man seemed to have come from nowhere, or perhaps she had been too preoccupied to notice his approach. He was masked, as was everyone present, but his size marked him out. He could only be the Marquis de Vere. Deborah drew a sharp breath as he grasped her hand and pulled her into the throng of carefree dancers. She would have resisted had he asked her permission, but his grip was firm and strong and she felt it would be useless to try to free herself. He was determined to have his way.
‘This is madness,’ she breathed as he placed his hands about her waist to toss her into the air and then catch her to him.
It was as if she weighed no more than a feather. Her heart raced furiously as he held her crushed against him for a brief moment before setting her on her feet to whirl her round and round the room. Again and again, she was caught, tossed and held, the madness of the dance infecting her so that her natural caution was all but lost.
Deborah gazed down into the handsome face of her captor, for that in truth was what he had become. He had daringly made a prisoner of both her body and her mind. She seemed to have no will of her own and was seized by a strange desire as she met the fire in his dark eyes, a longing that was so strange and wanton she was suddenly afraid. Was this man truly a devil? How else could he have made her so far forget herself?
The music was ending at last after what had seemed an eternity. Deborah was finally set upon her feet by the marquis, and his hold on her released so that she was able to breathe freely once more. Slowly, her senses returned to normal and she stood staring at the mocking set of her partner’s mouth. He was laughing at her! She drew herself up to her full height, which came no farther than the top of his shoulder. Her expression became proud and withdrawn, her eyes cold.
‘I shall not thank you for the dance, sir. Had you had the courtesy to ask, I should have refused.’
‘Yet I would swear there was delight in your eyes while we danced, sweet mistress.’
‘More like fear,’ she answered waspishly. ‘I thought myself in the clutches of a madman.’
‘Aye, mayhap we were both a little mad for a moment.’ His eyes had narrowed beneath the slits of his velvet mask, the colour of them so intense and dark that a shiver went through her. His hand reached out to touch the pendant she wore about her slender throat. ‘You wear a fine jewel this night, Mistress Stirling.’
Deborah lifted her head, anger making her speak as she did without truly thinking of what she said. ‘It is the gift of the man to whom I shall soon be betrothed. Don Miguel Cortes…’
‘God’s breath!’ Nicholas ejaculated and tore off his mask. His features were contorted with a terrible anger, making Deborah recoil in genuine fear this time. ‘You lie! I beg you, Mistress Stirling—tell me this is some wrong-headed jest to punish me for my behaviour towards you. You cannot wish to be the wife of such a man. It would be sacrilege.’
Deborah was trembling inside as she saw the strange, almost haunted look in his eyes, but determined not to let him see that she was so affected by his words.
‘His likeness pleases me.’ She faced him with a steady gaze, though she was near ready to faint. ‘I am aware that you and he have some quarrel between you, but…’
‘You think my disgust is because of a petty quarrel?’ Nicholas gripped her wrist, his fingers digging so deeply into her flesh that she almost cried out in pain. ‘That man is a monster—a murderer! Were I to tell you of his hideous crimes you would never again sleep in peace. Do not give yourself to such a man, Mistress Stirling. If you value your self-respect—or your life!—you will step back now, before it is too late.’
Deborah saw hatred and a chilling horror in his eyes. His words terrified her. There was a sickness in her stomach and she felt as though she would swoon.
‘Please let me go,’ she whispered. ‘I must…I need air.’
Nicholas saw the distress in her eyes and cursed himself for a fool.
‘Forgive me, you are unwell.’ He took her arm, feeling her tremble beneath his hand. ‘I am a brute indeed, sweet lady. You are not to blame for that monster’s crimes. Do not fear me. I would kill Cortes if I could but you are safe with me. I swear it by my honour.’
Deborah had no strength to break free of him as he led her from the hall, which was crowded with flushed and sweating dancers, into a quiet chamber nearby. A single torch flared here and the air was cooler, fresher. She sank onto an oak settle near a window and drew in a deep shuddering breath to steady her nerves. It was dark outside with hardly a star in the night sky. An omen, perhaps, of what the future held for her if she were to believe this man—but could she believe him?
‘Are you feeling better?’ Nicholas asked after a few moments. ‘I should not have shocked you so, though I spoke only the truth. It would have been better had I gone to your father. He has been deceived in this matter. I cannot think he would allow the marriage if he understood what kind of a man this Spaniard truly is. No father would give his only child to such a monster.’
‘Don Manola is my father’s friend. He offers us much kindness…’
‘The Don seeks to trap you with honeyed words,’ Nicholas replied harshly. ‘No Spanish woman of gentle birth would wed with his son, for his reputation is known beyond his own province. Why do you imagine he has sought a bride abroad? Listen to me, Mistress Stirling, I entreat you. Draw back now. There are a score of true, honest men present here this evening. Any one of them would make you a fitter husband than Cortes.’
‘You perhaps?’ Deborah’s eyes flashed with scorn as she looked up at him.
‘No, not I, mistress,’ Nicholas replied. ‘I shall take no woman for wife while Isabella lies unavenged in her grave. I have sworn it and I do not lightly break my vow.’
‘Well, I am glad that was not your reason for trying to poison my mind with falsehoods,’ Deborah replied coldly, ‘for I should never have consented to such a match. I have listened to your words, sir, and I find them less than convincing.’ She was feeling better and more in control as she rose to her feet. Her eyes gazed up at him steadily. ‘I thank you for escorting me here, sir. I was in need of some respite after that dance. Now I ask that you leave me. I shall make my own way back when I am ready.’
‘You hate me for my plain speaking? You are perverse in refusing to accept my warning, lady. I fear you will come to regret it ere long.’
‘You have no power to arouse an emotion of any kind in me, sir,’ she replied haughtily and tossed her head. He took too much on himself! How dare he dictate to her? ‘Your warning has been made. I give you leave to go.’
To her surprise and chagrin, her regal manner did not provoke the response she imagined.
‘I see that you are feeling better.’ Nicholas grinned at her, clearly much amused. ‘Then I shall leave you as you request, my lady.’ He made her an elegant leg. ‘I regret that I was the cause of distress to you—yet I am minded to prove that you lied when you said I had no power to arouse any emotion in you.’
Before Deborah could guess what was in his mind, he reached out and caught her to him, his eyes seeming to burn into her, setting a flame leaping within her body. Then his head bent towards hers and his mouth sought hers, caressing her with a softness that took her unawares. Had his kiss been demanding or greedy she would have fought him, but its very sweetness drew an instinctive response from her. The flame his gaze had ignited became
