“This can go no further.” He shoved her away from him.
His denial scourged her like a knotted whip. Tears stung her eyes, but she refused to shed them, refused to let Devon have the satisfaction of his denial of her. Frustration slashed a deep, agonizing wound of what could be, and what could never be, and it spiraled uncontrollably, yielding to resentment. Resentment with the way things were, anger for the differences dividing them, and rage against the prospects of no future.
It galled her that he stood pious enough to make the moral decision for both of them. Her weakness toward him chafed raw and blistering. Her mind wavered and shook like a wind-swept leaf, twisting and perverting, she projected months of tension and aggravations, channeling all her vexations on Devon. “What were you really talking about with Mr. Dooley in the courtyard two weeks ago?”
“Now lass, never mind your pretty head about minor things like that.” His face hardened.
“What did Dooley want or what did you want?” He was defensive, hiding something. She was furious with her vulnerability.
“Ah that man,” Devon commented. “For sure, he’s a rascal, that one. He desired counsel on an infirmed relative, is all.” Devon narrowed his eyes. “Is it not right for a man to have a private discussion? His curt voice lashed out, fueling a cruelty rising inside her. She wanted to wound him where it would hurt the most because thorns were weaving around her heart.
“You are a slave. You have no rights.
He glared at her with savage fury.
“What about husbandly rights?” he blasted her. “Ah then−” he bit out with ruthless sarcasm. “There would have to be a woman for that. I believe there will never be enough of a woman in you for that notion. You guard your independence, yet freedom comes with the chains of a desperate promise made long ago in a faraway gaol. One simple promise, Madame, yet you are not woman enough to keep it nor ever will be.” He stalked away from her.
Summoned to a patient living up the coast, Devon enjoyed his temporary freedom. In the brilliant sunshine, an extra spring rose to his step for good fortune smiled down on him. He looked out to the windswept sea and counted his blessings, gold to buy his freedom, Dooley’s confirmation of a skiff to carry him away. His crew of slaves came with talent, a shipwright, a cooper, a gunner, but of most importance, a navigator to lead them through a desert of waters. Bloodsmythe and twelve others had been carefully recruited. Young Johnnie, Old John, Robert Ames had all joined the bid for liberty, secretly separating into one hut within the stockade to make their plans. A ladder had been built, concealed in the rafters to scale their prison walls and win the open reaches of the forest. All would be accomplished with silent tread for not one footfall could be detected by the guards or those they left behind.
Except for Jarvis and King James, he held no ill will to mankind, not even Claire. Since his argument with her that last day at the hospital, he had not clapped eyes on her.Did she not remind him, he was a slave?He considered it odd, in his present happy state, even his anger against her diminished.
He thought of her often and wished her well, little did it assuage the increasing desire he felt for her. Their association could go nowhere, and he contented himself with the rationalization of the way things existed in the world. He−a slave and she−nobility, a social chasm as wide as the ocean separating them. Devon’s fists clenched. He remained far from content. With every ounce of desperation, he wanted her. He sought all her goodness. It was insanity.
His enslavement created degenerate needs in him. Some island ladies offered easy sampling. But he did not choose them. When he was released, pathetically by his own hand, he hadn’t suffered from this constant torture and need. It was Claire who created the constant torture and need. It was Claire who created the degenerate in him. It was surely, Claire.
On the other side of a steep sandy bluff, he arrived in sight of a small hut, crouched between a knot of swaying palms, descending steeply in front to the sea, and sweeping away at the top in heavy forests. He speculated upon its occupant, desiring its chosen remoteness a good jaunt from town. With curiosity, he contemplated the open door. A triangle of sunlight splashed onto an interior planked floor. No signs of life stirred. Under further consideration, it seemed vacant. Believing he’d been sent by Jarvis’s servant on a fool’s errand, he knocked, and then entered, his eyes adjusting from the bright light of day to darkness. He sensed a presence. Alert, his senses fathomed an alarm. To his right, stood a table, laid with white linen, hosting a basket, two wine glasses and a bottle of wine. He thought that strange. Summoned to treat a very ill patient, it appeared the tenant planned a small celebration. Still, his instincts warned him. The air ceased to shift. A barely discernible footfall padded from the back room. He turned. An apparition glided toward him. Devon stared.
Claire. Never had he seen her look so beautiful, so soft and feminine and−alluring. She wore a white clinging robe, her hair pinned upon her head, with graceful tendrils escaping. She stepped before him, the gown outlining every line of her body. Impulse roared through his veins.
He frowned. “What is this game you play?” He remained concerned with his own problem of escape−his survival.
Her fingers slowly pulled the pins from her hair. When she shook it out, her breasts rose and fell with the movement. Devon’s hands convulsed into fists, then he forced them to relax.
Beneath his stare, color heightened on her cheeks, turning nearly as rosy as her lips. “To a condemned and desperate man in a faraway gaol, I gave my promise. I offer you full payment of my promise, one full day of conjugal rights. I am honor bound for only that period of time.”
Devon’s mouth went dry, flaring high with long-starved passions, interfering with the remaining hostility he held toward her. Suspicions nagged. Yet his wariness lay in tatters, smothered with his desire. He rejected every instinctive warning.
“To be a woman?” he taunted, enduring her pretty little speech with haughty disdain.
“To know, I will be released from my promise. I want my freedom.”
“I am a slave. I cannot grant your freedom,” he lashed out, bitterness coloring his words.
She cleared her throat. “As I am indebted−I wish to be free of my commitment. When my debt is paid, I will be relieved, for I don’t wish to be obligated to you further.”
Devon swallowed hard for what was being offered. “When I have you, I want you free and willing.” She submitted for all the wrong reasons. He did not want that. Devon looked at her a few moments and smiled. “By my troth, Madame, you amaze me. But I’ll make a deal with you. A gamble on your part−for argument’s purposes, a give and take so to speak. That is, if you arewomanenough to take the challenge,” he dared, pleased her anger flared.
“I fear−”
“Aye, but I fear−” He looked around. “Like a boar encircled by hunter and hounds. An overseer, your wretched uncle, beneath the bed? A half dozen guards out in the yard?”
She stiffened. “There is no one here.” She motioned with a sweep of an arm. “But look for yourself, if you like.”
“Never underestimate your uncle.” He looked in the back room, glanced out both doors, before returning. No one.
Devon strived to maintain detachment. All the while, a persistent battle raged against his most primal needs. His muscles tightened in an almost vise-like pain as he checked himself from moving toward her. The promise he had made himself not to touch her disintegrated along with his ability to master his animal passions. She stood there soft…yielding, all for the taking, a fulfillment of every waking dream that had tormented him since he’d first met her. She took a tentative step toward him. Her fingers undid the clasp of her dressing robe. Did her fingers tremble? Did he see her bravado slip for the briefest second? Devon itched to touch the smooth expanse of bare flesh revealed between her breasts. She tossed the garment onto a chair and looked to him.
He tensed−afraid she would dissolve like some faded vision.
