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  SAVAGE SURRENDER

  Natasha Peters

  Robbed of her innocence, Elise Lesconflair becomes a woman of bold desires in a breathtaking romantic adventure that sweeps across continents. Caught in a web of twisted destinies, she journeys from the luxury of a French chateau to the horrors of a West Indies slave ship... from the exotic existence as pirate Jean Lafitte's mistress to unspeakable degradation at the hands of brutal men.

  Woven throughout the sultry landscape of her saga is Garth McClelland... mysterious, secretive Garth, a man whose worldly power is surpassed only by his insatiable lust for the ravishing Elise. Their romance soars to the peak of unquenchable passion, plumbs the depths as they fight treachery, intrigue... and their need for each other, until finally they unite in an inferno of rapturous love!

  SAVAGE

  I was rooted to the spot. The dreadful keening from the slaves in the hold seemed to permeate the ship.

  "Garth, Garth," I cried, "make them stop. Please, make them stop!"

  He strode over to me and pulled my hands from my ears. He dug his fingers into my flesh. The harder I struggled to get away the tighter he held me. The fire in his eyes made me tremble.

  "Stop it," he said sharply. "Stop fighting me, Elise."

  "No," I panted, "never. Not until I die!"

  "You'd be no good to me dead," he said, and slid his arms around my waist. He began to kiss me, over and over again until 1 was breathless.

  SURRENDER

  I could feel the old weakness creeping over me and I sagged against the table. I could feel his hands, unfastening, unlacing. I tried to suppress the rising tide of longing sweeping over me, but I might as well have commanded the sea to stop its strong, incessant movement.

  With a despairing groan I lay back in his arms and let him scald me with his lips. I knew that the fire would have to rage until I was consumed. . . .

  From the gentility of a French chateau to the black nightmare of a slave ship; from lusty romance as a pirate's wench to brutal ravishment by a desperate fur trader, Elise Lesconflair meets her destiny as a woman of daring ... a woman of bold desires... a woman of love in this tempestuous saga of thunderous adventure and lightning passions!

  SAVAGE SURRENDER

  Copyright © 1977 by Ace Books

  All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced without permission in writing from the publisher, except for brief quotes to be used specifically for reviews.

  This book is a work of fiction. Any historical names, places, events that occur in this work have been used in a fictional context and reflect the author's interpretation of fact for the sake of her work.

  An ACE Original

  First Ace Printing: September 1977

  Published simultaneously in Canada

  Printed in U.S.A.

  Chapter 1

  The Betrothal

  "Where have you been!" Françoise's voice was like thunder. "The Count is in a fever. He's been asking for you for hours, and we couldn't find you anywhere. Come on, child. Hurry!"

  I skipped across the marble floor of the grand entrance hall of the Chateau Lesconflair and threw my arms around her neck. "Oh, Françoise, you look wonderful standing there with your hands on your hips, just like a fishwife who has wandered into the Louvre by mistake!" Her scowl deepened. "It's such a beautiful day, Françoise. I love summer! I love spring and the Chateau and Uncle Theo. I even love you!"

  "Settle down, child, for the love of Heaven." She detached my arms. There was less severity in her tone than in her words. "You're a fright. Your hair—you look like a witch! Where are your ribbons? Where are your pins?"

  A footman scuttled past. "He's been calling for you, Mademoiselle Elise. I told him I thought you had come in."

  "Yes, yes." Françoise waved him away impatiently, as if she were the mistress of the Chateau instead of my nurse. "Tell him she'll be right along." She frowned at me again and jerked my puffed sleeves up on my shoulders. "Who told you to pull your gown down like that?"

  "Don't be such a peasant, Françoise," I chided her fondly. "All the ladies in Paris—"

  "Paris!" She snorted. "I know what goes on in Paris!" Producing a hairbrush from her apron pocket, she attacked my touseled black curls. "No one would ever know to look at you that you were the daughter of a famous general, the niece of a count, and the goddaughter of Napoleon himself. You look just like a street wench."

  "What do street wenches look like, Françoise?" I asked teasingly.

  "Never mind," she muttered crossly. "No time even to make you presentable. Been poking his head out of that library every five minutes, asking everyone he sees where you are."

  "But Uncle Theo saw me at lunch, Françoise, not two hours ago. Of course he didn't even look up from his paté; I could have been naked, and he wouldn't have noticed."

  "Hush! You might show proper respect for the man who has cared for you since you were a child. You and your scapegrace brothers! But I always said you were worse than either of them. I have you to thank for my gray hairs, Elise. No one else."

  She smoothed down my skirts and shook her head over the grass stains on the hem. Then she stood back and looked at me critically through narrowed eyes.

  "Well, Françoise, do you like what you see?"

  "I suppose you'll do," she said grudgingly. "You're more like your mother every day, and she was a hundred times more beautiful than those pale scarecrows you see in Paris who are supposed to be beauties. Paris!"

  I was still laughing at her prejudices when I tapped lightly on the library door and entered the room.

  The library was my favorite place in the Chateau. It was not at all gloomy and dark like the libraries of English homes I had been in. The walls had been painted a pale shade of blue-gray, and large rectangular mirrors were set between ceiling-high book shelves to catch the light from the row of French windows behind Uncle Theo's desk. A large globe, with which I had spent many fascinated hours as a child, stood in one corner in front of the windows, and a fine bust by Houdon of my mother, "La Belle de Corsique," which everyone said looked just like me, stood in the other. The rug underfoot, an oriental patterned with flowers of blue and tangerine, felt thick and soft.

  Best of all, the room was crowded with many things besides dull, dusty books; curios and figurines and novelties from around the world, splendid Chinese vases, intricate ivory carvings, weird shapes sculpted in wood and stone, miniature paintings of Lesconflairs and Bourbons and Marianis and Tugereaux, a David portrait of me, even a few archaic weapons, like a crossbow which had been wielded by a Lesconflair in some long ago siege, and ancient fossils and relics that had been found on the estate. Every available space—on the walls, between sets of books, on the mantelpiece, on top of Uncle Theo's desk, on sideboards and pedestals—was crammed with these mementos and souvenirs of generations of Lesconflairs. While most of the other rooms in the Chateau were huge and hollow, decorated with faded tapestries and a few pieces of thin-legged furniture, the library seemed to be the living center of the house, not only the place where Uncle Theo ran the estates and charted the family history, but a kind of storehouse filled with the little things that the Lesconflairs had loved.

  Uncle Theo rose from his desk and beamed at me. He still wore an old-fashioned powdered wig and satin knee breeches; a pearl-colored brocade waistcoat was stretched tightly over his round stomach. His blue eyes were shining, and his apple cheeks seemed even pinker than usual.

  "Good afternoon, Uncle Theo. You wanted to see me?"

  "Yes, child, yes. Sit down, please, here near my desk if you like." He smiled and chafed his plump hands together. "Elise, I shall come to the point at once. I have news, good news, excellent news. It concerns you." He picked up a square of paper
from his desk and waved it excitedly, like a child waving a flag at a parade. He drew a breath and proceeded rather solemnly. "This morning, Elise, I received a letter from a noble gentleman asking for the honor of your hand in marriage. What a wonderful thing this is, Elise. I am delighted for you! He is very impressed with you. Just listen to how he praises your beauty: 'I have never beheld such a lovely form and face, nor found such exquisite beauty enhanced by so lively a mind. The finest qualities of your niece's French and Corsican ancestors have surely been bestowed upon this single radiant creature. Heaven must surely sing with joy that Mankind has at last achieved, in the person of dear Elise, a true pinnacle of perfection and a noble monument to Womankind and to Love!'" Uncle Theo sighed rapturously. "Isn't that exquisite, Elise? How proud you must be."

  I couldn't contain my laughter. "Oh, I really do think I'm a bit young to be both a pinnacle and a monument, Uncle Theo," I gasped. "Why, Françoise says I am the worst behaved girl she has ever known, and even you have said—"

  "Yes, yes. But the time has come to put girlish behavior behind you, Elise," said Uncle Theo irritably. "You are fast becoming a woman, my dear, and soon you will be assuming the responsibilities of marriage and motherhood. Heavens, Elise, you are seventeen already! Soon you will be quite marriageable, I fear. I tell you I was quite relieved to have this proposal."

  "But Uncle," I protested, "it's not my first proposal, and I am sure it won't be my last."

  "This is not the same thing as a passionate declaration made on the dance floor, Elise," Uncle Theo said sternly. "This," he held up the letter, "is the first man who is truly worthy of our consideration."

  Ah, this one has money, I thought. "Oh, Uncle Theo, I don't want to get married yet," I said. "I'm having too much fun! But who is the letter from, pray? Not that pimply Marc Laurent!"

  My uncle smiled and looked smug. "No, it is not young Laurent. It is none other than—" he paused, giving the announcement its full share of suspense and importance, "the Baron Friederich Rolland von Meier." He pulled down his waistcoat and looked at me expectantly.

  I gasped with horror. "What? That porky, pompous, dreadful little man? I—I can't bear him, Uncle Theo! The Baron Freddy!" I jumped up and stood in front of Uncle Theo's desk. "Oh, Uncle Theo, he's awful, he really is. Why, I can hardly keep awake when he talks to me. He's so terribly dull, the way he goes on and on about shooting in Bavaria and the fat grouse on his estates and how keen his old hound is. And he's so ugly, Uncle Theo! Grotesquely ugly! That fat belly and those thin blond wisps of baby hair—yes, he looks just like a gigantic baby! And his breath stinks, too, haven't you noticed? I have seen you pulling away from him when he gets too close, Uncle. I can just barely keep myself from being rude to him—"

  Uncle Theo stood up. "That's enough, Elise," he said sharply. "The Baron has done you a great honor by asking for your hand, and he is at least deserving of your respect. For shame! Will you continue in your irresponsible ways until you are an old woman? All this riding and racing after your brothers and acting like a wild thing! And your language, Elise! Sometimes I think you must have been raised in an army barracks."

  I reached over the desk and squeezed his hand. "But I very nearly was, Uncle Theo. Father was a soldier—"

  Uncle Theo drew himself up proudly. "Your father was an officer, Elise. A general. He died on the field of honor, and he gave his life for France." He fished in his pocket for a handkerchief and mopped his forehead. Not a puff of air came through the open windows, and the room felt uncomfortably close and warm. "Listen to me, Elise. I have done the best I could with you and your brothers. I have done what I thought your father and mother would have wanted me to do, and I assure you, it hasn't been easy for me. I am a lifelong bachelor, and I admit that my knowledge of children was rather limited. Still, I would like to think that you haven't grown up feeling unloved and unhappy."

  I ran around the desk and flung my arms around his neck. "Oh, no, Uncle Theo! You have been a dear and wonderful uncle and I love you very much, you know I do. Please don't be upset with me. I'll be good and I'll marry whoever you say, but please don't make me marry the Baron Freddy." I dropped my voice. "Please, Uncle Theo. I'm not so uncivilized as you think I am, either. I love pretty gowns and nice things, and my year at court was just wonderful! And you know I get invited to all the balls and lots of handsome men pay court to me. Surely we don't even have to consider the Baron—"

  "I have already answered the Baron, Elise," Uncle Theo said softly. "I have told him that you were delighted and honored, and that you accept his proposal. I expect him here in a few weeks. The wedding will take place around the first of November. Preparations are already under way."

  I felt the blood drain out of my cheeks. I stood stock still and stared at him speechlessly for a full minute.

  "No," I said hoarsely. "You can't be serious, Uncle Theo! Please! I'll—I'll kill myself!" I threw myself into an armchair and sobbed wildly.

  "Your histrionics are futile," my uncle said stiffly.

  "You are my ward and you will do as I say, Elise. I am only thinking of what is best for you, my dear."

  "That's a lie!" I shouted. I knew he was having money problems. Repairs on the Chateau had to be postponed because my brother Philippe's commission and my season at court had cost him dearly. What if the Baron had not only waived a dowry—one does not necessarily expect to win a pinnacle and a monument and money as well—but had given Uncle Theo a loan at a low rate of interest with the understanding that the money would not have to be repaid if his suit were successful? But surely Uncle Theo was not in such desperate straits that he would have to accept a bribe for my hand! "I won't marry him! I can't. I realize that my opinion and what I want is of no importance under the law, but to be presented with a fait accompli—oh, Uncle Theo, how could you? It is so unlike you. I—I thought you loved me, but you don't! You want that man's money, and you don't care about my happiness at all! I hate you!" I pounded the top of the desk.

  Uncle Theo said nothing. He was seated at his desk, and he suddenly looked old to me. For the first time I noticed how blue and prominent the veins on his hands were; how the lines around his mouth seemed deeper. My heart went out to him.

  I rushed to his side and knelt beside him. "Oh, I'm so sorry, Uncle Theo! I could bite my tongue out. I didn't mean to hurt you, but it was such a shock, to think you even had to consider such an absurd proposal. Of course it was tempting, because he's so rich. And I'm such a wicked girl, I must deserve to be threatened with the Baron. I'm willful and undisciplined, I know, and I'd give anything to be sweet and docile like the Tourrand sisters, but I can't help myself. I have a terrible temper and the nuns at school said I have a tongue like a rapier. I haven't been trying very hard to improve myself, but I shall. You'll see, I shall attract rich suitors from all over the world. Perhaps I can marry one of the Emperor's cousins or brothers and become Queen of Corsica. You know, there are Bonapartes all over the place, and Napoleon himself might even consider me, now that I'm grown up. He always liked me, and when I was fourteen, he told me my breasts were nearly as nice as Josephine's."

  "Elise!" Uncle Theo was shocked.

  "Well, it's true," I insisted. "He did say it. If he can marry two times, surely he can marry three. I'm far more beautiful than the new Empress, everyone says so. I'm one of the most beautiful women in France. Think of it, Uncle Theo. Elise Lesconflair, Empress of France!"

  Uncle Theo sighed, and then, in a tired voice, said, "The Emperor himself has approved this match as advantageous for France. He has even promised to attend the wedding, and as your godfather he will escort you to the altar. Napoleon admired and respected your father very much, Elise. It's quite an honor."

  "An honor!" I whispered the word. "An honor? To marry a man I loathe? And for what? To consolidate some silly country where the people can't even speak French? Why, the Emperor could move his soldiers in and annex it any day he chose!"

  "This is better for France," Uncle Theo sa
id staunchly.

  "Better for France!" I raged. "Better for Napoleon! Better for Theo Lesconflair! Better for everyone except me!"

  I strode angrily to the open windows. The vista was breathtakingly beautiful: broad, terraced lawns fell away into wooded areas that seemed to stretch to the horizon. Marble fountains shot sprays of water high into the air, where the sun caught the droplets and transformed them into a million tiny prisms. Tears came to my eyes as I gazed at the only home I had ever known. Yes, it was beautiful, and I was about to be sacrificed to the land like some poor victim in pagan times. Most terrifying of all, there was nothing I could do; my uncle's word was the law that governed me.

  "I am truly sorry, Elise, that my plans do not meet with your approval." Uncle Theo cleared his throat noisily. "Ah, very often," he coughed, "the, ah, individual good must be subordinated to the general good in order for society to remain strong."

  "Rubbish," I said. "For the Lesconflair coffers to remain full, you mean."

  "Please let me finish. Your father, my younger brother, would have welcomed this marriage, Elise. He loved France and was happy to die in her service. He loved this house, of course, but more than that he loved the Lesconflair name, and the fine, stalwart men and women who have borne it through the centuries. They held their name above everything else, Elise, because they knew the name would endure long after they were gone. That spirit of pride was their greatest legacy to us.

  "Scandal has never touched that name, Elise. I will confess that to some extent my decision has been influenced by monetary concerns. I am in severe financial straits because I had to act quickly to keep our name from being blackened. I sincerely hope that this unexpected drain on our fortune will not be repeated, but it has nonetheless left this family in a dangerous and precarious position."

  I looked uncomprehendingly at him for a moment, and then the true meaning of what he was saying came to me. "Honoré," I whispered. Honoré was my other brother, two years older than Philippe, five years older than me, heir to the Lesconflair title and estates. I sat down. "But—but I thought it was only a few francs. To his tailor and his bootmaker."