Surrender The Night (2 page)

The viscount smiled at their reaction.

After an anticipatory silence Pan came slowly to his feet. He turned to the membership. “Shall we put it to a vote?” he asked throatily. “Shall we this once bend our most sacred rule?”

“Aye!” came the reply. The echo bounced from ceiling to floor and back again.

Only one man didn’t answer. He clutched the arms of his chair so hard his nails scored the velvet. Then his hands relaxed, as if he forced himself to patience.

While the men stared, savored, and salivated, Katrina kept her eyes closed. She trembled, even the sharp pangs of fear dulled by immobilizing despair. She was so tired of fighting. What had it won her? Scorn, contempt, and ridicule. Meaner employment every time she was released from a position.

The loss of the only man she could have loved ... How much better if she had succumbed to his dark fascination and known the joys of the flesh, however brief, than the pain and humiliation this night would surely bring. She blanked out all thought of Devon. After tonight she’d be fit for no man. Let them use her as they willed. They could chain her body but not her spirit. In the end she would be free, even if she had to fling herself into the Thames.

“Your offering is accepted,” Pan said to Sutterfield. He gestured to the homed owl. “Take the unholy scroll to the novitiate.” Pan retook his throne and fingered the flute he’d left on the chair arm.

The homed owl went to a long, o
rnate table that had huge silver bowls of fruit and heavy crystal wine decanters on both ends. In the middle a gilded cylinder was displayed like a holy book on a red, fringed velvet pedestal.

As the man brought the cylinder to Sutterfield Katrina could see its engravings. The realistic renderings of female and male genitalia made her blush, then pale. Both the owl and Sutter
field caressed the cylinder, eyeing her all the while. She didn’t need to look at the membership to know their eyes glittered with the same lust.

The owl withdrew an
inscribed roll of parchment from the cylinder and handed it to the viscount with a ceremonious bow. Sutterfield kissed the parchment as bade, then read: “Venus, I am thine! Receive me with thy bountiful charms and crown my wishes with excess of pleasure. No more shall virtue reign. I, by thy amorous self do swear, will abandon all that is chaste. Nothing shall share my favor while in thy presence but my most libidinous desires. I further swear I shall keep silent about this night’s proceedings and shall not admit knowledge of this society to aught but another member.”

“Hail, Brother,” the others intoned. The owl returned the parchment to its cylinder. With a last leer at Katrina he retreated.

She watched dully as Pan rose with slow majesty. He strolled toward her, his features masked, his eyes alive with intent. Katrina tried to back away, but her bound feet made her awkward, and she would have fallen if Sutterfield hadn’t steadied her. She was too numb with fear even to flinch when his hand dropped from her shoulder to her breast.

Pan frowned. “By the rights vested in me this night as Pan, no member touches her until I’ve had my fill.”

Sutterfield’s mouth tightened, but he nodded and backed off, seating himself in the chair the homed owl indicated on the comer of the stage.

“You shall be second, in accordance with our laws,” Pan assured him, then he closed the last step that separated him from his prey. He was reaching for the bodice of Katrina’s gown when an authoritative voice spoke from the rear of the dimly lit audience.

“Hold, Pan!”

Pan turn
ed slowly, stiff with outrage.

A tall man wearing a unico
rn mask with a gilded horn issuing from the forehead brushed aside Neptune’s cautionary arm and strode down the aisle. Neptune adjusted his mask and shifted under the members’ disapproving stares.

“This is his first visit, dash it. He has the right to interrupt.”

If the unicorn sensed the disapproval emanating from every quarter, he gave no sign. He stopped at the foot of the stage and looked up at Katrina. One white hand clenched into a fist, then slowly relaxed.

The murmurs of the membership roused Katrina from her apathy. She saw a man hovering at the stage steps who was severely but finely garbed in black brocade coat, black knee breeches, and black-and-gold waistcoat. His mask was realis
tic, and she wished with all her heart that he really were a unicorn, that symbol of purity, protector of virgins. Why had he interrupted?

“As your l
aws have been stated to me, each potential member has the right of challenge upon the completion of the ceremony. Is this correct?”

At the sound of that deep voice Katrina froze in recognition. Could it be? She stared at the arrogant ti
lt of the head, the finely shaped hands, and somehow, she knew. The heart she’d thought dead lurched within her breast. Feelings she’d not known in three years rushed through her, strengthening her crumpling spine. Gladness, hurt, confusion, yearning. And, briefly, hope. If anyone could deliver her from this conclave of rakes, surely it was he, king of the rakes. But . . . Why was he here? His very presence, “potential” member or not, made her worry.

And yet . . . How she’d longed to see him again. Now, when her very life was in danger, she could almost believe her despair had conjured him. Even masked, he aroused all the old unseemly yearnings. Those exciting, distressing months three years past flashed through her chaotic thoughts. She latched onto their welcome respite. The stage dissolved beneath her feet and became grass wet with dew. The heavy incense became roses heady with spring. And the dim chamber became the Kentish countryside, rolling like a carpet flung far and wide to welcome the sunny arrival of God. . . .

The early mornings were cherished moments in her busy role as governess to two unruly but lovable little boys. Her charges rose late, and these contemplative times fortified her for the busy days. The pain of her father’s death a few short months ago had dulled to an ache. These walks in the rose arbor made her feel close to him. How he had loved roses. Katrina paused to pluck a yellow bloom, its petals partially unfurled, but the secret heart of the flower untouched by sun or dew. She inhaled its pure scent.

A deep voice made her start. “What a charming picture. It makes me want to take brush to canvas, but I could never capture the proper hue of that glorious hair.”

Katrina went beet red and brushed ineffectually at her unbound hair. She usually completed her toilette only after her walk. Today was the first time she’d had cause to regret her daring. Slowly she turned to meet the admiring gaze of the tall man who stood just within the gate. She sucked in a stunned breath. She’d seldom been susceptible to male hand
someness, but never had she met a man such as he. . .               Glorious. His face and form were glorious. He was dressed in riding breeches that clung to long, lithe thighs, and his thin shirt stuck to the perfect symmetry of his broad chest. But it was his face that riveted her.

Every feature seemed one part of a harmonious whole. His eyes were brandy brown and flecked with gold that sparkled now in the sunshine. His black brows and lashes were a pleasing contrast to his eyes and golden skin. His hair, unpowdered and tied neatly back at his nape, was also a surprise: it was dark gold, streaked with bands of primrose silk. The mobility of that full, sensitive mouth attested to his frequent, ready smile. Deep creases curved on each side, moving like wind gauges, she suspected, with his mood. They were in evidence now, and she knew he sensed her fascination with him.

She mastered her composure, looked down at the rose in her hand, and walked slowly toward him. However, when she reached the gate, he didn’t move aside.

“Stay. Tell me your name.” He didn’t touch her, but the soft, sensual timbre of his voice wrapped about her like silk.

“Katrina,” she whispered. She tried to step around him, but he sidestepped neatly.

She looked up at that. The breeze lifted a heavy curl of hair and flicked him in the mouth. He caught the tendril and tugged gently, bringing her closer until her skirts brushed his breeches.

“My name is Devon. I came to see about purchasing a horse. I intended to leave this morning, but perhaps I’ll stay a bit longer.”

Gently Katrina pulled her hair away and stepped back. He’d not introduced himself fully, but somehow she knew he was a lord. That nose set upon him too regally, and his air of confidence was too assured for him to be less than a nobleman. “My lord, I am only the governess here, and this conversation is most improper. I doubt we shall meet again.”

Resolutely she flung the rose away. To her surprise he caught it neatly and brought it to his lips. He brushed the petals back and forth, holding her eyes all the while. Her mouth tingled, and she felt as if she’d been kissed. Making a strangled sound, she brushed past him.

Her ears burned with his promise, ‘ ‘We shall meet again, my lovely. Soon.”

And they had. That very evening Katrina was invited to dinner for only the second time since she’d been employed. She accepted with some foreboding. She’d not been surprised to find seated across from her the man the other servants had, that afternoon, referred to as the Earl of Brookstone.

Katrina looked at the fawning expressions on the faces of her host and hostess. She knew the earl had not had to use much persuasion to get her employers
to invite their governess for dinner. They were agog over their good fortune in having an earl sit at their table. He’d not find her so amenable, she resolved. So she answered his conversational gambits with monosyllables. She escaped as soon as possible, but she was to find that her distance only made him work the harder to bridge it.

He soon became a fixture in the house. The boys even took to calling him uncle. No matter how firmly she tried to put him in' his place, or how desperately she tried to avoid him, he always popped up, as cheerful and charming as the jack-in- the-box she’d adored as a child. He sent her posies, he asked her opinion on the current affairs of state. Rarely had she met a man who enjoyed a woman’s brain, yet he seemed genuinely interested in her responses. They had more than one invigo
rating political discussion.

Even her employers began to look indulgently upon his time with her. After two weeks, when he was at their house more than at his lodgings at the village inn, they invited him to stay, giving Katrina meaningful looks as they did so. Katrina knew their thoughts. What a sensation it would cause if their governess should make the catch of the year. They were simple country gentry who’d seldom been beyond Kent’s borders, and they hoped so perfect a gentleman would make their educated, innocent governess a proper offer. Katrina suspected other
wise, but her fears didn’t bolster her defenses, which grew weaker under the barrage of Devon’s smiles.

He moved into a guest chamber, “to enjoy rusticating after the hectic pace of town,” as he put it. He went on rambles with her and the boys, acting as both protector and tutor. He helped her teach the boys to fish; he escorted them on long, invigo
rating rides about the countryside.

Almost six weeks after their first meeting he took her and the boys on a picnic. After eating, the boys went to the stream to
skip stones while Devon stayed behind to help her pack the remains of their hearty fare. All was put away when silence ensued. Katrina started as Devon lay back on the blanket and pillowed his arms under his head.

“Do you ever make pictures in the clouds?” he asked lazily. She glanced up. Puffy white clouds drifted overhead like enormous cotton wads. She pointed at one. “That one looks like a frog squatting on a lily pad.”

“Ribbet . . . ribbet
...”
Devon croaked. A frog lazing under a tree nearby gave a startled leap, catching their attention. Katrina could have sworn the look in his bulging eyes was offended as he hopped majestically off, croaking in a firm way, as if to show them how the thing should really be done.

Devon’s deep, rich chuckles joined her musical laugh. When he laced his fingers with hers, it seemed natural to lie down beside him. She followed his pointing finger.

“There. A unicorn. See it leaping over a hedge?”

She squinted, then nodded. “How often did I dream of them, as a child.” How happy she’d been, serving her father’s parish. How hastily had she been evicted from the parsonage by the new vicar . .

Devon propped himself on an elbow to look down into her misty eyes. “And do you dream no longer?”

Wordlessly, she shook her head, moved by the tenderness in his gaze.

“What a shame. Did you know the unicorn is the protector of virgins?” His tone went even softer. “How easily can I see you, hair streaming down your back, fairy wings beating behind you as you ride away to your hidden kingdom. Let me take you there.”

How she longed to believe his fervency, but she did not dare. With an effort she reminded herself of the difference in their births. She was not so naive as her employers; if this lord had an offer to make her, it would not be a proper one.

Even so, she thrilled to his touch when he brushed her thick hair away from her brow. “I can make you happy again, Katrina mina. You’d never know need, nor want, nor loneliness in the kingdom we’d make together.”

Wide blue eyes stared into darkening brown ones. His
endearment drifted away on the breeze, but the power of it had already lodged in her heart. Katrina shifted, not quite able to move away from the soothing pleasure of that hand. Oh, to be loved again. But no matter how heady his touch, she suspected what he felt had little to do with love.