Prisoner of Desire (23 page)

"Welcome ashore, Miss St. John." Warren's voice was brassy and full of authority. He raised it, making sure it carried over the noise. Several pairs of lips froze in mid sentence, a few elbows jabbing into ribs while the curious strained to listen.

"Thank you."

She stepped down onto the dock and Warren's height rose above her. His bicorn hat was

gallantly tucked beneath his right arm. As dignified as her stepfather ever was.

"May I present my mother." The introduction silenced the remaining chatter. No man presented his mistress to his mother. "Mrs. Brigitte Rawlins."

Brigitte was a beautiful woman. Age hadn't stolen any luster from her, and if it had, she must have been jaw-dropping in her youth. Lorena felt even more grubby standing near her. But the woman was as gracious as she was lovely.

"I see you are a unique woman, Lorena St. John, to have my sons looking so polished fresh from the sea. My sons have forever taken after their father and broken my heart with their rough, seafaring ways. You must tell me how you encouraged them to wear their overcoats."

"I believe they are very happy to see their mother."

Brigitte's eyes flickered with something more than mere friendly banter. Warren had clearly inherited his keen stare from her. His mother lifted her elegant chin.

"I cannot curb my impatience another moment. Come, my dear, let us retire so we might have some time for intimate conversation."

"That would be delightful."

Try as she might, no other words formed in her thoughts. She was stunned by the invitation. The bystanders immediately cast aside their scrutiny, smiling at her in welcome now that Brigitte seemed pleased with her presence aboard the Huntress.

Well, that would not last long. Her reputation would be in tatters by sunset just as soon as the men of the crew began telling the tales of what had transpired in Bermuda. Warren took her hand, drawing her close in order to place it on his arm.

"What are you about, Captain Rawlins?"

His gaze cut over to hers and she barely saw it due to the brim of her bonnet. But she felt it. Her heart accelerated, just from the connection of her hand on his forearm. It was by far a sedate, acceptable touching, but it sent a jolt of heat into her that didn't stop until it traveled all the way to her clit. Somehow, the man made her aware of parts of her body she'd lived in innocent

ignorance of until kissing him.

But you kissed him. ..and enjoyed it.

"That should be obvious. If it isn't, I suppose I can't really complain about the fact that you don't trust me." He turned to look at her. "You have plenty of reasons for that."

In spite of his polished appearance, there was regret shimmering in his eyes. It tore at her, sending a shaft of uncomfortable guilt through her. But she didn't have time to dwell on it. A carriage awaited, the door held open for Warren's mother. With a perfect swish of her skirts, Brigitte climbed aboard and settled into one of the seats without even an inch of ankle shown.

She sat there looking like a model of feminine grace.

Warren lifted her hand off his forearm but kept her close for another moment. "I'll have to remedy that later, Lorena. In the meantime, I'm sending you home with my mother in the hope you might be there when I arrive for dinner tonight."

"And if I am not?" She should have resisted the urge to challenge him. His eyes flashed in response.

"I shall have to be resourceful enough to recover you."

He spoke her name in a voice she recalled too well. A dark and hungry tone full of promise.

Excitement awoke and teased her with memories best suited to dark nights. But they raced over her skin in spite of the sunlight warming her. She shouldn't have been able to recognize such a thing, at least not with everyone around her. It defied logic. But that explained Captain Warren Rawlins rather perfectly.

It didn't explain why it hurt to pull away from the docks. For the first time she was pleased with her bonnet. The brim kept her from seeing the man lodged in her mind. If only it were so simple to dismiss him altogether.

Lorena sighed and leaned back against the high end of a slipper tub. That bath on St. Martin felt like it had been months ago. She could actually smell the fresh water in the tub. Her skin tingled because she'd attacked it with a washcloth and not set it aside until every last bit of her was scrubbed.

But she forced herself to rise and reach for the towelling. The bathroom wasn't hers alone. In fact the only thing she owned was the rather sad-looking traveling dress that Brigitte's maid had whisked away with no consideration for the request that Lorena made to keep it.

So now, she owned nothing.

Well.. .save for herself.

The evening air touched her skin, raising gooseflesh along her limbs. She noticed how different it was from the balmy air of the Caribbean. As much as she enjoyed being back in a modern

town with bathtubs and water to fill them, there was a part of her which longed to see Tibetha.

And return to a place where kissing on the beach was acceptable.

Lorena knotted the belt of a dressing gown. She was bound for ruin. Oh, not in the sense that Godford had so often warned her about. No, she was going to be ruined by her own longings.

The gossips were quite nicely placated now. Which only served to increase her admiration for Warren Rawlins. He was still smug and arrogant to the point that she wanted to hiss at him, but he was also noble. It was the strangest combination, captor and noble protector. One she'd been incapable of resisting. In the dark hours, his kiss was something she could not ignore.

The gooseflesh spread down her legs.

A rap on the door gave her only a moment's notice before the maid returned. She was a middle-aged woman with round cheeks.

"I'm so glad to see you finished, miss. We've got to get you dressed and your hair all done lovely-like. The cook is stirring up quite the supper and the mistress has all the candles set out. It will be a merry evening. Come along now, we've not time to waste."

Lorena followed the woman through a back hallway and up a narrow flight of service stairs. The maid actually hummed a little tune as she hurried up to the second floor of the home. It was a grand house, Warren's family obviously did well for themselves because the street the front door had opened onto was wide and filled with fancy carriages being pulled by prime horses.

Uniformed drivers held the reins to those horses, their top hats clean and their boots shined.

Only a few blocks from the docks, the house was nested in with others that all had impressive columns holding up the roof over their entryways. Large glass windows gleamed in the afternoon sun. The double doors had opened to reveal a marble-set entryway complete with crystal

chandelier.

Brigitte was as commanding as her son. The woman had immediately taken control of Lorena,

sending her off to a hot bath, although Lorena admitted to agreeing with the woman. A bath had been at the top of her list of things to do.

"This way, miss. We've put you in the cranberry room and you'll find it plush after being at sea.

It's got a thick feather mattress, it does."

The stairs opened to another hallway that was plain. But it was only a service corridor and most families didn't squander money on decorating them. Hallways were rather a new idea anyway,

now that privacy and modesty were considered indispensable. Many older homes were building

hallways back into rooms which had never had them in the past.

"Here we are."

In spite of the hallway, the room wasn't private. Brigitte stood there directing two other maids.

The bed was covered in clothing. Silk, cotton and even damask fabric lay there for the lady of the house to see.

"Ah, Lorena, there you are."

Brigitte spoke with a faint French accent. It was clear Warren's blond hair came from his mother, along with his blue eyes. While Garrick had the same blue eyes his brother did, Lorena didn't find them as hypnotizing.

"I recall Exactly how refreshing a bath is after being at sea." Brigitte scanned her in a delicate motion of her eyes, but that didn't disguise the keenness of the look. For all her angelic

appearance, this woman was no fool.

"Alice, brush out her hair."

One of the younger maids bobbed a curtsy instantly.

"There's no need. I'm quite used to tending to myself."

"Of course you are." Alice came across the room anyway, a silver brush in her hand. "Sea journeys have that effect. But you're back on land now."

Brigitte pointed to a padded stool. "We'll have a lovely evening celebrating the return of my sons.

I always throw a welcome-home party. I'm expecting everyone very soon and we simply must

make sure the men are suitably stunned by your beauty."

Lorena laughed. She couldn't help it. Her hand rose to cover her lips, fearing she'd offended her hostess.

Brigitte smiled. She glided across the room and reached for Lorena's chin.

"You are very lovely, Lorena. Never doubt it." She trailed her fingers down to her shoulder, pressing her onto the stool.

Lorena sank onto its padded surface.

"And never wish to be like me. This beauty has never brought me anything but grief. In my youth, men fought over me like some piece of fine glass. None of them bothered to court me for anything other than my appearance."

"How sad."

Brigitte smiled. It was a small expression of victory. "I refused them all and married the man who stole my heart."

Alice began pulling the brush through her drying hair. Lorena had to force herself to sit still.

Brigitte noticed, a pensive look covering her face.

"You never had servants in your English home?"

"I have two sisters. We saw to one another quite well."

Brigitte's face changed to a slightly calculating look. "Garrick and Harrison might enjoy knowing that. Those two are pouting because they believe you have settled on Warren."

"I have done no such thing." The words were out of her mouth before she recalled that Brigitte was Warren's mother.

Brigitte laughed softly. Lorena stared at her, completely unsure what to make of the woman's response.

"I do believe I am going to like you, Lorena St. John. I haven't much patience for weak or delicate girls. It seems to be all the fashion nowadays." She flung her hand in a disgusted motion.

"My father raised me like that. A china doll, expected to stand in her gown and be admired for nothing except what she looked like."

"My stepfather believed in self-reliance and frugal habits." The maids were sneaking peeks at her whenever they thought Brigitte wouldn't notice. More dresses were being unpacked, the sound of paper rustling in the room. The bed and several chairs were now draped with dresses in just about every color conceivable. There were three different shades of blue alone. Every one of them was fit for evening, not a length of wool or linen in sight. There was lace and silk ribbon decorating them. She'd only seen so many gowns together at the same time in church before.

"That simply will not do tonight." Brigitte turned to look at the array of finery. "Tonight, you must enjoy what my family has to offer. It is the least we can do."

Lorena stared at Brigitte only to find the woman looking at her with a very knowledgeable gleam in her eyes. It appeared Warren was once again living up to the noble image she had of him.

"Do not frown so, Lorena. I shall be most happy to help you begin the next portion of your life.

You simply cannot deprive me of the opportunity to watch my sons attempt to win your heart. I'd begun to despair of them ever meeting a woman who wasn't infatuated by their handsome faces."

She turned and pointed at a peacock-blue dress. "Carry that over to see if it agrees with her complexion."

Alice hurried to comply but not with stress on her features. The maid smiled, clearly enjoying her duties. That spoke volumes about Brigitte. The house lacked the hushed silence her

stepfather's existed in.

"These are merely what the tailor had that were close to the size of your dress. Tomorrow we shall go and have you fit."

"I couldn't. I have no means to settle accounts."

Brigitte motioned Alice away and pointed to a maroon dress. "Nonsense. My son assures me your affairs are in the most pristine order."

Which meant Warren was paying for everything.

Her pride reared its head. She had not given herself to him for money.

Why did you?

She wished she knew. Wished she understood why it had seemed so impossible to resist. Maybe if she understood, the idea of asking to return to Northfleet wouldn't hurt.

Because it did. Right in the center of her chest, she ached. The emotion baffled her. Returning home was the only correct thing to do, after all. That or go to Mordaunt which she flatly refused to do. That left returning to her family.

Tears stung her eyes and she turned to hide them. Indeed she did not want to go.

"To homecoming!"

The assembled guests touched their glass wine goblets against one another before drinking to Garrick's toast. The lower floor of the house was lit up with an insane number of candles. The yellow light danced off the crystal chandeliers and mirrors. It was more festive than anything Lorena had ever seen. Music flowed around them from a four-man band playing in the corner of the receiving hall. Kurt Barclay joined them, blowing into a small pipe that whistled merrily.

"Might I say you are blindingly beautiful tonight, Miss St. John?" Harrison Rawlins flashed his brilliant smile at her again while trying to exchange her half-full wine glass for a full one. Lorena held the delicate glass stem between firm fingers. Half a glass was already impeding her

judgment. She wanted to smile and join the group dancing on the far side of the room. Knowing there was nothing to stop her only added more temptation.

"I am quite content, sir."

"Is that so, Miss St. John?" Warren appeared and quite simply stole her breath.