Defiant Captive

by Christina Skye

  "You're not fighting me now, swan. You're struggling to get closer." He slipped his hand between them and found the tiny ridge of her desire, stroking her with an exquisite touch, careful not to push her over the edge as he relentlessly heightened her pleasure until she panted and tossed wildly beneath him.

  "This way," he rasped. "This is how it will be between us! Always. Whenever I love you."

  Again and again he brought her to pleasure's threshold, shredding the barriers between them, learning the things that made her moan and twist beneath him. He remembered it all and turned the knowledge against her a moment later, driving her again and again to the ragged edge of passion, only to pull back and prolong the raw torment.

  For them both.

  No regrets! Hawke told himself in black fury. No aching sense of loss! Only this fierce, gnawing blade of need. Only a man who used a woman as she was meant to be used, teaching her who was master before taking his own pleasure.

  As if from a great distance, Alexandra heard his ragged groan and felt his thighs tense against her flanks.

  "Now, swan!" he cried.

  And then the velvet fury was upon her. The ground fell away, and she screamed, only to feel his strong fingers surround her. She forgot to breathe, she shattered, she rent the clouds. Through the sky she rode him, feeling the rain that was sweat dampen their skin, seeing the sparks of living lightning leap from his eyes.

  Beyond the thunder he took her. Beyond the storm to a greater fury until the lightning played around her and plunged deep within her.

  Until she was the storm itself, and only he could tame her.

  And then Alexandra fell into the maelstrom, scattered into a million charged particles. She died in blackness and in silver, and there he taught her how to be reborn and rise once again from the ashes of their spent desire.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Later, much later, they slept, while the rain beat a steady drone overhead. The wind dropped, and heavy plumes of mist curled around the corners of the weathered barn. Inside, the smell of hay hung heavy upon the cool damp air.

  Hawke was the first to wake. For long moments he did not open his eyes, enjoying a dark, drowsy contentment, warm still from passion kindled and spent not once but many times. He was not yet ready to face the harsh light of day with its crushing burdens of duty and responsibility. Instead, he flexed his shoulders, his mind and body satiated, smiling faintly as he listened to the rain tap upon the roof.

  He yawned and lazily stretched out a hand, only to meet warm silken skin beneath his fingers. The effect was immediate and riveting. He jerked as if struck by lightning, and desire scorched a path along his groin. He felt himself swell with a burning hunger to possess her again — his proud, defiant captive asleep beside him.

  Lord Percival Maitland's daughter, by God! Wealthy, cosseted, and high born. A tempestuous beauty who had stunned him with the fury of her passionate response. A woman who'd nearly murdered him for God's sake!

  A grim smile played across Hawke's chiseled features as he recalled how close he'd come to dying in the seconds before she shot the candle's flame off the wick. A damned good shot — she could have put the ball just as easily through his heart, he knew.

  And yet she had not.

  Careful, Hawke told himself. Women were God's curse upon men, created to dazzle and betray. Not one of them could be trusted. He had forgotten that once in his reckless obsession with Isobel.

  It was not a mistake he intended to make again.

  A muscle moved at his jaw as he looked down at the willful creature asleep in the straw, her glorious hair scattered like sunset clouds across her ivory shoulders. She was like no woman Hawke had ever known.

  Perhaps it was her rare vibrancy that had taken him by storm. Perhaps it was her bold, flaming spirit after the cold, corrosive years with Isobel.

  He did not know. He didn't want to know, afraid to explore his feelings too closely. It was enough for now that he wanted her, that he would hold her and have her, again and again, as long as his desire remained.

  Whether she liked it or not.

  It was the least the wench could do after tracking him to London with the express intention of murdering him! Hawke scowled as the insistent throbbing in his groin began to build. Smothering a curse, he rose on one elbow so that he could see her face when she came to consciousness. Then he waited.

  Something sharp tickled Alexandra's nose, and she batted it away.

  Warm. Soft. So tired.

  Again came the tickle at her face, but she twisted to her side, unwilling to leave the snug cocoon of sleep.

  Then her nose twitched sharply. The smell of straw, damp air and sea salt filled her lungs. Leather and horses. Once more she sniffed. A man's smell?

  She smiled slowly, a delicious golden languor heavy upon her limbs. Then her fingers met a broad chest furred with dense, springy hair. Abruptly, her eyes flashed open, and she jerked upright in the straw, sending dry strands flying everywhere. Two bright circles of color stained her cheeks.

  "Titania awakes," the man beside her said coldly. "I see that you slept well. A good tumble in the hay often has that effect. My compliments, Miss Maitland. Bedding agrees with you."

  "You — you—" Alexandra sputtered. An instant later she was overcome by memories, shameful memories, that made her breath check in horror. Memories of exquisite, aching torment, followed by fierce and unfettered pleasure. She flinched and pulled a trembling hand before her eyes as if to ward off thoughts too painful to face.

  Suddenly aware of her nakedness, Alexandra fell back, clutching straw to her trembling body. Streaks of crimson slashed across her cheeks, the only color in her pale translucent skin. "Savage!" she hissed. "Cruel, vicious savage!" Vainly, she tried to edge away from him, but he rolled smoothly and pinned her beneath a muscular thigh.

  "If so, I am a savage who holds your father's reputation in his hands. And it was you who came in search of me, may I remind you. You were the one thirsting for my blood, intent on revenge and righting what you term a cruel injustice." His eyes were mocking. "I can only wonder what you meant to offer me in exchange for my help."

  "I meant you first to crawl, to suffer as he did. Then, if you did as I asked and cleared my father's name, I would have let you go, worthless as your life is!"

  "But you lost your chance when you discovered I wouldn't crawl and you hadn't the stomach for killing. So what's left for you to bargain with?" Hawke jeered, his face only inches from hers.

  Alexandra glared back, her fingers balling into fists. Oh, if only she had a pistol to level between those hard mocking eyes!

  "You do not answer?" Hawke growled, trapping her hands and crushing her beneath him in the warm straw. "This, perhaps?" With cool deliberation he scrutinized the creamy skin of her neck and shoulders, which flushed crimson beneath his taunting eyes.

  "Stop, you contemptible snake!"

  "Stop?" A dark eyebrow climbed mockingly. "But we're just getting started, Miss Maitland. Now you are the one who must beg. For such a thing as you ask, I must have something of value in return. If not your body, then what?"

  Alexandra twisted helplessly. Her breath came fast and jerky between clenched teeth. Wretched bloody man! She was fed up with his mockery and cold manipulation. A few hours ago, he had bent her to his will, taking cruel advantage of her paralyzing terror during the storm. But it would never happen again! she vowed, fighting the dark memories of his savage lovemaking.

  "The satisfaction of correcting an injustice done to an innocent man!" she cried, forcing her thoughts away from those shameful images.

  "Unacceptable, I'm afraid. All the evidence pointed to your father's guilt."

  "Evidence offered by liars, by men who hated and envied him! Men he had punished for corruption and who sought to have their revenge by raising spurious charges against him!"

  "Very stirring, my dear," Hawke said softly, his eyes narrowing. "But why, I ask myself? Why would a rich and desirable young wo
man devote her life to the bitter task of restitution and revenge? Why would she give up the chance for a home and family to pursue such a thankless quest? There is something unhealthy about all this."

  "Love!" Alexandra snapped. "Loyalty! Things you would know nothing about, Your Bloody Grace!"

  "Love?" Hawke repeated cynically. "Love and what else?"

  "For honor's sake too! But I forget — a miscreant like you wouldn't know the meaning of that word either."

  "And you would?" he scoffed. "No, to others you may lie — to yourself, even — but not to me. You're hiding something, Miss Maitland, and I'll have it out of you, mark my words. But until I do, we have terms to be set. What have you to offer in return for my help in clearing the charges against your father?"

  Alexandra struggled furiously against his iron grip. "D-damn your depraved heart!" she sputtered, hating the silver eyes that probed her so relentlessly. With a cry of inchoate anger she twisted sideways and tried to sink her teeth into his wrist.

  Hawke only laughed and moved his hands out of range. "I see that I must answer for you then," he growled. "You have only one thing of interest to me, and that is your exquisitely responsive body, which would tempt a saint to transgress his holy vows. And that, my sweet, dutiful Alexandra, is how you'll repay me."

  "Never, you bastard! You can't force me to —"

  "Ah, but I don't propose to force anything. It's your assent I require — your passion willingly given when you come to my bed. You'll come to me of your own free will or not at all, my dear. I'll have all your passion and all your fire, not one spark less. If you want your father's case reopened and his honor restored, that is my price," he finished roughly.

  "Never, you fiend! Never will I do such a thing!"

  "So Lord Maitland's daughter is not so loyal after all? Not willing to overcome every obstacle to restore her father's reputation? Was all that talk of love just a sham too?" he sneered.

  Alexandra strained wildly against his cruel grip, but she could not loosen those rigid fingers. "No, I won't listen! You twist everything! Even white you turn into vilest black." She tried to drag her hands toward her ears, but Hawke pulled them roughly away.

  "A coward, too, I think," he continued ruthlessly. "Afraid to face your own passion. You know such an arrangement would bring pleasure to you as much as to me, for you have the fiery sensuality of a born courtesan. It shows in a thousand ways — every time you drop your lashes instinctively, every time you moisten your lips with your darting tongue. Every time your eyes burn upon me, I see your true nature revealed, my dear Alexandra. And yet not long ago you chided me for lacking honesty. Are you so afraid to face your own passion? Or has dishonesty become a habit with you?"

  "The only thing I feel for you is passionate hatred," Alexandra hissed furiously, "along with an overwhelming desire to claw that insolent smile from your face!"

  "Liar!" he growled. "Just like all the rest of your sex. I was a fool to expect you to be any different. But I'm a fool no more," he added, his voice hardening. "Today I collected my first installment against the payment you will make me for resurrecting your father's reputation."

  Alexandra shivered as his words pounded over her like crashing waves — relentless, cold, and unforgiving.

  "Mark me well — I will continue collecting as long as I choose to. Whenever I want. Wherever I want. Whatever I want. And you, Miss Maitland, had better pray that my desire for you lasts until our business is concluded."

  "P-pray that your desire lasts?" Alexandra choked in fury. "What sort of foul insect are you? Does your treachery know no bounds?"

  "Save your histrionics for a more appreciative audience," he said scathingly. "You were the one with murder on your mind. If we're to talk of treachery, we should begin with that."

  "But I—" Abruptly, Alexandra bit back her denial, refusing to justify herself to this insolent blackguard. Never would she admit that their meeting in London had been the work of fate rather than her own design. That her plans for revenge had not included murder.

  "Now, which is it to be?" her slate-eyed captor continued relentlessly. "Lord Percival Maitland reviled as a scoundrel down through history or hailed as a hero who walked the precipice and made the best of a dangerous situation? Everything depends on you, Alexandra — you warm and yielding in my bed. So give me your answer. I'll accept your pledge on our bargain, for I believe that you harbor some twisted notion of honoring your word."

  "While you have no honor and offend every law of man and nature in making such a demand!" Her eyes were storm-tossed, sea-green against her white face.

  "Ah, but you've said I'm the Devil himself, so you must not expect anything better of me. Now, give me your word, or I'll wash my hands of the whole affair."

  Alexandra ground her teeth in helpless rage, but she was trapped, and they both knew it. She looked up at his shuttered face, hating this man who would give her no quarter. Long she studied him, repulsed by his cold arrogance, his insolent assumption of control over her life.

  She was helpless before him, and once again revenge was to be denied her. Worse yet, she would be made to yield to her greatest enemy, so that her father's innocence might be proved at last. The irony of the situation suddenly struck her: her own innocence would be bartered for her father's.

  But how could she do otherwise? What price was too high to ensure that her father was finally at peace?

  "How unspeakably vile you are!" she cried. "But of course, you already knew that." She struggled to be as cold and merciless as he was. "Very well, blackguard, you may do what you will with me. But know that I'll be far away from you during those moments. That I come to you only because I love my father more than I hate you. Know always that the only thing I'll ever feel for you is raw hatred," she promised from between drawn white lips.

  Hawke's eyes glittered as a small smile twisted his mouth. Alexandra did not know it, but there was nothing cool about his feelings for her. His lazy indifference was only surface deep, a habit learned after years of practice. "You challenge me exceedingly, Miss Maitland. Yes, it will be an exquisite pleasure to prove you wrong on both those counts."

  "I don't give a damn what gives you pleasure!"

  His eyes turned smoky, and Alexandra saw that one rose-tipped breast was revealed amid the scattered stalks of hay. With a stifled curse she burrowed down into the straw away from his mocking scrutiny.

  Hawke's laugh was low and dark. "You ought to care, for my pleasure ensures your own. Luckily for you, however, I am not at leisure to pursue the question now. Darkness will soon be upon us, and I must find those damned horses before the light goes. So get dressed, and stop this wanton teasing lest I lose all my fine resolve."

  "Teasing bedamned!" Alexandra cried furiously. "The only teasing I've in mind for you is with the end of a whip!"

  Hawke smiled cynically and shook his head. "Such language from the lips of a lady!" His eyes scoured her face for a moment; then he stood up and shrugged into his clothes. After he sent her habit and chemise flying toward her face, the heavy planked door crashed shut behind him.

  How dare the man? Her mind seething in impotent rage, Alexandra dropped her clothes. She grabbed the leather satchel that lay beside her on the straw and hurled it with all her might against the door. If only lightning would strike the cursed man down!

  But the duke appeared to lead a charmed life. Alexandra heard no clap of thunder, only his mocking laughter carried on the wind. She shrugged on her chemise and habit, then sat down to tug furiously at her boots.

  The loathsome reptile! He was indisputably the lowest form of life on earth! If only there were another way ...

  But he had left her none. So, she decided grimly, she would do as he demanded. She would go to the man's bed and accept his advances without protest, but he would never have one iota more than that from her. She would be present, and nothing else. And maybe, after a while, he would tire of her and leave her alone.

  She was considering the pleas
ure it would give her to watch the Duke of Hawkesworth suffer an old and particularly vicious form of Sikh torture when she heard an unfamiliar voice outside the door.

  "Hands up, ye bastard!"

  There was a muffled thump, followed by the report of a gun. Alexandra jumped up and threw open the door just in time to see Hawke's tall form stagger. A stocky man with a pockmarked face stood before him on the crest of the downs, his pistol still leveled at the duke's chest. With a roar Hawke straightened. He plunged toward his assailant, mowed the man down, and tossed the gun behind them. Hypnotized, Alexandra watched the two men grapple, their straining bodies rolling back and forth on the wet grass.

  A snap at the far side the barn roused her, and she slipped back into the shadows just as a second man, pistol in hand, rounded the corner and headed straight for the pair at the top of the hill.

  Desperately, Alexandra scanned the desolate landscape, calculating her chances for escape. But she realized that without Hawke, she had none. Unwillingly, she turned and searched the barn for a weapon, knowing that she had used her only shot. The steps outside grew louder. Then her eyes fell upon Hawke's open satchel and the barrel poking from beneath its leather flap.

  A pistol! she thought wildly. So he had not come to this deserted place unprepared. Soundlessly, she stooped to examine the weapon more closely. It was beautifully made, with silvermounted butt and breeches. Most important of all, it was loaded, and within the satchel was a small mahogany case full of percussion caps and lead balls — enough for at least thirty shots, she calculated.

  "Stand apart!" a hard voice ordered, outside the barn.

  Quietly, Alexandra drew back against the wall and inched toward the open door.

  "We could deliver ye dead as well as alive, Yer Grace. Reckon it makes little difference to us!" the newly arrived accomplice warned.

  Alexandra studied the scene before her. The new arrival, tall and lanky, stood no more than three feet away from her and was motioning nervously with his pistol for Hawke to release his accomplice.