Juliette blinked. “Wait for what?”
He smiled. “Until you say, s’il vous plaît, Jean Marc.”
She felt as if he’d struck her. “You do want to hurt me.”
“I want only to win the game.”
“It’s the same thing.” She shook her head. “I won’t let you do that to me.”
“Yes, you will. Because you want it as much as I do. It’s been there between us since those days at the inn.”
“No, I never thought of—I wanted only to paint you.”
“You wanted to break the mirror,” Jean Marc said softly. “Did it never occur to you that’s what would happen if we came together? Destruction and then renewal.”
Juliette’s hands clenched into fists at her sides. Could he be right? It was true Jean Marc had dominated her thoughts since she had first met him, and when he had returned to her life she had not been able to be in the same room with him without a sense of excitement and anticipation.
No, she couldn’t accept that he could be so important to her. It was much too dangerous. “I wanted only to paint you,” she repeated.
He uncorked a bottle of wine at the sideboard, brought it and a glass to the table, and sat down. “It doesn’t really matter now. Undress, please.”
Her heart leapt in her throat. “I thought you said—”
“Oh, I did, but there are other forms of gratification besides a final consummation. While you undress I’ll tell you what I’ll expect of you on this journey.” He poured a glass of wine and leaned against the high back of the chair. “As my mistress, naturally you’ll be obedient to my wishes in all things carnal. You agree that’s reasonable?”
“Yes,” she said warily.
“Well, first I want to see you entirely unclothed.” He raised the glass, a brilliant smile lighting his dark face. “Oblige me, s’il vous plaît. You see, I’m not afraid to say the words. Polite requests are natural between lovers.”
“We’re not lovers.” Juliette began to unfasten her gown. “It’s only another bargain.”
“Yes, and you’ve placed yourself in a position where I set the terms. Shall I tell you what they are?”
Juliette’s dark red gown slipped to form a pool of color at her feet. She stepped out of it. “Why do you ask me? You’re going to do it anyway.”
“You have the most superb skin.” His gaze caressed the flesh of her shoulders. “Do you know how many times I’ve wanted to reach out and stroke it? To put my palm on your cheek or run my fingertips over your throat?”
Juliette tensed under his gaze and she hurriedly looked away. “You’ve touched me before.”
“Oh, but not enough. I want to be able to touch you at will. Whenever we’re in this cabin I want you available to me.”
“I’ll be spending a good deal of time on the deck sketching.”
“Will you? I have no objection as long as you go to the cabin when you’re sent.”
“Is that supposed to make me angry?” Juliette sat down on the bunk and began to take off her stockings. “I’m not at all pretty and I have no idea how to please a man. You’ll probably become bored quite soon and let me do as I will.”
He chuckled and shook his head. “No, Juliette, it will take me a long time to become bored with you. I haven’t been able to think of anything but you since I first set eyes on you.” His hand tightened on the stem of the glass. “You have only a few garments left, and I find I’m becoming impatient. Shall I help you?”
“No.” She stood up and with trembling hands discarded the last petticoats and stood there completely unclothed. “I need no help.”
“I do.” His voice was thick. “Come here.”
Her gaze flew to his face and for a moment she couldn’t move. He looked … she didn’t know how to interpret how he was looking at her, but it was having a most strange effect on her. A tingling seemed to be spreading from the palms of her hands and the bare soles of her feet to every nerve and muscle in her body. She walked slowly across the room and stopped before his chair.
“Closer.”
“I’m nearly on top of you now.”
“What a delightful thought.” His gaze moved from her breasts down her body to narrow on the tight curls surrounding her womanhood. “Dark as the other. I wondered …”
The blood seemed to scorch beneath her skin and then center heavily where his gaze was resting.
A flush tinted his cheeks, and his nostrils flared slightly as his breathing quickened. “Part your thighs.”
She hesitated and then obeyed.
“Wider.” His gaze never left her lower body. “Do you know how exquisite you are? Your breasts are quite perfect and your limbs remind me of one of the nymphs in a painting by—”
“You don’t have to lie to me. I know I’m not—” She inhaled sharply as his hard, warm palm suddenly covered the curls he’d been studying so closely. He started to pet her, slowly, sensuously. The muscles in her stomach clenched helplessly as his fingers tangled and pulled at the short curls.
“You like that?” His gaze lifted to her breasts. “Yes, I see you do. You’re very responsive, Juliette.” He leaned forward and his tongue caressed the pointed nipple of her left breast. “Sometimes I wake in the night and remember how you looked lying on the stairs with these pretty things ruby-red and glistening, how you tasted …” His teeth closed gently on the distended pink tip, and he shook his head teasingly back and forth. Then his mouth opened wide and he enveloped almost her entire breast as if he wanted to devour her, his warm tongue exploring even as he drew strongly.
She was beginning to tremble, the heat between her thighs increasing until it was nearly painful, and yet she didn’t want to move away from him. She could feel the pull of his mouth with every breath she drew, and for one wild instant she felt as if he were absorbing her, becoming part of her.
His eyes closed, his face flushed with sensual enjoyment. “Sweet Juliette.” His mouth released her and his eyes opened. He leaned back in the chair, gazing at her engorged breasts with so much pleasure shining in his eyes that another wave of heat seared her. “Who could have known you’d prove this sweet?”
His hand closed on her narrow waist and brought her closer. He rubbed his cheek back and forth on her breasts, his dark hair brushed her nipples in soft abrasion, and the faint bristle on his hard cheek trailed fire against her softness. He slipped his palms down to cup her buttocks and squeezed gently. “You like this?”
She swallowed. “You know I do. I wouldn’t be standing here like a ninny if I didn’t.”
“I could please you more.”
Yes, she thought, if she pleaded with him to pleasure her, if she gave him dominance with her words. It was a price she wasn’t willing to pay. “No.” She shook her head. “No, I won’t say it.”
“I didn’t think you would.” He placed a last regretful kiss on her breast. “But I truly hoped this small exhibition would be sufficient to convince you.” He pushed her gently away. “Go to bed.” He rose to his feet. “I’m going to walk on deck. Sleep well.”
He knew she wouldn’t sleep. He had allowed her only the briefest glimpse of sensual pleasure and seen to it that she was aching with frustration. “I will.” She turned and tried to walk nonchalantly away from him toward the bunk. It was no mean feat when she could feel his gaze on her every step of the way. “Though I may sketch a little first.”
“By all means.” She turned to see a flicker of admiration mixed with the amusement in his face. “It may be as effective a soporific as my walk on the deck.” He turned and moved toward the door. “Which I’m sure will have absolutely no effect whatever.”
The door closed behind him.
Juliette was still awake when he came back to the cabin hours later. She quickly closed her eyes and kept them firmly shut and her breathing steady as she heard him begin to undress.
“Oh, no, ma petite, if I can’t sleep, neither can you. Open your eyes. I want you to see how much I want you.”
She opened her eyes. Jean Marc was naked.
He was quite splendid in his bold male dominance. His body had the same golden-olive hue as his face and possessed a lean, sinewy elegance. He stood tall with well-muscled shoulders, powerful thighs and calves. A triangle of dark hair thatched his chest and another springy growth encircled his erect manhood. She stared, fascinated. “The duke was not nearly so—”
“I have no desire to hear about the duke’s physical dimensions.” Jean Marc climbed beneath the covers and drew her gently into his arms. She stiffened and then forced herself to relax as his warm male body pressed against her. His fingers moved up to tangle in her hair as he kissed her temple. “We’d both be much happier if you’d give in now, you know.” He moved against her, and she felt the hard strength of his arousal. “You see how much I want you?” He gently stroked her hair. “And you’re feeling the fever, too, aren’t you?” He began pressing gossamer kisses on her face and throat. Everything he did was done lovingly, gently, handling her with the greatest care, as if she were very precious. She found herself flowing against him, arching her face to receive his kisses.
He looked down at her. “You like to be kissed?”
“Yes. I don’t ever remember being kissed before. It feels very … sweet.”
He went still. “Is that supposed to remind me of what a lonely, neglected child you were growing up at Versailles?”
“Oh, no,” she said quickly. “I wasn’t lonely. I had my paints.”
He muttered an oath and then fell back on the bunk, laughing helplessly. “I’m beginning to think you may win the game after all, Juliette. Dear God, your instinct is infallible.” He released her and rolled to the other side of the bunk. “Go to sleep before I strangle you.”
Jean Marc was not in the cabin when she woke the next morning. She was fully dressed by the time he strode in and threw a white lace morning robe on the bed. “Whenever you’re in the cabin, you’ll wear this.”
Juliette looked at the garment critically. “It’s lovely. My mother had a gown like this when I was a child.” She held up the sheer lace to the light “The workmanship is quite magnificent. Where did you get it?”
“I rummaged in one of the trunks in the cargo hold. It’s probably meant to grace the mistress of a Spanish grandee, but I think it will look much better on you.” He gazed at her with narrowed eyes. “You don’t object to wearing it?”
“No. Of course, I realize you wish to weaken me by having me consent to wear this.” She tossed the robe aside. “But I think it will also weaken you. You seem to be a very passionate man, even with me.”
“Particularly with you.”
“Truly?” She looked at him in surprise. “Why?”
“One of the sublime tricks of fate.”
“Well, I can’t stay in this cabin all day and play your silly game.” She avoided his gaze as she stood up. “And neither can you. We must go on deck.”
“Oh, must we?”
“Yes.” She took up her sketchbook and pens. “Come along, I want to catch the morning light. I think we’ll put you at that huge wheel on the bridge. You’ll not be able to wreck us now that we’re so far from the shore, will you?”
“For your information, I would not wreck this vessel even if we were in the harbor. I’ve taken my turn at the wheel many times over the years.” He paused. “You intend to paint me?”
She avoided looking at him. “You promised you’d pose when you had time. Now you have the time.”
He lifted a brow. “I was planning on being quite busy on this journey.”
“But then you’d have to break your promise and I don’t think you’d do that.” She started for the door. “I believe you’re a man who keeps his promises even when it proves inconvenient.”
“Inconvenient? I ache, my dear.”
She flushed. “Well, it’s your own fault. I made no objections to our original agreement. If it was enough for you to fornicate with me instead of trying to humble me, you would be much more comfortable now.” She opened the door. “I’ll see you on the bridge.”
After the door closed behind her, he stood looking at the cobweb lace of the robe on the bed. Once more she was trying to snatch victory from defeat and her valor touched him even as it frustrated him.
He turned and slowly followed Juliette from the cabin.
She could do nothing with Jean Marc, Juliette thought with frustration. She had captured the wild carelessness of the wind lifting Jean Marc’s dark hair and molding his white shirt to his lean body, the grace of his beautiful fingers grasping the polished oak of the wheel, but his face … His face was shuttered and without expression, that same glittering mirror mocking her. She had to have more.
“You really do know how to guide this monstrous ship.” Juliette sketched the night-black sweep of hair from Jean Marc’s temple. “I thought you were only a banker.”
“There’s no ‘only’ about being a banker. It requires a good deal more skill in avoiding dangerous shoals than captaining a ship. In truth, I grew up on ships. My father had no feeling for the sea, but I did. From the time I was seven I was allowed to go on short journeys along the coast from Marseilles to Nice to Toulon.” Jean Marc looked past her shoulder out to sea. “It was never enough. I tried to persuade my father to let me go on a long voyage, but he refused.”
“Why?”
“The usual reason. A father wishes to protect his son. He loved me.”
“Did you love him?”
His face softened miraculously. “Oh, yes. I loved him.”
Her pen froze in mid-stroke. She had never seen him look so vulnerable. Her pen raced across the page, trying desperately to catch the expression before it fled. “I’d think he would let you have what you wanted if he loved you.”
“He was a gentle man and he knew the life at sea was a rough one. He didn’t understand why I wanted to do anything so barbaric as sail. When I was fourteen I took passage as a cabin boy on the Albatross.”
“I thought you said he wouldn’t let you do it.”
“He didn’t. My father’s mistress, Charlotte d’Abois, arranged it with Paul Basteau, the captain of the Albatross. I just got on the ship one day and sailed out of the harbor.”
“But if your father refused you, would he not be angry with her?”
He didn’t answer, and for a moment she thought she’d lost him. “Charlotte ruled him. She had a strong will and she used it.” He looked hard at her. “As you do, Juliette.”
The vulnerable expression was gone, but he was still open to her. Her pen moved quickly across the sheet. “Yet she gave you what you wanted when your father refused you.”
“She gave me eighteen months on a slave ship.” His face hardened. “I was beginning to fight her and she wanted me out of the way. Basteau was the only captain she could persuade to take me.”
“A slave ship? Your company deals in slaves?”
“All shippers dealt in slaves. The slave trade was profitable and I thought nothing of it. I’d heard of the slave ships all my life, and even my father took it for granted.” His eyes glittered coldly. “However, I thought about it a good deal in those months on the Albatross. We boarded five hundred sixty-two slaves in Africa and we landed three hundred and three in Jamaica. The slavers chained them side by side, some on top of each other.” He looked blindly at the horizon. “I tried to tell Basteau to let them go, but he wouldn’t listen to me. He knew his duty. I was only a boy, and Charlotte had made it quite clear to him that slaves meant gold. The loss of two hundred and fifty-nine lives was acceptable on such a long journey.”
Juliette stared at him in horror as his gaze shifted to her face.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” he asked bitterly. “I didn’t know. I tried to help them. I tried to get better food to them. I nursed some of the sick. I even tried to help them keep clean. The stench … It did no good. They kept dying.…” He drew a deep breath. “I left the ship in Jamaica. It took me seven mont
hs to get passage back to Marseilles.”
She waited for him to continue, but he didn’t speak again and she looked down with stinging eyes at her sketch of him. The picture she had drawn was of a man she didn’t know. There was nothing hidden or cynical about this face; it held only pain, disillusionment, and an unutterable weariness. The Jean Marc she knew was a hard man, but that boy had not been hard. He had sought freedom and adventure and found only horror. “What did you do when you returned to Marseilles?”
His abstraction vanished as his gaze focused on her face and then dropped to the sketch. “You always told me you’d learn me. Is that what you’ve been doing by this probing?”
Her hand was trembling and she had to steady it as she deepened the planes of the face on the sketch. “I was curious and thought only to ask.” Then she looked up at him and shook her head impatiently. “No, I wasn’t being honest. Sometimes it helps me to get a true picture if I encourage the subject to talk. But you didn’t have to answer me. Why did you?”
“God only knows,” he said wearily. “Show me the sketch.”
She hesitated before handing it to him.
He looked at the sketch for a long time and then smiled. “Very clever.”
She had hurt him. For the first time she realized the man in that sketch needed his hard, mirrored exterior to armor him. “I could tear it up,” she offered impulsively.
“Why should you do that? It’s what you wanted. People should do what they wish to do. Take what they want to take.” He returned the sketch and motioned to the helmsman to come and take the wheel. “It’s time for you to go back to the cabin.”
“Soon.”
“Now, Juliette.” His soft voice was veined with iron. “I have a desire to see that exquisite skin veiled only in the sheerest lace. Since that’s the only flesh this particular Andreas deals in these days, I wish to be obliged.” He turned away. “I’ll have a glass of wine with Simon and join you shortly.”
Juliette stared numbly at the filmy white lace robe spilled across the bunk. Jean Marc was clearly angry and wanted to subdue her. Angry … or hurt? And why couldn’t she rouse herself to feel resentment? She had battled against submission all her life, fighting small battles as well as major to show everyone she could not be conquered. Yet, if she fought Jean Marc now, it would not be because she wanted to win but because she would lose pride if she lost. She had always hated the lies and pettiness in those around her, and yet was she not behaving in a muddled and petty fashion?