were quite famous friends. I think she must have secretly craved the wildness in me, and, I suppose I craved her tolerance of me—for which she seemed to have an endless supply." A moment passed and his thoughts seemed very far away, as if he were recalling it all with vivid detail. But then his eyes came back to her and he said, "Yes, you definitely remind me of her, Aurora. She was quite the little tight-laced spinster too. Even my mother thought so. I can remember her once telling our cook that it would probably take another Resurrection to get that sour look off Miss
Prinny's
face." He laughed.

Aurora, on the other hand, was speechless. Of all the shocking things he had ever said to her, this was by far the most shocking. She was so completely taken
aback,
she didn't even think that he had just compared her to an elderly sour-faced spinster.

A governess?
This black-haired wild savage sitting before her had once had a governess? She could hardly fathom it. "I really don't understand . . . how
could you
. . . possibly have had . . . ?"

"Have had a life other than the one I lead now?" he finished for her.

She nodded.

His jaw hardened; his eyes turned cold. "Well, I did. I had a very civilized life once.
Until I turned thirteen."

"What happened then?" she whispered.

A grim smile touched his lips. "Have you ever heard of the term 'white slavery'?"

She was hardly able to utter the next logical question. "What does that have to do with you?"

He pinned her with his gaze and looked reluctant to speak, as if what he had to say was too ugly to even put into words. "I, my love, was a highly sought-after commodity."

Sickened, she lowered her gaze. She felt worse than when she'd heard his story about the man who'd attacked him in the
Casbah
. In spite of the genteel atmosphere Mrs. Bluefield had tried to create in the Home, the social ills of the times intruded. By running an orphanage, they were helplessly familiar with the many ways the world abused its children. She knew just what Vashon was describing.

Against her will, her eyes filled with tears. Was this quest for the Star revenge for what had happened to him as a child? Had Peterborough been the one responsible?

All the questions weren't answered, yet she finally believed she understood one facet of him now. That pampered boy of thirteen he'd spoken of, the one who'd had a governess, a mother, and even a cook, had suddenly been thrust into Algiers not only to fight for his very life over a
tuppence
worth of silver, but to fight for the most basic dignity as well. She could see how that would harden that boy toward cruelty.
And how that could create the man who was sitting across from her now.

She looked up and their eyes met. Though all her good sense said to stay uninvolved, she couldn't hide the ache she felt for him. When he saw her face, his expression grew colder and her ache only grew
more deep
.

"My story moves you, doesn't it?" he asked, seeming to take a dispassionate interest in her tears.

"I would be less of a person if it didn't," she answered.

His stare became more intense. "You've a rare and gentle spirit, Aurora. It frightens me how vulnerable that
makes
you."

"Vulnerable?"

He glanced away. Slowly he said, "I want that emerald. I—" He paused. "I really think I might do anything to get it. I implore you. Cooperate. Tell me whatever might help. Assist me. Don't . . . test me."

Again that chill ran down her spine. No matter how her heart bled for that thirteen-year-old boy, she had to remember he was gone now and the dragon was there in his stead.

She wiped away her tears with her napkin. "You do a disservice to yourself, threatening me this way."

"I don't want to threaten you.
I
just want that emerald."

"For revenge on this man Peterborough?
Did he send you to the
Casbah
?" He didn't answer.

She took a deep breath. "Contrary to what they say, Vashon, revenge reaps little satisfaction."

He should have lashed out at her, but he hid his fury with admirable grace. He simply sat there and stared at his brandy. "All right, Aurora. I've noted your position." He met her gaze; his voice turned deadly. "But revenge reaps great satisfaction when that's all you have. And I
will
have revenge on Peterborough."