Should she get help? Was she overreacting? She couldn’t very well interrupt the important task of fighting the fire to say she saw a phantom looming about the place. She’d met with enough censured looks and behind-the-hand-smiles this evening to last a lifetime. She didn’t need to add ghost sightings to her repertoire of faults.
Hands on her hips, she stared in frustration in the direction her father had gone. It couldn’t hurt to take a peek. If something nefarious was afoot, there was plenty of masculine help available.
Guilt tripped across her conscience. Oh, but Father was going to be incensed. Quickly, before anyone caught sight of her, she sneaked after the earl.
Adaira hastened to the carriage house, sticking to the shadows as much possible—a difficult task with a monstrous building nearby blazing like mammoth torch. Her heart pummeled her breast. Her breaths came in short little puffs, more from nerves than danger. Once at the building, she pressed flat against its boarded side. Lord, what she wouldn’t give for her riding crop right now.
Adaira instinctively reached for the familiar cross at her neck. Blister it all. Tonight, of all nights, it lay upon the dressing table.
A sidelong glance told her she’d yet to be detected. That was somewhat troubling. Any manner of person could be prowling about the grounds, and no one would be the wiser. She peeked around the corner of the building.
Nothing.
Straightening, she released a gusty breath. Maybe, she’d imagined him. The wind was blowing, and with the fire sending all manner of odd configurations into the darkness, the movement may have been something else entirely.
This side of the building wasn’t visible to the others. Still, she was confident if she screamed, the sound would carry to the men a couple hundred feet away. She truly was capable of screeching like a banshee. Hadn’t her sisters and mother accused her of it often enough?
Intent on Roark’s safety, she slipped around the corner. She needed to know if someone had truly been peering in the window, and if so, why?
Reaching the end of the building’s side, she again sneaked a peek around the corner. The carriage house doors gaped wide open.
Roark stood between a landau and phaeton, his head and shoulders bowed, eyes closed. Was he praying? Grieving? Gone were his neckcloth and waistcoat. His once white shirt was torn and filthy. His dark umber hair was mussed. His hands and face were coated with blackish grime.
Never did he look more handsome.
“Roark?”
His stricken blue eyes, red-rimmed and bloodshot from smoke, met hers. Heartache tinged with wrath hovered in their depths. Adaira’s stomach skidded sideways. Devastation etched his face.
“Roark,” Adaira breathed, moving into the open space, desperate to comfort. She ran her gaze over him.
“Are you. . .? You aren’t hurt are you?” She touched his smudged cheek where a small cut lay.
He gave her a tired, lopsided smile. “No, vixen.”
Covering her hand with his, he closed his eyes. He pressed his face into her palm, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. She studied his features. How could she have ever thought him cruel? He was a gentle man, a compassionate man. No one surrounded themselves with those less fortunate unless they were generous and kindhearted.
He kissed her hand, then opened his eyes. His gaze dipped to her mouth. He traced her lower lip with his thumb. An insane urge to lick it welled within her.
“Do you have any idea what you did to my heart when you jumped in the lake? I was afraid, you’d. . .” He caressed her face, with light, feathery strokes. “Never mind.”
He’d been frightened for her? She closed her eyes and raised her lips in an invitation, breathing out a sigh, when his firm, warm mouth closed on hers.
This was becoming a habit, a most delectable one.
She tasted the merest hint of smoke on his lips. He gently moved his mouth on hers. Cupping the back of her head with one hand, he held her immobile. His mouth devoured hers like a man long-starved. Moaning deep in his throat, Roark wrapped his free arm around her back. Urging her against his hard chest, his tongue sought entry into her mouth.
An intense wave of desire sluiced through Adaira, buckling her knees. She gripped Roark’s broad shoulders and leaned into his solidness. Parting her lips, she granted him the access he sought. How was it possible a kiss could cause her to cast aside all thoughts of decorum? She was unprepared for such bliss.
This wasn’t proper. They weren’t betrothed or married. He was another’s.
She didn’t care.
She floated on a wave of unfamiliar sensation. A dizzying rush of excitement sped along her nerves. He was the cause. He was the only man who’d ever made her feel this way.
Roark’s tongue touched hers. She was undone. If the building erupted into flames, the scorching heat would be nothing compared to the fire thrumming through every fiber of her being. It settled molten and heavy between her thighs.
Appetite whetted, she wrapped her arms around his neck, meshing her breasts against him. This felt absolutely perfect, like the sweetest of homecomings. She couldn’t get close enough, was desperate to be a part of him, have him be a part of her. She breathed in his musky smoke-tinged scent, even as her tongue partnered with his.
His mouth tasted of wine and berry. She sighed when he ran his hands through her hair, the last of the pins pinging onto the floor. What would it be like to have those hands roam over her bare flesh? Desire flooded her, leaving her weak and wanting.
“Feel what you do to me, vixen,” he murmured against her mouth, arching his hips into her belly and cupping her bottom, holding her firmly.
His hardness throbbed against her softness. Perfection.
With a tremendous clunk, the door slammed shut rattling the windows. Wrenching her mouth from Roark’s, Adaira spun around.
Brayan loomed before the entry. He’d a drunken sneer on his face, a bottle of whisky in one giant paw of a hand, and an ugly looking knife in the other.
CHAPTER 24
Numbing fear surged from Adaira’s mangled slippers to her unbound hair. She shoved the wild strands behind her ears. Devil it, but she wished she had her crop. Brayan might think twice before engaging her with a blade. He knew her skill, and besides, Roark was prepared to do battle as well.
This tears it.
She was carrying a dagger strapped to her thigh from now on. If she managed to extricate herself from this unholy situation alive.
“Who are you, and what business have you here?” Roark edged in front of her, his body rigid. He fisted his hands at his sides, prepared, she was sure, to defend both of them. He scowled. “Didn’t I see you at Craiglocky?”
Placing her hand on his arm, her voice low, she said, “He’s Brayan McVey of my clan, though I have no idea why he’s here.”
Roark slid a sidelong glance to the window nearest him. She peered through the hazy glass as well. The blaze appeared to have diminished a trifle. The barn that remained standing continued to spew turbulent flames, however. Shadowy forms darted here and there, their shouts muted by the commotion outside and the walls of the solid structure surrounding her.
She looked to Roark. Would anyone notice he was missing? Not likely, leastways, not for a while. No one had seen him enter the coach house, save her. Had she and Brayan gone undetected too?
Help would not be forthcoming unless God intervened. She sent up a silent prayer.
Please, God. Tell someone.
Without a weapon, Roark stood less than a fox’s chance during a hunt against Brayan. A weapon. They needed a weapon. She searched wildly around the building. There in the corner, beside the dusty window, was a workbench with tools lying atop it. Surely there was something there that would suffice.
Lifting her chin, she stepped forwar
d. “Why are you here? Are you responsible for the fires?”
Raising the bottle, Brayan took a deep gulp, then shuddered. He gestured in Roark’s direction, giving her a drunken grin. “Did ye think I’d let some dandified sot take ye from me, Addy? Yer mine. I told ye so.”
He narrowed his eyes, rage suddenly contorting his face. “I saw ye acting the hoore with him, rubbing yer teats against his chest, wiggling your arse—”
A flush of humiliation scourged her. She wasn’t ashamed of her response to Roark, but having someone watch them together was mortifying. And sickening. What kind of a person did that? Watched people’s most intimate moments. She shivered. It was unnatural.
“Enough.” Roark’s calm tone belied the indigo fire in his eyes. A vein pulsed in his temple, the only other indication of his outrage. “Don’t you dare address her so foully.”
Brayan lurched forward a few steps, his nostrils flaring in ire. “Ye think to make me?” Eyeing Roark scornfully, he scoffed. “I can snap yer neck like a twig. I’ve done it before.”
Adaira gasped, clutching a hand to her throat. How could she have known Brayan for so long and not seen this depravity? Was he bluffing? Had he truly broken someone’s neck? Whose?
Despite the oppressive heat of the building a chill stung her. She hugged herself. Had it been an accident? The satisfied gleam in his eyes and the arrogant smirk skewing his mouth told her no.
She took a couple steps in the direction of the workbench. When he didn’t notice, she dared a few more until she stood near the front of the landau. A trickle of fear-induced sweat slid down her spine.
Brayan wiped his nose on the back of his hand, sniggering. “Did Addy tell ye she’s soiled goods?”
He pointed at her with the knife. “She’s been despoiled. I caught her with ‘im, in Craiglochy’s dungeon.”
A wave of dizziness slammed into her. The dim light swirled and roaring echoed in her ears.
God in heaven. He saw? Before? How?
He’d never said anything. Trembling, she grasped at the carriage, her legs gone weak in remembered terror. She couldn’t draw enough air into her lungs. Her breath came in short, painful huffs. Closing her eyes she struggled to gather her scattered wits. She wouldn’t faint. She couldn’t be of help to Roark if she was an insensate lump on the ground.
Roark also inched nearer the window. Was he of the same mind as she?
Brayan took another healthy swig before ranting on. “She taunted Godwin that summer, parading around in those tight breeches, carrying on like a hoore.”
Bile surged, bitter and hot, to her tongue. She swallowed against the burning in her throat. Holding her stomach, she shook her head and threw Roark a frantic glance. “No, I didn’t wear breeches until after he attacked me.”
His unreadable gaze skimmed over her, then Brayan. Roark glided closer to the worktable.
“Nae man could stand the temptation.” Brayan had the audacity to wink at Roark.
He froze, mid-step. Brayan seemed oblivious to Roark’s change in position.
How foxed was Brayan? Or, was he so cocksure of himself, he didn’t think Roark was a threat?
“I don’t blame ye, Clarendon, for succumbing to her wiles.”
“You whoreson, shut your filthy mouth!” Roark bellowed, taking a step in Brayan’s direction.
No, Roark. Get a weapon.
Brayan ignored him. “I saw Godwin follow her in the keep’s dungeon that day.” He took another quaff, then chuckled, a wicked, sickening sound. “Ye had the pleasure of abiding in the cell he had his way with her in.”
An inarticulate sound ripped from Roark’s throat. His shock-filled gaze swept her, blanketing her in icy scorn. He was nearly to the window. Three or four more steps, and he’d be there.
Brayan, in his drunken arrogance and intent on blathering lies, didn’t seem to notice.
“I saw most of it,” he boasted.
He droned on, sparing no details, ripping down Adaira’s carefully constructed barriers. Making her see and hear and smell everything that happened that awful day all over again. Nausea surged to her throat. She gulped, then gulped again.
Oh God, I’m going to be sick.
Brayan emptied the bottle. He pitched it on the floor. It clanked loudly, a jagged crack splitting the green glass before it rolled to stop against the landau’s wheel. “I’ve had her, too, dozens of times. She’s not discreet with her favors. When she gets the itch, she’ll spread her thighs for anything in a kilt . . . or pantaloons, it seems.”
How dare he, the bloody liar? Livid, she shook her head, her hair swinging around her shoulders and back. “No, that’s not true!”
Adaira half-turned to look at Roark. A mask of cold fury settled on his stony face. A muscle ticked in his jaw. His nostrils flared with rage. It was the murderous glint sparkling in his eyes that sent her breath whooshing from her lungs. Whom was his rage directed toward?
Surely Roark didn’t think so little of her, he believed Brayan. Did he? She turned to Brayan, outraged.
“Aye, me lord. I know it rips at yer gut. I begged her to marry me. To see her carry on with other men tore out me heart, but what was I to do? I love the lass. I would have tamed her, though. Bedded her often and fierce. She’d never yearn for another.”
Lust tinged Brayan’s eyes and voice.
Roark shot her a sidelong glance full of disgust and loathing. A blow from a blade would have been less painful. Destruction reigned outside while inside, Brayan’s insidious lies shredded what remaining dignity Adaira had salvaged.
Roark believed Brayan. She shouldn’t be surprised. Why did it hurt so intolerably? Still, she tried to convince Roark otherwise.
“He’s lying. I was never with him or anyone else.” Lifting her hand in entreaty, she pleaded with Roark. The cold indifference on his face caused something unnamed to wilt within her. She licked her lips. “I don’t remember much of the other—”
Oh God, I truly might cast up my accounts. I must make him understand.
“When I regained consciousness, Godwin was gone.”
She swung to look at Brayan, then frowned struggling to remember. The shadowy form beyond the cell. It had been him. “You were there! Why didn’t you stop Godwin?”
Brayan’s lower lip trembled. Adaira stood stock-still as his face crumbled like a small lads. Giant tears seeped from his eyes. “He was hurting ye, Addy. I heard yer screams. I couldn’t let him hurt ye.”
“You did let him hurt me,” Adaira accused. “You let him assault me!”
In an instant, Brayan’s demeanor changed to one of outraged condemnation. “Ye brought it on yerself, lass. Ye ken ye did. I thought it would teach ye a lesson.”
“You bastard.” Roark was on him in a flash.
Despite his drunkenness, Brayan’s swing was accurate. His fist connected solidly with Roark’s jaw. The impact flung him against the barouche. His head smacked the side with a horrifying thud. He slid to the floor where he lay unmoving.
“Roark!” Adaira screamed, running to kneel beside him. Blood trickled from a cut above his temple. Livid, she rounded on Brayan.
“Are you insane? I’ll never be yours. Do you hear me? Never. You’re despicable, watching Godwin attack me and doing nothing.”
A puzzled look skittered across Brayan’s face. He gazed at her, his hazel eyes confused and forlorn. Sweat ran in long rivulets down his wide face. “But, Addy, I stopped him.”
His expression cleared. He grinned like a lad redeemed after a scolding. He slapped his forehead. “I forgot. Ye fainted. I killed him for you. I broke his neck with one twist. I weighted him down with stones and dumped him in the loch. That’s how much I love you, Addy.”
He’d killed Godwin and expected her to be grateful?
“How no
ble of you. You could have stopped him, should have stopped him before he ruined me.” She blotted at the blood on Roark’s cheek. “And what of your lies about me? Telling Roark I’d been with you and others.”
A sob caught in her throat. His betrayal wounded her raw and deep. “Why did you do that? I thought you were my friend.”
Brayan’s demeanor changed again. He twisted his lips into a nasty grin of triumph. “Because ye never wanted me. I hung around ye like a stray dog, waiting for a morsel of affection from ye. I’ve loved ye for as long as I can recall, and ye’ve always acted too good for me.”
The Earl's Enticement (Castle Bride Series) Page 24
