Surrender The Night (11 page)

Her pleasure in the spring flowers, warm, scented breeze, and soothing sunshine was spoiled. She drew her wide- brimmed hat lower over her face and looked down at her feet as, with a curse, Devon wheeled the curricle about and hurried them home.

Neither of them noticed the man following from a discreet distance. He rode a big, spirited bay rather stiffly, a bandage binding one shoulder.

Katrina didn’t give Devon a chance to help her down. He’d hardly pulled the carriage to a halt before she climbed out. The business was tricky in her voluminous skirts, and the gray serge caught on a sharp edge. She yanked it free, uncaring that she ripped her last good dress, and ran for sanctuary inside the house she’d needed to escape shortly before.

A broken trail of sobs followed her up the stairs. At the commotion Billy rushed from the back of the house to see Devon burst into the foyer and vault up the stairs. He reached Katrina’s door in time to have it slammed in his face. Billy watched him knock with a tentativeness that was far out of character. When no response came, Devon bent his head in hesitation. Then, as loud as a slap, came the sound of the bolt being shot home. Billy winced, resignation crossing his strong face.

Devon’s head popped up. His curse was more a growl as he lifted his booted foot and kicked the door, once, twice. The crack of splitting wood coincided with Devon’s furious shove. The door sagged on one hinge, giving him room enough to squeeze into the chamber. Shaking his head, Billy plopped down into the chair beside the door to listen.

Like a tigress at bay, fingers curled into claws, Katrina turned to meet Devon. “Touch me and you’ll get your eyes scratched out,” she hissed. Her cheeks were wet with tears, but her eyes blazed so hot that a lesser man might have felt singed.

Even Devon stopped warily—until he glanced from her to the bags behind her on the bed. When he looked at her again, the fury in his eyes matched her own. “Try to leave me before your bargain has ended and I’ll chain you to this bed.”

‘ ‘I never should have bargained with the devil. But your spell lost its power the moment I looked into their eyes.” She coughed to dlear her thickening voice. “Legerdemain can’t change wrong into right. You might have turned a vicar’s daughter into a whore, but even a whore is too good for the devil.” She turned her back on him and wadded a night rail on top of a crisp dress. She failed to see him whiten, but the deadly quietness of his voice made her fingers clench around a chemise.

“Fora whore you’ve much to learn about pleasing men. We like to be touched, too, as you will soon discover.” He grabbed for her, but she clambered over the bed. She ran to his dresser and snatched up his razor.

She whirled, clutching the ivory handle in a white-knuckled fist. “That’s your answer for every argument. Why can you not understand that compatible though our bodies are, our hearts will always fight? We’re opposites, you and I. We believe in different things.”

He grunted his disagreement as he inched nearer. “We believe in the same things, as we have only recently discovered.”

“Oh yes? Do you say your prayers nightly, as I do, only after I sleep?’ ’

When he made an impatient gesture, she shook her head and mourned, “You have no understanding whatsoever, have you?’ ’

“I’m not the heretic you think me, but my God doesn’t condemn the natural feelings of men and women. He believes in celebrating life, not stifling it.”

“That’s the excuse every scoundrel uses to justify his sins. You might be able to rationalize your selfishness away, but I cannot. Fornication is wrong, Devon; it’s that simple.”

“Nothing in life worth having is ever simple, Kat. Least of all my feelings for you, or yours for me.” He was only two steps away. He held out his hands. ‘ ‘Please, forget what happened today. You don’t really care what they think, hypocrites that they are. They indulge in the same sin they condemn you for. Admit it, Kat. Only what we think, what we feel, matters.”

The blade that had wavered in her hand rose up again. The glint in her eyes matched that glancing off the sunlit steel. “For once we agree. My feelings matter as much as yours. And I feel only disgust for each of us.” When his hands dropped and he closed the gap between them, she backed away and warned, “Come closer and you’ll never again touch me—or any woman.”

His dark purpose brightened under the ruddy glow of his smile. “Do you mean to castrate me? Come, Kat, versed as well as you are in the arts and sciences, I doubt your father saw to
that
part of your education. Do you really know where to cut?’ ’ His smile never wavered as he came one step closer, then another, until he brushed against her.

She saw in his eyes that he didn’t believe she’d harm him. And damn him, he was right. She’d just as soon cut off her own nose. . . . She looked over his shoulder into the mirror. She’d flung off her hat, and her thick blond hair had escaped its pins to flow about her shoulders. Her hectic flush and glittering eyes accentuated the looks she seldom thought about. Unlike most beautiful women she avoided rather than sought out mirrors. Her loveliness had brought her naught but plaguey difficulties. She stared at herself, her fingers trembling around the razor’s handle.

Devon frowned at the odd look in her eyes and turned to see what fascinated her. His frown deepened as she slowly, as if compelled, raised the blade. Horrified comprehension twisted his face. He pried her fingers open, pulling the razor away before it could disfigure her perfect nose. He flung the blade across the room and caught her shoulders to give her a little shake.

“Are you mad? Do you hate yourself so? Or is it me you wish to punish?’ ’

She gave a funny little hiccup, then began beating at his chest with her fists. Her words erupted in an hysterical burst. He took the physical and verbal barrage stoically. “I hate both of us. You for tangling me in this . . . unconscionable brangle and me for letting you. You have no right ... I have no spine for letting you. All the beliefs I’ve held immovable all my life stand on naught but shifting sand. How could you . . . please, please, if you care for me, let me go. I’ ’—her voice broke, but she forced the words out—“beg you.”

Her eyes were blurred with tears. She blinked, doubtful of her own clarity of sight. How could any man who held her in even mild esteem be so indifferent to her heartfelt plea? But his face was closed, emotionless. Gently he pried her clutching fingers away and stood back.

“No, Kat. Call me selfish and immoral all you please, but I’ll not let you go until I’m ready.”

“And what will make you so?” she croaked.

“You’re a clever woman. I’ll let you divine that. But you know enough of me to realize that I find a clinging woman a bore.” He strolled to the door, bending to pick Up the razor on his way. “Think about it.” He squeezed out the door, then propped it upright.

Katrina caught her elbows and rocked on her heels, so distraught she hardlyi realized what she was doing. She was basically an optimist and had always believed that no matter how bleak the night, dawn always came. But perhaps she’d been wrong about that, too. This time there was no way out. She was caught, a hare in a hole, and could only escape by letting the fox who had cornered her dine at his leisure.

But the man who paused on the other side of the door to wipe his brow with a shaky hand had no clever, satisfied air. He stumbled down the steps, refusing to meet Billy’s searching eyes. He mumbled, “Send Martha to fetch a carpenter to fix the door. See I’m not disturbed, and have Martha take Miss Lawson’s supper to her on a tray. After you fetch Martha, on no account leave your post.” Devon entered the salon and closed the door behind him.

Billy didn’t have to witness the deed to know that Devon went directly to the brandy. “Ah, Devvie lad,” Billy muttered to himself. “Ye ain’t so different to us common folk. Wantin’ what ye cain’t have is a bit o’ hell, ain’t it? When will ye see that only by lettin’ the lassie go can ye hold her?” Sighing, he rose to obey Devon’s prders.

That night was the longest either Katrina or Devon had ever spent. For the second time since he’d taken her, they slept apart. Rather, they tossed and turned apart, for neither of them slept. When next they met on the following morning, outwardly both were composed. Devon politely seated Katrina on the settee and accepted the tea she poured for him.

Only after they’d both eaten did he broach the subject paramount in their thoughts. “I’ve thought over your words, Katrina. I’d not have you unhappy because of me. To the contrary, I want to make you happy.”

“Then let me go.” She took a composed sip of tea, but her china cup rattled against its delicate saucer when she sat it down.

He gritted his teeth and went on calmly, “I’m not the profligate you think me. Honor, too, is important to me. I’ve yet to break a promise. I said I’d let you go at the end of this month, and so I shall.” When her eyes flashed up from her cup, he added, “Providing, that is, that you give me these last three days to change your mind. If you attempt to leave before then. I’ll consider our bargain abrogated. If, at the end of that time, you don’t gladly accept and
request
my touch, then I’ll have my coachman take you wherever you like, with enough fiinds for you to survive for several years. Until you find your ‘respectable’ husband. If I can make you admit how much you want me, you stay. Agreed?”

Katrina searched his eyes, but he betrayed only civility as he held out his hand. She put down her cup and saucer and shook it. “Agreed.”

He sat down beside her, patting her hand when she tensed. “Relax. I’m not going to spring upon you. I thought we might read to one another.”

She eyed him suspiciously, but he only went to the small bookcase in the comer and fetched a thin red kidskin tome. When he sat back down, she crooked her neck to read the title.
The Sonnets of William Shakespeare.
She relaxed, truly relaxed, for the first time since yesterday. How thoughtful of him to remember her taste in literature. In truth books had been her only passion since her father died. When she’d had time for them, that is. She rested her head against the lace-clad settee back and closed her eyes to listen to the rich words. Which one would he choose? she wondered as he leafed through the pages. She’d noticed that the heavy vellum had already been split. He, too, must read a lot. She wondered if he knew as much English poetry by heart as she did.

But when he began to read, his deep, mellow voice did not soothe her. Every muscle tensed; her heartbeat quickened. Of all the bard’s sonnets, why did he have to select
this
one? Her eyes stayed tightly shut as Shakespeare’s Sonnet 116 was recited by the one man she longed to hear say these words. And mean them ...

Love is not love Which alters when it alteration finds.

Or bends with the remover to remove:

O
              no! it is an ever fixed mark.

That looks on tempests and is never shaken;

It is the star to every wandering bark,

Whose worth’s unknown, although his height be taken. Love’s not Time’s fool, though rosy lips and cheeks Within his bending sickle’s compass come;

Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks.

But bears it out even to the edge of doom.

If this be error, and upon me proved,

I never writ, nor no man ever loved.

His voice grew husky on the last words. After he closed the book and set it down, silence prevailed in the salon. Two children rolling a ball in the yard down the street squealed. A flock of pigeons landed on the black balcony outside, flapping and strutting. Katrina heard only her beating heart.

She wanted, as she’d never wanted anything, to believe him. Yet how could he have changed so in these few weeks? This was the same man who’d stood in this room and told her love was an invention of poets and fools. How could a man who loved her hold her prisoner? Most telling, a man who loved her would offer his hand as well as his heart, no matter the difference in their births. When he gently tugged her sideways to face him, she opened her eyes to search his features.

Yes, there was a new softness in those amber eyes resting so tenderly upon her. But there was a calculation, too, and a hunger. The same hunger she’d left wanting three years ago when he’d asked her to be his mistress. She knew that she was here today because of the past, not the present. He’d not want her now, if she’d succumbed to him then. The apple ever out of reach was always shiniest, and Demon Devon was used to getting what he wanted.

A sad little smile curved her lips. They were not so different, after all. The unattainable had become her heart’s desire, too. For, search his features though she did, she saw no sign of the only love she wanted. An unalterable love, a generous love. Love based on carnality was as fleeting as . . . The words came unbidden to her lips, and they dashed the hopeful light in his eyes.

“ ‘Love built on beauty, soon as beauty, dies.’ Donne.”

This time it was he who stared. She saw denial trembling on his lips, and because she couldn’t bear to hear him lie, she forestalled him. “Please, Devon, be honest. If I were cross
eyed, knock-kneed, and horse-faced, you’d not want me for an instant.”

“I almost wish you were cross-eyed, knock-kneed, and horse-faced. Then you’d come into my arms gladly.”

“How so?”

“You’d be
so
grateful,” he tossed at her with a grin. When she shook her head at him wearily, like a teacher chastising the class clown, his face grew serious.