With his arms behind his back, he looked toward the heavens. “Ah there. Do you see? It is Scorpio. Scorpio fascinates me the most.” His head lowered to study her. “Your name, Claire, means clear, bright like the stars in the Scorpio constellation that are clear, bright, and illustrious. They indicate true beauty and demonstrate obviousness…like you, Claire. Perhaps you came looking for me?”
“Why would I look for you?” Claire said. How dare he infer she was chasing him?
“Alone, in a dark garden, and so far away from the other guests. But you are far more dangerous to me, I think. When I saw you this evening in your red satin, glowing under the candlelight, your lips so red and blushing−”
Was he different, or was it moonlight and the headiness of wine she had consumed that made him seem so much more threatening than he did during the day? She glared back at him, hoping he would read her expression and ignore the tremors rioting through her body as he taunted her. “It would serve you right if I had you whipped.”
“Serve me?” He laughed. “Faith, you’d not be the first missed opportunity. I will be wounded, but I shall survive to see my end.”
Here he was to remind her of her promise. “Will I ever be free of you?”
“Did you not persist in allowing far more intimacies with that fop then a lady should allow? Did I not see with my own two eyes how the men touched your hair, whispered in your ear, and held you far too close? Are you forever to hide behind a rueful smile and biting wit? Or do you prefer to be the willing victim, immersing yourself in fawning suitors to avoid being a woman?”
He reached for her except…she held him at arm’s length. Her glance traveled hesitantly across his hard chest before her eyes lifted to meet that steady, predatory stare.
“I am your husband declaring what is rightfully mine.” He shook his head, his smile quite startling in its sensual appeal, no doubt to disarm her.
“Ah, Claire, love,” he said sadly. “Am I really to believe that you will not see to your promise? Faith, did I not see a glimmer of a beautiful woman rise with plucky courage to champion me against Sir Teakle? Was that not encouragement?”
“I saved your reckless head to keep you from a beating so you can work another day on the governor’s rheumatism. Be informed that when I give myself to a man, it will be under the vows of a real marriage with all the love I can summon from my heart.” She shoved him back.
“The real vows have been said,” he snapped. He grabbed her shoulders and shook her. “What do you fear, Claire!”
Tears gathered in her eyes.I fear for my own heart, my soul, my very being. He made her aware of her vulnerability. She could not be vulnerable. He threatened everything she needed or wanted in life. Just looking at him made her tremble. Slave or not, he made her yearn for things that only a husband had the right to offer. His eyes, riveted in their intensity and his large hand took her face and held it gently, his fingers brushing the wetness away, his touch almost unbearable in its tenderness. His hands slipped into her hair and brought her closer.
There was nothing more that Devon wanted to do but kiss her. He felt her yielding and then restrained himself, for he needed to keep his head. Yet he hadn’t anticipated her to look so ravishing tonight. And then there was his jealousy. She was his, always would be, yet a world away. His body heated like wildfire as her soft curves melted into him. Hungrily his mouth covered hers, his tongue tracing the contours of her sweet mouth.
Her hands slid up his arms and linked about his neck, her fingers winding in the tendrils of his hair in the back of his neck. Aroused now, his one hand lowered to the small of her back while his lips moved down her throat, following the elegant curve to her collarbone, right where the edge of her gown met skin. He nudged it down, tasting one new inch of her, exploring the soft, salty sweetness, and shuddering with pleasure when he cupped the rounded swell of her breast with his hand, feeling her nipple firm under his touch.
He wanted her.
He took her mouth again and it was all he could do to hold himself back. He reached down and brought up the satin of her gown, feeling the long silky smoothness of her knee and thigh. The minute she moaned, his tongue plunged into her mouth and the kiss exploded. His hand cupped the soft flesh of her bottom and pulling her against him, making her aware of his aroused body. She stiffened at the forced intimacy, and then pressed her soft body into his.
She was driving him insane with need. He tasted the wine on her lips as it mingled with the rum he drank. Suddenly she was whispering frantically to him, driving him away.
“Devon. You must stop. Now.”
But he could not get enough of her.
From a haze, she penetrated his senses like a dream and he’d been woken and−
“Jarvis.” Her breath burst in ragged gasps.
Her uncle’s name was a bucket of ice water dumped over his head.
Devon pushed her away and turned to face the ferocity of her uncle.
“How dare you. You filthy slave,” snarled her uncle. “Do you dare think she’s your equal? Get in the house, Claire.”
The governor and Sir Teakle arrived behind Jarvis, their eyes wide taking in the scene.
Devon stepped forward between Claire and the men, shielding her so she would have time to right herself. They had been in the shadows of a bay tree. He was certain they could not have seen anything. “Surely there is a misunderstanding,” he said. “If I may be allowed to explain−” Once. Twice. The lash of Jarvis’s cane came down on him. He did not move.
“I’ll not take your rascally excuses. I’ll blister your flesh to remind you of your place.” Jarvis raised his cane again.
“Stop.” Claire grasped her uncle’s arm, standing between him and Devon. “He has done nothing untoward. I saw him in the garden and asked him to point out the herbs he used to heal Cookie. That is all.”
“I don’t trust him,” said Sir Teakle. “I sense something amiss. Claire, I assure you my lips are sealed and will do and say nothing to tarnish your reputation by being alone with a slave.”
