Devil's Prize Page 8

  Devlin watched her, relieved to see colour gradually returning to her cheeks. He knew all the little tricks that women employed to attract men or convey interest. He’d been a target more times than he could count. But there was nothing of the flirt in her action. In fact she seemed so absorbed in her own thoughts he might not have been there. What was she doing? What game was this? “I don’t play games with you, Devlin.” Exasperation flared – directed at himself as much as at her. Like hell she didn’t. He tried to look away but found himself transfixed by the gleam of her skin in the fire’s glow: soft curves and secret hollows, highlights and shadows. A log settled and flames rose. The soft sound broke the spell and increased his anger.

  ‘Well?’ His tone was brutal.

  She looked up with a start. Her eyes were wide green pools, deep and mysterious. Eyes a man could drown in. ‘This important information?’ Even to his own ears he sounded unnecessarily grim. It was safer that way. ‘Are you going to tell me, or am I supposed to guess?’

  Dropping her hands to her lap she arched her spine. ‘You couldn’t, I don’t care how long you tried.’ She fiddled with the towel. ‘I went to see Roz to get some salve for my horse’s leg. She’d made a new batch after one of Davy Casvellan’s horses scraped its knees out hunting.’ Her expression brightened. ‘Apparently his brother is so pleased with the results of Roz’s salves and lotions he won’t allow anyone else to treat their horses now.’

  Branoc Casvellan and the barmaid Roz Trevaskis? That was an unlikely alliance. ‘Is there a point to all this, Tamara?’

  Her smile became a glare. ‘I’m just coming to it. I could see Roz was worried.’

  ‘With a mother and brother like hers –’

  ‘No,’ she cut him short. ‘She’s used to that. This was different. To be honest, I don’t understand why it bothered her so much. But sometimes Roz prefers to keep things to herself. I understand that.’

  So did he. If Tamara’s parents knew half of what she got up to he’d be very surprised. An image flashed across his mind of Roz disguised in her brother’s clothes, leading the heavily loaded pack animals into the rain-drenched darkness. ‘Yet she told you what was worrying her?’

  Tamara nodded. ‘We’re friends.’

  ‘What do your parents think about that?’ Before she could respond he shook his head. ‘They don’t know, do they?’

  Tamara shrugged. ‘What purpose would be served by me telling my mother something that would upset her? She would order me to stop seeing Roz. I would refuse. We’d have a row.’ She shrugged again, the subject dismissed. ‘The point is, a couple of nights ago Davy Casvellan was in the Five Mackerel. He was with a group of friends and they’d all had a lot to drink. As usual Davy was the last to leave. He was so unsteady that Roz had to help him onto his horse. That’s when he told her that he was planning to make a run to Guernsey.’ Rubbing the ends of her hair between towel-draped hands she scooped the long tresses over her shoulder so they tumbled down her back.

  Devlin leaned one elbow on the mantelpiece above the fireplace. ‘So? Some young men have too much to drink and decide to play night-crow. Why would that interest me?’

  Tamara tossed the towel onto the table. ‘Branoc Casvellan is a justice.’

  ‘What of it? I know of at least four justices who take an active part in the trade.’

  ‘Not Mr Casvellan. He’d be furious if he found out his brother was involved. They’re probably only doing it for excitement, or as a prank. But if they’re caught it will certainly embarrass their families.’

  Devlin’s dark brows climbed. ‘If Roz is a regular visitor to Casvellan’s stables why didn’t she tell him?’

  ‘I don’t know. Perhaps she has.’

  ‘Then why are you telling me?’

  Tamara smoothed her dress over her lap. ‘If you were to tell Mr Casvellan you’d heard a whisper, he’d be in your debt. Which would certainly do you no harm. My point is that if Davy has bragged to Roz then more than likely other people know as well. Which means Lt Crocker is sure to hear about it. You won’t want a party of dragoons lurking around on the cliffs night after night, will you?’

  Thinking through the implications, the potential inconvenience, he shook his head. Indeed he did not. Her delighted smile hit him with the force of a punch to the gut. For an instant he couldn’t breathe. Get her out, now, before –

  ‘Well? Are you glad I came?’

  Moving away from the fire he picked up her coat and held it open. ‘Yes. Thank you. Now you must go home before you are missed.’

  She shot to her feet unable to hide her anger and disappointment. ‘That’s it? That’s all you have to say?’

  ‘I said I’m grateful.’ He shook the coat impatiently.

  ‘No you didn’t.’

  ‘What am I supposed to do?’ he snarled. ‘Fall at your feet?’

  Confused, she gazed at him. ‘Why are you so angry?’

  ‘For God’s sake, Tamara. Just go, will you?’

  ‘Why?’ Ignoring her coat she folded her arms. She knew it looked belligerent but she couldn’t help that. The pressure helped ease the grinding tension in her stomach. ‘Why must I go?’

  ‘Don’t ask stupid questions. If anyone saw you come in –’

  ‘But they didn’t. Listen.’ She turned her head towards the window. Rain spattered against the glass like hurled gravel while below waves thundered and crashed against the quay. ‘No one will be out in this. It’s bucketing down. Let me stay a little while longer. Just until it eases off.’ Nerves fluttered beneath her ribs. It was like standing on the edge of a cliff unable to see the bottom. If her plea had surprised him it had certainly startled her. She hadn’t known she was going to ask until she heard herself uttering the words. But destiny had brought her here. If Davy hadn’t boasted to Roz, and Roz hadn’t confided her anxiety, she wouldn’t have come. She’d have had no reason, no excuse. But she was here, alone with Devlin, the only man she had ever wanted.

  He swore softly, viciously.

  ‘Please don’t.’

  Frustration drove one hand through his hair then he rubbed the back of his neck where tension had knotted the muscles and a vicious ache was beginning to stir. ‘You’d make an angel curse.’

  ‘I didn’t – that wasn’t –’ She sucked a breath then blurted, ‘I meant don’t turn away from me.’

  He should bundle her into her coat, push her outside and shut the door. So she’d get soaked again. Whose fault was that? He hadn’t invited her. Yes, what she had told him was useful. But she could have written him a note, or spoken to him in the village. She certainly hadn’t needed to come here in the dark like – like a lightskirt, a whore.

  All right, so he wanted her. But he had obeyed the rules, kept her at arm’s length. All right, he admitted he enjoyed their wordplay, even looked forward to it. She teased: he mocked. She flirted: he slapped her down. But tonight, coming here, she had changed everything. The churning in his gut was a turbulent blend of fury and a hunger that had nothing to do the day’s hard work. Didn’t play games? In a pig’s eye she didn’t. Time she was taught a lesson. He threw her coat aside.

  ‘You really want to stay here with me?’

  Her eyes darkened and he saw her throat work as she swallowed. But her gaze remained steady on his. ‘Yes.’

  She was daring him, another challenge. But this time he wouldn’t back off.

  His eyes were dark and hard as agate. She sensed a battle raging in him, knew he was testing her. He expected her to back down. But she wasn’t a child and it was time he realised that. She stood absolutely still, partly from an instinctive sense that the next move must be his, and partly from fear that he might turn away again.

  When he opened the door to her his features had been slack with exhaustion. Now they were taut, ruthless, his brows drawn together. His gaze roamed her face with intense concentration, lingering on her mouth. Then he looked up, his eyes meeting hers.

  He held out his hand, hating that
he wanted her to stay, that he wanted her. Time seemed to stop. Would she shake her head and mumble some excuse? Best if she did. Best if she left now, before – then she reached out. Her fingers were cold and trembled as they curled around his.

  Uncertainty flashed across his face, briefly softening the harsh planes. She felt a rush of triumph instantly swamped by a wave of tenderness so powerful her heart skipped a beat. He wasn’t mocking her now. Had he finally realised how much he meant to her?

  He glanced at their joined hands. He had meant it when he told her to go, had given her every chance to leave. She was taking it right to the edge. So be it.

  ‘All right then.’ He drew her towards him. ‘Stay.’

  She could smell the musky scent of his skin, feel the heat radiating from his body. She knew she had taken a risk coming here. But her courage had paid off. Never before had he looked at her the way he did now. A maelstrom of emotions swirled inside her: curiosity, anticipation, and a quivery sensation that wasn’t exactly fear. Yes, she was nervous. But she had no reason to be afraid. This was Devlin and she loved him.

  He was the most self-sufficient man she knew. But even he needed to escape sometimes from demands and the dangers of his world. She would give him that. She would give him all she had, all she was, all she could be.

  Drawing her closer he ran his fingertips lightly down her cheek. Unwilling to shatter the moment with words that could not begin to express the tumult inside her she turned her head and pressed her lips to his callused palm.

  His in-drawn breath hissed softly. Cupping her face between his hands, still fighting but knowing the battle was already lost, he lowered his head.

  As his mouth brushed hers her eyelids fluttered closed. Her head swam. Afraid she would fall she gripped his shirt. She had not known what to expect from a man renowned for both bravery and brutality. His lips were warm, their caress as light as a falling petal. But she sensed an explosive tension in him. His mouth moved over her face, along her jaw and down the side of her throat, sensitising every nerve. Her pulse galloped and thundered as once again his lips covered hers and his tongue parted them.

  His stomach tightened. The warning that clamoured in his brain was lost beneath driving need. Never in his life had he craved anything as much as he craved her. The strength of his desire, the deep ache for far more than physical release, terrified him. He clung to control by his fingernails. Control was everything. He’d learned young and learned well. Control meant being the man giving orders not taking them. It meant protecting himself by not allowing anyone to get too close. It meant holding something in reserve and never revealing his deepest feelings. Those were the basic rules of survival. Ignoring them might reveal a weakness, an advantage others could and surely would exploit. Ignoring them was foolish and dangerous.

  Needing to touch, Tamara slid her hands up beneath the loose shirt. His skin was damp, burning, slick and smooth, and the hard muscles bunched and quivered beneath her fingers. Caught like a leaf in the storm he had unleashed within her she clung to him as her legs trembled and her bones melted.

  Control snapped and he plunged. His fingers curled in her hair, pulling her head back as he crushed her against him. His lips locked on hers, not gentle now but hard and hot and demanding.

  His hungry mouth stifled her gasp as he pulled her down onto the tumbled bed, his fingers at her bodice. She felt cool air on her skin, then his lips, his tongue. His hand skimmed over her body as if learning every curve and hollow and her flesh leapt to his touch. She quivered, instinctively arching towards him in passionate yearning.

  Beyond thought or reason, conscious only of need, she pushed his shirt open and pressed her mouth to his throat, his shoulder. She licked, tasting heat and salt, held him close, wanted him closer. She felt his hand on her thigh, and her body rose to his. ‘Oh yes, oh please.’

  His grip tightened and a tremor rippled through him as his mouth ravished hers. He lifted her, his breath hot and quick against her face. She gasped at the sharp pain.

  He froze, shock tearing a harsh sound from his throat. But she pressed against him, seeking his mouth and he lost himself in the taste and scent of her, the velvet softness.

  He began to move, a slow rhythm that turned warmth to heat, that swept her up and carried her with him and she knew she would die if he stopped. Inside her something spiralled, lifting her ever higher. Her breath caught in tiny gasps as the coil tightened. A strange tingling began in her toes and blossomed into a silent explosion that broke and wrecked her. As she cried out his arms tightened and she clung to him while his body bucked and shuddered.

  She gloried in his weight, the sensation of his skin against hers, his ragged breath warm on her neck. This then was the joining of man and woman? This was what the marriage service meant? She had dreamed of him. He was always in her thoughts when she walked the cliffs and rode over the moors. But this was beyond anything she had imagined. Now she was his, body and soul.

  But suddenly, abruptly, he rolled away. Bereft, she smothered a cry and reached out, seeking reassurance, an anchor while the storm quieted and she came back to herself.

  Lithe as a cat, he rose to his feet and with his back to her, cursed with intense and bitter fluency as he buttoned his trousers. He hadn’t known. How could he have known? Any girl as bold as she was, who teased and flirted like she did, knew what she was doing, knew what she wanted. So he had obliged.

  But he had been wrong about her, totally wrong. She had come here a virgin, untouched. Shy yet ardent, naïve yet passionately responsive, she had given as he took, taking when he gave. She had reached him in ways he had not expected and did not know how to deal with.

  It was impossible to undo what had been done, to return to ‘before’. Impossible because this had been different. He had lost himself in her. That frightened him far more than any revenue cutter. Never again. He did not want – could not afford – distractions. A woman should know her place and stay there. Tamara Gillis obeyed no rules but her own. He wanted her gone. Out of his home and out of his thoughts.

  Sensing something wrong, Tamara sat upright and drew her skirts down. Her throat was parched and her mouth felt swollen. There were other aches too but they were her secret pride, her proof of womanhood.

  He swung round, one brow arched. ‘‘I don’t play games with you,’’ he mimicked then his mouth curled. ‘You tricked me.’

  Shock blanked her face. ‘What?’

  He might as well have slapped her. He’d known she was intelligent and saw the instant she realised what he meant. What he hadn’t expected, and what deepened his guilt and his anger, was the terrible hurt that widened her eyes.

  ‘You thought – you believed that I – with someone else?’ Her expression reflected her horror and disbelief. ‘How could you even think that I would ever …’ Her mouth quivered and she bit hard on her lower lip as she fought for control. Her breath caught as she lifted her chin. ‘Well, now you know differently.’

  ‘Why?’ It burst out against his will. It didn’t matter why. He gestured abruptly, dismissing the question. He didn’t want to know.

  She sighed, bewildered and impatient. Why ask a question to which he already knew the answer? Why else would she have come? Why else would she have stayed?

  ‘You know why. I love you.’

  Stunned, he stared at her. Love? He’d never known it, didn’t trust it. He shook his head. ‘No, you don’t. You might think you do. But it’s just –’ he waved an arm in frustration, ‘girl dreams. You don’t know me. No one knows me.’ He jammed his fists into his pockets, wanting to kick something, or pound someone to a pulp. She didn’t know what she was saying. How could she love him?

  Scrambling to her feet Tamara buttoned her bodice with violently trembling fingers. What had she done? She had been so sure he would understand. How could she have been so wrong?

  Tidying herself as best she could, she reached for her coat. ‘Don’t presume to tell me what I feel, Devlin. If you don’t wan
t me, that’s your loss.’ She paused to swallow the agonising lump in her throat. She had made a terrible mistake. She felt sick and shaky and needed to get home. But she would pull out her own fingernails sooner than let him know how deeply his words had cut. Pride was a flimsy veil but it was all she had.

  He looked away, keeping his distance as she struggled into her sodden coat. Loathing himself, and furious with her, he wished she would hurry up and go.

  Shock and the cold weight of her coat made her teeth chatter. But she steadied her voice by sheer force of will. ‘You’re right. I don’t know you. I thought I did. I believed you were different. I was sure you understood things that other men can’t or won’t. But I was wrong. You’re blind. And you’re a coward.’

  The scorn in her voice stung like a whiplash. His head jerked up. ‘That’s ridiculous,’ he snapped. ‘I face death every time I go to sea.’

  She fastened her coat and picked up her umbrella. ‘Yes, perhaps you do. But so does your crew. So do the miners who work underground. So does every woman who bears a child. People face death every day. But to embrace life, to share your heart and soul as well as your body,’ she opened the door to the relentless rain. ‘That takes courage.’ She stepped out into darkness. ‘And you don’t have enough.’

  Chapter Seven

  Jenefer woke with a start. There was a time, before the accident, when she had slept deeply, rarely waking until morning. But now, always aware that Betsy might need her, she could never relax completely and her sleep was light and fitful.

  She lay in the darkness listening to the wind outside and the waves crashing on the rocks as she waited for a repeat of whatever had disturbed her sleep. A few months ago she would have jumped out of bed immediately. But it had been warmer then, and the nights lighter. Nor had she been so desperately tired.

  Was that a door creaking? Please don’t let it be her father up again. After settling her sister for the night Jenefer had emerged from Betsy’s room and heard muffled voices in the hall below. Looking over the banister she had seen Treeve, who was certainly not sober, with a supporting arm around her father who was so drunk he could barely walk.