Lord of Devil Isle (11 page)

He turned to go, but she stopped him with a hand on his soggy arm.

“What sort of trick is this?” she demanded. What had happened to him? He didn’t seem the type to embrace religion. And the filthy condition of his clothing suggested he’d spent the afternoon drinking and brawling.

“No trick.” He laid a mud-caked hand on hers. “I’ve just realized a few things.”

“Such as?”

“Coercion is the worst sort of prelude to shared pleasure. If one party is determined not to be with another party, no power on earth can make them come.” He pulled away and shuffled down the hall. “Or make them stay.”

Eve threw back her sheets and cursed the moon. Silver light fingered its way through the jalousie shutters and across her bed. It wouldn’t let her sleep. She swung her legs over the side and toed on her slippers. She drew back the long drapes that obscured the door to the small private garden off her chamber.
Perhaps some fresh air.

It wasn’t just the moon that disturbed her.

There was something blooming outside her door. Something wild and forbidden and indescribably sweet. The fragrance wrapped itself around her, bidding her to come away, to surrender, to lose herself in its exotic scent.

It wasn’t just the seductive perfume of some unpronounceable flower, she realized with a sigh. It was nothing she could smell.

It was the man. The man whose chamber door was mere steps from hers.

Nicholas Scott wouldn’t let her sleep.

She’d tried to reason with herself all day. Tried to convince herself that she dreaded keeping her bargain with the black-eyed devil. Telling herself that
if
she made good on her debt, and a lady had to live up to her word, she’d only be doing so out of duty. She’d grit her teeth and submit to his touch till the last grain of sand was gone from the hourglass.

Then she’d laugh in his face and return to her own room, her honor intact, her point made. He’d have to
take her to Charleston once he saw there was no sense in continuing his pursuit of her maidenhead.

If she could only reach her mother’s brother in Richmond. Whether she married eventually or lived out her days as a spinster at her uncle’s hearth, she’d do whatever was necessary to live a life beyond reproach. She’d never be at the mercy of strangers. Her family would see to it.

No one would ever whip her again.

And if to accomplish that goal, she had to allow Nicholas Scott his moment of triumph, so be it. She’d endure it and come away unscathed.

She’d developed a real talent for lying while in Newgate Prison. But now even she couldn’t swallow her own golly-whoppers.

It was more than curiosity about what Nicholas would do to her. She wanted to be touched with gentleness, not malice.

And, blast it all, she wanted Nicholas Scott to be the one to touch her. Only touch her. He’d promised.

What had happened to make him decide he didn’t want to now?

She had to know. Eve pulled on her wrapper over her cotton chemise and pushed through her door before she could talk herself out of it.

The latch sounded unnaturally loud to her ears. But when she stood rigid in the hall, listening for another soul stirring, she heard nothing. Before her courage flagged, she padded down the hall to Nicholas’s chamber.

She raised her hand to knock, but stopped herself.

What if someone besides the captain heard it?

She tested the knob. It turned in her hand. She pushed the door open and slipped in.

There was no one in the large bed that commanded
the center of the masculine space. But the bedclothes were as rumpled and mussed as her own.

“If you’ve come for the silver, you’re in the wrong room.”

His voice made her jump. She saw him then, his broad-shouldered frame silhouetted against a long window. He was backlit by the moon, but Eve could tell he was naked. She should have expected it.

How else would the Lord of Devil Isle sleep?

Every curve of muscle stood out in stark definition, every long line of him kissed by moonlight. He leaned against the windowsill with both hands, still looking out to sea. Her mouth went dry.

“But you’re not here for the silver, are you, Eve?”

“How—” Her voice cracked and she swallowed hard. He hadn’t even bothered to look. “How did you know it was me?”

“I know the sound of your footstep,” he said, turning to face her slowly. “I know the smell of your skin. What else would you like me to know?”

She wanted him to know every inch of her body and not flinch from the hideous parts. But she couldn’t bring herself to say it. “I would like you to know that I honor my debts.”

He began to walk toward her. It was too dark for her to see everything clearly, but the brief glimpses of him were magnificent. She’d visited a menagerie once when she was small and seen a real live lion from Africa. Mane flying wild, rippling strength in each movement, rampant maleness exuding from every pore—the lion in his prime was nothing compared to this man. She couldn’t tear her gaze from him.

“I released you from that foolishness. You owe me nothing.” His voice was a low rumbling purr.

Would she even care if he ate her alive? “I owe you my life.”

“And you’ve thanked me.” His teeth flashed white in the darkness. “Are you come to thank me again, Eve?”

“I came because…because you have an hourglass and…because neither of us seems able to sleep.”

He stopped an arm’s length away. She’d been an unwilling witness to all manner of sexual congress in the big common cell at Newgate, but she’d never seen a finer example of a man than the one who stood with his cock straining toward her now.

“What do you want?” he asked. The tension in his voice stretched so tight. She’d swear he could launch an arrow with it that would fly clear to Bristol.

“You promised you would…only touch me.”

“And you want me to touch you?” He took a step closer.

She nodded, not trusting her voice.

He took another step toward her. She planted a palm on his bare chest. His heart galloped under it.

“The hourglass,” she whispered.

“That’s how it’s to be?”

She nodded, starting to remove her wrapper.

“Don’t,” he ordered. “I’ll do that myself.”

Then he strode across the room and upended the hourglass that sat on his bedside table. He walked slowly back to her.

“Remember, you are here because you want to be. You asked for this.” The serrated edge of something dark and dangerous crept into his tone.

“If I want to leave—”

“You won’t.” His voice fell to a whisper. “But if you do, I’ll not stop you. On all that’s holy, I so swear.”

He stood stock-still. She didn’t even think he breathed. Then, though his lips barely moved, she heard one word.

“Stay.”

It reverberated deep inside her head. But the anguish in that one word was so complete, she drew in a sharp breath. For that slice of a moment, she seemed to feel a little of what he was feeling.

The man was in torment.

He was on the edge of some precipice, his balance teetering wildly.

“What would you have me do?” she asked.

Relief rolled off him in palpable waves. “Nothing. Just be. I will do what’s needed.”

He didn’t move, but the muscles in his bare forearms twitched beneath his skin. His gaze locked with hers as if he feared looking elsewhere.

His mouth lifted in a brief smile. He raised his hands to her face, gently pressing his fingertips to her forehead, her temples. Her eyelids closed as his hands traced over them and on to her cheeks. He brushed a thumb across her parted lips.

He’d bathed before retiring. His hand smelled of soap and of him. Eve breathed him in. His hands moved down. She opened her eyes and looked up at him as his strong fingers encircled her throat.

She was totally at his mercy and she knew it. He could snap her neck and dump her body over the cliff behind his home. The tide would bear her away and no one would ever be the wiser. Panic curled in her belly.

She’d sworn never to let herself be in another person’s power again. And yet, there was something in his face, a look of such tenderness that made her certain he didn’t intend to hurt her.

He slid his hands down to her elbows and forearms, taking her wrapper with him as he went. Her skin rioted with pleasure in the wake of his touch. The wrapper slid off and pooled at her feet.

When he reached her hands, he grasped one and pulled it between them, tracing around each of her fingers with his forefinger. He was completely absorbed by each of her parts, as if he were committing her to memory.

When her right hand had been explored, front and back, her knuckles and palm caressed with unhurried thoroughness, he placed it on his shoulder and met her gaze for a moment as though checking to make sure she agreed with its placement. Against her better judgment, her lips curved up and she gave his shoulder a slight squeeze.

He smiled back at her and the moonlight seemed to shift around him, flaring silver with his pleasure.

He gave her other hand the same leisurely attention. When he was finished, he brought it to his lips, uncurled her fingers and placed a soft kiss in her palm. Then he took two fingers in his mouth and sucked them.

Her belly clenched. If Nick started a riot in her insides just by making love to her hands, Lord help her when he moved on to more sensitive spots.

Once her left hand was firmly placed on his other shoulder, he met her eyes squarely once more. His hands found the drawstring at the neck of her chemise and untied it. He parted the thin cotton, shoving it out of the way. Her breasts were bared.

Then his gaze drifted lower. She held her breath as he stared intently.

“You’re so beautiful.”

Her heart leaped.

He grazed a nipple with his knuckle and it drew up into an even tighter knot. A white-hot message streaked from her breast to her womb. She closed her eyes and felt his heat as he ran his fingertips along the crease beneath each breast. Then he hefted their weight in his
palms and dragged his thumbs across her taut nipples. She bit her lip to keep from arching into him.

When she opened her eyes, he was still looking at her breasts. The hunger in his face made her ache. She drew a shuddering breath.

“Raise your arms,” he ordered.

She lifted them in the time-honored gesture of surrender. He bunched her chemise in his fists and drew the garment over her head.

Nicholas dropped to one knee and brushed his lips over her ribs. He circled her belly button a couple times before inserting a fingertip in the indentation. He smoothed his palms over her hips. His warm breath feathered her abdomen and made the small hairs over her crotch sway with each exhalation.

“Spread your legs.” His voice was ragged.

Grinding her teeth, she complied and he invaded her softly, teasing a finger into her most intimate crevice. He explored her gently, discovering each little fold and circling her most sensitive spot with maddening slowness. Her body answered him with fresh dew and a deep throb. She almost cried out when he pulled back and moved his hand on down her thighs.

This is madness,
she told herself. She should not be flirting with ruin just because the moonlight wouldn’t let her sleep. Still, he was keeping his promise only to touch her. As he ran his palms down her shins and ankles, she scented a whiff of her own arousal, musky and sweet.

The wanting grew keener. Nicholas was touching her in a far deeper place than just her skin, that place where her soul hunkered, where her closely guarded heart sheltered behind rules and propriety and “oughtness.” He cut through her defenses and made her rouse to him with a deep, throbbing ache.

And if she could smell her arousal, he surely could, too. She pressed her lips together in embarrassment.

“Don’t fret, Eve,” he said softly. “I think you smell wonderful.”

“How do you know what I’m thinking?”

“I can’t hear your thoughts,” he said as he rose to his feet and looked down at her. “But you have my complete attention. I sense how you’re feeling with each breath and shiver of muscle. I have to know how you feel in order to know how I should touch you. I can make a good guess at your thoughts.”

In that case, she was truly at his mercy.

He leaned toward her slightly. The tip of his cock grazed her belly and she thought he was about to kiss her, but he caught himself and straightened.

“Turn around,” he ordered, his tone gruffer than it had been. She realized that he was bridling himself and it was proving a struggle.

Perhaps she could guess at his thoughts as well, and just as accurately.

She flinched when he first touched her back. Then his hands smoothed across her shoulder blades and traced her spine. She began to relax. With a featherlight touch, he visited every stripe, setting the undamaged skin between the ravaged bits dancing.

“Can you feel that?”

She shook her head. He must be skimming the tops of the scars themselves, she reasoned. Part of her back was dead. He lowered his mouth to her shoulder.

That part of her was joyously alive.

He began kissing his way down her back. For every stripe her tormentors had laid, he laid on his mouth a dozen times. By the time he reached her waist, tears were streaming down her cheeks.

Her shoulders quivered and he must have heard
the catch in her breathing as she tried to stifle her sobs.

He rose to his feet and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her back against his hard chest, snugging her bottom against his harder groin.

“There are to be no tears between us. Only pleasure. Only bliss is allowed.” His voice was a rumble by her ear while one of his hands reached around to toy with her nipple. “There is no place for the past. No thought for the future. There is only now.”

He was so warm, feverish almost, against her skin. She narrowly resisted melting into him.

“I want you only to feel.” His hands slid down and cupped her buttocks. He massaged her flesh, lifting and spreading, teasing the sensitive crease.

She wondered if she might burst into flames.

“Do you know how fine you are?” he whispered as he knelt to run his palms down the backs of her thighs and dally at the ticklish spot behind her knees.

She only knew how fine he made her feel.

He moved his hand, drifting up to her buttocks and back down. His touch sent pleasure rippling over her.

“So smooth,” he said. “So cool.”

She could almost feel her own skin through
his
fingertips.

And his delight in what he felt.

Eve shivered. She was giving herself over to him completely. Was there some drug in the fragrance of that flower blooming by her door? She shouldn’t be surrendering so utterly that she was losing sense of where she ended and he began.