Savannah Heat (47 page)

His eyes moved over her face, down her body in sweeping appraisal, then returned to settle on her breasts. “It is only too clear that you are no longer a virgin. Though that is hardly what I had planned, at least your sensibilities on the subject no longer stand in our way.”

Silver stared at him in horror. “Do you know what you’re saying?” Her voice rose higher with every word. “It’s—it’s unholy. Unnatural. What kind of man would lust for his own flesh and blood?”

William merely looked pensive, as though he weighed some unpleasant decision. “If it will set your conscience to rest, you and I are not blood-related.”

“What? We’re not … are—are you telling me you’re not my father?”

“Not in the physical sense. Though we shall both continue the pretense.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Believe it, my dear. The details are unimportant. What matters is that you belong to me, you always have, and you always will. You’re mine, Salena. Not
Morgan Trask or any other man is going to change that.”

“You’re mad.” But part of her believed his words. Relief swept over her, so powerful it almost made her dizzy. William wasn’t her father! Or was this just another attempt to seduce her, this time with words?

“I assure you I’m quite sane. Once you accept your position as my mistress, you’ll find your lot in life will be much improved. I’ll see that you have everything you’ve ever wanted—clothes, jewels. We’ll travel, if that is what you wish. Europe is out of the question, but we can go to America or maybe visit the East.”

The room spun crazily. This couldn’t be happening. There was too much to grasp, too much she didn’t understand.

“What about my real father?”

“Your supper is getting cold,” William said, pointedly ignoring her question. “This goose is delicious.” He sawed off another juicy morsel and brought it to his lips.

Silver couldn’t eat a mouthful. It would lodge in her throat and choke her to death. “I’m afraid I’m not very hungry.”

William laid his knife aside. “You’ll eat, Salena, or I shall have to discipline you for your disobedience. Since I have more than sufficient in store for you already, I suggest you do as I say.”

Silver gripped the table to steady herself. This was the man she knew, coldly detached, achingly cruel. At the end of the table, his eyes glittered with anticipation. He enjoyed cruelty. Fear was an aphrodisiac. She lifted her fork, took a bite of the steaming buttered corn on her plate, nearly gagged, but washed it down with a sip of her wine.

“That’s better,” William said, looking triumphant
as he always did whenever she gave in. She would rather face that look than the one of satisfaction he wore whenever she fought him.

“Your … 
friends
 … send their greeting,” he said.

Silver wet her lips, which suddenly felt dry. “Quako and Delia? Are they—are they all right?”

“Quako has tasted the lash, thanks to you. Your timely return has saved the woman a similar fate.”

“But Delia’s with child.” Silver twisted the napkin she clutched in her lap. “Surely you wouldn’t do anything to harm her.”

William eyed her coldly. “I believe I’ll leave that up to you.”

“Me?”

“Your … cooperation, Salena, will ensure Delia’s welfare. You, of course, may decide but either way in the end I shall win. It’s up to you.”

Silver just stared at him. If she remembered him as cruel, she had been kind. “My God, you’re a monster.”

“And you, my dear, are the most enchanting creature I’ve ever seen. I have wanted you since the very first budding of your womanhood. I’ve been patient to a fault. Had I taken this step sooner, none of this unpleasantness would have occurred. You would have accepted your lot in life as a woman long before now. Resign yourself, Salena, and let us get on with it.”

Silver sat frozen in her chair. Who was this man who pretended to be her father? Where was her real father? Where was Morgan?

“Finish your supper, Salena. The hour draws late, and there is much I have in store for you this eve.”

His eyes ran over her breasts, rising and falling above her gown with each of her too-rapid breaths.
Unconsciously her fingers closed around the hilt of the butter knife that lay beside her plate. If only it were the razor-sharp butcher knife she had wielded against him once before.

For years he had tortured her with his evilness, lied to her about who he was, and treated her brutally. Now that she knew the truth, she could kill him without a twinge of conscience.

A noise in the entry drew her attention. She heard men’s voices arguing loudly, the sound of shattering glass and scuffling feet. Then Morgan’s tall figure strode into the room. His jaw was set, his mouth a hard, grim line. Candlelight shadowed the scar on his cheek, making him look tough and forbidding, and his green eyes glinted his fury.

“Morgan,” Silver whispered, sliding back her chair and coming to her feet.

“Silver!” Morgan strode toward her, his eyes assessing, worried. Silver watched his approach through a mist of unshed tears. “Are you all right?” he asked, noticing the sheen of wetness.

“Now that you’re here.”

His arm went protectively around her waist, and he drew her against him. “Everything’s going to be fine.”

Silver just nodded; the lump in her throat ached too much for her to speak.

“Where is he?” Searching for the earl, Morgan surveyed the end of the table, looking past the black-clad figure who watched them with arrogant menace.

William pushed back his chair and slowly came to his feet. “So your intentions were honorable after all,” he said. “I can’t say I blame you.”

“Who the hell are
you
?”

“I had hoped Sheridan could persuade you to leave—in Silver’s best interests of course.”

“Knowles is nursing a broken jaw. As for you, I’m not interested in your money. I want to know who you are and where I can find the earl.”

Silver started to speak, but Morgan’s warning look silenced her.

Without answering his questions, William turned to the short black servant who stood near the door. “Bolen, you will fetch the twin sabers above my desk.”

“Yes, massuh.” The servant left, and William fixed his gaze on Morgan. “You, Major Trask, have sullied my daughter. I demand satisfaction.”

“Your daughter?” Morgan repeated before Silver had a chance to speak. “She’s William’s daughter. I demand to know where he is.”

“That information, I’m happy to say, died some years ago. Tonight it is your turn.”

Silver clutched his arm. “Don’t do it, Morgan.”

“Is this the man you believed was your father?”

“Yes. But now I know he isn’t.”

“Your father was a decent man, Silver. This man—whoever he is—deserves to die.”

The servant appeared, carrying two long curved blades with gleaming silver handguards. Bolen extended them both to William, who drew one out of its scabbard, then motioned for the black man to give the other one to Morgan.

Silver gripped him harder. “You don’t understand. Fencing is my father’s—this man’s passion. He’s a master of the blade.”

“Good,” Morgan said, drawing out the second saber and testing its feel in his palm. “Then I’ll enjoy killing him all the more.”

William removed his evening jacket and hung it
across the back of a chair. Morgan wore only his loose-sleeved white linen shirt, snug brown breeches, and knee-high boots. William untied and removed his stock, and the two men strode past Silver into the spacious marble-floored entry.

William flexed his saber, tested his stance, and rounded on Morgan.

“En garde.”

With the clang of steel against steel, Morgan’s blade clashed against William’s. Only weeks had passed since Morgan had been fighting in the Yucatan. His saber arm felt strong, and he had always possessed a natural skill with the blade.

Today he was damned glad of it. The man who posed as the earl of Kent was a master, just as Silver had said.

As they battled back and forth, their long, sharp weapons connected time and again. They fought across the entry, down the narrow hall, and back into the foyer, vicious blows ringing shrilly, the sound chilling against the walls of the high-ceilinged room.

“Getting tired, Major Trask?” William taunted, slashing downward, forcing Morgan to parry, and hitting with such power the handle of the blade sent vibrations into Morgan’s shoulder.

“On the contrary. I’m just beginning to enjoy myself.” Morgan thrust and lunged. William stepped back, parried, and arched a cutting blow to Morgan’s left. Morgan parried and danced away. Again
they clashed, blade against blade. Advance, advance, advance, parry, retreat, advance.

Silver watched them in awe, terrified for Morgan yet mesmerized by his daring, the deadly elegance of his movements. Though each man fought with cunning and skill, there was a power and beauty in Morgan’s form that surpassed even William’s. Still, William was a master, and his years of experience gave him an edge.

Unconsciously Silver’s fingers crept to her throat when William’s blade sliced just inches from Morgan’s head, embedding itself in the doorjamb with a hollow, resounding thud. William jerked it free just as Morgan’s blade arced toward him, blocking a blow that would have been fatal.

“A worthy opponent, Major,” William said. “Something difficult to find out here on the island.”

“Your
last
opponent,” Morgan told him, bringing the saber down with a hammering force that rang through the halls.

William parried the blow and lunged. Silver screamed as Morgan’s shirtsleeve blossomed red with blood.

“Tired of playing yet?” William goaded. “Why don’t you make this easy on both of us?” He smiled, his mouth thinning cruelly.

But when he lifted his blade, Morgan lunged, finding the opening he had been seeking. The blade thrust home, entering William’s body just below the rib cage. For a moment William’s saber hung suspended in the air. Then it tumbled, end over end, and clattered to the floor. William fell hard against the wall, sliding down on the cold marble floor and leaving a slick trail of blood.

The tip of Morgan’s blade settled against William’s throat. “Who are you?” he demanded.

William tried to laugh but winced instead at a sharp jolt of pain. “You still don’t remember me? But then you were merely a youth.”

Morgan assessed him coldly, trying to imagine him younger, lean and hard, without the gray in his hair. “Ballantine.”

William nodded almost imperceptibly. “Geoffrey Ballantine. I haven’t spoken that name in fifteen years.” He coughed, and a trickle of blood ran from his lips.

“You were William’s estate manager. His most trusted employee. You and your wife left with William and Mary for Katonga.”

“Correct, Major Trask. Except William and Mary never reached the ship. They had an unfortunate … 
accident
along the way. My wife, Althea, had come to love the child, Salena, so we took her to raise as our own. We came to Katonga as William and Mary.”

“You murdered them?” Silver said, finally finding her voice. “You killed my parents?”

“It was the chance of a lifetime.” He coughed again. “The chance for riches beyond my wildest dreams. I hadn’t really planned it. Things just fell into place. The servants left us alone at the docks the day before the ship arrived. I knew once it came and we set sail, Althea and I would be safe—as long as we stayed on Katonga. William and Mary were unsuspecting. A simple blow to the head, muffled gunshots in an alley, and they were disposed of. I weighted their bodies down with stones and dumped them into the river.”

“God in heaven,” Silver whispered, her eyes bright with tears.

Tossing his saber away with a clatter, Morgan came to her side, and she leaned against him.
Slumped on the floor near her feet, the man she had hated for so many years coughed up more blood, closed his eyes, and quietly slipped away.

“He—he killed them.” Silver turned into Morgan’s arms and sobbed against his shoulder.

“Your parents loved you, Silver,” Morgan said softly. “Mary was kind and gentle. William was courageous and determined. I think you inherited the best of both of them.”

“My father loved me,” Silver repeated, still unable to grasp the truth. “He loved me.”

“They both did. I hope wherever they are they know that you’re safe now arid that I’m going to take care of you. Maybe they’ll be able to rest in peace.”

“Oh, Morgan”—Silver clutched him tighter—“if only I could have known them.”

“I knew them. When you’re ready, I’ll tell you all about them. We’ll tell our children what fine grandparents they had.”

“Yes,” she whispered, “surely they would like that.” She felt the pressure of his cheek against her hair.

“I’m certain they would. But more than anything, they would have wanted you to be happy.”

Silver turned to face him. “I’m going to sell this place, Morgan. I want the workers set free; I want them to have a choice: They can stay and work for the new owner or leave, live wherever they wish. The decision must be theirs.”

He nodded. “All right.”

“I want them to have a portion of the proceeds, enough to get them started somewhere else. And Quako and Delia—I want them to have money for a place of their own.”