The Lodestone (48 page)

But then, much to the count’s surprise and confusion, Drake did not remove the lady’s other slipper or any more of her clothing. Instead, he reached for a deck of cards and began to shuffle them. What was this? Paolo couldn’t believe it. They were going to play cards! How disappointing.

But no
.

He waited a moment and realized that this was a different kind of game. After Drake presented the deck to Cleome and she cut it, each of them drew a card and held it up for the other to see. Then she smiled at the gambler as he removed her other shoe. Drake sat on the edge of the chaise and leaned over to kiss Cleome with a longing Paolo could well imagine. They repeated the business with the cards but this time, Drake allowed his lady to remove his jacket.

What clever sport
, Paolo surmised, wondering why he had never thought of it.
They are wagering for articles of clothing!
He settled back in his chair and took a sip of champagne. He could wait and wait happily for the spectacle he knew was to come. When he looked through the crack once more, Drake had removed one of the lady’s silk stockings and was kissing her little foot. Then he ran his tongue around that fine arch and actually took her smallest toe into his mouth. Paolo put his wine glass down and leaned closer to the slit in the wall.

**

Cleome had never experienced anything like it, and knowing that Paolo could see them did little to diminish the sensations she was experiencing at Drake’s capable hands. She couldn’t imagine what he would do next, and when he actually began to suckle her small toe, she gasped in surprised pleasure.

He looked up at her and grinned. “Steady now, milady,” he whispered. “You’ve more to endure before this night is done.” He gave her foot another soft kiss and then straightened up to shuffle the deck again; and again the draw went to him. He removed her other stocking, lifted her skirt, and kissed both her knees.

The next draw went to Cleome, and she unbuttoned Drake’s shirt and drew it off him, amazed anew at the expansion of his chest, his large, firm biceps and the muscles rippling across his abdomen. His breeches were cut low around the waist and she was fascinated by the thin line of fine dark hair that began just under his navel and directed her eye downward to the bulge of his sex, which grew even as she gazed at it.

But the next four draws went to Drake. He removed her gown, her bustle, her petticoat and her corset, leaving her in only her sleeveless chemise and the red silk drawers. But true to his word, he went slowly; and after removing each garment, he assaulted her gently with kisses, alternately covering her mouth with his own, tracing the length of her neck with his tongue, brushing his lips lightly against the outside curve of her bosom and then down her arms.

Forgetting her determination to remain in control, Cleome pressed her body against his, her head going back on the pillow. She was stunned to see them both reflected in the large mirror that hung over the bed. In answer to her unexpected response, Drake joined her on the chaise and his large hands cupping her breasts, he lightly caressed them for a moment. Then he parted her legs and slid between them, kissing his way downward as he went. When he placed his mouth on her most intimate feminine spot and breathed hot air through her red pantalets, the warmth he produced was overwhelming. She quite forgot that Edwina’s evil husband could see everything Drake was doing to her.

After a moment, he lifted his head and one of his big hands slipped inside her drawers to stroke her. His thumb found the pearl of her womanhood and grazed it lightly. When she moaned softly, with more longing than she had ever thought to possess, he groaned with the same driving need and began to draw her pantalets down over her hips. She knew she should stop him, that they must remain alert; but his hands on her flesh and his mouth on hers made her lose all sense of time and space and reality.

Then suddenly, a brilliant flash from somewhere outside lit up the room and they heard the loud boom of an explosion, followed by another, louder roar. The glass in the door leading out to the patio shattered and the two eager lovers hurtled irrevocably back down to earth.

“Get dressed,” Drake commanded, his voice husky and his eyes still glazed with passion even as he rose and put on his shirt. “Now!” He threw her gown at her and ignoring her petticoat and bustle, she quickly drew it over her head. She shoved her feet into her slippers as Drake went to the door and flung it open.

**

Paolo had been so lost in the action of the lovers that it took him a moment to realize what had happened. When the first explosion came, he was thrown back against his chair and when he looked through the crack and saw Cleome and Drake pulling on their clothes, he knew what they had done. It had all been a trick, a tableau set to distract him from their real purpose.

He thought of his wife locked away in her room with his babe—with Garnett’s babe—inside her and he understood at once what they were about. Garnett, on his recent visit, had insisted on seeing Edwina; and Paolo had carelessly allowed him to go to her room. He was there now, Paolo knew, or had already been. In his mind’s eye, Paolo saw his winery blown up and his grapes going up in flames; but even worse, he saw his entire estate—his fortune, his vast holdings—going to the Church. He let out a fierce howl of fury and jumped to his feet, overturning his chair as he rushed out of the secret room. He had to stop them. He had to stop Garnett from taking Edwina away, and he would have to get past Drake to do it; but the rage coursing through him made him feel invincible. Screaming for Bernardo, he rushed out into the hallway.

Drake was there, blocking the way, Cleome at his side. “You’re too late,” he said evenly. “The explosion you heard was the signal that Garnett and Edwina are safely away from the island.”

“You lying, miserable cur!” Paolo roared. “You will not be permitted to kidnap my wife. My men will take you down and I will make you wish you were dead!”

“Your men are—shall we say—indisposed,” Drake responded. “The few who haven’t rushed down to the winery to try and put out the fire are either unconscious or restrained. By the time you release them, we’ll be well away from here. It’s finished.”

Paolo rushed to the display of swords crossed over a shield bearing the Paresi family crest and grabbed one of the weapons. Unsheathing it, he exclaimed, “You’re not going anywhere, Stoneham. I’m going to kill you—after I cut you to ribbons. But before you die, I will allow you to watch me torture your lady.”

He made a lunge at Drake but the gambler quickly sidestepped, putting an arm out to keep Cleome behind him. Before Paolo could recover his stance, Drake reached into his boot and drew out his knife. Cleome knew that without a sword, Drake would have to let Paolo get closer to him or the dagger would be useless. As Paolo lunged again towards Drake, she slipped around him. Drake drew back his hand to throw the knife at the count but distracted by Cleome’s sudden move, his aim was off and the knife missed its mark. Targeted at Paolo’s heart, it struck him instead just below the ribs. The count jerked the blade out of his side and it went clattering to the floor as Paolo thrust again, and his sword pierced Drake’s shoulder.

Cleome grabbed the other sword off the wall and when she turned to toss it to Drake, she saw the blood staining his shirt. She wondered if he knew he’d been wounded, for he nimbly caught the weapon and then closed in on Paolo. Righteous rage lighting his eyes and giving him strength, he renewed his assault. Blade rang against blade as the furious battle took them back into the bedroom where Paolo had tormented Edwina for months, and where Drake had held Cleome close to him. Then suddenly, with one quick lunge, Drake had Paolo backed against the chaise. With another quick whip of his sword, he sliced into the count’s hand, adroitly disarming him. Paolo stumbled over the couch and fell to the floor. Still seething, Drake pressed his sword to the man’s throat but instead of begging for mercy, Paolo looked up at him with contempt.

“Go on,” Paolo said calmly. “Do it.”

“Oh, indeed I will—but I want you to know why,” Drake growled. “It’s not just for what you’ve done to Edwina, though that is sin enough. Do you remember a young girl you took from a brothel in Manchester? One you held captive for three years, while you subjected her to the most vile usage?”

“A friend of yours, I presume,” Paolo replied disdainfully.

“My sister.” Drake’s voice was low and deadly as he pressed the blade against Paolo’s throat. Although Cleome knew the count deserved the retribution Drake was ready to dispense, she couldn’t bear to see him reduced to Paolo’s level.

“Drake!” she cried. “Don’t! You are better than he. Let him live his ruined life, for it’s all he will have.”

For what seemed an eternity, Drake struggled with his emotions. When Cleome thought he would surely drive the weapon home, he suddenly withdrew his sword.

“Yes,” he agreed, taking a deep, steadying breath. “Without his wealth, he’ll have a sorry existence, indeed; especially when everyone learns how he tried to keep it. I’ll get more pleasure out of seeing his shame than killing him.” Drake pulled Cleome to his side once more but did not relinquish the sword.

“You’re hurt,” she said, concerned.

“Not badly.” He grabbed up her petticoat, folded it and stuffed it inside his shirt to stay the bleeding. He retrieved his jacked from beside the bed and pulled it on, and then he took Cleome’s hand and they headed for the door. Paolo got unsteadily to his feet and grabbed the candelabra, which was still lit. With a frenzied scream, he flung it at them. It hit the tapestry that partially concealed the opening in the wall through which he had often viewed unsuspecting lovers. The aged cloth caught and burned quickly, setting the room to flame. By the time Cleome and Drake were out the front door, making their way down the cobbled drive, the house was engulfed in fire. They looked back to see Paolo in front of the house, staring back at it as the flames spread, adding their glow to a night already illuminated with the blaze at the winery. One hand was pressed to the wound in his side and blood seeped between his fingers.

Drake stared at her a moment with disbelief. Then, exasperated, he said, “Oh, very well.” But as he started back toward the count, Paolo calmly walked into the house. Through the open door, Drake and Cleome could see him moving deeper into the smoke and flames. The structure collapsed inward and they saw him no more.

**

Mr. Cartwright was waiting on the beach with a lifeboat and a handful of men. As they rowed away, Cleome turned to see what was left of Paolo’s estate. Two blazes were roaring—the house, and further behind it, the winery. Cartwright told Drake that a flare had gone up from the fishing boat, confirming that Garnett and Edwina made it safely there. As it turned out, he correctly surmised when they were again aboard Drake’s ship, they needn’t worry about being pursued.

“Signal the men in the fishing boat that all is well,” Drake ordered. “And now, Mr. Cartwright, let’s be away from here. As soon as we’re under full sail, break open that cask of Paresi wine. In truth, this time. Richard may have one glass.”

“Thank ’e, sir,” Cartwright responded with a broad grin. Cleome realized that Drake was still leaning heavily on her and remembering his injury, she put up a hand to stop the mercenary.

“A moment, please, Mr. Cartwright,” she said. “Mr. Stoneham has been hurt. His wound needs tending.”

“It’s but a scratch,” Drake protested. “You may go, Manny. Lady Cleome and I have something to discuss.” And with that, he passed out cold.

Drake didn’t regain consciousness until the next day, and Cleome was consumed with worry. Cartwright examined the wound and told her it wasn’t serious, even though Drake had lost a lot of blood. “And out like he is, milady, he won’t feel it when I stitch him up. He might run a fever, but cool cloths will keep it down.” Seeing her misgiving, he added, “Never fear, milady. He’s as strong as they come.”

Cleome acted as surgeon’s assistant, and when Mr. Cartwright was finished, she sat by Drake’s bed, tending him throughout the night. She bathed his face with cool water, she changed his bandages and she learned something that terrified her. As much as she had loved her granda, her mother and now dear Edwina, it was nothing compared to what she felt for this man lying unconscious before her. He moaned as his fever spiked and she sponged his chest and arms with cool water. She didn’t know what she would do if anything happened to him. If he died, she would go mad. She didn’t want to love anyone that much.

**

Drake had several disturbing dreams as he slept; and in all of them, Paolo killed Cleome, stabbing her in her heart, or slashing her throat with the knife he wrested from Drake’s hands. And in all of the dreams, Paolo tortured her before he ended her life. When Drake awoke at last and saw her standing beside the bunk, wringing water out of a cloth, he felt a relief he could not name. He knew then what he wanted from her and it wasn’t just to take, in one night of exquisite ecstasy, his winnings from that blasted cribbage game; nor was it to make her his mistress. He wanted her to be his wife and the mother of his children. She was everything he’d never thought to find in a woman—brave, strong, patient, resilient, spirited and determined. She was magnificent and he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her, and no one else.

She smiled down at him, and as the hand holding the cloth went to his brow, he caught it in his own. “Thank God, you’re safe and here with me,” he whispered. “Cleome, I must speak with you.”

“I know. We have unfinished business. I have not forgotten, sir.”

“No, not that. I mean—yes, that. But so much more.”

“Drake, you must rest. We’ll be docking in Monte Carlo soon and when you’ve quite recovered, you can tell me what’s on your mind.”