Star Crossed Seduction (19 page)

She pulled his prick to her lips and let her tongue inscribe a circle around it, finding the slit at its tip and lingering there, tasting his seed, so salty and primeval. But he pulled it away from her searching lips. That was not what he wanted, not now; he needed too much to join himself with her.

He reared over her and knelt once again between her legs, so that she bore none of his weight, and eased himself into her, his eyelids half-lowered and fluttering with pleasure as he buried himself in her and began to thrust.

As his hips moved, his thick shaft stretched her and filled her with him, moving against her, inside, in a way that made her want him even more. She opened herself wider to him, marveling at how much of him there was to welcome. His manhood rose and fell within her, drawing from her a desire that echoed with his.

His tempo quickened as he pounded into her. His eyes were filled with a look she had never seen before, exultant and joyful. She thrust with her own hips, inciting him to thrust harder and harder. They pulsed together, their bodies pounding as their souls danced. Time disappeared as she lost herself in him, until they found release together, and he sagged against her, spent and emptied of everything but relief. From the crack that opened in her heart, her tears poured out.

“Why do you weep?” His voice was rough. “Did I hurt you?”

“Oh no, not that.” It was difficult to speak. She could say nothing more for a moment, then she whispered. “I weep because you made me know you love me.”

“I do,” he said. “Forever.”

H
e stretched out beside her, so close he could still feel her chest pounding. He, too, felt like weeping. He had found her again in that place where he was filled with power, knowing himself for who he was.

And again she had met him there. She’d taken all he had to give her. She was strong enough to meet him. To withstand all that he was. To welcome it.

Without anger. Without savagery. She had wanted to take what he needed to give. They
were
two halves of one whole. His heart swelled with joy he had never dreamed it could know. His long years of loneliness were over.

Only one thing troubled him, and at length after they’d lain in companionable silence he asked, “Why did you call yourself evil,” he asked, “when your desire rose to match mine? Who taught you you were evil?”

“I have always known it, for I bear the mark.”

“What mark?”

She sat up and pointed to the crease where her upper thigh met her torso. “This mark. See. It’s a cloven hoof. The mark of Satan. I was born with it.”

He leaned over to inspect it. It was a small dark birthmark that stood out against her pale skin, and to the superstitious mind, perhaps its shape could have been interpreted that way.

“That was why my stepmother said I would grow up to be sinful. For I was branded with it at birth.”

“Your stepmother was a very stupid woman.”

“But my father believed her. And Randall said it was the mark of the devil inside me, the one that made me insatiable.”

“The bastard was wrong. You’re not insatiable. I can speak on that with authority.”

She blushed. “But I wanted so much.”

“You want only what it gives me pleasure to give to you. No woman before has ever been strong enough to take from me all I have to give. It’s not a sin, Tem, that your passion is as strong as mine, it’s a miracle. It’s the sign we were born to love each other. ”

Chapter 16

I
t was only after he had dressed himself the next morning that Trev had the courage to address the one practical matter that barred him from completing their happiness.

“As you are only eighteen,” he said, “I must get your father’s consent before we can be wed. So I must ask you to furnish me with his direction.”

Her face clouded. “He may refuse you.”

“Why would he do that?”

“He might think you were after my fortune.”

“You have one?”

“I would have had I not left home. But I wanted no part of the money he earned from exploiting the workers at his mills.”

“Who exactly is your father?”

“Jedidiah Smith.”

“The Cotton King?” Everyone had heard of the man whose mills ran half a mile along the riverbank in Manchester.

“Yes. That was why I was such a prize for Randall. He enjoyed reproaching me about my birth long after he’d lost all other interest in me.”

“It is incomprehensible to me how any man could lose interest in you. But that does put a different complexion on the matter.”

He pondered for a minute. “I shall tell your father that I will happily take you in your shift. Perhaps that will assure him I’m not a fortune hunter. It’s true. I want nothing from him but his permission to make you my wife.”

“But even so, what if he won’t give it to you?”

“Then I will take you to India with me anyway and do battle with him from there. Do you think I would give you up now?”

Her eyes brightened, and a delicate flush warmed the cool smoothness of her pale cheek. Without further argument, she gave him her father’s direction. Later that day, he wrote to him to ask for his daughter’s hand, referring him to Fanshawe should he require confirmation as to his character.

When the letter was posted, he said a silent prayer that her father wouldn’t add to the obstacles that already lay in their path. He would have Temperance as his wife, one way or another. Nothing in this world could part them now. But he didn’t underestimate the challenges that lay before them. He hoped that her father wouldn’t make things even more difficult than they were already likely to be.

O
ver the next few days, Temperance abandoned herself to the joy of her newfound love and refused to listen to the doubts that whispered it couldn’t last. Trev fulfilled at once his promise to send Danny to his country estate, then he continued on with his campaign to show her his kinder side.

He gave her a richly patterned shawl he’d brought with him from India, whose exotic scent hinted at the splendors that awaited her in the East. He brought her a book that recounted a lady’s experiences in India, to teach her more about the land that would become her adopted home. He even began to teach her the rudiments of the Hindustani language, beginning with the words she would have to employ with their servants and moving on to the vocabulary that described the dozens of positions in which it was possible to make love.

These they explored together in the hours they whiled away at her lodgings entwined in each other’s arms. Some of them heightened their pleasure; others proved so ridiculous they found themselves reduced to helpless laughter when they tried them. But with every new encounter, Temperance grew more closely bonded to this man who, beneath his stern and controlled exterior, had hidden a need for affection greater than that of anyone she had known—except herself.

In the aftermath of their lovemaking, he would bring to life the characters of his commander and the other officers who shared his mess—capital fellows who, he assured her, would welcome her with an enthusiasm only slightly less than his own. But despite his assurances, there were moments when she wondered if what they indulged in now was a fantasy no more real than her dream of triumphing over tyranny with her crew here in London.

How could she transform herself into the kind of woman who would fit in with the wives of his fellow officers who must form her circle once they arrived in India? To be accepted in their society, she would have to school herself to show none of the revolutionary fervor that had been such a part of her character even before she’d left home.

In India, too, she would have to set aside her dream of working for a better world and replace it with that of building the loving family Trev so obviously needed. The joy she found in his arms was so great, she could at times delude herself that it would compensate her for what she would have to give up to become his wife. But when he left her to take care of the many arrangements that must be completed before their departure, her fears set in again.

Close as they were becoming, she resisted the temptation to tell him of her anxieties, and if he suspected her of entertaining doubts, he didn’t bring them up. The air of reserve he maintained, even now, told her there were things he preferred to keep from her. He must be struggling with his own doubts, and, like herself, he must have concluded that to discuss them might only make them stronger. They were too happy together to take such a risk. Best to suck every bit of pleasure out of the present moment and leave the future to unfold as it must.

I
t was with mixed feelings that Trev said farewell to his mother on the day appointed for the journey into Surrey, where he would visit with the Mad Nabob and claim the Jewel of Vadha. He embraced his parent and wished her well, just as if he would be coming back in a few days, but he did so knowing it would be many years until he saw her again. How ironic it was to find himself playing what had once been her role.

Loving Temperance as he did, he could better appreciate the sacrifice his mother had made in spending six years apart from her beloved husband. She’d done it for Trev, to ensure he would survive. He found himself wishing he’d had a chance to get to know her better during this visit home. But once again, duty had exacted a harsh price from him and his family. He could do nothing about it but pray that same duty would not come between him and Temperance so cruelly.

But it probably would. He must not delude himself about that. He was sworn to serve his king, his regiment, and the department. All had claims as strong as hers upon his loyalty.

W
hen he went to fetch her from her lodgings, so they could begin their journey to the Mad Nabob’s estate, Trev encountered a young woman coming out of Temperance’s chamber, dressed in a gaudy, dirty gown. He figured she must be an old friend, come to say her farewells, before recalling that he had not told Temperance, any more than he had his mother, that they’d be leaving for India as soon as he had completed his business at Sir Humphrey’s.

He hoped Temperance could forgive him for robbing her of the chance to take her leave of the friends she would not see again for many years, as she might have done had he been able to be more frank with her. But it had not been possible. Not if he were to preserve the confidentiality his mission required.

Perhaps after they married, it would be time to give up these errands he did for the department. All this cloak-and-dagger stuff was beginning to seem a bit adolescent. He couldn’t in good conscience continue on with pursuits that forced him to keep so many secrets from his wife. His love for her and the family they would build together should be more than enough to compensate him for the loss of the adventures with which he had filled his youth.

He found Temperance by the grate, stirring the fire with a stick. At his entrance, she jumped up and crossed the room to greet him. After they’d embraced, he asked, “Was that an old friend of yours I saw leaving?”

Her body stiffened. “Aye,” she said, too hastily. “She’s on the game now, poor thing. But she was kind enough to come by to see how I was faring.”

Tipped off by something furtive in her gaze, he followed her eyes to the grate, where something had just flared up and begun to burn. He took a few steps toward the fire, but by the time he reached it, the sheet had been consumed, all except for one corner where he spotted a letter S, inked by a clumsy hand, which terminated in what looked like a snake’s tongue. Just as he began to make out what it was, it blackened.

He rounded on her. “Who sent you that note?”

For a moment she hesitated. Then she said, “Snake.”

His heart missed a beat.

“Why?”

“It’s the same thing as before. He wishes to make me his cat’s-paw and draw me into one of his schemes. But I won’t do it. He can’t force me to obey him. Snake can kiss the devil’s arse for all I care.”

“Is that the truth, Tem. All of it?”

Her eyes blazed. “Have I given you any reason to doubt me since we made our vows?”

She hadn’t. He must trust that she was being honest with him.

“Forgive me,” he said. “You have given me nothing but your love. It isn’t easy to overcome the habits of a suspicious nature.”

His words seemed to calm her. If only they could do the same for him. He would have given a lot not to have seen that note or felt the jolt of fear it had sent coursing through him. It had brought back all the doubts Fanshawe had planted in his mind. He
would
trust her. He must. Her love was becoming essential to his very existence. But he would be glad when this whole business was over, the jewel stowed securely in the ship’s safe, and his fears about Temperance’s role in the matter finally stilled. Until then, he must live with those fears. They could only be dispelled after he’d successfully completed his mission.

T
hey arrived at the Mad Nabob’s estate as the shadows were drawing down into evening. Despite his foreknowledge of their host’s eccentricities, Trev was surprised at the spectacle that greeted them within. Though the building on the outside resembled any modern gentleman’s residence with a deceptively bland portico, the inside reflected its owner’s obsession with the subcontinent where he’d made his fortune—and his determination to pretend he still dwelled there.

The colors were warm, as was the atmosphere, for huge fires blazed in every room despite its only being November, attesting both to their host’s wealth and his determination to behave as unlike an Englishman as possible. Tiger heads were mounted on the walls, and a small monkey shivered in one corner of the reception room.

The servants who greeted them were garbed in tunics and leggings edged in costly trim. Their heads were swathed in turbans. Trev addressed one with a brief burst of Hindustani, but his words were met with a look of surprised incomprehension. It was only then he noted the blue eyes and ruddy complexion that betrayed the man’s true nationality. Sir Humphrey must pay his servants well for them to put up with his bizarre requirements.

His own manservant, a bluff Yorkshireman, who had come back with him from India and would be accompanying them on their return, was ushered away to the servants’ quarters. Then one of the nabob’s men led them into a reception room that was even grander than the entryway. There they were introduced to their host, whom they found seated cross-legged on a low throne. He was dressed in the form-revealing silk shirt of an Indian prince, though the awkward fit of his garments suggested they had been designed for a prince whose build was far slimmer than that of the portly nabob. On his head he wore a flame red turban, over which were draped cascades of pearls. He also sported five or six heavy gold necklaces of a type Trev had seen worn by Rajput princes, each of them studded with large gems. Whatever the value of the Jewel of Vadha, the Mad Nabob would have many more with which to console himself.

At their entrance, Sir Humphrey sprang up, and called out, “Ah, Captain Trevelyan,
Namaste, Namaste!
Welcome to Srinagar Mahal,” and placed his hands palm to palm as he inclined his head slightly. Trev replied to the traditional greeting in polite Hindustani to which his host responded enthusiastically in the same language. The nabob’s accent was abysmal, and he had a very poor grasp of how to use the postpositions characteristic of the language. Trev switched back to English. “May I introduce my companion, Miss Smith?”

Sir Humphrey’s smile broadened as he inspected every inch of her, from her hair, which she had arranged in a thick plait made into a coil at the back, to her high, rounded bosom, where his gaze lingered far longer than was polite in any society, Indian or English.

When he had completed his inspection, he strode toward her and, with a speed unexpected in a man so large, cupped her chin in his hand, turning it this way and that, as if looking for flaws. A burst of purely animal possessiveness coursed through Trev, but before he could act on it, Sir Humphrey switched back into his execrable Hindustani, and said, “Your gift pleases me. She will indeed be a remarkable addition to my harem. Mr. Fanshawe did not lie about her beauty.” Then his hand drifted down to her breast.

Temperance swatted it away, causing Sir Humphrey to draw back with an expression of surprise. At that, Trev seized her hand in a possessive gesture that could not be misinterpreted. Then, speaking slowly in Hindustani and taking care to choose words the most elementary student of the language could understand, he said, “My apologies, noble host, if my clumsy attempts have given you a false impression, but Miss Smith is not a gift. I must demand that you treat her with respect.”

Sir Humphrey’s fat features took on a peevish look. Still speaking in Hindustani, he said, “Mr. Fanshawe said you were bringing me the girl as a present.”