Surrender The Night (4 page)

However, that hungry, possessive look in his eyes proved the name appropriate. She felt his angry determination to win what he believed she’d granted another. She cursed the self- preservation impulse that had made her claim to be Sutterfield’s mistress, but she owed this . . . demon no explanations. Her chin wrenched away from his caress. Whether this night led to a pedestal bed or a watery grave, she’d face the end with pride intact. As long as she didn’t succumb to his dark fascination again, she’d naught to be ashamed of.

They stared at one another, the man and the girl, forgetful now of their audience as they battled silently with their eyes.
You’ll not reject me this time, he warned; take my body, then, but you’ll never win more of me, she replied. Katrina didn’t flinch when the earl grew impatient at their soundless contest, fastened his long, strong hands on her shoulders and hauled her to her toes. His soft voice made Katrina shiver.

“Once, I let you go when you claimed distaste for me. I can’t help wondering if, even then, you were the innocent you proclaimed. Now, by your own words, you’ve no virtue to guard. So come, my dear, show me what you’ve learned. And by God it had better be worth the wait.”

Gripping her jaw in one hand, he wrapped his free arm about her waist and bent her backward. She tried to turn away, but he secured her chin and lowered his angry mouth over hers. Three years before, his patient, wooing embraces had turned her bones to jelly. This kiss was a demand, a brand of intent. He was too experienced to be brutal, but the practiced movements of his mouth could not disguise his purpose; to prove to her, once and for all, that he was master.

She was equally determined to prove that no man would enslave her. She didn’t waste her strength in struggles. She stayed limp, unresponsive. Only she knew how hard she had to fight the tears of regret for what might have been. . . .

The cheers of the watching satyrs recalled them both to reality. Slowly, Devon drew away to look at her amid calls of “Put it to her, old boy!” and “Get on with it, man. Give the rest of us a chance!”

He glared at the membership, then he looked back at Katrina’s flushed face. Her steady gaze showed only disdain. A cruel twist settled about his mouth. “Well, Kat, ” he drawled, “what’s it to be? Slow or quick? A thing of art or an animal coupling?”

She swallowed when he turned her toward the bench with a courteous hand at her elbow, but her tone was even. ‘ ‘Why, do what you do best, of course.” When he paused to shoot her a surprised look, she concluded nastily, “Wallow in the dirt like the animal you are.”

She watched in fascination as his expression grew black. She almost expected horns to sprout from his head, so appropriate did his sobriquet seem at that moment. Perversely she was glad that her actions only made what was to come more brutal. Far better for him to act true to form as the knave he was than to weaken her resolve with that spurious tenderness. When they stood beside the bench, she clenched her teeth so hard her jaw quivered. She waited, sick in body and in heart, for what was to come.

Only she heard his soft curse and his “By the saints, Kat, you tempt me to treat you as you deserve.”

She frowned, but her confusion was dispelled when he turned her to face him, her back to the audience, and lifted his hands to her breasts. With both forefingers, he traced the seams where velvet met silk, his touch so light she barely felt it. He watched the white flesh above quiver as her heartbeat accel
erated, then he slipped one hand beneath the jacket to cup her buttocks. Instinctively, she tried to shrink away, but he pulled her closer, closer, until her breasts crushed against him. He lowered his mouth to warm her lips with his breath.

“You’ll not send me
off so handily off this time, Kat, and leave me yearning for more.” When she looked at him disdainfully, his cheeks flushed with the fury that she sensed was driving him. “Ask me nicely, and maybe I’ll get you out of here.”

She bit her tongue to keep the plea back, but the atavistic fear she could not control was stronger. “Please, take me away.”

His tense muscles relaxed a bit. “Go on.”

“I’ll not beg, damn you!” she spat, even as she trembled.

He lifted a negligent eyebrow. “No? We shall see.”

He pushed her away, and she closed her eyes, fearing she’d feel her gown ripping. When his fingers instead closed the coat and buttoned it, her eyes flicked open. He met her confused stare directly, and for the first time she realized that more than fury was motivating him. Emotions more complex than lust roiled in those harlequin eyes of light and dark.

Yes, there was anger there, and revolted pride, but was that sadness, too, and yearning? Before she could be certain, he felt in the pocket of the jacket she wore, then turned to fling something at Pan’s feet.

“My considerable winnings for the night are yours, my fine satyrs. A thousand pounds is recompense enough for one female, I believe, no matter how lovely.” By the time Pan’s stunned gaze lifted from the purse at his feet,
the earl had hefted Katrina over his shoulder and started down the stage steps.

“See here, Cav
anaugh, you can’t just make off with another man’s offering,” Pan shouted over the angry mutterings of the satyrs.

‘‘No? Then fetch the magistrates to stop me. I’m sure they’d find this little group most illuminating.” The protests stopped midspate.

However, Sutterfield was not so easily intimidated. He overturned his chair as he leaped up, then he vaulted from the stage and ran to block Devon’s path. He snatched the cane he’d propped against the base of the stage and wrenched out the concealed sword.

Devon halted. Katrina dangled from his shoulder, limp with shock. Relief followed, and finally came jubilation. He was saving her! Despite the angry words she’d hurled at him he was saving her. Was she wrong about him after all? Her exuberance muted as she heard the scrape of steel and realized why Devon had paused.

‘ ‘Demon or no, you’ll not take what’s mine without a fight.”

“Yours, Sutterfield? I’ve wanted this woman for three years and have yet to taste her. You know enough of me to realize I don’t share. Now I suggest you stand out of my way.” Devon’s voice grew hard. “Lest you lea
rn firsthand how little I like having my possessions manhandled before me.”

“No, da
mn you! She’ll not leave this chamber until I’ve pounded some of those saucy airs out of her.”

Devon sighed, then he set Katrina down on the first stage step. Katrina shuddered at the insane rage in Sutterfield’s usually benign blue eyes, but Devon just shrugged.

“She’s a jade, I agree, but I found her long ere you did, and if the only way I can keep possession is by pinking you, then gladly I shall do so.”

Someone handed him a sword. He folded his sleeves back, revealing his corded forearms, then climbed the stage steps, taking slices out of the air with the weapon as he went.

Katrina shrank back as Sutterfield followed him, but he ignored her. She looked at the membership. All watched the two men assuming the
en garde
position. Her fingers steady now, Katrina bent to untie the cords about her ankles. As Devon had just said in his exchange with Sutterfield, she was merely one more woman to him. She didn’t dare risk that he’d let her go, not with the past between them, and present events egging him on. She cast a stealthy glance about the room, seeking the exit.

She heard the rasp of steel sliding against steel, and compelled, she paused to look over her shoulder. Most of the light in the gloomy room was trained upon the stage. Weaving candle flames reflected upon shiny, twisting blades. The viscount thrust, the earl parried. Sutterfield lunged, Devon blocked. While Sutterfield was a tall, strong man, his small paunch testified to his leisure activities. Devon, on the other hand, showed in each liquid move what an avid sportsman he was. His fencing had the mark of every master swordsman: He made it look easy.

The end was soon apparent to all but Sutterfield. Devon’s hair glittered under the lights. His muscles moved like well- oiled cogs grinding toward one purpose—victory. Katrina saw the ease with which he parried Sutterfield’s craftiest stabs, and her lurching heart settled back in her breast. No, she had naught to worry about but getting away. She waited until Devon made his move, slashing where he’d been tapping, lunging where he’d been retreating, then she eased around the comer of the stage toward the door she’d spied between two statues.

When several members glanced at her, she leaned her elbows on the stage as if seeking a better vantage to watch. When they looked back at the duel, she darted for the door.

Devon turned his head at the flash of movement. Grinding out an oath, he slammed Sutterffeld’s weak parry aside with a riposte that found its mark. Sutterfield screamed and fell to his knees, clutching his wounded shoulder, but Devon paused only long enough to fling the sword away. In four strides he was off the stage, landing on his feet at a run to pursue Katrina.

“She’s not worth it, Cavanaugh! You’ll find her a block of ice beneath you,” Sutterfield yelled.

Katrina flung a look over her shoulder as she touched the doorknob. She saw Sutterfield, grinning malevolently at her, and a bare twenty paces behind her, Devon. She couldn’t see his expression since his back was to the light, but she didn’t need to. His determined pursuit made his intent clear.

She threw the door open and ran as if the demons of hell pursued. Some other time she might have laughed at the apt analogy, but she was too occupied in fleeing for her life. For without the right of choice, life had no meaning to her at all. . . .

She found herself in a man-made tunnel. She darted a look each way. Blackness at one end, light at the other. She ran, so intent on reaching that reassuring pool of gold that she didn’t even notice the rough cobblestones under her bare feet. But she felt
him.
First as a presence behind her, then she heard steps pounding closer, closer. If she could only reach that light, she could scream for help. She was so near. Yet the five feet were leagues, the unbridgeable gap between safety and ruin. Strong hands caught the back of her jacket and hauled her to a stop.

The shock was too much. She began to scream, to struggle, to kick and bite. “No! You foul excuse for a man, let me go.” Even when he stuffed a handkerchief in her mouth, she still cursed him through it. When he hefted her over his shoulder, she pounded his back with her fists and wildly kicked her legs until an iron-thewed arm squeezed her knees closed.

The laughter in his voice only made her angrier. ‘ ‘Damme, m’girl, I never thought I’d be in the position of pushing your legs
together.”

She was plopped inside a black lacquered coach onto a plush red seat. Devon leaped in beside her. She tore the handkerchief away and drew breath to scream, but they lurched away. There was no one to hear, anyway. She closed her eyes and counted to twenty. Then, leaning back with grim control, she played with the
lapel of his jacket and lifted her eyes to his.

At first she was puzzled by his good humor. Head tilted back against the cushions, legs sprawled before him, he exuded no anger at her attempted escape. To the contr
ary…That devastating smile, cheeks creased, eyes sparkling with mischief, made him seem the best of both boy and man. Only her inner insistence that he was the worst of each—spoiled as a brat and ruthless as a roue—kept her impervious to its force. He breathed easily, as if his recent exertions were no more strenuous than a Vauxhall stroll, but she wasn’t fooled. Let her reach for the door handle and that laziness would evaporate. Perforce she realized, abruptly, why he wasn’t angry.

He enjoyed the chase as much as the capture.

She didn’t hide her bitterness as she said, “I’m glad I afford you amusement, your lordship. Would that I could claim the same.”

His smile deepened into a cocky grin. “Ah, but I’ve never wanted to amuse you, Kat. I’m determined upon an entertain
ment of a different sort.” His eyes dropped to her legs, which were dimly visible through the wispy gown.

She almost tore the
lapel braid, so hard did she have to resist the impulse to cover herself. “And if I’m still determined to decline the pleasure?”

He sighed, and the gold sparks flashing in his eyes dimmed. “Don’t, Kat. Don’t make me angrier than I already am.” Honesty at last.

The, softer side that had yearned for him for three lonely years longed to tell him the truth. That he’d come the closest of any man to gaining her favors. Perhaps she owed him that much—had he not obviously decided to keep her for himself. That, she could not forgive.

Her bent head reared up. She leaned toward him. ‘
I may be only a vicar’s daughter, I may be poor, I may be alone. But one choice I do have, one thing no one can ever take from me—my right to bestow my favors as I choose. And you, my lord, with all your wealth, your charm, your breeding, and your looks, cannot do a thing to stop me.”

Her quiet tones arrested the hand brushing back his loosened hair. His jaw tensed, then he slowly lowered his hand. He looked down, his thick black lashes shielding his thoughts. When his eyes flashed up, they were bright brown, lucid as warmed brandy. She saw admiration there, and li
king. Her heart thrummed. Would he let her go? She looked down to disguise her tension.