No Choice but Surrender (16 page)

"Let the child go to bed, Master Slane. Your kind escort is not needed for so young a babe," Brienne whispered to him through clenched teeth.

"But this particular young babe has something that I must retrieve. Preferably not in the presence of ladies," he whispered back, and she shot him a daring glance before they left the eating room entirely.

It did not take long to mount the stairs. Once in the yellow bedchamber, his hand fell to her crown and snatched the comb from her hair. Her loosened tresses rippled down her back and around her face in fluffy disarray, and her lips, reddened from the claret she had drunk, peeked out provocatively from the dark auburn mass.

"Now child, you may find your bed." He took his forefinger and held out her chin so that he could gaze at her beautiful face. "I take it by your silence tonight that you do not like my family or my friends."

"Rose is very much a lady. However, I'm afraid that other woman—"

"Careful! I will have you know that Lady Venetia's father, the Earl of Culpepper, could make for a very powerful neighbor one day," he said, and seemed to watch for her reaction.

She could not hide the spitefulness in her voice. "I too am the daughter of an earl. Or have you forgotten?"

"That remains to be seen, wildflower."

"I insist that Oliver Morrow is my father!"

"But is he an earl?" He brushed a thumb across her smooth cheek.

"Why, what else would he be?" She looked up at him with confusion on her face.

"As I said, my love, it remains to be seen. But I have guests to attend to, and I am afraid that, as painful as that may be to you, I am obliged to return to them."

"There's no pain for me to bear. I've had too much of your company for one day."

"One would not have thought so when I first came upon you in the Temple. You appeared rather starved for my company then."

"I was asleep! I thought I was dreaming."

"Of me?"
He looked down into her face, keeping hold of it with only one strong finger.

"Of course not!"
She spoke truthfully, remembering her vision of Pan just before she awoke. "I am sure Lady Veneda would dream of you if you would but ask her to." She pulled her face from his touch. "But I shall dream of what I wish. Despite being held here like a prisoner, you cannot control that."

" 'Tis
true, I cannot control your thoughts." He seemed to brood for a long moment with this last statement as if he were thinking something through. He sat down on the yellow settee as if to ponder his idea. But when she passed him to fetch a ribbon for her unruly hair, he quickly pulled her onto his lap. Wild-eyed, she looked about the large room for Vivie, but the woman was nowhere to be seen. "But if I commanded your body, I imagine your thoughts would not be far behind. You talk a good game, little one. You lift your nose at me and say you have no use for my lovemaking. But if that's so, then I'll wager you. Kiss me now." He took her fingers of one hand and placed them on his lips. "You say you've been dreaming of someone else. Then kiss me, and I will wager that you will dream of no one else but me from then on." -

"I will not kiss you, you self-serving beast!" She struggled against him in their age-old game.

"I am not asking you; 'tis more than that. I am daring you." He held her down effortlessly.

"It's not worth trying. You have no effect on me." She stopped momentarily to look at him. Had he gone mad? Was there not a woman downstairs who would gladly play his games? Why must he always taunt and trifle with her?

"Then kiss me. Prove me wrong." He slouched back on the settee and stretched out his long, powerful body so that her buttocks rested easily on his thighs.

She looked down at his cocky face and wished wholeheartedly that she could wipe that arrogant smile off his visage. She considered his proposition, seeing the ridiculousness of it, but finally she had to conclude that if, by kissing him this once, he would leave her alone for a while, then perhaps it was worth the risk. Vivie would be appearing soon, so that any scurrilous thoughts he might have of forcing her to go further than one kiss would soon be put to an end.

"What about your precious guests? I would hate for them to be kept waiting," she said, making one last attempt to avoid him.

"Cumberland and Rose have no desire for my company tonight. As for the others, none of them are sober enough to realize I have gone. Lady Venetia, of course, might have to wait longer than she would like, but if you're correct, this should not take very long. Just place those sweet lips on mine, Brienne. We will find out how dispassionate our relationship is."

"This will greatly disappoint you." She lowered her thick lashes. Summoning her strength—for it seemed to go against her nature to kiss this man—she took a deep breath and bent down to where his head rested on the back of the settee. His black lashes lowered over the glowing silver of his irises when her lips touched his, and he was rigidly still as she kissed him fully on the mouth. Despite her self-control, she lingered in the kiss perhaps a little longer than was safe. Inhaling his warm, masculine scent, she felt herself lean limply against the broad muscular expanse of his chest. Before she could recover, his hands swept through her hair and held her head to his, not as a gesture of force but as a directive measure. Her thoughts became fogged as she felt a melting sensation between her legs. And that sensation was heightened almost uncontrollably when his tongue found its way into her beckoning mouth. She moaned deep within herself, but whether it was because of the battle she knew she was surely losing or from her exalted senses, she could not be sure.

They kissed until she thought she was surely losing her mind. When they parted, there was no smug, self-righteousness in his visage; rather, there was a desperate, hungry look that made his face appear lean and handsome and gave a wild blue spark to his snowy eyes.

He sat forward with her still on top of him, and he bent his dark, glistening head over the ivory flesh exposed at the top of her bodice. His lips felt so warm, it was as if their warmth went through to her heart, which was beating furiously. She moaned again but felt hopelessly complacent as he unpinned her stomacher. She watched the woolen triangle fall silently to the carpet as he started in on her laces. Slowly, inch by inch, her stays yielded the tantalizing flesh they held so securely. He laid her back onto the settee and grazed his sun-bronzed hand just over one rose-colored nipple. He looked her full in the face, and when she showed no fear, he placed his hand fully on her breast, possessing its every blossoming curve as he bent down to kiss her once more.

The sheer madness of the situation was intoxicant enough, but there was no containing the unbridled passion that burst forth from every part of her body. Her nipples grew taut underneath his warm, coaxing fingers, and even though her mind might have been saying, "Enough," her body cried and begged for him to go on. To find that ultimate release was the only salvation possible, for without it this was unbearable torture.

"Ah, my lady, is that you?" Vivie's voice could be heard coming through the dressing room. Avenel's head jerked up just as she entered the room bearing a large tray with a fresh pot of chocolate. Seeing the two of them, Avenel's face granite hard and Brienne's serene eyes glazed with desire, the Frenchwoman blanched and uttered apologies. Immediately she turned from them and fled the room, taking the tray with her.

The silence that followed was ominous. Slowly Brienne caught her breath, but it was some time before she could sit up and wrap her arms modestly around her chest to cover her bared flesh. She looked on as Avenel stood and scooped up his top coat and silver waistcoat from the floor. She was amazed that she could not remember his taking them off. She looked up as he towered over her, then he slowly bent down and placed a sensuous kiss on the overflowing flesh that her slender arm could not possibly cover all of. Shaken and confused, she watched Avenel go only after he stated the obvious in a deep, irreverent voice: "You lose, my lady." Then he left, and she stared at the dosed door behind him for a long, long rime.

The ball was three days away, and day after day Brienne watched in awe as preparations were made for the event. Rose had been the mastermind of the proceedings. Everything, from what the guests would drink with their salmon mousse to where they would place their cloaks when they came in from the courtyard, fell under her ultimate control.

Brienne couldn't help but admire Avenel's cousin. Often when Rose poured out tea in the late afternoon or as she directed a footman where to place a vase of pale pink tulips, Brienne pictured her mother doing exactly the same thing so many years before. Rose was actually very close to her mother's age, had Grace Morrow still been alive; many wistful thoughts entered Brienne's head on these occasions that echoed the same sentiment: "What if things had been different?" It was easy to picture herself with two loving parents at her side, growing up rich and spoiled at the Park, as Lady Venetia had at Culpepper House. Her mother would have been happily married to that mysterious person whose handsome face was painted on her miniature. There would have been proper suitors calling for her, chaperoned weekend visits, and balls to plan. And she would have known exactly what to expect at Avenel's ball.

Brienne had yet to tell anyone that this ball absolutely terrified her. She had been to few social events in her life and never one of this
magnitude
. How to behave and what to say in the presence of the ton were enigmas to her. The lively conversation that seemed to be an art with the well-bred guests was beyond her grasp. To make matters worse, she knew she would be questioned constantly about her "homeland," and she would have to fabricate replies all evening.

Lady Venetia had become the bane of Brienne's existence precisely because she'd developed an interest in her. She asked all sorts of confusing questions about her family and what life had been like in the war-torn Colonies, none of which Brienne could answer truthfully or knowledgeably. Even now, as the female guests were seated in the drawing room, Lady Venetia continued to pry from her information about her past.

"I have heard that in America there are so few women that most of them are married even as children. How is it that you were able to escape such a fate and not become shackled to a Colonial?" Lady Venetia's soft hand stroked her lapdog.

"I . . . ah . . ." Brienne started but was not quick enough with her answer. As she was doing with embarrassing frequency, Rose interjected an explanation.

"Brienne can afford to be choosy. Am I not correct?" The pretty woman looked at Brienne, who threw her another grateful look.

"I suppose that's a luxury not many women can afford." Venetia looked at Brienne's simple worsted round gown and then adjusted the satin
ecbelle
that ran along her own elaborately embroidered floral stomacher.
"Especially one who is so obviously less endowed.
But I suppose it is worth the sacrifice. Spinsterhood is a small price to pay to leave what must be a heathen land."

"A heathen land? Lady Venetia, you must be mistaken." Brienne could not swallow her anger this time. The woman's barbs were becoming sharper every day. Despite her lack of knowledge about the Colonies, she was determined to stand up for herself this time and not force Rose to pave the way. "Some of the finest palaces in die world are in
Maryland
! While I personally was not raised in such castles, I can tell you that there are very civilized and well-bred people in America who would be soundly shocked by the sad lack of manners found in many of the ton here in England."

"I never!
How dare you speak to me that
way!
" Venetia
's
eyes rolled furiously, and even the Pekingese seemed to mimic her by jumping up and barking.

"Lady Venetia, you must calm yourself. Brienne was not implying—" Rose tried to soothe the ruffled feathers.

"She was
,
I tell you. Besides that, she is lying to me. There are no castles in the Colonies! Your cousin is a fool to think I would believe such nonsense! She is a fool and a liar!" Lady Venetia stood up and placed her pet on the floor.

"Perhaps we could go for a walk through the garden. This has gotten you upset and so unnecessarily." Rose stood up also, but despite her calming demeanor, Brienne was pleased to see her eyes twinkle with amusement when Venetia bent down to attend to her dog.

She watched on in unremorseful enjoyment as Rose led Venetia away toward the gallery. As soon as the carved mahogany door was shut behind them, Brienne burst into laughter, feeling momentarily relieved.

" "
Tis very funny." Avenel's voice could be heard behind her, and she spun around to find him watching her from the open door to the tapestry room.

She swallowed and was not sure how to approach him. She had seen very little of him since that night in her bedchamber. This arrangement seemed to suit both of them, for she had gladly taken her meals in her room, and he likewise had refrained from seeking out her company.

"You saw?" she asked impudently.

"Everything."
He walked farther into the room.
" 'Twas
a bad display, Brienne. I have warned you not to do that."

"She.
deserved
what she got! She has a mean streak in her, and she continually directs it at me. I find her intolerable." She took a step away from him but held her shoulders in an unyielding posture. "Whatever worth you
see
in her escapes me completely."

"Women in her position need only to be virtuous and beautiful. Since she is both, any other qualities she may or may not possess are superfluous."

"I see," she said; his speech made her feel like a dusty churchmouse. "I suppose that means that women in my position need only to spread their thighs and keep their mouths closed." She could not hide the bitterness in her voice, and she hoped that what she had said had been shockingly crude. After that last night in her bedchamber, she had felt toyed with. He had never mentioned the episode, as if it had been a lark, a careless romp with a tavern wench.

" Tis
not what I said." He gave her a dark look and crossed his arms forebodingly over his chest.

"You don't even need to say it." She thought of yesterday, when she had looked out her bedroom window. There he and Lady Venetia had been walking to the Orangery. Lady Venetia had had her arm looped intimately through his, and Avenel had seemed to smile at her coquetry. Brienne had never seen him behave so charmingly. Before she could deny the feeling, she had started to begrudge the circumstances that prevented him from behaving that way with her.

Brienne turned from him now and started out the door to the passage. He did not attempt to stop her, and there were no more words between them. In her eyes, no more were needed.

She trudged up the great staircase, whisking her petticoats away angrily as she took each step. When she got to the hallway, she saw Rose across the way closing the door to Venetia's room. Brienne walked down to meet her. It was the first time an opportunity had arisen to speak to the kind woman alone.

"I am sorry if I embarrassed you by my outburst, Rose." Brienne touched her on the arm to get her attention and whispered to her, realizing Venetia must be napping beyond the door, "It was silly of me not to let you—"

Brienne immediately pulled bade from die look of horror contorting the lovely woman's face. It was as if she had just slapped her full across the face. "What is it?" she murmured, not sure if she wanted to know.

"Don't ever touch me!" Rose rubbed her arm where Brienne had tapped her. "I've agreed with Avenel to go along with this charade, for I am deeply indebted to him, but I don't presume a friendship with you, and I don't want you to speak to me when we're away from the guests." - Brienne felt a terrible stabbing pain in her chest. She knew it was hurt and betrayal. All of Rose's kindnesses had been an act that she performed at Avenel's request. All the appearances of friendliness that Brienne had mistaken for the genuine article were now gone. Brienne looked up at the abhorrence on the woman's face, and it pierced her through to the bone. Her eyes helplessly filled with tears, and she moved back, stumbling on a gilt chair that was standing against one wall. Suddenly she felt closed in, and all her thoughts centered on getting out of the hall and away from Rose's accusing delft blue eyes.

Brienne regained her balance as she sobbed, "I—I am so sorry," apologizing for something she instinctively knew the earl had been a part of, something that she was now being held accountable for. She needed to run away, to close her eyes to the horrific picture of Rose's rejection. But she felt herself being grabbed as she stumbled again, this time on a wrinkle in the French carpeting. She looked up and saw Avenel's questioning gaze staring down at her in consternation. Without really seeing him, she pulled free and ran wild- eyed to her bedchamber and to the badly needed solace it offered.

A tray was brought up to her and then returned with the food upon it untouched. Brienne sat on the bed and stared at die delicately painted bed curtains and then dropped her head back to rest on the embroidered Deccan counterpane. Vivie had persuaded her to undress, and she lay now in her dressing gown. But the little maid had had to admit defeat when the tray was sent up from the kitchens. Quietly Vivie had left her, hoping that she would take a nap. Instead she merely stared ahead with her eyes wide open and blank, her thoughts dark and heavy.

The sound of the door opening did not disturb her black reverie, nor did the footsteps that moved to her bedstead.

"I really don't need anything, Vivie. Please go ahead and have your dinner." She turned on her side away from the door to gaze out the large windows to the darkening sky. She saw in the distance that several children from the township had gathered in the far grounds of the Park to play and scuffle. She had seen these children before; they were a motley bunch of ragamuffins that had succeeded in avoiding the caretakers of the estate; they knew all the openings along the fenceline through which a child could slip undetected. They loved to run along the grounds and taunt the visitors, but since they were little more than a nuisance, Avenel, unlike the earl before him, had never tried to expel them. Now she looked on almost enviously as they held each other's dirty hands and skipped around in a circle; their singing was all but silenced through the win- dowpanes. At least they were free to come and go, she thought, and then turned away from the window in disgust and despair.

"I cannot apologize for Rose, little one." The voice came out of the darkness of her room, and she immediately sat upright. Her eyes were too puffy from bouts of tears to make out the form. But that was unnecessary, for she knew the voice well enough.

"What did he do to her?" She spoke to the darkness. "I—I must know." Her voice trembled and wavered, but she was able to relay her conviction.

There was a deadened quality in Avenel's voice as he spoke; it seemed at first that the words were going to catch in his throat. "He killed her husband."

"Oh, God!
My God!" she heard herself say over and over again. It was like a horrible nightmare, but one that had no ending. "Why?
How?"
Her voice cracked. "Was there a duel?"

"No duel. Oliver Morrow does nothing as honorable as that."

"Tell me, why did he—?"

"More than likely, he did it out of pure enjoyment." This statement, spoken so coldly, rammed itself through her breast. She knew, even without seeing
him, that
his face had gone hard. Probably not even a lash quivered.

"There must have been some other reason. My father is quite calculating. Avenel, you know the reason. Tell me." She pleaded with him.

"I cannot." He was pointed.

"You know what it is. I've a right—" she began.

"You're at Osterley now. Your rights are gone." After tonight's ugly revelation, Brienne could almost believe for the first time that she deserved his cruelty.

"Please tell me," she murmured futilely, knowing all the while that after having fought so many battles with this man, he was not going to tell her tonight. "Rose thinks I'm some son of monster. She probably thinks I'd be better off dead than—"

"She would not wish you harm." His voice was coming closer; soon she felt a heavy weight at the edge of her bed.

"I must be worse than a leper in her eyes," she moaned in self-recrimination. There was no answer for this, so she continued. "She had seemed so friendly. I didn't know! I never would have presumed . . . I never would have spoken to her." She started to cry. "Let me leave here, Avenel. I cannot face her again! I think I'd rather die than see that look of revulsion again. How she must hate me for being alive when her husband . . ." She could not go on. She sobbed into her hands. Avenel made no move to console her or accuse her. He appeared in outline, sitting on the far end of her mattress like a rigid soldier. He seemed to be battling something within himself that came to an absolute draw. It would not allow him to bend one way or another, so he had to remain perfectly still while she cried her heart out in remorse for the grief that her father caused Rose.