Perilous Risk

by Blackthorne, Natasha

  Hadn’t she gloried in her night of wildness with Stephen?

  Would she ever grow up and become proper?

  “Rebecca.”

  She jerked her head up and became cognizant of her surroundings once more.

  Anne was already hurrying away, down the hall, issuing softly spoken orders to the maids and sending them scurrying.

  “Rebecca.” This time Jon’s voice was louder, sounding like more of an impatient command.

  Apparently Jon wasn’t completely a changed man.

  She approached the doorway slowly.

  “Lady Ruel is a bit overwrought this morning. I suspect she didn’t sleep last night.”

  “That’s understandable. She’s worried about her children.”

  “If she rides in the coach overset like that, she could be ill. Forgive me for asking this, we’ve already asked so much of you.”

  “I do not mind.”

  “See if you can calm her somewhat before you embark today.”

  “Of course. I’ll do whatever I can.”

  “Each time you stop, send me word on how she’s faring. I’ll send a purse with you for your expenses.”

  * * * *

  Rebecca found Lady Ruel at the baggage cart. She was rummaging through the trunks. Her hair, loosely tied back from her face with a single yellow ribbon, was coming loose.

  “My lady…” Rebecca ventured.

  Anne turned her head. “I must make sure they have packed enough bed linens. I will not have any of us lying upon dirty linens. These inns are never clean enough. And I cannot find the apples I asked to be packed. I must eat apples during the day, or else Midhurst will not sleep well.”

  Rebecca had to suppress a smile. The girl was positively singular in her outlook and her knotty little beliefs and theories. “You actually noticed this, my lady?”

  “Oh yes, it imparts some property to my milk. It is a must that I consume apples in the afternoons. I told them to pack them. One simply cannot trust these flighty girls.”

  Rebecca took her arm, gently. “My lady, I shall instruct the maids to see to these things. But you and I should have a short walk before we embark on our journey today.”

  Anne Lloyd’s dark brows drew together. “A walk?”

  “Yes, a walk in the crisp air will do both of us some good. You didn’t sleep a wink last night, did you?”

  Lady Ruel’s frown deepened. “I would like to get underway as soon as possible.”

  “A few moments will not matter.”

  Lady Ruel bit her lip and suddenly she looked much younger. Vulnerable.

  “What is it, my lady?”

  “It is just…” She compressed her lips.

  “Come now, you can tell me. I was once a young mother myself.”

  “Well, I just have this feeling of foreboding. As though something dreadful is going to happen. My children…I couldn’t bear if anything should…” Her voice choked off.

  Rebecca patted her arm. “It’s going to be all right. Your girls are strong and they have come through other illnesses.”

  “Yes, they have. But Midhurst…”

  “We shall do our best for the little viscount. But we must stay calm and happy, or else he shall feel the strain and it won’t be good for him.”

  “You’re right.” Anne Lloyd nodded. “Yes, you’re right.”

  “Come now, let’s go for a short walk.”

  The brisk air was calming. Rebecca had a chance to collect her thoughts. Jon had been correct to warn her about Stephen. The man was a mystery. And he did seem dangerous.

  Here she could be rational about the whole matter.

  It was only when she was in Stephen’s immediate presence that she experienced all those confusing feelings. Tenderness towards him, a sense of something important that had been overlooked and missed in the past.

  And yes, incredible lust.

  Faint sounds carried on the chilly air. At first, Rebecca thought it was a seagull.

  Then she heard the word help.

  Help me!

  She and Lady Ruel looked at each other. They each quickened their pace and glanced down at the beach. A child, around seven or eight years of age, was alone, clutching his foot and crying for help.

  Rebecca turned back to Anne Lloyd. “My lady, why don’t you go back and send for a couple of the footmen. I shall go find a way down and see what’s happening.”

  Chapter Twelve

  The carriage came to a halt. Rebecca waited for the world to stop spinning. Blindfolded as she was, she had been about to cast up her accounts for the past quarter hour. The linen gag in her mouth made it hard to fight off the urge to gap.

  She tried to relax her body, to regain whatever strength she could to face anything that might happen next.

  Heavy boot falls on the gravel outside the carriage set her heart racing again.

  Her whole body tensed, energy shot into her limbs and she yanked at her hands. The ties at her wrists were tighter than any she’d ever been bound with before and they cut into her flesh without mercy.

  Bloody hell.

  Carnal games were one thing but there was nothing exciting about being bound and blindfolded and abducted when it was really happening.

  She gave her hands another tug. The ropes cut more severely but refused to budge.

  Bloody fucking hell!

  Rage surged through her like a fever, so strong it made her stomach ache. What an incredible fool she’d been to fall for what appeared in hindsight as such an obvious ruse. When she had reached the distressed child on the beach, they had come behind her and taken her unawares. Oh, she had fought them but the two men had proved to be too strong.

  The boots sounded again.

  She caught her breath.

  Muffled male voices. The sound of the door opening. The sound of something being tossed to the seat across from her. A click marked the closing of the door.

  Peculiar tingling crackled along her skin, over her whole body then swirled and centralized, like a thousand marching ants circling her navel.

  She sensed him.

  Stephen.

  Shock washed over her.

  Now she could smell him. Heard his breathing. Vivid memories assailed her. His hands on her body. Grasping her. Disciplining her. His weight pressing her down, his cock thrusting into her softness…

  A flash of anger sparked like lightning in the dark of her blindfolded perception. The seat rocked with his weight and he moved closer to her. Deep in her throat, she released a growl of pure fury, and in spite of her bounds, she struggled to scoot all the way over on the seat.

  He followed her.

  He removed the gag from her mouth.

  Though a great many curses came to mind to hurl at him, she had to pause to take a gulping breath then convulsively worked to wet her dry as cotton mouth.

  “Good afternoon, Rebecca.” The backs of his fingers brushed her cheek.

  She jerked her head away.

  He sighed. “I suppose you have a right to be indignant.”

  “Indignant? Goddamned correct! I—”

  “You gave me no choice.” He spoke over her, his husky voice gentle and calm.

  That very calmness set her ire near to bursting. “Y-you did this?!”

  A renewed surge of rage choked off any further words she might have said.

  “I told you not to go to Ruel.”

  There was something so hard, so determined underneath his tone. Alarm jolted through her body and she remembered, belatedly, to be afraid of him.

  He is the Earl of Barnet’s creature.

  Maria Seymour’s lover.

  Rebecca sucked in her breath.

  Of course Stephen didn’t want her to go to Jon. He’d known Jon would tell her all.

  Oh God, God—what did Stephen plan to with her? Do to her?

  He would forcibly take her to Maria and between them, they would apply most unpleasant pressure for Rebecca to agree to lie and say that Jon had engaged in sodom
y with a variety of men. Yes, he probably had intended that all along. Maria had sent him to follow Rebecca after she had fled Seymour House. Rebecca had been right to distrust him and a damned fool to have allowed lust and sentimentality—silly nostalgia for a friendship of her youth—to blind her to all the signs that this man was dangerous.

  Her heart hammered in her ears and her hands and feet began to prickle with her rising panic.

  Stephen brushed the back of her head. She cried out and jumped, it jerked her wrists and increased the burn of the rope on her flesh.

  “Shh…” He stroked her shoulders through her dress.

  Cold queasiness swept over her. She couldn’t help releasing a whimper of fright.

  “Shh,” he repeated, more drawn out this time.

  He untied the blindfold.

  She glanced back to him. The interior of the carriage was dim, his face was in shadow; a thick swath of jet-black hair fallen across his forehead, the line of his strong yet elegant jaw and the glitter of the whites of his eyes were all she could discern.

  But she could feel him studying her. His gaze burning her.

  “You’re still angry.” He spoke this vast understatement in a tranquil tone.

  “What would you expect me to feel?” She struggled to keep the fright out of her voice.

  “Anger,” he said, matter-of-factly. He reached behind her back, touching her wrists where the bindings touched her flesh. He uttered a soft curse and jammed his hand into his coat pocket.

  Silvery metal flashed in the corner of her eye. She cried out and yanked her body away from his. He reached for her and held her arm in a grip that was both gentle and ruthless. “Hold still for me, sweeting.”

  Growing alarm beat through her blood and like a cornered hare, she held still. “Please, please, what do you want from me?”

  He paused and stared at her, his face still too shadowed for her to perceive his expression. “I want to keep you safe.”

  “You have a strange way of showing it.” Her jaw trembled with the effort it took to overcome her fear of him and speak.

  The metal glittered in the dimness—the arc of a blade?—seeming to zigzag in the periphery of her vision, jerking close to her face, coming for her eye—she tried to pull her arms free, to throw them over her face. She yanked hard against the bounds, the rope burned like fire.

  With her throat tighter than ever, her scream came out as a soft, shaky cry.

  “Hold still,” he said tersely.

  She cringed and tried to shrink. To disappear.

  “Hold. Still,” he repeated.

  “Please…please, don’t—” Her voice choked off.

  He came so close, his breath blew over her ear. Heated chills raced down her spine. She closed her eyes. Please, please…God!

  With what felt like one smooth tug on the ropes and a slicing sound, her hands came free.

  Her whole body seemed to go weak and she fell limp against the squabs. She watched as he bent and cut the bounds on her ankles.

  Then he rose and took her hands and ran two fingers over her wrists. He swore. “I told them not to manhandle you.” Another curse hissed from his lips. The vehemence was such, she flinched.

  He leant forward, reaching to the other seat, and searched in the leather satchel there. He withdrew a little bottle that he opened and poured some sort of thick liquid. The scent of mint and lavender filled the air.

  “I am sorry, my darling.” With a feathery-light touch, he massaged some of the ointment into her wrists for a few moments.

  After a brief cooling then warming, the raw soreness eased.

  He lifted her hand and brought it to his lips. “So very sorry.”

  The warmth of his mouth on her flesh sent quivers straight to her belly.

  Not fear. Not this time.

  Dismayed at her reaction, she bit her lip.

  “Rebecca.” Her name, so softly spoken, echoed with anguish. He pressed her hand to his cheek. Slight stubble prickled against her palm.

  “How could you do it? How could you run from me, again?” he asked.

  “H-how could you do this?” She heard the anguish in her own voice.

  “You left me no choice. I had to make sure you would be safe.”

  “You did this to keep me safe?”

  “I will do whatever I must to ensure your safety.”

  “How could you ever imagine you had the right to do this?”

  “The ends justified the means.”

  “Nothing could justify this. I shall never forgive you.” Her throat closed up and she took a deep breath, swallowing hard. “Never.”

  His hand tightened on hers. “Don’t say such things, Rebecca.”

  “I mean it. Never!”

  “Of course you shall forgive me.”

  He spoke the last in a calm, self-assured tone.

  Perhaps he is quite mad.

  The thought sent renewed icy tentacles into her heart. The sense of queasiness twisted through her belly again. Oh God, she had sought safety with a madman!

  He leant over her.

  She pressed her back into the corner where the seat met the carriage wall. “Please, don’t …”

  “Shh…” He touched her face. “You will forgive me.” He stroked his fingertips down her cheek. “You will forgive me because you must. You will have no choice.”

  “No, don’t hurt me.” Her voice was high-pitched, full of fear. She no longer cared, she was utterly frightened.

  He reached up and flipped the leather curtains open. Sunlight filtered in through the sheer white muslin curtain that remained over the window. Framed by long, thick black lashes, his eyes were so dilated that little of the dark blue irises showed, as though he were intoxicated—or medicated. His heavy yet elegantly shaped brows, like bold strokes of ink, drew together fiercely. “You’re afraid of me.” He said this incredulously, as though it couldn’t possibly be true.

  “Of course I am afraid of you.” She swallowed back the acridness at the back of her throat. “Any sane woman would be.”

  “Back at that Devon inn, you gave me everything. I could have sworn that you trusted me completely. Why are you afraid of me now?”

  Throat tight and burning, she just stared at him. She didn’t want any of what Jon had said to be true. She didn’t want to believe he had actually ordered his men to abduct her. She wished, desperately, that she could simply remember her time with Stephen over the past days as an exciting carnal adventure. She didn’t wish to have to think badly of him, to fear him, to hate him. Oh, why did things have to be this way?

  “What did Ruel say to you?” His words cut into her thoughts.

  “That you are Barnet’s…creature.”

  Humour lit his eyes and he didn’t quite smile… No. it was more of a soft, amused snarl.

  Chills raced over her skull, down her nape and along her spine. But the chills were also heated. Her nipples drew into tight points and a definite tingle spread into her belly. Her body was betraying her, becoming open to the seductive allure of her gorgeous tormenter.

  “Are you his creature?”

  He chuckled, the sound rich and deep.

  “No, don’t laugh at me!” Thoughtlessly, she thrust her hands out and shoved at his broad shoulders.

  He laughed harder, the sound vibrated into her bones, a sensation that made even more heat tingle through her belly. The indignity of that sexual response made her anger flare hotter. She forgot her fear. “Stop laughing!” she glared at him.

  His face contorted in an expression of contrite tenderness. “No, sweeting, I am not the Earl of Barnet’s creature.”

  She could feel her traitorous heart, softening to him. She balled her fists, struggling against the rush of tenderness and glared at him harder. “You fucked Maria Seymour!”

  His eyes widened, just a fraction. If they hadn’t been sitting so close, she might have missed that sign of his shock.

  The barest hint of a smile graced his sensual mouth. “Half of
Mayfair has fucked Maria Seymour.”

  Rage boiled through her blood. “Go to the devil.”

  He took her hand.

  She tried to jerk it out of his grasp but he held firm. He worked a moment, trying to unfurl her fist and she fought just as hard to resist.

  He sighed. “See, my beautiful girl, you will forgive me for today’s little drama.”

  His self-assurance set her ire soaring. Her face was hot, so hot with her rising anger. “Why do you believe I shall forgive you?”

  “Because you love me.”

  Love? She loved him?

  “Ha!” The sound exploded from her. The unbelievable arrogance of the man!

  He turned her hand over and put his lips to the place where her tightly closed fingers met her palm. She tried to jerk her hand back but he held firm. Hot wet danced over her knuckles. His tongue, licking her, teasing her…oh, dear sweet heaven. Currents, like lightning, crackled through her nerves, her blood.

  No, no, no!

  She would not feel for him. Nothing for him but anger. She curled her lip upward. “Maria Seymour! How could you plant your cock in that she-devil?”

  “Forget her.”

  She scowled. “Forget her? You fuck the woman who wants to see me hang and you expect me to forget—” she snapped her thumb and forefinger. “—just like that.”

  The corners of his sensual mouth lifted.

  “What the devil are you smiling about?”

  “You love me.”

  “I do not.”

  “You wouldn’t be so jealous, if you didn’t love me.”

  “This isn’t about jealousy.”

  He lifted his jet brows, a mocking expression of surprise. “It’s not?”

  “No, it is not.”

  “Then what precisely has precipitated this little outburst?”

  “Your want of good taste and sensible judgement.” Her forehead began to ache as her scowl deepened. She knew she should shut her mouth whilst she was in the lead but she couldn’t stop the flow of words. “When did it happen?”

  He regarded her for several moments, his expression growing thoughtful and oddly tender. “In the Dragoons.”

  “What?”

  “Years ago,” he said in a patient tone. “We fell in love with each other, you and I.”