Paxton and the Gypsy Blade (36 page)

“Aha!” Bliss exclaimed, his voice stilling a burst of laughter from the others. “At last, gentlemen, the goddess I promised you. Come in, Adriana. Don't keep us waiting, my dear.”

Her eyes flashing, her shoulders back to deliberately accentuate the thrust of her breasts, Adriana entered as bidden and found herself in a large ballroom to which the men had retired after their dinner. The room was illuminated by a trio of matched crystal chandeliers that hung from a high ceiling, which was decorated with pastoral murals of an English countryside. French windows on the wall opposite the main doors looked onto a verandah, now brightly glowing with lanterns, and, beyond and below, the lights of the town. To her left, in the far corner, a half-dozen musicians in tight breeches and beaded uniform jackets occupied a dais and waited to play. To her right, the room stretched away to a large arch that separated it from the dining room proper.

Bliss and his companions were seated in four huge armchairs that had been placed near the center of the room. Behind them, attended by servants, a long table held crystal decanters and stemware and a silver service fit for royalty. A wineglass, a plate of cheeses, and another of fruit sat on smaller tables placed at each man's immediate right. The effect was ludicrously pretentious, but no one, Adriana noticed, was laughing.

Seated in the second chair from the right, his legs propped on an ottoman, Bliss held court. He was dressed in loose white breeches, his shirt partly concealed by an elaborately embroidered turkish robe of black silk. His face was pale, his eyes feverish. The wineglass in his hand trembled, and it was only with great effort that he managed not to spill his Madeira. A man in his condition shouldn't have been drinking at all, and Adriana guessed that he'd pass out within an hour. Two men sat to his right, one swarthy and moustachioed, with a pockmark-scarred face, the other sallow, with thin pale lips and a sharp nose on which rested rimless spectacles. The third guest, a young, brooding fellow with jet-black hair, thin moustache, an immaculately trimmed goatee, and a full, sensual mouth, sat to Bliss's left.

“See?” Bliss crowed drunkenly. “What did I tell you? What did I tell you, eh? When's the last time you saw such a beauty? Come give us a curtsy, my dear, and I'll introduce you around.”

Adriana approached as directed.

Bliss gestured to his right with his glass. “This is Señor Hernandez …”

The man with the sweeping moustache inclined his head as Adriana curtsied.

“… and Mr. Will Hadlock.”

The man with the spectacles nodded stiffly.

“And to my left, a roué, my dear. Should you ever find yourself alone in his presence, you must be very, very careful. Monsieur Henri LeBusque.”

“Really, Trevor,” LeBusque drawled in heavily accented English. “You exaggerate!”

Adriana curtsied and smiled demurely.
This one. This is the one
. “I'll be sure to remember, sir,” she said.
And now to bait the hook
. “Although I doubt that will ever happen.”

LeBusque was darkly handsome. His smile spoke of lust and sensual gratification, of cruelty and the harsh tyranny of a man used to having his way. “A pity,” he said, undressing Adriana with his eyes, “because you're such a lovely creature.”

“And all mine,” Bliss said with an ugly laugh. He drained his glass and waved for a refill. “Well?” he barked impatiently. “Go tell the band what you want them to play,” he told Adriana. “We're waiting.”

The band's repertoire was limited. Adriana outlined the tempos and rhythms she wanted while simultaneously plotting her seduction of Henri LeBusque. That he had wanted her from the moment she had stood before him had been evident, and his desire had only increased with Bliss's implicit warning to stay away from her. The trick would be to extend an unmistakable invitation to LeBusque without arousing Bliss's suspicion. She would entice him to search her out later.

The first tune started out slow and throbbing. Adriana glided to the center of the room and knelt in the bright light under the central chandelier. Slowly, her hands rose over her head and then, as if she were a girl waking from sleep, her arms extended sideways in a languorous stretch which became an almost imperceptible undulation as her shoulders began to move.
I do this for you, Thomas. For you alone.…
Swaying as the tempo increased, she rose as effortlessly as a wish or a dream, and began to dance.

There comes to every girl a moment, a single moment, when love becomes real and all the world is transformed. All things assume a new reality. Dawn becomes a sunrise that bursts with full-blown radiance in the heart. The sky is a mantle that wraps her and her love in a world inhabited by themselves alone. The air smells sweeter, the grass underfoot feels softer. Time becomes as a wild horse, now plunging out of control, now standing motionless and trembling with impatience. The setting sun brings tears, until she realizes that darkness is a welcome cloak to hide kisses and sweet embraces from prying eyes. Love fills her heart until she feels she will burst from sheer exultation.

Adriana's dance was true and real, for dancing cleansed her and gave her the strength she would need for that which would follow. For if a girl awakens innocently to love, surely that innocence is left behind when the girl becomes a woman, and the dance that follows is the dance of a sensual woman who inflames men's passions.

Her audience of four applauded as Adriana sank to the floor in her characteristic finish. “Marvelous!” Hernandez shouted, clapping enthusiastically. “
Dios mio
, Captain Bliss. She is magnificent!”

“But surely there will be more,” LeBusque said, affecting a nonchalance that the glint in his eyes belied.

“Of course there's more,” Bliss slurred. “Well?” he asked peevishly. “What're you waiting for, girl?”

Adriana's mind flashed back to that horrible night in Mumford when his eyes had held that same glazed, dangerous look, and the recollection fueled her determination. Haughtily, she rose and snapped her fingers for the band to begin.

The rhythm was sultry, the driving beat of unabashed sexuality. Brazenly, her breasts straining against the fabric of her blouse, her legs flashing sleek and lithe and tawny, she danced closer and closer to her audience. Bliss reached out drunkenly to touch her and spilled his wine on his legs as she darted out of reach. Hernandez beamed as she danced around him and feigned a kiss to his forehead. Hadlock, even when she brushed close by him, displayed all the enthusiasm of a fish.

The moment of truth. LeBusque's eyes locked with hers as she danced behind Bliss. He watched narrowly as her tongue licked out to wet her lips. She shaved the distance between herself and LeBusque as the music rose to a fever pitch. Wildly uninhibited, her hands locked behind her head and her pelvis swaying inches from his face, Adriana danced at LeBusque's side, then disappeared behind him. Her breasts near the back of his neck, she dipped and whispered into his ear, “I know another dance, if you're interested,” and was gone.

It was done! The seed was planted. A woman gone mad, she leaped and whirled and, as the music climaxed, sank exhausted to the floor.

“Brava!” Hernandez shouted, leaping to his feet. “Brava!
Bravissima
!”

Hadlock applauded politely.

LeBusque stood and applauded, and nodded to her ever so slightly.

Without a word, the glass slipping from his fingers and crashing to the floor, Captain Trevor Bliss passed out.

He will come. I can feel it in my bones. He must come!

Adriana stared into the candle, repeating the incantation over and over again. The candle had burned down to a nubbin in the time that had passed since Carlotta had hurriedly escorted her back to her room. But how long had it been? An hour? Two? How long would she have to wait? Until the candle guttered and went out? Until the moon was lost behind the roof of the house?

He will come. I can feel it in my bones. He must come!

Everything was ready. She had untied the rolled pages and tucked them under the ticking at the bottom of the bed. She had emptied the pitcher in preparation for …

Wait!

Certain she had heard the scrape of wood on wood, she tensed and held her breath. Silently she moved the candle aside and stared at the door as the hinges creaked and a crack of light shone through the narrow opening.

Victory!
Her heart leaped. She could feel her pulse pound in her temples.
Lord, give me the strength …
“Carlotta?” she whispered. “Is that you?”

The door opened wider. “Hardly,” Henri LeBusque said, slipping inside.

“You!” Adriana gasped, rising and stepping away from the table.

LeBusque had divested himself of his coat and boots, and was wearing only breeches, an open shirt, and soft moccasins. “You expected someone else?” he asked wryly.

“No,” Adriana admitted. “But you took so long …”

Wary, he held his candle high and briefly inspected the room. “These things take time,” he explained.

“Captain Bliss?”

“Is sound asleep, as far as I know.”

“I warned him not to drink to excess.” She let a slow smile warm her face as her eyes roamed down his body. “A man in his condition has only himself to blame if another … takes his place.” Quickly, she checked the hall and pushed the door closed. “The others?” she asked. “Hernandez? Hadlock?”

LeBusque placed the heavy brass candlestick he carried on the table next to the water pitcher and basin, then sat casually on the bed and began to remove his moccasins. “Returned to their plantations. I pleaded indisposition, and begged a room for the night to sleep off the effects of too much wine and rich food.” He grinned wolfishly. “I feel better already.”

“And the servants?”

“You worry too much.”

“The servants!” Adriana hissed. She shuddered and wrapped her arms around herself as if chilled. “If Bliss learns that you … that I …”

“The servants are like faithful dogs,” LeBusque snorted. “The woman sleeps in his room to be near him, the man on the floor in the corridor outside his door. The others went to their quarters an hour ago, which left me free to prowl about and find you. You needn't worry. No one will disturb us. We might as well be alone in the house. As we shall be,” he added, his fingers beckoning her, “in this bed.”

Adriana approached with mock reluctance. “I was told to beware of roués …”

“And I was told to beware of witches, but know better than to listen to foolishness.” He ran his fingers up her arm, let them slide fleetingly over her breast. “You dance divinely, Adriana. You are beautiful, you excite me …”

Adriana caught his hand in her teeth and softly bit the tender skin between his thumb and index finger. “No more,” she said huskily, “than you excite me.”

“Damn you!” LeBusque rasped, grabbing her wrist and pulling her into his lap.

Thomas! Thomas!
It was all she could do not to fight him off. Almost sick with revulsion, Adriana returned his embrace and, a low moan rising in her throat, his kisses. Her arms circled his neck, her fingers entwined in his hair. “You are a forceful man,” she whispered when he finally released her. “One who knows how to turn a lady into a wanton.”

His hand cupped her breast, his lips caressed the swell of warm flesh above the fabric of her blouse. “And
you
are a wanton who knows how to turn a man into a satyr.”

“Yes.” She moistened her fingertips with her tongue and traced his lips. “As you shall see. But …” Coyly, she pushed away from him and stood. “I promised you a dance.”

“There is no music …”

“I need no music,” she said, backing away from him until the table stopped her, “except that which plays in my soul.”

Her hands slid up her thighs and across her abdomen, then pressed her breasts together as her fingers undid one button, then another and another as she turned away from him. Slowly, she pulled the blouse from her shoulders, let the slick fabric slide down her arms and whisper to the floor. “Come,” she purred, turning to face him. “Come to Adriana, my satyr. Come and … dance … with Adriana.”

Mesmerized, as awkward as a bumbling schoolboy, LeBusque rose and, unable to tear his eyes from her breasts and the deep rose of her nipples, walked toward her as one in a trance.

“Come,” Adriana repeated, her arms out, her hands beckoning him.

Only in his wildest dreams had LeBusque expected anything like Adriana. A conquest, yes. Acquiescence, of course, for women often gave themselves to him in the hope of future favors. But outright seduction by one so beautiful.… Her eyes burned with a desire no less than his own. Her breasts were firm and high and soft and he imagined them against his chest, in his mouth. Her hands, so supple, so smooth … hands that would enfold him and guide him to her.…

Confined by his breeches, he was almost painfully hard. “We shall dance,” Adriana whispered, her fingers tracing the rigid line of his arousal. Her hands went to her waist and began to undo the tie that held her skirt. Modestly, in the moment of truth, she turned her back on him and, instead of the pitcher she'd planned to use, grasped the heavy brass candlestick.

Now!

Her face transformed into a mask of hatred, Adriana whirled and swung with all her strength. LeBusque looked up, had time to realize what was happening and try to duck aside, but not time enough before the candlestick thudded into the side of his head.

The world exploded into shimmering fragments that, like fireworks on an autumn evening, quickly faded. LeBusque blinked and tried to reach for her, but his arms wouldn't function. “Why?” he asked, unable to comprehend, and dropped, unconscious, to the floor.

Warily, holding the candlestick ready to strike again just in case, Adriana knelt at his side. The pulse in his neck was strong; he was breathing lightly but without difficulty. Working quickly, she removed his belt, rolled him tightly into her coverlet, secured the belt around his chest, and tied his shirt around his legs. It wouldn't hold him forever, but neither would he escape easily.