Devil's Desire (12 page)

Of all the impudence, thought Elysia, chagrined at what the maid must think, and bit hungrily into the warm muffin dripping honey.

She had just finished eating as the Marquis entered the room resplendent in total black, with the exception of a gold brocade waistcoat and startling white cravat.

"You could have had the good manners to knock before entering," Elysia said disagreeably, feeling beggarly in her old, faded, wool dress. "We are not man and wife yet."

"No we aren't—yet," he retorted mockingly, "but then prospective brides are not supposed to sleep, or dress in their future husbands' rooms either." He laughed as she blushed a vivid pink, angry with herself for giving him the opportunity to mock her.

"Come, my dear, we must be off." He picked up her bag and draped her cape over her shoulders caressingly, smiling his crooked smile as he said softly into her ear, his breath tickling it intimately, "Smile, you're about to become a bride, not a widow."

As they descended the stairs Elysia glanced about apprehensively, afraid she might see Sir Jason's amused, blue eyes, and be forced to suffer his rudeness once again.

"No, my dear, Sir Jason is long gone from here, probably halfway to London by now; Lord Trevegne said— softly, interpreting her nervous glances. "He would be dead now, however, should he have had the effrontery to stay within range of my pistol," he continued in a deadly tone, "but he is a cur who would do his knavery like a thief in the night, and then turn tail and run by day,"

They continued out of the inn into the yard where a large black and gold coach stood waiting for them, drawn by four, big, black horses; their black and silver harnesses jingling expectantly. The liveried coachman sat atop the box, the reins held loosely in his gloved hands, and next to him another man sat huddled in his coat. and a third stood holding the spirited horses' heads, while a fourth held open the door to the coach. They were all dressed totally in black with gold buttons and stockings, gold buckles gleaming on their shoes, and crimson-lined greatcoats protecting them from the cold.

Elysia was helped into the coach, past the door with the Marquis' crest emblazoned on it and settled on the soft, velvet cushions within. The door closed snugly behind her, and she looked out of the window and saw with relief that Lord Trevegne was mounted on a big black stallion, rather than in the coach with her. She glanced up at the angry clouds, gathering strength to unleash another downpour upon the unfortunate traveler, and wondered how long she would have the privacy of the coach before the weather drove Lord Trevegne to take shelter.

The sky became darker as they traveled along the hard-packed dirt road, the strong, healthy horses eating up the distance as easily as a bag of oats, their hooves pounding effortlessly through the puddles. She remembered the constant swaying and jolting of the mail coach, which only yesterday had been conveying her to London. How different His Lordship's wellsprung coach made traveling the long uncomfortable miles over the pot-holed road, Elysia thought, as she leaned gratefully back against the softly-cushioned seat.

She must have dozed off for awhile, because suddenly the coach was still and she' could hear the rain pattering against the windows. The door was jerked open, and a caped figure jumped in as the coach began to move again.

Lord Trevegne brushed the raindrops from his coat and settled back against the seat eyeing Elysia sardonically. "I'm sure you would have preferred that I remain outside, but out of necessity I have been forced inside with you. You would not have me catch a chill-or would you, my dear?"

"How long until we reach your home, M'Lord?"

Elysia asked, ignoring his jibe, her voice sounding small and child-like with her nervousness.

"Sometime in the early hours of the morning, I should imagine. We will have to make a change of teams. I live in Cornwall, and I also think it is about time that you called me by my first name, Elysia. It is Alex."

"That far'" Elysia gasped in surprise, a sick feeling in her stomach at the thought of being so far from all that she had previously known. Her plans to escape to London were futile if she were in the far reaches of Cornwall. But she shouldn't be surprised; it seemed appropriate that the Marquis should live on that rocky coast. "I had no idea that you lived there . . ." Elysia finally said weakly.

"There is no reason why you should have, my dear. Would you have contemplated escape had you realized we would be so far into the wilds?" He leaned forward to look into her eyes. "Oh, I see. You had already been devising some means to escape from me. You would have tamely entered my home as my guest and fiancée, and then absconded during the night while the household slept, thinking yourself close to London. My, my, you
are
a determined little devil."

He removed a thin cheroot from a slender silver and gold case and lit it, the sweet aroma floating to Elysia's nostrils. "Well, I'm afraid that plan of yours would have come to naught. For you see, my dear, we are making a brief stop in a short while—a very necessary stop—to get married."

Elysia .looked at him, wild-eyed with dismay, her lips partially open in. bewilderment. "Married! Tonight? But how can that be? You've not had time to post the banns, or secure a license. A—and we can't get married so soon," she ended lamely, her voice quivering as a feeling of finality engulfed her. She felt as if she was taking an irrevocable step into something beyond her control. Elysia gazed at the Marquis, her eyes unconsciously pleading for more time, but he was looking out of the window, his dark head turned away.

"I've a special license to marry and we shall be stopping momentarily with an acquaintance of mine who is a Bishop, and he will perform the ceremony. It will probably be the triumph of his rather elongated life to see me married, and by his hand. That should assure you of its validity, my dear. So never think of leaving me with the idea that we were not legally married, for we shall be, and forever—or until one of us should die," he said indifferently.

"You have it all worked out," Elysia said resentfully. "You think you have me neatly tied up? Well, we shall see."

"You will learn Elysia, that I am a very thorough man, and very careful and watchful over those things that belong to me," he said quietly, a thread of iron in his voice.

The coach came to a sudden halt, and Lord Trevegne jumped down, holding out his arms for Elysia to alight. Her eyes turned toward the pale yellow lights shining from the house, in resignation and submission to her fate.

. . . A hawk clutched with his talons a

gaily-colored nightingale and bore her

aloft into the clouds when she wailed

piteously, pierced by the crooked claws, the

hawk said arrogantly: "Wretch! Why do

you shriek? One much stronger. now holds

 
you and you must go wherever I take you.

singer though you are."

                                                          
Hesiod

Chapter 6

S
ir
Jason whipped his horses to a faster pace as they raced through the rain-slick streets of London. The rain had temporarily halted, and through a break in the clouds he could see the moon shining mistily above.

He wondered what Lord Trevegne was doing at this moment and grinned widely with unholy amusement as he thought of the possibilities. He felt absolutely elated at his triumph over the invincible Lord Trevegne—oh, if only he could relate to all of London how he had maneuvered the great Marquis into his power; but of course, he could never tell that part of the story, and still be accepted at AImack's and his other clubs.

He was no fool, and he knew that if Lord Trevegne ever suspected, or had proof of what he had done, his life wouldn't be worth a farthing. He shuddered at the thought of Trevegne's deadly aim with pistols. Oh no, he would never admit to his crime—or accomplishment as he preferred to call it. At least not to Trevegne, although he could think of someone else he would relish relating it to. He wasn't finished with the almighty Marquis yet.

Sir Jason thought of how already, between himself and Twillington, everyone at White's and Watier's had heard the story. Twillington. Now that had been an unexpected, if not miraculous piece of luck." To have that twittering tattler Twillington show up at the inn, just at the opportune moment. Why, he could hardly have planned it better himself.

He had vaguely entertained the idea of using Miss Demarice as he sat talking to her over dinner, but hadn't quite figured in what way. She didn't look too well dressed, so she might accept money to help him ensnare Lord Trevegne, but unfortunately she didn't seem the type. He. had even thought of killing her, and then blaming it on His Lordship, but that could get rather messy. He sat puzzling over this when Twillington started jabbering about some General's family, in a flap and demanding reparation for their daughter, who had been seduced by a town gentleman.

That was when the idea crystallized in his mind. He must somehow involve Lord Trevegne with the virtuous Miss Demarice. It was a shame she was such a beauty, for he would love to have the irresistible Lord Trevegne involved with a mawkish-looking old maid.

Drugging their rum toddies was no problem. He simply took the bottle of laudanum which he kept for use when he had trouble sleeping, and after ordering hot toddies for everyone, intercepted Tibbitts with the tray of drinks. He sent him back to get another one for himself, and quickly put the drug in two of the mugs. He then handed one of them to Tibbitts to take to Miss Demarice, with his compliments, while he took in the rest of the drinks himself.

It was almost too easy. Lord Trevegne retired, his eyelids weighing heavily. Sir Jason remained downstairs, seated before the fire, until he was certain Lord Trevegne would be deep asleep. Then Sir Jason entered Miss Demarice's darkened room and crept over to the bed to hear her breathing deeply, the drug having worked perfectly. He lighted a candle and carefully undressed the sleeping figure, pausing briefly to stare admiringly at her naked body. He picked up her limp form and carried her quietly and quickly down the hall to Lord Trevegne's room, and laid her down on the bed next to the Marquis. He then disrobed the sleeping man, feeling momentarily alarmed at his success thus far, but shrugged, thinking it another indication of his brilliance and ingenuity.

He would never forget the Surge of excitement he felt as he and Twillington entered the room to see the two bodies locked in an embrace. He hadn't quite expected that, especially after the way Miss Demarice and the Marquis had reacted to each other the night before. However, the Marquis was a man, and to find a beautiful and naked woman in bed with him was too good an opportunity not to take advantage of. Miss Demarice would have a great deal of explaining to do, and he did not envy her one bit.

Sir Jason wondered suddenly what she was thinking. She had certainly looked flustered and confused this morning, and very appealing. Poor Miss Demarice, to find herself at the mercy of a man she had spurned was ironic, and probably most uncomfortable.

He wouldn't be at all surprised if the Marquis just up and left her, refusing to marry her despite the gossip. No, the Marquis had an eye for beauty—he just might make her his mistress, especially after what he had seen this morning of His Lordship's desire for the disdainful Miss Demarice.

Well, it did not really matter if Lord Trevegne married her or not, his reputation would be so blackened that even the husband-hunting mamas would think twice before wanting to become his mother-in-law. And Sir Jason doubted if Lord Trevegne would be able ever to find a suitable and acceptable wife now. Especially if he got thrown out of Almack's as the rumor had it.

But his superb triumph had been in tricking Lord Trevegne. Having him at his mercy, under his power. Why, he could have plunged a knife through his chest as he slept if he had wanted. But it was better to see him squirm-forced to either marry against his will or face disgrace. He might already have a black reputation, but even the Marquis could, go only so far before facing the consequences.

Sir Jason almost hoped that Trevegne threw Miss Demarice out. He would find her then, and offer his protection—make her
his
mistress. She was lovely, he thought, remembering her body gleaming eerily in the candlelight. Yes, he must see what he could do about that, and then he chuckled as he again wondered what was happening with Trevegne?

Elysia stared down at her hands in the darkness, unable to see the twisted gold ring, taken from Lord Trevegne's little finger and placed on her third, but putting her handover it she could feel its contorted shape. It felt heavy and strange upon her finger, marking her as a belonging, for less than an hour ago, she had pledged to love and obey this stranger sitting silently across from her in the carriage.

What manner of man was he, this man that she had married, she wondered, as she risked a furtive glance at his harsh profile—shown. briefly by a flash of lightning that illuminated the inside of the coach. He was lounging back carelessly against the cushion, his long legs stretched out onto the empty seat opposite.

She was now his wife–Lady Trevegne–and she could not even bear to call him by his Christian name. She had always dreamed of someday falling in love, and marrying to raise a family which she would cherish and love-a very foolhardy and naive assumption. She couldn't believe how vulnerable she had allowed herself to become.

Elysia thought nostalgically of her parents, and wondered, what they would have been thinking now. They had differed with the rest of society in their condemnation of .arranged marriages. Their own marriage was a love-match, an unparalleled success, consequently they believed in marriage for love only. They would never have allowed her to be sacrificed in a loveless marriage to further her position, or theirs, and yet here she sat, married to a disreputable member of the ton; wealthy, handsome, and completely ruthless where his own desires were concerned; not caring a damn about her.

Why had he insisted upon marriage to her? He admitted, very succinctly, that no one could force him to do something he did not desire, and he apparently already had a black reputation, so one further act of debauchery would not amount to much. He said that he wanted an heir. Well, there were plenty of women around who would no doubt consider it a privilege to bear his children. But she was not among that elite group, and if he thought she was going to bear those children, then he was badly mistaken. He did not love her, nor she him, but she knew he desired her. And vowed she would have nothing to do with him.

She still could not understand it. If he merely desired her, then he could have taken what he wanted this morning as she had lain helplessly within his power, unable to fight against his greater strength. He had no reason to marry her-he was not the type to be troubled by her soiled reputation.

Elysia shivered in memory of what nearly had happened to her this morning, feeling chilled by her near-escape.

"Cold?" Lord Trevegne asked out of the darkness of the coach .. Not waiting for a reply, he leaned over and pulled Elysia across his lap, wrapping his' coat around her shivering body, and holding her close within his arms.

"Better?" he murmured, his breath warm against her neck.
          
.

"Yes, thank you, but I was quite comfortable where I was," Elysia spoke breathlessly, trying to release herself, but his arms only tightened.

"Be quiet," he growled softly, his lips moving cares-singly behind her ear.

"Please," she begged, feeling a new shiver Spread through her body at the touch of his lips.

"Please what, my dear . . . wife?" the Marquis laughed silently, his lips closing down completely upon hers. He kissed her long and deeply, his mouth parting hers as he relentlessly pressed kiss upon hard kiss onto her soft and -unresisting lips. She could feel his hands moving, searching, until they found the small buttons of her bodice, smoothly unbuttoning them, his hand sliding underneath to caress her soft, warm skin. His lips lifted from her mouth to move down the length of her neck, his arms tightening as he pressed his face against her breasts, breathing deeply of her scent.

"You smell like a garden of jasmine and roses," Lord Trevegne whispered hoarsely, his lips returning to her mouth once more as he kissed her wildly, passionately, until Elysia thought she would suffocate from lack of breath.

Finally, his lips moved from her throbbing mouth, and he rained light, soft kisses upon her face, hugging her closer as he put back his head, one hard hand cupping one of her breasts possessively. He closed his eyes, a smile of triumph on his firm masculine lips.

After a while Elysia felt his even breathing beneath her ear where; her head rested on his chest. He was a demon she thought tearfully, feeling confused by the emotions he had aroused within her. She should despise him–yes, she did–but he made her feel so faint and hot, so unlike herself. It was wrong, this strange feeling inside of her-when she

I hated him. Elysia closed her eyes, thinking of his kisses, and fell asleep with her cheek pressed against his heart.

Elysia awakened as the coach jolted to a halt. She glanced about sleepily, then sat up in surprise, she was back on her own side of the seat. She put her hands quickly to her opened bodice–it was buttoned securely.

Had it all been a dream–his hard demanding kisses? She nervously ran her tongue over her lips feeling them tender to her touch. Elysia looked inquiringly to Lord Trevegne who sat watching her, an amused look in his golden eyes that were gleaming brightly from a light shining in through the opened door of the coach. No, it had not been a dream she read embarrassingly from his eyes, a blush spreading up her neck to her face.

"Come, my dear wife," the Marquis said, leaping down and holding out his arms, "we are home at last."

The rain was falling Steadily as Elysia and Lord Trevegne hurried inside the arched entrance to the Hall, past the enormously thick, wooden doors with their elaborately carved panels set between strips of golden metal.

Elysia could hear the big doors closing behind her as they continued into the long, wide hall its ceiling stretching upwards into a sloping roof, the stained glass clerestory windows reflecting the flashes of lightning in radiant blues, greens and reds. A gallery with iron castings clung to the sides of the great hall, held aloft by thick, fluted columns reaching sturdily down to the Spanish-tiled floor.

Elysia stood silently as Lord Trevegne sent for the housekeeper, his face shadowed by the flickering lights from the wall sconces being hurriedly lit. Most of the hall was in darkness, the tables and chests taking on distorted shapes like creatures from the Underworld.

A door opened from a comer of the hall beneath the gallery, and a beam of light appeared, floating closer until a wrinkled face with twinkling eyes came into focus above the flame of the candle being held by a gnarled hand.

"Lord Alex," the old man said, surprise shaking his voice, "we had no idea to expect you, until just moments before when your outrider arrived with the news." He glanced curiously at Elysia wrapped in her cape, as he directed the quickly-appearing footmen to take up their luggage, some of them still half-dressed as they scurried about.

"We shall want the master suite," he corrected the butler, who had instructed Elysia's bag to a guest room. Shock was evident upon his parchment-like face at the Marquis' words. He bid the footmen do as ordered, a disapproving look in his eyes.

"Don't look so scandalized, Browne," Lord Trevegne laughed. "May I present to you my wife, Lady Trevegne." He pulled Elysia forward, to stand beside him, his arm lying heavy across her shoulders.