Defiant Angel (25 page)

"You know, if he wasn't my brother, I'd fight him for you," Austin teased in a tone filled with unmistakable promise.

"You are as incorrigible as he!" She awarded him with a dazzling smile. "Is this some condition which runs in your family lineage?"

"Most assuredly, sweetheart, from the eldest to the youngest. The strain improves each generation." The Barencourte smile lit his face, making her feel like warmed honey.

"Rakes! All of you!" she bantered good-naturedly.

"We prefer 'connoisseurs' of women, sweetheart."

"You're impossible," she laughed. As he whirled her toward the terrace doors, his eye wandered to her gown. "Trust me, sweetheart, if you weren't Clinton's, I'd show you how impossible I can be." His eyes lingered at the bodice of her gown, making Tiffany grateful the music had ended.

Leading her back to Clinton, Austin paused, turning her to him. "Tell me, Tiffany, however does your gown remain up?"

Raising a fine brow and smiling at his inquiring look, she teased, "Wouldn't you just love to know." Before he could reply, another pressed her and she was again led to the floor.

Champagne flowed freely, as did wine. An elaborate, sumptuous buffet of English and French cuisine graced the table. An enormous dessert table, laden with every conceivable delectable confection, lay alongside the buffet. Musicians from two orchestras played endlessly, and the boisterous voices and smiling faces of the guests attested to the evening's success.

If the evening was a success, Tiffany was the star. She had conquered, as Clinton had predicted, the small minds of this broad group of acquaintances. The very people who had sneered and poked fun at the antics of a young girl. The very people who shunned her, isolated her, separated her, making her lonely and alone to face the world. These very people now whisked her from partner to partner across the dance floor, mesmerized by the spirit they once turned their snooty noses up at.

Girlhood acquaintances stood jealously on the sidelines marveling at the girl who left England in disgrace and returned betrothed to a much-sought-after duke. Any one of them would have given her right arm and leg to have made such an alliance with the handsome, dashing duke of Wentworth.

Hours later, Tiffany had managed to consume more champagne than she ever remembered. She had danced more dances than her feet could stand and had flirted outrageously with all. She smiled and laughed endlessly with the guests. She had observed Clinton watching her from the sidelines. He showed no signs that her outrageous behavior was upsetting him. On the contrary, he smiled a smile that warmed her to the core. Stopping a passing servant, she procured another glass of champagne and lifted the glass to her lips. Over the rim she caught Clinton's gaze. His gray eyes closed the distance separating them. He raised a winged brow at her inquiringly. Feeling the effects of the inordinate amount of champagne she'd consumed, she defiantly raised her glass to him in mock tribute and downed its contents.

He offered her a sudden arresting smile that sent her pulse racing. A slight frown appeared on her face, because she didn't understand his reaction or hers. Brent's appearance caused her to leave her ponderings.

"Come, little one. Dance with me and I shall protect you from the masses that pursue."

Laughing at his chivalry, she said, "Really? And who will protect me from you?"

He awarded her with an amused smile. "Over yonder, little one, stands the man who would protect you from me." Looking over Brent's shoulder, she caught sight of smoky grays smiling at her.

Meeting Brent's smile and the hand that he offered, she moved with him across the dance floor.

Coquettishly she asked, "Do I really need protection from you, Brent? Of all the brothers, you seem most the gentleman."

"Had you not been claimed by blood, little one, I assure you, protection you would need. As to being a gentleman, never let appearances deceive you. Though my methods be different, the result would be the same."

The music ended and Tristan appeared by their side to claim the next set. As he swung around the floor, his gaze kept drifting to the bodice of her gown. Tiffany became uneasy and retorted, "Are you quite satisfied, Tristan?" Tristan awarded her with an exceptionally disarming smile, causing her to loose her anger. "You are a rake, Tristan."

"I prefer 'master of seduction', love." He whisked her about, taking care to pass Clinton and flash him a mischievous grin. "You know, love, had not older brother claimed you, I would have abducted you and sailed away on the
Wanderlust. "

"Sounds like honor among thieves to me, Tristan."

"I guess you could say that, love." The music ended and Tristan detained Tiffany a moment. "Love, I would know the name of the modiste who fashioned your gown."

A puzzled look crossed her face. "Whatever for?"

Clinton's voice intruded. "To know how the gown remains up and win the wager." He smiled and turned to Tristan. "Is that not so, brother?"

"Well, to be honest, yes. Perhaps, Clinton, you know?" A twinkle lit Tristan's hazel eyes.

Clinton's eyes drifted to Tiffany's gown, then rose to hold hers with a compelling look as he said, "Let's say I have a theory, Tristan." Tiffany was caught in the spell his gray eyes wove and the promise in his reply, "Which I plan to put to the test this eve." Turning back to Tristan, he said, "Consider your wager as good as won." Tristan gave his leave.

Clinton took Tiffany's arm, asking softly, "Have you eaten anything, Princess?" as he led.her to the long dessert table. He chose an orange section glazed in deep chocolate and brought it up to her mouth. Tiffany looked at his fingers that temptingly held the fare. She raised her eyes to find him watching her. His eyes, compelling, magnetic, caused her to feel a shiver of pleasure. With her eyes locked to his, she opened her mouth, closing it over the sweet, succulent orange.

Clinton watched her nibble on the orange, her mouth moist with the sweet juice that threatened to trickle from the corners. Gently he caught the liquid with his finger, bringing it to his mouth, licking the sticky sweetness from it. Tiffany was mesmerized by him and innocently glided the tip of her tongue over her bottom lip. A vaguely sensual light seemed to pass between them. The smoldering flame she saw in his eyes made her aware of the delicious tingling sensation spreading through her. Clinton was the first to break the eye contact when hearing his name, and once again he handed Tiffany over to another, who whirled her about the floor as he watched her from the sidelines.

Winifred stood near Evette, watching Clinton. She smiled thinking there was no denying the possessive gaze, the gleam of desire, the sparkle of love emanating from the gray eyes that never wavered from the exquisite black silk figure. Walking to him, she asked, softly, "She is lovely, isn't she?"

Without averting his gaze, he responded easily, "Decidedly so, madam." There was no mistaking the pride in those few words, and Winifred smiled. They silently watched Tiffany float over the dance floor, her laughter music in the room.

"You love her, don't you?"

"Above all else," he replied softly.

Winifred smiled softly, knowing in spite of all Tiffany's objections to this marriage, it was indeed the best thing for her, for she would be married to a man whose life would be
her,
his every breath
hers,
a man who wanted
her
above all other things.

"You will take care with her."

Clinton turned to regard Winifred. Smiling, he asked softly, "Have you any doubt?"

She answered with a smile, then left him to his stargazing.

The beginnings of the strains of a last waltz found Tiffany floating dreamily into Clinton's arms, dancing the last dance with him. She felt an unexplainable joy surge through her veins and she yielded to the temptation to truly enjoy the feel of his arms around her as he masterfully waltzed them across the floor.

Tiffany felt as if she were on clouds, her head light and her body tingling with his touch. Clinton gazed down into her star-dazed eyes thinking she looked provocatively lush and soft. He smiled softly thinking how malleable she was--thanks to the champagne! He waltzed them out onto the terrace under the starlit sky; Tiffany leaned her head back, her long, graceful neck arched, the swell of her breasts pressed close to his chest, as she looked at the star-spattered sky.

"Oh, it is so beautiful, Clinton!" she breathed, and he whirled her in a circle. "I wish the night would never end." She giggled at the sound of her slurred words.

Looking up at him, an impish gleam lighting her eyes, she asked, "Would you grant me any wish, Clinton?"

"If it is in my power. Save one, of course," he added in a husky voice.

A twinkle of starlight caught her eyes as she glanced at him, her vision blurry. "I wish I could ride to the bluff to watch the sun rise."

"So you shall, Princess," he whispered.

The final notes of the waltz put the night to an end. The guests departed, appetites and curiosity satisfied. The manor was again silent, the cobbled drive no longer lined with carriages, its lights extinguished, the footmen abed, and the soft summer breeze a whisper only carrying the night's fragrances.

Clinton looked down at Tiffany's face as he guided the stallion over the uneven terrain in the darkness. God, he thought she looked lovelier than ever.

Tiffany leaned her head against his strong shoulder, feeling the crisp mat of hair exposed by his open shirt against the soft skin of her back. She snuggled against it, feeling its hard muscle flex as he maneuvered the horse. Clinton tightened his arm about her waist, drawing her closer to him as the stallion negotiated the downward slope. A shiver of delight coursed through her. She was aware of his long, muscular legs when he clasped her waist, drawing her closer between them. She felt his legs tighten about the horse's flanks, urging the mount into a gallop, blowing her gown up, exposing her long, shapely legs. She laughed aloud as they galloped wildly through the night.

Resting his chin atop her head, Clinton inhaled the sweet fragrance of violets and smiled when she laughed in childlike abandonment. The pressure of her derriere against his loins and the inordinate amount of leg exposed ignited his desire, which coursed through his veins like a wildfire. He wondered at his madness in having her ride with him, knowing she'd entice his already suppressed desire.

Tiffany turned her face up to him, and he smiled down at the delicate features, seeing in them her childlike innocence and womanlike sensuality. He felt a sweet aching in the region of his heart and a tormenting tightening in his groin.

The stallion broke through the woods into the clearing. He brought the horse to a halt, dismounting, and turned, lifting her off. When her slippered feet touched the ground, she swayed forward. Clinton caught her about the waist, steadying her. Giggling, she brought her hand to her mouth and then clutched at his shoulders to regain her balance. She turned to walk toward the bluff and stumbled. She reached down, removing her slipper, tossing it aside; the other quickly followed.

She felt the cool night air tinged with the salty tang of the sea against her face. She began to turn in circles, gazing up at the stars. "Oh, Clinton, how beautiful it is." An overwhelming sense of vertigo came over her. She stopped. Clinton moved toward her. The roar of that pounding surf against the coast below drew her to the headland, causing Clinton to call out, "Take a care, Tiffany." The cool air cleared her mind from the effects of the champagne. Elation was overcome by a sense of melancholy.

Speaking above the roar of the surf, she said, "You need not fear, I have come here all my life and know the way of the bluff." Memories assailed her mind and senses and she said aloud, "I would sneak here, like a thief in the night, away from the manor and ride Xanadu to our magical kingdom to watch the dawning. Each breaking morn, I envisioned, was like the very first morn of time. I would hear the cry of the gulls in praise to the new day and I would stand on this spot waiting for the first gray lights to streak the horizon. I felt I was on the edge of the world, embraced by the heavens." She turned, facing him. The sound of the waves crashing against the coast roared in her ears. She said sadly, "This place offered me refuge, gave me hope."

She paused and then softly said, "It gave me everything and asked nothing in return." She look up at him, tears burning the back of her eyes. "But now I see it was foolishness on my part. All my dreams and hopes dashed like the waves against the rocks."

Clinton stood silent; the image of a lonely, spirited girl riding her mighty stallion to her magical kingdom, weaving her dreams from the threads of her unanswered needs, tugged at his heart. He silently cursed those who tried to batter her spirit and pride. He admired her undying, unyielding spirit, refusing to be broken, keeping her whole, for him. He moved closer to her, separating the distance, wanting to embrace her in the protective circle of his arms and assure her all her dreams would come true, for he would spend the rest of his life in that quest.

She gazed up at Clinton, blinking back tears that threatened to spill. Her voice soft but quivering with unshed tears, she said, "Above all else, I dreamed of love. A love I yearn for, but now--" broken dreams, bittersweet memories, flooded her mind, and her tears fell "--will never have." Clinton touched her shoulder gently, drawing her face to his. She averted her eyes, not wanting him to see the tears.

He spoke softly as he lifted her chin with the tips of his fingers. "I love you, Tiffany." She shook her head, not wanting to hear his words. He was not to be daunted and again replied, "I love you, Tiffany, above all else." He drew her into the shelter of his arms.

Memories haunted her and she turned up a tear-streaked face to him. "You . . . don't understand ... I love another. I always will."

"I am not above doing anything to insure your love. I am not above making up for the love you're denying you'll ever feel for me. This is not a fight I will lose."

Tiffany pulled from him, fresh tears falling. "You refuse to understand. I saw my future as something vivid, and now I view it as something dark and dull. Oh, sir, if winning is what you want, then you have won the prize! But it is nothing more than an empty shell." She wiped her tears with the back of her hand, and her voice broke with sorrow and anger. "My body may be yours to possess, to own, but my heart, my soul, they are mine to give. They can't be bought or possessed."

Clinton ran his fingers through his hair. Shaking his head, he stated, "I once told you very few things are not changeable. Your future life with me is not."

"The past is my future. When you kiss me, embrace me, make a woman of me, I will be yearning for another, seeing another in your stead!" She turned from him only to be brought up hard against him. Gray eyes, hard and challenging, held hers before strong arms scooped her up, carrying her to the copse of trees.

"Will you now, Princess? Your body knows differently."

Tiffany struggled impotentiy against his strength, and when he laid her down, she sought to escape but found him pressing her to the ground. Before his mouth captured hers, he said, "Deny me."

His lips moved urgently over hers, down her slender throat, kissing the soft base of her neck. His lips, firm and warm, slid to the soft, swelling flesh that rose temptingly above her gown while his hands traveled over her, feeling her quiver. "Deny me," he challenged. With the skill born of practice, his fingers found and released the tiny buttons of the thin silk straps. Sliding the gown down to her hips, exposing the rich bounty of her breast and belly, his fingers and hands tantalized her.

Nothing mattered to Clinton save that she respond to his touch. His male pride demanded it, his passionate nature desired it. He was a man set afire to erase her image of another while in his arms, erase her vision of a dull, muted life.

Tiffany's mind screamed,
No, no,
but her flesh was weak as it always was with him, and she yielded to the sweet agony of his touch and, bringing her arms about his neck, pressed her taut young body against his.

"Can you keep the past alive?" he whispered hoarsely as his mouth covered a tempting nipple. Tiffany groaned. Any vestige of control Clinton had was waning, and his tongue swirled over the throbbing crest while his hand cupped the satin softness of her breast. He raised his head and held her gaze as his fingers played, teasing her aching nipple.

Clinton felt the ache in his loins, the stirring of his blood, call to his male needs. Holding himself in check, he raised himself from her. He heard her cry of disappointment.

Ripping off his shirt in an almost angry motion, exposing a powerfully muscled chest, he lowered himself against her soft breasts, challenging, "Deny me." Bracing himself on his forearms, he moved his hair-roughened chest erotically back and forth against her taut nipples.

Tiffany moaned in sweet, aching passion, arching her back, bringing her closer to his chest. Setting her flesh aflame, he pulled back from her aching form.