Read Online Devil's Mistress by Heather Graham - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Heather Graham
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think, to be my prisoner than a lady of the streets. Of course, you would be going out with more experience now.”
Brianna jerked from his touch. How grating he was against her fully ignited temper—and her raw misery, and all the horror the day had wrought. It was true that she had no wish to burn, but how she hated him now! He was taking her from her only salvation—the dream of reaching her family, the Powells. She would get away from him; and tightening her lips in white rage, she raised a hand to strike him.
She never got the chance. He bowed again, and withdrew. The door closed upon her uplifted arm. She heard his husky laughter. “Perhaps you should spend the time meditating upon your temper, my love.”
The door shuddered as she struck wildly against it, and the next spate of curses he received would have brought a blush to Paddy’s face. “Treveryan, you have the sense and manners of an ass! Do you hear me? Open this door!”
“I haven’t the time, lass. But it is flattering to know how eager you are to see me! I shan’t be a minute longer than necessary.”
“Damn you, Treveryan! Open this door!”
There was no answer—except that of his footsteps receding along the planking.
She pulled at the doorknob, twisting and jerking, but to no avail. “Treveryan!” she screamed with rising anger. How dare he make her a prisoner! “Treveryan!” Her fists pounded furiously against wood, but the action was an exercise in futility.
Suddenly the great ship pitched, and she fell awkwardly to her knees. She scrambled back to her feet, but since she had never sailed before, she found even the slightest rocking of the ship difficult to handle. She finally discovered that she could stand and sway with the movement of the ship, and Brianna hung on, listening to the shouts in the night and the pounding of feet along the decks.
How many minutes passed as she clung to the door? she wondered. She wasn’t sure, but finally the pitching ship seemed to steady, and she was finally able to survey her surroundings.
It was, most obviously, the captain’s cabin. A broad bunk was fitted into the far left corner, with cabinets above and below. A large wardrobe was built into the opposite corner, and a huge desk stood prominently to the right. The cabin was compact, and yet it held all the amenities. A rich Oriental carpet covered the floor, and the teakwood that made up the few furnishings was sleek and simply carved. A large bird in flight was the emblem on the footboard of the bunk and the huge desk. Upon careful examination Brianna noted that the bird was a seahawk.
“Treveryan!” she murmured dryly to herself. He had saved her life, that much she had to admit. But though “Lord” might be his title, the man was no gentleman. He seemed to be an adventurer—fond of action. He didn’t own her, though, and he had no right to hold her against her will.
The ship rolled again suddenly and she grasped at the desk for balance. It occurred to her then that they had actually set sail, and her eyes moved instinctively to the bunk and the shuttered porthole above it.
She moved quickly to the bunk, mindless of the neatly folded comforter. The window glass was fogged, and she quickly ran her fingers over it.
Already the coastline was growing dim. The buildings of Glasgow were fading into the glow of darkness, becoming like little miniatures in a shop window. The other ships at dock appeared as nothing more than toys.
A haze was over the city. It joined with the misted light and orange color of distant lamps and reminded her of the fire that had burned earlier the same day. It reminded her that Pegeen was dead.
The pain was like the honed edge of a blade, twisting deeply within her, cutting away a piece of her heart, of her very existence.
Would she ever see Scotland again, her homeland? The heathered hill where she had grown, the slopes and valleys that had embraced her and all the dreams of innocence? Tears filled her
Brianna jerked from his touch. How grating he was against her fully ignited temper—and her raw misery, and all the horror the day had wrought. It was true that she had no wish to burn, but how she hated him now! He was taking her from her only salvation—the dream of reaching her family, the Powells. She would get away from him; and tightening her lips in white rage, she raised a hand to strike him.
She never got the chance. He bowed again, and withdrew. The door closed upon her uplifted arm. She heard his husky laughter. “Perhaps you should spend the time meditating upon your temper, my love.”
The door shuddered as she struck wildly against it, and the next spate of curses he received would have brought a blush to Paddy’s face. “Treveryan, you have the sense and manners of an ass! Do you hear me? Open this door!”
“I haven’t the time, lass. But it is flattering to know how eager you are to see me! I shan’t be a minute longer than necessary.”
“Damn you, Treveryan! Open this door!”
There was no answer—except that of his footsteps receding along the planking.
She pulled at the doorknob, twisting and jerking, but to no avail. “Treveryan!” she screamed with rising anger. How dare he make her a prisoner! “Treveryan!” Her fists pounded furiously against wood, but the action was an exercise in futility.
Suddenly the great ship pitched, and she fell awkwardly to her knees. She scrambled back to her feet, but since she had never sailed before, she found even the slightest rocking of the ship difficult to handle. She finally discovered that she could stand and sway with the movement of the ship, and Brianna hung on, listening to the shouts in the night and the pounding of feet along the decks.
How many minutes passed as she clung to the door? she wondered. She wasn’t sure, but finally the pitching ship seemed to steady, and she was finally able to survey her surroundings.
It was, most obviously, the captain’s cabin. A broad bunk was fitted into the far left corner, with cabinets above and below. A large wardrobe was built into the opposite corner, and a huge desk stood prominently to the right. The cabin was compact, and yet it held all the amenities. A rich Oriental carpet covered the floor, and the teakwood that made up the few furnishings was sleek and simply carved. A large bird in flight was the emblem on the footboard of the bunk and the huge desk. Upon careful examination Brianna noted that the bird was a seahawk.
“Treveryan!” she murmured dryly to herself. He had saved her life, that much she had to admit. But though “Lord” might be his title, the man was no gentleman. He seemed to be an adventurer—fond of action. He didn’t own her, though, and he had no right to hold her against her will.
The ship rolled again suddenly and she grasped at the desk for balance. It occurred to her then that they had actually set sail, and her eyes moved instinctively to the bunk and the shuttered porthole above it.
She moved quickly to the bunk, mindless of the neatly folded comforter. The window glass was fogged, and she quickly ran her fingers over it.
Already the coastline was growing dim. The buildings of Glasgow were fading into the glow of darkness, becoming like little miniatures in a shop window. The other ships at dock appeared as nothing more than toys.
A haze was over the city. It joined with the misted light and orange color of distant lamps and reminded her of the fire that had burned earlier the same day. It reminded her that Pegeen was dead.
The pain was like the honed edge of a blade, twisting deeply within her, cutting away a piece of her heart, of her very existence.
Would she ever see Scotland again, her homeland? The heathered hill where she had grown, the slopes and valleys that had embraced her and all the dreams of innocence? Tears filled her
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