Defiant Captive

by Christina Skye

  A shadow fell over them.

  Hawke was the first to raise his head and stare with narrowed eyes up the bank.

  "What in the Devil's own name is goin' on here?" a hard voice rang out above them.

  Hawke smothered a curse. He should have been faster, he thought grimly. He would have been if he hadn't been caught in the spell she wove. Yes — and if he hadn't been in torture from the fiery ache at his groin. His head reeling, he struggled to pull his jacket around Alexandra, shifting his hard body to cover her nakedness.

  She gasped when she felt the full swell of his arousal, and that made him curse again, more explicitly this time.

  Who the devil dared to come here? He'd left strict orders with Davies that no one was to disturb them. This morning the stream was off limits to even the prince regent himself, by God!

  He stared up at the dark figure silhouetted against the sun, irritated that he had to clear his throat before he could speak. "Who the hell wants to know?" Whoever had disobeyed Hawke's express orders was going to be very, very sorry.

  "The water bailiff of Hawkeswish, by God — and ye'll answer to His Grace for this encroachment!"

  The harsh words died in Hawke's throat, and savage anger turned to black amusement. He threw back his head and laughed.

  "Havers, you old curmudgeon! What are you doing here? You were confined to bed, the last Davies told me!"

  The voice turned uncertain. "Yer Grace? Never tell me that—" There was a low, muffled curse. "Forgive me! I thought—" More throat clearing. "Reck'n I'll be gone then, seein' as how—" The other man stopped again, then plunged desperately on, gruffly trying to be matter-of-fact. "Downstream sluices been in need of checkin' this age."

  "Have they?"

  "Oh, aye, Yer Grace."

  "An excellent idea then, Havers."

  Abruptly, the shadow fell away, and light bathed Alexandra's face once more. She felt Hawke's chest rumble when he looked down at her.

  " 'Tis only Havers — the man I mentioned earlier, who taught me to fish these waters. A rare hand, he is. Always a stickler for his responsibilities, even though Shadwell reported him nearly on death's door last week."

  His words dropped like hollow coins into the pool of wary silence between them. Alexandra rose to her elbows and struggled to push him away. "You've won nothing, do you hear?" she cried. "Whatever happened was forced, not given willingly. I shall never be yours!"

  Instantly, the duke's hand flattened on her shoulder and pinned her, squirming, against the cool earth.

  "I won, Alexandra. Do not try to deny it. I won, and you stay."

  "No, damn it! You've won nothing! I hate you too much to feign indifference. I'll always hate you — for what you are, and for what you've done to me!"

  Her fingers raked his cheek, drawing blood. With a savage curse Hawke captured her flailing hands and wrenched them above her head. "So this is the value of your word?"

  "I keep no bargains with the Devil!" Alexandra spat back, twisting furiously beneath him.

  "Cold-blooded little bitch," Hawke said with soft menace. "Perhaps you're like Isobel after all. Perhaps I should take you as I meant to take her. Since you call me the Devil, let me act the part."

  Something twisted in his face, something that made Alexandra know a moment of raw panic. "You wouldn't," she whispered.

  The sneer that contorted his chiseled features was cruel and very ugly. His fingers dropped to the buttons of his breeches.

  Alexandra moaned, shamed by the hot tears upon her cheeks.

  "Are you afraid, my lying little whore? Does the fear make you hot and hungry for my throbbing shaft?" he growled. "You'll have it soon, I promise!"

  A wild sob broke from Alexandra's lips. "Madman! Monster! Release me!"

  "You've struck a bargain with the Devil, woman! He never goes back on his promises."

  He freed his rigid manhood and pressed her down beneath him, grinding savagely against her thighs, letting her taste the full force of his fury. "Here I am, all at your bidding. Open your legs for me, harlot!"

  With his free hand he wrenched up her skirts, seeking the hot tangled curls at the junction of her thighs.

  "Please," she pleaded raggedly, beyond pride or shame.

  "Please continue? Nothing will stop me, I assure you!"

  "Stop, Hawke! Don't do this. Not again!"

  Something in her voice cut through Hawke's fury. He froze, looking down at her face and seeing the tears glinting on her pale cheeks — just as he had that night in the forest, after he took her for the first time.

  Hawke's face twisted and he cursed viciously.

  The next thing Alexandra knew, he had rolled off her and risen to his feet.

  "I'll stop, alright. You're not worth the struggle. Why should I fight with a cold little bitch when there are hundreds of women eager to share my bed? Experienced women, who know how to pleasure a man! Women honest enough to give their passion freely!" His boots squished up the damp bank, across the thick ferns and water grass. "I've had my fill of manipulative females like you, by God!"

  A moment later, Alexandra was alone.

  Slowly, she sat up and smoothed her skirts with numb fingers.

  Damn you, Hawkesworth! she thought. And damn me for falling into your trap! Again!

  With wobbly legs she stood and stumbled down the hill toward the stream, where she cupped her hands and dashed cold water to soothe her burning cheeks. At that moment she looked down and saw her face, her eyes dark and cloudy, her lips still swollen from his savage touch. So different from the youthful innocent who'd angled with her hands for trout an hour before!

  From her thigh came a faint prickling, and she remembered the mark he had set upon her. With terrible consciousness she thought of all that had followed. An angry tear tumbled silently into the darting silver currents, currents that just now reminded her of the Duke of Hawkesworth's cold eyes.

  Another tear splashed quietly into the restless stream. She sneezed.

  I've shamed myself. I've betrayed the man I will marry.

  At that thought, Alexandra's mind rebelled. It was her captor's fault, damn him! Everything had come of his recklessness, his colossal arrogance.

  With a surge of bitterness, she shrugged on the damp jacket of her habit. Her eyes narrowed when she saw at her feet the garment Hawke had loaned her. Suddenly, she chucked the soft wool into the swift current and watched with smoldering fury as it disappeared downstream.

  If only she could drown the man so easily!

  Five minutes later, Alexandra stood at the brow of the hill, her stiff, angry spine turned to the wind. Below her feet the downs spread out like a green patchwork quilt.

  As she had expected, the horses were gone.

  Blaze and bedamned! The man meant to allow her no chance to escape, did he?

  Her mouth was set and determined as she studied the stream's silver curve where it dropped away to the south. For a moment she saw nothing but grass and meandering thickets; then she noticed Aladdin's russet coat in the shadow of an oak tree. Two men stood speaking animatedly beside the horse.

  Yes, Your Bloody Grace, Alexandra thought, this shabby scene is played. Tossing her skirts angrily, she turned and walked quickly along the hill in the opposite direction.

  In other circumstances Alexandra would have found the setting delightful. A fresh wind rustled the grass, redolent with the scent of verbena and sea salt. Overhead, a pair of jackdaws wheeled gracefully. But on this occasion her eyes fell unseeing upon the fragile blue gentians that danced against the springy turf.

  She had gone no more than fifty paces when she heard the thunder of horse's hooves. She broke into a run.

  "Yer Grace! Stop! You must not—" The quavering voice behind her halted. "The duke is waitin' for ye downstream." Only the bailiffs obvious discomfort made Alexandra slow her steps.

  The old man was breathing heavily by the time he came abreast, mounted on Bluebell. His honest, ruddy face was creased with concern. "
And ye're goin' in the wrong direction! 'Tis nine miles over the downs to the great house, as Yer Grace must recall. Ye must not attempt it!"

  Alexandra's lips twitched angrily as she spun around, hands thrust upon her hips. "You err in your address, sir. I am not the Duchess of Hawkesworth. And I do not mean to return to that house!"

  She turned and resumed her determined march. Behind her came a sharp intake of breath. "But Yer Grace — madam — miss—" Havers sputtered off uncertainly.

  Alexandra merely continued walking.

  Several minutes later, she came to a narrow white trail — probably a shepherd's path — which she followed along the crest of the downs. As she moved north, the smell of the sea began to fade. Her habit was only a little damp now, although the chill had penetrated her bones, for she was still accustomed to the heat of Madras. Her ankle was stiff; by the time she reached her destination, she knew it would be far worse.

  With narrowed eyes she studied the ground until she found a long gnarled branch to use as a cane. It was not much to look at, she thought wryly, but it would take some of the weight from her ankle.

  Behind her came the drum of hooves once more. The old man was nothing if not diligent, Alexandra thought. This time, when the horse thundered closer, she did not stop. "Go back and tell your master that his swan has swum away!" she called over her shoulder.

  "Where the hell do you think you're going?" Hawke growled, his face a frozen mask of anger.

  Alexandra thrust her hands upon her hips as Aladdin's muscled flank cut off her advance. "So you deign to come yourself this time, instead of sending a tired minion! Do you mean to throw me across your saddle again? I warn you not to try it, for this time I have nothing left to lose, and my nails are very sharp!"

  Aladdin danced uneasily, raising small clouds of chalk in the white track, but Alexandra refused to step back. She'd rather be trampled than show any sign of weakness before this brute.

  "I should have known that you're exactly like the rest of your sex — an inveterate liar! But that changes nothing. You will stay."

  "I'd rather face the lowest slime of the London docks than stay a moment longer in your company!" she hissed.

  "God's blood, woman! What will it take to make you understand the danger you run? Your only protection is with me. Somewhere out there, Telford is waiting. Until I've flushed him from cover, you have no choice but to remain."

  "As your prisoner!" Alexandra cried furiously, stamping her foot. Immediately, a bolt of pain shot through her ankle, and the makeshift cane fell unnoticed to the ground.

  "Prison is such an unpleasant word," Hawke sneered. "You can have no idea of the life you would lead in a place like Newgate."

  "Enduring Newgate would be infinitely preferable to enduring your company."

  "The choice is not yours to make! Now, will you stop thinking of yourself for once, damn it? It's almost ten miles to Hawkeswish. In any other circumstances I would be delighted by your stubborn insistence to attempt it, for the walk might cool your damnable temper. But Havers is still weak from his illness. He cannot make the trek with equal impunity."

  "What concern is that of mine? He has Bluebell," Alexandra snapped, her arms crossed stiffly against her chest.

  "He will not take the horse while you walk, of course," Hawkesworth said impatiently, as if addressing a simple child. "If you walk, he must insist on walking too. To ride would be unthinkable."

  "Well, of all the cockeyed—! I suppose you let him believe I'm your wife too!"

  Hawke's eyes flashed with irritation. "No, I did not, but Havers's code is strict. He would never allow a woman — any woman — to career across the downs on foot while he rode."

  "Very well. In that case I shall take Bluebell, and you may ride with the old codger."

  "Impossible," Hawke said flatly.

  "Why not? Because the great sahib wishes otherwise, of course."

  "Because, little fool, the poor man would be mortified."

  Abruptly, Alexandra had another idea. "Then let him ride with me."

  "Out of the question!" Hawkesworth said sternly. "He would be just as mortified riding with you as he would with me. You will ride in front of me, damn you, and there's an end to the matter. I won't see an old man made ill because of your stubborn pride."

  Anger flashed from her aquamarine eyes as Alexandra made an elaborate mockery of a curtsey. "But, of course! I am only an unworthy slave who bows at your feet, master!"

  "If Havers weren't nearing collapse over that hill, I'd take you across my knee and —"

  "Just bloody try it!"

  Hawke's smoky eyes narrowed suddenly. "How did my jacket come to be floating in the stream? Or do I dare ask?"

  Alexandra's gaze dropped to Aladdin's twitching tail. The horse expertly flicked a fat black fly from his hindquarters. "I threw it there," she snapped.

  Hawkesworth shook his head in disgust. "I might have known." What a fool to have thought the hellion might be in danger! he thought grimly. "Well, you may congratulate yourself. Havers insisted on hoisting the damned thing out and nearly drowned himself in the process. Do you now mean to decimate my staff?"

  "Of all the abominable, blockheaded, bovine—"

  "Get on the horse, damn it!"

  Alexandra shot him a fulminating look. She thought briefly of running, but the open downs offered little chance of concealment.

  "Forget it," Hawke warned roughly. "I'd run you down before you topped the rise." His tone grew sharp with impatience. "Can't you swallow your damnable pride for even a moment? For a man who might well be your grandfather's age?"

  "That's unfair!" she blurted out. "By the sands of the Ganges, you twist everything!"

  Hawke did not wait any longer. He drove Aladdin forward, reached down, and swept Alexandra up into a crushing embrace. Then he pulled her before him in an awkward imitation of the sidesaddle position.

  Aladdin danced skittishly as Alexandra turned slashing fists against Hawke's chest. "Let me go, you vile creature! This game is played!"

  "So you think it's a game, do you? Telford plays no games, and neither do I, as you'll soon discover." He cursed when Alexandra's nails raked his cheek, then twisted her hands behind her back. "Now sit still and stop squirming, damn it, before Aladdin throws us both!"

  "I am not squirming," Alexandra answered furiously as he nudged the great horse into a gallop. With every movement of the animal beneath them, Hawke's taut muscles flexed and forced her back against the saddle of his thighs, leaving her in no doubt of his potent masculinity.

  "Then stop whatever it is you are doing!" Hawke's right hand circled her back to take up the reins, and his lips grazed her ear for a fraction of a second. "At least wait until we're in bed, when you may exercise your passion to its fullest! In fact, I shall insist upon it."

  Alexandra's face flamed crimson in anger. Every motion of the horse threw her back against Hawke's broad chest and muscled thighs. Even worse, she had nowhere to put her hands. When she tried to clasp them in her lap, Aladdin's spirited gait threw her off balance.

  She simply refused to consider the other options.

  Suddenly, Hawkesworth reined in his mount. "My dear Miss Mayfield," he said with the exaggerated clarity one used to address a simpleton or an impossible child, "you must do something with your hands. Hold on to my shoulders or circle my waist — grasp my head, if you must. But do something! I promise I'll read no more into it than a very prudent desire not to fall from the horse and take me with you."

  His eyes were an unsettled gray when Alexandra shot him a scorching look. Curse the man, she fumed.

  Gingerly, she lifted her hand and positioned it at the very edge of Hawke's shoulder, keeping their contact as slight as possible.

  "Come, come — you can do better than that."

  Alexandra seethed, remembering the last time she had sat a horse with him. Suddenly, at the duke's urging, Aladdin reared, his great hooves pawing the air, and she was thrown crazily off balance.
>
  Desperately, she grabbed Hawke's shoulder for support, her fingers just below the long hair at the back of his neck. Immediately, she felt the rumble of his mocking laughter.

  "If only I had my cane!" she cried in helpless fury.

  "Don't worry, you won't be doing any more walking today."

  When they neared the lower stretch of the creek, Bluebell's questioning neigh echoed on the wind. A moment later, Havers appeared, wet clothes plastered to his rangy frame.

  "Aye, that's more the thing. Now here's Bluebell, miss, and ye'll be back at Hawkeswish right and tight in a quarter hour. I've the weirs to check anyway before I wind my way home."

  "Take the roan," Hawke ordered, "and leave the weirs for tomorrow. Then it's dry clothes and a warm fire for you."

  "But Yer Grace, it's barely midday!" the old man protested. Suddenly his face darkened. "If ye think I'm not up to the work then —"

  "I mean to keep an eye out for vipers, and I'd like your assistance on the way back," Hawke explained quickly.

  "Well, if ye put it that way ..." The bailiff frowned uncertainly.

  Hawke decided to end the discussion. "That's settled then. Now let's be off, for I'm famished and you must be numb to the bone. On the way back you can tell me how the trout are doing."

  Reluctantly the old man mounted Bluebell and followed Hawke over the hill. Suddenly, a smile lit the bailiff's face. "Yes, real beauties they be in the high stream hereabouts. None to match them anywhere else in Sussex."

  "Miss Mayfield caught one."

  The bailiff frowned and scratched his head. "But I saw no poles. How did she—" The bailiff directed a shocked look at the grinning duke. "Never say ye were tryin' to teach the young miss to stroke a trout, Yer Grace! A fine way to go on, and I don't mind sayin' so!"

  Alexandra slanted a look at the arrogant duke to see how he accepted this rebuke from a servant, albeit a respected one.

  He seemed in no way put out. "She was actually rather good at it, Havers. With a little practice she could become your star pupil."

  "Was she now? Comin' from ye that's high praise indeed, for ye had the quickest pair of hands I ever saw."