Devil's Desire (20 page)

The Marquis gave a deep laugh, full of triumph, as his lips closed down on her parted mouth hungrily, and as she finally kissed him back, giving him eagerly all the sweetness of her mouth.

"Do you want me, Elysia?" he asked thickly, smother-ing her face in kisses, and waiting for her answer almost breathlessly.
               
.

Elysia turned her head, this time she was seeking his lips–to give him his answer as she surrendered her mouth to his deep kiss, which became deeper and deeper until he jerked his mouth away and demanded hoarsely, "Tell me you desire me–want me. Shall I leave you?"

"No," Elysia finally managed to whisper brokenly. "I
want you . . .
Alex."

Her words seemed to inflame him. "Ah, you shall soon be mine–truly M'Lady, in fact, as well as in name. I've melted that iciness you hide behind. Do you think you could fool me when your hair seems to blaze, and your eyes dare me to make you mine? Oh, M'Lady, you shall soon reap the rewards of your beauty."

"You're a devil," Elysia whispered, aware that she bad lost the battle.

"Aye, M'Lady–and I've a devil's desire for you."

He moved .then, pressing down upon her as he parted her thighs and entered her, gently, tentatively, until she felt a sharp pain and a building pressure within. He seemed to have no control over himself after he'd merged with her body, only an all-consuming need to satisfy himself.

Elysia lay still. The sound of his breathing next to her matched to her own. His arm moved to encircle her, and pull her beneath him again. She gave a token resistance to his embrace, but he would not be denied.

"This time, M'Lady, you shall equal my desire."

She felt once again the now familiar pressure within her, and his hard body pressing into hers. But this time as he moved against her he created sensations that spread through her body like wildfire, until she gasped aloud as everything exploded from deep inside her, taking her into a world of such delight and exhilaration that she almost fainted with the excitement of it. He seemed propelled by demons as he loved her into the night and morning-becoming more of her body and soul than she herself. Elysia felt drained of all energy and emotion–as if Alex had absorbed her life force into his body. She felt as if she were dying when he left her.

She lay breathing heavily, tears streaking hear face. Elysia turned her head and moved it gently and shyly to lie against his chest. Alex looked down into her face and pulled her closer against his side, smoothing her tangled hair from about her face with a gentle hand. Elysia closed her heavy lids and sighed deeply, feeling oddly comforted. She felt safe, as her hand curled about his neck, she slept.

All the world's a stage,

And all the men and women merely players:

They all have their exits and entrances;

                                                 
Shakespeare

Chapter 9

E
lysia heard the clinking of china and cutlery and burrowed her head into the soft, feather pillow, smothering a yawn.

The chambermaid pulled open the heavy drapes and a shaft of sunlight penetrated into the shadowy room. "It's past eleven, Your Ladyship," Lucy told her, taking .the laden breakfast tray from the maid.

Elysia jerked up in dismay. Past eleven! It couldn't be. She looked at the little clock ticking away on the mantel and shook her head in disbelief. She must have slept like one of the dead. Never before had she slumbered so deeply. Elysia moved to sit up, but shrank back down beneath the coverlet as she became aware of her nakedness. She flushed brightly as she saw her gown draped over a small gilt chair, her robe trailing onto the rug, where it had been dropped by a careless hand.

Lucy intercepted her embarrassed glance, and putting the tray down reached for a frilly, white, bed jacket, tactfully commenting that it was chilly and she might welcome its added warmth. Elysia gratefully slipped into it, and devoted an uncommon amount of attention to her breakfast, forcing herself to eat several mouthfuls of fluffy omelette, until she heard Lucy leave. She looked at the closed door between her room and Alex's. Had she really been in his room last night? Alex–she could now say his name without hesitating and stumbling over it.

Elysia felt a warm blush cover her body as she thought of what had happened last night between them, during that bewitching midnight hour that had seemed to stretch into eternity. She ought to hate him–but she couldn't. He had told her he wouldn't be forcing her to submit to him, and she hadn't. She had willingly given in to his desires–almost equalling them. She could not honestly blame him for what had happened. He would have left her, had she only told him to do so–but she hadn’t–she had wanted him to stay. He had sworn he would make her want him, and she had–until she ached. She hadn't thought a woman could feel this, way. Maybe it was wrong, this desire she was feeling so deeply inside of her? It couldn't be love–love was different. It was companionship and warmth, and friendship. If they were in love with each other they would have laughed together, and talked until they knew everything about each other. What did she know about her husband? Nothing really. He was rich, he had a brother, was an orphan, and admitted to an unsavory reputation. He could be cruel, sarcastic, cynical and blazingly angry. This was not the kind of man she had always dreamed of falling in love with-and marrying. She felt so confused with these new, and conflicting emotions.

Elysia picked up the delicate, china teacup and took a sip, grimacing as she put the cup of cold hot chocolate back down on the tray. She got out of bed and removed the bedjacket, staring at her slim naked body in the large full-length mirror. She still looked the same–except maybe for a few bluish-purple bruises on her shoulders and breasts. She felt muscles she had not known existed as she moved about the room. She found her gaze constantly drifting to the closed door. Vaguely, she remembered being lifted up and carried in the cool morning air, grumbling because she had been disturbed from her warm bed only to be placed in another one that was not half so warm. She was thankful now, that Alex had returned her to her own bed.

She rang for Lucy, and securely wrapping herself in her robe, walked over to the window and stood Staring at the sea–still choppy and unsettled from the storm, Large swells tossed the small fishing boats from the village like toys.

How could she face Alex? What would he be thinking . . . now? She veered away from the intimate details of the evening before. She could envision that derisive smile of his, already–that triumphant gleam in his eyes. She couldn't bear it if he said anything that would degrade what had happened between them.

Elysia looked worriedly into the distance, wondering how she could successfully carry off their ultimate meeting. Should she feign indifference–cool disdain–coolness over something that had shattered her life–changed her for all time? She was no longer an innocent girl. She was a woman–Alex's woman–and he was a very demanding lover.

Elysia's attention was caught by a movement on the road in the distance. A bright yellow and red curricle was racing uncontrollably up the road, pulled by a pair of very high-stepping bays, and tooled by a very busy gentleman trying to stop them as they hurled into the courtyard below. In the distance, Elysia could see another conveyance, traveling more sedately as it made its way slowly along the rutted road. The first gentleman, of the flashy curricle, had managed to stop his pair with the help of the stableboys, and was now looking about nervously, while pacing back and forth in apparent indecision.

Elysia quickly went to her wardrobe and grabbed the first dress she saw and hurriedly began to dress, anxious to know what was going on outside. With Lucy's expert help and efficient hands, and her own impatient proddings, Elysia was dressed and on her way downstairs within ten minutes or so, her hair pulled back into curls and tied with a yellow gauze ribbon that matched the yellow muslin dress and slippers and the Bowered, silk shawl draped carelessly over her shoulders.

There was a
flurry o
f activity in the Great Hall below. Elysia called to Browne, his usual calmness having deserted him as he hurried past with his white hair ruffled and standing up in tufts, his mouth working soundlessly in agitation.

Something dreadful must have happened to cause Browne to lose control–a control he had probably kept for over fifty years without ever losing. Only one thing could cause it to disintegrate–and that was if something had happened to the Marquis. Alex must be injured, or in some difficulty, Elysia thought in panic. She hurried to the big double doors, and forgetting her previous decision of indifference, flew out the doors like a small whirlwind, her fringed shawl floating about her.

Charles Lackton turned at the sound of approaching footsteps, and stood spellbound as he stared at the flying figure. He had been prepared to face Lord Trevegne, but not this extraordinary yellow-clad figure that seemed to be about to attack him. He took a hasty step backwards in retreat.

The figure halted in front of him and he found his sleeve clutched in two shaking hands. He stared increduously down into a white face with luminous green eyes.

"What has happened?
Is
it Alex–he's not hurt?'" Elysia choked, staring up imploringly at this young gentleman with the bright red hair and somewhat frightened look on his face.

"Lord Trevegne?" Charles asked in puzzlement.

Was he ill too? And who was this woman? he thought in wonder. He noticed her beauty for the first time-now that he was safe from attack. "As far as I know he is just–

"Fine," came a deep voice from behind, and turning, Elysia saw her husband standing next to them, giving her a searching look, mingled with surprise.

"I had no. idea you cared, M'Lady," he whispered for her ears alone, but his golden eyes seemed to soften as they stared down into her worried ones. "Charles, what brings you here?" Lord Trevegne demanded, not at all anxious for house guests.

"It's–" he began, but was interrupted by the arrival of the other coach entering the courtyard, and pulling up next to where they were standing.

"What the devil!” Alex said, recognizing his own roach. "I'll have a few answers, Charles, if you please," he added in a dangerous tone, only to stare in dismay as the door of the coach opened to reveal a head with curly black hair, and a gaunt white face with feverish, bright, blue eyes. "Peter!” Alex shouted in surprise, his eyes quickly taking in his brother's unhealthy pallor and empty sleeve. He reached the lurching figure before it fell, and yelling to Lackton for assistance, managed to carry Peter's limp form into the Great Hall.

Elysia followed the three men–temporarily forgotten. So this was Alex's brother, Peter. He didn't look at all well. She hurried after them into the hall, and stood silently as two footmen and Lord Trevegne carried Peter Trevegne up the long flight of stairs, leaving a bemused Charles Lackton standing at the foot, helplessly.

"Is there anything I can do to help?'" Elysia asked as Dany hurried by carrying a loaded tray, full, of bandages and medicinal-looking dark bottles .

“Ach, no, I've cared for these two when they be in worse scrapes, and they be tougher than leather," she said confidently, even though there was a worried look in her brown eyes. "Ye might help the young gentleman here, Lady Elysia. For I don't rightly think he'll make it," she added giving a professional look at Charles' grayish face, and the beads of perspiration dotting his upper lip, before continuing up the stairs to Peter's room with her doctoring skills.

"Please, will you come into the salon and have a cup of tea–or a drink," Elysia added wisely, smiling at the bewildered young man, "for I am quite certain that you could do with something bracing."

He followed her like a lost puppy into the salon where they sat in an uneasy silence, each with his own thoughts to keep him company. Charles gulped down the brandy Elysia ordered for him, while she sat quietly sipping her own cup of fragrant tea.

"How seriously is he injured?" Elysia finally asked when the young man seemed to have regained his composure–half of which he must have lost while tooling the curricle and wild bays. And from what Elysia had seen from her window, he had been sadly out of control most of the time–no wonder he
 
was badly shaken.

"Pretty bad–a hole that big, I'll wager," he answered shaping his hands into a small circle.

"A hole?" Elysia looked confused-not understanding this fiery-headed, young gentleman in his bright, canary-yellow- and turquoise-striped waistcoat and plum colored cutaway coat. She watched hypnotically the elaborate tassels swinging to and fro on his Hessians, as he swung his legs distractingly.

"In his shoulder–just missed his heart–
lucky to be alive at all.
Doctor had to dig the shot out–took a hell of a long time doing it too," he stopped abruptly, and looking embarrassed apologized, "Please forgive me. Didn't mean to swear." He continued to look at her wonderingly, and then blurted, "I do beg your pardon, but, who are you?"

Elysia smiled in amusement. "I am Lady Trevegne, and I'm afraid that I do not know who you are either, so you have nothing to apologize for."

He stood up quickly, looking like a flustered school-boy. "Your pardon, Lady Trevegne," he said as if he couldn't believe his eyes. "I'm Charles Lackton–a friend of the family,
and it is an honor to make
your acquaintance." He bowed elegantly over her hand, a lock of bright red hair dangling over his forehead.

"Forgot about that–quite a jolt to hear of His Lordship's marriage–surprised all of London.
 
Couldn't
 
believe it."

"Yes, it was quite a Surprise to everyone," Elysia agreed, not adding herself included. "How did Peter wound himself? Was it a hunting accident?"

"Wasn't an accident–a duel,"

"A duel!” Elysia repeated horrified.

"Yes, Peter did himself and Lord Trevegne proud. Honor to be his friend," Charles spoke proudly.

"But ,why? What caused this–duel?" Elysia asked Curiously.

"Well,
you see . . . ah," Charles
hedged uncomfortably, "it's not really something one can tell a lady about. But it was a point of honor that had to be satisfied. I was Peters second."

"And what happened to the man he challenged?"

"Dead."

"Peter killed him?" Elysia asked in disbelief.

"Had to–Beckingham cheated–fired before the end of the count," Charles said with obvious disgust.

"Beckingham? You did say Beckingham?" Elysia asked faintly. "Not Sir Jason Beckingham."

"Yes, that's the one–a real outsider, and a coward. Good riddance I say!” Charles spoke vehemently, a look of-distaste on his handsome and open face.

Elysia carefully placed her cup down on the tea caddy, her hand shaking almost uncontrollably. So Sir Jason was dead. She had hated him–but she had not wished him dead. She had indeed been worried about his knowledge of the circumstances of their marriage, and what an unscrupulous person like Sir Jason could do with the information to cause further embarrass-ment to them. However; she believed Alex: would certainly have dealt effectively with him-or would he have? After all this young man, Charles Lackton, had said that Sir Jason had cheated and fired first. Alex could very easily have been killed-or wounded like his brother. Yes, it was just as well God forgive her-that Sir Jason was no longer a danger to them.

"If Sir Jason fired before the end of the count, I believe you said; then how did Peter manage to shoot him?" Elysia now asked Charles who had been' sitting silently, staring at Elysia with a moonstruck look on his boyish face, and he blushed a dull red as Elysia caught him out.

"Well, Sir Jason had a somewhat unsavory reputation concerning several duels he had won under rather odd circumstances. So we were expecting something underhanded, and I told Peter to watch me and if I noticed anything odd, I would signal him. So when, Beckingham turned before the end of the count, I could scarcely believe it–even though I was expecting it!” Charles looked shamefacedly at Elysia. "So . . . I was a little slow in signaling and Beckingham got his shot off, but Peter had already turned at my warning, and it only caught him in the shoulder—instead of through the heart as Beckingham had intended. Peter got his shot off anyway, and it killed Beckingham instantly. But you know, it was strange. He had a smile on his face even in death," Charles said shuddering as if someone had
 
walked over
his
grave.