Wild Wind by Patricia Ryan Page A

counted four of plain black wool—the lady Sybila’s, of course—and half a dozen silken gowns in the delicate hues that her daughter favored—ivory, dove gray, lavender, icy blue, a pink as muted as a blush...and the pale green trimmed with silver that she’d been wearing the day they discovered their cave.
    Alex touched the green gown, rubbed the liquid-smooth silk between his fingers. It was nearly the same sea-green as her eyes. Perhaps that’s why she looked so devastatingly beautiful in it.
    His throat spasmed. Taking deep breaths, he forced his anguish deep inside. He hadn’t cried since he was a child. He’d be damned if he’d let Nicki find him weeping over her.
    Against the back wall stood a large bed. Alex crossed to the trunk at its foot and opened it. A white silken garment lay on top, as if tossed in carelessly. Lifting it, he found it to be a sleeping shift—a rather scanty one, obviously designed with warm summer nights in mind. The detachable sleeves had been removed at the shoulders, and the bodice dipped low in front; it was surprisingly short. He envisioned Nicki wearing this slick little layer of silk and nothing else, and the breath caught in his lungs. Gathering the shift in his fists, he brought it to his face and breathed in the warm, tantalizing scent that had held him in a bewitched haze all summer. His mind reeled with the provocative thoughts and images that had haunted his nights—damp flesh...secret places...dark, unyielding needs.
    A faint rattling came from the door—a key being turned in the lock. Alex threw the shift into the trunk and slammed it shut as the door swung open.
    Nicki took one step into the room and drew up short, eyes wide. An enormous key slipped from her fingers, disappearing into the rushes. “Alex!”
    “Nicki.”
    The lady Sybila stepped out from behind her, gaping in shock. She stalked into the room, looking back and forth between the two of them, nostrils flaring. “Jesus have mercy,” she whispered, her eyes igniting with comprehension.
    “Mama...” Nicki began.
    “Nicolette, didn’t I warn you?” her mother asked in a quavering voice. “Do you never learn?”
    “Mama, please—”
    “He’s got to leave! If he’s found here, you’ll be destroyed.” Turning to Alex, she held the door wide and pointed rigidly toward the courtyard. “Get out! What were you thinking, coming here? My daughter is to be married tomorrow morning. If anyone saw you come in here, she’ll be ruined.”
    “No one saw me,” he said with as much calm as he could muster. “I came in through the window.”
    “Merciful God,” Sybila muttered.
    “I’m not going,” he said. “You are.”
    Sybila’s face twisted into a mask of outrage. “And leave you alone with her? Are you mad?”
    “I mean to speak to her, nothing more. If you don’t go now, I’ll let my presence here be known to one and all.”
    “You wouldn’t.”
    “I assure you I will,” he said gravely.
    “Go, mama,” Nicki implored. “Please. I’ll be all right. He just wants to talk.”
    Sybila pinned Alex with a look of loathing so intense that it chilled him. “You have made a grievous error, coming here,” she said softly.
    Whether that was intended as a threat, Alex knew not, for she didn’t elaborate, merely departed quietly. Alex fetched the key from the rushes and locked the door. Tossing the key onto the table, he turned to Nicki. “Are you carrying his child?”
    Her hand flew to her bosom. “Nay! How can you ask that? He’s never touched me! I swear it!”
    She seemed sincere, but that wasn’t the only reason Alex believed her. Milo had always said he found Nicki too thin and pale and delicate for his taste. He liked buxom, earthy women like his Violette.
    “Then why?” Alex demanded. “Why, Nicki?”
    “He...” Nicki’s voice shook. “He proposed last night. ‘Twas after the letter came, about my uncle. Mama told him we had to return to St. Clair, and he found me and