Virginia Henley (31 page)

“How could you fill so quickly?”

“I’m fully erect, but all men have a refractory period after ejaculation before they can spend again.”

“How long is the interval?” she asked curiously.

“It varies from man to man. A few seconds for a boy … perhaps hours for an older man.”

“How long is your refractory period?” she asked, rubbing herself against his neck.

“Perhaps five minutes. About the same time it took you to become aroused again.”

“You devil! Do you know all my secrets?” she laughed.

Adam went down on his knees so she could dismount. She was about to dance out of his reach, but he was far too quick for her. He slipped to the rug and pulled her down into his lap, then he proceeded to kiss her very, very thoroughly. He didn’t leave off the kisses until her mouth was swollen, beestung, and completely slaked, then his
mouth moved much lower to render her other lips swollen, beestung, and completely slaked.

She must have slept, for when she awoke they were entwined in the bed, her mouth against the strong column of his throat, his arms holding her a prisoner against his loins.

Adam had lain motionless, his mind in turmoil while she slumbered. He knew he desired this lovely young creature much more than the repressed woman who waited for him in Ceylon. He toyed with the idea of waking her and forcing her to tell him her name and circumstances. Surely his money could erase her difficulties and make it possible for them to be together.

Savage knew he wasn’t being fair. She was too young for him, too innocent. His sinister past would taint her. Best leave things as they were. A brief liaison that neither would soon forget was infinitely preferrable to ruining a young life. He sighed deeply for what might have been.

Antonia stirred and opened her eyes. Dawn had already painted the sky a blush-pink. His lips moved against her hair. “Don’t leave yet. Stay with me awhile.”

Her lips moved against his throat with a silent word. “Forever.”

When he sat up and swung his legs to the floor, she was the one to murmur a protest at the separation. She watched with possessive eyes as he stretched his lithe body and knifed his powerful hand through his hair. Then, naked, he walked out onto the balcony to greet the dawn. He looked down and waved to someone below.
“Paisano! Amico!”
Adam’s Italian was limited to a few indispensable words.

Antonia heard a burst of speech from below and was amazed that he stood conversing stark naked.

“Veniva?”

She realized he was asking for food!

He grabbed a basket, unfastened the curtain tassel, and lowered them over the balcony railing. Then he came back
in for money and tossed down the coins. Whoever was below began to question him and he gave laughing answers. She understood the word
donna
meant woman. They knew he had a woman in his chamber!

Laughter drifted up to her.
“Quell’ animale.”
They were calling him a wild animal. Their voices were filled with approval.

Suddenly Adam came back into the room. “He won’t let go of the food until he has seen you.”

Antonia gasped. Then she capitulated. It was far too late to become all prudish now. She slipped her arms through Adam’s shirtsleeves and ran out to his waiting arms. He kissed her good morning before his appreciative audience and Antonia quickly tucked the shirttail between her legs, knowing the man below could see her bare bum. He was a good sport.

“Bene! Bellissimo! Vai siete bella.”

“He says you are very beautiful,” Adam whispered, “and very naked.”

“Oh, you devil.” As she ran back to the bed all Adam could see were the glorious long legs. She sat cross-legged waiting for him. “What did you get?”

“Fruit, fresh-baked bread, and spicy Italian sausage.”

“Mmm. Ambrosia! Food for the gods! You may feed me.”

He cocked a dark eyebrow at her. “This food is mine. I paid for it.”

“I have no money. What will you take?”

“The shirt off your back will suffice.”

She slipped her arms from his sleeves and held the shirt out to him. He was delighted that she had no inhibiting false modesty. He set the basket between them. “Help yourself, my darling.”

She pretended to ponder her choice, then reached clear beneath the basket to possess his manhood. “I choose spicy Italian sausage.” The contents of the basket spilled across the bed as he grabbed for her.

His pretended ferocity was almost frightening. With a little cry she scrambled away from him, but he caught her ankles and slowly dragged her across the black satin sheets toward him. The slippery material against her nipples felt so sensuous, she realized she was becoming aroused again. In Adam Savage’s bed it happened in the space of a heartbeat. She knew he would satisfy her body’s cravings, but briefly she wondered what would happen when she was back to being a boy back to being Tony. She would have to keep her distance from him else he would have her in a continual state of arousal.

She pushed the thoughts from her mind, as a growling Adam pinned her between his thighs, then came down upon her with his full weight, teasing and tantalizing her sensitive skin with his crisp pelt. His beard scratched her face and she found it so thrillingly masculine, she went weak.

“Let me teach you to purr,” he murmured against her lips, then he took complete possession of her, mastering her tongue, blotting out everything but the feel and the taste of him.

Afterward he gathered her into his lap so they could feed each other bits of sausage and bread, and the luscious fruit of sunny Italy. Suddenly even eating became a sensual experience, as he licked and sucked her fingers when she fed him. Each knew the time was running out and they tried to prolong their fantasy. She touched and massaged every part of his powerful body, committing it to memory. She ached because she could not have him deep within her to satisfy him as a real woman would, but he was adamant and would not be disobeyed.

He was caressing her lovely round breasts while she rode his marble thigh, and he taught her how to pleasure herself if her need became great enough. Suddenly he pierced her with his ice-blue gaze and said, “Why don’t I order us a bath? You can wash the golden powder from
your hair and scrub that butterfly mask from your beautiful face so I can see what you really look like.”

A look of panic crossed her face. “No! No bath. Sadly, I must be going.”

“Sweet, are you certain about the bath? You reek of my male scent,” he said huskily.

She shook her head. “It must be noon. I should have left at dawn. Help me to dress.”

He fastened her into the little gold bodice, but she could not find the gold drawers. Finally she gave up and stepped into the golden tulle skirt. Her steps dragged reluctantly as she walked to the door. She saw that the little golden key was missing and looked at him with liquid eyes that were ready to spill over.

“I cannot give you the key until you tell me your last name.”

“Lam … beth,” she whispered, knowing half a lie was better than none. She knew she would never be the same again. He loomed over her, dark and brooding. She put her hands against his black pelt and went up on tiptoe to kiss him good-bye. “Thank you, Adam, for the gift of knowledge. It is priceless.”

When their lips parted, he pressed the key into her hand.

Back in her room at Casa Danieli she ordered a bath. It took her half an hour before she stepped into the water. She wanted to keep his masculine scent upon her body, his kisses on her half-bruised mouth. God only knew if she’d ever share in them again.

She washed the golden powder from her hair, marveling at how much it had grown since the night Roz had cut it. She brushed it back severely and clubbed it into a queue with a black leather thong. She dressed in her male clothing, refusing to allow herself to mourn her feminine attire.

Antonia packed her bag, carefully hiding her makeup at the bottom, and then at the last minute she folded the small golden bodice, shaped like a crown, to take with her. The golden tissue skirt was left hanging in the wardrobe, a discarded ghost of her fantasy to be relegated to the past and forgotten.

Before she closed the door upon the make-believe, she reflected upon her feelings. She hadn’t the slightest regret for what she had done. She had set out to seduce him, but it had been his mouth that had accomplished the seduction. She felt wonderful. More alive than she’d ever felt in her life.

On the way back to the ship she stopped to order a great quantity of Venetian talc to be sold in England, not only as hair powder, but face powder, for it was infinitely preferred over the dangerous white lead.

Tony was relieved that she boarded the
Flying Dragon
before Savage returned to the ship. She kept to her cabin until the talc was delivered. She was watching it being stowed in the hold when Savage came aboard. He didn’t even question her about what she had bought, but went quietly about his business with a closed look upon his face. He seemed as if his thoughts were engaged elsewhere, and yet he was aware of every inch of the clipper ship and every man jack aboard her. After he checked her from stem to stern he lost no time getting her under sail. Savage was England bound and seemingly couldn’t get away from Venice fast enough.

For the rest of that day and all of the next he stood alone at the wheel. His demeanor was unapproachable, daunting even, and for once Antonia was thankful for it. It
was best to keep a very wide and very safe distance between them.

As Savage sailed the ship through the Adriatic, back down to the Mediterranean, he noted with sardonic amusement that quite a change had come over young Lord Lamb. There he was with a scarf tied about his head like the rest of the crew, scrambling up and down the rigging like a damned monkey. The sun was turning him brown, and he had a new carefree attitude that came with a healthy abundance of self-confidence. Something had obviously happened to him in Venice that had made him grow up. Savage often heard him whistling and singing, and even a stormy crossing of the Bay of Biscay did not destroy his newfound high spirits and laughing temperament.

Savage wished he felt the same. He did not. He searched for words to describe the mood he had fallen into. It was not exactly brooding, but it was decidedly reflective. He had gone to Venice to be dissipated and dissolute, to act the libertine. Instead he had found romance.

Romance was the last thing in the world he sought, and yet he wouldn’t have traded his Venetian romance for all the tea at Leopard’s Leap. Sailing up the coast of France he became downright introspective. He had laid his plans for the future so carefully for when he returned to England from the Indies. He had built Edenwood and chosen a chatelaine to grace the stately home, who would be the perfect political hostess. His future was settled. Meeting the golden goddess in Venice who was little more than half his damned age had suddenly made him dissatisfied with his life. He swore a filthy curse and purged her from his thoughts. It had been blissful while it lasted, but he was determined never to think of her again!

They made port in Le Havre for the night with the intention of taking on fresh water. Savage issued an order that no crew member must be ashore after dusk, and all seemed inclined to obey. Savage turned a blind eye when
McSwine and the Scotsman invited a couple of whores who worked the French docks aboard.

Tony did not stay belowdecks, but she kept to herself as she strolled the deck, listening to the music and laughter of the crew and that of other ships docked close by. Only the Channel separated her from England. Had the scandal of the duel blown over in the month she’d been away, or did she have it all to face down once she arrived back in London? And Bernard Lamb—would he be waiting for her, waiting to avenge himself, waiting to eliminate her at his first opportunity?

Tony was lost in deepest thought when suddenly a shadowy figure glided silently past her, close enough for her to reach out and touch. She remained motionless, not even breathing, then all of a sudden it came to her that it was Adam Savage leaving the ship. His scent came to her first. Never, ever could she mistake it for another. The second thing that told her it was him was his size and the fact that he moved with the stealth and grace of a leopard. He was garbed in dark, rough garments, almost rags. She let him go without a word. She refused to allow her infatuation for him to blind her to the fact that he was dangerous, sinister, and likely up to his damned icy blue eyes in some illicit smuggling operation. She did not know what it could be. She did not want to know.

Suddenly she lost her desire to be up on deck. She knew she would feel much more secure in her own small cabin. She washed her hands and face, then reclined in her hammock, swinging back and forth, thinking of all the ports they had visited this past month. The hammock soon lulled her to sleep, where she had a pleasant dream about her brother Anthony.

About three o’clock in the morning someone was shaking her awake. She felt a hand upon her shoulder and almost jumped out of her skin.

“Tony, don’t be alarmed. It’s only me,” Savage murmured.

It was pitch-black in the cabin. She swung her legs to the floor to keep the hammock from swaying. “What the devil do you want?” she demanded.

“I need your help with something in my cabin. I don’t want to disturb the crew. Will you come?”

“I suppose so,” she said stiffly, thinking he’d smuggled something aboard. They moved slowly and silently down the companionway to Savage’s cabin and he fumbled with the oil lamp until he got it lit.

Tony turned to watch him shrug out of a tattered black coat, bracing herself for what was to come. The last thing in the world she expected was his next words.

“I’ve a ball in my shoulder and I want you to take it out for me.”

“Ohmigod, why didn’t you say something immediately?” She was upset. “This is what happens when you go crawling about the underworld in the dead of night!”

“Save me the lecture, lad,” Savage said quietly. His shirt was black and didn’t show the blood, but once the shirt was stripped off, blood was everywhere and she saw that he’d lost a copious amount.

There was a low tap on the cabin door. Savage nodded his head, so she answered it. It was Mr. Baines with a kettle of boiling water.

“Thank you, Mr. Baines,” she said with relief.

“Can you cope, lad?” he questioned.

“We’ll manage,” Savage said crisply. “I want you on watch for the law.”

Mr. Baines touched his forelock in a silent salute and withdrew. When she turned back to Savage he was holding his knife blade in the flame of the lamp. Tony kept her eyes lowered as she washed the blood from his chest. As her fingers touched the well-remembered muscles she thought grimly, I
didn’t think I’d have at him again this soon.
Tony examined the wound closely.

“I know it hasn’t shattered my shoulder blade—it’s just imbedded in the muscle.”

Without a word she took hold of the knife handle. She hesitated for a minute or two as she gathered her courage. Her own common sense told her she must be quick and she must go deep enough to rid him of the ball with one decisive thrust. She must not probe and prick at it incessantly and ineffectually. She took a deep breath, bit down upon her lip, and plunged in the sharp point of the knife.

Red blood welled up and trickled down his chest immediately, but she let out her breath with a
whoosh
as the ball dropped into the metal washbowl. Her glance went to his liquor cabinet. There was wine and there was rum. Quickly she took up the rum and brought it back to the table. Again she hesitated, but Savage said calmly, “I can separate my mind from the pain.”

Quickly she flooded the wound with the raw rum and watched him stiffen. She felt a small measure of satisfaction that indeed he had felt the pain. It served him bloody well right for whatever criminal act he had committed.

He directed her to a box of dressings and bandages and she had to apply pressure to the wound to staunch the blood before she could bandage it. They heard footsteps overhead on deck.

Savage said, “Get rid of this lot. Put it all inside the wardrobe and fetch me my dressing gown.”

Tony threw the bloodied shirt and towels on the floor of the wardrobe, then she put in the bandage box and even the bowl of bloodied water. She helped him into a claret-colored brocade dressing gown and before he tied the sash another knock came upon the cabin door.

“Quick, get into the bunk,” he ordered.

Without thinking she obeyed him. Savage’s gaze swept the cabin before he moved across it to open the door. Mr. Baines’s square face was unreadable. “Sorry to disturb you, sir, but the gendarme here insists he was following a criminal who boarded the
Flying Dragon.”

Savage fixed Mr. Baines, then the French official, with an icy blue stare. Then he drawled, “Since you have disturbed
us, I suggest you come in and take a good look about. My young companion and I have been secluded in this cabin all night.”

The Frenchman directed a penetrating look at the boy in the bed. He could not keep a look of distaste from his face for what had apparently been going on. He looked back at the man in the dressing gown. “I’d like to search the vessel,” he said in heavily accented, but understandable, English.

“By all means,” drawled Savage. “I’ll give you thirty minutes.”

When the door closed, Tony jumped from the berth, white faced with anger. “You bastard,” she hissed, “how could you use me in such a degrading manner?”

“Easy, Tony, I didn’t actually bugger you,” he mocked.

Her cheeks flamed. She wanted to smash him in the face. Her fists doubled and she took a threatening step toward him, when to her amazement, Savage staggered on his feet.

“Peste!”
she cursed, then helped him to the bunk and brought the decanter of rum. “Have a good swig,” she ordered gruffly. Tony held it to his mouth while he took a few swallows.

The mocking light faded from Savage’s eyes. “Thanks,” he said sincerely.

Tony sat down, and only after she knew he had fallen asleep did she make her way to her own cabin. She lay down, but after a length of time acknowledged the truth to herself. She’d never rest while he lay wounded, doors away. She got up, unhooked the hammock, and managed to drag it along to his cabin. She hooked it across the corner and, leaving the lamp lit, lay down, listening to his even breathing.

Tony must have dozed, but Savage was becoming so restless, he had kicked the wall and roused her. She was across the cabin in an instant, a hand pressed to his brow. He was definitely feverish. His bowl was still full of blood,
so she took his fresh-water jug and sponged his face and neck over and over in an attempt to cool him down. Savage began to mutter. She paid little heed to his murmurings until he began to call for someone.

“Ann … Ann … are you there?”

The color came and went in her cheeks as she realized he was calling for her. He repeated the name over and over, becoming more restless with each minute. Finally in desperation she slipped her hand into his and murmured, “Yes, Adam. I’m here.”

“Ann?” he demanded.

“Yes, yes. I’m stay. Try to rest.”

He did seem to settle more peacefully after that, but she could feel the heat of his fever through his hand. She wondered wildly what she would do if he was still delirious by morning and the authorities returned. She leaned against the bunk, all her thoughts in disarray. She was elated that he had called for her in his delirium. If only … she had never begun the deception of taking her brother’s place. If only Adam Savage were not involved in sinister, illegal activities … if only he were not a shameless womanizer, having affairs with half of London’s society hostesses … if only …

She slipped her hand from his and returned to her bunk. In less than two hours a knock came upon the cabin door. Tony was roused from sleep when she heard Savage call, “Come in, Mr. Baines.”

The first mate opened the door, took in the scene with calm eyes, and said, “First tide, sir. Do we sail on her?”

Savage swung his feet to the cabin floor. “Yes, Mr. Baines. Take us home.”

“I’m glad you’re recovered,” Tony said stiffly, and took her departure along with Mr. Baines.

Tony didn’t see him again until they had docked in London. Savage told her he would send word as soon as the
Red Dragon
returned from its voyage to the Indies so that he could supervise the loading of the cargo he’d purchased.
Though she subjected him to a close scrutiny, he looked completely recovered and back in total command of himself and everyone about him. Someday she’d like to shatter that arrogant composure to smithereens!