Till Dawn Tames the Night (37 page)

She didn't know how to fight him. The fire in his kiss only made her succumb. Despising herself, she let her lips part and he gladly entered. His tongue rode like velvet against her teeth, and she tasted the salt on his lips from his morning swim. He groaned and she felt his hand ride up her torso, hungering for the weight of her breast. A voice inside her told her to escape and deny all that she was feeling, but another voice, a voice shockingly more forward, said something else altogether. With a slight sob, she waited for his touch, needing it yet fearing it, for it held a mighty power to hurt her. She stiffened with the battle being fought within her, and somehow this seemed to affect him. His head snapped up and he looked down at her as she lay in the swirling mountain of dresses. He closed his eyes for a moment as if he couldn't believe where he was, then abruptly got off her.

She scrambled to a sitting position and watched as he took a moment to adjust the crotch of his trousers. When she realized why he needed to do this, she quickly looked away and felt the warmth of a blush stain her cheeks.

"Don't ever do that again," she choked out, not daring to remove her gaze from the thick spiral post of the bed. "Not ever again, do you hear me?"

He stiffly eased himself down on the
recamier
and let his legs splay out in front of him. "Don't flatter yourself."

"I don't flatter myself!" She tore her gaze back to him,
then
glared when she saw his smile. "What do you want?" she snapped. "Why have you come here today? Not because of the dresses, I wager."

He didn't answer.

A smug expression appeared on her face. "You can't figure out the rhyme, can you?"

"No."

She took some satisfaction in his honesty. "And you want my help with it, don't you? You think I might be able to help you decipher it?"

He refused to answer.

She was delighted. "I want you to know that I vow to keep any and all information regarding the Star to myself. However, if it makes you feel better, Vashon, I haven't figured out the rhyme yet either." She smirked. "But if I do, let me assure you,
you
will be the last to know."

He smiled wryly.
"Touché."

Koonga
suddenly popped her head over the canopy. Aurora looked up, and the little monkey jumped into her arms.

"She's better, I see," he commented.

"Yes. She just needed a little mothering."

"Well, perhaps you'd better tell me more about this foul rhyme or I'll keep you here so long that
monkey'll
be all you ever mother."

She riveted her gaze to him. "That long?" She lifted one brow tauntingly.

"A hundred years at least," he answered.
"And what about Flossie?"

"Flossie will be going home the end of this week. I've another ship at the docks here, the
Resolute.
She'll be sailing for St. George's as soon as she is fit."

Aurora caught her lower lips with her teeth. Already her mind was whirling trying to devise a plan to board the
Resolute
as a stowaway. She had to escape or risk growing as mad as he was.

"Thinking of going along, are we?" He eyed her lazily. "Well, to be sure, little wren, you will not be going. I still need you to tell me how to find the Star."

"You should let me leave on the
Resolute,
Vashon. I'll never tell you anything now. And you've no way to force me. You've already done . . . your worst."

He smiled. "There are other ways of doing that, some not nearly so gentle. Shall we test their effect on you?"

She quickly looked away. His crudeness never failed to shock her.

He exhaled a long, impatient sigh. "I can see you still plan on fighting me, and I'll give you this,
Aurore
,
you fight well. But," he said emphatically, "I
will
not let you win. I
will
find this Star. And you
will
help me. So why not tell me as much as you know? If you do, I'll see you cozy in St. George's by wintertime."

"I don't aid common, plundering pirates." She still didn't look at him.

"Fine."
He rose and walked to the door. Then, as if he'd forgotten something, he paused. "Just to warn you, I've decided to let you out for dinner this evening. I haven't decided on which method to use to get you talking, so in the interim, we will dine and you will ease my ennui, so to speak. Wear . . ." He looked at the mound of dresses on her bed. "Wear that one," he said, pointing to the aqua-and-gold gown on top.

"I won't," she snapped back, bristling at his tone. "All those gowns are cut indecently low. I won't wear them."

His gaze slid to her bosom, then rose to her face. "Well, since you've more than proven to me that you've no need for bust improvers, I suppose it's time to prove it to the world. Be ready at eight. If you're not dressed by the time I come for you, not only will I not consider your departure on the
Resolute,
but I'll dress you myself with my own two hands. An endeavor, I assure you, I look forward to with the utmost relish."

He smirked and glanced once more at her heaving bosom. After he left, she picked up the closest thing next to her bed, a costly French
opaline
table bell, and threw it at the closed door.

The good people of Hamilton stared in trepidation at the ship the
Merry Magdalene
when it docked in the Bermudas. The pirate
Fontien
was well known to the traders, for many of them had lost precious cargo when he "detained" their vessels in the middle of the Atlantic. Standing on the ship's prow, Peterborough was pleased by the nervous expressions of the stevedores as they covertly watched the ship at the
dockhouse
. He wanted people afraid. That had always been the best way to conduct business.

"How do you like these Bermudas?" Asher asked, joining him at the prow. "Personally, I like them," he added conversationally. "I think I'd like to find a nice beach somewhere and lie there so long my bones turn to dust. Some place quiet, mind you.
Some place that doesn't rock one way just when you're about to move the other."

Peterborough wearily closed his eyes. "If we get the Star, you can settle here.
How long before Mirage?"

"The captain says another few weeks. What, are we already growing tired of this madcap chase?"

"When we encounter Vashon, I hope you're still able to produce that biting wit."

Asher turned away, perturbed but growing used to the viscount's verbal jabs. He stared at the busy docks, but the viscount seemed to hold an
unresistable
attraction, and his gaze soon turned back to Peterborough.

Peterborough looked tired. His eyes weren't as brilliant, and there was a day's growth of beard on his jaw as if he'd been too preoccupied to shave. But there was still that edge of obsession that permeated his character and made him so frightening. Looking at him now, with his hair blowing wildly and his face tense with anger, Asher wondered if he'd ever seen it so strong.

The viscount turned his head and caught him staring. Asher quickly averted his eyes.

"I'd ask what you want, Asher, but it's all too clearly written on your face."

Asher grew flustered. "I came to tell you that Azzedine sent this along before we sailed. I forgot to give it to you." He nervously pulled out his purse and reached deep inside. He took out a locket of dark red-gilt hair. "Do you think it's hers?" he asked as he handed it to Peterborough.

The viscount touched it as if it were spun gold. "Michael
Dayne
had this unusual shade of hair," he whispered. "By God, Vashon does have her. I swear if we make it to Mirage, he'll not see her again."

Asher stared at him.
Then shrugged as if humoring a madman.

At five minutes before eight o'clock a knock sounded at the door. Aurora opened it expecting it to be Vashon, but
Tsingtsin
stood there, a series of leather boxes in his hand.

"
Missa
, Vashon say give
ru
this." He handed her the boxes.
With a polite bow, he left, but not before locking the doors securely behind him.

Resigned that there was to be no end to the irritations this evening, she tumbled the boxes onto her bed and made the final adjustments to her attire.

She wore the aqua-and-gold gown.
Not that she hadn't thought long and hard about not wearing it.
On the contrary, she'd spent all afternoon pacing the cool bricked floor of her apartment considering that very thing. But in the end, she decided not to test him tonight. There was always the slim chance he might let her leave with Flossie on the
Resolute,
and, too, she believed him all too well when he said he'd come dress her personally. She was not about to give him the pleasure.

She looked into the cheval mirror and tried again to pull up the low square neckline. Never in her life had she thought to go out in public dressed as she was now. The gown was perfect in length, but most definitely—and, she suspected, intentionally—lacking material in the corsage. She nearly spilled out the front.

Biting her lower lip, she studied her reflection. The aqua gown was a masterpiece. From the gold brocaded acanthus leaves on the hemline to the coral-colored satin lining of the train, she had never seen a gown as magnificent as this one. Vashon's ridiculous story that it had been made for the Princess of Wales was absurd, and yet the gown was truly worthy of royalty.

She went to the
recamier
and slipped on a pair of white satin straights. Finishing the attire with petal-soft kid gloves that reached to her elbows, she almost forgot about the black leather boxes until she spied them lying on the bed like ink spots on the muslin coverlet.

She walked to her bed and opened them. They held a treasure chest of jewels. In box after box were gold diadems, ruby tiaras, and long
sautoir
chains that held tiny gold perfume flasks. In dismay, she opened custom-made cases of jewels made
en suite,
some in diamonds, some in emeralds,
some
in pearls. There were elaborate
parures
in the Grecian taste, the Egyptian taste and the Etruscan taste, and even a
ferroniere
,
a large pearl pendant meant to be suspended over the forehead from gold chains that encircled the top of the head.

If she could escape Mirage with one tenth of the jewels on her coverlet, she'd be rich beyond her wildest dreams.

Her musings abruptly ceased with the commanding knock on her door. She heard the key in the lock, and then Vashon stood in her doorway. There was no other way to describe him but stunningly handsome. As always, his dress was restrained. He wore black pantaloons, immaculately polished Hessian boots, a white
marcella
waistcoat, and a neckcloth, fashionably high, tied in an austere India knot. With his black hair tamed in a queue, she would never have guessed him to be a pirate, except for the telltale silver hoop in his left ear.

It was obvious he was pleased to see her in the aqua gown. But she'd expected him to look rather smug and triumphant, as if he'd won another battle, so she was not prepared to see the utterly dazzled glint in his eye as he stared at her. His gaze couldn't seem to follow her closely enough as she walked toward him, away from the jewel-laden bed.

"You certainly do the gown justice, love," he said in a low voice.

It was the first time she blushed without his having insulted her. His casual endearment was hard for her to accept too. The word "love" sounded so seductive when it came from his lips. It left her with a feeling that was strange—and not entirely unpleasant.

"Shall we go? I'd hoped after dinner you might allow me a visit with Flossie," she said.

"Already anxious to be gone from my company?"

She answered him with one rapier-sharp glance. He burst out laughing.

"All right, I'll take you to Flossie.
After
dinner.
But where are your jewels, princess? Didn't you like any that I sent you?"

He led her by the hand to the bed. Perusing the booty, he picked up several heavy pieces and thrust them into her hands.

"No, really, Vashon, I can't wear these . . ." she began helplessly. He dressed her with a gold arm cuff inlaid with shell pink cameos.

"How about these?"
He held up two diamond ear pendants of prodigious length.

"No, no. I can't wear those."

He looked down at her virgin ear lobes and tossed the earrings to the bed.

"Vashon, really, I don't want to wear these jewels."

"I didn't murder anyone for them, if that's what's on your mind," he said rather defensively.

"I'll believe that you didn't," she answered. "Nonetheless, these things aren't for me. I'll wear my father's locket, but I'd appear foolish wearing these jewels. Even more foolish than I appear in this dress." She was embarrassed having to look at him after that pitiful confession, but it was true. She was no Princess of Wales, she was a girl.
who
had grown up a pauper in an orphanage, and she was uncomfortable thinking of herself adorned with heavy, priceless jewels.