The Flame and the Flower (7 page)

Her nerves stretched taut with her toilette complete, and needing some task to occupy her thoughts, she began putting some order to the cabin, which was littered with clothing. His were thrown over the back of a chair, her beige gown in another. The torn chemise was still where he had dropped it after ripping it from her. She picked it up and found it irreparable.

His hands destroy well, she mused.

With renewed anger she marched to the bunk and began smoothing the sheets until her eyes fell on the blood that stained them, and she realized it was her blood, her proof of virginity. In a high rage, she jerked the sheets from the bed and threw them to the floor.

Her eyes bright and her cheeks flushed, she whirled around at a soft laugh from behind her and faced Brandon who stood in the open doorway. He had returned silently and without her knowing. His eyes dropped from her angry face to the sheets behind her, then he raised his eyes again as he closed the door and leaned against it. He smiled at her mockingly, and with an infuriated groan, Heather turned her back. She heard him laugh. He was laughing at her and she hated him. He was detestable.

He came up close behind her, slipped his arms about her waist and drew her back against him.

"Do you think you could have remained chaste for long with the face and body you have, my sweet?" he murmured against her hair. "You were meant for love, and I am not saddened because I snatched you before other men tried you, nor do I feel guilty over the pleasure you've given me. Pray do not blame me for being infatuated with your beauty and wanting you for my own. It would be a task for any man not to. You see, in truth, m'lady, I am your prisoner, caught in your spell."

She trembled as his searing lips pressed against her throat and beneath her breasts her heart thumped wildly.

"Are you void of a conscience?" she choked. "Doesn't it matter that I do not wish to be here? I am not one of your strumpets, nor do I have any desire to be."

"You do not wish it now, my love, but later you will. If I allowed you to go now I'd never see you again because of what has passed between us. If we had met differently, I could have courted you gently and wooed you into my bed with tender words. But here we started backwards and frightened you and as a bird flees from its captor, so would you fly from me. To keep you I must show you that it is not so bad being my mistress. You'll have everything your heart desires."

"I have heard tales of Yankees," she said snidely, "but I never guessed that all those aspersions could be true until I met you."

He threw back his head and laughed heartily. "Spoken like a true Englishwoman, m'lady."

She jerked angrily away and faced him. "Just tell me why you want me?" she demanded. She threw her arms wide. "Heaven above, tell me why I must suffer your affections when you can find many a maid more willing than I anywhere you should happen to look! Wouldn't your romps in bed be more entertaining with a woman who appreciates your advances than with one who loathes the very sight of you?"

He chuckled at her anger. "You have a sharp tongue, m'lady. You wound me to the quick. But the reasons are quite simple. Take a look at yourself and you'll see a very excellent one. You're like a breath of fresh spring air after a night in an overcrowded tavern."

He took a seat at his desk, relaxing in the chair as he regarded her.

"I find you very desirable, Heather, truly worth having—a jewel among pebbles. The challenge of winning you excites me. I've never been denied before."

"You should have been," she spat vindictively. "Perhaps then you would have learned to be a gentleman."

His eyes sparkled. "I've found with you, sweet, that when I want you badly enough I can overlook being a gentleman."

She turned her back on him in frustration. There was no talking to the pompous, arrogant scoundrel. He made his own rules to fit his own games. She couldn't think of enough names to do justice to the way she felt about him. All she knew was that she'd leave him and his miserable cabin if it were the last thing she ever did.

A few moments later George entered the cabin, carrying a large tray laden with their morning meal. The servant smiled rather sheepishly at her as he placed the tray upon the table, but she glared at him and presented her back where in turn he looked to his captain, quite confused. A small smile curved Brandon's lips and he nodded to the servant to continue with what he was doing. When the table lay set, Brandon held a chair out for her.

"If you please, Heather," he smiled mockingly. "I can hardly dine while you stand and glower at me. Now sit and be a good girl for a change."

George looked between the two, becoming more perplexed, and hurriedly poured coffee in the mugs. Heather grudgingly took her place and adjusted a napkin irritably over her lap. She sipped the coffee, though she preferred tea, then grimaced at its strong taste and pushed it away from her. Lifting her eyes, she found Brandon watching her with an amused smile.

Nothing was said and she attacked her small steak of beef as if it needed yet to be slaughtered, though in truth it was quite tender. She found it strangely prepared, not boiled nor cut into tiny bits for a stew but simply cooked in its own juices and left still rare. She tried a small piece and found it tasty, but her appetite was far from hearty and she simply picked at it.

George watched her for a moment in indecision, wishing to please but not knowing how. He turned finally to leave, and noticing the sheets upon the floor, went to pick them up. His eyes widened as he saw the stains and he glanced quickly to his captain, who was watching him, then to Heather whose back was turned to him and once more to Brandon who met his look and nodded once to his unasked questions. The servant's eyes widened even more and he hurriedly gathered the sheets in his arms and made a hasty exit.

Brandon regarded Heather's display of temper and casually sliced off a bite of steak.

"I will not tolerate your spiteful mood at my table, Heather," he said calmly, "nor your treating my man unkindly. In his presence you will be a lady."

Fear rose within Heather and every muscle in her body drained of strength, leaving her quivering in her chair. She grew pale and even her small desire for nourishment left her. She folded her hands in her lap and gazed down at them, unable to meet his stare.

Brandon swallowed some of the hot coffee as he continued to study her, this time concentrating on the gown she wore. It was a garment a younger girl might wear and pretty though it was, he didn't care for its girlish lines. It made him feel uncomfortable, as if he had stolen a babe from its cradle. The only thing about it that found favor with him was the snug bodice which pressed her bosom upward, reassuring him that she was no child. But it was hardly the sort of gown he wanted his mistress to wear, and the frayed chemise he had seen on her earlier would have to go. She was too beautiful to wear rags.

The meal at its end, he returned to his desk to work at his ledgers while Heather, not knowing what to do with herself, paced the floor or fidgeted at the window seat and felt like climbing the walls. He left the cabin for a time, long enough for her to gather courage to try the door, but her thought of escape was badly timed for she found him in the companionway giving orders to one of his crew. Angrily she slammed the door closed when he glanced up and smiled at her mockingly.

When George came with the noon meal she was polite, but not to the point of being gracious. Silently she cursed the man.

Brandon pushed his chair back from the table, a time later, his hunger for food satisfied, and Heather felt his eyes sweep her. A silence filled the room and she swallowed hard, keeping her gaze averted. She knew his affections had warmed again and her heart refused to slow to a regular beat. His voice when he spoke was low and rich with passion.

"Come here, Heather."

She froze in the chair. She would not go to him. She would stay where she was. He could not bully her. She shook her head and managed to croak a weak, "No."

His eyelids lowered and he smiled slowly. "I admire your spirit,
ma cherie
, but do you think it wise to resist me? You know as well as I that you do not possess the strength to stop me from taking what I want. Would it not be better to acknowledge defeat and come willingly?"

Heather shook and terror could not be denied. Her courage failed her. Slowly she rose on trembling legs, her teeth tugging nervously at her bottom lip, and went to stand before him. He smiled at her leisurely and sliding his hand up her arm, pulled her between his legs and down upon his knee where she sat rigidly as he pressed his lips against her throat.

"Don't be afraid," he breathed. "I won't hurt you."

His mouth moved over her shaking lips and parted them as his arms slid tightly around her, one hand settling on her back while the other sought her hip. With a half sob, Heather went limp against his chest, trembling violently within his grasp. His kisses went on it seemed to her without end. When his hand slid from her hip to her thigh and moved slowly upward along the inside, caressing it, she groaned under his kiss and strained against his chest. But the embrace could not be broken. His lips left hers to kiss the corners of her mouth, her chin, her ear.

"Don't fight me," he murmured. "Let yourself enjoy it."

"I can't," she choked.

"Yes, you can."

His lips as they traveled from her throat to the rounded curves above her gown were moist, parted, drinking in the sweetness of her flesh. They caressed her breasts unhurriedly, moving from the deep valley between to the pointed peaks which rose up beneath her gown. His breath came more rapidly and touched her skin like a hot iron. Aroused, he unfastened her bodice and pressed passionate kisses on her naked flesh.

From the cabin door came a hesitant knocking and a black scowl crossed Brandon's face. Heather frantically clutched her garments together over her bosom in shame and tried to leave his knee when he loosened his hold upon her, but he tightened it again, forcing her to stay where she was. When he called out to the intruder, there was no doubt of his irritation.

"Blast you, come in!"

George opened the door and stood red-faced as he looked across the cabin at them, shuffling his feet in embarrassment.

"Beggin' your pardon, cap'n, but a messenger's come from a merchant who wants to speak with you about the cargo. His man says he's interested in buying the whole lot of rice and indigo if the two o' you can meet and agree."

"He wants me to go to him?" Brandon asked, almost incredulously. "Why in hell's name can't he come here to the
Fleetwood
as the others do?"

"The man's crippled, so his messenger says, cap'n," the servant replied. "If you're willing, his man will look over the cargo to see its value and then take you to him."

Brandon muttered an oath and the scowl deepened. "Ask Mr. Boniface to give him a tour, will you, George? Then send the man in here when he's through."

George skittered out, closing the door behind him and Brandon reluctantly turned Heather loose. She ran to the window seat and hurriedly fastened her clothes as he moved behind his desk and sat down. She felt his eyes on her and the color rose high to her cheeks.

Some time later the messenger was admitted and she turned her back to the occupants of the room and sank to the cushions of the seat. That anyone should find her in Captain Birmingham's cabin embarrassed her to the bone. Her face flaming with the shame of it, she wanted very much to die. Through the windows she watched the water lap against the sides of a merchantman docked nearby and mused how, if she but had the nerve, the water might put her problems to an end. She thought she might welcome its liquid fingers snuffing out her life. She leaned forward to gaze more intently at the dark swirling river, unaware that the messenger had left and that Brandon had come up behind her. He dropped a hand to her shoulder and she jumped with a start. He laughed softly and sank down beside her on the cushions and touched a curl over her breast.

"I'm afraid I must leave for a few hours, Heather, but I'll return as soon as I'm able. George has been instructed to keep an eye upon you so I beg you not to make it difficult for him. He's a gentle soul where ladies are concerned despite what you may have thought last night. I have informed him that I want you here when I return, so do not try to get away. I'll have his skin if you succeed and I'd find you again if I had to tear down all of London."

"I don't care in the least if you skin your man," she replied heatedly. "But if the opportunity to escape presents itself, I'll take it."

Brandon raised an eyebrow. "In that case, Heather, I shall take you with me."

She almost panicked. "Oh, don't!" she cried. "Please. I beg of you. I would die of shame if you did. Oh, please do not. If you wish, I'll read while you're away. I swear."

Brandon studied her with a great deal of interest. "You can read?" he asked.

"Yes," she returned softly.

He smiled down at her. Not many women could read, and he felt a new respect for the girl.

"Very well," he said finally. "I will leave you here, and I'll stop at a clothier's on the way back so that you may look like a woman. Now stand up and let me judge your size."

Self-consciously, Heather complied and slowly turned around before him as he directed. His eyes moved over her appreciatively.