Seductive Wager (26 page)

Brett made a motion as though he would go toward her; she cringed involuntarily, and he froze in his tracks.

“I’m going to my room. Don’t you so much as come near my door tonight,” she warned, and disappeared down the hall. Brett started to follow her.

“Not now!” Valentine objected furiously, taking him by the arm. “After such a
débâcle,
all you can do is leave her alone. Maybe she will talk to you again if you give her time. If any man had ever spoken to me thus, I would have killed him!”

Brett turned his back on Valentine. The more he thought about Kate’s words, the more his anger grew. He felt misjudged and cheated. He could have ignored her treatment at Martin’s hands and left her at Ryehill; he need not have followed her to the Black Crow, he didn’t have to take her to France with him, and most of all, he didn’t have to face Martin’s gun. He had done all of this and more, yet time and time again she turned on him like a mad dog. He hadn’t meant to strike her. Yet even as he thought of her brutal words, her loveliness and soft, inviting curves teased his mind and began to sap the strength of his anger. The longing for her returned, and he could feel the tingling of his senses that was always started by the mere thought of her.

As quickly as Brett’s wrath had been fanned into flame, his mood changed to one of contrition. “I won’t let her have our marriage annulled,” he said as he moved toward the door. “Get out of my way,” he muttered when Valentine started to block his path. “I’m not going to hurt her. I can’t let her go to sleep thinking I meant all those things.”

“Be easy with her,” Valentine counseled. “She drank so much her head will not be clear for hours yet.”

“I’m not going to upset her. I just want to make sure she’s all right.” But his need of her would not lie still. Anger had aroused his every passion, and now desire ran headlong through his veins, the clarion call of unfulfilled yearning reaching to every part of his body. “Besides, she should be waiting for me. After all, the bridegroom expects to be invited to the marriage bed on his wedding night.”

Valentine bit her tongue. They were married and she had no right to interfere, but she was concerned with what might happen if Brett’s physical nature overpowered his momentary concern; knowing his character, she felt sure it would. Without a word she followed him into the hall.

Brett knocked on Kate’s door. When he got no answer, he knocked again and called her name. Still she didn’t answer. Piqued, he knocked hard enough to cause the door to rattle and grumble against him.

“Go away,” she called.

Brett’s anger, always simmering just below the surface, began to flare again. “Open this door,” he growled. “I don’t want to hurt you, but I’m your husband and, I intend to come in.”

“I won’t open that door even if you stand there all night.”

“Either you open it or I will. Valentine has extra keys for all the rooms.”

“She won’t give it to you.”

“You forget you’re my wife. By law it’s my right to sleep in your bed. Surely your mother told you about your wedding night,” he said with an anticipatory smile. The obsession had taken hold of him now and he would brook no refusal. Valentine waited uneasily.

“I won’t open the door.”

“Then I will.”

“No!”

“Valentine, love, would you mind getting your extra key?” Brett teased. “Kate seems to have mislaid hers.” He grinned broadly at his frowning hostess. “Don’t be shy, Valentine, it’s all right. We’re married.” He began to fiddle with the door, making sounds like he was trying to fit the key into the lock.

“I hope she hits you,” Valentine hissed. “You deserve it.”

There was a quick rustling movement from within, then Kate threw the door open and Brett found himself staring into the barrel end of a small pistol. It was loaded, cocked, and pointed at the exact spot between his eyes he had trained her to aim for. He instinctively jumped back.

“If you so much as touch this door again tonight, I’ll shoot you,” she threatened. She staggered, but caught her balance on the doorframe before she slammed the door in his face.

Brett recovered from his shock almost before the door had closed. “Then you’d better get ready to shoot,” he stormed, “because I’m coming in, and I don’t mean to shake hands good night.” He threw himself against the door. It creaked, but held against him. An agonizing pain shot through his shoulder reminding him of his wound, but before Valentine could stop him, he slammed into the door once more. The lock broke amid the splintering of wood and the door swung wide open, slamming into the wall with a loud crash. Almost in the same instant Valentine heard the loud report of a pistol shot.

Chapter 15

Valentine screamed, expecting to see Brett’s body crumple before her horrified eyes, but instead he remained standing, staring at the floor of Kate’s room. Had the poor child shot herself! Terrified of what she might find, Valentine pushed Brett aside and rushed into the room.

Kate lay in a white, motionless heap by the bed, the smoking pistol under her right hand. Valentine flung herself forward with an anguished cry. “Holy Virgin, forgive us!” Her lamentations were so clamorous she didn’t hear Brett speaking to her. He tried to raise her to her feet, but she fought him with fists and curses.

“May the demons of hell tear your soul to pieces!” she cursed.

Brett tried shaking her, but she continued to shout curses in his face. Swearing because of what he had to do, Brett slapped her sharply on each cheek.

Valentine stopped screaming then, but before her nails could find Brett’s face to exact their vengeance, she heard him say, “Kate’s all right. She just fainted.” He pointed to a spot above the door. “Your wallpaper is the only casualty.”

The rush of relief was so great Valentine nearly swooned. She sank down next to Kate and tried to cover her embarrassment by arranging Kate’s clothes more modestly. “Don’t bother,” Brett said in a tired voice. “I’m going to put her to bed.”

Valentine glared at him with hard, accusing eyes.

“For Chrissakes,” he exploded. “You must not think any more of me than she does. I’m not such a savage I’d rape her while she’s out cold.”

At this point, Valentine wasn’t exactly sure what she did think he might do, but she moved aside.

Brett gathered Kate in his arms. The feel of her body against his skin and the scent of her perfume in his nostrils were almost too much for his weakened condition, and he hurried to lay her on the bed before he dropped her. He stood for several minutes, his gaze riveted to her bruised cheek, and silently castigated himself for his wretched temper. Why did it have to burst out of control every time something annoyed him? And why, of all people, did he have to hit Kate?

He seemed to have no self-control where she was concerned. Even now, when he knew he had behaved like a beast, he wanted her so badly he was shaking. He probably would have taken her, too, just like she was, even though her bruised lip was like a whip flaying his raw conscience, if he hadn’t been certain she would never come to him as his wife if he took advantage of her tonight. It wouldn’t be easy to calm his pounding pulses, but this was one battle he couldn’t afford to lose.

It didn’t do his temper any good to know that Valentine had sided with Kate. And Mark clearly worshiped her, too. “If she told him to jump in Nancy’s stewpot and boil himself alive, the little fool would probably do it,” Valentine had said in exasperation one morning. Even Charles’s devotion to his master was suspect. Hell, Edward wasn’t anywhere near Kate, yet not once had he expressed any interest in Brett’s difficulties. In fact, he had advised him to not consider himself at all.

The most unnerving part was that the loyalty of all these people had belonged to him first. He knew that friendships altered with time, but not even a blind egotist could attribute such a wholesale defection to natural attrition. Besides, he was talking about less than a month, and half that time he had been too sick to do anything, right or wrong. What was it they saw in his treatment of Kate that he didn’t see? What had he done, what was he
still
doing, that made them turn against him?

He shook off his reverie and began to undress Kate. He laughed, even though he didn’t feel much like it. He had undressed many women in his time, but never one who lay in his arms like a deadweight. The others had been warm and coy, struggling just enough to keep his interest alive, but somehow managing to allow him to remove their clothes with a minimum of fuss. Kate did none of this. By the time he finally managed to get the gown over her head, he was so exasperated he threw it on the floor. She could do something about it tomorrow.

Brett carefully removed her chemise, the final bar to her privacy, and the youthful perfection of her body was laid bare to his heated gaze. He paused in wonder. He had never seen anything quite so lovely, so nearly perfect. He had intended to make sure she was comfortable and then pull the sheet over her, but he was drawn to her like a moth to a flame, and no thought of a sheet intruded to break the trance. Like the ancient mariners when they heard the song of the Sirens, he was helplessly in her thrall. He sank down beside her, touched her cheek with the tips of his fingers, traced the line of her jaw, caressed her shoulder, explored the ruby-capped mounds of her breasts. Her skin was invitingly soft, and his fingers continued their voyage down the tapering waist to the long, slim thigh; his eyes followed to the small shapely ankles and dainty feet. He snatched his hand back as if he had touched a red-hot iron, his senses reeling. He knew if he didn’t get out of the room at once his passions would overpower him, and he would take her despite his promises to Valentine and himself.

He lifted her head and spread her long silken tresses on the pillow. Then, before he could give in to his throbbing need, he threw a sheet and two quilts over her and quickly left the room. He closed the door behind him and slumped against the wall like a winded fighter. Finally aware that his wound was causing him considerable pain, he opened his eyes and massaged the shoulder roughly.

“I think maybe a little pain is not a bad thing,” Valentine stated unsympathetically. “It will give you something else to think about.” She was standing in the doorway of his room looking at him with a measuring glance he found unfamiliar, uncomfortable, and unpleasant.

“You can relax your guard, you old alley cat,” Brett snapped. “As you can see, I’m fully dressed and totally unsatisfied. I didn’t know what to do about her night clothes so I put her to bed naked. I’ll check on her later to see that she’s still covered. I don’t want her to catch cold.” That sounded suspect, even to his ears.

Valentine continued to watch him with a calculating glance, but she evidently decided he meant what he said because she backed into his room, allowing him to enter.

“If you had stayed much longer, you might not have found it possible to leave,” she said flatly. “I will stay in case you need
assistance.”
Brett wasn’t about to discuss his painfully throttled desire with Valentine or anyone else, so he changed the subject.

“Can you have somebody get Kate’s things ready? We have to leave at daybreak. I’d like to leave some trunks here, too. Since I’m not going to Paris, I won’t need so many clothes.” He flashed the captivating smile that had melted so many female hearts. “There’s no need for the wolf to dress in sheep’s clothing in the desert. My only quarry is a warlike old man who won’t care what I look like.”

“Leave what you like. Kate, too, though I doubt she has anything to leave, poor girl. Now she is Madame Westbrook, you must buy her new things. She has nothing that is not
un disgrâce.”

“I’ll see she’s provided for,” Brett promised stiffly.

“You go to bed. Valentine will check Kate,” she said with a goading look as she moved to the door. “Tomorrow will be very busy, and I do not want you to have the bad dreams.” She ducked the pillow he threw at her and skipped out the door.

Brett lay back on his bed, put his hands behind his head, and tried to relax. It was probably better he didn’t see Kate again tonight. He felt calmer now, but the sight of her was certain to get him stirred up again. Just knowing she was naked under those covers was enough to set the fire raging in his veins again.

Forget tonight,
he told himself.
It’ll only make you more miserable. Tomorrow you’ll be at sea with all the time in the world. Maybe we can start over.

Somewhere in the distance Kate could hear a pounding like a pile-driver sinking timbers into the bowels of the earth. The concussions of sound came in a persistent rhythm, and the powerful, ringing blows hurt her head. She covered her ears and tried to run away, but her body was too heavy for her muscles to move. Her struggles only increased the ringing in her head, and she was forced to lie still to lessen the pain.

Gradually she became aware of a rocking motion, a slight but regular undulation that made her stomach feel uneasy. She tried to think why she should be rocking, but her mind was clogged with an enveloping mist. The more she tried to concentrate, the more everything moved beyond her grasp. And that awful pounding! Would it ever stop?

She opened her eyes, but the light coming from a small, round window stung her eyes like thousands of tiny sharp needles. That confused her even more. Why were the windows round? Why should her eyes hurt so? The spinning pinwheels and flashing lights gradually faded, and the objects around her came into a misty focus. She turned her head to one side, but everything more than a few feet away was lost in the haze. Kate struggled to sit up on one elbow and force her mind to concentrate in spite of the pain. She
had
to know where she was. Slowly the room came into focus, and a feeling of panic gripped her. She didn’t recognize anything. Where was she? What was happening? What
had
happened to her?