The Marriage Bargain (17 page)

Throwing on her dressing gown, she went out onto the verandah and took a seat in one of the house’s white wicker chairs. She let her eyes travel over the grounds, seeing the sugar fields rolling far off into the distance, speckled with men working under the bright morning sun.

She looked over the gardens, and wondered what her next drawing should be. She had done so many of the island’s different flowers and plants. Perhaps she should try some human subjects.

Perhaps Beckett….

No, she told herself. You will not find an excuse to stare at his wickedly handsome face any more than you have to!

It was as if he had cast a spell on her. Beckett plagued her when she was awake as well as asleep. And she highly doubted that he had spent any time dreaming about her.

Then, as if called up by her very thoughts, her husband appeared around the corner of the verandah and approached.

Isobel sat up straight in the chair, realizing too late how little clothing she had on. She had only meant to stay outside for a few minutes. Now she was trapped. Perhaps he would go quickly when he saw the state of her dress. Knowing her spouse, he would enjoy making her squirm, for a little while at least.

He strode leisurely across the verandah until he came near enough to notice her attire. Isobel saw his eyes travel over her body slowly, then rest on her face, an appreciative grin curving his lips.

“Good morning, Isobel. I see you couldn’t wait to greet the day. It is a lovely one.” To her, his voice was like a physical caress.

Isobel met his eyes. She would not let him torment her. At least, she would try not to let him torment her.

“Yes, I’m sure it is going to be a beautiful day.”

“Did you sleep well?” His eyes flashed.

“Yes. And you?”

“I was restless. I had the most bothersome dreams… they kept me awake half the night.”

Beckett’s gaze traveled over her body. Isobel felt her nipples harden beneath the thin fabric of her nightdress and wrap as if he had touched them. Knowing just how naked she was underneath these flimsy clothes made her heart beat like a hummingbird’s wings.

“I should be going in, now.” Isobel looked toward the open door.

“Unfortunately, that is true.” Beckett gave her his usual infuriating smile and waited for her to move.

He was going to enjoy every minute of watching her. Well, if he was going to enjoy it, so was she. Isobel met his teasing eyes, then turned. She walked slowly back to the open door, letting the gauzy fabric of her dressing gown show what it would.

Reaching the doorway, she turned around. Beckett’s eyes met hers, and in them she saw both amusement and respect. He paused, then turned away with a chuckle and disappeared from sight.

Isobel closed the doors and searched her wardrobe for something prim and proper to wear. Determined to keep her thoughts respectable, she donned a suitably somber dark blue day dress and headed downstairs for breakfast.

Isobel walked to the kitchen to inform Josephine that she would take her breakfast in the dining room, but was nearly bowled over by the woman as she stormed into the hallway. Josephine held Captain Black aloft as if he were a creature from hell itself.

“M’lady, you must keep dis cat away from my kitchen, now! He’s eaten two of my frogs. We need dose frogs in de house to keep away de insects. And de lizards! I found him hanging off de cabinet trying to get one on de ceiling.”

Josephine deposited the animal in Isobel’s arms and dusted off her hands. “And if I catch ‘im at it again, I be making soup out of his sorry skin!”

Astonished, Isobel watched Josephine hurry away. The woman had been so irate she hadn’t even asked Isobel about breakfast.

Holding Captain Black up so she faced him directly, Isobel scolded the cat. “I am afraid it’s the barn for you, my dear man. You shall have to do your hunting elsewhere from now on. I’m sure Josephine has every intention of making a nice soup out of you.”

The cat meowed and squirmed in her arms. She let him down unceremoniously and gave his rump a tap with her toe. “Off with you, then!”

Hurrying downstairs, she finally convinced Josephine to feed her, and afterwards Isobel hung about the kitchen, which was buzzing with activity.

“Whatever is going on, Josephine?” Isobel plopped a cube of pineapple into her mouth. “It looks as if the house is being laid out for a feast.”

“It’s Cropover, m’lady.” Josephine smiled at her, the episode with the cat seemingly all but forgotten. “We gonna harvest de sugar soon, and we be needin’ all dis food for de celebration.”

“Oh, do tell me about that, Josephine. It sounds wonderful!”

“Well, dere’s dancin’ and singin’, and a whole lot of eatin’! We be startin’ dis evenin’.”

“Really? I’m sure I’ve never done anything so thrilling before. Will you tell me what to do?”

Josephine smiled at her and reached for another passionfruit. “You’ll know what to do, m’lady.”

* * *

Later that night, the feast began. Torches burned in the gardens, and huge tables were laid out with a delicious array of roasted pig, beef, chicken, baked fish, rice, spiced vegetables, fruits, cheeses, puddings, sausages and a variety of hearty breads. To drink, there was a selection of ciders, ales, juices, port wines, and sherries.

Traditionally, Josephine said, all the workers were invited, along with their families. Isobel watched them talking and laughing with each other, their lilting voices floating on the air like music. They were dressed in colorful native clothing with wild designs. Many wore beads in their hair and around their necks.

It was all so strange and exotic, like something out of a novel. Isobel loved every moment of it.

She bit into a slice of mango and smiled at the strange, sweet taste. As Isobel wiped a bit of juice from her mouth, she looked up and saw Beckett walking across the grass. He wore his usual white shirt and tan buckskins, but had added a multicolored sash around his waist that made him look rather piratical.

Isobel didn’t even attempt to keep her gaze off him. He looked like Adonis himself.

The tawny waves of Beckett’s hair shone in the torchlight, as if daring Isobel’s fingers to touch it. As he made his way around the garden, Beckett laughed and talked with the workers, who greeted him with genuine smiles. Every now and then, he caught Isobel looking at him. Somehow his smile always seemed to fade, then. He seemed to regard her with unnerving seriousness.

Isobel had dressed in a decidedly native style as well, in a turquoise blue frock that shimmered like the sea. Her hair was wound into an exotic style and adorned with a string of tiny seashells. Josephine had arranged it for her beautifully.

Suddenly, floating out of the hot Bajan night, the drums pounded their wild rhythm. It was time for the dancing to begin. Isobel stood back and watched, captivated, as the torchlit garden pulsed with writhing bodies.

The Bajans danced feverishly to a chorus of drums that was unlike anything Isobel had ever heard. The men and women swayed to the music, and through some sixth sense seemed to move perfectly in time with each other. Truly, it was like watching music in a physical form.

How she envied them.

Her body longed to be as free, as vibrantly alive.

Isobel saw Beckett being pulled into the crowd, led by a beautiful young Bajan woman with masses of curly black hair and a fetching smile.

Isobel’s heart gave a surprising lurch. She could see primal sparks traveling between her husband’s eyes and his partner’s as they began to dance. Though she tried to fight it, she felt a stab of ugly jealousy.

Isobel watched their bodies pulse and sway and felt an unbidden desire to dance like that with Beckett.

She wanted to see his eyes glowing blue fire at her as he held her close and moved to the drums’ driving rhythm. She wanted to feel the heat of the music moving in her veins. To close her eyes and throw her head back, and let the drums take her like a lover.

Suddenly Josephine grabbed Isobel’s arm and pulled her into the middle of the pulsing throng. Isobel tried to protest, but her voice couldn’t be heard over the drums and the screeching of the crowd. So she kept moving along, feeling out of place and vulnerable.

Comfort came slowly, bewitchingly, but Isobel began to sway. Her mind seemed to be in another place as her body had its own exquisite way, moving to the beat of the drums as easily as the people around her.

Then, she saw Beckett.

He still danced with the other young woman, but now his eyes were locked on Isobel—with a heavy gaze that seemed to pull her toward him.

Isobel feared she might really swoon. If she were back in England it would have been a certainty, but she refused to do so here. She was going to let her pulse race, let her breathing become heavy, feel the muscles in her legs and arms, and let the drumbeat sing in her veins.

She was going to experience her body in a way a proper Englishwoman would never dream.

Beckett moved toward her through the crowd. Isobel stood transfixed. She was in his spell as surely as if he’d used obeah.

He danced around her slowly, holding her gaze with his. She let him move around her, realizing for the first time the power she also held. It was new. It was reckless. And it was thrilling beyond words.

Beckett danced in front of her, his body surprisingly fluid, his strong arms reaching out to touch her. But Isobel side-stepped him and twirled around, just out of his reach. His eyes burned brighter as he watched her, and a dangerous smile played upon his lips.

Again he tried to touch her. Again she moved out of range. Isobel relished the power that flowed through her. She twirled around again, then abruptly found herself pressed up against his hard body like a wet sheet.

It took her breath completely away.

He gripped her arms and held her to him, his eyes travelling over her body. His hips pressed against hers and for an awful moment she worried about such a sensual exchange in public. But when she glanced about them, no one had taken any notice. They were all too involved with their own dancing.

Beckett extended one arm and cradled the back of her neck in his hand, while the other held her hips glued to his. All the while his eyes bored into hers. She looked back at her husband, too spellbound to do anything else.

The drums grew wilder, more insistent, and their movements followed the frantic beat. Beckett pressed her forcefully against his thigh, and pushed his leg between hers as they danced.

She couldn’t stop herself from grinding against him. Her eyes were closed. Beckett pressed harder against her, and she felt her skirts being raised, his hands on the bare skin of her thighs, running up towards—

Her eyes flew open, and she saw Beckett’s face inches away from hers. Desire glowed hot in his eyes.

“Shall I make you burn for me, Isobel?” he asked, his voice dangerously quiet. “Shall I worship you with my body, the way I vowed to do at our wedding?” He pulled her closer. “Shall I finally make you my wife?”

Isobel stared at him, speechless, held prisoner by Beckett’s body, his words, his gaze.

Her husband seized her hand, pulling her back toward the house. She could barely recall how they arrived in her chamber. Through the gauze draperies, the torches lit the room from outside with a warm glow. The sound of the drums continued their relentless rhythm.

Isobel heard the door latch click into place. The finality of the sound made her pulse race faster. Beckett turned around and gazed at her as he began to unbutton his shirt, and the sight sent a thrill up her spine.

He reached for her hand and brought it slowly to his bared chest, placing her delicate palm on his warm, masculine skin.

In one quick motion, Beckett slammed her body against his, his mouth possessing hers feverishly, his hands roaming over her with intensity. He pressed his thumb against the hard tip of her breast.

Isobel tried to catch her breath. His dizzying touch intoxicated her; his hands were everywhere, circling her waist, in her hair, pulling her dress up to touch the bare skin of her thighs.

Beckett’s hands moved upward and he pulled her dress down over her shoulders, uncovering her breasts. Isobel shuddered as he lowered his head, kissing her neck lightly, teasingly. She could hear herself breathing as if she’d just run a great distance. Good Lord, what was he doing to her?

His lips closed around a hard nipple, then he flicked his tongue mercilessly back and forth across it, and her knees went weak at the exquisite agony.

As she clutched at him, he lifted his head. “You like that, don’t you, my sweet?”

Isobel whimpered as an almost painful desire teased the tips of her breasts and snaked down to curl between her legs.

“Should I continue?” He kissed her mouth hard, then turned his attention to her neck.

“Yes,” she gasped, breathless and weak, though she would surely die if this torment did not soon stop!

But did she want it to stop? Curiously, the more unbearable the sensations were, the more of them she wanted. And she didn’t even know what it was that she so desperately needed.

Suddenly, she was as wild and feverish as he was, her hands running over his bare back, down over his hips and over the buckskins that covered the round muscles of his buttocks.

Beckett groaned at her challenging touch, and responded in kind, gripping her bottom and pulling her to him. She felt his hard arousal through his buckskins.

Her arms tightened around his back as his hands went up and under her dress. Isobel’s eyes flew open as his fingers stroked her in a place for which she didn’t even have a name.

Her heart beat so fast she thought it would burst. All her muddled brain could think of was how terribly good it all felt, and how much she wanted to continue this mad, incredible game.

“I think it’s time I took you to bed, wife.”

Beckett swung her up into his arms and carried her to the bed. She wanted him to hurry, though she feared what that would mean. Had this island’s powerful spell turned her into a wanton? However it had come to be, when Beckett put her down on the bed, she pulled him on top of her, wanting, needing to feel the weight of him.