The Tiger Lily (50 page)

Politely
Carlos said, "How kind of you to wait up for us. We would have been home
much sooner, except that our coach threw a wheel and that delayed us for a
little while." He pasted a sickly smile on his thin mouth.
"Fortunately the Fourniers' coach was right behind us, and they gave us a
ride back to town."

Brett
fixed Carlos with a bone-chilling stare and then after a second, glanced at
Ollie. Ollie nodded his head, and Carlos was conscious of rage that the gringo
so obviously had not believed him and had sought confirmation from a mere
servant. If it weren't imperative to leave without creating more of a scene,
he'd have liked to strike the gringo's arrogant face, but as it was, he merely
sighed and said sarcastically, "You see, I am telling the truth."

"This
time," Brett murmured softly, his eyes cold and unblinking. Ignoring the
fury in Carlos's face, he crooked a finger at Sabrina and said flatly,
"Inside with you. And wait in the foyer for me—I want a word with you
after I've spoken with your cousin."

For
just a moment Sabrina considered refusing, but there was something so menacing
about his stance that common sense and a very real desire to avert something
ugly and dangerous prompted her to obey immediately. And it was those same
feelings that kept her waiting in the foyer when she brushed past him a second
later and he shut the door behind her. What, she wondered uneasily, was he
saying to Carlos? And more to the point, what, dear God, was he going to say to
her? She had done nothing wrong, and she was furious with Carlos, but Brett's
attitude made it very clear that he viewed the evening far differently. And of
course, he didn't know how she now felt about her cousin.

Outside,
Brett and Carlos faced each other. Carlos was the first to make a move.
"Well," he said with a false heartiness, "now that Sabrina is
safely home, I shall bid you good evening."

Brett
nodded and said with a dangerous softness, "I particularly hope that you
enjoyed this evening, Senor de la Vega—it was your last with Sabrina." The
jade-green eyes hard with the promise of violence, he continued, "I won't
deny you access to your mother, but remember this. Sabrina is my ward, and I
won't have her subjected to the company of men of your ilk—liars and
bullies."

It
was a deliberately brutal speech, and Brett waited with a curious sense of
savage anticipation—he hoped that the Spaniard would take offense at his words,
almost willed Carlos to fling a challenge back in his face.

But
Carlos was not to be goaded. Controlling himself, he replied thickly, "I
understand you well, gringo. But remember this: Sabrina and I have known each
other since childhood, and you cannot command her affection and loyalty." With
great cunning he continued, "I may have lied to you about the situation
between us once, thinking to drive you away from her—but do you really think
that in all the years that have passed, I have not finally gained what I have
always wanted—Sabrina, warm and responsive in my arms? Do you honestly believe,
while you may have awakened her to passion, that these past years I have not
taught her even more of physical love than you?" Sneeringly Carlos ended
with, "You may claim her as your ward, but I lay claim to both her heart
and body!"

There
was a roaring in Brett's ears, and blindly he hurled himself down the few steps
to the pavement, his one thought to stop the ugly, stabbing words that Carlos
shot at him. A part of him was screaming in silent anguish, lies, lies, lies!
But the cynical part of him was not surprised by the Spaniard's words. Either
way, he couldn't stem the murderous rage that consumed him.

Brett's
steel-muscled body met Carlos's with a thud that made Ollie wince, but he made
no move to interfere. Even half-drunk and in a blind fury, the guvnor could
whip two of the Spaniard, he thought confidently.

Ollie's
summation of the fight was correct, Brett's iron-honed fists connecting again
and again with Carlos's increasingly battered face. Only one or two of Carlos's
punches managed to land on their mark, but beyond an annoyed grunt from Brett,
they seemed to have no impact.

This
evening would not figure pleasantly in Carlos's memories; first the realization
that Sabrina and Brett had been lovers, then the helpless impotency as his
well-laid plans were easily circumvented, and now this! His body aching from
the beating he was taking, Carlos searched desperately for a way out. Unwilling
to retreat ignobly and yet full of a savage desire to inflict some measure of
pain upon the gringo, he swiftly reached for the knife he always carried.
Stepping out of range of Brett's punishing fists, he warned, "Gringo, come
closer and I will split you from throat to groin!"

Brett
halted, his eyes narrowed. "Do you really think that is going to stop
me?"

Carlos
nodded, the black eyes wary but full of determination. He'd have liked to
skewer the gringo, and for the first time the thought of what Brett's death
would mean crossed his mind. With the gringo dead, the guardianship would be
ended. With no guardian, Sabrina would be at his mercy. . . . Suddenly he
smiled and taunted, "You are so brave with your fists, but it changes
nothing, gringo—the woman is still mine, and there is nothing you can do about
it! She loves me, and this time I do not lie when I say we will be
married!"

The
night air was full of dark enmity, and slowly the two men circled one another,
Ollie watching uneasily now. The guvnor was unarmed, and nervously Ollie
fingered the pistol in the inner pocket of his coat. Should he stop the fight? It
was one thing to let a bare-fisted fight run its course, another to let the
guvnor wind up dead!

But
the decision was taken from him, for in that instant, like a lion leaping from
ambush, Brett's arm shot out and captured Carlos's wrist. Brutally his fingers
tightened and he gave a vicious little twist that brought a moan from Carlos;
the knife fell unheeded to the road below. Deftly Brett twisted Carlos's arm
behind his back and gave him a contemptuous shove that sent the other man
sprawling in the dirt of the road.

His
breathing revealing hardly any sign of exertion, Brett snarled softly,
"Next time, Senor , I will kill you! And if I find you within twenty feet
of Sabrina, I'll make certain you take a long time dying."

Carlos
rose slowly from the dirt and angrily brushed off the black, loamy soil that
clung to his once-elegant breeches. His voice full of hatred and fury, he
growled, "You have won, tonight, gringo, but the battle is not over."

Brett
shrugged, the dark green eyes cold and hard. "It is as far as any plans
you have of marrying Sabrina," he retorted icily.

Carlos
had to content himself with a vicious glare, and then he turned around and
walked stiffly away. Brett watched him go with a curious mixture of frustration
and resignation. Impotently his hands clenched and unclenched, and he longed
fiercely to call the Spaniard back, to settle the matter between them once and
for all. But with the part of his brain that was still rational, he understood
the folly of it. Besides, he asked himself caustically, why should he risk his
hide further for a flame-haired, avaricious little spitfire? And in that
instant, unfortunately, Sabrina became the focal point of the situation and of
all his bottled rage.

Turning
to Ollie, he said in a velvet tone that didn't fool his valet at all,
"I'll bid you good night—we'll talk in the morning." He started up
the stairs, adding in that same dangerously velvet tone, "But for now I
want a word with my ward."

Thoughtfully
Ollie watched him disappear inside. Bloody eyes! Ollie muttered to himself. He
wouldn't be in Miss Sabrina's shoes tonight for all the spice in India!

CHAPTER
TWENTY-SIX

Looking
at Brett's face when, with an unnerving quietness, he shut the door behind him,
Sabrina rather wished that she weren't in her shoes, too. Her first feeling of
overwhelming relief and delight that he was unharmed had vanished the instant
she saw his face. It was apparent that nothing good had come of the talk with
Carlos, and half-angrily, half-apprehensively, she wondered what other lies her
cousin might have told him. She had hoped that they would not come to blows,
but with a sinking heart she noted the signs of battle that were on Brett—the
faint smear of blood near the corner of his mouth and the bruised, skinned
state of his knuckles. She knew a nearly irresistible urge to fly across the
room, to offer comfort, to touch and see for herself that he was not really
hurt, but she knew at that same moment that he wouldn't take kindly to her
ministrations.

Her
heart aching with an odd mixture of love and anger, she watched him as he
slowly walked toward her. His hair was disheveled, falling forward across his
forehead, his shirt was gaping open all the way to his lean, narrow waist, the
bronzed skin gleaming through the silky strands of black hair that grew there,
and Sabrina was suddenly assailed by an unexpected surge of sexual awareness.

Swallowing
convulsively, trying helplessly to ignore the nearly overpowering animal
virility that exuded so naturally from him, she blurted out, "Are you
hurt? What happened out there? Is Carlos all right?" After what had
happened tonight, what had been revealed to her, she didn't give a damn about
Carlos, but it was easier to ask after him than it was to let Brett's sheer
magnetism blind her to everything but the compelling need to be in his arms, to
touch him, to love him. . . .

Brett
cocked an eyebrow at her. "Such concern!" he mocked. And lifting a
bloody scraped knuckle, he murmured, "Will you kiss it better for me,
sweetheart?"

There
was something in his voice, as well as the look on his face, that made her
increasingly uneasy. He was, she realized with a start, furious. Violence
seemed to fill the very air where he stood, and there was a reckless glitter in
the jade-green eyes.

She
was very lovely as she faced him across the short distance that separated them,
the candlelight turning the red-gold hair to fire, the icy green of her gown
with its gauzy overslip giving the illusion of some ethereal fairy creature.
But Brett knew that she was no ethereal creature, knew that she was full of
fire and passion, his body remembering the heat and warmth of her skin, the
fire that consumed him at her mere touch. It was a fire that he longed to burn
in for an eternity, and he knew in that moment that he loved her. That he had
always loved her and that he would be a double-damned fool if he allowed
anything to come between them this time.

Nothing
mattered anymore to him but that he have the right to call her his own. That
money meant more to her than he did didn't even matter now. Carlos's words he
dismissed with a sort of defeated disdain. Even that didn't matter. He had come
to her experienced, so why should he cavil that she, too, had known other
lovers? Not loves! he thought savagely. There had been no other loves in his
life. Women, yes, he couldn't deny, but he had taken them in the same manner
that a thirsty man would gulp water. There had never been emotion involved,
only a physical response, never any caring—until Sabrina. And having known that
exquisite feeling once, having known the joyous ecstasy of lying in the arms of
the loved one, he wondered that he had survived these past years without her. He
couldn't even deny that there had been other women since that night nearly six
years ago—celibacy was not one of his virtues—but oddly enough, there had been
no women in his life since he had returned from Derna. It was almost as if he
had known that he had come back to Sabrina, as if he had realized the futility
of seeking solace in other arms. Here was the only pair of arms he ever wanted
around him, the only mouth he wanted to kiss, the only woman he would ever
love.

It
was a galling admission. The important women in his life had never treated him
kindly; the pain of his mother's rejection was still buried deep within him,
and the blow inflicted by Diana Pardee was an ugly scar on his emotions. But it
was Sabrina's rejection of him that had gone the deepest, and yet here he was
six years later, ready to walk once more into the silken trap that would bring
him as much pain as it brought him joy. He faced that fact realistically,
knowing that life without her would be far more unbearable than the pain she
was certain to cause him.

But
although he had admitted to himself that he loved her, it was an admission that
brought no joy. If anything, it filled him with a furious impotency. He hated
loving her, believing as he did that money would always mean more to her than
his love, and he vowed fiercely that she would never learn that he loved her.
It was too powerful a weapon to place in the hands of a greedy woman, and he
cursed a fate that had made her the one woman in the world who had captured his
heart. Why her, he wondered with a dull fury, why couldn't he have fallen in
love with some sweet, innocuous little creature who would love him in return?
Why did his fancy have to fall upon this bewitching, mercenary, flame-haired
virago?

At
least, he told himself viciously, he would have the pleasure of her body . . .
and the pleasure of taming her to his bed. A pulse suddenly beat in his temple,
and he was conscious of a demanding, hungry desire stirring in his blood at the
thought of Sabrina lying naked in his arms. And once desire struck him, there
was no denying it, his body responding instantly, his eyes darkening with
passion, his full mouth taking on a sensual curve.

Sabrina
had been staring mesmerized at the hand he had extended, longing to do just as
he had proposed, kiss it better. There was nothing that would have given her
more pleasure than to rain healing kisses all over his hand, his mouth, his
body. . . . Realizing where her willful thoughts were taking her, with an
effort she wrenched her eyes from his hand and met his gaze. Her breath caught
in her throat, for there was no mistaking the look in his eyes, and
treacherously she felt her body responding to it. She dropped her eyes, trying
to ignore the sweet ache that was curling deep in her belly. Her gaze
accidentally fell upon the lower half of his body, and her eyes widened at the
clear sign of his arousal beneath the tight-fitting breeches. A smothered
little gasp broke from her, and almost accusingly she glanced back up at him.

An
odd little smile twisted his lips. Deliberately he walked closer to her.
"A man," he breathed huskily, "can't hide what he is feeling.
Women," he muttered against her mouth, "however, can. And a man only
knows what effect he is having upon a woman by touching." With a leisurely
movement, his hand cupped her breast, the thumb moving with an aching slowness
across the nipple. Her nipple hardened instantly, and brushing a feather-light
kiss at the corner of her mouth, he whispered, "Like that."

Helplessly
Sabrina fought against the wave of insistent desire that washed over her. She
mustn't. It didn't matter that she had already decided to accept his infamous
bargain, this was different somehow—this, she realized sickly, was reality, and
she couldn't bear to turn the love she felt for him into something so sordid as
a trifling medium of exchange, her body for her freedom. She mustn't let him do
this to her, mustn't let him touch her this way, mustn't. . . Oh, but it was so
sweet, so wonderful, to have him touch her, and the fiery ache within her
flowed ravenously through every part of her body. But drawing strength from
some hidden reserve deep inside her, she stammered, "N . . . n . . . no. Y
. . . y . . . you s . . . s . . . said you would give me time to consider the
bargain."

For
a second Brett stared at her, not understanding what she was referring to. Then
his mouth twisted, and he shook his head slowly. "Sorry, sweetheart,"
he murmured thickly, "but there will be no bargains between us. Not
anymore." His hands caught her shoulders, and he jerked her up next to his
hard length. His mouth skimming hers with a burning heat, he muttered,
"Not now!" And then his lips trapped hers in a hungry, demanding
kiss.

With
a small whimper of part pleasure, part defeat, Sabrina surrendered. What did it
matter? This was what she wanted. And even when he swept her up into his arms
and swiftly carried her up the stairs, his mouth urgently searching hers, she
made no protest. She loved him. He wanted her, and for the moment she was
content. Later she would worry about the consequences. Worry about her shame
and her pride. Much later, she thought hazily as Brett kicked open the doors to
his rooms and carrying her quickly across the outer chamber, deposited her on
his huge bed.

His
breathing was irregular, and sliding down beside her, a thread of amusement in
his voice, he said, "God knows, you're a perfect Venus, but next time,
sweetheart, I'll make certain my bed isn't so far away."

For
just a second the sensuous mood was broken by his words, but before Sabrina
could register them or gather her scattered wits, his mouth came down
demandingly on hers and there were no thoughts in her mind but those of Brett.
Heedlessly she returned his kiss, her defenses totally demolished by the
cravings of her own traitorous body.

His
kiss was ecstasy itself, those firm, knowing lips moving with a tender urgency
across hers, his tongue seeking and finding the inner warmth and sweetness.
There was a languid quality about his movements, as if he had been waiting a
long time for this moment and didn't want to rush it. Slowly, lingeringly his
fingers wandered through her hair, finding and discarding the silver net that
held the chignon in place, gently letting the wavy, silky strands of red-gold
hair slip through his fingers as he splayed it out across the pillows of the
bed. His mouth kept hers a willing captive, the warmth and heat of his lips,
the lazy, erotic probings of his tongue making Sabrina even more aware of how
much she wanted him, how much she had hungered for him to do exactly as he was
doing.

There
was no question of stopping him, no thought of trying to escape the inevitable,
and with a cat-sigh of pleasure, she let her hands slip up along his hard
chest, over his shoulders, delighting in the touch and texture of his skin—skin
that felt like sun-warmed, heavy satin. Her fingers curled sensuously through
the thick, springy hair, and instinctively her body arched up nearer to his,
seeking closer contact.

Even
lost in his own world of sensual gratification, Brett was still conscious of a
bittersweet satisfaction. She was in his arms, in his bed where she belonged,
and dimly he knew that he was never going to let her go. That he could not. She
was his, and before this night was through, she would know it, too.

As
they lay there kissing, Brett's body half on hers, Sabrina became vaguely aware
of other things: the yielding softness of the bed; the coverlet beneath her,
warm and sleek, not velvet, not satin, but extremely voluptuous against her
bare shoulders; and the faint flicker of candlelight across her closed lids.
But then his hands stopped their wanderings through her hair and slid down to
her shoulders, caressing and kneading the soft skin before insistently slipping
the icy green gown farther down her body, laying bare her breasts and midriff,
and Sabrina lost consciousness of an3^hing but Brett.

The
touch of his hand on her breast made her tremble; the ache that was building
deep within her became more and more intense, more and more persistent as his
fingers fondled and stroked her, his thumb teasingly circling her nipple,
driving her half-mad with longing. Needing desperately to touch him, to caress
him as he was caressing her, with impatient hands she pushed his opened shirt
off his shoulders, pleased when he helped her by shaking free of the garment.
Almost purring with satisfaction, she let her fingers explore the expanse of
flesh now available to her, the lean length of his back, the broad shoulders,
and the hair-covered muscled chest. Her fingers lightly circled his nipples,
imitating what he was doing to her, evoking an unexpected response from him.

His
teeth lightly caught her bottom lip, and he muttered in a muffled voice, ''
Don't!
Not yet. I want you so badly, I've waited so long for this, that if you touch
me now, I shan't be able to control myself."

But
she had waited a long time, too, and frustratedly, not even aware of what she
said, Sabrina mumbled, "But I want you, too. I want to touch you,
too."

Her
words were as potent as the strongest aphrodisiac, and with a groan Brett
sought out her mouth again, kissing her with an odd fierceness that only made
the hungry yearnings in her loins more voracious. And when his mouth left her
lips and scorched a trail of fire to her breasts, Sabrina's entire body leaped
with pleasure. His mouth was warm and moist over her breasts, and the flick of
his tongue as it curled around her hardened nipples, the gentle grazing of his
teeth as he pulled on them, had her arching up eagerly against his mouth. Her
hands moved restlessly over his dark head at her breast, and she was filled
with a wondering tenderness. I love him so much, she thought helplessly. So
much.