by Anne Stuart
She could feel Gabriel watching in astonishment as she rubbed their huge heads, then she turned back and fixed him with a cool glance. “Are you coming? They trust me, but animals tend to sense the difference between worthy and unworthy people, and I wouldn’t count on my being able to protect you.”
He tried to take her hand again, but the largest of the dogs lifted his head and emitted a short, warning growl. Gabriel wisely thought better of it, following her across the littered courtyard without another word.
He waited until they were through the tangled gardens and past the gate, out into the fields once more, before he spoke. “How did you manage to do that?”
“Animals trust me.”
He made a noise of profound disbelief, but she ignored him, starting down the hillside at a fast pace, hoping against hope that he’d simply let her go. The sky was growing lighter—the pink had turned a pale, peachy beige, and birds were beginning to sing in the hedgerows. It would be full daylight in less than an hour, and the daylight would be unforgiving. She’d be hard put to keep her composure.
“Where the devil are your shoes?” was the only thing he said after a few minutes of vigorous walking.
Lizzie came to such an abrupt halt that he barreled into her, almost knocking her flat. She ignored his muffled curse, too distressed to be bothered. “I left them back at that house,” she cried. “I’ll have to go back.” She whirled around, ready to run back in search of her missing shoes when he caught her, swinging her back.
“You certainly will not,” he said. “We were lucky to get you out without anyone seeing you.”
“Lord Chilton saw me,” she said.
“And he’s the most dangerous of all, I suspect. If you go back for your shoes, you probably wouldn’t be allowed to leave.”
“They’re my only pair of shoes! I can’t just abandon them!”
“You should have thought of that before you took them off. What in heaven’s name made you do such a ridiculous thing? Did you decide to go dancing in the moonlight again?”
“I can run faster without my shoes,” she said, her voice sulky.
“We’ll find you some new ones. I imagine one of the women at Hernewood Manor would have shoes that fit you. Both Lady Elinor and Edwina delight in acquiring needless possessions.”
“You don’t understand . . .” she began, but he gave her a hard little shake, silencing her.
“No, you don’t understand. Don’t you realize what you just witnessed? And that kind of behavior is relatively harmless compared to the kinds of things they’re capable of.”
“Why should it matter to you? I’m merely a . . . a . . .”
“Plain little nobody,” he supplied.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
She glared up at him, but there was no pulling away from him. The sky was growing steadily brighter, and a soft spring breeze caught in her tangled hair, brushing it into his face. He caught it, holding it, staring down at the auburn strands for a long, enigmatic moment. And then he sighed.
“You’ll be the death of me, Lizzie,” he muttered.
“It’s my fondest dream.” She jerked away from him, both her arm and her hair, and started onward, back to Hernewood Manor, still holding the vain hope that he might abandon her.
He didn’t, of course, which was just as well. He might be certain Jane was safely tucked up in the stables, but Lizzie wasn’t so sure. On the one hand she wanted nothing more than to find that Jane was safe and unharmed. On the other, she would have given almost anything to prove Gabriel Durham wrong.
They had reached the edge of Hernewood Forest when he spoke once more. She hadn’t realized how close behind her he was—he moved with such stealthy grace she could almost pretend she’d left him far behind. She ignored him, quickening her pace, but he simply reached out and caught her, turning her back to face him.
“I am getting mortally tired of your putting your hands on me,” she said in a dangerous voice. The sun had just begun to peek over the towering treetops, and she could see him quite clearly. For the first time she realized he was dressed with a modicum of propriety, in a black-silk coat and breeches, his long hair tied carelessly back. He even wore a large ring on one tanned, strong hand, and the sight of such a large emerald was incongruous. His eyes were weary, his chin was stubbled with new beard, and his mouth was grim. He looked nothing like the Dark Man, the lord of the forest, and yet everything like the Dark Man of her heart. It took an effort to summon her anger, but then she remembered his slighting words, and she hardened herself.
“How did you find me?” he asked again. “Don’t tell me you guessed—I won’t believe you.”
“I doubt you’ll believe the truth either,” she said shortly. “They told me.”
“And who are they? Am I supposed to guess?” He was beyond grim. He was positively cranky, like a willful boy deprived of sleep. Which, in truth, she supposed he was.
“The ghosts,” she replied finally. “Who else could it be?”
He stared at her blankly. “That’s not possible.”
“You don’t believe in them? I thought you warned me about them.” He was still holding on to her arm, and she told herself she ought to break free again, but she made no move to do so. In truth, she liked the feel of his hand on her. It was annoying, restricting and yet deliciously unsettling. As long as he touched her she felt connected to him by more than flesh, and it was both tempting and unnerving.
He was staring down at her, as if trying to read the truth in her face. “You told me you didn’t believe in ghosts,” he said finally. His thumb was absently stroking the soft flesh of her arm, and the faint, unconscious movement was sending waves of complicated sensations through her body. She still didn’t pull away from him. She couldn’t.
“Brother Septimus and Brother Paul changed my mind,” she said evenly.
He shook his head in shock. “You know their names? They don’t show themselves to anyone else,” he said. “How could you have seen them?”
“And talked to them,” she reminded him. “They were lurking in your tower. Maybe if you invited more people to visit, they’d reveal themselves more often. They probably talk to you because they haven’t got anything better to do with their time.”
“Why were you in the tower?”
“Looking for you, of course. I thought Jane had been kidnapped. I’m still not convinced she’s safe, and the longer we stand here arguing, the worse things could become.”
He still didn’t move, shaking his head slightly. “They spoke to you,” he repeated in a tone of disbelief.
“Obviously your ghosts don’t consider me a plain little nobody,” she said, remembered outrage helping her to drag her arm free from his grip. “I’m not going to stand around and argue with you. Go find your blasted ghosts and ask them yourself. I’m going to find Jane.”
And she took off into the morning light, secure in the knowledge that he wouldn’t be far behind.
JANE DREAMED HE loved her. It was an old dream, a common dream, still gloriously sweet, and she tried to hold on to it as best she could, fighting the sounds that were creeping in, trying to destroy her sleep. He was there beside her, she could hear his voice, a deep, soothing rumble, and she fought hard to stay in that warm, safe place, where Peter loved her and nothing bad would ever happen.
She could feel his heart beating beneath her ear, feel his arms around her, safe and warm. Her head rose and fell slightly with the rhythm of his breathing, and all around them a faint, golden glow filled the room, bathing them in a perfect light. She could feel his hand stroking her hair, feel the muscle and sinew of his warm body beneath hers, and she suddenly realized she wasn’t dreaming. She was curled up in Peter’s arms in the stable, and he was holding her.
She lifted her he
ad slowly, reluctantly, and his eyes opened. He smiled at her, a reluctant smile that was heartbreakingly sensual. “You caught me napping, lass,” he whispered. “Do you always sleep like the dead?”
He still held her against his chest, the heavy coat draped over both of them. “Yes,” she said, her voice husky. “And I snore.”
“I wouldn’t care,” he said, looking down into her eyes for a brief, heartbreaking moment. Before she could respond, he nodded toward the stall. “Don’t you want to meet your new foal?”
She should have torn herself out of his arms, but instead she held very still. “The baby’s born?”
“A beautiful filly. She’s already standing up and feeding.”
“And Penelope?” She didn’t dare look.
“Right as rain, lass. Didn’t I promise you?”
She turned her head then. She could see them in the misty light of dawn, mother and peacefully nursing baby. Penelope lifted her head to look at Jane, as if to ask what the fuss was all about, and then she went back to nuzzling her foal like the tender mother Jane had known she would be.
Peter had loosened his grip on her so that she could move any time she wanted to, but he hadn’t dropped his arms. It was just past dawn, and she didn’t care. She was too happy to care about anything.
She leaned back against him, letting her head rest against his shoulder once more, and breathed a sigh of pure, blissful relief. “I was so frightened,” she said.
“I know you were. But everything’s just fine. Your only problem is what to name the baby.” He pulled the coat up around her shoulders, reaching across her in something that was almost an embrace. Almost.
“I hadn’t even thought. I was so certain she was going to die, and the foal with her, and I’d be alone . . .”
“Even if she died you wouldn’t be alone, Janey,” he said slowly.
She couldn’t see his face, and she was afraid to look. His heart was beating beneath her, faster than she would have thought, and he was warm and strong and everything she’d ever wanted for as long as she could remember. “Why?” she asked in a quiet little voice she was almost afraid he heard.
But Peter could hear everything. “I’ll be with you as long as you want me, lass,” he said quietly, his voice deep and firm. “I’ll take care of your horses and watch over you and make sure you don’t come to grief. I won’t let anyone harm you or make you cry.”
She wanted to weep right then and there. She lifted her head to look at him, her face wry. “You’re telling me you’ll be my servant, Peter?”
“For as long as you want me,” he said, an almost imperceptible shadow in his eyes.
He had no earthly notion of how much she wanted him, how much she loved him, and she wasn’t about to tell him. The shame of it would drive him away, and she couldn’t bear to lose him.
Instead she managed a wobbly smile. “Then that’s forever, Peter.”
For a moment she saw something else in his eyes. For a brief, heart-stopping moment she thought she saw everything she’d ever wanted, and he moved his head, his mouth coming closer, and he was going to kiss her, he was finally going to kiss her, and nothing else mattered but his lips, his mouth . . .
“Didn’t I tell you?” Gabriel drawled. “Safe and sound in the stables. You scared the wits out of Lizzie, Jane.” Jane fell back, a minute too late, staring up at her brother with unshed tears in her eyes as Peter scrambled to his feet, backing away from her as if she had the plague.
She sat absolutely still in her little nest in the straw, Peter’s coat falling from her shoulders. “I’m just fine,” she said in a bright, false voice. “Absolutely splendid.” And she burst into tears, leaving her brother to stare at her in astonishment.
Chapter Nineteen
FRANCIS PICKED HIS way carefully around the sleeping, entwined bodies. It did his cold, nasty little heart good to see such profligacy—it brought a smile to his lips as nothing else could. Delilah was somewhere beneath a pile of bodies—he could only hope she wouldn’t suffocate.
There were various ensembles in most of the bedrooms, but Francis was secure in the knowledge that no inhabitant of Arundel spent the night unsullied. Except, of course, for Gabriel Durham.
The more Francis saw of him, the stronger his obsession grew. If he had any interest in leading a comfortable life, he would have done his best to rid himself of it, but since he usually enjoyed the darker emotions, he was happy to indulge himself. He suspected that Gabriel was not going to succumb easily to his stratagems. He was far too clever and far too observant. He could see through Francis’s clever attempts with no effort whatsoever. Clearly he was an adversary worthy of his mettle. Strong, handsome, possibly as brilliant as Francis himself. Such a delicious waste of man, he thought.
Gabriel did, however, have a weakness, a fact which gave Francis hope. Not his ungainly sister—Francis had once possessed a sister far more attractive than Jane Durham, and while he’d felt a token of affection for her, he’d barely noticed her youthful passing in childbirth. Were she still alive today, he wouldn’t have hesitated in using her to his best advantage. Pretty women could be excellent bargaining chips.
Tall, ugly women were essentially useless, and he expected that Gabriel would have simply shrugged off any threat to his sister’s well-being, despite his claims to the contrary.
No, Jane Durham was of no earthly use to him. But little Miss Penshurst more than compensated.
People were such odd creatures. He never could understand the human heart and had always been most sincerely grateful that he seemed to be blessedly devoid of one. Why someone of Gabriel Durham’s impressive talents and physical beauty would be interested in an ordinary girl like Elizabeth Penshurst baffled him. She had absolutely voluptuous hair and a nice willful streak that she was obviously trying to quiet, but she dressed badly—an unconscionable sin to Francis’s way of thinking—and seemed actually to belong in the country. Normally he had no use for bucolic creatures, but he had a use for this particular one.
She was a virgin, he had no doubt whatsoever about that. There was something about her eyes, about the way she moved, that told him she’d never been initiated in the art of Eros. He was half-tempted himself—it was a rare woman who inspired him, but Elizabeth Penshurst had hidden depths. It would add particular piquancy if Gabriel could be persuaded to watch, but that was probably too much to hope for. He had more important matters that required his concentration.
She had another value, apart from her virginity. Gabriel wanted her, quite desperately. And while he might sit tamely by and let them burn his sister, he’d be unlikely to ignore any threat to Elizabeth. All it would take would be some careful handling, and Gabriel could be bent to their will quite nicely.
The second floor was quiet, their guests sleeping peacefully, but Francis didn’t let that bother him. He went straight to the bedroom he sought and opened the door without knocking. He knew he wouldn’t interrupt anything particularly interesting, but it wouldn’t have made any difference. For the time being Arundel belonged to him, and all within it were his minions.
He walked over to the head of the bed, looking down at its occupant. Except there were two in the bed—that young girl they’d snatched from the river was curled up beside his guest. Delilah had told him the girl was pregnant, running away from home. She would make an admirable added gift for the master. There were two other young women from the village at Arundel as well, though he’d lost track of their whereabouts. Willing females of the lower classes were negligible, particularly when they’d run away from home in the first place.
“If I might have a moment of your time,” Francis said softly.
The man in the bed jerked awake, sitting upright. “What do you mean by coming in here?” he demanded furiously.
“To talk.”
Sir Richard Durham kicked the sleepy tr
ollop out of his bed. “Get out,” he said. The girl scuttled away, her clothes clutched to her chest, eyeing them both nervously. She was wise to be nervous, Francis thought. “What do you want?” the old man asked.
“I rather thought you’d want to hear how the night went. Your son arrived as expected.”
“He’s no son of mine.”
“According to the law he is,” Francis pointed out smoothly. “We played cards, and I found he was rather better than I expected. I’m afraid I ended up promising to leave his sister alone.”
Sir Richard held himself very still in the bed. He was a big, burly man, covered with graying hair all over his thick body. Not Francis’s type, and he turned his gaze away from the old man, staring out the window into the dawning day.
“That’s your choice, not mine. You needed a well-bred virgin, and I offered you Jane. If you don’t want her, that doesn’t mean I haven’t fulfilled my part of the bargain,” Sir Richard said sourly.
“Ah, my dear fellow, life is not that simple. I promised Gabriel I wouldn’t touch Jane. But she’s not the only well-bred virgin in your household, now is she?”
“You touch my Edwina, and I’ll slit your throat,” he said hoarsely.
Francis laughed. “You took care to remove her from our reach, didn’t you, Richard? She’s off in London with her brother and mother, safe and sound. Where do they think you are, by the way?”
“In Cornwall,” Sir Richard mumbled. “I’ve got investments in some mines out there, and I told them I needed to inspect them.”
“And they believed you? Not very clever, the members of your blood family. Not nearly as clever as your false son and daughter. What do you suppose that says about your bloodlines, hmmm?”
