From This Day Forward

chapter Three



Caroline caught up with Jason at the edge of the orchards. A sea of coffee trees stretched before her in neat, straight rows. Their white blooms reminded her of the snow she'd seen as a girl while accompanying her father on a business trip to Nashville.

Jason sat forward in the saddle, his posture straight and majestic as he surveyed his domain. His spirited stallion tossed its head and snorted as if eager to be moving again. Jason patted it on the neck and murmured softly to soothe the animal.

When he finally spoke to Caroline, his voice resounded with pride. "Everyone laughed when they learned that I planned to grow coffee so deep in the jungle."

"Why?" she asked with genuine curiosity. Everything about this enigmatic, passionate man intrigued her. Why did you try to frighten me last night? she wanted to ask.

Jason shrugged. "The difficulty of getting it to market. They thought I'd be spending all my profits on transportation, if I had any profits."

"No, I mean why grow coffee so deep in the jungle?"

"Because no one had done it before," he replied without hesitation.

"But no one has leaped off a cliff and survived either."

It seemed a perfectly logical observation to Caroline, but Jason studied her as if she were some strange animal that had crawled out of the jungle and had the nerve to challenge him. Irritation showed plainly on his handsome features.

"Haven't you ever wanted to do something just to prove you could do it?" he asked, gazing across his domain once again. "I subdued the jungle and planted seeds that took root and became coffee trees. I built a home—"

"It seems more like a fortress to me," Caroline couldn't help interjecting.

Jason straightened in his saddle as if preparing to defend his position. "I suppose it is a fortress of sorts. It keeps the jungle out."

She withdrew a handkerchief from her sleeve and dabbed at the perspiration on her face and throat, determined to remain calm despite the growing ire she sensed in her companion. "Are you sure that's all you want to keep out?"

She studied the kaleidoscope of emotions that moved across his expressive face. Anger showed clearly in the set of his jaw and the fire in those pale slate-blue eyes.

"You ask too damned many questions." He pointed toward a grove dotted with white blooms, diverting her from the subject at hand. "I grow trees that are a combination of Arabica and Robusta. They bloom like Arabica which grows best in the mountains, but they're stronger like Robusta which can grow anywhere. That's why I decided to develop my own strain. The coffee is uniquely mine in flavor, aroma, and smoothness."

"I know. Your coffee always demands the highest price on the market," Caroline said admiringly. Not only was Jason's coffee of the finest quality, his consistently high yields had made the Sinclair Coffee Company one of the most successful companies in New Orleans. "This part of the plantation is as flat as Louisiana bottomland."

Jason studied her, suspicion showing plainly on his handsome face. "It's very similar in composition, too. It's strong but fragile. It's hard to explain. You can't treat it harshly. But if you're kind to the land, it'll be kind to you. It's a simple rule more planters would do well to learn."

"You couldn't possibly grow pure Arabica here," Caroline said, thinking aloud. "Fungus would take it over. But by combining it with Robusta.... How very interesting."

"You needn't patronize me, woman," he said sharply, an angry glint in his eyes.

"My name is Caroline," she told him patiently, as if she were speaking to a child, "and why would you think I'm patronizing you?"

"Aren't you?"

"Why, no. I was completely sincere. I've seen what happens to the coffee when it reaches the market in New Orleans. Is it so hard to believe that I might be interested in how it's grown?"

"There's no need," he assured her, his manner, his expression, cold and remote. "I don't expect it."

Caroline watched in mute amazement as he spurred his horse into a canter. She considered his words. What had they meant? That she was not allowed a thought or opinion or interest except those approved by him?

What an extraordinary man! He obviously had little experience with women—educated, outspoken ones at least—if he believed he could dictate her very thoughts.

Caroline caught up to her husband. He saw her and pulled back on the reins, slowing his horse to a brisk walk. They moved down a narrow path that cut through one of the orchards. The scent of coffee and sweet blossoms enveloped them.

Caroline closed her eyes and breathed deeply. She loved the aroma of coffee beans. In New Orleans, she'd always volunteered whenever Derek needed someone to run a message or voucher to the warehouse, just so she could experience the sweet, tantalizing smell. Besides, it made her feel more a part of the company to actually see and smell the product that kept them solvent.

"The trees bloom year round in this climate," he explained, "so there are trees with berries ready to be picked and trees with young blooms in the same grove."

"How much does each tree yield?" she asked.

Jason eyed her curiously. Though apparently doubtful of her sincerity, he couldn't seem to stop himself from talking about a subject that had dominated his life for the last fifteen years. "A pound of coffee per year per plant is a good yield."

"That doesn't sound like much," she said with a frown. Even with coffee prices high, as they had been when she left New Orleans, she couldn't see how he could make enough money to live. "How many trees do you have?"

"Why do you ask so many questions?" he asked impatiently.

"Why do you hate answering them so much?" she challenged, tilting her chin stubbornly.

"I'm not used to—" He didn't have to explain himself to anyone, least of all her. He'd almost admitted a weakness, that he didn't have a lot of experience with inquisitive females. In fact, his experience with women rarely involved conversation. And he wasn't interested in conversation now, just in getting this damned tour over with. "I've got a thousand acres of land under cultivation right now and probably four hundred trees per acre that are mature enough to yield coffee this year."

"Why that's four thousand trees or four hundred thousand pounds of coffee per year. With coffee at twenty-one cents a pound, that means this year's harvest should be worth eighty-four thousand dollars on the American market. That's a fortune!"

Jason's eyes narrowed. Her quick calculations displayed an intelligence beyond anything he'd expected or wanted in a wife.

"It would be if it were all profit," he told her, wondering why he bothered when the last thing he wanted to do was discuss business with his wife. "It takes a lot of money to run a plantation of this size."

"Especially one so isolated."

Jason stiffened, taken aback yet again. Damn her. She had an uncanny ability to put him at ease and make him say more than he intended. Somehow, she'd managed to turn the tables again.

The orchards gave way to jungle. As they emerged into a clearing, the beneficio came into view.

"You are familiar with the beneficio," he commented dryly to cover his embarrassment at the memory of yesterday's encounter.

Caroline's insides churned as she looked at the familiar building and remembered the last time she'd seen it.

"Yes," she said, her gaze fixed on the white building, "and a very fine beneficio it is, so straight and tall and firm. I would have to say that it is one of the finest beneficios I have ever seen." She didn't know why she'd said that. It was as if someone else had taken control of her speech as well as her emotions.

"So, you have a wide range of experience with beneficios?" he retorted.

Caroline smiled, enjoying the game more than she should. "Not really. But I am sure beyond a doubt that, as beneficios go, this is a most splendid one. But, then, I've only seen the outside. I have no idea what goes on inside. Those hard, thick walls must hide some interesting secrets."

Jason pulled his horse to a halt. At the same time, he reached over and jerked the reins from Caroline's hands, forcing her mount to a stop beside his and moving so that their legs were sandwiched between the bodies of the horses. They were so close she could feel the heat and unrelenting power of his body.

"You are a very daring woman!" he said, a hint of disbelief in his voice. His hard, unyielding eyes pierced her self-control, and she glanced away uncomfortably, irrationally afraid that he would see through to her very soul if she didn't break the gaze.

"I—I'm sure I don't know what you..." she stammered, hating herself for allowing him to bully her.

"Don't play games with me." The menacing tone in his voice sent a shiver up her spine. "I won't be toyed with. You would do well not to challenge me."

"Know my place, is that what you're saying?" Perhaps he wasn't so different from the men she'd come into contact with in New Orleans and at medical school. All her life she'd been confronted by ignorance and narrow-mindedness. Why had she thought Jason Sinclair would be different?

He drew himself up to his full height and gazed down at her with eyes that glared a warning. "That's exactly what I'm saying."

"And what if I refuse?" she asked, quelling the fear that threatened her composure.

"It would not be wise. No one defies me or intentionally provokes me here, and certainly not a—"

"A woman? Is that what you were going to say? A woman?"

He grabbed her so quickly she didn't have time to react. He pulled her out of her saddle, halfway across his lap. His hard chest crushed her breasts as his mouth found hers in a kiss that sent currents of heat down her torso, scorching a path to her belly.

He had expected her to fight him, and that he could have dealt with, but not this surrender that strangely made her the victor. He had meant to punish her, not to gratify her, not to become caught up in this irresistible spiral of desire.

He had to stop, even though her mouth tasted as sweet as nectar and her body incited him to satisfy the building torment within him. She'd bewitched him, robbed him of his will. By her very submission, she had become the aggressor, and he sensed that he would lose much more than he would gain if he didn't stop this now.

He set her back in her saddle ungently and disentangled himself from her arms that had been locked around him. His chest still burned from the feel of the pinpoints of her nipples, and his breath rasped painfully in his lungs.

He wanted her with a fierceness that nearly consumed him. He wanted to make love to her right here and right now. She'd returned his kisses with a fervor of her own that told him she would not deny him should he pull her from her horse and carry her to the beneficio.

It was still early enough that his men would be in the orchards for at least another hour. No one would disturb them should he lay her gently on the empty patio and make love to her.

They were married. By the laws of God and man, he had every right to take her, but he could not, not now. Yes, they were bound by law, but he wasn't ready to make that final commitment, not yet. There were too many things unsettled between them.

When he did take her, it would not be because she'd seduced him or goaded him. It would be on his terms—when and where he chose.

She lifted a hand to smooth a lock of hair that had come loose from her chignon, and he noticed with some satisfaction that her fingers trembled slightly. Her gaze dropped away from his as if she couldn't bear to look at him.

"I think I've seen enough," she whispered in a voice that trembled ever so slightly. "Please, take me back to the house."

As he watched her move slowly up the path toward the house, he experienced none of the gratification he'd expected over his victory. Was this what he had wanted? To make her loathe him? To kill the glimmer of admiration he saw in her eyes whenever she looked at him?

The taste of regret bitter in his mouth, he turned his own horse and followed her back the way they'd come.

#####

Propelled by anger and humiliation, Caroline ran up the stairs and into her room, slamming the door behind her. She stopped just inside, her chest heaving with frustration and her hands curled into fists.

Someone, probably Ines, had opened the windows on both sides of her bedroom and a soft, sweet breeze wafted through, dispelling some of the tropical heat. Stripping down to her chemise and pantalets, she fell on her back on the bed, gazing up at the mosquito netting that fluttered slightly in the breeze.

She hadn't come here to be treated like a leper, like something loathsome and not quite human! Her husband had behaved in the most reprehensible manner. He treated her as if she were the enemy instead of someone who had given up everything to be his wife.

"Dear God, did I make the wrong choice?" she asked aloud.

She'd never been a quitter, but in the three years since her first husband had been killed, she'd never been so close to defeat. She was not the same frightened, destitute girl she had been when she'd first found herself a widow. She'd learned much about survival, and she'd learned to depend upon her own wits and skills to make a respectable, comfortable life for herself in New Orleans.

But nothing she had learned in all that time seemed to matter when it came to dealing with Jason Sinclair.

Rising from the bed, she walked to her trunk where it stood in a corner of the room, rummaging inside until she found the bundle of letters. Just touching them reminded her why she'd come here.

She untied the red silk ribbon that held them together and chose one at random, opening it with a loving, tender touch.

My closest neighbor visited yesterday for the first time in four months. He had a bride with him, a sallow-faced, terrified girl who nearly burst into tears when I asked her how she liked her new home. I believe he mistreats her, though / have no proof. I could see it in her eyes, the disillusionment and pain. Like Peggy's eyes. Why would a man bring a wife to the Amazon Valley only to mistreat her? I wanted to break him in half, but of course I said nothing and damned myself for the rest of the day.

"You're a fool," Caroline told herself aloud as she felt her heart soften toward him again. Her mind was already formulating excuses for his behavior.

To be honest, she had provoked him, albeit unintentionally. She had meant to flirt with him but had only succeeded in angering him, and even when she'd realized how angry he had become, she hadn't been able to stop. Her innuendo and double-edged questions had pushed him beyond endurance. What had she expected? She'd cornered him and she had suffered the consequences. It was a mistake she would be careful not to make in the future. She wasn't about to give up, not just yet.

#####

"Patrao is not hungry?" Ines asked reproachfully.

Jason glanced up from his plate to see Ines standing at the end of the dining room table, frowning at him. He realized that he had hardly eaten a bite but had been rolling his food around on the plate instead. Dropping his fork, he pushed the plate away as if it were something odious.

"No, I'm not hungry," he growled. The clock on the wall struck the noon hour. "Where is Mrs. Sinclair?"

"She say she eats in her room." Ines cleared his plate away. "I am thinking you are not nice to her."

"Mind your own business, Ines," Jason growled, pushing his chair back from the table.

Ines snorted. "Man don't know what's good for him."

Jason stalked through the open dining room door, trying not to let Ines's words needle him. He'd always treated her more like a friend or family member than a servant, and now he was suffering the consequences. Now she thought she knew him better than he knew himself.

He just wanted to be left alone. That was why he'd come to the jungle in the first place.

There would be no activity on the fazenda for the next three hours as the natives observed the customary siesta. When he'd first arrived in the Amazon Valley, Jason had tried to defy the midday heat. He'd soon learned the error of his ways from the exhaustion his labors produced.

Normally, Jason passed the time relaxing on one of the unused patios of the beneficio, napping beneath one of the several palm trees planted there if he'd had a particularly restless night. And even though last night certainly qualified, he knew he wouldn't sleep today. He strode out onto the patio, willing himself not to glance up at the door on the second floor. At the fountain, he splashed water over his face to clear his head, then ran his hands through his hair, slicking it back off his face.

Damn her. She'd turned the tables on him again. He'd meant to show her what he was, what he was capable of so that she would stay out of his way. He'd meant to frighten her, but when he succeeded, the self-loathing in the pit of his stomach had nearly devoured him. Maybe he didn't have a taste for violence any more.

You'll end up just like your good-for-nothing father, his uncle William Sinclair's voice taunted him from the past. Just like your father.

Could a man change his destiny? Could he escape his birthright?

A shiver trembled up his spine and set his neck to tingling. Someone was watching him. He jerked around to find Caroline sitting on a bench behind him. He released a sigh of relief mixed with displeasure. He'd been disappointed and even a little angry when she hadn't appeared for luncheon, but now he found he didn't want to face her again so soon. What could he say to her; how should he approach her? He'd be damned if he'd apologize.

"I don't mean to intrude," she said in a voice that dripped honey. "I usually spend the afternoons here reading."

She had donned a light cotton dress and come to the patio to pass the afternoon. It had not been her intention to force her presence upon her husband again. She didn't relish the thought of facing him so soon after her humiliation. But she'd spent far too much time fleeing to her room, and she wasn't about to do so now.

Jason ran a hand through his damp hair. He stared at her silently, and Caroline watched the changing expressions that always shifted across his face. At first, he seemed surprised to see her, surprise giving way to something she might have interpreted as gladness, if she didn't know how unlikely he was to be glad to see her. Whatever that emotion might have been, it quickly gave way to curiosity.

"I had no idea," he said. "I mean, that you spent the afternoons here."

"How could you?" Caroline asked. "There are many things you don't know about me."

Anger was getting the better of her, and she struggled for control. If she didn't tread lightly, she'd find herself baiting him again. She didn't want to drive him away, so she'd have to use another approach.

She turned the leather-bound book in her hand so that Jason could see the title on the spine. It was Bleak House by Dickens. "Your taste in books seems quite eclectic. Your library is extensive."

"I'm glad you approve. Please feel free to avail yourself of anything that interests you."

"I wondered if you had anything on coffee cultivation." Her eyes remained on the book in her hand, but she could feel the heat of his gaze on her. "I can't imagine that you would not. You've got everything from Russian history to Goethe to Jane Austen.... If I didn't know better, I'd think that every book in your library was a new edition."

"They are. It's my only requirement. Derek and his wife bought them on my behalf," he told her. "One hundred and twenty yards of books, enough to fill all the shelves in the room."

"You don't...?"

"I don't have time to read," he said.

The skill with which he told the lie chilled Caroline to the marrow. He was very good at it—at lying. How would she ever be able to know when he was telling the truth?

/ used to sneak and keep some of the money I made working at the sugar mill to buy books, he wrote Derek. I'd hide them under my bed and read them late at night after my father passed out.

The words of the letter leaped unbidden into her mind, jolting her with their significance. Compassion gripped her heart at the thought of that small boy hoarding the money he'd worked so hard for and using it to purchase books, books his father had burned more than once.

Jason was still hiding his books. He guarded his secrets carefully. How would he react if he ever learned that for the past year she and not Derek had taken his detailed lists and purchased the books he'd requested?

"The most I can manage is the month's worth of newspapers we get when the mail steamer comes up from Manaus," he was saying. "And why would you want a book on coffee cultivation?"

Caroline shrugged, trying to appear casual while her mind churned with unspoken questions. "I told you, I'm curious." She held his gaze for as long as she could, but something in those iridescent blue depths forced her to look away before he penetrated her very soul. It was the second time she'd experienced the sensation of being scrutinized, physically and emotionally, by those sharp, inquisitive eyes.

Opening her book to the place where she'd left off yesterday, she tried to dismiss him, but Jason would not be dismissed so easily. He stood still, studying her intently. She read the same paragraph three times without comprehension before finally lowering the book and gazing back at him.

"There are no seasons here," he told her, "not like you're accustomed to at any rate. There's the rainy season when it rains every day, and there's the dry season when it rains every other day."

She smiled up at him serenely, and he frowned and looked away. "I'm not at all what you expected, am I?" she asked.

Jason returned his gaze to her with a shrug. "I don't even remember what I'd expected any more. What about you? Am I what you'd expected? I mean, you must have had some kind of expectations or you wouldn't have come here."

Caroline felt her face burn as she remembered the fantasies she'd nurtured in New Orleans. She was twelve years old when her mother had died, so she remembered what it was like to have a complete family. And she remembered how it had been between her parents—the love, the laughter, the secret glances they shared that she didn't understand at the time. That was what she wanted, what she'd dreamed of. She wanted the kind of marriage her parents had enjoyed, a partnership.

Those dreams seemed quite ridiculous now. She sat in a tropical garden in the heart of the Amazon Valley surrounded by the pervasive jungle with her irascible, unrefined husband, a man who had been cut off from civilization for so long he'd reverted to behaving like a savage.

"I still can't understand why a young, attractive woman like yourself would want to live in such an isolated place," he said. "Or why you would marry a man you'd never laid eyes on. You're obviously not desperate."

"No," she agreed, "only lonely."

She'd been lonely since her father's death. Losing the love and camaraderie they'd shared had left her hungry for that kind of spiritual belonging. Foolishly, she'd turned to Wade Marshall to fill the void.

Her first husband had exuded taste and impeccable breeding, but his dissolute living had nearly destroyed them.

Studying her tall, ruggedly handsome husband, she had the inexplicable feeling that she could be happy with him, in spite of his lack of polish, social grace, sophistication. Somehow those things seemed unimportant, meaningless, even ridiculous.

"May I ask how old you are?" he asked, bringing her back from her reverie.

"Twenty-five."

Jason quirked a shocked eyebrow at her answer.

"You needn't look so shocked. Twenty-five is hardly ancient."

"That's true, but you.... I mean, you're so lovely, so..." His incendiary gaze seared her flesh and melted her composure. "Why didn't you marry before now?"

Caroline swallowed her fear. Finally, the moment had come, the moment she had been dreading since she answered Jason's request for a wife. The words in Jason's letter rose in her mind—"chaste, tractable, and of child-bearing age"—and her heart settled to her stomach.

"I didn't mean to pry," Jason said a bit defensively. "You yourself said that I know nothing about you."

"I... I was married before," she confessed quickly before she lost her nerve, feeling as if she'd just admitted to murder or some other heinous crime.

His face hardened and he stood straight up, dropping his foot from the bench. "Derek failed to mention that detail," he said through clenched teeth. "Didn't he tell you what my requirements were?"

Fear began to coalesce into anger. Caroline clenched her fists to control her rising ire. "I suppose he thought we were suitable..." she lied. She knew she'd live to regret it, but she couldn't tell him the whole truth, not when he stood glowering down at her as if he'd like very much to throttle her.

"I'm sorry." She studied him, mesmerized by the bitterness etched across his taut mouth. A cold dread shivered through her body. "I'm a widow. That is... I'm not sorry I'm a widow, I'm sorry..."

Jason laughed without humor. "This must be Derek's idea of a joke."

"A joke? I hardly think so. I mean, if he knew how you would react, it would have been very cruel to send me all this way for nothing." Tell him, her conscience urged, but when she gazed into those fury-bright eyes, her throat closed.

"Well, that's exactly what he's done," Jason assured her, turning away as if to leave.

"Wait!" Caroline came to her feet, and Jason turned to face her expectantly. "You can't just walk away like that. Surely you didn't expect one of the fine families of New Orleans to send a young, innocent daughter to the wilds of Brazil."

"I have quite a lot to offer a wife," he assured her. "Or didn't my cousin tell you that? I think he did. I think that's exactly why you're here. You seemed overly interested in my financial status earlier."

Caroline bristled. She threw the book onto the stone table with all her strength, then stood glaring at him, hands clenched into fists at her sides.

"I never asked you about your financial status." She bit the words out. "If you'll remember, you volunteered that information."

"You did the calculations, Mrs. Sinclair."

"If I were only interested in financial security, I could have found that without traveling hundreds of miles!"

"It would have been better for both of us if you had."

"What are you saying?" she asked apprehensively. "Are you saying that because I'm not a—a—because I've been married, that you intend to...."

"The mail steamer will return in a month. What I am saying is that you will be aboard that boat when it returns to Manaus."

"But—but we're married!" Caroline sputtered.

"A condition easily remedied," he said, his manner indifferent. "An unconsummated marriage is easily dissolved. You can take care of it when you reach New Orleans."

"Annulment? What if I refuse?" She trembled with outrage and frustration. He was so cold, so unbending.

Jason shrugged. "Then I'll take care of it myself. You misrepresented yourself to me."

Caroline sucked in her breath as if she'd been hit in the stomach. "Don't you think your views are a little outdated? It is nearly the twentieth century, and we're a long way from Victorian England!"

"That is irrelevant."

He turned to leave again, and his apathy fueled her anger. Determined to elicit some kind of emotion from him, she shouted at his retreating back. "It was very wise of you not to consummate the marriage until you decided whether or not to keep me. It avoids the necessity for a nasty divorce. But if I should decide to oppose your suit, how would you prove your claims? A medical examination? I can't possibly profess to be untouched since I was married before, and for the same reason, you can't possibly hope to prove the marriage was not consummated!"

He turned to look at her, his face a pale shade of red that gave Caroline a small measure of gratification. "You are a very blunt woman!"

"Yes, I am," she admitted, tilting her chin proudly. "I am blunt and bold and daring and intelligent, all the qualities you must abhor in a mate!"

He impaled her with his gaze. "How could you possibly know what I abhor or desire?"

"You wanted a girl and you got a woman! You wanted someone you could bully and frighten with your blustering and your—your..."

Her words trailed off, and she backed away as he moved slowly toward her until her back was against the stone table. Standing close to her, their bodies nearly touching, he leaned over her menacingly, forcing her to bend backward to avoid contact with him.

"And I don't frighten you?"

"No." She averted her gaze from the violence in his blue eyes, gasping for breath as the very air turned thick with tension like the stillness before a violent thunderstorm.

"Not in the least?" Heat radiated from his body; his warm breath stirred the wayward tendrils of hair at her temple.

"No." Her trembling voice belied the word.

"Then perhaps you aren't as intelligent as I'd thought. You see, I know a great deal about inflicting pain." He touched a callused finger to her chin and she recoiled as if she'd been burned, her heart pounding ferociously.

He wouldn't really hurt her, she tried to assure herself, but the very threat was enough to fill her soul with fear.

"I learned from a master," he went on, his voice soft, mesmerizing. "I know your every vulnerability. I know how to make you beg for mercy. You have no idea—"

"Stop it." Her throat constricted around the words as a genuine fear shivered down her spine. He could easily hurt her. His size alone was daunting, even if she hadn't seen the corded muscles that rippled beneath his skin. He could crush the life from her with his bare hands.

"Pain is a different sensation for women than for men. Certain parts of the body and mind are more susceptible."

"Stop. Please." Tears threatened her control. A part of her, the small part not immersed in fear, almost pitied him. Had he survived the pain of his youth by hardening himself to suffering and learning to inflict pain himself? The thought terrified her. She was very much alone, very much at his mercy, cut off from civilization by a thousand miles of river.

"Have I managed to frighten you now?" he asked tautly.

"Yes. Are you happy? Does it make you feel more like a man?"

Panting with anger and excitement, he moved closer to her, barely brushing her body with his. She placed a hand behind her to brace herself against the table. The other hand she pressed against his chest, pushing against him with all her strength, but he refused to yield. Instead, he twined a hand in her upswept hair and wrapped his other arm around her narrow waist, crushing her roughly against him as his mouth possessed hers in a bruising kiss.

This time she did fight him. She wedged both arms between their bodies and pushed desperately against his hard, implacable chest. He deepened the kiss, forcing her lips apart and assaulting the inner softness of her mouth with the lash of his tongue. Desire began to creep insidiously into her flesh and she stopped struggling and let her body fall against his as his hands moved to her buttocks and he pressed her soft loins against his hardness.

"Are you always so easily aroused?" he asked, releasing her abruptly so that she settled ungently onto her feet.

Caroline tensed at the harsh cruelty in his tone. Anger drove her to recklessness. She reached up, swinging out wildly, feeling the satisfying sting of her hand against his cheek.

Jason chuckled. "Leave it to my cousin to send me a whore for a wife."

"How dare you!" She swung out again, but this time he caught her wrist and held it fast. She tried to pull free of his grip, but he refused to release her.

"Whore or not, you are my wife," he reminded her. "And like everything else in this house, you belong to me. And my word is final here. You will be on that steamer when it leaves for Manaus."