Triumph Read Online Free Page A

herself into his arms ...
    If he were to kill her, would anyone blame him? She had put his life in danger often enough, willingly at first—he was, after all, the enemy.
    Or had been.
    And he would never believe that she hadn’t wanted to do what she’d done tonight, that the ties he had bound around her had been there, invisible but strong, a web he had woven that held her with far greater strength than the piece of paper that proclaimed them man and wife. She had fought him so often. Now, when she wanted peace, to pray for his forgiveness, he stared at her with no mercy.
    But could that matter now? she asked herself. She had prayed that Ian would come, her brother the enemy, with his Yankee troops, and he might have been the one to fight and save his inheritance. Ian hadn’t come; Taylor had, and he would make her father safe. Cimarron would be saved. She had been willing to pay any price ...
    And this, it seemed, was the price.
    So she braced herself. Waiting, at least, for a blow to fall. For him to touch her with some violence. She could feel it in him, feel it in the air, the way he must long to hurt her!
    He came to her. Powerful hands gripped her shoulders, his fingers biting into her flesh. She met his eyes. His arm moved, as if he would strike her with all the force of his fury.
    No blow fell. He pushed her from him. She closed her eyes, shaking, looking for the right words to tell him that she hadn’t wanted to come here, that she would have come to him ...
    She heard him turn from her, walk away, head for the stairs.
    She didn’t know what foolhardy demon stirred her then, but she found herself flying after him.
    She caught him upon the stairs, stumbling to get ahead of him, to force him to face her. And then she couldn’t speak, she stuttered, faltered, and tried again. “Taylor, I—I—they said he meant to kill my father.”
    “Step aside, Tia,” he said simply.
    “Taylor, damn you! I had to come here, I had to do what I could to stop him. Can’t you see that, don’t you understand?”
    He stood dead still then, staring at her with eyes still seeming to burn with the red-gold blaze of the ghostly, blood-haunted night. She had lost him, she thought. Lost him. Just when she had begun to realize ...
    “I understand, my love , that you were ready, willing, and able to sleep with another man. But then, Weir is a good Southern soldier, is he not? A proper planter, a fitting beau for the belle of Cimarron, indeed, someone you have loved just a little for a very long time. How convenient.”
    “No, I—”
    “No?” His voice alone seemed to make her the most despicable liar.
    “Yes, you know that— once we were friends. But I ...” She broke off, fighting the wave of tears that rushed to her eyes now. What was it? He was the enemy! And yet, staring into the gold steel of his eyes, feeling him there above her, knowing his anger, knowing how he leashed it now, knowing the scent of him ... and remembering ... the touch of his fingertips on her skin ...
    And she knew then, quite startlingly, clearly, despite the circumstance, just how very much she loved him. Had, for quite some time. Neither duty, debt, nor honor had given her pause tonight. It had been the way she felt about him, loved him, him, only him.
    “Please!” she whispered.
    He slowly arched a dark brow. And then he reached out, touching her cheek. “Please? Please what? Are you sorry, afraid? Or would you seduce me, too? Perhaps I’m not such easy prey, for I am, at least, familiar with the treasure offered, and I have played the game to a great price already. When I saw you tonight ... do you know what I first intended to do? Throttle you, you may be thinking! Beat you black and blue. Well that, yes. Where pride and emotions are involved, men do think of violence. But I thought to do more. Clip your feathers, my love. Cut off those ebony locks and leave you shorn and costumeless, as it were— naked would not be the right word. But what