The Flame and the Flower (58 page)

"I shan't forget it ever, Brandon. Papa never took me to anything like this. It's so wonderfully beautiful, like a fairy tale come to life."

He bent over her and laughed softly in her ear. "Perhaps I'm being a bad influence over you, my pet."

Her eyes shone warmly as they met his. "If that be so, it is far too late to speak of it, for I'd have it no other way. I am doomed, for I can no longer be satisfied with just existing. I must love and be loved. I must possess and be possessed. I must be yours, my darling, as you must be mine. So you see, you've taught me too well. Everything you set out to do in the beginning you have accomplished and more so. I must live with you and be a part of you, and if we weren't tied with marriage bonds and you still sailed the sea, I'd follow you around the world as your mistress, and to me our love would be our sacred vows. And if confessing this makes of me a wanton woman, then I am truly a very happy one."

Still holding her gaze, Brandon lifted her hand and pressed it to his lips. "If you were my mistress I'd have to keep you under lock and key so no other man would be able to whisk you away from me. You too are an excellent tutor. The gay bachelor now prefers the security of marriage. I enjoy every moment of being married to you, especially that part where I can say that you're mine and mine alone."

She smiled softly and her eyes were full of love.

"You shouldn't look at me that way," he murmured, returning her gaze.

"What way?" she breathed, continuing to do so.

"The same way you do when we've just made love, as if all the world could pass us by and you wouldn't care."

"I wouldn't," she returned in the same soft tone.

He grinned. "I'll be hard put to stay and finish viewing the play if you continue, madam. You are a very fetching sight for even this old married man and you do test my manly control."

She laughed with a light heart but her gaiety ceased when she saw Brandon stop and stare over her shoulder with an amazed expression on his face. She turned to see what had startled him and found Louisa coming toward them. She wondered at Brandon's reaction until her eyes fell on the beige gown the woman wore. It was exactly like the one she had given the peddler, the very same she had worn when she first met Brandon. Louisa, not to be outdone by anyone, had chosen to change it some slight degree in the style of the Parisians. The transparency of the gown would have been shocking to a more modest woman, but Louisa, never bothering about such a trivial thing as modesty, had very definitely rouged her nipples.

"Hello, Brandon," she purred in her silky voice when she stood before them, and she laughed softly as she felt his eyes as well as Heather's on her attire. "I see you've noticed my gown. It is lovely, isn't it? Thomas made it especially for me after I saw the original in his shop, and just for little old me, he put the other one away so no other woman would have a gown like mine."

Brandon cleared his throat and spoke inquiringly. "Was there some fault with the original that he had to make a second for you?"

Louisa reveled in the interest Brandon was showing in her dress. "No, there was nothing wrong with it, darling, but it was so dreadfully small no one could have worn it. Why, even Heather with her skinny little girl's figure would have failed to squeeze into it. It would have been much, much too tiny for her."

Brandon exchanged a glance with Heather. "It must indeed have been small."

"Well, I knew I had to have one just like it the moment I laid eyes upon it," the woman continued gaily. "And I'm so glad I insisted that Thomas make me this one. I do so like to please you, darling, and I see that I have." She feigned embarrassment. "Of course, you've been staring at me so hard I'm wondering if it's the gown at all—and in front of your wife too, darling."

Brandon looked at her passively. "The gown reminds me of one Heather wore when I first met her, Louisa," he returned dryly. "It was a gown worth treasuring for the memories associated with it."

Louisa's face turned to stone and she looked menacingly at Heather, then smiled tritely. "However did you get the money to purchase such a gown as this? You must have worked very hard to obtain it. But then if your husband is so interested in having you displayed in a garment such as this, my dear, you should meet my couturier. He's here tonight. He could do wonders for your skin and bones. You'd be pleased with him, I'm sure."

Heather felt Brandon stiffen beside her.

"I'm afraid the man wouldn't please me, Louisa," he replied. "I prefer that women sew Heather's gowns."

Louisa laughed a bit harshly. "Why, Brandon, you're becoming very strait-laced in your dotage:"

Brandon dropped a hand on the bare flesh of his wife's shoulder and caressed it leisurely. "As far as Heather is concerned, Louisa, I've always been a bit strait-laced."

Louisa felt a quick, quivery spasm of jealousy grip her as she watched his fingers move gently over Heather's skin, remembering the feel of them against her own flesh, arousing sensual feelings that had never been matched before or since by any other man. She gave the smaller woman an evil glare.

"You really must meet Thomas anyway, my dear. Perhaps he can give you a few suggestions on what to wear to make it appear as if you had a little flesh on your bones. I've seen him do such wonders with a childish figure. Wait here, darling, and I'll find him for you."

Heather glanced up uncertainly at her husband as the woman walked away, having recognized the longing in Louisa's eyes, knowing well that tormenting emotion from her own experiences. She found an amused smile upon his face.

"If she only knew about that gown, she'd wring that poor fellow's neck," he laughed. "There's no doubt the one he has is yours."

"She looks very lovely in it, doesn't she?" Heather murmured.

Brandon grinned down at her and moved his hand to her waist to squeeze it fondly. "Not half so lovely as my vision of you in it or as you are every day, all day long."

Heather smiled, reassured, and watched Louisa disappear into the crowd of theatre goers. She forgot the woman for a few moments as Brandon brought her attention back to more pleasant things. But later, a feeling of uneasiness crept over her—the same strange, eerie sensation that had come upon her not very long ago at the mill. She was being stared at but with an intenseness that was anything but normal. She turned very slowly and saw him. The color drained from her face. The man stood beside Louisa, but his eyes rested upon her. He seemed not at all surprised to see her. He even nodded his head slightly in acknowledgment of her and grinned. It was he. The grin was too horrible. She was positive there was no other in the whole world with a one-sided smirk like Mr. Thomas Hint.

She swayed against Brandon, feeling faint, and the hand she put to her face was shaking uncontrollably. She tugged on her husband's coat to make him bend to her, for she doubted she could make her voice carry even that distance.

Brandon frowned with concern. "What's wrong?"

Louisa and Mr. Hint were walking toward them now. She couldn't stand there, trying to make words come from her mouth. She had to speak.

"Brandon," she wheezed. "I don't feel well. It must be the crowd. Please take me back to our box."

Then she heard Louisa's voice. "Here he is, Heather. I would like for you to meet my dressmaker, Mr. Thomas Hint."

Too late! Panic was gripping her. She had a great desire to flee from the room as fast as her legs would carry her, but they would not move. She was frozen, paralyzed with fear.

Brandon didn't waste time with unnecessary words or politeness. "Please excuse us, Louisa. I'm afraid Heather has had a sudden attack of the vapors. It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr. Hint. Goodnight."

It wasn't long before he had her in a chair in their private box. He took both her trembling hands into his.

"Do you wish to go home? You're shaking and you look as if you'd seen a ghost."

She almost laughed out loud in hysteria. He was right. She had seen a ghost or something out of her past that was as frightening as one. She was possessed with fear that she would see him again or have him talk to Brandon. He was such a horrible man—or was he a monster?

She clung tightly to her husband as he sat beside her and tried to soothe her. The curtains went up again but neither watched the stage now. A few moments later he leaned over her.

"Let's go. I don't want you fainting here."

He led her from their box to the lobby and from the theatre where he motioned for James to get the barouche and pull it around. When it drew up before them, he lifted her in and held her small, quivering form close as they rode home.

Heather was frightened now, more than she had ever been before. She had something now that she loved too dearly to part with—her husband, her child. If she were accused of murder, they would be snatched from her arms without mercy and she would rot away her life in prison. It would matter little that she had been attacked. They would not believe her, not with Mr. Hint to say that she had gone with William Court willingly. And Brandon would be so hurt. Oh, sweet Lord, be merciful, she prayed.

When they arrived home, Brandon carried her up to their bedroom and put her on the bed. He rolled her over to unfasten her gown and stripped it from her with her other garments. When she lay naked beneath the sheet, he poured a small bit of brandy in a glass and sat down on the bed beside her.

"Drink this, sweet. It will put some color into your cheeks."

Obediently she sat up and taking the glass from him, drank a big gulp of it, for which she was instantly sorry. She choked on the fiery liquid and coughed as she tried to catch her breath.

He laughed softly and took the glass, setting it on the bedside commode. "I should have warned you about the drink, but I thought you'd remember."

He began pulling pins from her hair, and soon the silky curls were cascading loosely over her shoulder. He smoothed them under his hand.

"Before, when we were in London and on the
Fleetwood
, I used to watch you tend your hair. I could hardly keep my hands from it, it tempted me so. Do you remember when you were ill, Heather?"

She nodded, watching him as he played with a curl.

"You were very ill, my darling, but I took care of you. No one touched you but myself and when your fever raged, I was the one by your side. Not for an instant did I leave the cabin. You were mine and I needed you. I let no harm come to you."

Her brows drew together as she wondered why he was speaking so slow and deliberate.

"Do you think that now, when I know you are my very life, that I would let anything happen to you. I'd fight man and beast for you, Heather. So would you trust me enough to let me help you as I want to do. I know you are frightened, sweet, and I believe I can help if you'll only trust me." He bent over her. "I am very strong,
ma petite
."

Heather's eyes were opened wide. He knew something! Somehow he had found out! But how—and what? What did he know and who had told him?

Fear set her hands atremble and she clutched them together to keep them from transmitting their weakness to the rest of her body. She sank further down in the bed, the brandy lending her no false courage. What could she say? What could she tell him? If she hurt him she'd never forgive herself and if he walked away in shock at her deed and never returned to her arms, she would die.

Brandon smiled tenderly and drew the sheet up under her chin. "When you wish to tell me, my sweet, I'll always be near." He undressed and slid into bed beside her. Pulling her close, he kissed her troubled brow. "Go to sleep, my love."

In the security of his arms, she found comfort at last and she was able to sleep, but there was no peace in her dreams. She saw Mr. Hint, his misshapened body standing over her, his clawlike hands holding Beau. Then she was running—running after Mr. Hint—after Beau. She had to save Beau from him! She rose from sleep screaming and struggling in Brandon's arms as he tried to wake her.

"He has Beau! He has Beau! He'll hurt my baby!" she sobbed.

"Heather, wake up. It's only a bad dream, sweet. Beau's safe."

Her eyes lost some of their wildness as they focused upon the face above her, the dark, handsome face of her husband. It was a stable rock in a sea of swirling sand. With a cry of relief, she flung her arms about his neck.

"Oh, Brandon, it was horrible! He took Beau and I couldn't reach him and I ran and ran. It was horrible!"

She shuddered in the arms that held her. He was kissing her hair, her wet cheeks and the long lashes that were salty with tears. She quieted in his embrace and felt secure again, knowing Brandon was there. When several moments later his lips traveled down her throat to her breasts, she became possessed by a different sort of emotion. She groaned with pleasure as his hands moved over her body, slipping over her limbs as softly as a butterfly's touch and sliding between as smoothly as the flight of those winged wraiths. He was slow and deliberate in his caresses, making her forget everything but the two of them, until she writhed within his arms and pleaded with him to take her without delay. But he proceeded at a studiedly measured pace, sending her emotions, inflamed and thrilling, spiraling upward. Her passion mounted until she became like a wild thing, quivering, biting, clawing at him. Yet he only laughed, the sound swirling above their heads and mingling with her purring sighs, and nibbled with his teeth at her throat, the silky flesh beneath her breasts, the smooth, flat belly and a shapely thigh. She shivered with the passion he evoked as her hand moved downward and closed over him. He shuddered and took her fiercely, carrying her with him to frenzied, breathtaking heights that finally burst around them, shading them both in warm contentment.