The Flame and the Flower (52 page)

His laughter floated back to her as his tall, darkly clad figure disappeared into the night. She smiled and leaned back with a sigh, idly opening and closing the lace fan that dangled from her wrist. She stopped to listen as she heard a rustling sound nearby and wondered what he might be coming back for. She glanced up as a dark shadow came through the hedge and realized it wasn't Jeff at all but a shorter man who wore lighter colored garments. The man came closer and she recognized Matt. Immediately she rose and backed around the settee.

"Jeff just left, Mr. Bishop, if you wanted to see him," she said nervously.

He laughed softly and followed her around the garden bench. "Now whatever would I want to see him for, my lovely Heather, when here you are and the sight of you puts my mind to confusion. There's no one here to interrupt our dance so might you care to finish our waltz now? I vow it will be the only way we will."

"Thank you, but no, Mr. Bishop. I'm a trifle spent I fear."

She backed against the trunk of the tree as he continued to advance, and he leaned forward as he came up close and braced both hands behind her.

"Perhaps then," he breathed against her ear, "you'd care to sit this one out."

He pressed his lips against her throat as he leaned his weight upon her, and Heather did her best to squirm away.

"Mr. Bishop, please!" she protested indignantly. "Brandon will..."

"He doesn't have to know," he whispered, kissing her shoulder. "You won't tell him, will you? He's got such an ugly temper."

She struggled with him, trying to push him away, but he was not to be discouraged.

"Don't fight me, Heather," he murmured. "I've got to have you. I can't help myself. You place me in a fit of madness."

"Let me go!" she demanded. "Let me go or I'll scream, and my husband will kill you."

"Shhh," he shushed. "Don't fight me."

He covered her lips with his in a hungry kiss as he moved his hands upward from her waist, intent upon cupping her sweet, young breasts within them. She squirmed and squealed under his lips and pushed against his chest only to have him increase his weight upon her. Suddenly he was seized from behind by two strong, very capable hands and torn from her, yelping in fright. Brandon's face was distorted with rage as he threw the man into the bushes and as Matt struggled fearfully to rise, Brandon firmly planted a foot upon his buttocks and sent him sprawling through the shrubs. Matt scrambled to his feet and fled the scene with coattails flying behind him, and Heather leaned against the tree for support, noting with satisfaction how fast the man ran. As her husband swung around to her she managed a shaky, rewarding smile, but it quickly faded when he grasped her and pinned her to that same tree.

"That mincing fop has trouble finding his way out of his britches, madam, but as you should remember, I have no such problems."

His mouth swooped down hard upon hers, forcing her lips apart savagely as he thrust his tongue between them. Her lips were bruised as he kissed her hungrily, passionately, no longer with restraint. Heather gave him no resistance. Though she had thought herself saved from rape, she now feared she was headed for that same fate again. She had no will power to keep Brandon from taking what he wanted and what he had every right to, and whereas she had been coldly unmoved by Matt's unwanted attentions, she found herself growing deliciously giddy and suddenly weak in her husband's embrace. His hands moved over her breasts, his fingers meeting together in the deep valley between and lingering there for a pleasurable moment before sliding under her gown. Heather moaned softly and began to tremble as though she stood braced against a fierce wind that whipped at her skirts and tore her hair loose from its mooring. She had never known how deeply she could be aroused by passion's fires and a lover's caress, and the sensation mounted within her, never to be fulfilled until put to some strange end she was ignorant of. Brandon muttered unintelligible words as his lips moved to the corner of her mouth, pressing fevered kisses there and along her throat, her perfumed warmth adding fuel to the flame within him. His hands freed those sensuous breasts from her gown, and their pale roundness gleamed tantalizingly in the night. He embraced them with greedy kisses, his breath hot and heavy upon her flesh, and Heather closed her eyes in ecstasy and leaned her head back against the tree, reveling in this new experience. His hand, sliding along her thigh, found its way under her gown over her bare buttock as his knee urged her legs apart. He pulled her hard against him. Then his face was above hers again in the night and his voice husky as he muttered against her parted lips, their breath warm in each other's mouth.

"You are mine, Heather. No one will have you but me. Only I shall taste your body's joys. And when I snap my fingers, you will come."

His arms slid from her and Heather watched, disbelieving, as he turned and strode away, leaving her limp and trembling, her body hungrily yearning for his kisses and his touch. She shuddered in painful frustration, wanting him back and almost crying out for him, but she heard Jeff call her name in worried tone and she quickly turned her back to repair her garments and cover her breasts.

Jeff came through the bushes, carrying now half-filled glasses, the champagne sloshed over his hands, and looking back over his shoulder.

"What's been going on here? I saw Matt hitailing it away and now Brandon almost knocked me down." He glanced around then to see her disheveled appearance and his eyes widened. "Tory, are you all right? My God, if Matt... if either of them have hurt you..."

She shook her head as she took a glass of champagne from him, clutching it in both hands as she tried not to spill it in her shaky grasp, and raised it to her lips to drain it without a pause.

"You were right, Jeff," she commented unsteadily. "Big girls do have much more to worry about in the dark."

"Did Matt come out here and bother you? So help me God, I'll wring that bastard's neck!"

"He was out here," she breathed. "But Brandon sent him on his way."

He released a chuckle. "That must have been something to see. Bran was madder than an old hornet as he watched you two dance together. I could almost wring Louisa's neck for cornering me in the ballroom, making me miss all the fun. But if I know her she probably knew what was going on and didn't want me to interfere, thinking Bran might blame you." He looked at her and sobered. "He didn't, did he?"

Heather laughed, a bit hysterically, and shrugged her shoulders. "I have no idea what he thought."

He contemplated her a moment. "Heather, are you sure you're all right? You don't act yourself."

"Oh, Jeff," she half choked. "I'm not sure about anything right now, least of all myself. I really must try to collect my wits about me, mustn't I? How can I face anyone in this condition? I think I'd best retire to my room for a spell."

He pulled her hand into the bend of his arm. "Come on then, honey. I'll take you back."

"Not through the ballroom," she pleaded. "I'm afraid I would draw too much attention."

He chuckled. "All right. I'll take you around to the front."

She let him lead her to the door and took her leave of him as they entered. Hoping no one would notice her disheveled appearance, she hurried to pass the study door which was open. Inside the room some of the men had gathered and were laughing and talking in a jovial manner as they enjoyed their host's liquor. She recognized her husband's voice among them and heard his deep chuckle, the first of the evening, and the amiable retort he made to some jest. Her heart beat a little harder as she hastened past the door.

From where he stood Brandon observed his wife's flight across the hall, and with a smile, excused himself from his guests and went to stand just outside the study door. He drew leisurely upon his cigar, squinting through the smoke as his eyes followed her ascent up the stairs, watching the graceful swing of her slender hips and the way the gown clung to her.

At the head of the stairs, Heather paused uncertainly, feeling eyes upon her and gazed back over her shoulder to find him staring up at her, an unreadable expression occupying his handsome, bearded face. She blushed, remembering what had passed between them and was about to turn to flee to her room when Mary came out of the nursery, trying to quiet Beau. Heather held out her arms for him, and Brandon watched his wife take their son into her arms and cuddle him close to her as she cast one last glance at him and then turned and hurried to her room, and he pulled out his timepiece and noted the hour.

Thirty minutes had flown when Mary came down the stairs after putting Beau to bed again. Brandon strode out of the study where he had been waiting near the door talking idly with a few men as he kept an eye upon the stairs. He stopped the servant and told her she wouldn't be needed any more that night. A confused frown passed briefly across the girl's brow but she nodded obediently and disappeared toward the back.

Brandon mounted the stairs with slow and measured tread. He glanced briefly over his shoulder to find the hall empty and the guests enjoying themselves in the ballroom and study. Without knocking he opened the door to the master bedroom and entered, closing it behind him, and leaned against the wall to gaze at Heather. Seated at her dressing table, she had been busy restoring her coiffure and now watched him warily out of the corner of her eye as she continued to do so. She was wearing only the light shift he had seen her in earlier and her full, ripe breasts could not have been more alluring had they been bare. Her body glowed softly in the warm candlelight and her dark hair shone with a rich luster. His eyes moved slowly over her, resting for a time on her soft white shoulders and the pink hued nipples that strained against that sheer cloth and finally returned to her face. He seemed completely at ease, once more self-assured, the self-confident Brandon. He smiled most leisurely as he came forward to the dressing table and put out his cigar in the ashtray there.

"I've come to some conclusions this night, Heather, and I have several things I wish to tell you."

He strode behind her to the bed and leaned his shoulder against the massive post at the foot and met her gaze in the mirror.

"One point I should like to clear first of all. You know me well enough by now that you might guess what would have happened had I been completely opposed to marrying you. If you really think that any man on this earth could have forced me entirely against my will, then let me assure you, madam, you are mistaken. I would have rotted in prison had it been anyone but you."

Heather's eyes widened a trifle and she sat now listening quietly but very alert.

"Once, a long time ago," he continued, "I spoke in anger to you and denied myself what I desired most. Call it my damnable pride, for it was in truth that beast which sought to hurt you and cast upon you my revenge for many things that were a mystery to even me. But it was I who suffered, I who beat my breast in frustration while you frolicked gaily upon my heart and vowed your hate for me in simple language. The revenge was not mine after all, my sweet, but yours. So now, I am through playing games in which I am the loser. I am tired of being the outsider in my own home, my own bed. I've reached a point where I have a choice to make. I can either bed you or I can leave and find relief with another woman. But I seek no other, Heather. I yearn for no other. I want
you
."

He began to loosen his stock as a half smile played about his lips.

"So the games are over and the act is done and I am a man and I will have my due. For almost a year I've been without a woman to ease my needs. No other have I had since I touched your virgin body that night, many nights ago. I'll tell you true it hasn't been easy keeping my hands off you. But no more will I play the monk. It was not my intention to take you again by force. I do not choose that relationship. But if I must I will, for I cannot go on living under the same roof with you and never finding my pleasure within your body. So my mind is made. I'm going to have you and not only tonight. You may resign yourself to the fact that we will be sharing a bed from now on and that our relationship will be very... intimate."

He removed his coat and slung it over his arm.

"I'll leave you alone for a few moments. When I return, you be in this bed, whether willingly or grudgingly. And remember, my dearest, this is not Lord Hampton's house now, but mine, as you are mine, and no one will dare come through that door to save you."

Heather sat stunned and as the door closed behind him a fiery rage flared within her. With a swipe of her arm, she sent the ashtray flying.

"What thinks he that he may come in here while the house is overflowing with his friends and among them that blonde bitch and command me to spread my thighs for him? Does he think there need not be words spoken of love nor soft caresses to soothe my body? Am I truly then to him a possession and not a wife, a whore who's met his fancy? Oh, once he played himself upon a frightened girl. Well, no longer am I frightened nor just a girl. I am a woman and he will truly know my vengeance for I will fight and claw and scratch and keep my thighs closed tightly until my strength has been exhausted. Only then will I submit and lie unresisting. He has no right..."

She sat silently for a moment deep in thought.

"But he does," her gentler self argued. "He is my husband and father of my child. He owns me and I am the one without right to hold myself from him."