by Mary Martin
"Take him upstairs to an unoccupied bedroom," she ordered crisply. "And go easy, he might have some broken ribs."
Starlin was relieved that her grandfather was out for the evening, and most of the servants ensconced in other wings. She did not wish more gossip. It certainly seemed that their marriage was going to start out with enough problems.
By the time that Rayne regained consciousness, Starlin had cleansed his face and applied antiseptic to the cuts.
"I think we'd better send for the doctor," she told him as his ice cool eyes fixed upon her. "It doesn't appear that you are as bad as I first imagined, but we can't be certain."
"No," he said. "I don't want a doctor."
"Very well," she said stiffly.
"Where are my clothes?" he demanded, looking around the room.
"You'll get them back in the morning."
"This is the last place that I wish to be tonight."
"I understand," she replied coldly, "but you're the one who came here. And I think you'd better stay. But please leave early enough so that I don't have to ..." Her words trailed off and she began gathering up the soiled rags. He caught her hand.
"Explain my appearance to the hired help," he finished for her.
"I had nothing to do with what happened," she said suddenly.
"You expect me to believe your word. I wonder why the same was not applied in my case," Rayne stated bitterly.
"It wasn't the same," she breathed softly. "The evidence was damning." She saw the condemnation in his eyes and found herself longing to see anything but that.
"It always is, isn't it, Starlin?" he said cuttingly.
She turned away. "You can't have your clothes. You're in no condition to travel. Now try and get some rest." She quietly left the room, feeling his eyes stabbing her in the back.
Starlin passed the remainder of the night wide awake in her bed. When morning came, she went down to breakfast. Passing Bridges in the dining room, she quietly asked if Lord Morgan was awake yet.
"Awake, and gone, milady," he replied solemnly.
The earl glanced up from his newspaper. "Unpleasant business. He needs you, Granddaughter."
Starlin took her place at the table. "He doesn't want to believe anything that I say."
"He's a good man," the earl returned without hesitation. "You've treated him horridly. And now, this. What do you expect from him?'
"What about my feelings?" Starlin shot back. "And this other woman ... how do I know that he doesn't really love her. Nor can I forget that he's only marrying me because honor dictates it."
"If you truly believe that, then you are a poor judge of men, my dear," the earl stated evenly, his eyes returning to his paper.
Starlin felt more confused than ever. She didn't know what to believe. She could only pray that the next few days would pass quickly and her wedding day arrive. For then soon after, came the annulment. And an end to their uneasy alliance.
The early morning sun shone brightly through the trees and upon a black wolfhound loping along beside two riders who'd just reined their mounts onto the trail that wound through Hyde Park.
"Have you managed yet to win my fiery granddaughter over to your way of thinking?" the Earl of Eaton queried the brooding man who rode beside him.
A short laugh rang out in the still air. "I mean no insult, sir, but Starlin is not the sort of woman who is easily persuaded to do anything she does not wish to. Marrying me is not something she's doing willingly."
"And you, how do you feel about marrying her?'
"My feelings haven't changed."
"Good," the earl stated heartily. "I was afraid after what happened, that you'd change your mind."
"I'm trying to believe that she didn't set those men upon me."
"She isn't capable of plotting something so brutal." He caught Rayne's eyes. "But I know there are several people who are."
"I've thought of that. And I'm investigating the possibility. You need have no fear. I will meet my obligation."
"I wish your sole purpose for marrying my granddaughter was not to save her reputation," the earl said with a sad sigh.
"There is no love lost between us, sir," Rayne said. The bruises on his face were fading, but would not be completely gone in time for the wedding. "Starlin fights me at every turn because she believes that she will lose something precious by marrying me."
"And what is that?"
"Her freedom." Rayne considered his answer, and could not help but remember the night that had set this chain of events into motion.
Surprisingly, it rankled him to think that the only reason Starlin was marrying him was because she was being forced. She'd made it clear she did not love him, so what could he expect? He recalled once again the night he'd made love to her in his cabin. Starlin ... the temptress, glorious in her passion, fiery in her contempt, and everything that he could ever long for in a woman. And the only one he had ever known who truly did not want him. The thought was sobering.
Lord Winfield expelled a long sigh. "Freedom . . . something I have allowed Starlin too much of, I fear. All of this could have been avoided if I would have applied a firmer hand. And now, it is too late."
"Due to many things that were beyond your control, sir." Rayne touched his heels to the prancing hunter's sides. The animal leapt forward eager to run. Raw emotion was too near the surface. He urged the horse faster, toward a series of jumps that stood beside the trail.
Too late for all of us—my mother, my father . .. and Starlin.
Immersed so deeply in his own thinking, it was some time before he realized the earl was not behind him. Something flashed ominously through his thoughts and prompted him to wheel his mount around and send him into a full gallop. He felt danger and death, yet gave no thought that he was racing head-on to meet it.
The cloaked figure hurried from behind the trunk of a towering elm and approached the earl's sprawled form lying still as death on the ground. Blood from a wound on his head was already staining the green lawn a sickly brown.
A queer, mad glitter entered the man's dark eyes, and he smiled coldly. Malcolm Wells bore a pleased expression with just a hint of malice. "He looks quite dead actually," he murmured to himself. Yet just to make certain he squatted down beside the earl's body and felt for the pulse in his neck. He scowled blackly. "Damn! he's still breathing." He shot to his feet, thoughts scurrying frantically. Quickly he raised his cane over his head with every intention of striking the earl. "And now ... the final coup de grace shall be my pleasure."
With cold-blooded intent he slashed downward with the cane, only to jerk backward at the sound of an approaching horse. A streak of black fury sprang at him, jaws snapping, tearing off a piece of Malcolm's billowing cloak. Malcolm swung the cane in self-defense, catching the dog a glancing swipe. The animal yelped and darted aside, fangs drawn back in a menacing snarl.
"You wretched beast... get away," Malcolm spat, hastily retreating. He realized that there was no time to spare. Rayne Morgan would be upon him in a matter of minutes. The wolfhound stood fierce guard over the earl. With a grunt of dissatisfaction Malcolm hurried away from the grisly scene. At the early hour the park was fairly deserted. He was able to slip away with only the wolfhound watching him escape.
"Milord!" Rayne shouted in alarm when he saw Lord Winfield's crumpled form. He noticed that Merlin appeared extremely agitated as he sniffed about the area where the earl lay. Leaping from his horse, he knelt beside the inert body. Carefully, he rolled the earl onto his back and muttered a coarse oath when he saw the ugly, gaping cut on his forehead and the trickle of blood that oozed down the side of his face.
Lord Winfield moaned softly, but his eyes did not open. His skin felt cold and clammy to the touch and his breathing was very shallow. Rayne did a brief examination of the gash, assuming by the shape of the wound that the earl had been grazed by one of Krager's hooves as he'd lost his seating and fallen to the ground. Rayne swiftly unbound the scarf from his neck.
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Noticing a fountain nearby, water trickling from a stone nymph, he hurried over and wet the scarf and returned to press it to the earl's head. In the confusion, he had failed to notice that Merlin had dashed off.
It took some doing, but with care and slow going Rayne finally managed to lift the injured earl onto his hunter and walked the horse back to the estate grounds.
Fredrick saw them coming and threw down his fishing pole. He ran toward them.
"What in the world happened?' he asked, breathing heavily. He walked beside the horse making certain that the earl's body did not sway from the animal's back.
"Damned if I know," Rayne returned with a frustrated growl. "One minute we were riding along having a conversation, and the next we were heading for the jumps and I noticed that Lord Winfield was not behind me. I found him some yards back." He peered over his shoulder at the earl's inert form. "How is he doing? He doesn't look too good, does he?"
Fredrick checked the earl's pulse. "It's weak, and he's lost a lot of blood."
"We must get him to his room and send for the doctor immediately."
"There isn't a moment to spare, I'm afraid," Fredrick commented grimly.
Rayne heard the sound of running footsteps. Starlin was racing toward them, a look of horror on her face.
"Starlin, go back to the house!" he ordered.
She ignored him. "What happened?" she cried in anguish, reaching her grandfather's side and seeing the blood soaking the makeshift bandage.
"An accident, Your Ladyship," Fredrick stated.
"He must have lost his balance on the jump," Rayne said.
"But he's an expert rider," Starlin said incredulously, striding with them toward the house. Her hands kept going to her grandfather, touching him, reassuring herself that he was still breathing.
"I didn't see him fall, Starlin," Rayne said.
"This was no accident!" Starlin cried. "It was undoubtedly precipitated by the Duke of Claybourne's men in retaliation for Morgan's dalliance with his wife!"
Fredrick sighed forlornly as he reached for the earl's crumpled form. His eyes met Rayne's. "She does not know what she's saying."
Rayne's face remained grim.
Starlin raced up the stairs ahead of them, calling out for someone to hurry for the doctor.
Starlin sat outside her grandfather's suite of rooms, waiting. She had been forbidden by the earl's physician to remain with her grandfather. She cast Rayne Morgan baleful looks.
"If you'd have stayed out of my life this wouldn't have happened," she hissed, her nerves at their peak.
"You're distraught right now, Starlin. We can talk about this another time." Rayne was attempting to soothe her somehow, but was meeting stony silence and hatred in those alluring violet eyes. She simply refused to listen to anything that he had to say. "Believe what in the hell you want. I'm tired of explaining myself to you."
"And I'm sick of wanting to believe you," Starlin choked, realizing that what she said was true.
"You've never really tried, and we both know it."
Her back was as straight as a broomstick. "I don't know why I sit here and listen to you. You haven't a shred of decency. If you did you would get out of my
life and leave me alone."
"You're really no different from me, Starlin."
His words shook her. She wasn't like Morgan! He didn't care what anyone thought of him. She was not like that. "I would sooner be compared to the devil than to the likes of you!"
He reached her in two strides and grasped her shoulders to yank her upward into his arms. For several long seconds their gazes locked.
"All you're doing is trying to convince yourself that you don't want me—" Rayne said, his eyes strangely shadowed. "—that you couldn't possibly want someone as awful as me. But you do ... and that's what really drives you crazy."
"No . . . no," she defended, shaking her head furiously. "You make me want you. . . force me to succumb to your advances."
Starlin saw at once the uncompromising slant to his lips. "Do I really?" he asked softly. "Or is that the way you salve your aristocratic conscience?'
She wanted to turn away from him, not to respond when she saw his mouth dip forward. But already her eyelids were fluttering shut and her lips half parted, waiting for the inevitable touch of his. Their kiss was searching, filled with passion and emotions that neither wanted to accept.
Tilting her head back, Rayne's persuasive lips moved over her cheek, her throat, and the warm silken flesh between her breasts. She was yielding to him, warm and passionately. He teased her with light kisses.
"You can never deny me, Starlin. For it was you who drew me to England, and even in the cave you wanted me to take you."
"Whatever else that you believe, Morgan, know that I'll always hate what you are," Starlin murmured between kisses.
"Perhaps," he agreed absently, "but then a real gentleman would bore you to death."
Starlin felt the blood leap in her face, humiliated by his crude insinuation that she could possibly welcome his coarse advances. He was trying very hard to control her thoughts, her dreams, her entire life, for that matter. She knew she must not let him. Pulling free of his embrace, she turned her back on his magnetic eyes.
"I will not marry you!" she blurted in exasperation. "Your affairs are the talk of London. Your current mistress flaunts herself before me every chance she gets. I would find less shame in bearing a bastard then in becoming your wife."
"You'll marry me," he stated tersely.
"Not even if you beat me," she stated with more bravado than she felt.
"If you value your precious family name, you'll marry me," he told her with a hard edge to his voice.
She laughed scornfully. "It doesn't matter to me like it does to Grandfather, Morgan."
"You do not care about anything but yourself, Starlin," he returned flatly. "I promised your grandfather that I would marry you to keep your name from being denounced in society. It was an agreement between gentlemen. I intend to do so—even more so now that the old gent is in a bad way."
"What do you, a man who was once an outlaw on the high seas, care for honor. You traded that before, didn't you—for monetary gain?"
His features totally impassive, he replied, "I would
not expect you to understand, for, after all, you are only a woman and cannot be expected to know what a high price a man sometimes has to pay because of honor."
She wrenched free of him, quite aware of his implication and smarting from it. "My being a woman does not enter into this at all."
"Your being a woman has everything to do with this entire situation." His mouth twisted. "And that, you cannot deny."
It was at that precise moment that the earl's doctor opened the bedroom door and stepped out into the hallway.
"He's holding his own," he offered immediately, closing the door quietly behind him. He motioned for them to be seated and proceeded to explain the earl's condition. "He took a nasty spill. There appear no broken bones. However, I am almost certain he suffered a concussion. He has been failing in health for some time."
"Will... he liver' Starlin posed.
"He is stubborn, and has been determined to cling to every last drop of life until he could see you properly wed. He has not wanted to burden you." The physician patted her arm and glanced at his timepiece. "Time, milady, holds all the answers."
"He might... die?" Starlin asked shakily.
"He's tough, and he'll fight," Rayne said quietly.
"Yes, he is doing that," the doctor replied, wiping his brow with a handkerchief.
"Has he regained consciousness?" Rayne inquired.
"No, and I don't know for certain when he will. Why don't the two of you go downstairs and get a cup of hot tea. You look as if you could use it."
"I think the doctor has some sound advice," Rayne said, reaching out for Starlin. She deftly avoided him and stepped around him and walked toward the stairs; dismissing him. Like hell, he th
ought, and quickened his pace to catch up with her.
Outside, Fredrick milled about the grounds waiting for some word of the earl's condition. He saw the wolfhound loping across the lawns and walked toward him. Merlin trotted over. It was then he noticed that the dog had something in his mouth.
"What have you got there, fella?" he said, bending to remove a ragged piece of cloth from the dog's jaws. He examined it carefully. It looked like a piece from a gentleman's cloak. He turned it over in his hand. It was ragged around the edges, as if the dog had snatched the cloak in his teeth and the man had tried to pull away. "You were with Rayne and the earl in the park, weren't you, Merlin?"
Without another word, Fredrick rose and hurried to the front door. He pulled lightly on the bell cord. When the butler opened the door, he requested that Lord Morgan be summoned at once to meet him in the stables.
"The cinch strap is absolute proof," Fredrick said, observing Rayne Morgan examine the piece of burgundy material and then the severed leather strap of the earl's saddle.
"It appears to have been sliced just enough to bear the earl's weight for a short time."
"Until stress was placed on it, and then it snapped," Fredrick added.
"Someone is going out of their way to bring harm to this family," Rayne intoned coldly.
Fredrick eyed the tall man, and replied slowly, "Aye, it does look that way."
The two men stared at each other.
"I do not strike behind men's backs. And the earl is not a Cambridge."
"But his granddaughter is."
"I have my own method of punishment, Uncle. It will come about all in good time."
"Leave these people out of it. I took this position because I knew that you would come sooner or later. Once you saw that ring on her finger there was little doubt."
"And as soon as you saw it, you knew who should rightfully be wearing it, didn't you, Uncle?" Rayne's narrowed eyes met Fredrick's.
