Claire’s cheeks reddened as she stood naked in front of the mirror in her bedroom. Memories of Devon kissing her, his lips hot and hungry against her mouth. His eyes gleaming. His desire raw and consuming and her breasts flattened against his muscled chest, the hardness of his long lean frame and evident arousal. More kisses, then hands on her breasts, legs and hips, everywhere testing, touching and teasing. She emerged bold and womanly, bringing forth some kind of hidden awareness interred in her from birth.
If only she could manage to forget those last moments. She had kissed him back with a mounting fever, her tongue tasting the hot salt of his skin, her fingers twining in the soft silk of his hair. All she could think−all she could think of at all−was that it could not happen again.
They had been nearly caught.
How fortunate Devon had the presence to conceal her like he did, so she could pull up her bodice, fix her hair, and steady her breathing. How lucky to gather her wits to offer a plausible excuse.
Scandal treaded close on her heels. Her reputation, as Sir Teakle was quick to point out would have been in tatters. A woman of nobility with a slave−the gossips would take great pleasure. Gossip equaled recreation to negate the dullness of island life. And the speed of scandal would have traveled faster than fire through a cane-break.
Claire turned to the side, wondering how Devon would view her. She ran her hands down the sides of her rounded breasts, patting her small flat waist then smoothed her palms over the back of her firm hips. He said she was beautiful.
This was a new notion for Claire. He made her feel glorious. A magical blossoming of her womanhood stood ready to unfold. It was as if someone had taken a burning ember and blown upon it, lifting her from the dormant shadows of her inner self to a burning brightness.
Did she want him? Devon−his quicksilver moods, laughing one moment then quick to challenge the next. He provoked her and annoyed her and she cursed his mocking demands of her. Why would he not go away? Why did she feel trapped?
Lily called to her. She scanned the room, throwing on a silk robe as her cousin entered.
“You look tired, Claire.”
If only she could sleep. No matter how long she laid awake thinking about Devon, she could not sort out her thoughts about him. He had called her weak, lacking confidence and afraid. What did he know? He was insufferably rash, and domineering.
Lily’s eyes riveted in their intensity and rested on her far too long for comfort. “Have you asked yourself why you championed Doctor Blackmon at the Governor’s ball? How he follows you with his eyes?”
They stared at each other across a ringing silence.
“It has been my misfortune to cross his path is all. I assure you there is nothing between us.” In her mind, she saw the flash of Devon’s eyes and the slight, scornful curl of his lip. She had looked inside him and seen his revenge. He did not deserve her affection. Love was for idiots. Fools. And she was the biggest fool of all.
Lily moved to the vanity, picked up a perfume bottle, removed the top and sniffed. She replaced the cap and placed it on the dresser. With great care, she arranged the perfume bottles, brushes, and combs and smoothed out the linen. She watched Claire in the reflection. “He seems to want something from you. What is it, Claire? What do you owe him?”
“You are being silly, Lily,” Claire said. Leave it to Lily to sense the truth of things. “I owe him nothing, and I really didn’t notice his interest in me. Why do you champion him, Lily?” Claire needed to know this side of her cousin.
Lily was silent for a moment. She pushed her spectacles up her nose and gave Claire that all-knowing superior stare that said she was far from satisfied with Claire’s explanation. “I believe he is innocent. I also believe that the laws that rule England are not the same laws that rule the natural order of man. I feel empathy for his plight as I do the other slaves. It is a moral wrong to own and punish another as if he were an animal.”
“Like you, Lily, I could not tolerate the haughtiness of everyone last evening and I do not wish to belong to that overbearing part of humanity. I had to say something!”
Lily exhaled. “The laws of James’s England stretch far and over the colonies. I love you as a sister. It is incumbent upon me to warn you the dangerous path you journey on. He’s considered a rebel. My advice is for you to discourage any intentions. I fear for you. The repercussions would be disastrous and would not only hail your demise, but destroy us all. I have come to tell you Sir Jarvis awaits you in the library.”
Lounging behind his massive mahogany desk, hand-built and hand-rubbed to a polished gleam by slaves, Jarvis entertained Sir Teakle.
“She cannot marry so soon,” said Jarvis. “She is widowed and has legal rights forbidding another marriage within two years of her last as informed to me by her solicitor.” His stomach roiled with the threats from Claire’s solicitor. He had a desire to beat her senseless again, thinking how she duped him in marrying the condemned felon. So far, he had been successful in keeping the affair a secret. Jarvis twirled a candlestick in his fingers. If Teakle was interested in the girl, he could up the price for a profit and recoup what he lost from the duke.
“Legal rights, you say. I say she has no legal rights. I have many years behind me as a barrister and there are no such laws. Widowhood can be shortened, can it not? I believe we can come to an advantageous conclusion for both parties, if you understand what I mean.”
“Go on,” barked Jarvis, his eyes narrowing. “But I will tell you, your price will have to be high for me to consider. I have had many profitable offers−”
“What I have to offer you is more−expedient. I happen to have knowledge that creditors in London would love to find you. It might be painful to be without resources and have to go to debtors’ prison under the reign of King James. You might find yourself a slave here in the colonies. Ironic, don’t you think?”
Jarvis snapped the candlestick in two. “You have my complete attention.”
“Before we become mired in financial details, I do have one outstanding question. Could there be an interest in the slave that might cause her to be difficult?”
“I’ll take care of it.”
Teakle examined his nails. “Let me make this as painless as possible. For my silence, I will get the girl, take seventy-five percent of the profits reaped from the plantation, and give you in return, one-fourth. So let us not pretend games. I see you as a man of commerce,” said Sir Teakle. “Will you accept my terms?”
Entering the library, Claire’s skin prickled. Her uncles strained countenance reeked of secrets. Did you wish to see me?
Jarvis pursed his lips. “I have consented to a courtship between you and Sir Teakle.
“Indeed, Uncle. I am in mourning with the soil fresh on my husband’s grave. A year is protocol. To do anything else is scandalous.” Claire forced a smile.
Her uncle snorted. “You did not think of your scandalous behavior in the governor’s garden? Did I not catch you alone with a slave? What do you have to say about that disgraceful activity?”
“I did nothing to be ashamed of.” Her voice ascended to a murderous falsetto.
Sir Teakle cleared his throat, and Claire whirled to see him there.
“There is talk of scandal firing about the island,” said Sir Teakle.
“No doubt I stare at the source.”
Her uncle drummed his fingers on his desk. “My blood runs cold thinking how a slave put my niece in a compromised position. I cannot allow a slight of this proportion. Who knows, I might find it a personal pleasure to see him flogged to death or hanged, makes no difference.”
She had no question of what her uncle stood capable of. “You are enjoying this, aren’t you?” Claire accused bitterly. Her hands clenched helplessly at her sides. Sir Teakle’s lecherous eyes roamed over her.
“I’m going to do you a favor, Madam Hamilton,” purred Sir Teakle. “I am going to take on the onerous duty of marrying you, relieving you of scandal and making you an honorable woman.”
Her nails dug half-moons into her palms.
Her uncle pressed on. “You could do no better, Claire. A member of the peerage with important contacts, I cannot think of a man more suited to you. He is intelligent and twenty years your senior and will be able to give you a guiding hand.”
A loathing like bile rose in her belly. “There is no point in this discussion. My solicitor said I do not have to marry again. I am protected under the law.”
Sir Teakle spoke up. “My years of education have been in studying law. You have been misinformed by your solicitor.”
Claire swung around, her eyes blazing with contempt for the knight. “I will not marry.”
Sir Jarvis cracked his cane on his desk and Claire jumped. “You will marry Sir Teakle. I will no longer tolerate your rebellion.” He raised his cane threatening her. “You remember the last time, Claire? I will not hesitate to use this on you, but on Lily also. Your Cookie and cousin will be thrown out. Remember that. What’s more, I can arrange an untimely death for that slave you purchased.”
Shivers raced up her spine. If she didn’t marry Teakle, Jarvis would make good on his threats. The corpulent Teakle gloated. She inhaled to fight off the dizziness, the horror she was to commit too. “I concede.” How could she thwart, Sir Teakle?