Taming Saffina Page 4

  My guardian, like all rakish gentlemen, clearly liked late hours. He lingered over his brandy. I began to nod.

  All at once he spoke. “So. Tell me about yourself. Losing your family must have been hard. They told me you disappeared. What happened?”

  The shock jolted me instantly awake—and instantly angry. “You go too far, sir.” White fury flashed through me. “This is an outrage.”

  I sprang to my feet, flicking my wineglass at him. Crimson fluid streaked over the table in a scarlet arc and drenched him.

  For a split second the room grew still. I watched in growing horror as the staining wine dripped down his face and soaked into his spotless shirt.

  At the sight, I felt a surge of triumph. “You’d even use my past against me? You are a monster, sir. My past is my own and no business of yours.”

  His face a granite mask, he rose slowly to his feet. In a blind panic, I made a bound for the door. But just as fast, his hand closed over mine the second I touched the doorknob.

  I felt his breath on my hair as he snarled low in my ear. “Do that again, madam, and I’ll have you committed. On my way here, in posthouses, in stable yards, even in taprooms, I caught a phrase seemingly linked to you. The gunner’s lass. What’s it mean?”

  I felt hot scarlet flood my cheeks. Now hotter tears threatened. I tried to wrench my hand away.

  He held me fast, his face a mask. “Explain, dammit. How many men have you pleasured? Grooms, gunners? Where next? Highwaymen? Horse thieves? Deuce, take it, child, you pleasure by the alphabet?”

  My mouth felt dry. “I repeat, sir. You are a monster. Leave me alone.”

  He cupped my chin, his face troubled. “Come, Saffina. I am your guardian. If I’m to be of use here, you must tell me all. Who—or what—is the gunner?”

  In a temper I snatched my hand from under his, went back to the table and sat down again.

  Curse the man.

  Was nothing sacred?

  Chapter Five

  “So, to the gunner. What happened?”

  My guardian poured himself another brandy and leaned back to listen. In the low light from the candles he looked stern and remote. Stunningly handsome.

  Under his steady gaze, my stomach clenched. I wished now I’d pecked at my food like a lady should and not bolted extra helpings.

  I bit my lip. “I’d rather not, sir.”

  “Please. I’m interested.”

  “But you know the story,” I muttered, sulky now. “It filled the news-sheets for weeks.” Nothing like losing one’s life—and most of one’s relatives—in a skirmish with pirates to seal one’s fame with the adoring ton. My parents had been the golden couple of their day, their lifestyle as lavish as their debts. Their dramatic demise had been the talk of the town.

  The fate of those they left behind? Less so.

  “You were, what? Eight years old?”

  I pushed away my plate. “The housekeeper, Mistress Baines, looked after me till the bailiffs came. They took everything and turned us out of the house. No one came for me, so she left me with her brother. He lived in a rundown cottage near the estate, a hopeless cripple. She was unmarried, had other relatives to support and needed a new situation. He needed care. I needed a roof. It seemed logical.

  “I found out later he’d been a quarter gunner on my parents’ ship. He’d manned his post to the end, desperate to save them.” I swallowed. “But when the ship gave the final lurch before it sank, the guns rolled back and crushed his legs. Against the odds, he was the sole survivor. He floated for days on a drifting spar. The rest were all drowned.”

  I fought back tears. I rarely thought of this. It was too upsetting.

  “I’ve never spoken of this before,” I whispered. I glared at my guardian, derailed for a second by his steady gaze. “Why do you make me say it now, sir? Surely you’ve done enough for one day? You wish to humiliate me still further?”

  “Far from it. I’m simply interested.” He poured some tawny liquid into a balloon glass and pushed it over. “Here, child. Sip.”

  I snatched it up and took a gulp.

  “Easy, child.” He steadied my hand. “A sip, no more. Go on.”

  The wretched stuff burned my throat. I made a face and pushed the glass away. “Your brandy stinks.”

  “Water then.” He poured some from the flagon left on the side and passed it over. “Here. Go on. Please.”

  I scowled, angrily scanning his face for a cynical gleam, a curl of his lip.

  When I saw none, I went on, my voice low. “Life was hard. We were very poor. He was always in pain. All he had for it was cheap gin, when we had the money. His ‘grog’, he called it. He needed constant care, but we rubbed along. I did what I could. As I grew older and stronger, I managed better. During the day I kept house, reared the chickens, fetched the water—cooked and sewed and cleaned. In the evenings he told me about life at sea—the hardships on board, the pleasures in port.” I glared at him, defiant. “In detail. Then when I was fourteen, two lawyers came to take me away. They brought me here.”

  I took another sip of the water, avoiding his eye. “They said you wanted to make me into a lady.”

  My guardian arched an eyebrow. “You grandmother’s lawyers sought me out. She’d mentioned my name as a possible guardian for you. She wanted to ensure her legacy passed smoothly to you. Her lawyers suspected your relatives might cheat you.”

  “She did, sir?” I stared. “I’d no idea.” This was a real shock. “Did she know you, then?”

  He grinned. “We’d met once or twice at cards. In Baden or Lucerne. I forget where.”

  “She trusted you? I thought—”

  “What? That I was some savage monster?” My guardian drained his glass. “Of course you did. So would any silly girl. I’m glad you show at least one girlish trait. I was beginning to despair. Come. Tell me more. What displeased you so much about becoming a lady? I hear you put up a hearty fight.”

  “I started dancing lessons, deportment, music. Needlework.” I almost spat out the words.

  “And skipped lessons for weeks on end, they told me. You ran away. Why? You’d made a solemn vow to waste my money? Or did civilized life not suit?”

  “Nothing like that, sir. It was the worst possible time. Gunner Baines was dying. Every day I rode over to see him. Then he got worse, so I stayed with him till the end. How could I leave him when he needed me most? How else could I repay him? He took me in when he had nothing. I had distant relatives, family lawyers. They spent more on candles in a month than the gunner earned for risking his life. Any one of them could easily have sheltered an orphan, but nobody did.”

  I felt the tears sting again. “The fights I had with your household and my tutors over it were nothing compared to his suffering. I loved him, and he had no one else.”

  My guardian frowned. “And you told no one?”

  “I daren’t, sir. Mistress Baines had gone from my life. I’d no idea where. And I thought she and the gunner might get in trouble. I knew their arrangement was hastily done. I supposed it should stay secret or the bailiffs might come after him too.”

  “And you took all this on yourself? So young?”

  “Someone had to. He was brave and loyal. He died a cruel and lingering death through trying to save my parents. His life was hard and his death was worse. And he taught me more than a thousand dancing masters.”

  I glared at him across the table.

  “Indeed? What?” My guardian’s eyes narrowed. In the dying light from the candles I saw them gleam. “What were these precious lessons, so vital to your future?”

  “I can catch, skin and cook a rabbit. I can make a fire and dress a wound. I can hold a dying man’s hand and soothe his fears. And I can even make ends meet.”

  His bolt of laughter made the crystal chime. “A rare skill indeed. Few of our rank can claim that—certainly not your parents, rest their souls.” He took another swig of his drink, his eyes agleam. “But how, pray, will that serve
you in the drawing rooms of Europe? One day you’ll inherit. Unless you’re set on being a woodcutter’s wife, you’ll have to marry rank. You’re wise to keep your past to yourself. It’s partly from shame?”

  “You mistake me, sir.” I bit my lip. “I feel no shame. I treasure the memory of his kindness. And if the drawing rooms of Europe sneer at true feelings, then let them.”

  Now he looked thoughtful. “Your loyalty does you credit. What else has hardship taught you, should they care to ask?”

  “That life is short and pleasure shorter. And pain is long.” I held his gaze, bolder now. “I know I must marry. Women must find husbands. But I also know what awaits me when I do. Needlework and good works for the rich. Drudgery for the poor. Neither particularly lights my candle. So until I wed, I mean to take from life as much pleasure as I can.”

  “Ah. That sounds familiar.” He grinned, suddenly boyish. “No one who hears you say that can doubt your parentage.” He smiled slowly, his long fingers stroking the stem of his glass.

  For some reason I found the sight of it disturbing. Impossible to tear my eyes away…

  “In that case, tell me what you know of pleasure, if you’re so keen on it.”

  I tossed my head, defiant but a little uneasy. Here I was on shaky ground. Indeed, short of cursing Madame Junot when her cane bit too deeply or soothing myself to sleep with my fingers and some lurid fantasy, I had nothing to boast.

  “I can ride, sir. I like speed and the feel of the wind in my hair.” I glanced at him shyly. Dare I say this? “The feel of power under my thighs.”

  I saw his eyes flicker with some new emotion—fleeting, but distinct. It stirred something in me, too. Had I gone too far? From across the table his dark eyes still burned into mine, probing, caressing. His look, I noticed now, had some of the power of his fingers.

  “Most young people find pleasure in power and speed. I mean…more personal pleasures. You showed me some earlier. What else do you like? How do you like it? What prompts you to do it? Tell me.”

  His tone stayed level, his voice low and quiet. His gaze was steady but thoughtful. He really wants to know?

  I gazed back at him and thought about this. He’d punished me and pleasured me. He’d probed my deepest, darkest self—all in a matter of hours. I still smarted from it all. My skin would heal, but it would take more than salt baths to heal the wounds of my past.

  He now knew more about me than any other living soul.

  Why not tell him all?

  As the candles burned lower and the night wore on, I told him what pleasures I’d found—and how, and how often, I’d found them.

  He was a good listener.

  * * * *

  At long last we said goodnight and I made my way to bed. I had much to think about.

  In a day my whole world had turned topsy-turvy. How on earth was I to meet the eyes of the servants? For all I resented my guardian’s high-handed methods, he said much that was just. I had a hot temper and behaved as I pleased.

  But from now on it would be hard to rule the roost when the staff had seen me trussed and whipped. And all for his sport.

  I was canny enough to know that if one room here was primed for pleasure, there must be others. His reputation was clearly all they’d claimed, and surely all the servants here knew of it. They would clean and polish all those…implements…daily. They washed and smoothed the sheets and our linen. They knew very well how he’d used me and what awaited if I stepped out of line.

  But his actions today, exciting and disturbing as they’d been, also left me shaky, drained and emotional. And the final straw—dragging my precious memories of my kindly, tragic gunner out of me in such a cold, clinical manner—tore at my heart.

  Now tears welled up for real. Newly unwilling to waken Madame—where before I’d have given it no thought—I paused. Her pallet in the next room was in earshot. And her dour touch was the last thing I wanted. Instead I opened the drapes and stepped out onto the balcony.

  Out here, in the silent shadows of the gardens, I’d be safe. I leaned on the balcony rail, buried my head in my hands and sobbed.

  After a few moments I paused. Did I hear something? Just then the moon came out. I opened my eyes and froze.

  On the rail beside me I saw a hand. I spun round, half expecting to fight off Madame. But it was Jacquard.

  “Saffina? Deuce, child. You’ll wake the estate. What’s the matter?”

  At his low murmur something in me snapped. I flung myself at him, clinging to him like a child. I buried my face in his chest and sobbed into his shirt.

  His arms wound round me and tightened. “Hush. Be quiet. You’ve taken much today,” he whispered. “You should have warned me you were still upset. Let me call Madame.”

  I pressed against him, thrilled at the feel of his hand on my hair. I moved languidly against him, surprised at his heat and his new arousal. Excitement surged as I felt it stir against my belly. “It’s not Madame I want.”

  With a swift movement he scooped me up in his arms and carried me back indoors. He laid me gently on the bed then softly closed the tall windows, leaving a gap in the drapes to let in some moonlight.

  I sniffled gently, expecting him to turn and leave. To my surprise he sat on the bed beside me, leaning over to brush my lips with his own. “Spread your legs.”

  I gazed up at him, obeying, curious and a little afraid now. “Why, sir? You’d punish me again?”

  He kissed me deeply for a long, heady moment. When he pulled away, I saw his eyes gleam.

  “Your taste for it is so strong, then? There are other pleasures too. This is one of them.” He hauled my hands over my head. “Hold on to the bedposts, and keep your mouth shut, or I’ll punish you for sure. Understand? Nod if you do.”

  I nodded, breathless. He pushed up my skirts, rumpling them high over my waist. Shifting position, he knelt between my legs and pushed my thighs apart. Then with soft, moist touches of his lips along my inner thighs, he found my aching center and began to tease me with his tongue.

  Forbidden to speak or cry out, I whimpered and writhed as his tongue took on a life of its own. It licked and swirled, laved and soothed, all the while stirring wave upon wave of heat and deep, gut-wrenching arousal.

  He thrust deep, where tongues never go, teased and fluttered where tongue-tips never—to my limited knowledge—pleased. And soon—far sooner than I wished—he brought me to shuddering, earth-shattering fruition.

  As the spasms jolted through me, he surged back up beside me and stretched out his full length. He folded me in his arms to stifle my moans and pulled my head against his shoulder to muffle my tears.

  But this time they sprang not from the pains of my past or the torments of my present, but from the happy weakness of pleasure.

  Chapter Six

  Overton House, Nigel’s home, looked pretty in the sunshine. It was less fine than Endale Hall but it had neat gardens, lush meadows and even a farm.

  Today a summer fete was set up on the grounds. Along the driveway colored streamers fluttered on flagpoles. Through the trees I spotted picnic tables, a strongman from the village and even some acrobats.

  Madame had the maids dress me in a new French fashion, a confection of floating white muslin. My flimsy satin slippers were barely strong enough for dancing, let alone cavorting on open lawns.

  But the day was hot, so for once I took her advice. Glad of the thin fabric, I secretly hoped the sheer muslin might shock the locals. Now I was clutching my wide-brimmed straw hat, ribbons streaming in the wind, cheeks pink with excitement.

  I loved parties and today Nigel would propose, I felt sure. I’d considered the matter as good as settled, ever since I’d made him kiss me one Christmas.

  And Jacquard was right. Everybody was here. But as I stepped out of the carriage and waved to the clusters of people I’d known since girlhood, I had a shock.

  Gunner’s lass… Gunner’s lass…

  The whispers seemed to come from all ar
ound us. I shook myself. I must have misheard.

  But my guardian took my arm, his face grave. “This happens often?”

  So it was true that everyone knew.

  “They’re talking about me? I never noticed before.” I felt tears sting. Fiercely I bit them back. I leaned close and whispered low in his ear, “Shall I confront them?”

  “What, cause a scene? What are you thinking?” He squeezed my hand, grinning now. “People always talk. Let them. Try not to listen.”

  “Easy for you to say, sir. I find it mortifying.”

  “Take a hint from an expert. It only hurts if you let it.”

  As he moved away, I scanned the crowd for Nigel and finally saw him, deep in conversation with Lady Susan—a skinny, freckled girl a little older than me. What was worse, I soon saw that for once I was not the center of attention. All eyes were on my guardian.

  With a shady reputation and a superior air, and being the highest-ranking person here, he was bound to cause a stir. But he was also the most striking. He drew all eyes, especially the women’s.

  It seemed I was just one among many under the spell of his dark allure. Eager females crowded forward. My sole consolation was that he seemed blithely unaware of all the fuss.

  As Nigel came forward to greet us, I presented him. Nigel bowed low, clearly overawed by my guardian’s rank. Looking nervous, he steered Jacquard around the room to a chorus of whispers, presenting him to all his guests.

  “He’s all I’d hoped. Such physique.”

  “They say he killed a man, or was it a mistress? Fearful scandal.”

  “Who needs Lord Byron? Endale’s mad, bad and twice as dangerous…”

  Jacquard caught my eye and winked. Partners in crime, we shared a smile.

  All at once the ‘gunner’s lass’ gibes seemed small beer. Murmurs followed us out into the gardens, but soon my old friends drew me into the dancing and I lost sight of him.

  As the day wore on, I saw little of Nigel, who was busy with his guests. I hoped to run into him after tea. I threaded my way through clusters of guests, picking over platters of cold meats and fruit on the cloth-covered picnic tables. I dodged the busy footmen serving fruit cup and champagne. But there was no sign of my neighbor.