Her Master's Touch (13 page)

Damon helped her into the coach and climbed
in to sit uncomfortably close beside her, reminding her of their
ride from the horse fair to
Shanti Bhavan
, two years before,
a memory she quickly repressed. Once inside the close confines of
the coach, however, she said, “Don’t expect me to refer to you as
Your Highness or My Lord. I will not.”

He reached out and took her hand. “I’ll
expect you to call me Damon," he said. "After all, we are soon to
become engaged.”

She yanked her hand from his. “
We will not
be engaged under any circumstances
. And if you think that by
marrying me you can recover your opal, you are mistaken. I don't
have the opal. Januz Kazinczy, a man on the tribal council, took it
from me when I was leaving. He was also the man who killed your
gateman."

Damon took so long to reply, Elizabeth
thought he hadn't heard her. Then she realized he was only just now
learning that she no longer had the opal. He looked at her,
guardedly, and said, "Why should I believe you? You've done nothing
but lie to me since the first day I met you."

"I won't deny I've lied to you," Elizabeth
replied, "but this time it's the truth. If Januz had not taken the
opal from me I would have returned it to the tribe as I had been
instructed to do. I did not find my way into your house to steal it
for myself. And I had nothing to do with your gateman being killed,
even though it was my knife that killed him. Januz found my knife
where you and I had been... that is... it must have come lose when
I was dancing."

A glimmer of belief flared in Damon's eyes.
"That may be," he conceded, because it was not on your leg when I
ran my hand up it. Your legs were bare, all the way to your
thighs."

Elizabeth was so angry, she could barely get
the words out when she said, "Do not ever speak of that incident
again. I hate you because of it."

"You do not hate me, Elizabeth," Damon said.
"You want me. You want the things I do that make you writhe in
passion."

"I want nothing to do with you ever again.
And since I no longer have the opal, you have no reason to marry
me. The sale of
Shanti Bhavan
will provide you with enough
money to clear your name and re-establish yourself in London."

"If you are telling the truth," Damon said,
"my marriage offer still stands because I need your dowry to clear
my name, and you back in India to recover the opal from the
gypsies. The sale of
Shanti Bhavan
would not begin to cover
the expenses needed to restore Westwendham. After the opera we’ll
thrash out the rest of my proposal. There are changes, which I
won't discuss with your father, for obvious reasons.”

“There is nothing you could possibly add that
would tempt me to change my mind," Elizabeth replied. "In fact, I
cannot think of any man I’d rather not marry than you.”

“I hold the same sentiment about you," Damon
returned. "But the fact remains, I need your dowry and my opal, and
you need the truth about your unsavory past kept silent so your
father won’t turn you into the gutter. It’s as simple as that.”

“What makes you think my father would turn me
out if he knew about my past?” Elizabeth said, wondering if she'd
ever be free of this man who was making her life a living hell.

Damon shrugged. “I’ve known your father for
years. I know how his mind works.”

Elizabeth couldn’t argue. Her father had done
precisely that with her mother, though she’d never learned what her
mother had done. “Then you’re threatening to tell him everything if
I don’t agree to marry you?” she asked, though she already knew the
answer.

Damon eyed her with dispassion. “I'll do
whatever it takes. Like I told you, Elizabeth, I always get what I
want. And I want you.”

“You want my dowry and your opal back, not
me,” Elizabeth clipped.

“I want you in my bed, gypsy girl, there’s no
question about that," Damon said. "I've wanted you in my bed from
the moment I saw you at the horse fair, and nothing's changed. I
want to feel all that gypsy fury and raw passion and wild spirit
warm and naked beneath me and see the fire in your eyes when you
abandon yourself to me. That day will come.”

“I'd slit my wrists first,” she said.

“I assure you, it won’t come to that.”

"You're right, because you'll never find me
in your bed!"

“Never is a word I refuse to acknowledge,"
Damon said. "And we will discuss my marriage offer after the opera.
Meanwhile, this will be your night to show London society that Lady
Elizabeth Sheffield has Prince Rao Singh on his knees, professing
his undying love and begging her to marry him, or he’ll go mad.” He
curved his arm around her.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Elizabeth
hissed, moving to the edge of the seat.

“Picking up where we left off in India,"
Damon replied. "I want you to kiss me the way you did in my
bedchamber, with fire and passion, and your legs around me and your
mouth sucking out my breath. You know the way, gypsy girl, the way
you kiss a man when you want something from him.” His pulled her
toward him until his lips were inches from hers.

Elizabeth braced her hands against his chest
and turned her face away. “
Stop this at once,"
she rasped,
"
and move away from me! I don’t want you to touch me!”

“This is not about what you want.” Damon
cupped his hand behind her head and pressed his mouth to hers. At
first Elizabeth was so preoccupied with the feel of his mustache
and beard that she didn’t think to push him away, and when she
finally did consider doing so, his all-absorbing kiss distracted
her, setting her heart hammering a staccato beat and her mind
reeling between slapping his cocky face, or pounding his chest with
her fists, or biting the tongue he’d thrust between her lips... Or
savoring the sooty-sweet taste of him...

All logical thought seemed to vanish when he
broke the kiss and bent over to nuzzle the high swell of her breast
and press his lips there. And deep in her throat, a soft little
moan of pleasure escaped...
And rang in her ears like a warning
bell!

She shoved his head from her breast and
slapped him hard across the face. “
How dare you take such
liberties with me!
”

Damon grabbed her wrist before she could slap
him again. “I’m only taking what you willingly gave me the night
you danced around the lantern, when you bared your breasts for me
to hold and suckle. And you offered me more when you agreed to be
my mistress, then vanished into the night with my opal. Now I’m
collecting what I’m owed.”

Elizabeth’s agitated breaths came so fast
from his crass words and the image they brought to mind, that she
feared she'd pass out from lightheadedness. “But I’m not your
mistress,” she said between ragged breaths, "so you have no right
to kiss me there, or anywhere else.”

“But soon I will have the right to kiss you,
and touch you, and fondle you anywhere I please, gypsy girl, so get
used to it.”

“
Only if I marry you! And that won’t
happen!”
If Elizabeth had not been so furious, she would have
burst into tears from the humiliation this man continued to inflict
on her. He intended to take full advantage of her brief episode of
indiscretion when she’d been forced to live by her wits. And she
had no way of convincing him that the wily, spirited gypsy girl
she’d fashioned herself to be was not a shameless strumpet skilled
at seducing men, but a virtuous women who wanted to be loved and
cherished and treated like the lady she was trying desperately to
be. And that she wanted Eliza Shirazi and everything she
represented banished from her life forever. The irony of it was,
when she was Eliza Shirazi, she was too far beneath Lord Damon
Ravencroft to become his wife, only his mistress. But as the
daughter of Lord William Sheffield, she was too high-born to be his
mistress, but worthy enough to be his wife, as long as she came
with a sizable dowry.

And all she wanted was for Lord Damon
Ravencroft to be out of her life, forever.

She flipped open her fan and fluttered it in
front of her chest to protect herself against more unwanted
advances. “I could tell the police who you are and you’d be
arrested for murder," she said, "and you wouldn’t be marrying me or
anyone else.”

Damon lifted her idle hand and pressed his
lips to the inside of her wrist. “You could,” he said, trailing
kisses up her arm. “Why haven’t you?”

Elizabeth jerked her arm away. “I still may.
There’s really nothing stopping me.”

“You’re right.” Damon rapped on the coach
window, and the driver pulled the coach to a halt. Raising the
shade, he poked his head out the window and said, “Christopher, the
lady would like to make a detour by the police station before going
to the theater.”

“As you say, sir.”

The driver turned the horses around.

"You're so sure of yourself," Elizabeth said,
"but you have no idea what I'll do when we get there."

"But we'll soon find out." Damon sat back and
folded his arms.

As the coach continued toward the police
station, Elizabeth sat in stony silence, deliberating whether to
shock Lord Damon Ravencroft by turning him over to the police, or
give him the upper hand by backing down and saying nothing. The
temptation to do the former was so strong, goose bumps prickled her
arms and the back of her neck, and sweat dampened her brow, and
before long, her stomach was in a knot and her hands began to
tremble from the resentment and exasperation of being boxed into a
corner.

The coach came to a halt in front of the
police station, and the footman climbed down and opened the door
for Elizabeth to step out. She looked at the large brick building
and felt her temper flare. ”If I had it my way, you’d hang by your
neck in the town square,” she said, yet made no move to leave the
coach,

“I’m giving you the chance to make it
happen,” Damon replied. “All you have to do is walk into that
building and tell them who I am and it’s all over for me. But keep
in mind that before long, you’ll be on the streets doing whatever
it takes to stay alive. Think long and hard on it before you act.”
He sat back and waited while Elizabeth fidgeted with the swags
crossing the skirt of her velvet gown.

After several minutes ticked by, Damon pulled
out his pocket watch and said, “The opera starts in thirty minutes,
so what’s it going to be? Lord Damon Carlisle swinging by his neck
in the town square while Lady Elizabeth Sheffield lays on her back,
spread-legged, to make a living, or Prince Rao Singh and Lady
Elizabeth Sheffield making a grand entrance at the opera?”

Elizabeth stared at her restless hands,
disgusted with herself for her cowed spirit and lack of will to
punish this man for the grief he was causing her. Eliza Sharazi
would have marched into that police station and turned him in
without batting an eye, just to get the exasperating man out of her
life. After all, justice was justice. If he were innocent he’d be
exonerated. But Elizabeth Sheffield couldn’t seem to bring herself
to do it. “I suppose we’ll go to the opera,” she said in a subdued
voice, then vowed to scream bloody murder before letting him touch
her again,

Damon kept his hands to himself for the
remainder of the ride to the opera house. He did, however, place
her hand in the crook of his arm and cover it with his palm as they
stepped away from the coach. “Smile, Lady Elizabeth,” he said as
they walked toward the opera house. “All eyes are on you and your
magnificent bosom.”

Elizabeth feigned a smile as she said in a
provocative voice, “No, Your Royal Heinie, I believe all eyes are
on you and your ostentatious get-up.”

Damon dipped his head at the curious faces as
they passed. “I think I shall enjoy being married to you, gypsy
girl. You make my blood boil and my loins ache.”

Elizabeth acknowledged a woman on the street
who reached out to touch her dress, then leaned toward Damon, and
said in a silky voice, “You are crude and offensive.”

Damon let out a short laugh as if they’d just
shared a private joke, and whispered against her ear, “Only with
women who emasculate me by stealing my jewels.”

“I may have stolen your opal," Elizabeth
said, nodding to a familiar face in the crowd, "but your other
claim is baseless.”

Damon gave her hand an affectionate pat. “I
wasn’t aware that you’d noticed the state of my masculinity, Lady
Elizabeth.”

“I hadn’t," Elizabeth clipped. "Nor could I
care less what you keep tucked between your royal legs,” she said
in a wry voice. “But you seem overly fixated on it.”

Damon laughed a deep, rumbling sound. “What
man isn’t?" he said. "But the day will come when you’ll share my
fixation.”

“Never, Your High and Mightiness,” Elizabeth
said in a velvety voice. “And I regret now that I didn’t turn you
over to the police when I had the chance, so there would be no
possibility of marrying you.”

“But you didn’t, gypsy girl, and you
will
marry me," Damon said. "Willingly.”

Once inside, Damon ushered her up the wide
bank of stairs to the mezzanine, and guided her toward the enclosed
private boxes off to the side and overlooking the stage, and lifted
the curtain to one particular box. Elizabeth looked at him with a
start. “This is my father’s private box,” she said. “You and my
father planned this in advance.”

Damon's hand tightened on her arm as he
ushered her into the box. “I leave nothing to chance when I go
after something I want," he replied. "But it works both ways. Your
father wants a titled man of wealth for his daughter, and I want
his daughter’s dowry and streetwise skills to recover my opal.
After that, you and I will part company, and your father and I will
continue to be fast friends, just as we have been for years.”