Lady Vixen (48 page)

For
a long minute Christopher surveyed her; his lips twisting into a tight smile,
he said at last, "No wonder your uncle struck you! If you behave with him
as you do with me, I think I should offer him congratulations instead of a
sword point!"

Warily,
Nicole eyed him, well enough acquainted with his actions to know that, despite
his careless words, he was furious and that her maddened blow would not be
allowed to pass so easily. "What do you mean by that?" she asked,
frowning at his words.

His
expression bland, he answered quietly, "You don't think William is going
to get by with merely a scold from my grandfather, do you?"

Dry
mouthed at the implication of what he said, her eyes very big, Nicole
whispered, "You're not going to challenge him to a duel?"

Christopher's
mouth smiled, but his eyes remained cold and deadly and she read her answer
there. Forgetting instantly their own argument, she placed a pleading hand on
his arm and said breathlessly, "Oh, Christopher, do not! He is a dangerous
man, and he will not meet you without first having taken steps to assure that
he will win! He will kill you! It was only a blow—not a mortal insult. Let it
be!"

Unemotionally,
Christopher removed her hand from his arm. "I rather think it is up to me
to decide whether it was a mortal insult or not," he replied dryly.

"Oh,
but..."

His
face darkening with rage held barely in control, Christopher cut off her
further protest by grasping her by the shoulders and snarling, "Shut up,
Nick! You may be willing to overlook his actions, but I'm afraid I am not! No
one strikes you, while you are under my protection. I may do it if you drive me
to it, but I will not allow that piece of offal to do so!" Lips curling in
a sneer at her look of disbelief, he added, "Oh, yes, even you I will not
have mistreated—except perhaps by myself."

In
confusion she stared at his angry face, wishing desperately that she understood
him, but beyond the cold anger in his eyes, his features revealed nothing. She
couldn't help herself from feeling a twinge of fear for him and softly said,
"Be careful, Christopher."

His
hold on her tightened painfully and his mouth curved in a crooked smile.
"Concern for me? Now that I find hard to believe!"

The
ready anger came flooding back, and she fought violently against the hands that
held her prisoner. "You utter beast!" she panted. "Let me
go!"

"Oh,
no, my dear, I owe you something for that little display of bad manners a
moment ago." A thread of amusement in his voice, he stared down at her
furious face.

Nicole
froze, but angled her chin at him defiantly. "Go ahead then, strike me!
There is obviously little difference between you and my uncle!" she
sneered.

"Oh,
but there is, my little vixen," he promised softly. "A great deal of
difference." And jerking her against him, his hard mouth caught hers in a
punishing kiss.

Nicole
frantically sought to suppress the wild surge of pleasure that coursed through
her veins at the tormenting pressure of his mouth, but even knowing he was
kissing her to chastise, to hurt, she melted into the warm strength of his
body, her lips parting under the demanding assault of her senses. Christopher's
body responded instantly to the soft crush of hers, and with something like
triumph, she felt his desire leap and grow as their locked bodies strained
closer together. His hand moved tantalizingly down her back, urging her nearer,
caressing her hips. The dull ache of passion in her loins became almost
unbearable as his tongue explored and probed the sweet wine of her mouth, and
she knew if he wanted her, she wouldn't stop him.

He
raised his head slowly, and from the desire-blurred look in his eyes Nicole
knew he was experiencing much the same wild senseless emotion. Somewhere in the
back of Christopher's brain a warning was hammering, a warning that discovery
could happen at any moment, but he was beyond the point of being able to draw
back, and with a groan he pulled Nicole to him, suddenly not caring if the king
himself were to find them. His mouth found hers with a frightening urgency, and
lost to coherent thought they slowly sank down beside the quiet fishpond.

In
the tight grip of aching desire, Nicole made only a soft murmur of resistance
when Christopher lifted her gown and pushed aside the lacy chemise, his hand
warm and compelling as he sought the softness between her thighs. Blindly he
found the delicate triangle, and at his touch, as he stroked and fondled,
probing deep within her, the last remnant of sanity fled them both, leaving
only the need to join with the other.

He
took her swiftly, the swelling pressure of his manhood as he drove compulsively
into her welcoming softness, flooding Nicole with pleasure and filling her
urgent desire. Their bodies came together in a sensual tempo, each rushing to
meet the thrust and lunge of the other, oblivious to anything but the heedless
flame of passion that engulfed them. There were both exquisite pleasure and
bitter anguish in this mindless driven desire that burned within them; neither
was willing to admit that it had its roots in something deeper, finer, and more
lasting than animal lust.

At
this moment Christopher was only conscious of the smooth, sinuous, twisting
body beneath his, and Nicole of the hard muscled force that was buried within
her. The first swirling mists of fulfillment were already dimming Nicole's
brain, and as the aching pleasure washed over and flooded her body, her moan of
intense ecstasy was muffled by Christopher's hungry mouth. Replete, she lay
there, unable to move, feeling with a stab of queer tenderness Christopher's
own eruption of desire. For many moments they stayed there locked together,
their mouths gently mingling and tasting.

Eventually
Christopher moved slightly and lifted his body away from hers, and for a
timeless second he stared down into her face. A troubled, uncertain expression
coming and going on his features, he said, "Nicole, I . . ." But then
as if aware of their situation, he jerked up abruptly. Standing, after quickly
rearranging his clothing, he reached down and absently pulled her crushed gown
into place. Helping her to her feet, he still said nothing, his face once again
a mask.

Passion
gone now, Nicole was suddenly ashamed and furious with herself for what had
just happened. And in this moment she hated herself and Christopher more than
she had at any other time in the past. With a hand that shook with pain and
embarrassment she finished straightening her dress, unable even to look at
Christopher, fearful his features would be bearing their usual sardonic
expression. And when at last she braced herself to glance at him, what she saw
filled her with anger and despair.

His
face was empty and cold, the gold eyes bleak and remote. Even his voice when he
spoke was lifeless, as if he had fought a terrible battle and lost. "I
apologize for what happened. You needn't fear it will happen again, I can
promise you that it won't."

His
words did nothing to soothe the confusion of shame and anger that rioted
through Nicole. She wanted something more from him than a mere apology that
sounded as if it meant nothing to him, as if it were mere form. Her eyes
shimmering with unshed tears, she spat, "I won't accept that! You seem to
believe that you can do as you will and then a few words will undo everything!
Well, it won't!" Her emotions were so raw she had no thought for his,
never realizing that he was as ashamed and angry with himself for what had
transpired as she was.

Her
words stung him, though, and with a savage gleam in his eyes he snarled,
"And what about you, my dear? I didn't notice that you fought so very
hard! Goddamnit, Nick, I'm only a man! I'm sorry. I didn't mean for that to
happen. And you can rest assured that I regret it more bitterly than you can
ever know. I made a vow I wouldn't ever touch you again, and I broke it. How do
you think that makes me feel?" Bitterly he added, "You're the
last
woman I want to become entangled with!"

They
faced one another angrily, not thinking of what they were saying or even of
what they were doing. Hurt and stunned by the knowledge that he hated her so
much, Nicole struck him in a sudden painful fury across the cheek.

Christopher
made no retaliation, but his jaw tightened and his eyes went icy. "That, I
think, will be enough! I'll admit you had provocation, but don't push your luck
too far!" he said softly.

Horrified
by the ugliness of what she was doing, Nicole spun away from him. Her back held
ramrod-straight, staring blindly in another direction, she said tightly,
"Leave me, Christopher. We don't seem to be able to act like normal people
when we are alone together. We either fight or"—a hysterical little gurgle
of laughter escaping —"we do something that resembles making love."
She turned back to look at him and said sadly, "But we don't, do we? We
make hate."

His
face bleak, Christopher made no attempt to deny her words. He merely nodded,
whether in agreement or good-bye she couldn't discern. Then he left her,
striding with catlike grace from the conservatory.

But
what had happened between them, he didn't leave behind. He took it with him,
and there was no relief from the grotesque war that raged within his breast.
She was like Annabelle. She was. She was
her
daughter. Like mother, like
daughter, the thought thundered in his brain. And in the fashion of two
powerful serpents, the emotions of love and hate were locked, writhing and
twisting together in a battle within him. So entwined were they that
Christopher was blind to reality, unable to distinguish one emotion from the
other, love from hate, the present from the past.

The
Cavendish Square house seemed deserted as Christopher walked from the
conservatory. Twickham replied to his careless inquiry that his grandfather had
left to visit a Judge White in Russell Square and the elder ladies had gone to
see Mrs. Bell, Regina's dressmaker. Christopher hesitated a moment and thought
of joining his grandfather, but then deciding he would gain more satisfaction
and release from his pent-up fury by facing Markham, he nodded curtly to
Twickham and sprinted up the stairs.

Higgins
was waiting for him. "The Markhams are staying at a hotel in Piccadilly. I
have the address here," Higgins said, handing Christopher a scrap of
paper.

Christopher
barely glanced at it. "Thanks." Then suddenly remembering the
appointment with his agent, he groaned, "Higgins, go see this fellow
Jenkins. I should have met with him almost an hour ago! Apologize for me. Think
of something and look at the lodgings he has to offer. I'll leave it to your
judgment. But for God's sake, find me somewhere else to stay before I go
mad!"

Startled,
Higgins stared at his usually imperturbable master. "That bad, eh?"

Christopher
threw him a wry grin. "Worse! I am in danger of losing whatever sense I
was born with, and retreat is not only necessary, but desperately
desired!" With that he flung from the room, leaving the bewildered Higgins
to stare after him.

Christopher
found William Markham with no trouble. Nor was William surprised when
Christopher was announced. He had been prepared for some additional
communication from the Saxons, but he was not prepared for Christopher's
intimidating presence, nor had he expected him so soon.

William
had figured that it would take the Saxons a day or two to decide on their
future action. He had expected their decision to take the form of a written acknowledgment
of his rights from Lord Saxon's lawyer. Consequently when Christopher, a
dangerous glitter in his eyes, was shown in, William suffered a definite shock
and a feeling of unease.

There
was something so menacing in the way this tall broad-shouldered young man
stalked into his room, that William was assailed by a momentary qualm and found
himself wishing apprehensively that Edward had not gone to Long Acre to buy a
tilbury this particular afternoon.

Christopher
halted just inside the room, making no attempt to hide his contempt for William.
In a peremptory tone he inquired, "You paid a call to my grandfather's
home this morning?"

"Well,
yes," William began defensively. "Yes, I did." His sense of
injustice renewed, he said more forcefully, "And I'll tell you this, young
man, I was treated most cavalierly! Miss Ashford is my ward, and your
grandfather, even if he is a lord, had no right to interfere."

"Even
when you strike her?" Christopher asked in a silky voice.

William
swallowed somewhat nervously. "She was impudent, and as her guardian,"
he began to bluster, "as her
legal
guardian, I have every right to
reprimand my ward! She was impertinent, sir!"

Almost
caressingly, Christopher ran the riding crop he held through his hands, his
gaze never leaving William's increasingly red face. "You are
mistaken," he stated flatly. "Nicole Ashford is no longer any concern
of yours —she hasn't been since she ran away from your tyranny five years
ago."

William
stiffened with anger, but Christopher ignored him. "I'll give you some
free advice, Mr. Markham," Christopher said pleasantly. "If I were
you, I'd forget about Nicole Ashford and return to my farm. She'll be well
taken care of by my grandfather. And, of course, if you don't follow my
advice," he paused, an unpleasant smile curling his lips, "I'm afraid
that it will be our unfortunate duty to request an inquiry into the management
of her moneys during your guardianship."