Archer, Jane (3 page)

"Please, Mr. Lewis, you're hurting my arm," she said softly.

"I'm sorry, Alexandra. I've no wish to harm you," he said as he loosened his grip, yet kept his hand on her arm. "I only want to help you, Alexandra, as I've always tried to do. This is not the best moment to discuss what I'm going to tell you, but our lack of time makes it imperative."

"Oh," she said, hardly aware that she had spoken.

"I will see that the funeral takes place in three days, Alexandra. In four days we will be married."

"What?" she cried, jerking roughly away from him. "Are you mad? No! No! A hundred times no," she screamed, her fists clenched as she stared at him with furious eyes.

"Don't reject me so soon, Alexandra," Lewis said, ignoring her fury, his voice lulling, reassuring as she stood there, her breasts heaving in her agitation. He could not help but think of how her smooth, warm flesh would feel when she at last lay beside him.

"Don't reject you? I
am
rejecting you—now and for all time! Get out of my home," she hissed, her eyes glinting with fury.

God, she was beautiful, he thought, then said, "I know what has happened between you and the Clarke boys. I don't blame you for not wanting to marry them, but you must marry someone of the family. You know that. I will be a good husband to you, Alexandra. I'm not so old that I can't make you happy and I will be gentle with you, if you allow me to be. You will have no worries. I'll handle everything for you. You could not ask for a better husband, Alexandra, and I've been determined to have you since you were a child. I understand you. I can make you happy."

"You've planned all of this, haven't you—in your cold, calculating way?" she asked, understanding dawning on her.

He laughed harshly, smiling. "I'd do anything to get you, Alexandra, and now my chance has finally arrived. You have no choice, my dear."

She paced the room several times, trying to calm herself enough to think how to get rid of him, then finally turned, facing him. "Mr. Lewis, even if we are to be married, we could not possibly wed the day after Olaf's funeral."

"Call me Stan. It's only fitting since I'll soon be your husband. The gossip will die down—that doesn't worry me."

"You won't be my husband as Stan or Mr. Lewis," Alexandra cried angrily as she stamped her foot on the expensive, imported rug.

Lewis smiled smugly as he walked over to her, putting his hands on her shoulders. She tried to shrug them off, but he tightened his grip mercilessly. She bit her lower lip in pain, furious with his presumption. "I am the one for you, Alexandra. The others are too young to appreciate you, and besides, I'm giving you no choice. You
will
marry me in four days."

As he bent his head toward her face, she pushed against him, desperate in his tightening embrace. "You're wrong, Mr. Lewis. You have no rights where I'm concerned, and you can't force me to marry you."

"Don't fight me, Alexandra. Don't make me hurt you. I'm going to have you one way or another," he said hoarsely as his mouth came down hard on hers.

Alexandra grew rigid in response to her first kiss, automatically clinching her jaws desperately. She felt stifled and her mind flew to thoughts of escape. She couldn't travel on one of her own ships. She would have to rent some small schooner to take her down the coast and then around to New Orleans. A boat that could not be traced; one on which Lewis would never think to look. She would have to get money from her bank, pack her clothing, rent the schooner—all in three days, but it could be done—it must be done!

In frustration and irritation, Stan Lewis finally raised his face from hers, his eyes glittering dangerously as he held her rigid body away from him. "I know you're not that cold, Alexandra, for all that you're inexperienced. Perhaps you simply need lessons. I'll be happy to give them to you," he said, his silver eyes glowing with passion. "Would you like your first one now?"

Fury and disgust washed over Alexandra at his words, his insults, and she slapped him hard across the face with all her strength. She was glad to see the white imprint there which slowly began to turn red. Then she glanced into his eyes, the eyes of a mad wolf, and she stepped back— frightened of him for the first time. He didn't seem human any longer as his eyes suddenly raked over her body.

He grinned, showing animal white teeth, and said, "That was really quite stupid, Alexandra. I suppose now I will have to teach you more than one lesson. I am your master and you will learn to obey me in all things—no matter what your feelings are. And never—
never,
ever strike me again. I might not be able to control myself as I am today, and I might hurt your lovely body seriously. But then, we don't know just how lovely it is, do we?"

Alexandra did not retreat any further, determined not to show her fear, and said, "You're mad. Absolutely mad. Get out of my house and never come back."

He laughed, a sound almost like a wolf howling, and turned sharply on his heel. She watched him distrustfully as he hurriedly crossed the room, then stopped before the door. The lock clicked into place, the noise seeming to fill the room; Alexandra felt helpless, a feeling that she had never encountered before. She hated it, and him even more.

Still grinning his wolfish grin, he turned around and started back for her. Darting in front of him, she reached for the bell rope—her servants would answer her summons, but he was there before her, stopping her desperate bid for help.

"Now, Alexandra, you don't seem anxious for your lessons. Aren't you interested in learning something new?"

She tried to squirm out of his hands, shaking her head back and forth. "You can't do this. Get out of here. Let me go, you animal."

But her fury seemed only to excite him all the more, as if he would rather tame a wild cat than toy with a gentle kitten. He pulled her hair, clutching both her wrists with one hand in an iron like grip, and soon the golden-red curls cascaded down all about her shoulders, falling heavily down to her hips. His eyes glowed as he stared at it, almost mesmerized, then he lost his hand in its thickness. She tried to kick out at him, but became tangled in her skirts, losing her balance and falling heavily against his chest.

"That's better, my dear," he said, his voice muffled as he buried his face in her rich, luxurious hair.

"Let me go, you monster," she cried, trying to pull away from him for his body heat seemed to reach through her clothing to her bare skin beneath, and his very nearness was stifling, hateful.

"I'll never let you go, Alexandra. You're mine and I'll prove it now—once and for all. Then you'll truly be mine, all mine."

"No! No, I hate you," she cried, helplessly caught in his arms and her clothing, but struggling with all her might. Pushing at him, kicking at him, she finally knocked them both off balance and they fell heavily to the floor. She tried to roll away from him, fighting furiously, but he threw himself on top of her, jerking her arms up over her head. She was now pinned under him and incapable of escaping, but still she struggled, writhing beneath him helplessly.

"Stop it, Alexandra," he said angrily, his face a stern mask of passion and determination. "Be still."

"No! Never!" she cried out, tossing her head back and forth.

A loud crack sounded in the room, and pain flooded Alexandra's face where Stan Lewis had hit her hard with his fist. Stunned, she watched him, feeling almost detached from her body, as his gray eyes raked her limp body in triumph. There was no longer any need for him to hold her hands for she was incapable of moving after his devastating blow.

Ripping her bodice apart to expose her full, tantalizing breasts, he panted over her, his breath coming in quick gasps. He grabbed her breasts savagely with his hands, cruelly squeezing them before he hungrily covered them with his mouth. Dazedly, Alexandra could feel his teeth biting her suddenly taut nipples in his frenzy; it was like a nightmare in which she was a spectator. It couldn't be happening to her.

Then Stan moved still lower, pulling the offensive skirt and petticoats completely off her and tossing them across the room. Only her chemise was left to cover her nudity. He ripped it open and his panting increased as he ran his hands over her naked body, plying, pinching, feeling every curve and valley. He was leaving nothing, no spot untouched. She shivered automatically, still stunned from his blow, as her soft, virgin body was explored by a man's hands for the first time.

There was a low moaning in his throat as he roughly pulled her legs apart, spreading them wide with his knees. He was like a wildman, or a starved animal, as he grasped her hips, pulling her roughly upwards, then caught her softness with his mouth, plying it with his lips until he suddenly plunged his tongue into her moist warmth. Alexandra gasped, unable to control her own body. She could feel herself growing tight as a burning sensation began to grow where his tongue plied so artfully. Then he suddenly drew back, leaving her feeling cold and strangely empty, before he lifted his body over hers, pausing only a second before plunging his hard, pulsating manhood into her softness. Alexandra caught her breath, and gasped out loud. Stan's silver-gray eyes, dark with desire, mesmerized her now open green ones, as his hot, rigid organ pushed repeatedly, as if demanding acknowledgement, against her maidenhead. He smiled wickedly at her, pleased with himself, then said, "You see, Alexandra, you belong to me." Then he drove in deep, tearing through her natural defenses to make her a woman. And as she screamed out in pain, he covered her mouth with his, driving his tongue into her, filling her completely with himself. In a few quick, yet furious movements, Stan spilled his seed in Alexandra, leaving his mark deep within her.

When he stood up, quickly fastening his pants, Alexandra lay in agony on her parlor floor, sick at heart with what had just occurred—in her own home. And by Stan Lewis—a man who had been born from the rape of his mother. How could he have done it?

She did not even have the strength to cover her nakedness. She felt lifeless, absolutely without feelings, as if he had taken more than her virginity—as if he had stolen her soul.

"You see, my dear, you are indeed mine," Stan now said. "I should hope that our next lesson will be accepted by you more reasonably, but always remember who is the master in this family and know that I will take what I want from you with force if necessary."

"Go," Alexandra whispered weakly.

"Soon, my lovely Alexandra. Your body is even more beautiful than I could have imagined, and I will never let another man touch it."

At his words, Alexandra tried to cover herself, but his foot came down brutally on her hand. She whimpered in pain. "Not yet, my beauty. I'm not done looking."

"Please go, just leave me alone," Alexandra said, feeling the coldness that had begun with Olaf's death penetrate her entire body.

"Now, listen to me and listen to me good, Alexandra. We
will
be married the day after Olaf Thorssen's funeral for there's not another man of respectability who would marry you now. They would all expect and demand a virgin. You are no longer that, my dear."

"Get out. Get out, you animal," she hissed, sitting up slightly as her strength and anger began to return.

He smiled at her sardonically, then said, "I'm going now, as you wish, but remember—you are mine, Alexandra, and never forget it." With those words he strode across the room, unlocked the door, then shut it quietly behind him as he left.

Alexandra collapsed miserably on the rug, but no tears would come to bring her relief. She couldn't cry, she couldn't feel anything any more. But determination rose out of her cold anger and she said out loud to herself, "No, Stanton Lewis, you do not yet know your woman. I am not yours, not now or ever. I will never marry you, nor any man—not this way."

PART ONE: THE DEEP BLUE SEA

Chapter 1

Alexandra Clarke sat huddled in her tiny cabin aboard the smelly fishing schooner,
The Charlotte.
She watched the flickering oil lamp sway with the motion of the boat, wondering if the nightmare she had been living through the past several days could really be true.

In her strange coldness born of Olaf's death and Stan's rape, Alexandra had handled the problems of the trip with a kind of detached efficiency. She had cleverly withdrawn a large sum in cash from her bank, then she had sought transport to New Orleans. This had not been easy, especially as she had been so short of time, but surprisingly her cousins and Stan Lewis had not kept the close watch on her that she had expected. She could only attribute this to the fact that they had believed her so overcome with grief that she would do nothing until after the funeral—then it would be too late. But her heart was too cold for grief. She could not mourn her old friend, but she could and would keep her promise to him.

Unfortunately, that entailed hiring this horrible little fishing schooner, but she could not have booked passage on a regular steamer. She had to pay the nasty Captain Sully a huge sum of money to persuade him to make this special trip to New Orleans. She had felt vaguely uneasy about him from the beginning, but she had dismissed her suspicions in her determination and need to get out of New York. Now, Alexandra wished she had heeded her feelings.

From the first moment she had arrived at the quay, there had been trouble. Captain Sully had insisted that she had too much baggage. She had insisted that she was paying him handsomely for herself
and
her belongings. Captain Sully had finally taken Alexandra and her trunks on board, but not without a lot of arguing, muttering and oaths. Her cabin was hardly large enough for herself, much less all her baggage, and she'd had to be satisfied with only one trunk in her cabin—the trunk which held her money and necessities. The others were stacked and piled all over the schooner, and she doubted if she would ever get the fishy smell out of them. But even that she could have accepted had it not been for the captain himself.