Chapter 6

…A hawk clutched with his talons a gaily-colored nightingale and bore her aloft into the clouds when she wailed piteously, pierced by the crooked claws, the hawk said arrogantly: "Wretch! Why do you shriek? One much stronger now holds you and you must go wherever I take you, singer though you are."

—Hesiod

Sir Jason whipped his horses to a faster pace as they raced through the rain-slick streets of London. The rain had temporarily halted, and through a break in the clouds he could see the moon shining mistily above.

He wondered what Trevegne was doing at this moment and grinned widely with unholy amusement as he thought of the possibilities. He felt absolutely elated at his triumph over the invincible Trevegne—if only he could relate to all of London how he had maneuvered the great marquis into his power; but of course, he could never tell that part of the story and still be accepted at Almack's and his other clubs.

He was no fool, and he knew that if Trevegne ever suspected, or had proof of what he had done, his life wouldn't be worth a farthing. He shuddered at the thought of Trevegne's deadly aim with pistols. Oh no, he would never admit to his crime—or accomplishment as he preferred to call it. At least not to Trevegne, although he could think of someone else he would relish relating it to. He wasn't finished with the almighty marquis yet.

Sir Jason thought of how already, between himself and Twillington, everyone at White's and Watier's had heard the story. Twillington. Now that had been an unexpected, if not miraculous, piece of luck. To have that twittering tattler Twillington show up at the inn, just at the opportune moment. Why, he could hardly have planned it better himself .

He had vaguely entertained the idea of using Miss Demarice as he sat talking to her over dinner, but hadn't quite figured in what way. She didn't look too well dressed, so she might accept money to help him ensnare Trevegne, but unfortunately she didn't seem the type. He had even thought of killing her, and then blaming it on his lordship, but that could get rather messy. He sat puzzling over this when Twillington started jabbering about some general's family, in a flap and demanding reparation for their daughter, who had been seduced by a town gentleman.

That was when the idea crystallized in his mind. He must somehow involve Trevegne with the virtuous Miss Demarice. It was a shame she was such a beauty, for he would love to have the irresistible Trevegne involved with a mawkish-looking old maid.

Drugging their rum toddies was no problem. He simply took the bottle of laudanum which he kept for use when he had trouble sleeping, and after ordering hot rum toddies for everyone, intercepted Tibbitts with the tray of drinks. He sent him back to get another one for himself, and quickly put the drug in two of the mugs. He then handed one of them to Tibbitts to take to Miss Demarice, with his compliments, while he took in the rest of the drinks himself.

It was almost too easy. Trevegne retired, his eyelids weighing heavily. Sir Jason remained downstairs, seated before the fire, until he was certain Trevegne would be deep asleep. Then Sir Jason entered Miss Demarice's darkened room and crept over to the bed to hear her breathing deeply, the drug having worked perfectly. He lit a candle and carefully undressed the sleeping figure, pausing briefly to stare admiringly at her naked body. He picked up her limp form and carried her quietly and quickly down the hall to Trevegne's room, and laid her down on the bed next to the marquis. He then disrobed the sleeping man, feeling momentarily alarmed at his success thus far, but shrugged, thinking it another indication of his brilliance and ingenuity.

He would never forget the surge of excitement he felt as he and Twillington entered the room to see the two bodies locked in an embrace. He hadn't quite expected that, especially after the way Miss Demarice and the marquis had reacted to each other the night before. However, the marquis was a man, and to find a beautiful and naked woman in bed with him was too good an opportunity not to take advantage of. Miss Demarice would have a great deal of explaining to do, and he did not envy her one bit.

Sir Jason wondered suddenly what she was thinking. She had certainly looked flustered and confused this morning, and very appealing. Poor Miss Demarice, to find herself at the mercy of a man she had spurned was ironic, and probably most uncomfortable.

He wouldn't be at all surprised if the marquis just up and left her, refusing to marry her despite the gossip. No, the marquis had an eye for beauty—he just might make her his mistress, especially after what he had seen this morning of his lordship's desire for the disdainful Miss Demarice.

Well, it did not really matter if Trevegne married her or not, his reputation would be so blackened that even the husband-hunting mamas would think twice before wanting to become his mother-in-law. And Sir Jason doubted if Trevegne would be able ever to find a suitable and acceptable wife now. Especially if he got thrown out of Almack's as the rumor had it.

But his superb triumph had been in tricking Trevegne. Having him at his mercy, under his power. Why, he could have plunged a knife through his chest as he slept if he had wanted. But it was better to see him squirm—forced to either marry against his will or face disgrace. He might already have a black reputation, but even the marquis could go only so far before facing the consequences.

Sir Jason almost hoped that Trevegne threw Miss Demarice out. He would find her then, and offer his protection—make her his mistress. She was lovely, he thought, remembering her body gleaming eerily in the candlelight. Yes, he must see what he could do about that, and then he chuckled as he again wondered—what was happening with Trevegne.

* * *

Elysia stared down at her hands in the darkness, unable to see the twisted gold ring, taken from Trevegne's little finger and placed on her third, but putting her hand over it she could feel its contorted shape. It felt heavy and strange upon her finger, marking her as a belonging, for less than an hour ago, she had pledged to love and obey this stranger sitting silently across from her in the carriage.

What manner of man was he, this man that she had married, she wondered, as she risked a furtive glance at his harsh profile—shown briefly by a flash of lightning that illuminated the inside of the coach. He was lounging back carelessly against the cushion, his long legs stretched out onto the empty seat opposite.

She was now his wife—Lady St. Fleur—and she could not even bear to call him by his Christian name. She had always dreamed of someday failing in love, and marrying to raise a family that she would cherish and love—a very foolhardy and na?ve assumption. She couldn't believe how vulnerable she had allowed herself to become.

Elysia thought nostalgically of her parents, and wondered what they would have been thinking now. They had differed with the rest of society in their condemnation of arranged marriages. Their own marriage was a love-match, an unparalleled success, consequently they believed in marriage for love only. They would never have allowed her to be sacrificed in a loveless marriage to further her position, or theirs, and yet here she sat, married to a disreputable member of the ton ; wealthy, handsome, and completely ruthless where his own desires were concerned, not caring a damn about her.

Why had he insisted upon marriage to her? He admitted, very succinctly, that no one could force him to do something he did not desire, and he apparently already had a black reputation, so one further act of debauchery would not amount to much. He said that he wanted an heir. Well, there were plenty of women around who would no doubt consider it a privilege to bear his children. But she was not among that elite group, and if he thought she was going to bear those children, then he was badly mistaken. He did not love her, nor she him, but she knew he desired her, and vowed she would have nothing to do with him.

She still could not understand it. If he merely desired her, then he could have taken what he wanted this morning as she had lain helplessly within his power, unable to fight against his greater strength. He had no reason to marry her—he was not the type to be troubled by her soiled reputation.

Elysia shivered in memory of what nearly had happened to her this morning, feeling chilled by her near-escape.

"Cold?" Trevegne asked out of the darkness of the coach. Not waiting for a reply, he leaned over and pulled Elysia across his lap, wrapping his coat around her shivering body, and holding her close within his arms.

"Better?" he murmured, his breath warm against her neck.

"Yes, thank you, but I was quite comfortable where I was," Elysia spoke breathlessly, trying to release herself, but his arms only tightened.

"Be quiet," he growled softly, his lips moving caressingly behind her ear.

"Please," she begged, feeling a new shiver spread through her body at the touch of his lips.

"Please what, my dear…wife?" the marquis laughed silently, his lips closing down completely upon hers. He kissed her deeply, his mouth parting hers as he relentlessly pressed kiss upon demanding kiss onto her soft and unresisting lips. She could feel his hands moving, searching, until they found the small buttons of her bodice, smoothly unbuttoning them, his hand sliding underneath to caress her soft, warm skin. His lips lifted from her mouth to move down the length of her neck, his arms tightening as he pressed his face against her breasts, breathing deeply of her scent.

"You smell like a garden of jasmine and roses," Trevegne whispered hoarsely, his lips returning to her mouth once more as he kissed her wildly, passionately, until Elysia thought she would suffocate from lack of breath.

Finally, his lips moved from her throbbing mouth, and he rained light, soft kisses upon her face, hugging her closer as he put back his head, one hard hand cupping one of her breasts possessively. He closed his eyes, a smile of triumph on his firm masculine lips.

After a while Elysia felt his even breathing beneath her ear where her head rested on his chest. He was a demon, she thought, feeling confused by the emotions he had aroused within her. She should despise him—yes, she did—but he made her feel so faint and hot, so unlike herself. It was wrong, this strange feeling inside of her—when she hated him. Elysia closed her eyes, thinking of his kisses, and fell asleep with her cheek pressed against his heart.

Elysia awakened as the coach jolted to a halt. She glanced about sleepily, then sat up in surprise, she was back on her own side of the seat. She put her hands quickly to her opened bodice—it was buttoned securely.

Had it all been a dream—his kisses? She nervously ran her tongue over her lips feeling them tender to her touch. Elysia looked inquiringly to Trevegne who sat watching her, an amused look in his golden eyes that were gleaming brightly from a light shining in through the opened door of the coach. No, it had not been a dream, she read embarrassingly from his eyes, a blush spreading up her neck to her face.

"Come, my dear wife," the marquis said, leaping down and holding out his arms, "we are home at last."

The rain was falling steadily as Elysia and Trevegne hurried inside the arched entrance to the hall, past the enormously thick, wooden doors with their elaborately carved panels set between strips of golden metal.

Elysia could hear the big doors closing behind her as they continued into the long, wide hall, its ceiling stretching upwards into a sloping roof, the stained glass clerestory windows reflecting the flashes of lightning in radiant blues, greens, and reds. A gallery with iron castings clung to the sides of the great hall, held aloft by thick, fluted columns reaching sturdily down to the Spanish-tiled floor.

Elysia stood silently as Trevegne sent for the housekeeper, his face shadowed by the flickering lights from the wall sconces being hurriedly lit. Most of the hall was in darkness, the tables and chests taking on distorted shapes like creatures from the Underworld.

A door opened from a corner of the hall beneath the gallery, and a beam of light appeared, floating closer until a wrinkled face with twinkling eyes came into focus above the flame of the candle being held by a gnarled hand.

"Lord Alex," the old man said, surprise shaking his voice, "we had no idea to expect you, until just moments before when your outrider arrived with the news." He glanced curiously at Elysia wrapped in her cape, as he directed the quickly appearing footmen to take up their luggage, some of them still half-dressed as they scurried about.

"We shall want the master suite," he corrected the butler, who had instructed Elysia's bag to a guest room. Shock was evident upon his parchment-like face at the marquis's words. He bid the footmen do as ordered, a disapproving look in his eyes.

"Don't look so scandalized, Browne," Trevegne laughed. "May I present to you my wife, Lady Elysia." He pulled Elysia forward, to stand beside him, his arm lying heavy across her shoulders.

"Your wife," Browne croaked. The shock on his face giving way to pleasure as he bowed, and, recovering, said, "It is an honor, Lady St. Fleur, to welcome you to Westerly."

"Thank you, Browne," Trevegne said, smiling warmly at the old man, leaving Elysia staring at him in surprise, having thought him incapable of any warmth or kindness.

"Browne has been with the family for half a century, practically runs us—or at least he tries to," he added, giving the man a long-suffering look.

"And since when have you ever listened to me, Lord Alex?" he answered back with the audacity of an old and trusted servant.

"I have gotten myself a wife now, haven't I? I seem to remember you, and—" he was interrupted by a wail coming from somewhere above them, and then a hurrying little figure could be seen coming down the center of the grand staircase at the end of the hall .

"Lord Alex," she demanded, "what ye be coming here in the middle of the night like this? You always was the one for upsetting the household, even as a boy," she chuckled, delighted to see him no matter what the hour.

"Elysia, my dear, I want you to meet Mrs. Danfield, my old nanny, and housekeeper at Westerly since I no longer need her devoted ministrations in the nursery. Dany, this is my wife, Lady Elysia."

Elysia looked down into her kind, berry-brown eyes, and smiled a lovely, tentative smile, unconsciously asking for reassurance, feeling lost and tired in her new surroundings.

"Lady St. Fleur," Mrs. Danfield curtsied, giving a reproachful glance to his lordship. "Ye've gone and got yesel' married, without letting me know. What will yer bride be thinkin', with the house all dark and cold, no welcomin' feast or greetins' from the staff?" Her eyes were skimming over Elysia's figure, taking in her old cloak and mended gloves, the strain evident on her young face.

"We had not expected any such frivolity," Trevegne said shortly. "My bride and I prefer things to proceed as usual," he commanded sternly.

"Well, now," Mrs. Danfield said bristling, giving them a puzzled look, "it's not every day you bring home a bride, and I was beginning to wonder that you ever would. How did you manage to find such a lovely and unspoiled child?" she asked, giving Elysia a friendly smile which Elysia returned. No fancy, snooty town miss here, Mrs. Danfield thought in relief. "I didn't think any decent mamas would let you within a mile of their daughters." She frowned disapprovingly at him, well aware of his bad reputation.

"Oh, there was nothing on earth that could separate us, Dany," Trevegne explained, hesitating briefly before continuing. "You might say we both opened our eyes one morning and saw the light of our mutual love. It was quite a revelation, almost as if we'd awakened from a drugged sleep." He grinned wickedly at Elysia's shocked look, daring her to add to it. "Now Dany, show Lady Elysia to her room. I am sure she grows fatigued standing here while you appease your curiosity." He turned and disappeared into one of the many doors opening off the hall, while Browne, who had been listening avidly to Trevegne's explanation, hurried as fast as his rheumatic legs would carry him after his lordship.

Mrs. Danfield hustled Elysia up the wide, marble stairs, sending orders over her shoulder to the maids below as Elysia hurried after her small trotting figure. They walked along the gallery until they entered another wing of the great house, and moved along a wide corridor. Ancestral faces stared down at them out of the flickering light of Mrs. Danfield's candles as they passed beneath.

At the end of the corridor, she threw open a delicately carved pair of double doors. Preceding Elysia into the room she lighted the tall tapers throughout, the contents of the room springing to life.

Elysia stared about her in awe. Everything in the room was crimson, gold, or black. There was a crimson-and-gold satin settee, black-and-gold painted chairs with gold velvet cushions, black-lacquered commodes and dwarf bookcases, and, dominating the room, a large red-and-black silk screen painted with beautiful Chinese motifs, while a large Oriental carpet covered the floor in a blaze of colors.

"It's beautiful," Elysia finally uttered in a reverent voice.

"Aye, 'tis a lovely room," Mrs. Danfield said. "These be the Trevegne colors; black for vengeance, crimson for blood, and gold for glory. They were a fierce lot, those first Trevegnes."

Elysia shuddered, thinking they still were.

"Now this over here be yer room, m'lady," she said indicating a gold-panelled door, "and that one over there be his lordship's."

The two doors were separated by a long chiffonier displaying delicate porcelain vases and exquisite jade figures. Mrs. Danfield opened the door of Elysia's new room and proceeded to light more tapers as Elysia followed her into the room. Her eyes feasted upon the huge canopied bed with its crimson velvet hangings, and she remembered her own small, hard bed at Aunt Agatha's, with its faded blue coverlet. In comparison, this looked like a queen's bed .

"Now, dear, wouldn't you like a nice hot bath to rest in and ease your aches and pains after all of that traveling?" Mrs. Danfield asked, taking Elysia's cloak from about her shoulders and hanging it up in the enormous wardrobe with its many doors and sliding trays to hold all of a lady's requirements and possessions.

"Is your maid to be coming later?" she inquired, frowning slightly at the unconventionality of Lady Elysia traveling without the assistance of a lady's maid, and with only a small straw bag.

"I haven't a lady's maid, Mrs. Danfield," Elysia said stiffly, expecting a horrified look from the housekeeper, but she was surprised by the little woman's nod of satisfaction.

"Well, it's just as well, for I've plenty of bright girls here who will make yer ladyship a good maid, and far better than one of those London pieces of baggage," she said disgustedly. "Ye can't trust the likes of them, gone before you know it, and without a word of warning. So don't ye worry, we'll be getting ye one. And yer clothes?" she asked looking doubtfully at Elysia's straw bag, and the dull and worn dress she was wearing. "Ye'll be having them arrive soon?"

"No, I am afraid that all that I own in the world you see before you," Elysia answered softly, but proudly, her chin held high. "I am an orphan, but at least no one can accuse Trevegne of having married me for my fortune; just the opposite, for I fear that I shall be labelled the adventuress."

"Now, now, no one in their right mind would be believin' that of ye, seein' what a lady ye are, and how pretty. Why, anyone would know why Lord Alex married ye," she said sympathetically with a motherly smile, her heart going out to this brave child standing so proudly before her. "Ye don't be worrying that pretty little head of yours with nonsense now."

"Thank you, Mrs. Danfield," Elysia said humbly, her eyes shining with tears caused by the first kindness she had received in years.

"And ye call me Dany, like Lord Alex; none of this Mrs. Danfield." She paused uncertainly. "It would please me so, yer ladyship. "

"Thank you again, Dany. I would be honored. And would you call me Elysia?" she asked shyly.

Dany flushed with pleasure at her compliment and hurried to the door, turning as she said with a shake of her silver head:

"I just don't know how he manages to win the prize so many times. As much as I love Lord Alex, I believe he's got himself a lady too good for him. Ye be the angel to his devil, I be thinkin', and God help us," she added prophetically as she left the room to arrange for Elysia's needs.

Elysia smiled to herself as she walked around her bedchamber. She had felt so nervous in anticipation of her introduction to Trevegne's household. She had imagined their resentment at having to accept a new mistress and taking a dislike to her, yet she found a friend, one she knew she could trust and love. She suddenly felt as if a weight had been lifted from her shoulders.

Elysia glanced about the gold and crimson room, not a sign of black visible. A gilt dressing table stood along a wall and a gold, satin-cushioned couch with a shell back sat before a crimson-curtained window. A delicate-legged writing desk, and several gilt and crimson-painted cane chairs and occasional tables made up the rest of the furniture, plus a beautiful gold and white marble fireplace.

Another door stood partly open and, opening it farther, Elysia saw that it was another bedchamber, but decorated in black and gold only, and very masculine. Her eyes traveled over the long golden drapes and a large, four-poster bed, the black lacquered commode, and, covering the floor, a large black- and gold-flowered carpet; the twin to hers of crimson and gold flowers. An Egyptian couch with black leather upholstery sat before a fireplace of black and gold swirled marble. From the opened doors of the closet Elysia could see rows of velvet and satin coats, and the many-tiered riding coat that Trevegne had been wearing earlier. She quickly closed the connecting door between their bedrooms, noticing there was no lock on the door.

An ornate tub mysteriously appeared before the fireplace, and two young maids were in the process of carrying steaming pails of water to fill it. They glanced shyly at Elysia before leaving the room. Elysia sunk gratefully down into the tub. She rubbed herself with the little bar of fragrant French soap. She stretched out a slender leg and lathered her thigh, then scooping up handfuls of water, let it cascade caressingly down her leg, washing away the bubbles. She sat up and was running her soapy hands over her shoulders and breasts, when she caught the aroma of tobacco, the same brand Trevegne had been smoking in the coach. Her nostrils twitched in warning. She turned, startled to see the connecting door close sharply. How long had he been standing there, silently watching her bathe? Elysia was embarrassed and flustered as she rose from the tub, wrapping a large, warm towel about her wet body and quickly drying herself. She put on the lacy nightdress Dany had brought to her, the fine lawn material feeling soft and smooth against her skin, and wondered with feminine curiosity to whom it belonged.

Elysia jumped nervously into bed as she heard footsteps approaching, but the main door to her bedchamber opened, and Dany entered carrying a tray with a little china pot of tea and a plate with thinly sliced bread and butter, and small delicate cakes. Elysia sighed in relief, and began to get out of bed, when Dany ordered her unceremoniously to stay put.

"A cup of tea is just what you need to help you sleep, dear, so just stay where you are in your warm bed," she said placing the tray across Elysia's lap, and looked approvingly at her in the bed.

"It's a lovely nightdress, Dany," Elysia said sipping her tea, glad to see it wasn't a rum toddy. "I hope no one will mind my borrowing it?"

"Aye, you look lovely in it too, but no one will be minding. It belonged to Lord Alex's mother; she always liked pretty things," Dany replied, beginning to unpack Elysia's bag. She pulled out the carefully wrapped doll and unwound it, placing the doll on a small table near the bed.

"This be the prettiest little china doll I've ever seen," she exclaimed in admiration, carefully straightening the long full skirt.

"My father gave it to me when I was just a small child, but I've always cared for it, even when I had grubby little hands. I suppose I knew even then that I would treasure it always. And those belonged to my mother before she died," Elysia said as Dany took out the silver brush and comb and placed them upon the dressing table where they seemed to belong.

"Ye've not much to remember them by, have ye, dear?" Dany asked, pity in her kind eyes.

"No, not material possessions, but I have my memories, Dany, and they are precious to me; no one can ever take those from me, like they did my other possessions—the house, and stables—my horse—practically everything had to be sold. There is a trunk of my father's things, and a few other family articles that my old nanny is keeping for me. They will be safe with her, and only because they would not have brought much profit so I still own them. They would have been for my brother, Ian, but he died at sea, somewhere in the Mediterranean in a battle with Napoleon's forces. I received a letter from the Naval Department the day after my parents died," Elysia glanced away, biting her trembling lips.

"Oh, my poor little dear," Dany cried softly, putting her arms protectively around Elysia. "Ye've had a hard time of it, haven't ye? Well ye not to worry anymore. Ye be home now, and Dany'll take care of ye. Ye just remember all of the good and happy times with ye family and don't think of the sadness. Try to think that they be away visitin', and will be back soon."

"I'll try, Dany. I'm being so silly—I guess I'm just tired," Elysia smiled.

"And ye've a right to be—travelin' all through the night without a break—I never," Dany said in disapproval. "Now, lie down and close ye eyes, and go to sleep," she ordered, tucking Elysia in like a small child, "and be good. 'Tis what I used to tell the boys."

She snuffed out the candles and picked up the tray, bidding Elysia a good night as she left the room. Elysia turned on her side and stared into the darkness, hearing the chiming of a clock on one of the tables.

Would he come? He now had the right to sleep in her bed, and do with her as he wished. She hoped that he would not come, but there was very little she could do to stop him if he wanted to .

And now she had placed herself in his hands, a man whom she had disliked on sight, and had known no longer than a day. She knew little to nothing about him, or his family, except for the few things Dany had said. She knew that both his parents were dead, and Dany had said "the boys" when talking about putting them to bed, so maybe Trevegne had brothers and sisters, Elysia thought hopefully. Maybe a sister who was her own age, and would befriend her. But then she might be like Trevegne, tall and dark and overbearing. That would be worse, Elysia thought sleepily, closing her eyes as sleep overcame her tired body.

* * *

Trevegne sat moodily staring into the flames of the fire in the big fireplace in his study. He was twirling the brandy in his glass, warming it against his palm as he thought about the girl on the floor above in the master suite—his wife.

He laughed aloud, a harsh sound that rang about the room. Marriage, he frowned, thinking of his friends' marriages. A signed contract to bed a woman and plant your seed with the best wishes of society and the Church, and if you happened to acquire a fortune in the process, well then, all the better, and an added congratulation for being such an enterprising fellow, especially if you managed to keep several mistresses on the side.

And the bride, he mustn't forget the charming bride, who gained a household to run, and more money to spend; a man to manage, and, if a virgin, rescue from becoming an old maid, or if already some man's mistress, respectability. Yes, all parties profited nicely.

Well, he was a married man now, and no one could accuse him of marrying his wife for her dowry. She had come to him with only the clothes on her back, not even that, if the truth be known. He suddenly remembered how he had told Beckingham that his "wife could come to him as naked as the day she was born," and by God, so she had. If he didn't hate Beckingham so, he would have to commend him on his masterful touch of having taken him at his word, and place her naked in bed with him. He had to admit that Beckingham had outdone himself this time.

His thoughts raced on to Beckingham drugging them and stripping them like a grave robber robbing the dead, and he felt a sudden rage rise in him. Yes, he would have to find a suitable way of dealing with Sir Jason Beckingham, he thought grimly.

The marquis stared into his brandy glass, seeing long slender legs, one outstretched and lathered in soap, red-gold hair piled up on her head, curling riotously from the steam of the bath, her white shoulders and firmly rounded breasts flushed pinkly from the warmth of the bath water, and glow from the fire.

She was a beauty, he thought, as he remembered the feel of her soft body beneath his, and her sweet-tasting mouth. At least Sir Jason hadn't bedded him with a simpering, long-faced chit, crying for her mama. If he wanted to really punish Beckingham, he would thank him for helping him to find such a perfect wife.

He suddenly felt an uncontrollable, hot anger surge through him at the thought of Beckingham seeing Elysia naked, touching her as he had undressed her. He could not explain it, but he felt murderous towards Beckingham. Elysia belonged to him now, and no one but he had the right to touch her.

Elysia. Yes, she was his now, and he wanted her. He had felt attracted to her the moment he laid eyes on her as she stood warming herself before the fire at the inn. She was the first woman who had ever taken a dislike to him, which was something of a novelty. Most women, he thought without conceit, would have desired a liaison with him, but not the lovely Miss Demarice, who had looked at him disdainfully and coolly, a note of censure in her husky voice—and then had fought like a wild creature in his bed. He hadn't felt like charming her, or any female, after that scene with Mariana. In fact, he had felt distinctly antagonistic towards all women, venting his disgust and cynicism upon the first one he met. A flame-haired, green-eyed witch, who had captivated him against his will, and destroyed his misanthropic intentions by the sway of her hips.

She might need handling with that fiery temper of hers, but he would hate to have been tied to a milksop. Rather a vixen, he thought with an anticipatory gleam in his golden eyes, than that.

He drank off the last of his brandy, and left the room, taking the stairs two at a time, heading down the long corridor to the master suite, his long strides measuring off the distance in less than a minute.

He entered Elysia's room and walked toward the bed, standing quietly beside it. He looked down upon the sleeping figure in the big bed as the lighted candle held in his hand sent a golden glow across her face.

Elysia's hair spilled about the covers, red in the glowing light. Her thin hand was lying outside the cover, his cold ring looking foreign against her pale white skin—a visible mark of his domination and hold upon her.

He bent down, careful not to drip the hot, melting wax onto her exposed hand, and looked hungrily at her lips, the full lower lip slightly parted, her thick, dark lashes shuttering the eyes he wanted to look into, to lose himself in. The hollow at the base of her throat caught his eye, and lowering his head he placed a soft kiss in the space fashioned for his lips, while he entwined a piece of long hair through his fingers, soft and silky to his touch.

She was murmuring softly in her sleep, and he saw a tear slip out of the corner of her eye and run slowly down her cheek. He put a finger out and caught it, curiously feeling its moisture on the tips of his fingers.

He felt the heat in his body ebb away, and turning abruptly away from the bed, he left the room. He was no better than a dog after some bitch in heat. He was damned if he was going to act like some animal over that red-haired wench in the other room. To hell with her, he thought savagely, as he stripped and got into bed alone.