She struggled against him. “I did not care to come to dinner!” she cried.
“But I commanded that you should.”
“I do not dine with thieves, with gentlemen rogues. Your manner does not save you from the truth! I will not sit to eat with a courteous—”
“Sea slime? Gentleman rogue, milady?” his eyes, flashing fire, fell upon hers. “This night, lady, I am no gentleman rogue, and a rogue at the very least. You wish a pirate, you expect one—”
“Put me down, Hawk!” she cried, her panic growing. The soft brandy blur was deserting her. She was naked, and his touch upon her bare flesh was an excruciating sensation. She was in his arms, and he was vibrant, burning with the heat of anger. He was a flame that seemed to consume everything, her will, her heart. She had to escape him, to stand outside that flame. She did not so deeply fear his anger; she feared the tempest within him that so seduced and beguiled her.
She pressed fully against his silk-clad chest. “Now! I demand it!”
He shook his head slowly. “You do not like to be treated with courtesy, not by a pirate, so you say. Well, take heed then, lady. This night you have the pirate, the demon, the monster, the rogue. And trust well, lady, that this night, the rogue will have you. If you have thought to cry for mercy, now is the time to do so, milady.”
VIII
“Perhaps weshoulddine first,” Skye said softly.
He stared down upon her. “What?” he shouted in exasperation.
“Dinner!” she whispered desperately, meeting his silver gaze. “You wished to have dinner. It’s…it’s all right with me.”
He was still stiff with anger, as hot and radiant as a winter’s fire, but as hard as stone. “You’re drunk,” he said.
“What?”
“You’re drunk!”
“I am not! Ladies of good breeding do not get drunk, sir!”
“I shudder to suggest, Lady Kinsdale, that your breeding is anything but the absolute best, so I must beg to differ upon the principle itself. You are drunk.”
“Tipsy, perhaps.”
“Sodden.”
“Sir, you drive me to drink,” she said woefully. Her fingers curled about his neck as she held him tightly rather than fall.
“I drive you to drink, lady! My God, but a sane man would have left you upon the sea!” He cast her down suddenly and with such vehemence that she gasped, for she was certain that her bones would shatter upon the floor. They did not, for he had come to the bed and cast her upon the soft down mattress. Like silver daggers, his eyes flashed upon her. “I drive you to drink? Lady, you would drive the very saints to despair!”
He whirled around and she clutched nervously at the bedclothes, dragging them around her. He seemed as explosive as a keg of powder, and though she had a reprieve, she wondered what his next action would be.
He wrenched open one of her trunks with a vengeance. Silks and satins and velvets went flying about. Then he tossed a soft green satin garment her way. She reached for the fabric as his footsteps cracked and thundered upon the floor and on the shattered door. “Dinner, milady, is already served.”
For the longest time she lay there, her hand at her heart, feeling the frantic beat. He was gone again. But not far. He stood away from her, through a doorway that could no longer be closed or locked. It had never meant anything anyway. He had always known and she was discovering that the barriers lay within herself.
And within him.
Skye lay very still. Night was coming quickly. It would not matter, she realized. If darkness fell, he would come back to light up the night for her, whether she did or did not rise. If she stayed just as she was, she would need have no fear. He would not touch her, nor would he let blackness descend upon her.
She rose quickly, glancing nervously to the open doorway. She could not see him. She scrambled into the gown he had left her, a satin dinner gown with a laced bodice, high collar, and sweeping train. She came to the dresser, observed her pale image within the mirror, and mechanically picked up the silver brush he had provided and swept it through her hair. The golden locks fell like waves of sun and fire upon her shoulders. The high collar of the gown complemented the deep cleft of the bodice. Her eyes were grave then, for the tender embrace of the brandy was fast fading away, and it seemed that very much lay at stake that night.
Impulsively she turned from the dresser to dig about in her trunks. She found a delicate gold necklace with an emerald pendant that was surrounded by a sunburst of diamonds. She hooked it about her neck and it fell far below her throat to touch the valley of her breasts.
She walked over to the open doorway and paused there, watching him.
He stood by the windows, and seemed as pensive as she. The drapes were open, the breeze blew in. He looked the gentleman then, the striking young gentleman, more lordly than any man she knew, lost in thought, tall and undaunted against the coming night. He held a silver goblet in one hand. Across the room, Skye saw that the small dining table was laden with a meal, with silver flatware and fine plates upon a white cloth. Candles were burning, casting a gentle glow over the table.
“Lord Cameron comes for you any day now,” Hawk said without turning to her.
