Текст книги "Tiger Prince "

Chapter 17

The clouds hovered gray and heavy over the mountain. Just the sight of them made Jane feel as if they were pressing down, smothering her in a sluggish languor. No, it wasn't the weather. The day had only just turned threatening and yet she had been experiencing this heaviness since she had opened her eyes that morning.

"I'd like to ride over and see James Medford later this afternoon," she said over her shoulder to Ruel. "I need to talk to him about the schedule for joining the rails."

"Restless already?" Ruel's lips tightened. "It's been only two days. I'll have to apply myself to keep you more interested."

He was angry. Jane had been aware of Ruel's growing edginess for the entire day. He had been prowling around the summerhouse like a caged lion for the past few hours. "You're restless yourself. Neither of us is accustomed to being cooped up with no work to do."

"This is your work for the time being."

She whirled away from the window, holding tight to the sheet she had draped around herself. "Good heavens, we cannot fornicate every hour of the day. It's only making you bad-tempered."

"I'm not bad-tempered!”

"You most certainly are."

He scowled. "Then it's your job to distract and soothe me."

"You shouldn't need soothing. I told you that you'd be disappointed."

"I'm not disappointed. I've done exactly what I said I'd do." His smile was a mere baring of teeth. "And enjoyed every minute of it."

"No, you haven't." She frowned, trying to put together the pieces of his behavior. "For some reason . . . oh, I think you've enjoyed my body but not the other."

"What other?"

"You didn't like hurting me."

He stiffened. "I've not noticed any bruises."

She did have a few bruises on her body but not by his intent. It would have been impossible not to have gone through the orgy of sexual indulgences of the past forty-eight hours without showing any signs. "You know the kind of wounds you inflicted. It gave you no satisfaction."

"I regret you're reading me wrong. I'm very satisfied with every aspect of our time together and, if you'd admit to it, I believe you received an equal satisfaction."

"Because you gave me pleasure?" She shook her head. "Every time you gave me that pleasure it hurt me. It stripped my pride and made me feel less than myself, just as you intended it to do."

"I'm surprised you're telling me this."

"I wouldn't have admitted it when I came here." She shrugged. "It's different now. I don't mind giving you small victories. You need them more than I do. It must be terrible to live with such a passion for revenge."

"How condescending of you." His lips thinned. "You might consider how you would feel if it were Li Sung instead of Ian who was going through torment before blaming me for wanting to settle accounts."

She shook her head wearily. "I don't know how I would feel. It's too horrible to imagine." She met his gaze. "And I've never blamed you. I don't blame you now. I'm just glad it's over."

A multitude of expressions crossed his face, but she could single out only shock, frustration, anger, and desire. "Oh, it's not over yet." He smiled recklessly. "And I believe you'd best prepare to give me another victory." His gaze wandered over her. "If you must cover yourself, it won't be with that sheet. I believe it's time for you to don more appropriate apparel. Put on the cloth-of-gold gown in the armoire."

At first she didn't understand, but her eyes widened as she recalled his words that first night she had arrived on Cinnidar. "You actually had it made?"

"Of course. I always keep my promises. Put it on."

"Don't you think this promise could be—" She broke off as she saw his face. His eyes were shimmering recklessly and she could sense the core of violence and frustration just below the surface ready to explode. She shrugged. "If you insist. It's not worth arguing about." She walked toward the armoire across the room.

A few moments later the three mirrors on the wall reflected her image gowned in a loose garment that was still blatantly sexual. It draped only one shoulder in the Greek fashion and then dipped across her body to bare one breast. The skirt was slit to the waist to show her limbs with every movement. She could feel the color sting her cheeks as she looked at herself. She felt more naked in this gown than she had totally nude.

"Lovely." Ruel's arms slid around her from behind, one hand cupping her breast. "Just as I imagined you."

She met his gaze in the mirror. "As a whore?"

"What else?" he asked mockingly, his thumb and forefinger pulling at her nipple.

A hot shiver went through her. The muscles of her stomach contracted. "This gown doesn't make me a whore any more than your treating me like one."

"But it bothers you."

"Yes, it bothers me. Does that please you?"

"Of course it pleases me. Why shouldn't it—" He stopped and again his expression reflected that mixture of frustration and discontent. "Kneel down on the carpet, dammit."

"The bed is only a few feet away."

"The floor."

She shrugged and fell to her knees.

"Now get up on your hands and knees."

It was beginning again—dark excitement, domination, and . . . anticipation. She moistened her lips. "Why?"

"I believe it's time we tried something new." He lifted her gown above her waist and the next moment she felt his warm palms caressing her buttocks. "The painting in the maharajah's railroad car . . ."

He plunged deep, taking her breath. He stopped, his hardness sealed within her while his hands went around to cup and fondle her breasts. "We have to faithfully reproduce the painting, don't we?" He began to move slowly, making her feel every inch. She involuntarily tightened around him as a spasm of heat tore through her. "Ah, that's what I want. Now look back at me. I want to see your expression."

She turned her head to stare at him. She knew what he was seeing—heat, lust, anger at herself for not being able to resist the passion he ignited so easily. His own face was flushed, his lips heavy with sensuality, set in an expression of painful pleasure, and yet once more she discerned that odd torment. "It's not the same," she gasped. "Don't you see? It ... can never be the same no matter what you see in my face. It's your expression that's wrong. I told you the painting was false. Men aren't gentle. Never gentle . . ."

He went still. "Damn you," he said hoarsely. "Damn you." He exploded, plunging in a fury of movement.

Her fingers dug into the carpet as the storm rose, each stroke whipping her into a mindless frenzy. She wasn't sure how long it lasted until she felt the burst of wild sensation that signaled both their release.

She collapsed on the floor and a moment later felt him leave her. She was completely enervated, unable to move. She became vaguely aware he was picking her up, depositing her on the bed.

"Are you all right?" he asked stiltedly.

The heaviness she had felt all day seemed to be pressing down on her, crushing the breath from her body. "Tired . . ."

He pulled the covers up to her chin and then lay down beside her. He gazed straight ahead, not touching her. "I lost my temper."

She didn't answer:

"All right, you don't have to wear the damn gown again," he burst out.

"It doesn't matter."

"Take it off."

"I'm too tired."

He muttered a curse beneath his breath. The next moment he was pulling the gown down her body and throwing it into a glittering golden heap on the floor. He pulled the covers up around her again. "Satisfied?"

It was not like Ruel to be so defensive, she thought dimly, but it was no more unusual than his other behavior today. "It doesn't matter," she repeated, and closed her eyes. "Not important . . ."

"Take me with you, Patrick," Jane muttered. Her voice rose. "Take me with you!"

"What the hell—" Ruel roused from sleep to see Jane tossing wildly on the bed next to him. Her eyes were closed. She was only dreaming, he realized with relief.

He reached over to shake her shoulder. "Wake up, it's only—" Her flesh was burning hot under his hand, "Jane?"

"I don't want to be like her." Her breath was coming in pants. "I won't be any bother. Take me with you, Patrick."

"Jesus, what the hell's wrong? Wake up." He sat up in bed and lit the lamp on the bedside table before reaching over and shaking her again. "Open your eyes, dammit."

Her eyes opened but stared without seeing. "The train. He's leaving on the train." She panicked. "Don't leave me, Patrick."

"No one's leaving you." His arms closed around her. God, she was hot. His heart was pounding as hard as hers as he tried to make her lie still against him. "It's all right. No one is going to leave you."

"Yes, he will. Unless I make him take me."

"Christ, stop thrashing around."

"Patrick!"

What could he do? She wasn't in her right senses and he was afraid to leave her alone even to fetch help. Tamar wouldn't return until he brought breakfast.

"Please, I don't want to be like her," she whispered.

His arms tightened around her. He knew who she was talking about and the memory she was reliving. While awake she may have conquered her demons, but now she was a child again with all the fears and torments of the mind let loose.

The torments he had deliberately brought her here to set free.

Who could be hammering at the door at this time of night? Margaret wondered drowsily.

Then, as she came fully awake, she glanced quickly at Ian. Thank goodness he had not been disturbed. She struggled into her robe, thrust her feet into slippers, and marched across the room to throw open the door. Ruel. She should have known who would be so lacking in consideration.

"Merciful saints, must you come pounding in the middle of the night? Ian needs his sleep, and it's a wonder you didn't wake him. Why could it not—" She broke off as she saw his strained face and glittering eyes. "What's wrong?"

"I need you," he said hoarsely. "Can you come?"

"Come where?" She cast a glance over her shoulder. Ian was still sleeping soundly. The pain had been bad last night and she had been forced to give him extra laudanum. She stepped into the hall and quietly closed the door behind her.

"The summerhouse." He took her elbow and strode down the hall, half leading, half dragging her. "I need you."

"That's the first time I've ever heard you say that," she said dryly. "I can hardly wait to hear in what manner."

"You know about sickness," he said jerkily. "You took care of your father and Ian."

"You're ill?"

"Jane."

"Jane's here?" she asked, startled.

"Would I be coming after you if she were not? Stop asking questions and hurry. I've left her alone too long already."

Her pace quickened. "What's wrong?"

"If I knew that, I wouldn't have called you. Fever. Chills. She's out of her head. She doesn't know me."

"Have you sent for the physician?"

"Of course I have, but it may be hours before Tamar gets back with him. She needs someone now."

"What is she doing at the summerhouse?"

He looked straight ahead. "That's not your concern."

"What have you been up to, Ruel?"

He didn't answer.

It was clear he was not going to confide in her the exact nature of this particular deviltry. "I may not be able to help."

"You can try." He opened the french doors leading to the terrace. He added haltingly, "Please."

Good God, Ruel must be frantic if he was desperate enough to plead. "I'll try."

Margaret came out of the summerhouse and closed the door behind her. "She's better."

A muscle jerked in Ruel's cheek. "Thank God."

"The fever's down and she v/oke up long enough to answer some of the doctor's questions. He said the fever should leave her entirely in a few hours."

"What the hell's wrong with her?"

"Malaria. She contracted it in Kasanpore and the fever recurs periodically."

"She never told me."

"Nor me," Margaret said. "And I've known her for three years. She's not a woman who confides her weaknesses." She wearily rubbed the back of her neck. "I must go back in case Ian needs me. I'll come and see her this afternoon."

"No, I'll take care of her from now on."

"You don't appear to have done much in that nature as yet."

He flinched. "I said I'd do it. She might find facing you awkward."

"You're trying to save her shame? How unusual. Your tardy gallantry is unnecessary. Jane and I understand each other. She knows I wouldn't blame her for your sins." She met his gaze. "And I'm not sure it's not my duty to take her back to the palace with me."

"She wouldn't go."

"I think she would. She wouldn't admit it, but she's always been afraid of you."

"Not anymore," he said with a crooked smile. "Not when she's not burning up with fever. And even if she were, she wouldn't go. We have an arrangement."

She snorted. "She has more intelligence than to make a pact with a conscienceless rogue like you. Why is she here?"

"You wouldn't want to know."

"You may be right." She was suddenly overcome with weariness. She did not need this additional burden weighing on her when she was so bewildered and strained herself. Who was she to call Ruel down for his iniquities when she had lately found herself falling into the same temptation? "Can I trust you not to—"

"Oh, for God's sake, do you think I'm going to jump into bed with her while she can barely lift her hand?" he asked explosively.

Whatever had happened here, Jane's illness had shaken Ruel. She had never seen him so pale and distraught as when he had appeared at her door. She could not be sure it would last, but Jane was safe with him for the time being. "If you need anything of me, let me know."

She started back up the path toward the palace.

Ruel looked like a death head, Jane thought hazily. Something had to be done. She would tell him she would take the watch over Ian tonight. Not that she had much hope of success when Ruel was so afraid Ian would slip away if he wasn't there to pull him back. "Have to . . . rest."

Ruel's gaze flew to her face. "What?"

"You should rest more. You look . . ." She trailed off as she came fully awake. This was not the bungalow in Kasanpore in those days they had worked together to keep Ian alive. This was the summerhouse . . .

"You're the one who needs rest." Ruel leaned forward and put a glass of water to her lips. "Drink."

She swallowed the water. "I've been ill?"

"Fever. For the past two days. The doctor said it was a comparatively mild attack." His lips tightened. "It didn't seem mild to me."

She vaguely recalled the doctor staring down at her, asking her questions, talking to someone else across the bed. "Margaret . . . was here too?"

"Yes. Why didn't you tell me you'd had malaria?"

"Why should I?" She frowned. "Two days. I have to get back to work."

"I sent word to Li Sung to tell him you'd be delayed."

"You told him I was sick? You shouldn't have done that. He'll only worry."

"I told him you were out of danger." He scowled. "And it's about time someone worried about you. Li Sung should have seen you were working yourself toward something like this."

"My fault ... I forgot to take the quinghao after I got here."