The sun came in rays of sparkling light through the water-speckled windows and touched on Heather’s face to awaken her. She stirred in half awakened ecstasy and stretched and rolled over, snuggling deeper into the downy bed as she hugged a pillow to her. She had been dreaming she was again in the home of her father. Now a soft, rain-sweetened breeze flirted with a curtain where a window had been left ajar and drifted to the bed to caress her cheek. Heather inhaled deeply and released her breath with a grateful sigh. The usual morning queasiness was in absence, letting her enjoy the smell of autumn in the air. She opened her eyes, then sat up with a start.

Captain Birmingham’s cloak was slung over the back of a chair near the bed, and it sent her thoughts racing with a fleetness that only fear could provoke.

“The arrogant fool!” she hissed with venom. “Does he think he can put me in a house of his procuring and make me his mistress? I’ll whelp in the gutter before I accept his half-witted proposal!”

Even now, she thought shrewishly, he’s probably thinking how tender it will be when he takes me to the house and carries me to the bedchamber. He will think me grateful for his generosity and that I will submit to him accordingly. I would be no better than a harlot! No! Rather that I slit my throat from ear to ear than let him make me his mistress. He cannot touch my belly with his vile hands and know his bastard son grows within me! No! Never will I submit to him in that way!

But what would happen to her if they forced him to marry her, she wondered frantically. She would have to yield to him then and obey him. And he would not be so gentle when full of rage.

“Oh, pray that he doesn’t hurt me too much,” she uttered, a shudder of fright passing through her body.

A moment later there came a knock on the door, and rather than wear his hated cloak again, she tore the sheet from the bed and wrapped it around her body, flipping the end over her shoulder. So garmented, she opened the door and found a gray-haired woman standing in the doorway and behind her, two girls of an age no more than herself, carrying an assortment of cases.

“Maid Heather,” the older woman said with a smile. “I’m Mrs. Todd and these two girls are my assistants. We’ve come from Lord Hampton, and be here to fix you for your wedding.”

Something cold and fearful gripped Heather’s heart and sent a shivery spasm through her body. She clung to a nearby chair for support, fearing her knees would give way. Mrs. Todd noticed nothing of her pallor or her shaking hands. She was too busy ushering the two girls in with their cases.

“Have you eaten this morning, love?” she asked, turning to Heather at last.

Heather shook her head. “No,” she whispered.

“Oh, well, don’t you worry about a thing, love. I’ll send one of the girls down to fetch breakfast. We’d not have you fainting from hunger when the betrothals are being said, would we? And we do have a lot to do ‘til then. You’ll be needing your strength, slight lass that you are.”

“When will the wedding be?” Heather managed to ask.

The woman showed no surprise at the strange question asked by the young bride. “This afternoon, love.”

Heather slithered into a chair with a weak, “Oh.”

“Someone should have told you, love, but with everything so rushed I can see how they forgot to. His lordship says the groom is anxious to wed and will not brook a delay. Most certainly I can see his reason for impatience. Such a beauty you are, love.”

But Heather wasn’t listening. Her imagination was already sweeping her to the coming night when she would lie beside Captain Birmingham and feel his panting breath against her mouth and his strong, ruthless hands upon her body. Her face burned at the thought. He would not care how he bruised her, and she wondered if she would be able to still her trembling body and not anger him more by struggling.

She jumped from the chair in a quick, nervous movement and went to the window, fearing that she would not be able to. Her teeth tugged at her bottom lip as she felt the tension begin to mount. She had hoped for more time. She hadn’t dreamed they would force the marriage so soon. How could she possibly go to him now calmly and let him do with her what he might?

Much to her alarm, her moments of freedom slid away with frightening speed. As in a daze, she found herself fed, bathed, perfumed and groomed, all against her stunned will. No moment of that morning was hers. As they tugged and pulled and goaded, she thought she might scream in rage at them to leave her be. The noon meal came and though she was not hungry, she pretended to eat so they would give her rest, dropping the food from the window to a hungry mongrel when they weren’t looking. But as soon as the tray was taken away, everything began again. No part of her body was left untouched, no matter what shame it caused her, and when she tried to protest, the three argued.

“But, lass, a touch of essence here or there will make a strong, grand man from a shy, bashful sort.”

And Heather thought wildly that just the opposite was needed for the man she was to marry.

Finally she was readied and for the first time allowed to gaze upon herself. What she saw was herself, yet not the Heather she had always seen. She had never looked this way before. For a frightening moment she caught a glimpse of the beauty that others saw and found uncommon. Her hair, brushed to a silky sheen, was coiled intricately through itself and around the top of her head to resemble the coiffure of a Greek goddess. A tiara of golden spikes and pearls crowned her head, and below it, blue feline eyes stared back at her in alarm. The definite slant of her eyes fringed by the long, sooty lashes was made even more noticeable by the manner of hairstyle which was drawn tightly from her face. Her cheekbones, fragile and high, allowing for a slight hollowness beneath them, had been pinched and were no longer pale. Her soft, pink mouth was slightly opened with her awe.

“A lass more fair than you does not live, Maid Heather.”

The moment was lost for Heather and again she surveyed her raiments. With love, Lady Hampton had sent as a gift her own wedding gown, an elegant garment resembling somewhat a monk’s habit complete with hood. It was ice blue in color and made of rich, heavy satin cut in simple, slender lines. The sleeves reached to the wrist and were, as the skirt of the gown, slightly flared. Elaborate golden embroidery and countless seed pearls embellished the hood and sleeves, and placed about the hips was a girdle of great beauty and considerable fortune. It was of gold, leather and was richly sewn with pearls and rubies. A train a good arm’s length longer than herself waited to be attached with gold chains and its heavy satin was richly embroidered and embellished with the gold and seed pearls.

A costume fit for a queen, Heather thought drearily.

She frowned suddenly and moved to the window again. The hour of her doom was growing near. Time was fast draining away and still she trembled.

“For once in my life,” she prayed silently, “please—oh, please let me be brave.”

Behind her the door swung open and Aunt Fanny marched in.

“Well now, I see you’re all dressed in your finery,” the woman sneered. “And I’m supposin’ you be thinkin’ you look pretty, ain’t you? But you look no better’n what you did in my old dress.”

Mrs. Todd stiffened her spine as if the insult had been directed at her. “I beg your pardon, madam!”

“Oh, hush your mouth,” Aunt Fanny snapped at the woman.

“Please, Aunt Fanny,” Heather pleaded softly. “Mrs. Todd has worked hard.”

“Aye, I’m sure she had to with you.”

“Madam,” Mrs. Todd said coldly. “The girl is not deserving of criticism. She be by far the comeliest maid I’ve ever had the pleasure to attend or have ever seen for that matter.”

“She’s the daughter of Satan,” Aunt Fanny hissed. “Her beauty is his doing, and ‘cause of it, no man will find peace with himself after he’s seen her. It’s the devil’s way of makin’ man lust after a witch, and to me she’s ugly. That man she’s marryin’ is her just mate. The two of them be of the devil!”

“That’s nonsense!” Mrs. Todd cried. “The girl is an angel.”

“Angel, is it? I don’t suppose she told you why she’s gettin’ wedded so soon, did she?”

From the open doorway where he had come to stand and listen, Uncle John spoke with a slow but steady voice. “It’s ‘cause Captain Birmingham wants her without delay, ain’t it, Fanny?”

The obese woman turned in a huff, ready to snarl a denial at him, but something, perhaps her fear of the Yankee sea captain, made her silence the angry words that came to her lips before they were spoken. Instead, she whirled on her niece and made as if to pinch her, but Heather quickly glided out of her way, reasoning the less pain she suffered now, the better prepared she would be for it later.

“I can say I’ll be happy to get you off my hands,” Aunt Fanny spat. “You’ve naught been a pleasure to have around.”

Heather flinched under the biting remark. Tears came to her eyes as she turned once again to the window. All her life she had lacked the love of her kinsfolk. What her father had given to her had been marred by unhappiness, and now she was destined to go through life without knowing of another. Even the son, if it was to be a son, whom she was carrying would probably be encouraged to hate his mother by a father who was forced to be one. There would never be another chance for love in her life.

An hour later, stiff and unsmiling, Heather descended from the steps of the rented carriage with the aid of Uncle John. The mighty cathedral loomed upward, overpowering in its immensity, and she, small and insignificant before it, mounted the steps, clinging to her uncle’s arm. She was numb to the world about her. She did things mechanically. She put one foot in front of the other as she was towed along by her uncle. Mrs. Todd, who had come along for last minute assistance, walked beside her, fussing with the bridal cape that she held draped over her arms. The woman would have swooned if some harm had come to it. She worried and clucked like a mother hen over her brood, but Heather scarcely noticed her. She stared straight ahead toward the high, main portal of the cathedral, coming closer with each step she was taking. It gaped dark and sinister, waiting with maddening patience to swallow her life. Then she was under its arched frame, moving into the vestry, and she stopped because her uncle stopped. The organ music drummed on her heart and sounded loud in her ears. Mrs. Todd flitted about her, straightening the hood over her head, attaching the long train at her shoulders with the gold chains, spreading it out behind to its full length. Someone handed her a small, white Bible with a golden cross stamped in the soft leather, and she took it without thinking.

“Pinch your cheeks, Heather,” Aunt Fanny scolded harshly from somewhere near. “And stop lookin’ so frightened or I’ll pinch you myself.”

Mrs. Todd glared at the woman, then did her duty by bringing some life to Heather’s cheeks herself.

“You’re the queen of the day, love,” she whispered to Heather and gave a final adjustment to the crown and hood.

The music changed and so did the beat of Heather’s heart. The shock brought her out of her daze.

“’Tis time, love,” Mrs. Todd said quietly.

“Is—is he in there?” Heather murmured to the woman, hoping greatly that he had refused finally to come.

“Who, love?” the woman questioned.

“She’s talkin’ about the Yankee,” Aunt Fanny hissed.

“Yes, pet,” Mrs. Todd replied kindly. “He’s standing before the altar waiting for you. And a high handsome man he is too, from what I can see of him.”

Heather swayed weakly against Mrs. Todd and the older woman steadied her with a helping arm and a smile and walked her to the door.

“It will all be over in a moment, love,” she said, giving a final encouragement before the door swung open.

Then Lord Hampton was offering his arm to her and she took it mechanically, moving on her own quaking limbs beside him down the aisle. She could feel the pounding of her heart inside her breast and the weight of the Bible in her hand. The heavy burden of the train tugged at her shoulders, seeming to hold her back, but she moved on as the great organ drowned out all other sounds, even the beat of her heart.

The candles at the altar burned beyond the group standing there, making them dark shadows in a dimly-lit church. But she knew which one was her husband-to-be by his height. No one in the world seemed as tall as he at the moment.

She came closer and the candlelight touched on his face, and for a split second Heather was halted by the cold, stark features. She had an overwhelming desire to flee. Her bottom lip quivered, and she caught at it nervously with her teeth to still its cowardly shaking as Lord Hampton moved away from her, leaving her alone. The green eyes before her roamed insultingly over her person, divesting her of her bridal gown in a cruel, heartless way, and Heather trembled more violently. The Yankee stretched out a strong, brown hand and offered it to her as his leer brought a deep blush to her pale face. Reluctantly she lifted her hand, which was cold as ice, and placed it in his much larger, much warmer one, and he drew her the remainder of the way to the altar steps.

Tall and powerful he stood, garmented regally in black velvet and flawless white. He was Satan to her. Handsome. Ruthless. Evil. He could draw her soul from her body and never feel remorse.

If she were brave, she would turn now before the vows were spoken and fly from the insanity of what they were doing to her. Every day women gave birth to bastard sons and raised them in the streets. Why was she not so courageous? Surely having to beg for food and being destitute were lesser evils than being thrown into the fires of hell.

But even as she argued with herself, she slid to her knees with the man beside her and bowed her head to pray for the blessings of God.

Time stood still as they were swept into the marriage ceremony, and all the while every nerve, every sense she possessed screamed of the presence beside her. The lean, well manicured hands held her gaze and the closeness of his body lent to her nostrils a scent of his cologne, not overpowering like so many strong perfumes meant to cover the stench of unwashed bodies, but fleeting and inoffensive, a clean, masculine smell.

“At least he is well washed,” she mused.

She heard him respond to the priest’s urging in a firm, steady voice.

“I, Brandon Clayton Birmingham, take you, Heather Brianna Simmons, to be my lawful wedded wife—”

Thankfully appearing not to falter, she spoke the same words, pledging herself to this man in soft tones. It seemed only a moment later that he was sliding a gold band upon her finger and they were again bowing their heads before the priest.

She rose finally on shaky limbs as her new husband drew to his full height. He looked down at her unkindly, his green eyes freezing to her hesitant gaze.

“I believe it is customary for the groom to kiss the bride,” he said.

She replied in a nervous strained voice. “Yes.”

She feared she would faint under his stare. Her heart raged so turbulently that her gown fluttered over her heart. His long, brown fingers moved around the delicate bones of her jaw and gripped it firmly so she could not move her face away while his other arm slid behind her back under the loose, flowing train. He crushed her to him suddenly in a fierce, possessive embrace, and Heather’s eyes widened and her face drained of color. She felt the eyes of the others on them, but he seemed not to mind. On the contrary, he seemed to welcome their stares. His arm was like a band of iron around her, squeezing the life from her small body, pressing her tighter against him. His head lowered and his parted lips moved over hers in a passionate kiss. His open mouth was wet and searing, demanding and insulting, leaving her little dignity. Her hand struggled up and strained against him piteously.

From somewhere near she heard Lord Hampton cough uncomfortably and her uncle murmur something unintelligible. Finally the priest touched Brandon’s arm and spoke awkwardly.

“You will have time for that later, my son. The others are waiting to congratulate you.”

At last his grip slackened and she could breathe. Her quivering mouth burned from his blistering lips and an imprint of his fingers was clearly marked upon her fair skin. She turned on wobbly knees and smiled tremulously as Lord and Lady Hampton came up to her. The kindly man gave her a fatherly kiss upon the brow.

“I hope I have not done wrongly with you, Heather,” he said uncertainly, glancing up at Captain Birmingham who stood stiff and unyielding beside her. “My intentions were to see you cared for, but—”

“Please,” she murmured, reaching out to place shaking fingers against his lips.

She couldn’t let him finish. If she heard her fears put into words, she would run shrieking from them all, tearing at her garments and hair in an excess of insane passion.

Lady Hampton glanced up timorously at the Yankee captain who stared coldly ahead, his mighty seaman’s legs planted firmly under him, his hands clasped behind his back. He appeared to be standing on the deck of a ship, staring out across an ocean. Her hands trembled uncontrollably as she embraced Heather and tears moistened her eyes. The two women, both small and slight, clung to each other in their distress.

As if the thought just occurred to him, Lord Hampton quickly made a proposal. “You will stay the night at Hampshire Hall. There will be more room there for you than in the ship’s cabin.”

He didn’t add that any room there would be easily accessible to him if Heather screamed while in the hands of her new husband.

Brandon turned his frigid gaze upon the smaller man. “And of course you insist upon that also,” he growled.

His lordship faced him with an unwavering stare. “Yes, I do,” he said calmly.

A muscle twitched angrily in Brandon’s cheek, but he said nothing, not even when his lordship suggested it was time they left for the wedding feast at Hampshire Hall. He just took his bride’s arm in a firm, solid grasp and allowed the others to precede them from the church.

Heather, nervous and jittery with his hand at her elbow, would have preferred going out on Lord Hampton’s arm, but Brandon clearly had no intentions of letting her do so. His mastery over her had already begun and she knew that she would never again belong to herself. His possession of her was complete—except for perhaps her soul, but he would not stop until that too belonged to him.

Much to her dismay, she was halted by the sudden refusal of her cape to be drawn with her up the aisle. Frantically she looked over her shoulder to see what was binding it, and Brandon turned his black scowl on her as she appeared to tug away from his unrelenting grasp.

“Please,” she started in a quavery voice, lifting a hand to explain her seeming reluctance to move forward.

His eyes went past her toward the garment caught on a splintered pew, and he grinned down at her sardonically and went back to release it. Heather watched him nervously, clasping the Bible she held in both hands. Her palms were moist and her fingers twitched. She glanced at the gold band that stamped her as his. It was rather loose and slid around her finger easily. Just to look at it brought more fear to her heart, knowing what it would mean.

Brandon detached the golden embroidery from the rough splinter and tossed the end of the cape over his arm in a careless manner and came back to her. Again his hand slid under her arm.

“There’s no need to distress yourself, my love,” he said mockingly. “The garment is intact.”

“Thank you,” she murmured softly, raising her eyes uncertainly to his.

His taunting smile seared her and brought a rush of color to her face. He was cruelly laughing at her and her stung pride would not allow that. It brought her chin up defiantly. She glared at him through the tears that sprang to her eyes.

“Were I a man you would not smirk so easily,” she spat, hating him.

He raised a finely arched eyebrow and chuckled unmercifully at her. “Were you a man, my dear, you wouldn’t be in this situation.”

Her blush deepened. Infuriated and seething with anger and humiliation, she tried to wrench free from his long fingers but he only tightened them around her arm.

“You cannot escape me again, my beauty,” he said easily, seeming to enjoy her distress. “You are now forever and for always mine. Marriage with me is what you wanted and that is what you shall have for the rest of your life—unless by chance you are widowed. But do not fear, love, I have no desire to leave you too soon.”

Her face turned ashen under his careless gibe, and she swayed on her feet, feeling faint. He steadied her by drawing her near, and he raised her chin so he could gaze down into her eyes. His own burned like coals of green fire.

“Not even your Lord Hampton will be able to save you from me now, though I see he will try. But what is one night in many?”

The words sent a quivery spasm of fright rushing through her body, and her head fell back weakly against his arm.

“What a beauty you are, my sweet,” he said huskily. “I shan’t grow tired of you too soon.”

Lord Hampton, tense and nervous at their long delay with coming from the church, could not wait a moment longer. He hurried back in to find Heather clutched in her husband’s arms, her head thrown back, her eyes closed, her face very pale.

“Has she fainted?” he asked anxiously, coming to them.

The fire in Brandon’s eyes died and he glanced at the smaller man briefly. “No,” he replied and returned his gaze to his wife. “She will be better in a moment.”

“Then come,” his lordship said irritably. “The carriage is waiting.”

He turned and left them, and Brandon’s arm tightened around his wife.

“Shall I carry you, my love,” he asked mockingly, an evil jeering grin twisting his handsome mouth.

Heather’s eyes flew open.

“No!” she cried, flinging herself from him in a sudden burst of pride and energy. His laugh straightened her spine even more. With a toss of her head she walked from him, but he still held her train over his arm and she came up short when the extra length ran out. She glanced back audaciously and glared at him when he would not release it. The corner of his mouth went up scornfully as he came to her side again.

“Your escape is impossible, my love. I have a very possessive nature.”

“Then bed me here if you must,” she hissed, hate giving virulence to her tongue. “But do it quickly, for the others wait.”

His jaw tightened and his eyes grew cold. “No,” he said, taking her arm. “I shall take my pleasure of you slowly and at my leisure. Now come, for as you say, the others wait.”

Outside the church, they were met by a shower of wheat. Sparse as the wedding party was, Lady Hampton would not let the simple custom go undone. Later they moved to the waiting carriage. Aunt Fanny was silent with the Yankee so near. Uncle John, hesitant and unsure of himself, helped Lady Hampton down the steps of the cathedral and her husband, Lord Hampton, hung back, watching Captain Birmingham assist his young bride.

Uncle John handed his wife and Lady Hampton into the carriage and climbed in after them. As Heather drew near she found the three squeezed together on one side, Lady Hampton suffering greatly by being in the middle. The poor woman’s complaints went unuttered however, and permitting herself a small smile after all that she had been through, Heather lifted her skirts to climb up into the landau. She was greatly surprised when she found herself being slung up in her husband’s arms and placed aboard. Without thanking him for embarrassing her, she sank down on the vacant seat and gave him a withering glare which he could not see. He climbed in and threw his weight down beside her, and she was squeezed unmercifully when Lord Hampton got in also. To allow herself more room she tried to sit up on the edge of the seat, but she found herself unable to move because her husband was sitting on her skirt. She glanced up at him, but he was staring out the window and the muscles in the side of his face were tense with anger. An unintelligible, cowardly murmur escaped her lips as she pushed back against the seat again, fear catching at her heart. Their bodies were so close, his shoulder overlapped hers and the back of his arm rubbed against her breast. The full length of her thigh was pressed to the granite-hard muscles of his.

As the chaise rolled along the cobbled streets, she made an awkward attempt to converse with Lord and Lady Hampton although they were just as tense as she. Her tone was almost inaudible when she spoke and cracked with nervousness. To save face she soon fell silent, afraid to trust her voice any longer.

The ride seemed endless. They were jostled and bounced and Heather wondered frantically if any bone in her body would be left unbroken. Though Lord Hampton was not a big man, he was still larger than she and between her husband, whose tall broad-shouldered frame gave no inch, and his lordship’s, she, being much smaller than the two, endured much. The pressure of Brandon’s arm against her breast alone was sending her into a state of shock.

Finally the carriage drew up before Hampshire Hall. Brandon descended first and with capable hands reached up, clasped her under the arms and swung her down beside him. She straightened her clothes with a jerk and flung her long train over her arm with an arrogant toss of her head. Inside the mansion she stopped to discard the heavy cape and, much to her displeasure, was helped by her husband who unfastened the gold chains from her shoulders. His long fingers worked with great dexterity.

The wedding feast was already laid upon the table when they entered the dining room. Lord and Lady Hampton took their places at the ends of the table and motioned for Heather and Brandon to sit on one side, Uncle John and Aunt Fanny on the other. They lifted their glasses in toast to the young couple.

“To a most happy and rewarding marriage despite what has here before taken place,” his lordship offered. Then he added as an afterthought, “And may the child be a fine boy.”

A red glow spread over Heather’s features as she lifted her glass to her lips. But she did not drink. She would not hope for a boy and give this man more confidence in himself. She noticed, however, that he drank the champagne down quite easily, and she eyed him distastefully.

The meal went too quickly for Heather’s peace of mind, though by the time they left the table it was past the hour of eleven. The men took their brandies into the drawing room as Lady Hampton propelled Aunt Fanny off to her sleeping quarters and drew Heather to the bedchamber prepared for her and the Yankee. Two giggly young maids were waiting for the young bride, and a night garment of transparent filmy blue cloth lay on the bed. Heather blanched white at the sight of it, but Lady Hampton led her to a bench in front of a huge mirror and pressed her down into it.

“I shall return with some wine when you’re ready,” the woman murmured, kissing Heather’s brow. “Perhaps it will help.”

As the maid drew her bridal gown from her and uncoiled her hair, Heather knew nothing would protect her from her fear. She would have to be unconscious before she would not quake with fright.

“I might as well be a virgin,” she thought with some surprise, “as much as I tremble.”

Brushed a hundred strokes, her hair was left loose and flowing, reaching down to her hips. Her clothes were taken away—not even a robe was left—and Heather, sitting on her heels in the middle of the bed and wearing only a gown of gossamer to veil her nakedness, tried to still her trembling body and calm herself for the ordeal that was to come.

Outside the bedroom, footsteps clicked against the marble floors, but she breathed a sigh of relief. They belonged to a woman.

Lady Hampton opened the door and came in, carrying a tray bearing a wine decanter and two glasses. She set it down upon a table beside the bed and poured Heather a glass as she inspected the work the girls had done. She nodded with approval.

“You are even more beautiful now, my dear, than you were in your bridal gown, impossible though it may seem. You were a vision. I felt so proud. I just wish there would have been more time to invite guests. You needed to be shown off. I could have told them you were my own sweet. How I grieve that your mother died so soon and never knew you. She would have been proud of you.”

“Proud of me?” Heather asked forlornly, looking down at her stomach. “I’ve brought disgrace to you all,” she said tearfully.

Lady Hampton smiled at her gently. “Nonsense, my dear. Sometimes a girl cannot help the things that happen to her. She’s just a victim of circumstances.”

“Or of Yankees,” Heather murmured.

Her ladyship laughed softly. “Yes, or of Yankees, but at least he’s young and handsome and clean. When my husband first told me of your predicament and said a Yankee seaman was to blame, I was sick with worry. I thought he would be old and lecherous. Even your aunt confided that she expected the man to be so. It was probably a great disappointment to her that he was not, considering what you’ve suffered in her hands. But he’s so magnificent. Truly all your babies will be fine and beautiful and I suppose you’ll have many.”

Lady Hampton’s voice dwindled off to barely a whisper as she remembered the passionate embrace Captain Birmingham had given his young bride and the rock hard expression that had been on his face afterward.

“Yes,” Heather breathed silently. She swallowed hard and said aloud, “Yes, I suppose we’ll be having many.”

She was thinking of the ease with which Brandon had planted his seed in her. She would no doubt be giving birth to many.

Lady Hampton rose to go and Heather looked up pleadingly.

“Must you go now?” she asked in a quavery voice.

The woman nodded her head slowly. “Yes, my dear. We’ve held him at bay long enough. We cannot any longer. But if you should need us, we will be near.”

The woman’s meaning was not lost upon Heather. She knew if she called out for assistance they would come, despite the fact that they had no right to interfere.

Again she was alone and frightened. But after she had tasted bitterly her husband’s mockery, she was determined now not to cringe and cower from him.

“Let him see that I am willing,” she thought cunningly. “He will not choose to hurt me then.”

Her waiting came to an abrupt end, startling her when the sound of his footfalls came in the hall. Her face flamed as she saw the door open, and then she found herself staring across the width of the room into his green eyes. His gaze lowered and a fire was kindled as he raked her body with his stare.

Heather sat awkwardly, her heart beating wildly. The bedcovers had been drawn to the end of the bed out of her reach and she longed to pull them to her. The gown she wore was like a soft blue veil over her body, more alluring and revealing than bare flesh. It was tied with soft ribbons at the waist on each side, but from the waist up and the waist down it was slit with no further ornament to hold it together. As a result the sides of her breasts were exposed and the long, slender limbs were laid bare to his gaze. The hardest thing she ever had to do in her life was to sit calmly before him and let him look at her as he was doing.

“You’re very beautiful, my love,” he said hoarsely, coming forward to the bed. His eyes were like flames of fire, scorching her. He reached out and pulled her to her knees. “You’re even more lovely than I remembered.”

Still on her knees, she came reluctantly to him as he drew her into his embrace. His hands slid carelessly under her gown and over her buttocks as he bent his head slowly to her, and trembling, Heather waited for his kiss. But before his lips pressed upon hers, he drew away the slightest degree and laughed softly in his mocking way.

“You are more willing now, my love, than you were before. Does marriage make it so different? Was that the price you were selling your body for? And here I thought at last was a woman pure in heart who would willingly give her body to no man for a price, only for love.”

“Oh, you horrible wretch!” she cried angrily, trying to snatch free. “What do I have to say in the matter? You will rape me as you did before, whether I struggle or not.”

“Be quiet,” he said quickly, jerking her closer and forcing her to be still. “Do you want the others to hear and break down the door? Lord Hampton is just waiting for the invitation.”

“What do you care?” she taunted viciously. “You are stronger than he. What will it matter if you have to throw him out before you finish your business with me?”

A muscle twitched in Brandon’s cheek and already Heather knew that slight movement meant danger. He glared down at her, his green eyes fierce and frigid.

“I wouldn’t assert my husbandly rights upon you tonight if you were the last woman in the world,” he sneered.

Heather stopped struggling immediately and raised her eyes to his in surprise, wondering if she had heard him correctly. His eyelids lowered and his jeering grin reappeared, showing startling white teeth against the darkness of his skin and beard.

“You heard right, my dear. I have no intention of making love to you in this house tonight.” He ignored the expression of relief on her face and went on. “When I take my pleasure of you, my love, it will be in my own way, in my own house or on my own ship, and not where another man is waiting anxiously to barge in and pull us apart, and certainly not when that man is holding an axe over my head.”

“An axe?” she repeated innocently, relaxing against him.

“Don’t tell me you don’t know. Surely you knew of their plan. I cannot believe you were not in with them.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said cautiously.

He laughed bitterly. “Always innocent, aren’t you, sweet?” His eyes dropped to her bosom and he ran his fingers over the side of her breast where the filmy gown left it bare. His thumb brushed her nipple underneath. “Always innocent,” he said softly. “Always beautiful. Always cold.”

She allowed his hands to caress her. They were gentle and as long as nothing would follow and he was her husband, she would not take the chance to stir his anger by refusing him this much. But she persisted with her questioning. She wanted to know what axe they had used.

“How did they make you marry me?” she inquired softly.

His lips touched her hair and moved to her throat and Heather shivered involuntarily at their burning intensity. His hand stroked her breast still and seemed not to want to stop. Nervously she pulled away, fearing he would not keep his word. She reached and drew the bedcovers over her and sank down again in the middle of the bed.

“Are you going to tell me?” she whispered, staring at him.

His mood was again mocking, cruel, angry. “Why should I? You’ve heard it all before. But if it matters so much to hear it from my lips I shall tell you. Your dear lordship was going to convict me of smuggling and selling arms to the French, despite the fact I’m lily white. I would have been sent to prison, my ship taken from me, and God only knows what would have happened to my plantation back home. Very crafty of your friend, I must say.”

He yanked off his coat and threw it into a chair and began untying his stock.

“Do you know I am—or shall I say, I was engaged to be married when I returned home? What am I supposed to tell her—my fiancée? That I saw you and couldn’t help myself?”

He paused a moment, pulling his shirt from his brown shoulders. He gazed at her angrily.

“I don’t like being forced, my dear. It goes against my grain. If you had come to me when you first learned of your pregnancy, I would have helped you. I may have even married you if you had acted as if you desired marriage with me, but to send your mighty friend and threaten me, it was a most unwise thing for such a little girl to do.”

Wide-eyed and fearful, Heather huddled under the sheet as if it would give her protection from his savage hands if he turned on her. He moved about the room, blowing out candles and she watched him cautiously. He had stripped to the waist and did not appear to have any thought of stopping there. But for the moment he settled down in a chair by the bed.

“You know you’re very beautiful, don’t you?” he said, coldly appraising her. “You could have had any man of your choosing, and yet you had to have me. I would like to know the truth, if you don’t mind. Did you perhaps learn that I have wealth?”

She looked at him strangely, seeing no need for him to ask. “I know nothing of your financial situation,” she replied softly. “You were just the man who—who took my virginity. I couldn’t go to another man, sullied as I was and with your child in me. I would have given birth to a bastard before stooping so low.”

“Your honorable nature is to be applauded, madam,” he said in a light, bantering tone, and his scoffing burned her.

“Why should you have been allowed to go merrily upon your way and not made to right the wrong you did?” she cried.

He was beside her in an instant.

“Please, my dear,” he said uneasily. “Refrain from raising your voice above a whisper or we’ll find ourselves with company. I have no desire to be thrown into prison by your Lord Hampton because he thinks I am mistreating you—especially since I’ve already made you my wife.”

His anxiety pleased her, but she went on in a hushed whisper. “You say you dislike force. Well, I loathe it, but I could do nothing to stop you from taking your pleasure of me. Now you’re angry because you’ve had to pay the piper, yet you do not think of the child I carry—what it might have suffered, born a bastard.”

“The child would have been well cared for and so would you have been.”

She laughed ungraciously. “As your bastard and your mistress? No, thank you. I’d have slit my throat before consenting to that proposal.”

The tic in his cheek returned and he stared at her for such a long time she sat transfixed like a bird before a snake, then lids lowered slightly over mocking eyes.

“A woman who is kept by a man is usually better tended than his wife. I would have been kind and more than generous with you.”

“Meaning you will not be now,” she said with sarcasm.

“Exactly,” he answered smoothly, heartlessly terrifying her. He got up from the bed and stared down at her. “As I’ve said, I don’t like being blackmailed, and for you I’ve chosen a fitting punishment. You wanted security and a name for our child. You will have them, my dear—but you’ll not have one damned thing more. You’ll be hardly better than a servant in my home. You’ll have the name you wanted, but you’ll have to beg and plead to have me grant your slightest wish. You won’t have any money nor will you lead a normal life, though I will be careful to save you the embarrassment of others knowing of your situation. In other words, my dear, the position you thought so honorable will be no more than your own special prison. You won’t even share with me the more tender moments of marriage. You’ll be just an-other servant in my eyes. As my mistress you would have been treated as a queen, but you will now know me as master and nothing more.”

“You mean we won’t be—intimate?” she asked with much surprise.

“You’ve caught on quickly, my love. And you needn’t worry about me in that respect. I won’t be cutting my own throat to spite my face. You’re only one woman among many, and for a man it is easy to find relief for his baser needs.”

Heather sighed with the joy of the disburdened and smiled, gloating over her good fortune. “Sir, nothing could please me more, I assure you.”

He sneered at her coldly. “Yes, I can see that you’re pleased now. But your hell has only begun, m’lady. I’m not termed a pleasant sort to live with. I have a foul temper which can snap up a small tart like you without a second’s notice. So be warned, my beauty. Do not tempt it. Tread lightly and perhaps you will survive. Do you understand?”

She nodded, no longer licking her lips over her blessings.

“Now go to sleep. It will be some time before I’m able to do the same.”

Quick to obey, lest he should find fault with her so soon, she slid down into the bed with haste and drew the covers under her chin, watching him warily as he moved across the room to the balcony doors. He opened them and stepped out into the moonlight. Not taking her eyes from him, Heather turned on her side carefully so she would not draw his attention back to her. Again he had taken up the stance of a sailor looking out to sea and the moon touched on his handsome face and broad shoulders. His smooth, brown skin gleamed in its light, and she drifted to sleep staring out at him.

Heather awakened abruptly when Brandon fell back on the pillow beside her, and drugged with sleep, she thought he would do some harm to her. She sat up with a startled cry on her lips and flung up an arm as if to ward him off. But he caught it with a snarl and jerked her back to her pillow.

“Be quiet, you little fool!” he growled, leaning over her. “I had no intentions of spending the night in a chair and leaving you the bed.”

A tremor of fright passed through her body as he held her down. He was just above her in the darkness and his warm breath touched her face. The moonlight streaming in from the balcony etched his angry profile.

“I didn’t mean to cry out,” she whispered fearfully. “I was just startled.”

“For God’s sake, be startled some other time,” he snapped. “I have an aversion to prisons.”

“Lord Hampton wouldn’t—” she began softly.

“The hell he wouldn’t! Now that you have my name, your honor is restored, but if he thought he acted unwisely in giving you to me, he would go ahead with his threat and toss me into prison just to keep me from you. So despite what you feel about me, if you want our child to grow up with a father, please don’t offer him any encouragement.”

“I hadn’t intended to,” she replied in a whisper.

“You couldn’t have proved it by me,” he retorted.

“Oh, you!” she hissed, trying to struggle free from his grasp. “Why was I so unlucky to be put upon by you! You’re—you’re abominable!”

He laughed softly as he held her down. “Some women wouldn’t agree with you, my dear.”

“Oh, you cad!” she panted breathlessly. “You vile, uncouth, loathsome rapist—defiler of women! I loathe and detest you.”

He caught her to him, his lean, hard body immensely threatening to her small frame, and gave her a quick, silencing, bone-breaking squeeze.

“Be careful, my beauty, or you will find yourself with your hands full. I can stop your screams quite easily. It will not discomfort me in the least to act the husband.”

She gasped with pain as his grip tightened again, and Heather thought she would be crushed in his brutal arms. She felt his thighs against her own quaking, cowardly limbs and realized that she was the only one even partially clothed. But the gown was little comfort. It was wound around her waist and bared a breast whose fullness was now crushed to his chest. There was no question to his desires.

“Please,” she whimpered as his hold became more harrowing. “I will be good. Do not hurt me so.”

His deep chuckle made a shiver of fright pass through her body as he continued to hold her, then quite suddenly he released her and dropped her back to the pillow.

“Go to sleep. I won’t bother you.”

She drew the covers under her chin with quivering fingers and curled on her side facing him, shaking uncontrollably. The moonlight made the room bright and she saw that his eyes were open and he lay flat on his back with his hands under his head, staring up at the ceiling. Even in the dimness of the room she thought she saw his cheek vibrate with rage.

“Where is your home?” she questioned softly, a long while later.

He sighed heavily. “Charleston of the Carolinas.”

“Is it very beautiful there?” she ventured again.

“To me it is. You may not like it,” he replied stiffly.

She dared not ask more of what was to be her home. She had braved enough as it was.

A chilling breeze came through the opened balcony doors and woke her at the first break of dawn. At just awakening, she was out of sorts, not being able to recognize her surroundings. But she soon became aware of the man she pressed to for warmth. Her left hand lay across his chest over the crisp, dark hair covering it, and her cheek rested against his sturdy shoulder. He slept soundly, his face turned slightly toward her, relaxed in slumber.

Not moving for fear of awakening him, she studied him at her leisure. Her eyes traced the firm, straight mouth, now softened with sleep, and the long, dark lashes which lay on brown cheeks.

“He is a handsome man,” she thought. “Perhaps it would not be so bad to have a son like him.”

He stirred slightly and turned his face away, leaving her to stare at the back of his rumpled head and the broad expanse of his chest where her hand lay. She gazed at the ring on her third finger and marveled at the brightness of the gold. It looked strange on her hand and what was even more odd was the way she suddenly felt. The thought of being this man’s wife seeped through with new realization. It was something he had said the day before—forever and for always she would be his. And now she mused: “Even in eternity I will belong to him.”

Very slowly and carefully, so as not to awaken him, she drew the covers over his chest, but she soon realized her mistake with thinking him chilled. It didn’t take long for him to kick the covers away completely, making her blush profusely.

His body lay bare to her gaze now, but she did not turn away though her face flamed with her own temerity. Instead she let her eyes roam over him slowly and with much interest, satisfying her curiosity. There was no need of others to tell her what she could see herself—that he was magnificently made, like some wild, grand beast of the forests. Long, flexible muscles were superbly conditioned, his belly flat and hard, his hips narrow, Her hand, slim and white, appeared out of place upon his brown and hairy chest.

Disturbed by the strange stirring within her, she eased from him and moved toward her side of the bed. She turned away, trying not to think how her eyes had lingered on his body, and she saw a leaf fall to the floor of the balcony. She huddled under the covers, wishing she were as warm-blooded as the man beside her.

The mantel clock had long before struck nine chimes when the two giggly girls returned to dress her. They rapped on the wood lightly and she heard their snickering through the door. It maddened her and brought a bright flush of color to her face as she slid from the bed. She glanced back over her shoulder at her husband and found him still asleep and undraped. Very cautiously she went around the bed and pulled the sheet up carefully over his nakedness. He awakened instantly, startling her so much she jumped. She drew back her hands as if she had just touched fire and went a few shades redder as his gaze swept her, making her extremely conscious of the filmy garment she wore and of its even more revealing slits. A slow, amused smile curved his lips and made her tremble, and she turned uncertainly and went to the door, knowing his eyes followed her.

The two twittering, sniggering maids came in together, one carrying a tray of food. They glanced about the room curiously as though they expected to see some secrets of the night before unfolded in front of their eyes. Seeing Brandon propping himself up on the pillows with only a sheet drawn up over his lap, they were sent into renewed giggles. He chuckled with amusement at their nervousness, but Heather desired greatly to give each a pinch, especially when they kept right on staring at her husband with such a hungry look in their eyes, giving her to wonder if they were so chaste as their fidgeting implied. They went together to the bedside to show him the great assortment of food on the tray, and Heather waited impatiently as they cooed over him, spreading a napkin over his lap with maddening slowness and pouring him tea. In the midst of all this, his eyes lifted to her own bright, angry face and mocked her, and she turned away smoldering.

Finally the maidservants remembered their duties and returned to attend her, preparing a rose-scented bath and laying out her bridal gown again, it being the only gown she possessed. Under the interested and observing eyes of her husband, they stripped the blue veil from her and helped her into the bath. Their giggling did not cease as they scrubbed her back and arms, but when they began to wash her shoulders and bosom, she could not endure it any longer. She snatched the sponge and soap from their hands impatiently and snapped at them to leave her be. She immediately regretted not being more tolerant when Brandon laughed at her with mirth, throwing his splendid head up high with his glee. She glowered at him, feeling intense hatred rise up once more within her. But she did not dare hiss the words at him she wished to, fearing he would silence her again with his fierce, heartless hands. Besides, she would not give the two skinny, homely girls the satisfaction of knowing she and the handsome beast were anything but newly wedded and in love.

Rising from the tub in shimmery wet splendor, she allowed them once more to assist her, standing motionless as they patted her body dry under Brandon’s unrelenting gaze. He watched with such a slow, unhurried regard that her skin burned from its intensity. She was more than willing to don her shift though its transparence and immodest décolletage were hardly very comforting. As they brushed and combed her hair, she found herself as fidgety as the young girls, and she cursed herself silently for allowing Brandon’s appraisal to make her nervous. But it was almost more than she could bear to have him lounging back against the satin pillows watching her, and the two servants seemed to take forever doing her hair. When they stepped back to compliment each other on their artistry, she breathed a sigh of relief. But her short lived comfort came to an abrupt end when Brandon swung his long legs over the side of the bed and stood up, dragging the sheet with him. He managed deftly to wrap it around him without revealing more of himself to the girls, and he came to her, holding the sheet around his narrow hips. He dropped a kiss on one round breast just above the lace of her shift.

“A rewarding experience, my love,” he murmured easily. “I must admit I’ve never had the honor before of being present at a lady’s toilette.”

For a moment their eyes met in the mirror, his warm and devouring, hers nervous and uncertain. But under his openly admiring regard, she flushed crimson and dropped her eyes to her lap, still feeling the brush of his lips upon her breast and the strange tremor which they had evoked. She heard his soft laugh and then he turned and made a show of kissing each maid’s hand, and he might as well have been fully garmented the way he acted. He was completely at ease and terribly confident of himself.

“You truly have done well, my ladies,” he purred to them. “My wife is greatly appreciative.”

The two almost swooned, never having such a thing happen to them before and certainly never by such a fine specimen of a man. They fell against each other giggling unceasingly and ran to ready his bath. When they finally left the room, Heather sprang up from the bench and flounced angrily to the bed for her dress.

“What need was there for that?” she snapped. “They should have been severely reprimanded for the way they acted, and you only encouraged them to be worse.”

He smiled slowly, his gaze moving appreciatively over her back. “I’m sorry, my love. I wasn’t aware that you were so jealous.”

Her blue eyes flashing, Heather spun around in a rage, prepared to send a string of insults flying at his head, but Brandon only laughed and dropped the sheet to the floor.

“Attend to my bath, will you, sweet? I have trouble reaching my back.”

She could do nothing but splutter and spew and turn a bright red. His odious manner riled her blood to the boiling point. Yet as he was, standing unclothed before her and daring her to speak with amused patience, she had to back down. She could not stand and curse him for the wretch he was, when both of them were conscious first of all of his nakedness. He waited for her answer in a relaxed stance, hands on hips, one knee bent and slightly forward. She hated him for his coolness, his mocking gaze, but she would not call him names.

Holding her teeth clenched tight, she brushed past him and picked up the sponge and soap and waited for him to get in the tub, her back as rigid as stone. She heard his amused chuckle and she gritted her teeth more. Then he was easing into the tub of hot water in front of her.

She hesitated but a moment over his back, then with frigid determination she bent over him and began to lather the soap over it. She scrubbed hard, venting her anger into the strokes she used. But when she had gladly concluded that task, he just grinned.

“You’re not finished, pet. I would like to be washed all over.”

“All over?” she squeaked weakly, incredulously.

“Of course, sweet. I’m very lazy.”

She damned him with unuttered words, knowing he was making her bathe him because it satisfied his need for vengeance. His excuse of being lazy was meant only to flaunt his mastery over her. He was most aware that having to touch him in any way was agony for her, and he had chosen the intimate chore of bathing him as punishment. She’d have gladly taken a beating rather than to do it and he knew this well.

Despising him, she jerked up the sponge again and bent to her task as he leaned back in the tub. She ran the soap through the mat of hair on his chest and over his broad shoulders, her face burning under his casual scrutiny. His unflinching stare caressed her white arms, the long, slender neck, and finally her bosom whose beauty was revealed even more as she worked over him, exposing part of one round breast.

“Did you have someone you were fond of in your uncle’s village?” he asked suddenly, a frown wrinkling his brow.

“No,” she said sharply, then rebuked herself for not being more cunning.

The frown vanished. He ran a wet finger across her breasts and smiled. “I’m sure there were many who were smitten with you.”

Angrily she snatched her shift up high over her bosom and rubbed it against her flesh where the water trickled down between her breasts. When she let go again, the garment returned to its place, now quite damp.

“There were a few, but you needn’t worry. They weren’t like you. They were gentlemen.”

“I’m not worried at all, my pet,” he answered easily. “You were well guarded.”

“Yes,” she retorted sarcastically. “That is, from everybody but you.”

He chuckled and swept her again with his burning gaze. “It was my pleasure, sweet.”

She went livid with rage. “I suppose it pleases your male ego too, to have me breeding now! You must surely be proud of yourself!”

His grin was mocking. “I’m not displeased. I happen to like babies.”

“Oh, you—you—” she sputtered, seething.

The grin was gone with frightening speed. “Finish attending your husband’s bath, my dear,” he said sarcastically.

She choked off a sob and squeezed the sponge out over his knee. There was nothing left to wash now but the lower half of his body, and she could not bring herself to be that familiar with him. Tears sparkled in her long lashes and fell from her cheeks.

“I can’t,” she murmured.

He reached under her chin and lifted it up gently. His gaze went deep into her eyes. “If I choose, you know you will do it, don’t you?” he asked softly.

She closed her eyes in agony and nodded her head. “Yes,” she whispered miserably, tears falling freely now.

His hand caressed her fragile cheek. “Gather my clothes then, will you, sweet? I’m sure everyone is waiting to see how you have fared.”

She went gladly and collected his clothes from about the room, more than grateful because he had been lenient with her. It would be a long time before she’d dare call him names again or flare up in anger at him. She would have to remember he disliked insolence and would not stand for it. She had been effectively disciplined and would do his will as an obedient wife. Cowardly she was, and she hadn’t the nerve to do anything else.

When they left the bedroom, she walked beside him silently, completely docile. She even managed a timid smile when he slid his hand behind her back to her waist and glanced down at her.

In the drawing room the two older couples waited anxiously, though Aunt Fanny for an entirely different reason. She was hoping for the worst, but she frowned blackly as her niece came in seeming at ease with the man beside her. His lordship went to Heather immediately and embraced her.

“You’re looking radiant as always, my child,” he said with relief in his voice.

“Did you expect anything else, my Lord?” Brandon asked coldly.

Lord Hampton laughed softly. “Do not hold a grudge against me, my son. To me, Heather’s happiness comes first.”

“Yes, you’ve made that abundantly clear. Now, will I be allowed to take her to my ship today or must we again have your hospitality forced upon us?”

In good spirits, his lordship was not easily vexed. “By all means, take her with my good blessings. But first, would you be opposed to eating the noon meal with us? It’s not a command, but an invitation. If you’re not so inclined, we will understand. It’s just that we hate to see Heather go. She’s like our own child.”

“I suppose it will do no harm to stay,” Brandon answered stiffly. “But I must get back to my ship soon after. I’ve been away too long as it is.”

“Of course. Of course. We understand. But I desired to talk with you about Heather’s dowry. We are prepared to settle the matter ourselves—generously.”

“I wish nothing from you, sir.”

His reply drew shocked attention and most of all from Heather. His lordship stared at the Yankee captain for a moment, completely baffled.

“Did I hear you correctly, sir?”

“You did,” Brandon said formally. “I have no intentions of taking payment for marrying my wife.”

“But it’s expected! I mean, a woman should bring to her husband some form of dowry. I am more than willing—”

“The dowry she will bring is the child she is carrying, nothing more. I’m quite capable of taking care of my own without gifts. Just the same, thank you for the offer.”

Heather closed her mouth and moved to sit down, feeling more than stunned.

“Crazy Yankee,” Aunt Fanny muttered.

Brandon clicked his heels together and bowed formally before her. “From you, madam, that is truly a compliment.”

She glared at him and made as if to sneer an insult but thought better of the idea, much to her credit. Instead, she clamped her mouth shut and jerked her face away from his mocking gaze.

“As you are well aware, madam,” he said to her back, “what I say is true. I do take care of my own—and their debts.”

The meaning of what he said was lost upon Heather, but Fanny Simmons grew very pale and very nervous. She refused to look at him. She was still silent when a servant came to announce that luncheon was served.