The Courtesan (57 page)

“Where’s m’Scourge? Why izz’in he here yet? Don’t think ’es comin’.”

“Oh, no, milady, I am sure he has only been delayed.”

“No.” Cass managed to sit up straighter, shaking her head slowly from side to side as though it had become too heavy for her. “Man’s not comin’. Be—betrayed me. Gabbyelle did too. Shouldna done that. I’m a wish—a witch, y’know. Warned her what would happen if she didn’t be good frien’ and share. Now her captain . . . goin’ to pay.”

Wolf’s heart constricted with alarm as Cass groped for the medallion dangling around her neck. He caught hold of her wrist and thrust the glass of brandy into her hand instead.

“Here. Have another drink and forget about Captain Remy. If the man fails to show, he’s completely unworthy. Neglecting a lovely lady like you. The cad.”

Cass’s mouth twisted as though vacillating between revenge and the drink in her hand. The brandy won out. She took a sip and said, “You—you think me lovey?”

“Undoubtedly. You are as beautiful as—as a summer night lit bright with stars.”

“It’s rainin’,” Cass said morosely.

“Never where you are.” Wolf settled himself beside her on the bed. He was grateful for the fact that her strange perfume was no longer as strong as it had been earlier. He was able to keep his head clear, his gaze focused on the medallion, dangling so tantalizingly near. He forced himself to bide his time.

Boldly stealing one arm around her waist, he urged her to drink up, saying, “Other men would line up in the streets just for the privilege of kissing the hem of your gown. You shouldn’t give this captain another thought.”

Cass downed the rest of the brandy in a great gulp. “Thash right. F—the bastard. Oh, I forgot. Thash what I wanted to do.”

She erupted into another peal of laughter in which Wolf forced himself to join her. His gaze locked on the amulet. His fingers twitched. With one of those abrupt shifts of mood Wolf had found not uncommon in drunks, Cass stopped laughing, her eyes filling with tears. “Didn’t want to f—him. Needed to. To have m’babe. M’little girl.”

Wolf started to pat her hand, only to stay the gesture. Gabrielle had warned him.

“Take great care. Don’t let her touch your palm. Cass can read hands like other wise women read eyes. She’ll draw out all your secrets, all your thoughts.”

Wolf caressed her sleeve instead. “The captain is not the only man in the world. You are a young woman. You have plenty of time to find someone to father your child.”

“No.” Cass sniffed. “Runnin’ out of time. Has to be tonight.”

Wolf scarcely heard her. Heart beating with trepidation, he carefully crooked his fingers around the chain suspending the medallion. One good yank, that’s all it would take. Cass was drunk, but not that drunk. She must have felt the tug on the chain, for her hand lashed upward, colliding with his. She curled her thin fingers around his wrist like a manacle snapping closed. Moments before her features had appeared slack with drink, but now an odd sharp look crossed her face.

“What ’bout you?”

“What about me?” Wolf said, carefully trying to disengage himself.

“What’re you like? Young? Vir-virile?”

The witch groped until her hand struck up against his chest, patting him down, pawing at him. When Wolf realized the direction her thoughts were taking, the hairs prickled along the back of his neck.

“Are you fer-ferocious? Ruthlesh? Handshome? You said somethin’ before about being tough, sinewy?”

Wolf gulped, edging away from her. “I have a tendency to boast far too much.”

Cass scooted after him, her fingers fumbling over the region of his stomach. “You feel hard ’nough to me to—to father a fierce babe.”

“I’m more of a lone wolf. I’m not really the fatherly sort.”

“Who cares ’bout that? As long as you’re the f—ing sort.”

Before he could stop her, her hand caught him between his legs. Wolf emitted a gasp, wondering if this witch was as good at reading bollocks as she was with palms. Not that there was any great mystery there. His shaft stirred in inevitable response.

Wolf shoved her hand away and leaped up from the bed. “Milady, the—the bottle is empty. I should go fetch you more brandy.”

“Don’t need more. Had ’nough.” With a low groan, she flopped back on the bed. Rolling over, she crept up toward her pillow.

Please let her pass out now, Wolf prayed fervently, so I can take the damned amulet and get the devil out of here. Cass lolled on her back, her knees bent, her legs flopping apart in wanton fashion. “C’mere,” she said, patting the mattress beside her.

Wolf would have sooner dived out the window, but he was afraid if he did not comply, her muddled thoughts would revert to Remy and to seeking revenge. Courage, Wolf, he admonished himself. It wasn’t as though the woman could pounce and ravish him. Witch or no witch, she was drunk on her tail and a thin slip of a creature to boot. Grimacing, he settled himself beside her on the bed, keeping his own knees locked together lest her fingers come a-roving again.

Cass had something clutched in her hand, but it wasn’t the amulet. It was a small vial of some sort she had retrieved from beneath the pillow. When she uncorked it, the heady essence of that perfume of hers leaked out like a genie escaping from a bottle.

The potent scent assaulted his nostrils. He got a good whiff before he could help himself, the perfume fogging his brain. Cass spattered droplets over her neck, practically bathing in the stuff. She even rubbed some over her lips. With a sensuous sigh, she splashed the rest into the valley between her breasts, working her fingers beneath the bodice of her gown. Wolf watched the rhythmic stroking as if mesmerized.

Beautiful breasts they must be, creamy with pert, thrusting nipples. A savage hunger coursed through Wolf. To tear her gown away, have himself a really good look and—and what the blazes was he thinking? He had started to raise himself up over her, only to recoil. It was that cursed perfume of hers. There was something damn strange about it, a siren’s brew, wreaking havoc with his head. No, worse still. With other parts of his anatomy.

He tried to hold his breath, to focus on the medallion. Not on those round ripe breasts, not on Cass’s parted moist red lips. She tossed the empty perfume vial to the floor, saying huskily, “Are you there, m’ lone wolf? Are you ready?”

She felt for him, her hand coming to rest on his thigh. She was so pale, this witch, her touch should be like ice. But he could feel her fingers through the fabric of his breeches and they were hot, throbbing. Or was that the blood that rushed through his veins, causing his shaft to lengthen, harden to a degree that was painful?

Wolf’s breathing quickened. Lured on by those teasing fingers, by her perfume, he braced himself above her again. Sweet Jesu. She was seducing him, this witch, his body aroused to an unbearable degree. Some dim corner of his mind struggled to resist.

No, remember what you are here for. The medallion. Think of ice-cold showers of rain, think of nuns. Think . . . think of the captain. Think of Miri.

But the last admonishment proved a grave mistake. Cass’s features blurred before his eyes and suddenly it was Miri he saw sprawled beneath him, her moon-gold hair fanned across the pillow, her silvery eyes beckoning him like fairy lights. Wolf dipped down, feverishly pressing his mouth to hers. As soon as their lips touched, Miri’s image vanished and he realized it was the witch he was kissing, her tongue snaking into his mouth. But he didn’t give a damn. The honeyed poison of her lips destroyed what remained of his reason, leaving nothing but a raw, animal need.

With a fierce growl, he fell upon her, ripping away the bodice of her gown . . .

Gabrielle lay perfectly still so as not to disturb the man slumbering at her side. His skin still damp from the heated passion of their lovemaking, Remy slept with one arm draped possessively across her waist, a deep, untroubled sleep that Gabrielle envied him.

Exhausted as she was, she dared not give way to it. Her eyes felt strained from struggling to remain awake, keeping vigil over Remy, doing the only thing she could to protect him. She cupped her fingers around the medallion like a shield, praying that if Cass did do her worst, the charm’s evil power would somehow be absorbed by her, not Remy.

The storm had ceased, even the rain, but Gabrielle found the silence even more oppressive. What time was it? She could not make out the hands of the clock perched atop the mantel without drawing away from Remy. But it surely had to be past midnight. If anything was going to happen, it must have done so by now. Wolf must have succeeded.

Gabrielle’s grasp tightened on the amulet. Surely she could remove the hateful thing from around Remy’s neck, but she hesitated, still not daring to take the risk. She had agreed to wait for Wolf’s return. But why wasn’t he back? He certainly should have been if all had gone well, if nothing had happened to him. Fear caused her to jump at the sound of a soft rap at her bedchamber door.

It was more of a light scratching, followed by a fierce whisper. “Mademoiselle?”

Gabrielle’s heart gave such a mighty leap, it was almost painful. Remy stirred in his sleep as she drew away from him. She eased herself out of his embrace and off the bed. Remy frowned, muttered something, then sank back deep into his pillow. Gabrielle scrambled into her dressing gown and padded to the door, cracking it cautiously open. Wolf waited, his features shadowed by the wild mane of his dark hair.

He said nothing, merely held up Cass’s medallion, dangling from the chain between his fingers. Gabrielle pressed her hand to her mouth to smother a sob of relief. Her first impulse was to snatch the cursed charm from Wolf, but the full nature of the thing’s evil power was unknown to her. She took hold of it gingerly.

She whispered, “Oh, Martin, you—you did it. You are wonderful.”

“Oui, mademoiselle,” he replied.

She expected a flash of his insouciant grin, his usual swagger, but he appeared strangely subdued. Fearful of waking Remy, Gabrielle slipped out into the hall.

“Then all went smoothly? Cass? Is she—”

“Passed out cold, milady. It will likely be some time before she rouses herself tomorrow and realizes that the amulet is gone.”

“And she never suspected? She had no idea who you were?”

“No,” he rasped.

Gabrielle leaned back against the door, weak with relief. No doubt there would be the devil to pay when Cass awoke from her drunken stupor and discovered how she had been tricked. But if she had no idea who Martin was, she could hardly seek to wreak vengeance upon him. She no longer had any weapon to use against Remy or Gabrielle. By the time she recovered herself to plot new malice, all of them would be long gone.

The danger was over. Gabrielle’s eyes blurred with grateful tears.

“Oh, Martin, how can I ever thank you? I owe everything to you.” She took an impulsive step toward him, wanting to envelop him in a fierce hug.

“No, mademoiselle.” Wolf warded her off, retreating deeper into the shadows. “No—no thanks are necessary. You should return to the captain, get rid of both those cursed charms. I must go to bed. I—I am very tired.”

“Of course. It has been a long night for both of us.” Gabrielle summoned up a tremulous smile. As eager as she was to pour out her gratitude, she longed to return to Remy. She would not feel truly safe until she had divested him of that evil charm. As she slipped back through her bedchamber door, she said, “We will talk more tomorrow and then you must tell me everything that happened.”

Wolf merely gave a weary nod. Before Gabrielle disappeared back into her bedchamber, he thought he heard her whisper, “Bless you.”

Was it possible? he wondered dully. To bless a man who was damned. Gabrielle and he would likely have their talk tomorrow, but he would never tell her all that had happened. There were some secrets about this night Wolf intended to carry to his grave.

He stumbled back down the stairs, making his way out of the vast silent house through a side door that led into the gardens. Since the captain had taken to sharing his lady’s bed, Wolf had quartered himself with the groom above the stables.

He trudged without seeing along a path thick with mud, brushing up against leaves still damp with rain. The sky above had cleared, clouds lifting like a veil from the beautiful face of the night, the moon full and bright. But Wolf shivered, shrinking from its light. He rubbed his shoulder, his skin throbbing where the witch had bitten him in the heat of her passion, his back raw with the lacerations from her nails.

Far worse was the smell of her, the fleshy aroma of her skin, the stale sickly odor of her perfume. No matter how many times he bathed, he feared he’d never be rid of the stench of her. That perfume that had enticed him to madness now only filled him with an urge to be sick. His stomach heaved and he sank to his knees, retching into the bushes. The spasms went on and on until he was so spent, all he wanted to do was curl up and die, right there on the muddy path.

He scrubbed his hand across his lips. He could still taste the witch as well. It was enough to sicken him all over again. He took a deep gulp, managing to control himself this time. Wolf tried to rise to his feet, but didn’t have the strength to do so.