Wild Hearts (44 page)

"You usually make me do both." She laughed breathlessly.

"Come with me."

"Where?" she asked.

"Just follow me, don't ask questions."

"Paris!" she protested, thinking he was about to take her to bed.

"Trust me!" he bade her. "Can't you simply trust me and come when I ask you?"

"Of course I don't trust you, but I shall come with you. I would do anything you asked, you know that."

"Mmm, that's a promise I'll hold you to." He laughed suggestively as he led her from the hall and through the castle yard to the path that led down the cliffs, down the sandstone steps that led to the seashore. He broke the silence. "I'm so sick and tired of my family and their everlasting problems. I want to get away. Just the two of us."

She waited for him to explain further.

"Family"— he laughed, mirthlessly—"sometimes I think they belong to another species, not my own flesh and blood."

She squeezed his hand to dispel his darklings.

"Thou shalt not covet," he intoned. "Well, by God, I do covet a little peace and privacy. I want to give you a honeymoon." They came upon a small rowboat, and he bade her step in while he pushed them from shore. She could make out the lights on the
Sea Witch
as the outgoing tide swept them rapidly toward the ship.

What was happening seemed so unreal, she asked herself if this could be a dream, but the salt spray that brushed her cheek was real enough. She thought of the expensive gown she wore. and how it was being ruined beyond repair but bit her lip so she would not spoil his adventure. A huge wave almost tipped them, but she laughed recklessly, beginning to enjoy herself.

Paris bellowed, "Ahoy, ahoy!" His men had been watching for him and already had the rope ladder over the side. Eager hands reached down for her as Paris lifted her to his shoulder and boosted her aloft. Then he was on deck beside her, his arm securely about her shoulders, propelling her along to that cabin of opulent luxury, which had left her speechless with shyness the first time she had glimpsed it. It was just as she remembered. She blushed as she remembered what had taken place in the bed the first night they were wed. The air was warm and fragrant from the braziers and incense burners. Even the wall panels were made of scented sandalwood, which was disturbing to the senses. Piles of soft cushions and pillows lay everywhere, to beckon and tempt.

Paris turned her face up to his and kissed her until all her breath was gone; then he sighed a deep, satisfying sigh and said, "I have to weigh anchor and attend to a thousand things to get us under way, but once we are on course, I'll join you. I may be a while, love, so amuse yourself. No storms this time, my darling, I promise you."

She gazed about her, thoroughly bemused. It was as if she were still dreaming, though now the dream had turned into gossamer make-believe. She caught sight of herself in a silvered mirror and was shocked to see how disheveled she looked. She stripped off the wilted gown, which had been such a pretty confection only hours ago, and in her corselette went into the bathing cabinet to wash.

Lovely scented soap suds refreshed her from head to toe. She couldn't put her stockings back on, as they were wet and dirtied from the bottom of the rowboat. Whatever would she wear? He had brought her away on a whim without thought of daily necessities. On impulse, she opened his wardrobe crammed with his beautifully tailored, expensive clothes. She might be forced to wear his fine lawn shirts. She fingered his velvet robe, lavishly embroidered, and wished he were not such a giant. She closed the wardrobe and glanced around the room. She opened one of the many trunks that lined the wall and gasped with delight at the brilliantly colored materials inside.

She held up the cloth, which was so sheer, it was almost invisible. It was some kind of veiling, woven with a magic thread that made it glimmer with a sheen of its own. She found a small casket filled with gold chains so finely wrought, they looked as if they would break upon being touched. There was a colored drawing of a woman in some sort of strange, exotic costume. She studied it and tried not to blush. The breasts were held up and out by a clever device that cupped them but revealed, all at the same time. She glanced into the chest and discovered such a contraption lying beneath another wisp of veiling. It dawned on her that the chest contained a costume like the woman wore in the picture: Its lure was irresistible.

She quickly divested herself of her corset and stood naked before the mirror. She clasped the device about her breasts, fastening it behind her, and stared in amazement as her reflection revealed the twin, thrusting spheres, enlarged beyond belief. She fastened the veiling about her waist. It fell in folds to her ankles, but she giggled as she looked into the mirror and saw that it totally revealed her bare legs and red, curly triangle of pubic hair. She looked in the trunk for some kind of pantaloons but found nothing. She looked at the drawing again and saw that the woman indeed wore nothing under the veiling, save gold chains. She lifted the skirt and fastened a double link of gold chains around her hips, then added more to wrists and ankles. She explored further and found an ornate ivory casket that opened to reveal exotic kohl and lip paint. Vials of oil and musky scents stood alongside pots of silvery and gold gloss that smelled deliciously of lemon and almond. Tentatively, she began to experiment. So absorbed in her task of tip-tilting the corners of her eyes with kohl, she failed to hear the door open and close.

"Tabrizia."

She stood to face him, and his eyes traveled from her face, lingered on her breasts, widened at her veiled thighs, then dipped to her ankles and slowly traveled back up her body. "How the name suits you," he breathed.

She was flushed with the excitement of him seeing her thus. As he advanced slowly, deep-dark promises smoldering in his eyes, she backed away with a cry of delicious fear. He simply reached out and took her. As his mouth slanted across hers hungrily, his fingers deftly undid the brassiere and lifted off the veiled skirt.

"Walk around for me," he asked. "Let me look at you."

She moved slowly across the cabin, then turned to look at him. The look in his eyes made her feel lovely, special, desired beyond all other women.. She brought her arms up beneath the red mass of hair, lifted it high, then slowly let it fan out and ripple down in a silken waterfall across her bared shoulders. She walked slowly forward and stood on tiptoe to press a light, teasing kiss to his lips, then she wound her arms around his sturdy neck. He lifted her against him, and she could feel his heart thudding against her bare breast.

"Whenever I'm near you, I'm like a man starving. Your touch and caress are my food and drink. Prepare, my love, I am about to devour you."

His fingers sought the private place where only he had gone before, knowing full well the sensations would provoke her to cry his name again and again. He slipped one of the cushions beneath her buttocks so that he would be able to pierce her more deeply. She opened to him as a blossom to the sun, then she closed on him so tightly, it was his turn to cry out in ecstasy. He held hard inside her without moving, each savoring the throbbing pulsations of the other. Then he began to move with long, silken thrusts, until her moans built into a scream deep within her throat. The violence of her bliss erupted as she came up off the pillows, her hands clinging to his heavily muscled back. Then he filled her with his scalding nectar.

Afterward, Paris rose, took the eiderdown from the bed and brought it to cover them. She stretched luxuriously, languidly, and snuggled against him.

" 'Tis paradise away from everybody," he whispered. "I'll show you places you have only dreamed of."

Reality began to nibble at the outer edges of her consciousness, "How long will we be away?"

"Who knows? Who cares?- Forever, I hope," he said, tightening his hold on her.

"Two days? Two weeks?" she persisted.

"At least," he conceded lazily.

Briefly, she thought of Alexandria. She would have to tell him soon. Not yet, though. She wasn't about to ruin their honeymoon. She pushed thoughts of Alexandria away as she focused on the husky voice of Paris. "You'll see France, your mother's country."

"France?" she whispered in disbelief.

"Where did you think we were going?" He smiled.

"Leith," she said quickly.

"Leith?" He threw back his head and roared with laughter. "First we are going to take the wool across to The Hague, in Holland."

"What comes after Holland?"

"Belgium." He kissed her.

"What comes after Belgium?"

"France." He kissed her again.

"What comes after France?".

He hesitated. "Spain, but I didn't plan on going that far."

"Why not?" she questioned.

"Before we're finished, you'll have the voyage stretch into a year." He chuckled. "Besides, Spain is too hot to make love." He rolled her onto her stomach and swept a hand down her smooth back. She quivered at his touch. His hands began to massage her body. "The climate of France is perfect." He straddled her with his knees and bent to whisper in her ear: "I'll find us a lovely secluded bay along the coast where we can bathe and play naked in shallow azure pools."

"Paris!"

He could always shock her. He loved it. He was in a playful mood now, and grinned to himself as he anticipated how shocked she would be when he showed her what he wanted to do next. Gently, he turned her over to face him.

CHAPTER 19

Her days were lazy, sun-filled, happy. Her nights were rapturous. She found a Chinese silk kimono, and in another brass-bound chest, a beautiful one-shouldered gown that Paris told her was a sari from India. When she went up on deck, she wore one of Paris's shirts and some white linen pants he had found for her.

As soon as he had disposed of the hundreds of bales of raw sheep's wool, he had taken her shopping in The Hague. She had been surprised and delighted at all the very latest Paris fashions they had there. Her sun-kissed days had turned her skin golden. When they looked at each other, they looked deeply. Paris gazed meaningfully into her eyes. They could communicate without speaking. It was almost a spiritual mingling. He had given her his heart; now he was giving her his soul. They were becoming one.

At Calais, a teeming port where anything could be procured, he bought cases of French brandy and beautiful wine from Burgundy and Bordeaux; now, if he could just take on some sweet Spanish wine, his holds would be filled.

As promised, he sought out the private cove, and they had played and frolicked the afternoon away. She chose the moment deliberately. They were preparing for bed that night when she said softly, "I know who is the father of Alexandria's child."

He looked at her a long time. "You have known all this voyage and are only getting to it now?" he asked mildly.

"I didn't want to spoil our lovely holiday," she said quickly.

"Then I take it the news is unpleasant?"

"Well, yes. That is, I know you will be angry."

He had stopped undressing, He searched her face and said, "Does it not occur to you that you are deliberately manipulating me? 'Tis a womanish trick I particularly despise."

"Manipulating?" she said hesitantly.

"Bestow your favors on me until I'm sated, then feed me the nasty medicine while I am in a mellow mood." His eyes clouded, then veiled over.

She panicked as she saw him withdraw from her

"Who?" he demanded.

She hesitated, not wanting to tell him this way. He was angry now; he would go berserk when she gave him the name!

"I won't ask again," he threatened.

"Gordon. Adam Gordon," she gabbled.

Not by the flicker of an eye did he indicate that he had heard her, but she knew he had. After a full two minutes, he turned and left the cabin, not even banging the door after him. She slept alone.

The next day, delicious offerings arrived from the galley at exactly the usual times, but they were offerings for one. In the late afternoon, she gathered her courage and ventured forth on deck. After a few moments, Ian approached her. "His lordship says the seas are a wee bit rough and suggests ye go below, ma'am."

She knew a storm was brewing, but it had nothing to do with the weather. "Ian, what is our next port?" she inquired.

He looked surprised. "We are bound for Scotland, ma'am. We turned last night."

She went below and stayed below. Two could play this game! She realized he was hurt that she had not shared her knowledge with him the moment she had pried it from Alexandria, but she was torn by family loyalties. Paris thought her first loyalty was to him. Now she was being punished, so that next time she would come to heel. Well, she'd be damned if she would. If he withdrew one step, she'd withdraw three! Besides, she had her baby to occupy her thoughts and keep her from being lonely. After a two-day absence, he approached her. She kept him at a cool, polite distance. He accepted this for the time being, silently cursing himself.

She had never looked more radiant. She bloomed with a soft loveliness that the sea voyage and her pregnancy enhanced. Ian took her ashore before any of the cargo was unloaded, and she was flooded with questions from Alexandria.