She did, with an alarmed jerk. "Lyon!"
He raised his head and splayed his hand over her belly to hold her still. "Hush, love. Enjoy."
She did. When she felt his hand gently come over her mouth to muffle her cries, she felt freed and gave herself to her pleasure.
He came over her then, and she felt his fingers parting her and he was thrusting deeply and powerfully into her body. She welcomed him, her mind in chaos, her body equally out of control. And again she cried out, into his mouth, and in turn took his groans as he spilled himself deep inside her.
Lyon couldn't have moved had his life depended on it. His heart was racing fast as the wind. He buried his face in the pillow beside hers, trying to recover. Never before had he felt such depth of feeling, and it seemed to linger, pulling him deeper, chaining him to her, and oddly, he didn't mind. To his stunned surprise, he felt himself harden within her, and this time he moved slowly, savoring her heat, the tightness of her about him.
"Would you come with me again, Diana?"
She looked at his taut features, heard the deep, harsh words, and nodded, mute. "Lyon," she moaned softly when his fingers found her.
"It is all over for me," Lyon said some minutes later. It took all his strength to raise himself on his elbows over her. "And I don't care. I can't believe this, Diana."
"You were looking at me, weren't you?"
He gave her a very male, very cocky grin. "Lord, yes. You're malleable, sweetheart, when you're asleep. Of course, I took the hint when I found you charmingly naked in our bed. An invitation I couldn't resist."
"I was warm, that is all."
"Little liar. No, I take that back. You were more than warm, you nearly burned me."
"Lyon!" She squeezed his shoulder, felt his warm flesh, so smooth, and stroked her hands over his back.
"Go back to sleep and moan for me and perhaps I shall find it within myself to pleasure you again."
She laughed, unfortunately for him, and he slid off her onto his side. "I'm a sweaty mess," she said.
"As in messy, from me?"
"You are becoming more outrageous by the day --- night, rather." She made to get up, but he held her arm. "A moment, Diana."
She turned to face him. "Why? I wish to bathe."
"Lie down a moment."
She obeyed him. "Why?"
He was staring at her belly, and she shifted in some embarrassment beneath his intent gaze. "I am not quite certain what I should be looking at." He splayed his hand over her belly, his fingertips not reaching her pelvic bones. "I have large hands," he said more to himself than to her. "I think our babe can grow comfortably in your belly. But your father is right. When you are with child, we are returning to England."
"He spoke of my mother, didn't he?"
"Yes, and he is terrified that you also could die in childbirth. Needless to say, I shan't allow it."
"I am a big clumsy giant compared to my mother, at least that's what Dido has always told me."
Lyon, still intent on her very lovely belly, didn't answer.
"He still misses her so. Poor Father."
Lyon leaned down and kissed her stomach. "Too tired to even moan for me?"
"Yes. I am beyond anything like that, husband."
He sighed. "Married to a cold woman. Just my blasted luck."
She sent her fist at his shoulder and he obligingly grunted.
"And a shrew."
She punched him again, and he grabbed her hand and rolled on top of her. "Get off me, you brute! You're heavy and sweaty."
"You weren't complaining just a few minutes ago. Indeed, if I close my eyes, I can still hear the echoes of your abandoned yells. Not that I minded covering your mouth, sweetheart."
She suddenly relaxed her body and closed her arms around his back. She buried her face against his shoulder. "I disliked you so very much, in London, at first. I thought you were a dandy and an arrogant, conceited boor. Remember the first time you carried me to the front steps? I felt the strangest sensations and thought I had a stomachache or that I was hungry, or something. Did you know then what I felt for you?"
He gave her his special knowing, very masculine grin. "Yes, you were charming. As I recall, it took all my wits and control to keep from throwing you on Lucia's front steps and having my evil way with you. Your breastsah, they were a mighty temptation. So cocky and innocent you were."
"Then you had the gall to beat me."
His hand cupped over her, his fingertips stroking her lightly. "That," he said, his voice deep, "you deserved. Our courtship was a bit unusual, I suppose. Incidentally, when I first met you, I thought you were a silly, arrogant little twit. I wanted nothing to do with you."
"Now," she said with smiling satisfaction, "now, you have everything to do with me."
"The good Lord knows that! You know what I would like to do? Go for a swim. With any luck at all, we won't stumble over another body."
His humor sounded a bit strained to her sensitive ears, but she managed to say easily enough, "Yes, let's."
There were no bodies to be found that night. They swam in the cool sea, played until they were exhausted. He was holding her against him, her wet hair wrapped about him like a blanket. "Diana," he said quietly, not looking at her, "we shall have to go home soon."
He felt her stiffen.
"Home to England. I have an idea about Mendenhall. Once it is settled, we will return. I swear to you, though, that we will come back to Savarol for visits. And we will stay in London only when you wish to. My estate near Escrick will please you. You enjoyed the moors and the heather, remember? And there are Frances and Hawk."
She said nothing for many moments. He felt her legs wrap around his hips. Finally, "Can we take my mare back to England with us?"
Lyon felt as though Atlas and his worldly weight had both fallen from his shoulders. "Yes, certainly. We can breed her if you like with Flying Davie from Hawk's stable, and have a lot of little Tanises."
"You are a nice man, Lyon," she said, and kissed him.
"Yes, I am. Are you only just now coming to that conclusion?" He dunked her beneath the water when she didn't answer immediately. She came up, sputtering and laughing. "I take it all backyou are a brute."
"But I am your brute," he said, and dunked her again. He felt her arms go about his legs and he went under.
They walked back toward the great house, covered with their dressing gowns. Lyon paused a moment and gently lifted her face. He studied her features for a long time, saying nothing. He kissed her.
"You taste like salt."
"As do you."
"As I said earlier, it is all over with me. All the suspicions, all my notions of women as the betrayers. Charlotte's Disease is a thing of the past. I love you, Diana."
She blinked up at him, unable to quite believe him. She felt her heart thudding in strong, hurried beats.
"It's true. I think it's because you are so very exquisite with your legs wide apart, lying on your back, moaning wild little cries in your sleep."
Still, she stared up at him, silent.
He clasped her head between his hands and kissed her deeply. "Even though you are salty and wet and dreadfully tanned, I still love you."
A deep shudder went through her. "All right," she whispered finally. "All right."
"Excellent," he said, took her hand, and led her back to the great house.
She was nearly asleep in their bed when she heard him say softly, "You said it aloud, you know, that afternoon in our cave."
Said what? she wondered, her mind too fuzzy to think straight.
"I knew then that it wouldn't be fair or just not to return your affection."
"Hmmm," she managed. She remembered now that she'd told him she loved him. She evidently hadn't just thought it then.
She fell asleep smiling. Her husband would be a handful, of that she had no doubt. He was strong-willed and stubborn. They would argue and yell at each other, and love. They would have children, and with
any luck life would be good.
Oddly, Lyon was thinking along the same lines. Life, he decided as he drifted into sleep, would never be boring.
Not with Diana. Diana Ashton, Countess of Saint Leven. A nice sound, that.
Diana was given ample evidence of his stubbornness the following morning. He said, "I am going to Tortola, to visit Mendenhall. As I told you, I have something of an idea. I wish to see exactly how things stand before I act."
"All I need is fifteen minutes to pack a valise," she said.
"No, you are staying here."
And that is supposed to be that? she wondered, staring silently at him for a moment. He tells me he loves me and then gives me orders?
I will act reasonably about this, she decided. "Lyon, you know nothing of Tortola or of anything. You need me to be with you."
"I'm going with Bemis," he said shortly.
"Lyon, you are being ridiculous and too stubborn for words! Of course I am coming with you."
"I will not argue with you. You are not coming, and that's an end to it."
She opened her mouth, further arguments --- quite good ones actually --- already formed, but he forestalled her.
"No, Diana. I want you to stay here, safe."
"Safe! Now that is excellent male logic. Have you forgotten so readily that Moira was strangled? Murdered by someone, and we haven't the faintest idea who did it?"
"I will also add that I wish you to be in your father's company at all times. I expect you to take care. I have forgotten nothing."
"I am going with you."
His eyes darkened. He said slowly, as if she were a dim-witted child, "I am your husband and you will obey me. You are remaining here on Savarol. I should be back in two or three days."
She argued with him, she couldn't help herself, but he was immovable. Finally, furious with him, she shouted, "Go, then! I hope the boat springs a leak. I hope you end up by yourself on another Calypso Island, alone!"
"Ah, my loving wife," he said, tight-lipped.
He left just after breakfast, Bemis with him. Diana watched him stride toward the stable, Bemis beside him, from her balcony, and cursed softly. "Idiot man."
Her eyes widened with fury when she saw Patricia, skirts flying, race after the men. She saw Lyon turn and speak with her. Patricia, laughing, stopped, then waved good-bye.
It is not fair that a man can tell me what to do and what not to do just because he is married to me. Not fair at all. Her major failed argument with him was that she didn't trust Bemis, and he'd merely given her that arrogant stare of his.
But she didn't trust Edward Bemis. She didn't trust anybody.
Her father spoke to her from her bedchamber door. "Diana, my dear, would you like to come with me to the fields? Grainger has told me there are problems, particularly with Bob, the young man in love with Moira. He is upset and making crazy accusations. Evidently the other slaves are listening to him."
At least her father trusted her and valued her opinions.
They rode with Grainger to the fields within the hour. She felt a stirring of worry at the sight of the small knot of slaves, obviously talking about Moira.
She heard Bob speaking loudly, "Dis man, Bemis," he was saying. "Bastard, dat man."
And several other men agreeing.
"You see, sir," said Grainger, drawing his horse to a halt. "I hesitate to use the whip, but ---"
"Of course you won't," said Lucien. "Diana, you and Grainger stay here. I will handle this."
Diana watched her father ride to the group of slaves and casually dismount. She saw Bob's face darken with confusion at her father's words. She wanted to ride closer, to hear what he was saying, but Grainger said softly, "No, Miss Diana. Leave him to deal with it. The slaves trust him implicitly, you know that."
"And do they not trust you?"
"Yes, but not to the same degree. I have accepted that."
"Who do you think strangled Moira?"
Grainger shrugged. "I don't know. If I did, I should certainly let it be known."
"You don't think it was one of the slaves?" Diana persisted.
"I would be very surprised."
Diana watched her father closely for many moments, watching him gesticulate to make a point. "You know," she said slowly, not looking at the overseer, "nothing like this ever happened until all the new people came."
"That is true." He paused a moment to flick a fly from his horse's mane. "That, of course, includes your husband."
"That is fair," she said after a moment, cooling her instant fury at his comment. "However, my husband was with me, and I assure you I had nothing to do with it."
Grainger sighed. "I meant no insult, truly, it is just that what has happened is so beyond anything we've ever had to deal with. I feel like a man caught in a house that is on fire and I'm staying to warm my hands."
"And I don't like the fact that my husband accompanied Edward Bemis alone to Mendenhall plantation."
"Your husband, Miss Diana," he said with a grin, "is well able to take care of himself."
"Even around a snake?"
"Bemis is many things, a snake included, but he isn't stupid. No harm will come to your husband."
If only she could be certain. Stubborn, arrogant man. The slaves were dispersing. Her father rejoined them just as Daniel rode up to join them.
"What is happening?" he asked in his deep, calm voice.
"Daniel! Oh, it is Moira, you know. The men are upset, not that I blame them. We must do something."
"I wish your father had spoken to me," Daniel said. "I could have spoken to the men."
"Perhaps," Diana said.
"All is well now," Lucien said, reining in Salvation. He looked a moment at Daniel and grinned. "My boy, the horse is going to collapse under your weight." Indeed, the old stallion looked ready to drop. "Why won't you ride Egremont? He's up to your weight."
Daniel merely smiled and shook his head. "He makes me nervous," was all he would say.
"Trade with me, Daniel," Diana said, laughing.
He was so good-natured, she thought, watching him climb onto Tanis. "Now your feet don't touch the ground."
Daniel gently scratched behind Tanis' ears. "Sir," he said after a moment to Lucien, "one of the women is ill in the village."
"Who?" asked Grainger.
"Old Granny Gates. It's her heart, I doubt not, and there is little I can do, she is very old, but ---" He shrugged, his voice trailing off.
"You will ease her with your presence," Lucien said. "Go on, Daniel, and see to her. Keep her family with her."
At dinner that evening, Diana thought that Deborah was uncommonly disturbed. Not that she was a bitch to any of the servants, Diana thought, but she was tense, saying little. Oh, Father, she thought unhappily, what have you done?
As for Patricia, she was giggling, playing the coquette to every male at the dinner table, Diana's father included. They were all there, save for Bemis and Lyon.
Daniel was his usual quiet self; Charles Swanson, with little encouragement from Patricia, was telling highly embroidered tales of his years on St. Thomas.
And here I am missing my wretched husband, Diana thought, barely tasting one of her favorite dishes, saltfish patties.
Dido arrived at the table, a wide smile on her weathered face. "A surprise for da massa," she announced, and set a small plate of sweet-potato pone in front of Lucien Savarol.
"What have I done, Dido?" he asked, smiling at the beaming old woman.
"You tell dat boy, Bob, dat you find the bad man. And you will, masse. Bob, he believe dat you will. He grateful."
"One hopes you are right," said Diana, looking fondly at the sweet-potato pone, her appetite magically returned.
Her father grinned at her and passed her the plate. "I am stuffed, my dear. Go ahead."
"Really, Lucien, it was prepared for you," Deborah said with a frown toward Diana.
"Like father like daughter," Lucien said. "The child has begged it off my p
late since the advanced age of four. Isn't that so, Diana?"
"Indeed it is. However, I am willing to share."
"Oh, no!" Patricia flushed slightly, then smiled at the table at large. "It is most fattening, Diana. Surely, as a lady ---"
"My little sister is perfect," said Daniel. "As much as I love my food, I won't even demand a bite."
Diana laughed and forked down the exquisitely prepared dish, savoring each bite.
"I really wish you would share with your father," Deborah said again.
Lucien gave his wife a puzzled look, then turned to Charles as he began another amusing story.
Daniel finished off his dinner. Grainger sat back in his chair, his hands folded over his stomach. He looked tired and older suddenly, Diana thought. She wished she could think of something to say that would make things better, but there were no words forthcoming.
An hour later, Diana was yawning, unable to prevent it.
Her father smiled at her. "Time to go to your bed, my dear."
She shook her head. "I don't know why I am so tired."
"Come, Diana, I will see you to your room," Deborah said, rising from her chair.
Diana yawned again. She felt as though there were heavy weights tied to her feet. Every step was an effort. Her mind felt like mush. Deborah said nothing, merely entered Diana's bedchamber with her and helped her undress for bed.
"I don't know what is wrong with me," Diana said, weaving toward the bed.
Her last thought before she fell asleep was that Deborah was looking uncommonly severe. How very odd.
The next morning she felt sluggish, as if she had overindulged in the heavy estate rum. She'd only done that once, when she was twelve years old. Her father hadn't punished her, merely smiled at her and said what she was now feeling was punishment enough.
Her head throbbed. It was an effort to dress herself. Only Patricia was at the table when she came out onto the veranda.
"Did you sleep well?"
Was there sarcasm in Patricia's voice? Diana shook her head. "I suppose so," she said, and seated herself.
She wanted to see to household matters, but she didn't have the energy. It seemed, even to her not-very-objective eye, that Deborah was dealing with things efficiently.