Alchemy

ALCHEMY

“My father won’t want me back,” Yvette whispered in a voice husky with tears. “If he does, it will be to sell me to the highest bidder. If I am ruined by your hands, I will be left alone. I would prefer that to being owned by one of his ilk.” “You would sell yourself to me instead?” Valentine couldn’t begin to decipher why he felt anger, and it further disconcerted him when she shook her head and gathered his hands in hers. “I would give myself to you, Valentine.” “Why?” “Because you make me want you as I’ve never wanted any man. Your touch is like nothing I’ve ever known.” “You’re a fool, girl!” “Do you not want me?” “Do not toy with me, Yvette.” His bewilderment turned to surprise when she rose and slowly removed her clothing. When she stood before him, naked in the glow of the firelight, he thought he’d go quietly mad if he didn’t possess her…

ALSO BY DENYSE M. BRIDGER 1-900-SURPRISE! Alchemy Any Other Way Blood Wine And Pale Roses Bound The Darkest Place Dayne Destiny Met Dream Sequence Heart Of Stone The Hunt Masquerade Mavericks Mirage Out Of Hell Perdition The Phantom’s Lair Rogues A Safer Haven Silent Death Sky-Hawke Storm-Singer The Taste Of Seduction An Unspoken Betrayal Western Knights Whom Gods Have Favored Winner Take All A World In Darkness

ALCHEMY BY DENYSE M. BRIDGER

AMBER QUILL PRESS, LLC http://www.amberquill.com

ALCHEMY AN AMBER QUILL PRESS BOOK This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, or have been used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental. Amber Quill Press, LLC http://www.amberquill.com All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be transmitted or reproduced in any form, or by any means, without permission in writing from the publisher, with the exception of brief excerpts used for the purposes of review. Copyright © 2005 by Denyse M. Bridger ISBN 1-59279-374-6 Cover Art © 2005 Trace Edward Zaber

Layout and Formatting provided by: ElementalAlchemy.com

PUBLISHED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

ALCHEMY

PROLOGUE

Autumn 1995 She stirred restlessly in the bed and sighed, acutely aware of his deep sleep. She rolled onto her side, propped her head on her hand, and gazed at him. The smile that warmed her heart was natural, without conscious consideration. With a slender hand, she pushed back the sheets that covered him. Her fingers skimmed over his smoothly contoured chest, ran the length of one curving arm to end with her hand grasping his. She raised the long-fingered, elegant limb to her lips and kissed the back of his hand, then the heavy ring that adorned it. “I love you, mon cher.” She knew he was beyond hearing the words, but some inner bond quivered in response, and she leaned over him to place a tender kiss on his temple. It had been days since he’d slept properly, and she was reluctant to 1

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wake him. Still, she wanted him with a fierce, exceedingly uncomfortable hunger. Her gaze caressed his fair, silver-enhanced hair. His eyes, closed now, filled her memory with the color of summer seas. And the sensuous curve of his mouth woke a painfully intense pang of pure, raw craving for his touch. With a low groan, she forced herself to leave the bed, then their bedroom. She idly wandered the estate’s hallways, marveling anew at the absolute silence dominating the house during the daylight hours. It seemed so filled with life when he was awake—and so vast and empty when he was not. She drifted down the stairs and entered the library, one of her favorite rooms in the sprawling mansion. At the fireplace, she prodded the dying remains of the fire back into glowing life. Once the sound of burning wood crackled in the background, she climbed to her feet and saw the book she’d been reading the previous evening where she’d left it. Shrugging, she picked up the novel. He laughed every time he saw her with one of these lurid and fanciful books. She had always adored romances, of all kinds, and her fondness for their sweet escapism hadn’t diminished in the face of her own romantic fantasy come to life in his arms. True, she didn’t indulge herself in their whimsical, flufffilled pages nearly as often as she once had, but it was difficult to lose oneself in fiction when the reality one lived had become the embodiment of dark desires and genuine romance. She ran her fingers across the cover, and giggled softly at the title— The Pirate and His Lady by Margaret St. George, one of her favorite authors in the genre. With a smile still adorning her lips, she tossed back heavy waves of copper-hued hair, curled deep into her chair near the fire, and opened the book…

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ALCHEMY

CHAPTER 1

The sound of the house’s entrance being forced open had Yvette Bradford on her feet in the space of a heartbeat. The book dropped from her lap, and she shook her head to free her mind of the cobwebs of her interrupted slumbering. Instinctively, she glanced around, as if searching for something she couldn’t quite perceive. Had she been alone in the house? The library door crashed inward. She automatically backed away from the imposing man framed in the doorway. Sunlight surrounded him in a halo of golden radiance. She couldn’t clearly see his face, but something in his stance made her quake. When he came toward her, she backed up another step and heard the distant sounds of many feet running throughout the large house. “Leave here at once!” Her command lacked the authority she had wanted to put into the words. 3

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As he neared her, he laughed at her attempt at bravado. “You’re daring enough.” His voice was lightly accented, subtly resonant, and her breath deserted her at its sound. He caught her by the arm and yanked her closer. “And more beautiful than the tales I’ve heard about you,” he concluded thoughtfully. He released her with exaggerated care, yet continued to study her. “What do you want?” “I merely want your company, Mistress,” he taunted. The pounding of her heart grew more erratic as she allowed herself to truly look at him. Though puzzled and frightened, she felt she should know him somehow, while a part of her insisted that, had she ever before encountered a man such as this one, she would have never forgotten him. His hair was rather short—an oddity, since present fashion dictated long hair—and the color of sun-kissed sand, threaded with pale moonbeams. Large sapphire eyes dominated his face. Those shrewd gems, vivid and deep as the Caribbean Seas that ringed her island home, accepted her appraisal with a boldness both terrifying and exhilarating. His face was a study in defined contours, accentuated by high cheekbones and elegant brows, while his mouth, curved in a mocking smile, was sensual and inviting. She didn’t dare let her eyes stray further. His entire presence engulfed her, held her captive without a single gesture. She backed away, almost tripping on the flowing skirt of her dress. This, too, felt wrong, although she couldn’t say why. She dragged in a ragged breath, and only then did she feel the choking restriction of a tight corset and form-fitting silk. Again, she permitted herself the luxury of examining the man, whose impatience created a scowl on his stunning features. 4

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He stood well over six feet tall, slender, but smoothly muscled. Power and control emanated from him, like a man accustomed to being obeyed, perhaps feared. He wore a loose white shirt, the linen pouring in casual folds over his chest and the sleeves billowing before being gathered at his wrists to end in a froth of heavy ivory lace. A wide leather belt wrapped around his waist, and tight black trousers encased lean thighs. From his left hip hung a gleaming silver rapier, the hilt smooth and simple, unadorned by jewels and the ornate work many nobles preferred. Polished, knee-high boots, the color of jet, hugged his calves. He was impossibly handsome, and she quivered with awareness of that knowledge. “Who are you?” Her question came out as a squeak, and she swallowed hard and met his gaze again. The chill of his beautiful ice-blue eyes reached inside her and awakened terror in her veins. “Captain Valentine LeRoux…at your service.” He made the polite statement sound like an insult as he bowed low, hand over his heart. “Ah, I see you know of me,” he noted with obvious satisfaction. “I wasn’t certain you would.” “My father isn’t here,” she said, easing away another few steps. LeRoux crossed the space separating them and scooped her into his arms. She started to squirm, and he laughed at her in sincere amusement. “’Tis good to see your father’s cowardice hasn’t ruined your spirit, pet.” “He’ll kill you for this!” “To do that he’ll have to find me, Yvette,” LeRoux answered with a huge grin. “’Til then, you may learn to enjoy my company.” “Never!” She slapped him across the face. He lifted her and whisked her out the door, ignoring her protests. “You’ll have your hands full with that one, Captain,” one of his men commented as they left the house. 5

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LeRoux’s mouth tightened into a hard line. When he set her on her feet, he shook her. “Be careful what you say and do in future, girl.” His threat silenced the angry retort Yvette wanted to make. He shoved her toward the path to the shore, in the direction his men had taken. She defied him for only a moment, then did as he wanted. *

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They made the journey to his ship in stony silence. Once in the small shuttle, Yvette refused to look at him, her eyes mainly focusing on the sprawling plantation house that grew ever smaller as they rowed toward the sleek cutter, The Wraith, bobbing in the sheltered harbor. Her father had chosen this island as a retreat, a fortress of sorts. Somehow, Valentine LeRoux had known precisely when the Bradford Harbor would be unguarded. “After you, pet.” His whisper near her ear almost made her cry out. He had moved to her side, and she hadn’t noticed. As before, his voice flowed into her veins and woke fire inside her. She tried to feign indifference to him, but her cheeks burned when he laughed, the sound a rumbling caress of seductive warmth. “If you insist on speaking to me, Captain LeRoux, please address me properly. I am not your pet!” His teeth flashed in a roguish smile, and one eyebrow rose to emphasize the humor her words evoked. “Not yet, Yvette. But you might not find it unpleasant if you were.” “Don’t flatter yourself, sir.” Once they came abreast of The Wraith, Yvette jerked away from LeRoux’s touch when he started to help her from the shuttle. Her abrupt action almost toppled her into the water. He growled in annoyance, then scooped her into his arms again, unceremoniously handing her up to a young sailor on the cutter’s deck. The man chuckled. “Your idea of treasure is improving, Captain.” 6

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Valentine boarded the vessel and shared in the laughter, then clutched Yvette’s arm and shouted orders to the scurrying deck hands. Within minutes, the cutter raised anchor and started to set sail. “This is Andre,” LeRoux eventually said. “My first mate.” Yvette glared at the golden-haired man, who smiled all the wider for her silent insult. “She’s got spirit, too, Captain. A real prize.” “I wish you wouldn’t discuss me as though I were not present,” she snapped. Andre grinned, then hurried off to his duties. “Would you like to go below?” “I would like for you to go to hell, Captain LeRoux!” “A distinct possibility, Mademoiselle Bradford. But not until I’ve concluded my business with your father.” “What business could you have with my father?” The laughter died in LeRoux’s eyes, the sparkling blue turning dull and cold. Yvette shivered with renewed fright. “That’s between us, pet, and you’d do well to remember it.” “Perhaps I should be taking note of all the things I am to commit to memory in your presence, Captain?” He appeared genuinely startled by her venomous tone, then burst into laughter. “I shall have to watch my back around you, I believe.” Yvette smirked, but accepted his arm as he led her below deck. *

*

*

“This is your cabin, is it not?” He nodded. “And where do you intend to sleep, Captain?” “Here, of course.” Yvette’s eyes narrowed. She faced him, hands on hips, scowling. “Then I shall find someplace else.” LeRoux shook his head. “I would advise against that, pet,” he said, 7

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the edge of steel coming into his voice. “My men are rarely in the company of a woman of your beauty.” When the man’s lazy, insolent gaze dropped suggestively to the swell of her breasts, she blushed, realizing how her low-cut bodice revealed an enticing amount of creamy skin. She experienced the same weakness that had assailed her the first time she’d heard his alluring voice. Beneath the rich silk of her dress, her nipples hardened to aching points, and she quivered with the illicit thrill of wanting him to touch her. Untrusting of her ability to speak, she turned around, her hands curling into fists as she fought the assault of too many unfamiliar sensations. She was confused and frightened, she repeatedly told herself, and it was making her foolish. Tears sprang to her eyes, and she bit her bottom lip to stifle the gasp that wanted to mutate into a sob of despair. “Rest a while, Yvette,” LeRoux suggested, his tone gentle. She made no reply. The feel of his hands on her shoulders startled her, and she whirled around to face him. She looked up at him, and the tears spilled over her cheeks as she drowned in the fathomless ocean of his eyes. He clutched her shoulders again, and his touch seared her. His thumbs stroked the sides of her neck, making her shudder. Her lips parted unconsciously, and she placed her hands against his chest, fighting for balance in a world suddenly spinning beyond her control. “Damn you, girl! Don’t look at me that way!” LeRoux pushed her away, then turned his back to her. Disoriented and mildly baffled by the harshness of his tone and his actions, Yvette stared at him in complete amazement. “Why have you taken me prisoner, Captain?” He faced her and smiled, but his expression lacked warmth. “Your father owes me a great deal, my pet, and I intend to collect the debt. In full. You are my hostage.” 8

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She laughed bitterly. “We have no money, so I think you will discover I am of little worth to you.” “Hardly. I now possess the one item of value to which your father clings, my dear.”

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CHAPTER 2

Captain Valentine LeRoux fully enjoyed the rare beauty this woman presented. She was of medium height, and her hair fell in masses of copper and auburn flames, surrounding her in a shawl spun of silken threads. Her huge, wide-set eyes brought to mind the storm clouds that occasionally darkened the summer skies over the vast blue seas. Her mouth was full and soft, and the lines of her face delicate and feminine. Valentine imagined her body, now buried under the layers of silk, to be lithe and softly curved, a body meant for passion and erotic pleasures. Yes, Yvette Bradford could make a man forget things—even honor and sworn allegiances. Her father, Charles Bradford, had taken a wealthy and titled woman as his wife, then promptly squandered her money on whores, bad investments, and gambling. When the unfortunate Yvette Dupré had killed herself to escape his abuse and humiliations, Bradford had grown even more foolish with what remained of her wealth. Charles’s father10

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in-law, a high-ranking French noble, wanted him punished for his crimes, and Valentine LeRoux was to be the instrument of that justice. The Comte did not know, however, that Valentine had his own agenda in dealing with Bradford. Nevertheless, the girl, named after her mother, was supposed to be given over to her grandfather’s care. The Comte had made it exceedingly clear to Valentine that he intended to marry the girl to an old friend, thus repairing the perceived considerable damages done to his reputation and standing when his own daughter had defied him and run off with Charles Bradford. Now, gazing at the fiery redhead standing before him, Valentine felt his first real pang of distaste for his commission. He walked a few steps away, placing a safe distance between them. “Of value to my father? He barely knows I exist,” she finally answered, her eyes filled with glistening tears. She wiped wet streaks from her cheeks. “Therefore, I can be of no value to you.” Valentine shook his head, attempting to force his mind away from the unwelcome and unexpected impulse to hold her, to reassure her, to kiss the tears from her cheeks. “You underestimate yourself, my pet,” he told her with false indifference. “You most definitely have considerable value—one way or another,” he finished with lewd insinuation. *

*

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Yvette felt the insult down to the core of her being, an agony that suddenly centered in her heart. Before she could stop the action, she landed another blistering slap on his face. His eyes ignited with rage. She tried to escape the small cabin, but he immediately caught her around the waist, then flung her onto the narrow bed built into the far wall. He towered over her, fury on his face. Unable to withstand his anger, she closed her eyes and trembled, waiting for him to punish her for her recklessness. 11

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Moments later, she heard the resounding bang of the door being slammed shut with a violence that made the cabin shake. Without opening her eyes, she rolled onto her side and huddled into a pillow, which carried the fresh sea scent of the man who’d just left her to her misery. She wept. *

*

*

“What do you plan to do with her, Captain?” Valentine resisted the urge to snarl as he glanced at his first mate. Andre knew his mood and was deliberately disregarding it. “How much longer to the Cove?” Andre laughed at the pointed evasion, then shrugged. “We’ll be home in two days—if the wind stays favorable, of course.” After a moment’s pause, Andre broached another subject. “If the rumors are true, he’ll not be able to pay you for her return.” Valentine smiled grimly. “I’ve been well paid for her.” The first mate silently accepted the news, then turned his sky-blue gaze over the waters of the Caribbean seas. “We’ve been toying with Bradford a long time, Captain. Is this truly the way you want it to end?” “It will end,” Valentine decreed, “but does it matter how?” “Not to me…” But it mattered very much to Valentine LeRoux. *

*

*

Yvette heard his return several hours later. She remained motionless on the bed, willed herself to silence as she listened to him move about the cramped cabin. The aroma of food made her aware of the intense hunger gnawing her belly, but she refused to turn. “Come and eat, girl,” Valentine eventually said. “You pretending to be asleep is growing tiresome.” “I prefer starvation to your company.” 12

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“Since I have no wish to see you starve, I’ll leave you to your own company.” He left the cabin. Oddly disappointed, Yvette climbed to her feet and looked around. He’d left wine and half the meal he’d brought—a generous portion indeed—and she saw fresh water in a large bowl, with clean towels beside it. Even some of her clothes had been taken from her wardrobe at Bradford House, the more practical garments, at any rate. She went through the routines of her toiletry, ate, and felt much improved for the familiarity and sheer simplicity of the activities. She wandered the cabin several times, flipped open the few precious volumes in the captain’s library, then sat on the bed and sighed. Curiosity plagued her—she wanted to know what went on outside this small room. *

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Less than an hour later, wearing a simple dress she had selected from her garments, Yvette emerged from the cabin and into the lateevening sunshine. She smiled hesitantly and eyed the vessel. “It’s good to see you about, Mademoiselle Bradford,” Andre said, coming to her side. “It’s beautiful,” she breathed, enchanted by the azure waters and the gentle rolling of the ship beneath her feet. “Aye, ’tis a magical sight.” He placed a hand on her arm to guide her to the rail. She became acutely conscious of the attention her passing created among the sailors. My men are rarely in the company of a woman of your beauty. She shivered inwardly as the captain’s warning whispered inside her mind. With intuition assuring her that Andre would not misinterpret her gesture, she moved a little closer to him. He smiled warmly. “Not to worry, Mademoiselle. No man would risk the wrath of Valentine LeRoux.” “You speak as if he cares what happens to me,” she remarked 13

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coolly. “I know that is not so.” Andre smiled, but made no further comment. Soon, as she stared out at the smooth toss of the waves, Yvette felt the weight of the captain’s gaze burning into her back. Unable to resist the lure, she turned and sought his presence. She spotted him at once, standing at the wheel of the ship. The setting sun bathed him in golden glory, turned the bronze of his tan to burnt umber laced with orange flame. The light autumn breezes had blown open his shirt, and Yvette shivered as she imagined the feel of his warm naked flesh against hers. He turned the ship’s wheel with his elegant and graceful arms, and the sails billowed taut. Even with the distance between them, Yvette could see the brilliance of his sapphire eyes, their depths alive with mocking humor. When he beckoned her forward, his smile as much a challenge as an invitation, Yvette froze. Andre again took her arm and guided her across the deck to LeRoux’s side. The first mate quickly disappeared, leaving her to gape up at the captain. “You have never seen beauty until you’ve witnessed the sun setting over these waters,” he said. His romanticism startled her, and she laughed. “You continue to surprise me, Captain LeRoux.” One eyebrow rose, and his smile became enigmatic. “I prefer you call me Valentine.” “What you prefer is of no interest to me, I assure you.” He accepted the assertion with a shrug, then drew her closer to him and pointed over the water to the waning sun. The magnificent globe had become a raging inferno of color, reds and searing oranges fanning into yellow-gold, endless fingers of light that reached over the shelf of the horizon and groped for the small vessel that slipped through the restless waters. The majestic sight dazzled her. “I could watch this for an eternity,” he murmured, his hand at her 14

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waist, steadying her as the ship swayed. Yvette soon found herself lost in the splendor of the sunset, and the equally profound awareness of his proximity. His large, graceful hand at her waist burned as intently as the fading sun before them. Unconsciously, she allowed the motion of the ship to place her nearer to him, her back pressed to his chest. She closed her eyes, arched her neck as her head fell naturally against his shoulder. Her left hand stroked the back of his right hand where it rested above the curve of her hip. She traced the heavy ring that adorned his smallest finger, and smiled at the tickle of lace that touched her skin when she lightly grasped his wrist. *

*

*

Valentine felt an unwanted shiver of longing awake within him. His gaze dropped to the neckline of her dress, the soft fullness of her breasts tempting him. She pressed more intimately against his growing arousal, likely unaware of the effect she had on him. The rolling motion of the cutter acted as an aphrodisiac to his roused lust, and he encircled her waist with both hands and pushed his hips against the cushion of her body. Her soft gasping moan of pleasure created a shudder that ran the length of him. His hands moved of their own volition. The firm swells of her breasts filled his palms, and he gently kneaded the flesh while pulling her into more solid contact with him. Her fingers curled around his wrists, but she made no attempt to pull his hands from their sensual task. His lips touched the curve of her shoulder, and she rumbled in desire. He stroked her skin with his tongue, which made her tremble in his arms, as if imprisoned by his passion. Finally, he turned her to face him, and she wrapped her arms around his waist and lifted her mouth. Valentine groaned when he stared into the smoldering smoky gray of her eyes. His mouth descended to cover hers. Her lips parted to the 15

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thrust of his tongue, and he plundered the moist warmth of her mouth. She seemed pliant, even eager in his arms, as she clung to him, while her hands moved in exploring circles over the expanse of his back. His hands tangled in the heavy mass of her auburn hair, the tresses silken against his skin. The sky had grown dark around them, yet their fevered kisses and caresses held them entwined in a tempest of emotion. Valentine drew away, held her shaking hands in his as he tried to breathe through the near pain of his lust. *

*

*

Yvette felt dazed, while his blue eyes blazed down on her. Only a moment earlier, his tongue on her bare flesh had felt heavenly, and she had groaned her desire in such a fashion that she hadn’t recognized her own voice. He had created madness inside her she couldn’t fully comprehend, and his name had been a gasp on her lips. Now, she looked up at him, expectant, her breathing hoarse and erratic. “C…captain?” With the spell shattered, confusion chilled her to the bone. She backed away from him, aghast. She spotted Andre, standing nearby, looking uncomfortably from one face to the other. Indeed, the entire ship had played witness to their passion. Her cheeks on fire with mortification, Yvette fled, tripping over ropes and other deck debris as she escaped back to the cabin. She flung herself onto the narrow bed. Her entire body shook like a leaf tossed about in a windstorm of desire. The act of breathing pained her as she tried to drag in much-needed air and control the ferocious pounding of her heart, which seemed as if it would burst from her chest. Every part of her felt singed by Valentine’s touch, his kisses. How could she have behaved in such a fashion? A common whore would have shown more decorum. After a long period of silence, during which time she watched the 16

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door and awaited his approach, she rose and undressed. The corset made it impossible for her to draw the deep breaths her body demanded, and the heat of unwanted desire kept her flushed. When she wore nothing more than a lightweight silk shift, she huddled into the bed and peered at the door. When it remained shut, she felt both relieved and disheartened.

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CHAPTER 3

When she awoke the following morning, Yvette discovered food on the table and fresh water and wine, though she found no trace of LeRoux’s presence, no sign he had returned to his cabin during the night. Queasy with nerves and tension, she tried to eat, but managed only a mouthful before pushing aside the plate. She drank a cup of wine, but her stomach recoiled. Every sound made her gaze at the door. But the captain still did not come to her. By evening, chaotic thoughts enraged her. When the cabin door finally opened unexpectedly, Yvette stood in the center of the room, her hands fisted at her sides. LeRoux’s gaze swept over her before he continued into his quarters and placed a platter of food on the table. “We’ll be on land again by this time tomorrow, Yvette.” She remained silent and unmoving. LeRoux sighed heavily and sat on the edge of the bunk. He ran a 18

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hand over his hair and closed his eyes, looking exhausted. Soon, he glanced at her and gestured toward the table. “Eat something. I have to sleep.” Before Yvette could say anything, he stretched out on the rumpled bed. She glared at him and began to pace. As the shadows in the room lengthened, she lit a lamp and resumed her vigil. In spite of herself, she went to his side, eventually relenting to the need to sit beside him. He looked young, almost vulnerable, with his features relaxed in sleep. His chest rose and fell with each even breath. Yvette placed her palm over his heart, then smiled in wonder when she felt the steady pulse beneath her fingertips. She pushed open his shirt, ran her hand over the smoothly muscled contours of his torso, and felt the soft tickle of fine, sun-bleached hair. Impulsively, she bent over him and placed a gentle kiss against his heart. “You make it most difficult for a man to rest comfortably, pet,” he purred. “I’m bored!” she snapped, acutely conscious of the fiery blush that enflamed her cheeks. He roared with laughter. His hand encircled her wrist, and he held her firmly at his side when she attempted to move. “Then by all means, join me.” “Go to hell!” “Wouldn’t you rather I took you to heaven?” “I’d rather be thrown overboard!” she snarled, all softening of her feelings buried under the weight of his mocking arrogance. He had been vastly more successful in his feigned sleep than she had been, and all he’d done since taking her from her home was laugh at her, and she was tired of it. “Throwing you overboard, tempting offer though it is, would be of little profit to me. Why don’t you find Andre and distract him for a time? I really do need to sleep.” 19

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Intending to land a blow to his chest, she raised her fist, but he snatched it. Their eyes locked, and she watched in fascination as he uncurled her fingers and placed a tender kiss in the center of her palm. Without further words, he rolled onto his side and settled comfortably to sleep. Stunned, Yvette continued to study him for several minutes. When she was certain he was genuinely asleep, she covered him with a blanket and went to sit with a book. *

*

*

Andre once again took charge of Yvette when Valentine’s Cove came into view. Captain LeRoux issued orders and made sure his men securely anchored the Wraith once they were safely hidden in the secluded cove. Even as the small shuttles were lowered to bring the men to shore, LeRoux remained on board. Andre, however, never left Yvette’s side. He led her to the side of the ship. “Come. The captain will be the last to leave. He always is.” “I’d be perfectly happy if he stayed and rotted,” she snapped. Andre grinned. “Maybe he will,” he offered teasingly. “Your things are already en route to the house, so let’s go.” Finally, Yvette settled in the small boat. She studied the first mate as he rowed them toward the shore, and could feel the excitement in him. “You have someone waiting for you?” “My wife. I’ve missed her.” “You’ve been away only a few days.” He shrugged. “Have you been married long?” “A few months.” She smiled warmly and nodded her understanding. “Your wife is a lucky woman, I believe.” “’Tis me who’s lucky. Jennifer’s an exceptional woman.” 20

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Yvette made no comment. Instead, she observed the activity along the shore. Women watched as the shuttles neared, and one by one each anxious face was transformed into smiles of welcome. Amid the embraces and exclamations, children played. Yvette keenly felt her aloneness, and her thoughts returned to the handsome man who captained The Wraith. Was one of these women his? The scrape of the boat striking sand brought her away from the oddly disturbing thoughts. Andre jumped from the craft and tugged it high onto the shoreline. He reached to help Yvette from the boat, but a stunning raven-haired woman caught his hand. She spun him around. Yvette smiled as their kiss made them oblivious to everything around them for a long moment. “You must be Jennifer,” she said, once she stood on the sandy shore with them. “And you are Yvette Bradford, Valentine’s prize,” the beautiful woman answered in thoughtful appraisal. “I think he is a total fool this time, Andre.” Though Andre said nothing at first, his expression was one of agreement. He grinned at his wife. “Mademoiselle Bradford gets quite nasty if you speak about her as though she were not here.” Yvette recalled her remark upon boarding The Wraith, and she shook her head. “A man who remembers—a true curse.” Jennifer laughed in genuine amusement. “It has advantages, too, Mademoiselle,” she noted with a warm smile. “Call me Yvette, please.” “I’ll take you to the house, Mademoiselle,” Andre said. “And I’ll meet you at our home very soon, Jennifer.” “Don’t be too long, my love.” Jennifer kissed him again, then with a parting wave at Yvette, headed off. Yvette returned the gesture, then turned to follow Andre. 21

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A solitary figure waiting apart from the others on the beach captured Yvette’s attention. The woman, a beautiful creature with flowing blonde hair and voluptuous curves, stared out at the cutter, her expression unreadable. She had sharp but lovely features on a heartshaped face, and she stood only a few inches less than Valentine LeRoux’s imposing height. Yvette’s brows drew together. “Who is that?” Andre glanced in the direction she indicated. “Celinda,” he said, his expression guarded. Yvette refused to be moved another step. She watched the cutter as LeRoux started making his way to shore. “She’s his, isn’t she?” The question obviously startled Andre, or perhaps it was the rage in her tone. It took a moment for him to respond. “She thinks she is.” When LeRoux reached shore, Yvette expected him to greet the beautiful woman who awaited his return. But he ignored her presence. From the corner of her eye, Yvette saw the blonde’s face grow dark with fury, then she stalked away from the beach. The woman’s reaction perversely pleased Yvette. “What has you looking so happy, pet?” LeRoux asked her, his tone cold, almost angry. “Your island is very pleasant, Captain,” she replied, adopting his manner. “When may I leave?” Andre began to laugh, caught the glare of his captain, and quickly smothered the response with a fit of coughing. “I’m in no mood for your foolishness, girl,” he warned. “Take her to the house, Andre, I’ll be there in a few hours.” Instantly, images of his tall form entwined with Celinda’s filled Yvette’s mind. She wanted to strike him, to gouge out his exquisite blue eyes as they gazed down at her in mocking disinterest. Andre seemed to read her thoughts, however, and caught her before she could act on the impulse. He hastened her away from the captain, 22

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who watched them for a moment before heading in the opposite direction—the same path Celinda had taken. Yvette wrenched her arm out of Andre’s grasp. “You needn’t drag me!” “Don’t provoke him, Mademoiselle. Valentine LeRoux’s temper is not to be trifled with, and you seem able to incite him with very little effort.” “Interesting, is it not?” she asked sardonically. “I’d hardly call it interesting.” *

*

*

The captain resided in a large, spacious manor. Andre left Yvette in the capable hands of a housekeeper, Grace, who treated her as an honored visitor. The woman’s fussing amused Yvette. Obviously LeRoux had not explained to his servants that she was a hostage. Still, the warmth and friendliness Grace showed her was a welcome change and she enjoyed it. Her father had driven away their house servants, one by one, in his drunken tempers and lecherous attacks on the younger women. Yvette pretty much ran Bradford House on her own now. “Do you know where Captain LeRoux might be found?” she asked Grace once she settled into the room in which he had clearly planned for her to stay. It was a lovely place, she conceded. The colors were subtle, muted shades of cool blue, the bed coverlet rich silk, the furniture of warm, dark finishes. All in all, it was extremely elegant, and much finer than to what she was accustomed. Grace smiled. “He usually spends a few hours at the waterfall after a journey.” “Waterfall?” “Don’t be giving me that innocent look, mistress. If you want to see him, just say so.” “I want to see him.” 23

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“I’ll have one of the children take you there.” Grace grew thoughtful for a moment, then sat next to Yvette on the deliciously soft featherbed. “He’s a handsome man, ’tis Captain LeRoux, but he’s lonely. I have a feeling your bein’ here is going to change that.” “The good captain is not happy to have me here, Grace,” Yvette said with a bitter laugh. “And I’m told he has a woman.” Grace snorted, her expression contemptuous. “That one! She may want to be the lady of this house, but it will never happen. Valentine LeRoux is no fool, and only a fool would marry that kind.” “What kind is that?” “Don’t mock me, child. Celinda’s a wild one, and beautiful, but it’s not Valentine she loves, it’s what she thinks he’ll give her.” “He’s wealthy?” “Of course,” the other woman said, her tone implying only a dolt would need to ask. “He’s the only remaining son of a noble house, and it will be noble again when he decides to marry and have sons of his own.” Yvette mulled that one over for a few minutes. “I’ll get one of the children for you,” Grace said a minute later and left the room. *

*

*

The waterfall proved a spectacle as breathtaking as the sunset she’d shared with the captain two nights earlier. Lush green trees surrounded the haven, and the sky above the sanctuary seemed bluer than anywhere else on the tropical paradise island. The white sands circled the pool at the base of the falls and glittered with diamond sparks of ice and fire. The water, itself, was crystal clear, aquamarine, lit by the pale sand beneath its surface. In the center of the pool, caught in the spray of the falls, stood Valentine LeRoux. Yvette dismissed the young boy who’d taken her to the spot, and tried not to be offended by the knowing grin on the lad’s face. She was 24

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about to step into the open when she heard a woman call to Valentine. Her look shot instantly to Celinda, discarding her clothes. The woman’s gorgeous body riveted LeRoux’s eyes, and tears of rage and jealousy threatened to make Yvette scream aloud. Celinda dropped the last of her garments on the bank of the pool and waded into the water. When she reached LeRoux, he pulled her into his arms. He kissed the blonde woman with a thoroughness that reminded Yvette how she’d trembled in his arms. Celinda’s throaty laughter drifted back to Yvette’s concealment. She wanted desperately to run away, yet somehow, she couldn’t move. She needed to see him, to see that he was the rogue he was reputed to be. She needed to hate him, because she feared she had already learned to love him. *

*

*

Valentine picked up his lover and carried her to the shore. She lay on the bed of sand, her long hair fanned out around her and her arms open to him. He grinned and joined her, covered her luscious body with his. Celinda had never required long, drawn out love-play. She had always been far too eager to have him thrusting into her, filling her with hopes of becoming his wife while they used each other in lusting pleasure. Her legs wrapped around him and her nails clawed his back as she urged him to quicken his thrusts. Her body convulsed around him, and his breaths grew hoarse and rapid. He closed his eyes and shuddered as the pleasure of his release coursed through him. Celinda’s shout of fulfillment sounded distant as his heartbeat returned to a steady, even pace. When he opened his eyes and looked up, some instinct attuned to another presence, he felt his heart contract. Yvette’s eyes accused him, and the tears that streamed down her cheeks made him ill. He would have preferred to see hatred in those storm-cloud eyes, since her obvious pain and expression of betrayal tore too violently at his heart. She fled when she realized he had seen 25

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her. “Valentine…” Celinda’s purr of satisfaction abruptly brought his attention back to her. He stared down at her, saw her as he had never seen her before. Her arrogance, her cunning, her hard beauty. She had none of the delicacy and inner grace of the young woman he’d kidnapped, certainly none of her innocence. Yvette had trembled in his arms, had opened herself in trusting awakening. He’d known as he kissed her that she was falling in love for the first time in her life. She would adore him, honestly and without deception. Celinda, however, adored no one but herself, and what she wanted from Valentine she bought with her beauty and her body. She smiled. “It would seem you missed me, too.” He laughed, though the sound contained little warmth. His mind had been filled with the remembrance of another woman when Celinda had found him, and he had used her to chase away the unwanted desire for his captive. “Yes,” he lied smoothly, carelessly. “But I have things to attend to, Celinda, so we’ll have to continue this later.” She pouted, an expression meant to be enticing, but it annoyed him. He rose and searched for his clothes. “I saw your prize on the beach, mon chérie,” Celinda said as she dressed. “She is a pretty child.” “Is she?” Celinda scowled. “I will see you tonight?” He nodded absently, relieved when she left him alone minutes later. The tension that had eased away beneath the rain of the waterfall once again twisted his muscles into knots. Instead of dressing, he flung his clothes on the sandy bank and dove into the deepest part of the aquamarine pool. *

* 26

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Yvette found him late that night, sitting in his library before a huge fire. Seeing an almost-empty bottle at his elbow, she sensed a frightening darkness to his mood. “Come in, Yvette,” he called when she hesitated at the door. “I did not expect to find you here.” “Where did you expect me to be?” The slurring of the words made his tone belligerent. “With your whore.” “She’s undoubtedly warming someone else’s bed by now,” he remarked without interest. “And you don’t mind?” “Why should I?” “She is your woman, is she not?” “When I want her.” Yvette looked down at him, conflicting emotions filling her heart. “Does it not bother you to know someone else makes love to her?” “Love is not an emotion I associate with Celinda.” “I don’t understand you at all, Captain.” “Stop trying.” Yvette stood in silence for a long time, then sat on the floor before the fire and prodded it into renewed vitality with a poker. Once the hearth blazed intently, she sat back and stared up at him, her arms wrapped around her drawn-up knees. “You’re very beautiful, my pet,” he murmured. “You’re very sad. Why?” “It doesn’t concern you.” “My father has done something that makes you despise him, so why will you not tell me what it is?” He poured the remnants of liquor from the bottle, downed it, then nodded at her. “Years ago, your father knew my older brother. François was as much a fool as your father Charles, and gambled incessantly. 27

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Your father was luckier that night than he has since been. He became owner of the LeRoux Château. When I offered to buy back the estate a few years afterward, he agreed to the purchase. He took considerable money—then disappeared. He never returned the deed to me. My family’s ancestral home was destroyed several years ago, the order given by your father.” “So that’s why you’ve been looting his ships and raiding the plantation farms. I am so very sorry.” He looked at her, amazement in his eyes. “You have just been told that I have reason to want your father dead, your family dishonored, and you are offering me your sorrow? You are as foolish as your father, child.” In fury, she rose to her knees. “Don’t you dare mock me, Valentine LeRoux! No one knows my father’s cowardice better than I, nor his conniving deceit.” “I captured you to hurt him.” “Then you have erred, my dear captain.” She laughed bitterly. “He will not notice I am gone until such time as he wishes to present me to another of his creditors in hope of selling me rather than paying his debts.” “Another reason I may kill him,” Valentine decreed darkly. “You flatter me, Captain.” “I intend to give you back to him.” She nodded. “And if he cannot pay?” “Money is not the issue.” “What is?” “Go to bed, girl,” he said wearily. When she seemed ready to argue, he glowered. “Leave me!” *

*

*

Valentine had almost told her. Only the remembered look on her face when she had seen him with Celinda stopped the harsh honesty. 28

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He was still forced to wonder if his own plan would ever become reality. It had been so simple before he’d seen her, and tasted her isolation. He had originally planned to take her from Bradford House, become her lover, and send her back to her father, with his seed growing inside her. The man would never be able to marry her off once a pirate had defiled her. Bradford would be forced to give up the very things he’d taken from Valentine, his home, his honor, and his family. No, he had stopped himself from telling Yvette the truth. He would not deliberately hurt her so deeply a second time.

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CHAPTER 4

During the days that followed, the captain’s temper grew shorter. He waited for a message that did not arrive, and each day it made him more dangerously enraged. Yvette heard him arguing loudly with Celinda one evening. A short while later, the woman stormed from the house, hurling curses at him as she left. She stopped long enough to look upward, spotted Yvette at the window of her room, and laughed at her. “Enjoy him while you can, child,” she sneered. “He’ll always come back to me.” Yvette made no comment as the beautiful blonde stalked off, a string of invectives pouring from her lips. *

*

*

“When are you going to send me home?” Valentine glared at her. She was seated before him again, as had 30

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become her custom. The light of the fire caressed her face, softened the already delicate features to angelic sweetness. The rich gowns she’d worn for the first weeks of her life on the island had been set aside in favor of the lighter cotton skirts and peasant blouses worn by the island women. He could clearly see the enticing roundness of her breasts, outlined beneath the white shirt as she prodded the fire. The ache in his loins, an increasingly familiar discomfort, became actual pain. “When I’m damned good and ready,” he finally answered, hoping his tone would send her away before he tossed aside his control and took what he wanted so badly. For a moment, the challenge hung between them. To his shock, Yvette thought seriously on the casual words. He saw the change in her expression, but was unprepared when she looked at him and nodded, her gray eyes bright with yearning. “My father won’t want me back,” she whispered in a voice husky with tears. “If he does, it will be to sell me to the highest bidder. If I am ruined by your hands, I will be left alone. I would prefer that to being owned by one of his ilk.” “You would sell yourself to me instead?” He couldn’t begin to decipher why he felt anger, and it further disconcerted him when she shook her head and gathered his hands in hers. “I would give myself to you, Valentine.” “Why?” “Because you make me want you as I’ve never wanted any man. Your touch is like nothing I’ve ever known.” “You’re a fool, girl!” “Do you not want me?” “Do not toy with me, Yvette.” His bewilderment turned to surprise when she rose and slowly removed her clothing. When she stood before him, naked in the glow of the firelight, he thought he’d go quietly mad if he didn’t possess her. 31

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His weariness forgotten, Valentine beckoned her toward his chair. She moved into his arms and cradled his head against the cushion of her breasts. He lifted her off her feet, settled her across his thighs, and drew her mouth to his. Their tentative kiss quickly became urgent and demanding. He’d wanted to touch her again like this since that first night, when he’d foolishly shared the sunset with her, and had fallen under the spell of her innocent passion. Now, her tongue entwined with his. He cupped her buttocks in his hands and pulled her into more intimate contact with him. *

*

*

Yvette tossed her bright mane of auburn hair to one side and arched her back as his mouth covered one hard nipple. He sucked gently, and each stroke of his tongue sent a new bolt of flame through her veins. She moaned, twisted restlessly as his lips brushed over her flushed skin in leisurely, tormenting kisses. His tongue trailed over the swell of her breast and began caressing the sensitive underside of the responsive globe of flesh. She tugged his head away from her and captured his lips again, then began to pull his shirt free of his breeches. “Eager, aren’t you, my pet?” he teased. He set her aside and stood, then rid himself of his own restricting garments. Yvette’s breath caught in her throat as her gaze wandered over his nakedness. The bronzed tan ended at his waist, the remainder of his skin pale and remarkably unscarred. His legs seemed endless, lean thighs firm and solid, while his chest flowed naturally into narrow hips. Her look rested unflinchingly on the smooth length of his arousal, obvious evidence of the depth of his inflamed passion. Momentary panic seized her and she trembled uncontrollably. *

*

*

Valentine saw the fright in her expressive features. He stepped toward her, eased her to the floor, and settled her on the fire-warmed 32

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rug. After he stretched out next to her, he pulled her close. She fit against him as though born for his arms. He resisted the powerful urge to simply take her; his body ached with that intense hunger as it hadn’t for any of the many women he’d known over the years. He willed himself to control and gentleness. His lips closed over hers again. When he eventually drew back from her, Yvette cried out in objection, and he soothed her with a rain of kisses that touched every part of her face. He continued the trek uninterrupted, down the side of her neck, across each heaving breast, then over her belly. When he shifted his position, moved to kneel beside her, she stared at him in utter confusion. Valentine parted her thighs, felt her stiffen in protest, and smiled in reassurance. His hand encircled her ankle, raised her leg, and his mouth found the tiny flutter of pulse behind her knee. He kissed the smooth, flawless skin. His tongue snaked out, leaving a wet trail along the insides of her thighs as he moved from one to the other. Her fingers dug into his shoulders, the objection instinctive when he rested his cheek on the silken tangle of copper hair that dipped between her legs. “You must trust me, pet,” he whispered, barely able to hear past the furious pounding of his heartbeat. Before she could answer, Valentine moved again, and his mouth found the core of her desire. His tongue dove into her slick folds. She spasmed violently at the intimate assault, and he heard his name spill from her lips to become a near scream of excruciating delight. She writhed in an agony of euphoric pleasure, her body lost in the throes of explosive surrender. Over and over he tumbled her into apparent ecstasy. Her hips arched off the floor as she choked back moans and cries of blissful rapture. Valentine crawled on top of her. She wrapped her arms around him and pulled his mouth down to hers. Her legs parted to accommodate him, and she shuddered in anticipation. He eased himself into her 33

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warmth, groaning at the sensation of tight heat surrounding him. The fragile barrier of her virginity gave way to his invasion, and he stilled his thrust when she cried out in shocked surprise and obvious pain. She trembled in his arms, but he soothed her with gentle words and caresses. Her body finally relaxed against him, accepted the hard length of him buried inside her. His hands held her hips, and he guided her unpracticed rhythm and began to move against her. *

*

*

Yvette thought she would die from the sheer joy of Valentine’s lovemaking. She responded intuitively, flowed into the tantalizing motion as she found the nuances of his thrusts and began to meet them with her own hungry urgency. The madness built inside her again, the overwhelming exhilaration of completion she’d just learned from him. His breaths sounded ragged in her ear as he moved harder, deeper within her. She arched in his embrace, gave herself to him without reservation, and cried his name when he shuddered in her arms and filled her with his warmth. For a long time, they clung to each other and waited for their heartbeats and breaths to grow slow and steady. Tears of wonder spilled down Yvette’s cheeks Valentine raised his head from her shoulder and stared down at her. “What have you done to me, my beautiful pet?” he murmured. “I think we have done something to each other, have we not, Captain?” “Indeed we have. Your grandfather will have my hide for this, love.” Yvette went rigid in his arms. “Grandfather?” His long fingers smoothed the sweat-drenched tangles of hair from her forehead before he kissed her. “The Comte wants you returned to France.” “Why?” 34

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He sighed. “He’s another man who wants to marry you off for his own gain.” Rage exploded inside her head, shocking her with the jagged force of pain that came with it. The beauty of Valentine’s touch vanished. She felt hollow and empty, where only minutes ago she had felt complete in a way she’d never known possible, whole and filled with happiness. She closed her eyes, and the violence of her fury mutated, became profound misery. For a moment, she thought she’d choke, then the sobs worked themselves past the lump in her throat. *

*

*

Valentine had realized his mistake the moment he’d spoken of her grandfather, but after he’d introduced the subject, he knew he couldn’t elude her suspicions or sweep them aside. He had to confess the truth, no matter how painful. Now, she shook with the depth of her anguish. He rolled onto his side, held her to his chest, his heart twisting in agony. When he carried her upstairs much later, he took her into his room. She slept in his arms, drained and heartbroken.

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CHAPTER 5

Several months passed in idyllic pleasure. Yvette blossomed under the spell of Valentine’s love, grew more passionate with each night as he tutored her in the most intimate pleasures she could enjoy. He adored her, as she did him. One day in the garden, Yvette had him pinned to the ground, her hands caressing circles across his naked chest, when a voice interrupted their play. “Have I picked an indiscreet moment?” Valentine laughed and shook his head. “This one is insatiable,” he said, taunting Yvette with a grin. “It would be difficult to find a moment when she was not seducing me.” Yvette rolled her eyes heavenward and climbed off Valentine. Andre grinned broadly. He waited for them to stand, then grew serious. “Bradford has set sail, Captain.” Valentine’s brows drew together in a frown. He pulled Yvette to his 36

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side, then kissed the top her head in absent reassurance. “We’ll depart in the morning, Andre. Get the men ready to leave at once.” “Aye, Captain.” *

*

*

Valentine watched her closely that night, his sharp eyes aware of each tiny movement, every subtle change that had occurred in her during the past two months. He knew her body better than she knew it herself, and saw the first faint signs of her impending motherhood. The taste of her skin had changed subtly, while the color deepened, not by the sun. Her breasts felt slightly heavier, and the flat plane of her stomach had begun to curve. She had shared his bed every night since they’d first become lovers, and he had seen no evidence of her monthly cycles. Now should have been the perfect time to return her to her father. He rose from the bed and went to stand behind her at the chamber set. She dropped the towel she’d used to clean her face and leaned back against him, murmuring her pleasure. He kissed her shoulder, and his right hand glided across her belly, smoothed over the gentle roundness, then moved lower until his fingertips brushed through soft curls. “Are you going to give me back to him?” He spun her around to face him, and for a moment, he drank in her image, his gaze ravaging her with fiery intensity. He made no answer. Instead, his mouth claimed hers with sudden fierceness, and she willingly surrendered to his need. *

*

*

“Prepare to be boarded, LeRoux!” Charles Bradford’s shout of victory created a rumble of discontent on The Wraith. The cutter had taken a beating, yet no man under Valentine’s command would have surrendered as long as his captain wanted to fight. They displayed their shock when Valentine had all but 37

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handed over the vessel. The grappling hooks snared the smaller ship, and in minutes, Bradford’s men flooded the deck. Valentine had allowed Yvette to come with them, something that had caused Andre to argue long and loudly with him. Now, she watched in horror as her father approached. She looked up at Valentine and saw the stony face of a stranger. “Yvette!” Charles Bradford grabbed her from Valentine’s side, his sword held ready to run LeRoux through if the man attempted to prevent him from taking her. He appeared vastly relieved when Valentine merely watched passively. His men hauled away Yvette, kicking and screaming. She looked back, and her heart raged. Valentine stood on the deck, surrounded by his men as they extinguished random fires and did what they could to prevent the damaged cutter from sinking. The Wraith’s sails lay in tatters, and numerous holes marred her sleek sides. Yvette felt similar damage to her soul when Valentine’s blue eyes bore into her, the ice in their once-familiar depths destroying the love she had found there only that morning. Violently ill, she whirled away and clung to the rails of her father’s ship. She realized Valentine had allowed her to go because he had intended all along to permit her father to take her back. Valentine LeRoux did not want or love her. *

*

*

Weeks later, Andre watched his friend in thoughtful concern. Valentine had been overseeing the repairs to The Wraith, but his heart was apparently not in the task and he returned to his house with Andre. Of course, the cutter should never have required these repairs. Something had gone drastically wrong the day LeRoux had allowed the inept rescuers to capture his beloved ship and the beautiful woman who 38

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had been his lover for a brief lifetime. “What do you intend to tell her grandfather? He’s due to arrive any time.” Valentine shrugged. Andre spotted all the changes that the past weeks had wrought in LeRoux. His eyes were dull, red rimmed from too much drinking. He was quick to temper, and irrationally angry much of the time. He hurled abuse at anyone unfortunate enough to come within his orbit at the wrong moment—there no longer seemed to be right ones. “Get her back, Valentine,” Andre advised when they came to stand on the house’s rear verandah. “Take what belongs to you.” “She is not mine.” “She’s been yours from the moment you saw each other. You let Bradford take her, and I don’t understand why.” “I would like an explanation of that as well, Captain,” a new voice interjected from the lawn. “I owe neither of you explanations of any sort,” Valentine retorted. “You’ve been well paid to dispatch Bradford and bring my granddaughter to me, LeRoux,” the Comte said, stepping onto the porch. “I assume you haven’t forgotten our arrangement?” “I have forgotten none of it.” *

*

*

The Comte, regal and richly attired, took one of the seats Valentine offered. He was not dressed for Caribbean weather, and hastily accepted a cool drink Valentine offered. “You had the girl and let her be taken by that imbecile?” he questioned. “I had my reasons,” Valentine replied. The Comte looked directly at him, his expression speculative. “What does she look like?” Valentine smiled. “A flame-haired beauty, as fiery as she is lovely. 39

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A prize any man would treasure.” “And she is…ah…how shall we put this? She is a woman of virtue?” With his mind filled with images of Yvette entwined in his arms, passionately eager to give him as much pleasure as she took, Valentine laughed. “She is a woman of exceptional virtue.” The Comte’s smile looked smug, faintly regretful. “A problem, my lord?” “No. But a shame. I’d heard she was a rare prize indeed. It’s almost disappointing that she’s my granddaughter.” The lascivious gleam in the old man’s eyes sickened and infuriated Valentine. “I’m sure you’ll find her a worthy husband who will be more than happy to inform you of her charms.” In a treacherous mood, Valentine couldn’t trim the icy cold steel from his voice, or dull the hard edge to his sarcasm. The Comte, however, seemed oblivious to the threat he incited with each passing second. “When do you intend to conclude our business?” “Our business is concluded.” The old man sat up straighter in his chair, his features florid with wrath. “I paid you well for Bradford’s head, LeRoux!” “And so you shall have it, my lord. But you will not have his daughter, I’m afraid. Your money will be returned to you once you’ve boarded your ship. I would advise that you not return here.” Valentine made no effort to disguise the open caveat. “My reasons for wanting Bradford are my own, and no one will interfere.” When the Comte rose, Andre stepped forward and forced him into his chair, his sword pointed unerringly at the old man’s heart. “Agreed?” Valentine finished. After several minutes of contemplation, the Comte had no choice but to accept the terms. Compliance or death…not much of a selection. *

* 40

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“Was it really necessary to return his money?” Andre asked after the Comte had been escorted back to his ship. “I’ll take nothing from him,” Valentine snapped. “Not even his granddaughter?” the golden-haired mate asked with a huge grin. Valentine smiled, then laughed. “What now?” “Now?” Valentine repeated thoughtfully. “Now I take what belongs to me. I believe that was your suggestion?” “Aye, Captain.” Andre gave him a mock salute, then headed off to assemble the cutter’s crew. *

*

*

Bradford House was just as it had been that fateful day a few months earlier. This time, however, Valentine took only one man with him, and Andre chaffed that it had not been him. But Valentine had needed his most trusted friend on board the repaired Wraith, prepared to make a fast getaway once Valentine returned with the same prize he’d obtained on his first visit. Charles Bradford had been warned of his approach, and was waiting for him. Behind the plantation lord stood Yvette, her face stained with tears, yet her smile radiant with hope. *

*

*

“So you’ve come back for the slut, have you, LeRoux?” Yvette winced at the insult, but otherwise ignored her father. Her gaze locked on the tall, proud man who continued to walk toward them. When Valentine stopped a few feet away, she tried to run past her father. Charles grabbed her and flung her into the wall of the manor. His reckless action seemed all the provocation Valentine needed. He drew his sword and launched an attack. Yvette screamed an objection, knowing her father concealed a 41

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pistol in his pocket. She ran forward, making it to within steps from Valentine, when the roar of the pistol shattered the morning quiet. The shot flung her the rest of the distance into her lover’s arms, her body ablaze with fiery pain. A second shot rang out, and Andre stepped into view from the garden. Cradled in Valentine’s arms, Yvette gazed up. Tears streaked his face, and he held her in his impossibly strong arms as he roared in anguish and fury. She clung to him, felt his kisses rain upon her face. The whisper of his soft lips moved over her eyes and cheeks, her mouth, then as she arched in agonized terror, his lips touched her throat…

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EPILOGUE

Pain, accompanied by fierce hunger, assailed Yvonna’s senses and she cried out. The golden inferno from Lucien Duval’s eyes instantly captured her gaze and seared her. Blood stained the corner of his mouth. She shivered violently, ached with the lust he’d roused within her, as her own fangs elongated. With a growl, she struck, swiftly, ruthlessly. The taste of his blood filled her mouth, and she drank eagerly, greedily. He hauled her out of her chair and she tumbled to the floor, dragging him with her. The rip of material penetrated her awareness and she drew her mouth from his neck and laughed. Her light silk gown lay in shreds, and Duval loomed over her. His head ducked to her breast, fastened firmly on the erect nipple that crested it. She groaned when his teeth pierced her skin, and he bit at the sensitive point. She reached between their bodies, found the hard length of his arousal, and began to stroke his flesh. 43

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Her legs parted, and she twisted beneath him. “Lucien!” She ground her teeth in frustration when he refused to take her. Duval raised his head, and moved aside just enough to push her onto her stomach. Seconds later, she screamed as he slammed into her. He pulled her to her knees and held her hands flat to the floor as he thrust into her, his rhythm rapid and hard. Endless minutes later, when the burst of his release neared, he yanked her up, held her against his chest, and his fangs sank into the side of her neck a second time. Yvonna writhed in his grasp, unable to do more than moan as her entire body succumbed to his hunger. Held immobile, she gripped his forearm in frenzied passion while his other hand moved between her thighs and teased her ever closer to madness. She rocked against him, her hips desperate to increase the pressure of his fingers on her. His savage snarl near her ear preceded the pain of his fangs tearing deeper into her skin, seeking more of her blood. That agony vanished seconds later, replaced by euphoria as his essence filled her with warmth and her body spasmed in ecstatic rapture. His fingers continued to move against her, slowed to gentle strokes, and gradually withdrew when he released her. She moaned again, stretched out on the carpet in front of the fireplace, and stared at the ceiling. Her body still shook with the explosive, brutal passion they’d just shared. Duval lay beside her, his own breaths ragged. “What time is it?” she eventually asked. He pulled her to his side and kissed her forehead. “Near sunset,” he whispered. “What woke you?” “Your lust.” She snuggled closer to him, her head beneath his chin. For long minutes they simply held each other, then she brought one of his hands to her lips. She kissed his palm and looked up. In the firelight, she 44

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spotted the book she’d been reading earlier. She smiled when she remembered the dream that had awakened her incredible lover from his deep sleep. Vampire reality or mortal dream, this man was the only lover she would ever need or want. The recalled fantasy roused her curiosity and she traced the sensuous fullness of his bottom lip with her fingertips. “Have you ever been a pirate, Duval?” The master vampire smiled, the expression enigmatic and darkly seductive. “Not for several centuries.” Before she could voice any of the myriad questions that filled her mind, he covered her lips with his and drew her deep into the reawakening tempest of their mutual passion. *

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Duval smiled when she came to him willingly—in any century, and any setting, Yvonna would eternally be the sweetest of any alchemy he’d ever known…

45

DENYSE M. BRIDGER

Denysé is a native of Atlantic Canada, born in the country’s Easternmost province, Newfoundland, and raised in Nova Scotia. A lifelong dreamer, she began writing at an early age and can’t recall a time when she wasn’t creating in some artistic form. “My first published story was, oddly enough, a media based tale written for the TV series Miami Vice, first published in 1986. Up until that time I had never heard of fanzines and fandom. It’s proven to be an immensely valuable training ground for professional writing in that it teaches discipline and attention to detail. There’s no tougher critic than a fan who knows their show or movie down to the tiniest nuance, and they’re not shy about telling you when you’ve missed the mark!” An active interest in the American West has been a lifetime obsession, too. Cowboys have been a love-affair that began at the tender age of three, and eventually expanded to encompass an equally timeless passion for pirates, Greek Gods, and Ancient Egypt. The other side of the Old West intrigue is an affinity for Victorian England, particularly the 1885-1895 part of the century. The American Civil War has also been a source of avid interest. “How can anyone not be moved by the tragedy that defines that conflict? There are endless stories of courage and honor, and each man and woman who lived through America’s greatest turmoil was left scarred in some way. Those who rose above their losses and went on with the

stoicism and utter bravery of eternal legends really have to inspire and humble anyone who reads about them.” At this point in her career, Denysé has had published in the vicinity of 400 stories and novellas, in almost any genre you can name. “The only thing I haven’t tried yet is hard-core science fiction, and horror. Since I don’t consider vampires as I write them to be the fodder of horror, I classify those stories as Dark Fantasy.” Many of her vampire stories have appeared in Margaret L. Carter’s anthology, The Vampire’s Crypt, and Night To Dawn, published and edited by Dawn Callahan. Her poetry has been published internationally. Denysé has also been the recipient of numerous awards, most notably the Fan Quality Award, which is given annually for excellence in fan fictions based on film and television. As of May 2004, there are four awards in her collection, and no less than a dozen nominations to her credit. What’s next on the agenda? “I hope many more stories for AQP. A home for my ‘labor of love’ Greek fantasy novel. And more time to get all the ideas in my head down onto the written page…” *

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Don’t miss The Phantom’s Lair, by Denyse M. Bridger, available from Amber Quill Press, LLC Upon her arrival in the pirate port of Tortuga where her father is acting as Governor, Katheryn Hollinsworth is determined to choose her own path, and follow her heart wherever it may take her. On the streets of Puerta de la Plata, she encounters the mythical buccaneer

known as The Phantom, and very quickly loses her heart to the handsome rogue. Jack Stanton is a man who has never fully come to terms with his past, and in the Governor’s pretty daughter he finds a most unlikely champion. But when his past threatens her life, and any chance of a respectable future, The Phantom must face the demons of his past, and accept the dictates of his own reawakened heart…

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