Dark Before the Rising Sun (8 page)

“Only myself,” Rhea replied, the gift forgotten as she stared up into his eyes, her gaze captured and held by his.

“Little daffadilly, will you be mine?” Dante's request was huskily spoken—barely audible, in fact—as he reached out to entwine around his forefinger one of the golden curls cascading over Rhea's shoulder.

Slowly Rhea moved closer, until she felt the heat of his body warming hers. She reached up to him, running her fingertips lightly along the hard line of his jaw before letting her palm come to rest against the curve of his chin.

“Always and forever,” she promised, feeling that indefinable shiver spreading through her as she felt his mouth pressing a kiss into the softness of her opened palm.

Dante's arms slid around Rhea's waist, melding their bodies closer together; then his lips found hers, parting them, tasting them, as his tongue touched hers.

Rhea felt Dante's fingers at the nape of her neck, then gasped when she felt something cold touch her flesh. Reaching up, she was startled to feel the cold hardness of metal against her skin.

She glanced down, affording Dante an unrestricted view of the top of her head as she strained to see the necklace adorning her neck. “Oh, Dante, 'tis beautiful,” Rhea breathed as she caught sight of the multicolored sparkle reflected by the brilliant-cut diamonds nestling against her breast. “You really shouldn't have, Dante,” she protested even as a pleased smile tugged at the corners of her mouth.

“I thought we settled that argument once and for all. You had better get used to accepting gifts, for I shall never tire of trying to please you, my love,” Dante reprimanded her gently as he stood back to admire the effect of his generosity. “Diamonds become you, my sweet. Although”—Dante paused, his gaze critically assessing—“I think next we must have sapphires and rubies. They will reflect more perfectly your natural warmth, for you are not a cold woman, Rhea,” Dante said, smiling when Rhea glanced up at him, the tears filling her eyes making him think of wild violets after a spring shower.

“I do not know why I deserve to have found such happiness, especially when I have been so cruel as to jest about Caroline. Truly she is not as horrid as I have portrayed her. It was wrong of me when I know that she will never find the happiness I possess,” Rhea said with a sense of shame, for in that quiet moment, with the fire emanating a benevolent, rosy glow, she believed that nothing could ever destroy the love she and Dante shared.

Dante kissed Rhea lingeringly. “That is why I love you, Rhea. You are so gentle and understanding, loyal and forgiving. When I am lost in my darkest thoughts, I think of you and I no longer feel hatred. Perhaps you were sent to be my salvation. I just pray never to lose the unselfish love you have given me, or fall from that high esteem you seem to hold me in.”

“Never shall I change my love or my respect for you, Dante,” Rhea vowed. “It has been given freely and will not be taken away, no matter what may happen. But you are so difficult to convince. What must I do, give my life for you?” Rhea bantered with a smile that quickly faded when Dante grasped her painfully by the arms, anger glinting in his gray eyes.

“Never, ever say that again,” he commanded, the grimness of his expression frightening Rhea. “Never again, do you hear me? Promise me. I will never have your death on my conscience. I will not be held responsible for another's actions, not again, by God!”

Rhea swallowed hard. “I promise, Dante. I am sorry that you misunderstood me. Don't you realize that you could never do anything to cause me to take my own life? If that is what you are worried about, then, please, let your mind rest easy,” Rhea reassured him, but the implacability in his eyes remained unchanged.

“You have not seen all of your jewelry,” Dante said abruptly and, to Rhea's oversensitive ears, coldly.

Releasing Rhea from his embrace, as if her touch disturbed him, he turned his back on her and picked up his greatcoat. Digging deep into one of the pockets, he recovered several cases. Placing them on the table, he opened one, revealing a pair of diamond earrings gleaming against a blue velvet background. In another was a diamond aigrette shaped like a feather, and in yet another case lined with the same blue velvet was a bow-shaped diamond stomacher brooch accompanied by three smaller, identical brooches.

Rhea remained silent as she stared down at the glittering diamonds, her heart heavy. Never, since they had declared their love for one another, had Dante stared at her with that cold-blooded gaze that made his pale gray eyes seem so cruel and pitiless.

“They are exquisite,” Rhea finally said, her voice tremulous as she stared down at the dazzling stones that seemed so lifeless. “Thank you,” she said simply, biting her trembling lip as the diamonds blurred before her gaze and a hot tear escaped to drop down onto the back of Dante's hand.

He jerked as if the single teardrop had scalded him. “Rhea?” he questioned hesitantly, remorse overcoming him.

She was weeping silently and she tried to pull away from him, but she felt his arms pulling her around to face him, and he would not release her. She kept her face turned away from him. What pride she had left refused to let him see that he had hurt her as surely as if he had struck her.

But Dante was determined to look into her eyes. Cupping her chin, he forced her tearstained face up to his searching gaze. “You frighten me, Rhea, in a way no other person has ever been able to frighten me,” he surprised her by admitting. “You are still so young, so innocent of the many evils in the world. And you are so damned easy to hurt. Perhaps I have hurt you most by loving you. I wonder if it is good to be so vulnerable. One day you may not thank me for having loved you.

“Kirby warned me, but I would not listen. I had to have you, Rhea. I could not allow you to walk out of my life. But since then, I have been conscience-stricken by my selfishness, for I have come to fear that you may be too fragile and decent for a man like me. Too young, perhaps, not to be consumed and ultimately destroyed by emotions and passions which even I sometimes do not fully comprehend in myself.”

Dante's arms tightened as he held her close against his heart. “How can you love a man decent people have scorned and who now seems only to bring you heartache?”

Rhea raised her face from his chest and, gazing up into his eyes, she answered him honestly and without guile. “Because without your love my heart would break.”

Gently, Dante wiped the tears from her face, his eyes never leaving hers. “Then love me tonight, Rhea. Let us forget the tears and the angry words and misunderstandings between us,” he whispered, his lips caressing the corner of her mouth. “Let us just think of this moment, then, and let there be no tomorrow to concern us.”

Rhea parted her lips under the growing pressure of his, allowing his tongue an intimate touching with hers. Her body yielded to the caress of hands that had become as familiar, as natural to her as breathing and seemed just as necessary.

“Make me forget.” Rhea's entreaty was an impassioned whisper.

“You are mine, Rhea. Never forget that. Whatever may happen, remember that no one else will ever be able to hold you as I do, or love you as completely as I shall tonight. You will never be able to forget my touch, nor I yours.” Dante spoke almost defiantly, as if daring the fates to separate them.

Rhea felt his hands loosening the laces of her bodice, and soon the smooth, pale flesh of her breasts was revealed to his possessive gaze. His mouth left a trail of fire blazing along the taut arch of her throat where diamonds, now reflecting the warmth of the woman wearing them, lay against an erratically beating pulse.

Dante pulled the pins from Rhea's hair, releasing the thick, golden strands to tumble down the length of her back, the curling ends swaying around her hips as if alive. His lips were against the tender curve of breast so temptingly revealed by the parted laces, but it was not enough. Dante wanted to feel her naked flesh against his, to taste again the sweet-scented softness of her woman's body, to know again that ultimate moment of ecstasy when they became one.

And suddenly it was as if they were still standing on the warm sands of a lonely cove far across the sea, where the only sounds to disturb them were the melancholy cry of birds as night began to fall, and the indolent lapping of the tide against the shore. Rhea had come to him out of the water, like a sea nymph. Her pale body had been painted golden as the savagery of a dying sun set the wilderness sky ablaze in sheets of flaming copper.

Just then there was the patter of windblown rain against the windowpanes, and the crackling hiss of the fire. But it did not matter that there was no balmy breeze to warm them, nor pungent scent of sea and earth to arouse their senses, for the intensity of their passion was not diminished from that first coupling on the sun-kissed sands of a primitive shore.

For Rhea, indeed the sensations may have been heightened as she anticipated that more satisfying and intimate joining between them. Before that moment of sexual awakening upon the sands, she had been ingenuous, with no knowledge of her own sensuality. Passion had not existed until then. Now she was a woman, and experiencing all the aching desire that Dante had helped her feel while initiating her in the ways of love. And only Dante could assuage the fire which burned in her blood.

And his words of just moments before had been no idle threat, but rather a foreshadowing of the future; for whatever might happen, there could never be anyone else for her. Dante was a part of her, and now she would never be free of the need for his touch.

Dante's hand slid into the silken tangle of gold veiling the alabaster smoothness of her shoulders, his fingers gently grasping her nape and holding her head firmly tilted upward. With his other hand, he touched her flushed cheek, and then his thumb caressed her lips, teasing their trembling softness. For a long moment he stared down into the depths of her eyes, the thickly lashed lids half closed, heavy with passion. Then, slowly, Dante lowered his mouth to hers.

As Rhea responded to his kisses, she felt his fingers continuing their attack on the laces of her bodice, as well as those of her petticoats. When he slid the gown from her, the petticoats fell into a rumpled pile round her slippered feet, leaving her clad only in her corset, chemise, and stockings.

In the golden fire glow Rhea's pale flesh seemed gilded, reminding Dante of that night on the sands. The firelight dancing through the unbound silver gilt of her hair shimmered like a reflection of the sun and moon together. The twinkling of diamonds round her throat drew Dante's eyes to the gentle curve of breast quivering beneath the lacy edge of her corset. Then his gaze traveled lower, to linger on the seductive length of ivory-tinted thigh above her gartered stockings.

Dante's hands tightened around Rhea's waist as he lifted her clear of the discarded mound of muslin and lace. Her arms wrapped round his neck, he buried his face in the scented silkiness of her hair while holding her close against the muscular hardness of his body.

“You are becoming more voluptuous with each passing day. I can scarcely clasp my hands around your waist any longer,” he said, his voice muffled by her hair. Then Rhea felt his warm breath against her ear as he nibbled the soft lobe, his tongue tickling the delicate inner flesh.

“You truly bewitch me, Rhea,” he murmured thickly, setting her back on the floor, then turning her around quickly to deal efficiently with the remaining laces of her corset.

The corset landed atop the pile of discarded clothing. Then Dante swung Rhea up into his arms and dropped her onto the bed with ungentlemanly disregard for any ladylike modesty she might have tried to maintain. She landed indecorously against the quilted coverlet and soft pile of pillows. Her indrawn breath of surprise turned into low laughter that mingled with Dante's as she stared up at his grinning face. She did not realize that her chemise had ridden up above her hips, leaving her modesty completely compromised.

Dante knelt before her and began to unroll her silken stockings with studiously prolonged care, his fingers straying often from their task.

His work completed, Dante reluctantly allowed her small, arched feet to dangle over the edge of the bed as he rose and stepped back, a gentle expression softening the chiseled quality of his face.

Lazily crossing her arms behind her head, the chemise straining taut across the firm roundness of her breasts, Rhea settled herself comfortably against the pile of pillows. She sighed contentedly as she played with a long strand of hair and watched Dante pull off his shirt, baring a broad expanse of smoothly muscled chest and shoulder.

“Would you like to know a secret?” Rhea spoke hesitantly, a shy smile putting a slight dimple in her cheek.

“I intend to know all your secrets,” Dante responded. He sounded quite serious, especially so when he added softly, “Never let there be any secrets between us. They can lead only to misunderstanding.”

“Never,” Rhea promised without hesitation, thinking that was a promise which could easily be kept.

Dante shook his head. He was amazed that she still steadfastly believed in truth and human goodness, despite the tragedy that had disrupted her life. She continued to be unsuspecting of the darker emotions which often drove people to acts of desperation and violence.

“Now tell me, what is this dark secret of yours?” Dante inquired.

“I fear 'tis not so much dark as foolish,” Rhea admitted sheepishly. “You asked how it was that I came to love you. What if I told you that you reminded me of one of my family?”

“Good God! Not your father?” Dante demanded in mock horror.

“Silly,” Rhea admonished him with a laugh, unaware that few people could have gotten away with a comment like that where Dante Leighton was concerned. “Of course, now that I do think about it, I do believe there is a certain similarity of character between the two of you,” she speculated aloud, while privately and accurately suspecting that neither one would have readily admitted to such a thing. “'Twas an ancestor I had in mind. There is a portrait of him in the Long Gallery at Camareigh, and I used to be quite fascinated by it. In fact, it was my favorite painting, next to our family portrait, that is,” she corrected.