Magnificent Passage (34 page)

A tiny gasp escaped as she reached fulfillment. His massive frame shuddered with pleasure just seconds behind her.
Afterward, she curled beside him, sharing his warmth, happy for the first time in weeks. The rhythm of his even breathing lulled her into a deep, untroubled sleep.

Hawk awoke to find the fire had died. He cursed himself for his carelessness, then smiled as he thought of his night in the arms of the chestnut-haired girl. The sun was already peeking over the bay, but a light chill tinged the air. He picked up the two small sticks and rekindled the flame, then brought their clothes in from outside. As he glanced toward the sleeping figure, he spied a tiny smile and knew she was awake and watching him. He leaned down and kissed her cheek.

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

“Content,” she replied. Then a cloud passed over her face. “Do you know what happened to the others—James, Bessy . . . and Mark?”

The sound of the man's name sent a surge of anger through him. “Bessy boarded one of the lifeboats. I'm not certain about James; he stayed behind to help me look for you. As for your lover, he decided to save himself and left you to fend for yourself.”

Anger blazed in her green eyes.

“You're lying! Mark would never do a thing like that!” Furious at his implication that Mark was her lover, Mandy fairly spat the words. “You're just saying that because you're jealous!”

“Jealous! Of you and that . . . that coward? I might think you're a fool to choose his bed over mine, but I'm certainly not jealous.” He glowered down at her.

“How dare you accuse me of such things!” she shrieked. “I wouldn't accept such an offer from him any more than I
would from you! Besides, for your information, Mark has asked my uncle for permission to marry me.” It was obvious Hawk cared nothing for her. How could she have been duped into letting him use her again? What a fool she was! She should accept Mark's proposal and be done with it. But would it be fair to Mark after the way she'd acted last night?

“Then why don't you go ahead and marry him? That's what you want, isn't it? A nice, respectable relationship.” He practically snarled at her. He moved closer, his angry eyes boring into her.

“Can Denton make you feel like this?” he ground out. He hauled her against him and held her with an iron grip. His mouth bruised hers savagely, all trace of gentleness gone.

She would not let him best her again. Not this time. She fought like a tigress, scratching and clawing until he forced her down on the mat of leaves. He held her hands above her head and parted her thighs with his knee. Lowering himself, he thrust into her violently, giving no thought to her pleasure.

Even in his unleashed savagery she desired him. She could feel the rippling muscles of his body as he plunged into her time and time again, and her passions mounted against her will. His lips plundered hers, forcefully, brutally, his tongue moving with the same fury as his thrusts. Her body exploded with heat and wanting, and she unwillingly parried each savage thrust. Her blood boiled, the sensations more powerful than ever before. The flames of his passion burned her. Heat seared through her veins. Like wildfire, she flashed upon the horizon of pleasure, the feeling molten, scorching her with its brilliance.

Their coupling, reckless and intense, was over quickly. Hawk rolled from the mat and stalked away.

She refused to cry this time. He'd proven his power in the most humiliating way, but she would not cry again. With self-loathing, she brushed away the one tiny tear that refused to obey her command.

Picking up what little clothing she had, she headed for the shoreline to bathe and dress. The sun warmed the island, but not her spirits. She hoped the search party would find them soon. Tears threatened again as she thought of the big man. How could she have ever imagined herself in love with such a heartless devil of a man? She decided she would give Mark Denton's proposal further consideration. Mark was kind and attentive. He would never use her cruelly, as Hawk did. She prayed for Mark's safety and that the boats would come soon. She could not tolerate another night in the company of that ruthless monster, even if he had saved her life.

By late afternoon search boats were everywhere, looking for survivors. One launch beached on their island and Mandy spotted James's familiar figure. As she ran to his arms, she felt like sobbing with relief but caught herself and refused to concede to the urge. She'd cried for the last time.

“Thank God you're both safe. I was worried sick.” He grabbed a woollen blanket, covered her scantily clad body, then smiled at his friend.

Hawk would not meet his gaze. James glanced at Sam and read the misery in her eyes. He swore beneath his breath. What had happened last night? The two obviously
were not speaking. Surely Hawk hadn't forced his attentions on the girl again. Glancing from one to the other, he wasn't so sure. Damn, what was it about those two that caused such fury between them? He helped them both into the wooden lifeboat, and the crew pulled hard for shore.

During the long ride, Hawk sat sullenly. It had happened again. He couldn't believe she'd made him lose his temper after all the promises he'd made to himself. Aboard the
Sacramento Queen,
when it looked as though they'd not survive the night, it had all become achingly clear. If she wouldn't be his mistress, he'd marry her. Whatever had happened between her and Denton had been partially his fault anyway. James had explained a little about Sam's father and her life at the fort. He understood all too well the longing, the unstoppable urge to find one's place in the world. His Indian family had helped him in every way. If they hadn't, he would have done just what she did—found some way to escape. He knew she felt something for him. If he worked at it, maybe he could make her care for him as deeply as he cared for her. He was willing to settle down. If it took marriage to have her beside him, then so be it.

But what had happened instead? He'd acted like a madman, driven her straight back to Denton's arms. She'd never forgive him for the way he behaved this morning. He could see it in her eyes as she clung to James. Damn! What jealous demons possessed him? Just the thought of her with Denton drove him wild with rage. Well, it was too late now. Nothing he could say could change what he'd done. Maybe it was for the best. He'd probably make a lousy husband anyway.

San Francisco was still the closest place for Mandy to recuperate, so she was taken directly to the Palace Hotel. Her uncle met her in the lobby, his handsome features haggard with worry.

“Samantha, my dear, I'm so relieved you're safe. I would never have forgiven myself if anything had happened to you.” He helped her upstairs to their suite of rooms and ordered a hot bath. “We'll talk about it when you're feeling better,” he said, patting her hand. She was grateful to have some time to sort through her emotions.

Mark was there and acting solicitous. He said he'd been separated from her during the explosion and thought she was safely aboard one of the lifeboats. She accepted the story without question.

Bessy too was safe and none the worse for the trip. Though terrified for Mandy's safety, Bessy had been herded into the lifeboat with little chance to complain. Now she clucked and fussed over Mandy.

As soon as he was certain of her safety, Uncle William wired Sacramento City to send fresh clothing. Within nine hours after her arrival at the hotel, she had a complete wardrobe at her disposal.

If Virginia City was silver glitter, San Francisco was golden. The Palace Hotel, with its massive gold marble columns and arched glass skylights, reflected pure elegance and grace. Mandy, Mark, and Uncle William attended the ballet as planned, only several days later, after Mandy had time to recover from her ordeal. Uncle William took her to the opera, and there were gala balls to attend in his honor.

San Francisco seemed an episode out of a fairy tale, but the glitter was tarnished by lonely nights and constant thoughts of the sandy-haired man. She relived their night on the island a thousand times, each with the same result—a fiery, burning desire to be back in Hawk's arms. Nothing, no amount of determination, could make her forget him. She knew he'd returned to his ranch near Placerville. The idea of his being so far away saddened her even more.

The night before they were due to return to Sacramento City, Mark invited her to a production of
Romeo and Juliet.
She wore a gown of rich winter-white velvet trimmed with ermine.

“Darling, you look ravishing,” Mark complimented. He cut a handsome figure in his black evening clothes and crisp white shirt. Mandy wished, not for the first time, she could fall in love with him.

Outside the theater, after the play was over, a line of hacks waited to carry the sleepy theatergoers away. After a few minutes in the chilly night air, Mark was able to hail one to return them to their hotel.

“I had a wonderful time tonight, Mark,” Mandy told him as she snuggled beneath the folds of her cloak.

“We could have many nights like this, Samantha, if you would consent to be my wife.” The privacy of the coach encouraged Mark's attentions.

Mandy heard the clopping of the horse's hooves against the street, the bell of a passing streetcar. “I . . . I'm not ready for a commitment, Mark. I told you that before.”

“I've tried to be patient, Samantha. But I don't know how much longer I can wait.”

“Please, Mark—” The sound of voices outside the carriage interrupted her. The hack came to an abrupt halt, nearly unseating her, and the door flew open.

“Well, now, lookie what we 'ave 'ere.” A red-faced man with a bit of a cockney accent stood in the doorway.

“Driver! Driver!” Mark rapped his gold-headed cane on the wall of the carriage. “Move on!”

“Ya done foine, Billie Boy,” the Englishman called up to the driver. A tiny derringer gleamed in the moonlight. “If you please, yer lordship.” He gestured the couple out of the carriage.

Watching with horror, Mandy clutched her escort's arm. “Mark? Mark, what's happening?” she whispered.

The Englishman heard her and chuckled evilly. “Yer bein' robbed, me lovely.”

“But . . . where are we?” Neither she nor Mark had been watching their surroundings as they traveled in the hack. She glanced at a street sign: Pacific and Stockton—not street names with which she was familiar. The distinct odor of decaying wood and rotting fish filled the air.

“Take a good look, milady. You're on the Barbary Coast. Wildest, wickedest den o' thieves this side o' Tortuga!”

They were stopped at the edge of what did indeed appear to be a seedy section of town. She could hear the
plinkityplink
of a cheap piano and the raucous laughter of men plied with drink. Several disreputable looking characters ambled along the street, curiously eyeing the carriage and the two well-dressed people beside it. A garishly dressed woman ran laughing down the sidewalk, holding up the bodice of her dress and playfully dodging the drunken sailor who was staggering along behind her.

Mandy glanced at Mark. His face was pale, and he looked as though he might faint.

“Empty yer pockets, mate.” Spoken softly, but ominously, it was a command not to be ignored.

Mark handed over his pocketbook, his jewelry, and several loose gold pieces, then reached down to unhook the beautiful diamond necklace Mandy wore. The piece belonged to Julia. Her uncle had had it delivered along with the second set of clothes.

“What are you doing, Mark?” Mandy grabbed his hand and pulled away. “These belong to Julia. I can't let anything happen to them. Please”—she turned to the Englishman—”you've done well enough already. These are not mine to give you.”

The man snorted his mirth. “Hear that, Billie Boy?” he called as his friend stepped down from the hack. “Her ladyship thinks we ought to leave these little baubles behind.” They both hooted with laughter, the second man moving close to finger the necklace.