Captive Embraces (41 page)

Sirena hung her head in complete dejection and humiliation. She would be his slave.

“Come along, then. Don't be offended, but may I say you sorely need a bath! I hesitate to ride in the same carriage with you. Really, Sirena, you must learn to take better care of yourself, else you'll drive me to the arms of another woman.” He chuckled, loud and harsh. It had the familiar ring of the lunatic laughter she had heard during the night.

Later, gratefully at home among her own things, Frau Holtz bathed her and put her to bed. The old woman had tears in her eyes but was lovingly silent. And when Sirena at last fell into an uneasy sleep, it was the Frau's arms about her that chased away the nightmares which came to taunt her.

 

Time and again, Stephan would waken Sirena and insist she go through the intricate fencing maneuvers. Endless nights would pass in sleeplessness, waiting for him to drag her out of bed and down the long staircase into the ballroom. It seemed to the dispirited Sirena that whenever she waited in anticipation of him he would not come. Yet, no sooner would she close her eyes in exhausted sleep than Stephan would be beside her, pulling her from the bed, stating it was time for another lesson.

Sirena never objected beyond a grimace. She remembered Bedlam all too well. Telling her that a husband reigned supreme was not enough for Stephan. He had shown her. She remembered his perfidiousness and was powerless against it.

She spent her days pacing her suite in distraction. Indecision was her downfall. She found it impossible to choose between an egg for breakfast or sweet rolls. The choice of which gown to wear was completely beyond her ken. This terrifying hold Stephan had over her left her confused and tearful. Sirena was totally demoralized, confused and disoriented.

Frau Holtz, who had never seen Sirena this way, not even when a captive of Chaezar Alvarez, was at a total loss for an answer. She knew what Stephan had done to Sirena. She knew the effect being imprisoned in Bedlam had on her mistress, and the old housekeeper decided patience and loving care would bring Sirena out of this state of malaise. Even Wren had difficulty breaking through Sirena's depression and rarely was able to draw a word from her benefactress.

The
Sea Spirit
was nearly ready to sail, but when Frau Holtz related this to Sirena, the green eyes became distracted. Each time the Frau tried arousing Sirena's interest in escaping with Wren and the crew, Sirena would burst into tears and wring her hands in pitiful helplessness. She feared Stephan would find her and place her in Bedlam. At last the Frau desisted, feeling she was doing more harm than good by forcing Sirena to a decision.

One night Stephan had come for Sirena, bringing along a pair of breeches and a boy's shirt for her to wear. Obedient to his wishes, Sirena had donned them and they had become her regular costume for the lessons Stephan pressed on her. The breeches were tight, hugging her hips and thighs like a second skin, and the shirt was far too small and could not be laced over her ample breasts. Soft, lisle stockings and flat-heeled, kid slippers completed the costume.

Sirena had stood in the center of the ballroom waiting for his first move of offense. The night was warm and he had opened the long windows which looked out over the parklike front drive and into the street. Occasionally the clatter of carriage wheels on the cobblestones could be heard along with a “Yah!” from an impatient driver to a recalcitrant horse.

For a moment Sirena stared outside, a winsome expression lining her face. Angry, Stephan made a sudden move to catch her attention and tossed her the rapier. “Don't look so stupidly toward the window, darling. You'll have me thinking you'd rather be out there instead of in here with me. Now take your stance!” he ordered harshly, the light in the room glancing off his eyes, giving them a hard, silvery appearance.

Resignedly, Sirena tightened her hand around the hilt of the weapon and knew again a fierce compulsion to pierce his heart. She would enjoy seeing the life flow from his body and onto the shining floor.

“That's the spark I want to see in your eyes,” Stephan cooed, “the fire of a winner. I hope you'll be worth the effort tonight. You haven't been putting to use all I've taught you.”

Wordlessly, Sirena glared at him and with a toss of her head to throw her gleaming dark tresses over her shoulder, she made the first thrust, hoping to catch Stephan off guard. But he was too much the master, too quick. His reflexes were superb and he was ready for her. “You've forgotten to say 'en garde!' darling,” he said condescendingly. “If I didn't know better, I'd think you meant to kill me!” His feeble attempt at humor seemed to please him and he threw back his head and laughed, all the while keeping a careful eye on her.

With the gesture he exposed the flesh of his throat and Sirena could almost feel the tip of her rapier slitting his neck in two. Several more times Stephan drew her into a parry and Sirena defended herself admirably. “So, it would seem these lessons have been serving you well, darling. Your agility impresses me.” Feinting to the left, but striking to her right side, the hilts of their weapons meshed and locked. Before Stephan could force her arm down, Sirena was ready for him and made an upward slice. Her weapon was free and she swiftly touched his midsection with the protected point.

Stephan seemed startled and pressed another attack. Sirena realized he was trying to discover if it was mere luck on her part or if she had become a truly able student. Wisely, she allowed him the advantage this time, smiling to herself that the master of fencing had a flaw after all.

Time and again he pressed her into the same position, repeatedly she allowed him the win. But her heart was beating rapidly and a small feeling of triumph sizzled through her veins. It had been worth being dragged from bed, she thought. Stephan was becoming too sure of himself, too certain of the win. By keeping alert she was learning his habitual reactions to her actions. Reactions which could prove fatal to him if she ever sought his life. For the first time in weeks, Sirena knew hope.

The session over, Sirena pleaded thirst. While he was putting his prized weapons back in their rack on the wall of his study, Sirena went into the kitchen. What she had learned during the lesson had exhilarated her and she knew it would be difficult to fall asleep. Perhaps warm milk would help.

While she was waiting for the liquid to heat, she turned and was surprised to see Wren sitting at the table munching on a thick slice of cake. “What are you doing here at this hour? You should have been asleep hours ago.”

Wren's wide, amber eyes took in Sirena's strange attire, but she said nothing. “I couldn't sleep and I was hungry.” She would never tell Sirena how she had been hiding in various places so the master would not find her in her bed.

The fine hairs on the back of Sirena's neck seemed to rise when she saw a shadow near the doorway. Stephan! Carefully, she poured the milk into a heavy mug and sat down beside the child.

Stephan stepped into the kitchen, a smile on his face. Sirena saw the reflection of fear in Wren's eyes and something in her became alive again. The girl dropped her cake on the floor and drew her breath in what sounded to Sirena like a stifled sob.

“You're a nasty piece of baggage,” Stephan sneered as he stood over Wren. “Were you born in a pigsty? You dropped your cake, now pick it up and eat itl”

“No, Wren, I'll cut you another piece,” Sirena said quietly. Both Wren and Stephan seemed shocked that Sirena had spoken; she had been silent for so long.

“No, Missy-ma'am, it's all right,” the child said in a strange voice as she stuffed the cake into her mouth.

Sirena looked from the trembling child to Stephan and frowned. Wren was petrified. Was it Stephan who terrified her? Wren finished the cake and licked her lips. Sirena pushed the warm milk toward her and told her to finish it and go to bed. Round eyes pleaded with Sirena. “What is it, Wren? What's wrong? Did you have a bad dream? Is something troubling you? Come, finish your drink and you can sleep in my room tonight. We'll talk until you fall asleep.” The relief on Wren's face stirred all of Sirena's maternal instincts.

Stephan stepped closer to the girl, looming over her, his bulk throwing Wren into shadow. The child cowered, trembling and shaking so violently it was impossible for her to hold the cup in her hands.

Oh, dear God, no, Sirena thought to herself. It couldn't be. He wouldn't. Not this beautiful, sweet child! Her emerald eyes became like frozen chips of ice when she stared into Stephan's mocking, pale eyes. “Good night, Stephan,” she said with all of her old authority. “Come, Wren.”

“It's not fitting for a child her age to sleep in your bed,” Stephan said coldly. “Take her to her own room.”

“Go to hell, Stephan,” Sirena spat as she took Wren's arm and led her from the kitchen. Sirena seemed to stand straighter; her shoulders were drawn back and her head held high. Stephan might be able to threaten her and reduce her to a cowering imbecile, but he would never do that to Wren. Not while there was life left in Sirena's body; she would never allow it.

“Did you hear me, darling Sirena,” he snarled. “Take the girl to her own room.”

Sirena turned and was beside him before he could blink. “And did you hear me, Stephan. I said go to hell. Wren comes with me!” She allowed her hand to slip over the scrubbed kitchen table top and grasped the handle of a stout carving knife. With a lightning movement, the blade was at his jugular. “Tell me again where Wren will sleep tonight and then tell me where I said you were to go. Speak, my husband,” she said menacingly, pressing the tip of the knife into his neck. Droplets of bright red blood dripped down into his collar. Imperceptibly, she moved the blade, almost making a circle around his throat. She laughed, the sound eerie and chilling. “I'm waiting, Stephan.”

Malevolent hatred spewed from his pale eyes as he murdered her time and time again in the confines of his mind.

Slowly, Sirena backed off, the carving knife held in front of her. “Sleep well, Stephan. You may not have many nights left to you. I want to kill you as much as you want to kill me. Which of us will realize his goal?” she whispered before she left the room.

Stephan fingered his neck and wiped at the blood on his fingers. For the first time in his life, he knew fear of a woman. He would have to get rid of her sooner than he had thought. There was something about her, something about the way she moved and the way she had handled the weapon. He wondered why she was so clumsy and inept with the rapier. A musing look settled on his features as he cut himself a piece of cake.

 

It was a bleak, rainy day, and the lamps in the office couldn't seem to dissolve the gloom. Tyler Sinclair's eyes ached from the strain of looking through his finely scripted legal papers. Time and again his gaze went to the window and the fog that eddied around the treetops. He stood and walked to the window, longing for a day of warm sunshine to make him feel energetic. What was wrong with him? Why was he acting this way when he had mountains of work to do? It was Camilla. It was because he had seen her aboard the
Sea Siren
the night before with van der Rhys, and the encounter had left him with unbidden pangs of jealousy.

He knew she was married, unhappily so from the appearance of things. But that wasn't the cause of his jealousy. No, it was because she was apparently having an affair with Cal. If anyone knew Camilla, it was himself. It was too late for him to do anything now. For some reason, he was always after the fact. Was it because secretly he wanted it that way? No responsibilities, no ties.

His thoughts ran to Sirena and he blanched at what he supposed were her circumstances. She had not been seen out of the house since she married Stephan. An uneasy feeling settled itself between his shoulder blades and he made a move to return to his desk and the work waiting for him. A sparrow, flying blind, crashed against the window and fell to the ground. Startled, Tyler felt the bird's pain and flinched. Was that what he was doing, flying blind? Of course it was. It was what he had always done when things threatened to get the best of him.

Before he could change his mind, he reached for his coat and threw it over his shoulder as he left the office. He would go to Camilla and settle it all. He wanted her. He could no longer deny it. And, by all that was holy, he would have her.

 

Tyler was admitted to the house on Drury Lane and shown into the parlor while a maid went to announce him. When she returned, she asked him to wait, the mistress would be down shortly and would he care for tea. Tyler declined, he wasn't here for tea. As soon as the servant left the room, Tyler bounded up the stairs, calling Camilla's name.

“In here, Tyler,” she answered languidly from her nest in a high bed surrounded by frilly, fluffy pillows. “How shocking! What would Regan say if he found you here? He might take it into his head to call you out,” she answered her own question.

“Would he call you out if he knew you were bedding his own son?” Tyler demanded harshly.

“How dare you make such an accusation? What right have you to storm in here and say things like that to me? I won't listen,” she put her hands to her ears.

“You're damn well going to listen to me whether you like it or not,” Tyler shouted as he leaned. over the bed and pulled her hands away from her ears. “This isn't van der Rhys you're talking to. Remember, Camilla, I knew you a long time ago and, if my mouth should ever decide to flap, then you could find yourself in some pretty dire straits. Why,” he said ominously, “you know they still stone adulteresses.”

“You can't frighten me, Tyler. You would have as much to lose as I would.”