Chapter 8

A cruel man and impious thou art:

Sweet lady, let her pray, and sleep, and dream

Alone with her good angels, far apart

From wicked men like thee. Go, go!—I deem

—Keats

Elysia paced restlessly to and fro in front of a large gray boulder, kicking aimlessly at any small stone in her path. The weak sun had failed to assert itself and was retreating back behind the distant hills, taking its pale light with it. The wind whipped up the hem of her dress as it blew coldly around her, feeling like a cool balm on her flushed cheeks and disquieted nerves.

Luncheon had been a disaster, with Trevegne glowering and taunting her in his anger—which had smouldered dangerously since she had dared to give her opinion of his character. Finally, unable to take his abuse any longer, she had stormed out of the dining room, leaving her food uneaten, not caring about Trevegne's look of offended outrage, and the servants' surprised faces at her abrupt departure. Elysia had rushed up to the sanctuary of her room only to find the walls of the room closing in upon her as she sat brooding. Finally, she changed into her riding habit and quickly and quietly made her escape from the tense atmosphere of the house—leaving without a word to anyone. She saddled Ariel herself, Jims luckily absent from the stables, and rode triumphantly off into the storm-threatened afternoon.

Elysia had no idea how long she had been wandering about the outcropping of rock watching Ariel grazing peacefully, when she heard the sound of approaching hoof beats, and turned expecting to see his lordship's thunderous brow. Instead, she saw a dainty chestnut mare with a blue-clad rider come prancing towards her.

"Good afternoon," the girl said as she came closer to Elysia, who was now halted in her tracks and watching the approaching rider curiously. The girl was slight with light-brown hair and smoky-gray eyes. Her cheeks were rosy from her ride in the cool air.

"I am Louisa Blackmore," she said in a small, sweet voice, "and I live at Blackmore Hall—a few miles from here. I am being rude by introducing myself this way, but we very seldom see strangers in these parts. So I just could not pass by without inquiring as to who you are, and if in fact, you might be lost?" She looked at Elysia with concern.

"No, I am not lost, merely enjoying a ride before this storm breaks, which I fear shall happen soon. I am Elysia Dem—Trevegne," Elysia answered, smiling at the other girl.

"Trevegne?" Louisa Blackmore looked nonplussed for a moment, and then recovering, exclaimed, "Then you are Lady St. Fleur, Trevegne's new wife?"

"Yes I am, and you are Squire Blackmore's daughter. I made his acquaintance earlier today."

"Oh, it is indeed a pleasure to meet you, Lady St. Fleur," Louisa said extending her gloved hand eagerly. "I do not feel that I have committed a faux pas and been too forward now—I'm always being scolded for that—but since you have heard of me, and I am not a complete stranger to you, then all is well."

She smiled in genuine friendliness at Elysia. Hardly heartbroken, thought Elysia, as she smiled back at Louisa's cheery face, and remembered Squire Blackmore's evaluation of his daughter's state of mind upon hearing of the new Lady St. Fleur.

"Thank you," Elysia answered politely, "and it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance also." She was puzzled by Louisa Blackmore's obvious delight in finding that she was Trevegne's wife.

A loud clap of thunder rumbled overhead, causing the horses to shy nervously.

"I think I should remount before this storm comes down upon us and soaks us completely," Elysia remarked apprehensively, gathering Ariel's reins and leading him over to the rock where she could climb up to mount.

"We can talk on our way back to the road. I go the opposite way, once there," Louisa said as they began to canter side by side. "I cannot believe that you are actually riding that horse," she continued in awe, with a hint of fear in her voice, "for I should die of fright even to touch him. He is the horse that no one can ride. I mean, even Trevegne cannot mount him, yet here you are riding him, and without a groom to accompany you. My groom is waiting on the road up ahead, a constant shadow—but it does make me feel safer. And here you are riding out alone, and on that wild horse." She gave a delicate shudder at the thought.

Elysia laughed with the first genuine amusement she had felt in years. "I seem to be creating a rather distorted image of myself. I suddenly find that I am endowed with strange mystical powers because I am riding a horse that supposedly cannot be ridden. When the plain truth of the matter is, I raised this horse, and trained him until I was forced to sell him. So you see, I am a mere mortal, with no extraordinary powers of persuasion."

"Well, that is a relief. I'm sure I thought you were a witch," Louisa said jokingly, "but you do ride so well and I can scarcely control little Dove when she gets frisky, that I feel ashamed to ride with you," she complimented Elysia, patting Dove's satiny neck affectionately.

"You ride quite well, considering you are so tiny. It would indeed be foolish, and dangerous to mount you on a big unpredictable horse," Elysia told her. Adding as she watched the small child-like hands control the reins, "Why, you make me feel as though I were some muscular Amazon—my spear and shield at hand to repel an attack."

Louisa gave a giggle, and threw Elysia an incredulous look. "But that can't be true, you are so beautiful. I should love to have your red-gold hair. It's such a glorious color compared to my plain brown curls," she sighed. "Papa calls me a little mouse—which I fear he might be right in believing, for I appear to be shockingly lacking in courage and robustness. "

"That makes you sound as if you should be a blacksmith or miller," Elysia laughed. "You are merely delicate and petite, and I do envy you. Shall we trade places?"

"Oh, goodness no. That would never do, for I would never be able to be the wife of the marquis. He strikes absolute terror into me," she said, her eyes growing round. She put a small hand to her mouth in embarrassment. "Oh, what will you think of me for saying such a thing about your husband? It is just that you are so nice that I forgot you were his marchioness."

"I shall think that you are completely honest, and have reason to feel so, for the marquis can be absolutely beastly at times," Elysia replied matter-of-factly.

Louisa looked at her in admiration. "I'm so glad that I've met you, for you are so nice, and not at all what I imagined you would be like. I thought you would be snobbish and supercilious like those ladies from London who occasionally visit Blackmore. They make me feel so gauche—as if I were still in the schoolroom," she declared in an indignant voice.

"Well, you need not expect any airs from me, for I have never been a London lady. I much prefer the simplicity of the country," Elysia stated firmly, although she could hardly call Westerly simple.

"Does that mean that you shall be spending a great deal of time down here?" Louisa asked excitedly. "I do hope so. I have been so lonely. There is no one to talk to, and Papa and Mama are often in London. Since I am too young to have a season yet, I have had to stay here to finish my studies. I wish so often for a friend—and I hope you will be mine, Lady St. Fleur?"

"Please, call me Elysia. I too have longed for a friend to talk with." Elysia glanced at Louisa's small-framed figure and added in a teasing tone, "I have need of a good, strong shoulder to lean upon at times."

Louisa laughed delightedly. "This is truly wonderful, for I think that we shall become dear friends. You seem so nice and amusing, and now Papa shall no longer be able to berate me for not winning Trevegne's admiration. If you only knew how terrified I was at the thought, or even the possibility of Trevegne having noticed me," she said paling visibly .

"Your father actually desired a match between you and Trevegne?" Elysia found it hard to believe that anyone would wish to marry off his daughter to one such as her husband.

"Yes, he had quite set his mind upon it, and was very upset this morning when he told us that the marquis had wed. I am afraid he really believed that his lordship would have married me—which is ridiculous really, I'm not his type at all."

They had almost reached the road, when a light drizzle began to fall and they quickened their pace.

"I hope you've not a long way to go, Louisa. Why don't you stay at Westerly until a carriage can be arranged to take you home?"

"No, I've not far to ride, really. And if I hurry I shall make it. Will I see you soon?" Louisa asked hopefully.

"Possibly tomorrow night. We have been invited to dine."

"Oh I do hope so. I feel so ill-at-ease with Papa's friends from London," Louisa said worriedly, "and several carriages of them arrived this morning from London, it would seem for an indefinite stay." Louisa smiled half-heartedly and waved as she turned her little mare in the opposite direction, the groom close behind her as they headed down the road.

Elysia waved back and hurried faster toward the house, standing mistily in the rain in the distance. She felt happy. She had actually found a friend, someone with whom she could talk and share things. Elysia was smiling and humming a little tune as she rode into the stable yard. She was glad she'd decided to ride. She'd only ridden a short way this morning before being forced to return, and she had thoroughly enjoyed giving Ariel his head. It had also helped her to clear the cobwebs from her mind and relieve some of the restlessness she was feeling. But her smile faded, and the tune she was humming abruptly stopped as Elysia noticed Trevegne preparing to mount Sheik, and Jims looking up with relief as he heard the hooves approaching.

Elysia was helped down by Jims, Trevegne making no move to assist her. She risked a glance at his scowling face—he actually looked as if he would like to strangle her, so murderous was his expression .

"Ye should'na have gone out without tellin' no one, Miss Elysia," Jims scolded her.

"I am sorry, Jims, but there was no one here, and I felt like a ride," Elysia explained nervously as she felt Trevegne's hand grip her arm as he came up to her.

"Shall we go in, Elysia. I am sure you will want to change," he said in a very soft and quiet voice. Elysia glanced at him in surprise; he didn't sound angry, even though she had disobeyed him—despite his tightened lips and quivering nostrils.

"Yes, that is precisely what I had in mind," Elysia said waving to Jims, who was staring at her unconcerned face in bewilderment. His lordship was in a foul temper, and Miss Elysia was in for a real tongue-lashing—if not more. He had never seen Trevegne looking quite so put out, his eyes glowing darkly when he found out Miss Elysia had ridden by herself. The only obvious sign of his anger, however, was the clenching of his fists. His lordship wasn't used to being crossed, and Miss Elysia being the high-spirited little filly that she was, was certainly heading for trouble. He wondered if the marquis would be able to handle her. Miss Elysia always gave as good as she got. Ah, well…they'd work it out.

Elysia tried to pull her arm from the marquis's tight grasp as they walked briskly toward the big double doors, but he held on.

"You are hurting my arm," Elysia gasped out between gritted teeth. But he ignored her protest, dragging her with him into his study, a room she had not been into yet, anxious not to disturb the lion in his den.

It was a warm-looking room with dark, wine-colored drapes, Oriental carpets, and big red leather chairs. A large mahogany desk sat squarely before the French windows. On its smooth, highly polished surface was a gold hawk with a sharp beak weighing down a pile of papers. A fire was burning brightly in the grate, crackling noisily.

Without warning, Trevegne took Elysia's other arm and shook her until she thought her head would roll off. Elysia stared up at him with tearful eyes when his anger had abated, her lips quivering uncontrollably .

"If you ever disobey my orders again, Elysia, I'll thrash you within an inch of your life," he ground out in a hoarse voice.

"You wouldn't dare," Elysia squeaked in a shocked voice, a pulse in her throat beating wildly.

"I will dare anything. Don't push me too far, for I am nearing the end of my tether. I gave specific orders that you were not to ride unaccompanied. It was not a whim, nor an idle wish. You do not know this country, the moors can be dangerous—along with other unexpected hazards. We live on the coast, we are at war with France. Smugglers and spies, and God only knows what else may lurk in coves and estuaries throughout this area."

Elysia stared at him in dismay, feeling guilty. After all, he had only forbidden her to ride alone for her own protection. "I am sorry, Trev…my lord—" Elysia hesitated confusedly, feeling unable to call him by his first name.

"My name is Alex. A-L-E-X, and by God you shall use it. Say it. Say my name now."

"Alex," Elysia mumbled softly, staring into the fire.

"Yes, Alex. That was not so difficult, now was it?" He dropped his hands from Elysia's shoulders and turned away.

"I am truly sorry, but I have always ridden alone, and I am not used to having a groom trail me," she tried to explain.

"Not here, you shan't ride alone. You shall do as I say, and not question my wishes."

"If you had told me the reason why I should not ride alone, then I would have followed your advice," Elysia told him in exasperation, forgetting her previous submissiveness.

"I do not need to explain myself to you, my dear. You will do my bidding, regardless," the marquis said, flicking her a look of challenge.

"In other words, I'm your slave—your chattel. Well, I shall not be. I've a mind and feelings, which come before your bidding," Elysia declared heatedly.

Trevegne looked at her with furious eyes, his hands clenched. "Were I not a gentleman and you not a lady, we'd be meeting at dawn with pistols."

"That is all you ever do—threaten me with abuse. You have longed to do some physical violence to my person since first we met," she challenged him.

"My dear, if you only knew what I really have longed to do since first we met, then you would not stand there so provocatively daring me to prove my masculinity by physical force. You would not care for the methods I would use to subdue you," he told her scornfully, his golden eyes running over her tense figure, the fire a reflection in his eyes.

Elysia backed up a step in retreat, suddenly afraid of what he was implying. "I am not challenging you, but you will find that I am not a spineless wife who will mindlessly do her husband's bidding without consideration for my own desires. And, I shall continue to feel this way regardless of how you may try to order me about."

"Will you really, my dear? My, my, I had no idea I had become married to a libertarian. This is a most revealing conversation. I am quite shattered, and what will my friends think?" he continued mockingly, sitting down in one of the red leather, wing-back chairs. "Here I was under the misconception that you were a docile and thoroughly tractable female, who welcomed me as her husband and master—with open arms."

"You mock everything," Elysia said furiously. Striding to the door she turned and glared at him with brilliant green eyes, "so let this be the mock marriage that it is, with neither of us demanding—or expecting—anything from the other."

Elysia stormed out of the room heedless of his angry and imperious calling of her name.

* * *

Elysia rolled onto her back and stared up into the blackness of the canopy over her bed. She had been tossing and turning for hours. It was no use, she could not get to sleep. She sat up hugging her knees, resting her chin on her crossed forearms, and thought about another endless dinner she had suffered through, unaware of what she had been eating as dish after dish, course after course, had been removed and replaced by another. She was glad of the long length of the great dining table between her and the marquis, who sat glaring at her from his end of the table. She doubted whether they had ever enjoyed a meal together. Poor Antoine, his lordship's temperamental French chef, must be near to tears at the thought of his unappreciated culinary triumphs being served to the footmen and maids.

How long could either of them hold out in this continuous atmosphere of warfare? It seemed to Elysia's tired eyes that Trevegne thrived upon it. She, on the other hand, felt tense and nervous, wondering when the next remark would come and how she would parry it, her mental faculties put to their utmost in defense.

She felt uneasy—as if on the edge of a precipice and one false step would send her plunging into depths from which she would not be able to escape. Although she was not too well-versed in his lordship's character, Elysia knew instinctively that he was seething, and seemed to turn more demoniacal with each passing hour. She apparently had the power to try his patience beyond what he was accustomed to. Well, the arrogant marquis had indeed met his match in her, Elysia smiled to herself in satisfaction, thoroughly enjoying being the thorn in his side; she would play her cards carefully—and the marquis would see who held the winning hand in this game of wits. But she certainly had no intention of endangering her own and rather precarious position, by taunting him too far, once too often. She had certainly caused his blood to boil today—and she had received a glimpse of those tightly leashed passions which he usually held in rein. Yes, she had cause to fear. So now she would tread lightly. She valued her skin too much to play recklessly with the marquis.

Elysia threw back the covers and slipped from the bed, her feet searching for the dainty turquoise-blue slippers that matched her velvet robe. She welcomed its warmth as she slipped it over the thin lawn nightdress with its high gathered waist held up by two thin velvet ribbons.

She tied the sash at her waist snugly, and lit a candle from the fire that was burning low in the fireplace, and then made her way down the corridor that was quiet except for the muffled sound of the sea in the distance. Elysia walked slowly, trying not to glance into the dark corners and alcoves as her candle spread a wavering light ahead of her. She protected the flame carefully with her cupped hand, from the drafts that would have carelessly snuffed it out.

As she left the stairs she heard the grandfather clock in the hall chime two, its bell-like notes echoing. Elysia glanced furtively toward Trevegne's study. No light appeared beneath the bottom of the door; he must finally have gone to bed. He had taken a bottle of port from the side board and left the dining room immediately after the last course, foregoing dessert. Then he closeted himself in his study, and was still there when she retired a few hours later.

Elysia held her candle up along the row of books, its light revealing the titles as she moved down in front of one of the shelves in the library, trying to decide upon a selection. Surely one of these would help her to sleep. Elysia was reaching for a thick volume of Latin when she felt that she was not alone, and turned around quickly.

Trevegne stood in the doorway that connected his study to the library. He was leaning against the door jamb, minus his coat and cravat, the light from the fire playing over his figure, the half-empty glass in his hand.

"Well, well, what have we here?" he said coming forward into the room. "A midnight raid upon my library?"

"I thought you had gone to bed," Elysia said, clutching the thick book to her breasts protectingly, afraid of the strange glint in his eyes.

He took the shaking candle from her hand and held it up in front of her, his eyes going over her slowly, lingering on her unbound hair as it shimmered from the glow of the flame. "The door was open, and I thought I heard a noise, so I came to investigate—and what do I find? My blue-stocking wife," he said. "Couldn't you sleep? Too bad, but in a mock marriage you have only your books to comfort you in the wee hours of the morning."

"It is sufficient enough. You think men are the only ones who should be educated? Well, women have just as much right to use their minds—"

"They have no need to cultivate their minds, my dear," he interrupted, "for all they need use to get what they desire is their bodies."

Elysia gasped, the color flooding into her cheeks. "That's a lie," she told him, stepping closer in her anger. "For it is you men who would keep us ignorant, and used purely for your pleasures. Your wife to obey your commands, bear your children and manage your home, your mistress to obey and satisfy your desires. Oh, yes, you would keep us ignorant—for once educated, with rights of our own, we would have no need for you."

Trevegne stood silently staring down into Elysia's white face, her eyes blazing green fire in her anger and her breasts heaving from her outburst. He threw his now empty glass into the fireplace where it shattered into a thousand splintering shards.

Elysia flinched at the sound of the breaking glass, and the violence of the gesture that reflected his feelings. He snuffed out the candle he had taken from her with his fingers and dropped it to the floor as he reached for Elysia, his hands sliding up her arms caressingly.

"So you would not need men?" he said ominously, his eyes smouldering into her frightened face. "It is time I taught you just how much you do need us—me to be precise, for you shall never know another man, now that you are mine. I have waited far too long to teach you a few lessons—putting up with your vixenish ways, allowing your insults to go unpunished, suffering what I would never have allowed another to do—and live." He smiled. "A mock marriage you would have. I am going to show you, my snow queen, how very real it can be—and will be."

The marquis pulled her into his arms before Elysia could make a move to protest, his lips coming down on hers. She felt him pressing her soft body against his, molding her to him. His muscular thighs were pressed tightly against her legs, his hands roving over her back and down to her hips, pressing her still closer, Elysia tried to struggle from his iron-like grip, but he only tightened it until she felt like a part of him. His opened mouth parted her lips with demand, while one of his hands moved over her shoulder and down to the neck of her robe, sliding beneath to the edge of her nightdress—the flimsy material of little protection from his searching fingers, as they found and caressed the soft, warm flesh of her breast.

He stopped abruptly, and picking Elysia up into his arms, strode from the library, carrying her across the great hall and up the wide staircase. Elysia fought frantically with him, aware now of the full impact of his intentions. She knew that nothing could stop him from succeeding this time.

"Put me down. Or I'll scream this house down about your devil's head." Elysia threatened as they neared the top of the stairs.

"Go ahead. No one would dare to interfere. I am sole master here—and, master of you, my wife. I have a legal and moral right to do with you as I please." He laughed, sounding diabolical to Elysia.

Elysia beat at his chest and shoulders, striking a hard slap across his face before he shifted her in his arms, securing her flaying arms beneath his—where they remained impotently pinned.

The marquis's swashbuckling ancestors seemed to look down approvingly as he passed with the struggling girl in his arms; his devilish look matching theirs.

"Would you take me against my will? For that is what it will be," she told him. "Would you force your attentions on an unwilling woman, who would find them repulsive?"

"No, I'll never force you, Elysia," he said grimly as he freed his hand to open the door to his bedroom, "for I shall make you desire my kisses and caresses until you beg me to take you and make you mine; and by God you shall want me!"

The last thing Elysia saw before he closed the door was the Chinese screen; its lacquered faces staring down into her frightened eyes. The thin red lips painted forever into vacuous smiles, and black eyes staring coldly and expressionlessly into space, the richly colored Oriental dresses mocking the death-mask faces .

The marquis threw Elysia down upon the bed and began to strip himself of his pantaloons and shirt. "Don't try it, Elysia," he warned as she made a sudden move to leave the bed, "for there is no escape for you now."

Elysia stared up at his naked body in panic, feeling a terror so deep that her body began to shake uncontrollably. She rolled off the bed, making a run for her bedchamber, but Trevegne moved quickly, grabbing a handful of her long hair as it flew out behind her and pulled her back into his arms. "Afraid, my dear? Can't you take the dare—afraid I am right?" he asked quietly as he removed her robe, the semi-transparent nightdress masking her body until he ripped it from her with one rendering sweep of his long fingers.

He picked her up and laid her on the bed, following her down, his long lean body pressing hers into the softness of the mattress. Elysia turned her head away from his seeking lips, moving it back and forth on the pillow, until finally, he held it still with his hands while his mouth settled possessively upon her lips.

Elysia felt an engulfing blackness descending down into her consciousness, and the wetness of tears on her cheeks. She was expecting to be hurt and bruised by the punishing force of his kisses—but she wasn't. She felt soft and light nibbles against her vulnerable mouth, tender from his earlier, angry kisses. The pressure deepened—not painfully—but persuasively. Her breathing became his as he continued to kiss her, exploring slowly her mouth, opened to his searching tongue.

She could feel his hands moving down over her body, caressing her flesh in a hypnotic fashion—touching her intimately, and making her body turn traitor to her mind as she felt strange sensations spreading throughout, as he buried his face in her soft hair, entwining it about his neck and shoulders, binding them together. Alex continued his slow but determined attack on her senses, exploring her until she moaned softly; Elysia felt beyond herself—she no longer had control of her emotions. He was like a master puppeteer, pulling the strings that controlled her every movement, as she involuntarily put her limp arms around his strong neck hugging him closer, moving invitingly beneath him, her movements coming naturally to her in her desire to feel the ultimate pleasure and satisfaction from his lovemaking.

The marquis gave a deep laugh, full of triumph, as his lips closed down on her parted mouth hungrily, and as she finally kissed him back, giving him eagerly all the sweetness of her mouth.

"Do you want me, Elysia?" he asked thickly, smothering her face in kisses, and waiting for her answer almost breathlessly.

Elysia turned her head, this time she was seeking his lips—to give him his answer as she surrendered her mouth to his deep kiss, which became deeper and deeper until he jerked his mouth away and demanded hoarsely, "Tell me you desire me—want me. Shall I leave you?"

"No," Elysia finally managed to whisper brokenly. " I want you…Alex. "

Her words seemed to inflame him. "Ah, you shall soon be mine—truly my lady, in fact, as well as in name. I've melted that iciness you hide behind. Do you think you could fool me when your hair seems to blaze, and your eyes dare me to make you mine? You shall soon reap the rewards of your beauty."

"You're a devil," Elysia whispered, aware that she had lost the battle yet not regretting it.

"Aye, my lady—and I've a devil's desire for you."

He moved then, pressing down upon her as he parted her thighs and entered her, gently, tentatively, until she felt a sharp pain and a building pressure within. He seemed to have no control over himself after he'd merged with her body, only an all-consuming need to satisfy himself.

Elysia lay still. The sound of his breathing next to her matched to her own. His arm moved to encircle her, and pull her beneath him again. She gave no resistance to his embrace, but instead welcomed it.

"This time, my lady, you shall equal my desire."

She felt once again the now familiar pressure within her, and his hard body pressing into hers. But this time as he moved against her he created sensations that spread through her body like wildfire, until she gasped aloud as everything exploded from deep inside her, taking her into a world of such delight and exhilaration that she almost fainted with the excitement of it. He seemed propelled by demons as he loved her into the night and morning—becoming more of her body and soul than she herself. Elysia felt drained of all energy and emotion—as if Alex had absorbed her life force into his body. She felt as if she were dying when he left her.

Elysia turned her head and moved it gently and shyly to lie against his chest. Alex looked down into her face and pulled her closer against his side, smoothing her tangled hair from about her face with a gentle hand. Elysia closed her heavy lids and sighed deeply, feeling oddly comforted. She felt safe, as her hand curled about his neck, she slept.