Delight (17 page)

"I have an awful feeling in my heart about Frederic.
"

"Frederic? It has not yet been a fortnight," Rowena said. "Could this not wait until morning to be discussed?
"

"I had a dream, a nightmare.
"

Rowena released a long-suffering sigh into the darkness.

"
You were chained to a cross.
"
Hildegarde
'
s chin trembled. "
'
Twas so real I could see the raindrops on your face and the wind blowing your hair.
"

"
Hildegarde,
"
she said gen
tl
y, hugging the woman
'
s shoulders." 'Twas but a dream. Frederic is finding warriors and will soon return. I am safe in my bed.
"

"There was a man at your feet, Highness,
"
the woman continued, her gaze focused inward in remembered horror. "He carried a knife between his teeth.
"

"
A supper knife?" Rowena said, teasing to break the tension.

"
'
Twas the man called Aidan,
"
Hildegarde said in a hoarse whisper.
"
The man with secrets in his eyes. The one who looks like my poor Stephan."

"Aidan is the earl
'
s good friend," Rowena said
firmly.
"
He is unfailingly polite to me, and there is a nobihty about him that I admire. Besides, he is not the only one in this castle to keep secrets. Now go back to your room, woman. I was in the midst of a pleasant dream myself.
"

Hildegarde obeyed with reluctance. "The door was not bolted—
"

"Out, Hildegarde. His lordship
'
s guards patrol the cas
tl
e grounds on the hour.
"

"
There are dark stains beneath your door—
"

"
Bloodstains again?
"
Rowena scoffed.
"
Go to bed, Hildegarde, before you bring everyone to my room with your hysterics. Every princess needs her sleep.
"

N
eacail remained hidden behind the stones that formed the forgotten passageway into the bedchamber. He had heard the conversation between the two women. He had planned to look upon the younger woman while she slept again, but the older one had spoiled his pleasure.

A princess, he thought in disbelief. A princess sleeping in his cas
tl
e.

He wondered whether she
'
d liked the gift he had left her, and what he should do with her when he took up his claim.

The muffled shout of a sentry sent him darting back down the dark steps of the passageway. He could not visit her again for a while. There were too many guards prowling about, and one of
them might discover his horse waiting by the loch gate. It had been dar
ing of him to nail that wolf'
s head on her door.

Besides, he had work to do. There were plans to be laid and fires waiting to be set. In fact, Neacail might light his next fire in honor of the princess.

She could watch the flames from her window.

17

T
he following afternoon Rowena wore the
raspberry silk gown of a hundred scandals. By revealing herself she was hoping to shock the earl into revealing his true nature. Hildegarde was scandalized at this bold gesture and refused to speak to her. The woman stalked off in a huff, muttering a warning that Rowena would come to a bad end like her exiled sister.

Rowena drew a small breath for courage. She would have drawn
a deeper one but decency did
not allow greater movement. Never had she exposed this much
décolletage
before. The boned ft, bodice forced her
breasts above the shimmering
fabric. It plunged
down her back, lacing against
the bare curve of her spine. She wore no chemise
beneath, and felt half-naked
.
T
hunder rumbled outside the castl
e. The sound
was muted in the upper floor where she paced the length of the Turkey carpet. She had sent word to Douglas asking for a tour of the portrait gallery.

She had not seen him since late last night in the bailey. The impression of suppressed power and elemental masculinity had stayed in her mind.

She shivered from cold and apprehension. What would it take to make him drop his masquerade? How far was she willing to go?

She heard his light tread on the stairs, and her heart quickened. Too late now to run back to her room for her mantle. Too late for modesty. Covertly she tried to pull her hair loose from the pearl-headed bodkins that held it in place. The act only served to make her look more like a wanton. A woman with bare bosoms and disarrayed hair.

Douglas slowed on the top step and stared at her for an interminable moment. Lightning speared the sky behind the window. He wore an embroidered black waistcoat and white Holland shirt with snug nankeen breeches. He looked dignified. She did not.

There was no doubt he noticed the change in her appearance. His gaze moved over her like naked flame before it lifted to her face. She shivered again at the untamed emotion in his eyes. Desire, possession, and then, disapproval.

Nervousness attacked her composure as he came toward her.
"
Did you hear the thunder? We're going to have—to cover you up,
"
he said sternly. "You will take a chill."

Before Rowena could protest, he had reached for the yellowed lace runner on the alcove table behind them. Deftly he yanked it out from beneath a pewter candlestick.

Her lips thinned as he settled the dusty lace across the cleft of her breasts, his touch hasty and impersonal. "You are too considerate, my lord.
"

"
Think nothing of it,
"
he said. "You wished to view the portrait gallery?
"

She wished to kick him in the shin, but she . merely nodded, her
face hot with humiliation as
he motioned her to follow.
He wasn
'
t a pirate,
she fumed inwardly.
He was a paragon of piety and pretension. He was a prude and a
—
a
—

"—pain in the neck," she muttered.

Douglas halted in midstep.
"
Your neck pains you?
"
he asked, clucking his tongue. "Well, I am not surprised, underdressed as you are.
"

Rowena very deliberately pulled the lace off her
cleavage and dropped it at his feet.
"
I am in excellent health.
"

His gaze flickered downward for the briefest instant to the cleavage she displayed. His chiseled mouth tightened at the comers.
"
So I
'
ve noticed. However—
"
He retrieved the ru
nner and settle
d it back over the swell of her breasts, his long fingers lingering for a dangerous moment.
"
—I should have to pinch myself purple if you came down With a lung infection.
"

Rowena
'
s lips flattened. "How kind you are.
"

"Not at all,
"
he said airily.
"
Now come. Your
Highness. The dauntless Earls of Dunmoral are awaiting your inspection.
"

"
I
was in the black class at the convent,
"
Rowena said unexpectedly as they plunged down an unlit passageway.
"
I—
"

The muffled echo of thunder interrupted her. The air grew damp and pulsed with unrest. Glints of gray-gold light broke through the leaded lozenge-shaped windowpanes. Douglas frowned into the gloom. He was lost again, and he'd never wanted to seduce a woman more than at that moment, to take her against the wall with thunder rumbling around them, to c
ouple with her in a darkened corn
er. He ached with the primal need to mate. He ached to give her exactly what she was asking for. Yet it would not be enough. The bonds he yearned to forge were not only of the flesh. He had discovered that there was trust and tenderness in his heart that needed to be expressed.

"
The black class?
"
he said
"
That sounds perfectly ominous.
"

"I supervised theatrical performances,
"
Rowena said.

"
Did you?
"
I
supervised pirate raids.

He led her toward a heavy door. He could hear her breathing lightly to meet his pace. The sound aroused him. He could too easily imagine her breathless in the darkness of his bed, her hair
tangled over their naked bodies, his shaft impaling her.

He found the sight of her creamy breasts and back unbearably arousing. He knew serious trouble when he saw it.

'Twas dangerous for a friendly ship to sail up to a frigate with her gun ports exposed. One good giggle in that gown, and she would expose herself too. His masquerade would shatter. Could she ever love a man like him? Could she forgive his past, his attempts to mislead her?

"
We talked about forbidden things in the convent," she said.

He reached for the door
'
s iron ring.
"
You naughty girl.
"

"The Dragon of Darien was a favorite subject,
"
she said dangerously.

Douglas stared at the unopened door, his heart stopping before it began to pound in irregular strokes.

So she knew. Or definitely suspected. If she knew for certain, they wouldn't be standing alone together in a tunnel of black temptation, sexual attraction and an impending storm charging the air.

Would they?

An unpleasant possibility occurred to him. Women were fascinated by danger. They were often fascinated by the wrong man. Could the princess be attracted to the infamy he wanted to
forget? Could he have been ensnared in a trap of his own making?

He could not tolerate the thought, even though he had lived for such risky liaisons in the past. He needed her to believe in him for who he was. He needed her to believe the lie he had created. It made him all the more determined to prove he
'
d chosen t
he high road of moral reform…
a pirate resisting the charms of a princess. He sighed heavily, wondering if he were strong enough to withstand such temptation.

"
Do you know of the Dragon?
"
Rowena asked.

"I have heard of him,
"
Douglas said in a cautious voice.

"
I memorized the tales of his exploits."

His shoulder muscles tensed.
"
Some people would consider that a deplorable waste of time.
"

"I thought he was wildly exciting.
"

"
Wildly exciting." He turned around to face her, staring squarely into her eyes. "Do you have any idea what sort of temperament it takes to enable a man to live like that?
"

"
I know he has done things he probably regrets. I know he abducted the daughter of a Spanish don and held her for ransom on his pirate ship,
"
Rowena said.

Did you know he blew up a shipload of innocent people?

"The rogue deserves to be horsewhipped,
"
he said gravely.

"
Some have said he should be hanged," she said.

Douglas mentally crossed himself.
"
Well, I wouldn
'
t go that far. After all, he did have a letter of marque from His Majesty.
"

"
No, he didn
'
t,
"
Rowena said.

"
Yes, he did.
"

"
No,
"
she said slowly.
"
I
'
ve read everything ever written on the Dragon, and the scoundrel sailed under his own whim.
"

Douglas felt like putting his hands around her white shoulders and giving her a good shake.
"
I believe you are wrong."

She placed her hands on her hips.
"
I am an expert on the man, sir.
"

"
And I am—
"

He gazed down into her composed face. Calm on the surface, dangerous currents beneath. He wondered who was guilty of the greater deception, after all. He wondered, when all was said and done, who would emerge as conqueror. Purity had a power all its own. Even a sinner such as himself was not immune.
"
I am undoubtedly mistaken.
"
His eyes glittered with cold irony.
"
Let us view the portrait gallery. I
'
ll warrant there
'
s not a pirate in the pack."

R
owena examined the painting of a florid-faced man in an ermine tunic.
"
Who is that?
"

"
That—that appears to be my great-uncle,
"
Douglas said, deliberately standing away from the lady.

She rubbed the tarnished plate beneath the frame, chuckling to herself. "He
'
s related to you?
"

"Indeed, he is.
"

"The plate says Henry the Eighth. I did not realize you claimed royal ancestry.
"

"
We try to keep it a secret,
"
Douglas said, steering her to a portrait of a plain-looking woman in a ruffled collar and farthingale.
"
All those hangers-on, you know. Ah—now here is the queen.
"

"Queen Mary or Elizabeth?
"
Rowena said.

Douglas looked at the portrait. He didn
'
t have a clue.
"
Mary-Elizabeth,
"
he said.

"
Mary-Elizabeth?
"
Rowena said with a puzzled frown.

"She
'
s a little known figure in Scottish history. In fact, she was beheaded days after this portrait was painted.
'
Tis a most tragic story.
"

"Is she related to you too?
"
Rowena asked.

"I don
'
t think so,
"
Douglas said.
"
But then again no one really knows what she did during the Lost Years.
"

She brushed around him, the comers of her lips twitching in a smile. She held her body with an unguarded sensuality that almost brought Douglas to his knees. She lifted her face to another portrait, but he was more interested in staring
at the curve of her back and buttocks. That dress of hers was indecent. He loved it.

"He does not look at all like you,
"
she stated.

"
Who doesn't?
"

"Your father.
"
Or the man they both knew bore no relation to him at all.

"
How do you—
"
He lifted his gaze from her backside to the portrait of the seventh Earl of Dunmoral. Short. Fat. Caterpillar eyebrows drawn into a scowl. "Good God,
"
he said, leaning back against the wall.
"
I should hope not. I take after my mother
'
s side.
"