Surrender The Night (5 page)

“As you say, my dear. You have that right. I ask you once more to grant me that boon. I’m not such a bad fellow. You’d find me generous. More generous than Sutterfield, I warrant.” She shook her head wordlessly, staring at her lap. Had she been looking at him, she would have been forewarned. Frustration, anger, and desire crossed his face in rapid succes
sion. His mouth firmed with resolve.

But his voice betrayed only courtesy when he murmured, “Very well. You win.” He rapped against the window between him and his coachman. When it opened, the earl said, ‘ ‘Peter, I know our direction now. My dear?’ ’

Katrina flashed a disbelieving look at him. He stared back, his regret ostensibly genuine. Her heart lightened, and the terrors of the night began to ease. In dazed tones she gave the direction of her most recent employer.

The crotchety old woman was a sea captain’s widow who had been well provided for, but she pinched every penny until it bled and was as parsimonious with Katrina’s time. The old woman never failed to introduce Katrina to her friends as connected, if on the wrong side of the blanket, to a baronet. But when they were alone, she treated her as the meanest scullery maid, taking evident pleasure in her position of superiority over one of higher birth.

Katrina had grown wiser, if more bitter, with every lost position. After the penury she’d suffered when Sutterfield’s mother dismissed her, she’d vowed to keep this last post, no matter what. If suppressing her pride and accepting menial tasks were the price of security, then she’d gladly pay. While she wasn’t happy, she was resigned and grateful that at least her current employer had no close male relatives.

How she’d explain coming home so late dressed as she was she didn’t know. Still, maybe she wouldn’t have to. The butler was not above a bribe. Katrina was so occupied planning her excuse that she didn’t notice the way Devon watched her.

His eyes were alert, eager. His slouch, hands in pockets, nevertheless had a ready air, as if he awaited only the most favorable moment to spring. But his voice was genuinely sympathetic. “Poor Kat. Is the old biddy really so difficult?”

She looked at him in surprise. “How do you know she’s difficult?”

“My dear Kat, 1 could list every sorry position you’ve won and lost in the past three years. You’ve left a blazing trail everywhere you’ve been, you know. Half the young pups in the ton are infatuated with you. I’ve made it my business to keep informed. That’s how I knew about tonight.
...”
His rough tone evened out again when she looked startled and opened her mouth to interrupt with a question. “Not that it matters now. At any rate this position, I opine, shall be your last.”

             
Later she would scorn herself as foolish. She should have read the true meaning behind his last comment. She should have been warned by the fact that he’d kept himself apprised of her movements. Waiting for her to fall . . . But at the moment, because she was so weary, so delighted that he had, apparently, come tonight to aid her, she squelched her suspicions and took his words at face value. He was not without compassion after all. He was letting her go, even believing the worst.

             
“I, too, hope to stay here for a time. She’s not really mean, just used to having her own way.” She smiled at him for the first time that night.

             
His face relaxed into the old charm that had thrilled her such an age ago. And could thrill her again—if she let it.

             
“Ah, then, she’s not so different from others we know, is she?” He dropped a wicked, suggestive wink.

             
She laughed. The sound was rich with the enjoyment of life that had once been hers. His hands went deeper into his pockets as he shifted restlessly on his seat.

             
“Is it yourself you’re speaking of, or me?” she teased back.

             
His reply was husky. “Both, m’dear. Both.”

             
Their eyes met. Something flickered in that steady brown gaze. Hesitation? Yearning? But the emotion went too quickly for her to define it. She spoke then in a rush, before she lost her courage.

             
‘ ‘Thank you for saving me tonight. I truly was not there by choice—”

             
“I don’t doubt that.”

             
“And I confess I didn’t expect you to let me go—”

             
“Did you not?”

             
“But I shouldn’t judge so quickly. That’s one of my worst faults, my father always said—’ ’

             
“He knew you well.”

             
“And I shall always remember you kindly for your help this night.”

             
“How gratifying. Can you show me, perchance, this last time how grateful you really are?”

             
That steady, challenging stare was too powerful. Her gaze dropped to his broad shoulders. Strong they were. Strong enough to ably bear all her troubles. For one traitorous instant she longed to accept his offer. More between them was unthinkable, for he was not only one of the wealthiest men in England, his title was one of the oldest. In contrast she was not only poor, alone in the world, but her background was only partly genteel. Her father had been the bastard son of a minor nobleman, but her mother had been a baker’s daughter. No, the only alliance they could ever have was an illicit one. A rake he might be, but he was proud of his name and cognizant of his responsibilities. He’d wed only a blue blood as wealthy as himself.

The knowledge sharpened rather than appeased her yearn
ing. No, she couldn’t become his mistress, but she could share with him a last embrace. Fodder to feed her foolish dreams, she scorned herself, but had he reeked of brimstone in that moment, she still could not have denied him. Or herself.

“Yes, Devon,” she whispered, calling him by his name for the
second and last time. At least so she thought.

He went still, but she didn’t see his longing, for her eyes were closed. His hands cupped her cheeks to tilt her face to his. His mouth brushed hers, fresh,
redolent as her childhood memory of the warm bread in her grandfather’s kitchen. She savored the gentle kiss that was just as hearty, just as addictive, but instead of sating her, he left her hungry for more. When he pulled her into his arms, she went gladly.

The gentle suction deepened, hardened, as he urged her lips apart. He teased the comers of her mouth with tiny nibbles, then licked the tingling nerves. When she instinctively opened her mouth wider, he delved inside, learning all the exotic tastes and textures she’d long denied him. His arms tightened until his waistcoat buttons dug into her bosom, but she didn’t notice. Her hair flowed over his arm as he pressed her back against the seat, his tongue knowing every sweet crevice and secret hollow of her mouth. But when he eased back to unbutton the jacket, she came to her senses. She pressed her hands into his shoulders.

“That’s enough—” '

His pleasure-slurred voice disturbed the hairs near her ear.
“Give me more than a taste. I’m starving for the full course, Kat.”

Her body screamed with the need to let this go where it would, but Katrina had been raised to respect the power of thought. She mastered her pulsing weakness and pushed harder, slipping out from under him.
  “No, I tell you! I owe you my gratitude, and you have it. Thank you again. But don’t spoil my memories by insisting on more.” She scrambled to the other side of the carriage, her bosom heaving, her cheeks flushed.

His hands reached out as if to grab her, then they clenched and dropped. He turned to wrench the curtain aside and peer out.

When Katrina had swallowed her tears, she let herself look at him one last time. And for the first time she let herself think of what she was giving up in the name of morality. The feel of him, hard, warm, secure, had aroused so many urges within her. For scented sheets, a dark room, a bottle of wine; freedom, blessed freedom, from right, wrong, morality, or duty. But even more, he made her long for hearth and home, for shared travail and laughter.

This last need, its nobility made ignominious by circum
stance, bolstered her. Far better to suffer now at this parting than to grow to care for him even more, then be cast aside when he was bored. She didn’t fool herself like so many had done that she alone could be the one to capture his heart. She knew he had one, but she sensed no woman had ever touched it. She was neither foolish enough, nor brave enough, to believe she could be the first. She forced herself to turn away.

She, too, watched as the scenery slowly became familiar. When they were a street away from her employer’s house, she mumbled, “Please stop here. It’s best that they don’t see your carriage.”

He didn’t move to tap on the window, so she repeated herself, louder.

His reply was most peculiar. ‘ ‘Please, Kat. I ask you once more. Go with me. Let me show you what we can give one another.”

“I cannot. Now please, stop.”

Again no reply. His shoulders lifted in a weary sigh. Then, quietly, “Very well, my dear. On your head be it.”

She stiffened. She jerked the curtains farther back and saw that they’d already reached the respectable but plain brick house. She lunged for the door, but he tugged her back, opened the coachman’s window, and pulled a card from his pocket.

“Give this to the butler, Peter, with my regards. Tell him I’ve come to collect Miss Lawson’s things, that she’ll be staying with me for a while.”

Her eyes, widening with dawning horror, settled upon him. His features had never been more perfect, more ruthless, or more cold. He might have been masked, for he showed no hint of human kindness or remorse.

The night’s events exploded upon her. Dazed, she blinked at him, all the more afraid now that her brief reassurance had been snatched away. “No, please, I don’t deserve this,” she whispered.

“Do you not? Then I shall remember to make my gifts suitable to your sense of worth.” When she drew breath to scream, he covered her mouth with his palm. He pulled her struggling arms behind her back with his free hand and added matter-of-factly, “I needn’t explain that this will indeed be your last position. Of this sort, at any rate. After word of your new venue reaches the ton, no respectable woman will have you in her house.”

When she went limp, his eyes sharpened upon hers. “Don’t treat me to these die-away airs, my girl. You couldn’t have kept your, er, nocturnal activities secret much longer, anyway. You’ll find me more generous than Sutterfield. Just give me the passion I know you stifle. You’ll remember how much you want me, after you’ve calmed down.”

His words were a buzz in her ears. She shivered, so enervated by the repeated shocks of this night that she stayed
lim
p, fighting nausea and weakness, until the carriage bounced as her bags were put in the back. Soon they were tooling away, the yellow wheels chattering upon the cobblestones like lecturing voices chiding her for stupidity. On she went, deeper into the blackest night she’d ever known, a demon her only companion. . . .

                                                                      Chapter Two

The short drive
was an eternity. Even when Devon cautiously let her go and sat back next to her, she stayed curled in a ball in the comer. Her head lolled on her shoulders when he caught her elbows to pull her to a sitting position.

“We’ve arrived, Kat. This late no one will notice if you treat me to a scene. Please, come along quietly.” If she heard him, she gave no sign.

When the coachman opened the door, Devon jumped down without using the steps and lifted her into his arms. He drew a sigh of relief when she didn’t protest. A mobcapped maid had already opened the house door to the coachman’s knock. In a trice Devon had her up the three semicircular steps, into the small but attractive brick house trimmed with ornate black wrought-iron balconies on each of its two floors.

“Light the candles in the salon, Martha,” he ordered.

After she’d quickly obeyed, he carried Katrina into the room that was an elegant blend of blue and spring green. The sprigged silk wallpaper was complemented by flower- embroidered cushions on the indigo settees. The carpet was decked with raised daisies and gold tulips. Knickknacks sat here and there on graceful Sheraton tables. A Sheraton secretary stood opposite the marble-pilastered fireplace. After seating Katrina on the settee, Devon went to the secretary and opened its central door.

He said over his shoulder, ‘ ‘Fetch Billy to me, please, Peter. Tell him he’s to stand guard in the hall throughout the night. No one is to enter—or leave. Then you may retire here in the quarters. Martha, see that the gold room is prepared for the night, then you may go back to sleep. I’m sorry to so abruptly descend upon you.”

Martha dipped a curtsy, holding her full robe back from her slippered feet. “Yer ludship, ’tis a pleasure to see this pretty ’ouse used at last—” Those keen brown eyes cut her words off. She bobbed another hasty curtsy and fled.

Devon turned from the secretary, two quarter-full brandy snifters in his hands. He sat down next to Katrina, who remained where he’d put her. He stuck one glass under her nose. “Drink, my dear,” he said gently.

When she didn’t respond, he set his own glass down carefully on the table next to the settee. His concerned eyes grew moody. He tilted her head toward him and lifted her snifter to her lips. “Drink, else I’ll pour the whole glass down your stubborn throat.” When her teeth chattered against the rim, he set the glass down with an oath and hauled her into his arms.

He buried his face in her hair. “Kat, Kat, what am I to do with you? Here you are at last, where I’ve dreamed you’d be, and you treat me like I carry the plague.” He blew a half sigh, half groan, then he held her at arm’s length to look at her. “Come now, don’t make me such a monster. I promise not to eat you, or rape you.”

Finally her dilated eyes looked at him. “Why do you do this to me?” she whispered.

“I don’t offer you a fate worse than death.” He flung an impatient arm at the room. “Everything in this house was placed here for your pleasure. I’m ready to sign each candle
stick and brick over to you. You’re only to say the word.”

She looked vaguely about. “Pretty.”

“Don’t you know that I’m offering you security at last? You’ll never need to fetch and carry again for women not fit to lick your shoes.”

How eager he was, she thought sadly. And how wrong. In this pretty chamber the horrors of the night reshaped them
selves into dreams of what could be—if she dared to reach for them. Was she too cowardly to take the chance? Or too realistic?

Her voice was stronger when she said, “A kept woman can be certain of only one thing: that nothing is certain. I can’t subject myself to that, Devon. I’ll not be one of many, in this house or any other.”

“And what of Sutterfield? Did you grant him your favors in the back of a carriage? At least I offer you a house!” When she looked at him coolly, he snapped his teeth closed. He picked up his snifter and sipped, then rolled the glass between his palms. “You will be its last occupant, that I swear.” He set his glass down and clasped her shoulders pleadingly. “Please, Kat, let me be kind—”

The last of her apathy dissolved under the surge of anger. She lifted both her wrists and flung them outward to slap his hands away. “If your charity is dependent upon making me a whore, then be as cruel as you please.”

With a slight narrowing of his eyes he exuded the danger that had won him his niokname. Good. This man was easy to resist. She preferred him this way. Didn’t she?

“Ah, but I shan’t make you a whore. You managed that all on your own, as you yourself admitted this night. Your
outraged virtue sits ill upon you. I thought you better than a hypocrite, Kat.” When she stared grimly through him, his tone went even more silky. “But hypocrite or no, I want you.”

He forced the brandy snifter into her rigid hand and pulled it to her lips. “Now drink. Since you’ve no use for tenderness from me, then let’s have honesty, at leas
t. I warned you what would happen if you accepted another. I’ve wanted you for three years, and here you’ll stay. I’ll have you as often as I like, how I like, when I like. And you’ll enjoy every moment of it.” He lifted his glass and clinked it against hers. “To the wanton and the wastrel. I’d say we make a fine pair, wouldn’t you?” He took a leisurely sip, his eyes sharp enough to draw blood from her pale face. When she stayed frozen, the glass to her lips, he tilted the crystal and poured a hefty draft down her throat. “Drink!”

After she’d taken a large mouthful, he put both glasses down with a satisfied air. His triumph was dashed by a spray of aromatic liquor as she spat the brandy full in his face.

She fled his feral growl. He wiped his eyes off on his sleeve and was upon her before she reached the door. He caught her elbows and hauled her around to meet his blazing stare.

“By God if you’ll not sheathe your claws, then you’ll sheathe something else. There’s more than one way to tame a cat.” He caught her wrist and dragged her behind him up the stairs. When she pulled back, swatting at him with her free hand, she almost overbalanced them both. He paused in the middle of the stairs to lift her into his arms. Kick and slap though she did, he might have been carved in stone.

But when she bent to sink her teeth into his neck, he veered his head away and hoisted her over his shoulder. Though tears of humiliation came to her eyes, and fear to her heart at what was to come, rage overwhelmed all else. How dare he carry her as if she were a possession, a bag of bones and hair that he could unwrap or shelve at his whim? As for what he carried her to . . . why, if he thought to make her cringe, to submit to his undeniably powerful masculinity, then he knew less of her than he supposed.

She’d fought this fate for three long years; she’d meet it now with fortitude. And nothing else. No spark of joy, no reveling in his kisses, no longing to be made a woman. For, with his kidnapping, he’d ruined his stature in her eyes. No matter that he thought she was promiscuous; she still had a right to accept or deny him. His feet of clay had spread throughout his body until he was a lifeless, pathetic colossus who could no longer move her to awe.

And yet . . . When he entered a room and flung her on a vast four-poster bed, her heart pounded with more than dread. A glance showed her the luxury of the chamber: gold silk hangings and drapes, wine velvet settee before the fire, rosewood tables. Everything had a pristine look, as if each expensive fixture awaited her, and her alone. Yet she knew better. She bolted off the bed as if it writhed with vermin. While he shut and locked the door she retreated behind the settee and picked up the poker beside the fireplace.

When he turned, he went still. With a weary sigh he propped his fists upon his hips and shook his head. “You’ve been reading too many gothic novels, my dear. I’m no villain and
you’re no innocent. Come now, put it down              ” He took several slow steps closer as he spoke, his eyes steady upon hers.

“Stay back,” she warned, raising the poker above her head.

The slow advance continued, inexorable as the voice that replied, “No. I’ve waited for you as long as I’m going to. Bash in my head if you must, but that’s the only way you’ll stop me from claiming what’s mine.” He gave a wry shrug. “At least my blood will match the furniture.”

Oh, how could he? she fumed to herself. To claim such authority over her was bad enough, but to joke even now . . . What was she to make of such a man? He was almost to the settee. She looked at that shiny thatch of dark gold hair and knew she couldn’t bear to see it stained crimson. And those eyes. How could she resist them, the secrets shared, the promises of pleasure they gave? The poker wavered in her hands.

His voice grew husky with the same promise. “Please, come into my arms like the woman you are. You know you want to. You’ve put up a prodigious battle, and I am properly impressed by your strength of will. But we both know we were meant to be lovers. Admit it now. You’ve no more been able to forget me than I you, have you, Katrina mina?”

“Don’t call me that,” she cried, her face crumpling at the old endearment. He was but a fine actor, aping whatever emotion he thought likeliest to sway her. The fact that he thought her experienced did not excuse his blatant intent. She’d not let him pretend this was a mutual decision, nor would she let her foolish, stubborn heart make it one.
  The weaving poker steadied. “No, I’ve not been able to forget you.” His glad smile faded when she added, “But we don’t always want what’s good for us. Too much candy makes one fat and shiftless—’ ’

‘ ‘And too little sustenance makes one lean and mean. Come, sup with me at love’s banquet. Sutterfield is too selfish to give you more than scraps. But I, Katrina mina, want to share with you the ambrosia only a few are privileged to know—”

“Stop it! Pretty words can’t disguise the truth of what you want to do to me.” The hopeful light in his eyes died. He began advancing on her again. Her voice quavered, “P-please, Devon, stop. I don’t want to injure you. But I will not be your mistress. That, at least, is still my decision to make.”

He stopped, his expression almost sad. “Ah, but you’re wrong. I saved you from an hellacious night, risking my life in doing so. That alone surely deserves some reward. Shall I tell you what usually happens?” He ignored the frantic shake of her head and went on dispassionately, “They usually buy their girls from Madame Lusette’s house. The members claim most are told fully of their role, but agree because of the generous fee. Quite often they’re not even virgins, but that’s a little fiction the satyrs find . . . stimulating. I’m told none of the girls has ever been injured, but they’re quite often sore after servicing as many as twenty men—”

“That’s enough!” she cried, revolted. “Why were you there as a prospective member?”

He paled a little. “I’ve already told you I heard you would be there. I’ve no need to resort to such tactics—as you will soon discover. Lie to yourself all you wish, little hypocrite, but don’t transfer your own sins upon me.” That charming smile that never failed to move her flickered on his lips. “Lord knows. I’ve enough of my own to account for.”

“That, I heartily agree with.”

“I thought you might.” He was easing closer as he spoke. “Shall it appease you if I admit that I, as are all men, am often guided by my senses? Whereas you, as are all women, are guided by your acquisitiveness. Once you’ve become used to me, you’ll be as eager for gifts as the rest.” Yet he looked at her almost pleadingly, as if longing for her to be different.

Each thus wounded the other with thoughtless words. But Katrina was too weary, too raw, to realize that her own behavior incited his. Did he really have such a low opinion of her? ‘ ‘How little you know me. If I were truly so mercenary. I’d accept all you offer. But material things cannot compensate for spiritual gifts. You, my lord, are living proof of that. And any woman who willingly consorts with you subjugates all that is good and admirable in the feminine spirit. And I, sir, will not be degraded. By you or anyone.” Resolved blue eyes squarely met darkening brown ones. What might have been pain flashed across his face, but before she could credit it, his purr raised the hairs on the back of her neck.

“For once we’re in agreement, little cat. I won’t degrade you; you’ve done that all on your own. When you became Sutterfield’s whore, you made yourself fair game to me and all like me. You, who protested such morality, such respect for the memory of your father, sold yourself to the veriest pinchpenny when I would have given . . .” He bit back the words with apparent distaste. “Now, enough talk. Only after you’ve experienced my touch will you see how enjoyable it is. And degrading or not, you’ll revel in it.
  You’ll see.” He put one finely shaped hand on the back of the settee as if to vault over it.

But when she brought the poker down to smash that hand, she found it turned up, grasping. The poker was snatched out of her grip and flung against the wall. The blow left a long gash in the fine burl wainscoting, but neither of them noticed.

Katrina was intent on flight; Devon was intent on capture. The victor had been obvious long ere this moment, but even when he caught her in his arms, Katrina writhed, she kicked, she cursed, but her struggles only hastened her downfall. When she pushed to the right, he pulled to the left, wrenching off the jacket she still wore. He’d little time to savor the pleasure of looking at her, for she drew her leg back to kick him, and he had to haul her close, wrapping one of his own muscular thighs about her knees to keep her still. As for her flailing hands, they, too, were impotent against his greater strength. He caught her wrists and drew them behind her back.