Devil's Mistress (9 page)

Would this fascination last forever? Or would he find, even now, his passions rising for another voluptuous woman?

Men were not sworn to be loyal to their mistresses.

She is a witch,
he thought again with a smile as he looked upon her.
So exquisite …

She inhaled and exhaled with a slight shuddering sob. Sloan bent nearer, but saw that she still slept. He knelt beside her and unlaced her shoes, then carefully slid her stockings from her shapely legs, feeling the heat rise in him as he performed the simple service. Still she did not awaken, and he realized how sorely exhausted she must be. The compassion she brought forth from him worked well to dampen the fires the touch of her created, but he was determined still to undress her for her comfort. Therefore he worked carefully upon her gown hooks without moving her, then lifted her into his arms to attempt to lift the fabric over her head. The muddied gown he cast haphazardly to the floor, making a mental note to purchase her some clothing. They would have to dock somewhere along the English coast—probably at Liverpool—before sailing to Holland. He could shop for her then.

She was slumped against him still, and he tenderly adjusted her weight to wrest her shift from her. It was then that she awoke, her huge blue eyes reflections of dazed alarm in the dimness, her fists instantly flailing against him.

“I am not a witch! Leave me! Leave me! Before God most holy, I am not a witch!”

She pounded against Sloan’s bare chest, causing little harm, but one of her blows caught him well in the chin, causing his mouth to bleed where his tooth caught against his inner lip. Grimacing with a bit of surprise at the extent of her power, he secured her wrists and held them tight over her head, breaking, still gently, into her wild speech. “Shhh! You are not a witch, and no man will harm you! Shhh … It is all right, everything is all right.”

The wide, terrified alarm slowly faded from her eyes, but still she surveyed him. “You …” she whispered, and it was not with pleasure that she did so.

“Aye, me,” he agreed, with a wry bite to his words.

“Treveryan, let me be!” she ordered with quiet fury.

Sloan became keenly aware that she was naked now, as was he. Each of her tense gasps for breath pressed the hard peaks of her breasts more temptingly to his chest; her slightest movement was a brand of her body against his own. To his vast annoyance he found his own resolve faltering; against his will intense desire took hold of his body.

“I’ve every intention of letting you be,” he informed her irritably, further annoyed by the flickering of her lustrous lashes, which signified all too clearly her knowledge of his arousal, her fear that he could not wield control over his own body as he lay with his weight sprawled over hers. “I am but trying to allow you to sleep in comfort,” he informed her, scowling darkly.

“If you wish to grant me comfort,” she snapped, “leave.”

Sloan took a perverse pleasure in the slight tremor that touched her voice. Damn her! They might have been strangers.

“Sorry—this is my cabin.”

“Oh,” she said. “Well, then, I shall be glad to leave.”

To Brianna’s vast surprise she was instantly lifted from beneath him and set indecorously upon her feet beside the bunk. Sloan Treveryan surveyed her with idle interest as he stretched his length over his bed, lacing his fingers behind his head comfortably. “My crew will love you,” he told her dryly.

Brianna stared at him with uncertainty for a moment, but then her anger exploded like cannon shot within her head. She was instinctively tempted to cover what part of her nakedness she could with floundering hands as he watched her so casually, but she resisted the foolish temptation to reach furiously for her discarded shift, crumpled at the foot of the bed.

Dignity, she reminded herself firmly. He had taken her unawares but now she was ready to fight for her dignity.

“Obviously, Lord Treveryan,” she said crisply, “I had no intent of rushing onto the deck unclothed.”

Her voice, so cool, taunted and reproached him. He was aware that he was losing something. Her unwavering denunciation of him rankled deeply. For the first time he was completely at a loss as to how to deal with a woman. Confusion ignited his temper, and he was left to fight for control.

Treveryan moved to keep her gown on the floor by placing a foot hard upon it. He smiled with deeper mocking amusement as she inadvertently met his eyes before tugging. “I’ve a crew of fifty, mistress. Good men, stout-hearted seamen. But long days at sea make a man crave for warmth and companionship. They are controlled by the appetites of the body, rather than the finer qualities of the mind. A bewitching form appearing suddenly to them at sea … well, I believe you know the likely consequences.”

Brianna tugged more viciously at the fabric of her shift in order to fight the desolation that filled her.

“I will cause no trouble,” she told him, but could not retrieve her gown. “Sir! What can I suffer that I have not already?” she demanded with a cry of indignity.

Treveryan clamped his hand around her wrist with a painful force that brought her eyes instantly clashing with his flashing green stare.

“Can you suffer worse, mistress? Oh, aye. I do think so. Each man will demand a turn, his share of spoils at sea. Little gallantry will be offered. But then, of course, the choice is yours. I cannot set you ashore, for we are not at dock. But by all means, if my protection is so loathsome to you, feel free to venture out. My lads will not be at fault!”

“Let me go!” she cried. Sloan smiled slowly—far more bitterly than he would have had her know. What had he done to her? Nothing, except save her fool life. Damn! How he would have liked to despise her in turn. But it seemed that she might very well be a witch; the more she reviled him, the more determined he became to win her.

“Nay—I cannot let you go,” he told her, and was startled when she bit hard upon the hand that held her.

Treveryan grunted out his pain, relaxing his hold only to secure her chin tightly. She stared at him defiantly, but a small gasp of pain escaped her and he eased his touch as soon as he was assured she would not use her teeth against him again.

She inhaled a long breath and began to speak. “Never think that I am not wholly grateful to you. I would give you any riches if I but had them. But can’t you see? If you’ve truly saved my life, then is it not my own again?”

How could she make him understand? Brianna wondered a little desperately. He was just staring at her—holding her, and staring at her. There was compassion within him, wasn’t there? She took another breath, coolly determined to start over again.

“Treveryan, I have been robbed of very much—”

“Robbed!” His exclamation was loud enough to rend asunder the timbers of his ship. “Robbed of your virtue, I suppose.” His repetition of the word was softer and more deadly. She found herself swept into his arms and cast down upon the bunk again. His grip was then upon her shoulders as he leveled himself over her, the green of his eyes seeming to shine like the honed blade of a rapier. “I am exactly where I wish to be,” he said in a velvet-soft voice, mimicking both the tone and quality of her own, the whisper seeming to caress her cheeks with warmth. And then his fingers were winding into her hair, just as hers had wound into his all those hours earlier. The touch was soft, caressing, and yet very firm, holding her as if in a spell. She could not have fought his grip anyway, nor the breadth of shoulder leaning above her, nor the long, sinewed leg cast negligently over hers. So she merely stared at him, wondering just what manner of man had been cast by fate as her protector. She could feel the tension within him, and yet it was with control that his gentle hands mocked her by their teasing touch. A control that so clearly reminded her of all that she had done earlier that day; her seduction of him. Yes, she had played out a role with surprising expertise.

“How I want you …”

His inflection on each word was exactly as she had spoken it earlier, a mockery that was almost unbearable—and very angry.

“I had reasons!” Brianna protested. “Don’t mock me—I had no choice and you know it!”

His eyes, with their wicked gleam of anger, were still upon her. The caress of his fingers, soothing hair and temple now, were still a touch that both lulled and enticed. The intimacy he had so assuredly and casually demanded was still between them. She felt him ever more keenly—his leg, hard-muscled, covered handsomely with coarse black hair, was a brand that burned against her. Her breasts seemed to swell, the peaks harden, against the warmth of his chest.

“I …” she began, her voice catching, “I beg you not to touch my hair.”

One brow hiked slightly, and the devil gleam in his eyes increased mockingly. He obediently removed his fingers from her hair and temple, only to rest them slightly below her breast. To Brianna’s horror she exhaled a whimper at the touch that made it seem as if her body screamed inside.

“Don’t!”

“Ahh … that is right. My touch is extremely distasteful. I learned that this afternoon.” The mockery was like knives against her heart. She closed her eyes and tried to close her mind.

He moved his hand slowly, palm and fingers a light massage, cupping the fullness of her breast. His eyes left hers to move over that firm mound, and he watched the result of his thumb’s grazing over the nipple. Brianna closed her eyes and swallowed, aware that her body was traitorously giving her away. Sloan Treveryan saw the rose hue darken hauntingly, the peak tautened delightfully to his whim.

She opened her eyes to find his eyes daring her to deny her response. He mocked her; she had angered him, and he was angry still.

“Lord Treveryan, I do not wish to be used by you!” she said.

“I see how fully you are repelled,” he replied, amused.

“You are ignoring my words,” she reminded him.

“Because they make no sense. When I touch you—”

“I cannot fight you physically!” Brianna snapped, and then she closed her eyes and lay still. “You touch nothing,” she said tonelessly.

Inadvertently she moistened her lips, and that slight gesture was an invitation he could not refuse. He moved his lips to hers, barely touching. “What is done, is done, little witch. There was a time when you might merely have spoken—but it seems that without judgment you’ve called me ‘an arrogant nobleman’ and so sealed your own fate. I cannot return what you have lost, but I can care for what I have taken …”

His whisper died on her mouth as his lips at long last touched fully, cajoling her acceptance with the swiftness of his devouring assault. His tongue delved deeply, seeking with ardor the sweet crevices of her mouth. She tried to twist from him but he held her still. She pounded against him but he caught her arms. Her protests became soft moans, her lips began to move against his. She arched slightly, with a natural instinct, filling his palm with the soft but firm weight of her breast. She felt the powerful muscles of his shoulders. Even as she desperately tried to hold on to the will to fight him, she knew he was unlike anything she had ever known. He held a physical fascination for her that wove a magic spell. There was something about his masculinity, something that beckoned a response as if she had been destined for this stranger’s arms. Where she was small and slender, he was strong and broad. Their bodies interwove as if crafted by an artist.

No! she thought with horror. She was giving in to him!

But just then, he broke from her—and smiled mockingly, and grimly. “Forgive me, Mistress Brianna,” he murmured, unwinding her arms from his back and folding them across her chest. He moved away from her so that his body no longer brushed against hers but was still close enough to touch her. “I must have lost my mind. But as I see how very abhorrent my touch is to you, I will fight the devil that lurks within me when I fall prey to your blue eyes. Do forgive me. I will strive to remember your words in the future.”

Brianna was heartily glad for the dimness of night as she felt the blood rush to her face. But it mattered little, for even before Sloan Treveryan had finished speaking, he was turning from her, his manner definitely one of nonchalant dismissal.

“What future?” she demanded heatedly. “You’ve no right to hold me! I’ve a place to go—”

He twisted back to her, angry and impatient. “You can’t go anywhere, Brianna! Not safely. If I set you ashore, I promise you that Matthews would find you. You can keep your damned chastity, but even if I saw fit to dock tonight, I could not let you off this ship!”

Her eyes fell from his at last. Dear God, he did intend to hold her! He just didn’t understand that she was capable of hiding, of moving quickly—of taking care of herself!

When would she ever manage to escape him? She shivered suddenly. How much of this could she endure? She was nothing but a toy to him—a toy with whom he had just played.

Brianna angrily forced herself to lie rigid. He was too close beside her; she must assure herself that she did not touch him in the night. She curled closer to the teakwood planking that edged the bunk, silently hurling every imaginable oath upon his head. She wished desperately that she might pull the pillow from beneath his head and rip out handfuls of his jet hair. But it would be futile to attempt retaliation because she would only receive another lesson from his hands.

I will escape you, Lord Treveryan!
she promised herself in an impassioned silence. They would have to come into port, and when they did, she would find her chance. She had his gold coins in the pocket of her shift. They were hers for services rendered in full. Before God! She would get away from this man who had claimed her as casually as he would a new coat, to don and cast aside at his whim and leisure.