STOLEN CHARMS

by Adele Ashworth

  He sharply turned to her, studying her oddly. "The Black Knight?"

  She straightened. "Yes, the Black Knight."

  Sauntering back to the table to sit again, he placed her cup in front of her. "What makes you think I know where he is?"

  Natalie was slightly taken aback. She had expected the man to be surprised or disbelieving, but instead he seemed only mildly curious. "Vivian told me you know him personally. Naturally, I didn't believe her—"

  "I know him," he admitted.

  Her eyes flashed with a burst of excitement. "You do? You truly know the man?"

  "What exactly do you want with him, Natalie?" he asked cautiously.

  She paused to drink her nearly scalding coffee in gulps now, thinking furiously. She realized she had to disclose at least some of her desires, even if the man laughed her out of his home for being completely unbalanced.

  Licking her lips, she sat fully erect. "I intend to marry him."

  After an eternal moment of looking at her blankly, he leaned back in his chair and stretched his legs out in front of him. "What makes you think he'll want to marry you?"

  She had absolutely never expected this reaction. It stunned her into submissive silence, which in turn made him smile devilishly, knowingly.

  "You are undeniably lovely, Natalie, but somehow I think there should be more to marriage than attraction, don't you?" He lowered his voice. "Perhaps he'll only want you to warm his bed. Are you prepared to settle for only that?"

  She felt color rush to her face once more. "I told you I will not be anyone's mistress, but that's really none of your business. I simply want you to help me find him."

  "Mmmm…"

  "What does that mean?"

  "Nothing."

  She sighed. "Will you take me to him?"

  He gazed at her speculatively.

  "Please?" she begged.

  Finally he leaned forward on the table in front of him, placed his arms on the wooden surface, and stared at his coffee cup as he turned it around in his hands.

  "What do you intend to do about us?"

  Admittedly, she had a fairly good idea of what he meant by that, but in the end decided to play it stupidly. "About us?"

  He pursed his lips but didn't move his eyes from his cup. "You and me, Natalie. We're strongly attracted to each other, and I don't know if we could be together every day without wanting each other physically."

  Her heart thundered at once from such brazen considerations on his part, and she was certain he could hear it pounding in her chest. Composing herself, she whispered, "That's absurd."

  He looked to her at last, lifting a brow quizzically. "I'm quite certain you've thought about it, so don't you think you should be a bit more honest with your feelings?"

  She couldn't believe he was talking so intimately about the two of them, as if there were something more to their relationship than a casual acquaintance, and the only thing she could do to take control of the situation was simply to ignore what he'd said.

  "I need you to help me locate the Black Knight," she maintained, "and that is the only thing I want from you, sir. Beyond that, there is nothing between us."

  Slowly, thoughtfully, he ran his index finger in circles around the rim of his cup. "I think you want me for many things, sweetheart, some of which you are probably far too innocent to even understand."

  She stood rigidly. "I am not now, nor will I ever be, your sweetheart." Inhaling very deeply, she asked with surprising smoothness, "Will you or will you not help me find the Black Knight?"

  "I will."

  The quickness of his words stumped her. Briskly he raised himself to stand beside her, his expression matter-of-fact.

  "I'm sailing to Marseilles on Friday, Natalie, and you're welcome to come with me on one condition."

  She was thoughtful for a moment, preparing herself to argue. "And what is that?"

  "You do everything exactly as I say. You follow every instruction I give you, keep to yourself, and do not in any way question my authority. Understand?"

  She crossed her arms over her breasts. "That's more than one condition."

  "Take it or leave it," he returned, crossing his arms over his chest as well.

  "And the Black Knight is in Marseilles?"

  "He will be when we get there."

  "You know this?"

  "Yes."

  "And you'll introduce us?"

  "Yes."

  "What's his name?" she asked in a sudden rush of excitement.

  He remained silent for a second or two, frowning almost imperceptibly. "I think it would be better if I speak to him first before divulging anything about him."

  Her heart sank. Of course it would have to be that way, but it was all she had. "I agree to your terms, sir—"

  "You must also start calling me Jonathan."

  "Fine," she conceded blandly. "Is there anything else?"

  He shrugged. "What about your parents?"

  She waved her hand to brush the matter aside. "They're leaving for Italy in two days, to be gone for the season, buying artwork and bathing in the sun." She reached for her cloak. "They'll never know anything."

  "Allow me."

  His sudden gentlemanly behavior surprised her as he took the cloak from her uninjured hand and wrapped it around her shoulders. Turning her to face him, he began to button the front.

  "Why does this man intrigue you so, Natalie?" he asked contemplatively.

  She thought for a moment how to answer such a direct question.

  "He's free," she finally confessed. Smiling lightly to his puzzled face, she explained, "I only mean that he's not bound by the mores of society. He's exciting, he travels, he … lives for adventure." She leaned toward him even more, eyes sparkling, and lowered her voice to just above a whisper. "I know this sounds a bit odd, but I believe he's also looking for me."

  He hesitated, watching her so intensely his eyes seemed to pierce hers. Then he lifted his palm to her neck and slowly began to run the pad of his thumb down from her cheek to the top of her wool collar, stopping at last when he placed it over the pounding pulse beneath her jaw. Within seconds uneasiness returned in full force as she stood so close to him, eyes locked, their bodies nearly touching.

  But he was the first to break the spell. Swiftly, he dropped his hand and turned his attention to the table, placing everything on the tray to walk it back to the counter.

  "I'm certain you've heard the man's a notorious womanizer," he stated offhandedly.

  "I'm sure that's all very much exaggerated," she countered.

  He smirked but said nothing else as he placed their empty cups in the sink.

  "Is he?" she prodded.

  "Is he what?"

  She gave an exasperated sigh. "A womanizer."

  "I'm sure that's all very much exaggerated."

  That made her laugh.

  "What's funny now?" he asked, amused, turning to face her again.

  She shook her head. "Since you and I have met, sir, we have had nothing but absurd conversations."

  "Jonathan."

  She surrendered. "Jonathan."

  He flashed her a smile full of charm and moved toward her. "That's because you are the most unusual woman I have ever known, Natalie Haislett."

  "And you've known many, I'm sure," she insisted without thinking.

  His smile broadened as he stepped directly in front of her, backing her up against the table and trapping her by placing his arms on each side of her waist to rest his palms on the wooden surface.

  "I'm sure that's all very much exaggerated," he whispered huskily.

  She swallowed hard and whispered in return, "Vivian told me your reputation for being a rake is accurate."

  "Vivian lied."

  She was straining so hard to keep from touching him that she was now nearly lying on the table.

  "Do you know what I like most about you, Natalie?"

  She could feel the warmth of his body penetrate the fabric of her clothing, fee
l the hardness of his bare chest next to her own, the strength of his arms surrounding her, and still she couldn't look away. "Obviously I don't."

  Without warning, he leaned over and brushed his mouth against hers, moving softly back and forth, back and forth. Instinctively, breathlessly, she closed her eyes and succumbed to his touch as he ran his lips across her flushing cheek.

  "I like the way you kiss."

  Her eyes flew open.

  "And ever since that very first time," he whispered in her ear, "I've dreamed of doing it again."

  She nearly fainted. In all of her prayers, the one thing she'd asked for the most was that he would completely forget the kiss they'd shared at the masked ball years ago, or at the very least, be a gentleman and never bring it up. That awful night in the garden. How she wished that had never happened.

  "I need to leave," she said shakily, pushing her good hand between their touching chests.

  Unaffected by her uneasiness, he gradually stood back. "Let me see the cut first."

  She quickly moved away from him, removed the towel, and raised her palm to his view. "It's just fine," she said brightly. "What time should we meet on Friday?"

  "Come here."

  She shook her head.

  "I'm not going to ravish you, Natalie, I just want to look at your hand."

  Before she could reply, he took two steps in her direction, reached for her, and pulled her against him. With her injured palm in his, he looked at it closely. "It should heal without scarring but it will be quite sore. I'd keep it clean and covered for two or three days."

  She nodded and pulled away. "I'm sorry about this."

  He frowned. "You could have been killed in there. I should be the one who's sorry."

  "I hardly think a little cut like this would kill me, sir." He raked his fingers through his thick, black hair then put his hands on his hips and stared her straight in the eye. "Several of the knives I have hanging on my wall are from countries you've probably never heard of, Natalie, and several of them were at one time covered with poison that doesn't always come off with a washing. They're made purposely to kill with just a little nick to the skin. I nearly collapsed from fright when I saw your hand because I would never want to explain to your overbearing mother exactly how you came to be dead in my town house at six in the morning."

  She covered her mouth with the back of her hand to suppress a giggle.

  "Most gently bred ladies would have fainted from that explanation," he said with amazement.

  She grinned. "It's not the thought of dying—it's the thought of being found." With shining eyes, she whispered up to him, "My mother is my biggest fright as well."

  He gave her a broad, disarming smile. "I'll send you word about Friday—"

  "Through Amy, my maid," she cut in. "She's been helping me plan this adventure for two years now."

  He raised an eyebrow. "Two years?"

  Natalie stopped short. Her excitement was overflowing, and she needed to keep it in check. "I mean, we've been planning what to tell servants and friends, so nobody will question my absence. I'm essentially free as soon as my parents leave for the Continent."

  "Ahh … well." He scratched his day-old beard. "In that case, I'll send word day after tomorrow, through Amy. We'll need to travel lightly, so don't plan on bringing too many … things."

  "Thank you," she whispered, touching his arm with her fingertips. "This means everything to me."

  She turned and walked to the doorway. Pausing before it, she glanced once more in his direction and graced him with a beautiful smile. "The coffee was delicious," she said sweetly.

  With a wave of her hand she was gone.

  * * *

  Chapter 3

  « ^ »

  Natalie stood starboard on the steamship Bartholomew Redding in the damp, late-evening air, her forest-green traveling cloak wrapped around her like a comforting blanket as she turned her face toward the setting sun, now finally dipping below the horizon. They were well out of the Channel now, past the Isles of Scully, heading south into open sea, and the rush of anticipation made her tingle.

  Jonathan stood beside her, tall and powerful, dressed casually in midnight-brown trousers and an ecru linen shirt unbuttoned at the neck, his only barrier to the cool sea wind which he didn't seem to mind. It wasn't cold, really, and in a day or two they would be quite hot. Natalie had taken that into account when she'd packed for the adventure, bringing with her only five trunks instead of the usual eight or ten. Jonathan had made a face of disbelief, or perhaps annoyance, when she'd met him at the docks, but what did he expect? She was a lady, and there were just some things one could not do without. Only five trunks for indefinite travel in Europe was incredible by anyone's standards.

  Earlier that day, immediately after setting foot on the ship, Jonathan had escorted her to her cabin without so much as a handful of words. The room was square and small, but pretty really, with a round window at the far end large enough to allow ample daylight to enter, covered with pale, gauze curtains for appearance rather than decency. To the right of the door sat a straight-backed chair made of polished mahogany and crushed burgundy velvet, a small nightstand and lamp, and next to it was a bed of adequate size, large enough for one to sleep comfortably, covered with a thick, rose-embroidered coverlet, To the left, running parallel to the wall and bolted to the floor, stood an oriental silk screen, discreetly enclosing a dressing and toilette area.

  The cabin was perfect for her, and she made herself comfortable at once, taking time to unpack and settle in for her voyage as Jonathan, after ushering her inside, left her alone for nearly three hours, and had only returned a short time ago with a cold dinner of salmon mousse, cheese, bread, and fruit which they'd just finished in her room.

  From this point on she would need to take care of all her needs since she'd brought no lady's maid. Traveling without one was indecent, at least in this situation, although she prayed nobody would ask why she'd left England alone, unwed and unchaperoned. She would just keep to herself until they reached France, which was what he'd asked her to do anyway.

  But now, comfortable at last and thrilled with the adventure ahead, her thoughts managed to stray constantly to her most handsome traveling companion, now standing quietly beside her on deck, peering out to the open water as well, not quite touching her, but there. She was sharply conscious of his presence, and he was probably well aware of it.

  What satisfied her, though, was the growing knowledge that he would be a marvelous protector of her innocence while on their little trip. The man was large and imposing, probably formidable and intimidating when he chose to be, yet at the same time gentlemanly and gracious. That had been proven earlier that day when she'd arrived at the dock and he'd politely nodded to her, directing where her things were to be taken, offering her his arm and helping her board the ship with just his palm lightly clasping her fingers.

  He'd paid for her passage, she assumed, since she had yet to give him money. But she would. She'd been saving every last penny of her allowance for two years now and she had plenty, divided wisely between her trunks, portmanteau, and reticule. She'd even hidden some beneath the soles and hollowed-out heels of a select number of her seven pairs of shoes, where her grandfather, and then her mother, were known to have carried money for emergencies. Natalie didn't know who originally thought of stuffing money beneath one's feet, but she supposed if one were to cross the ocean or foreign land and be put-upon by pirates or gypsies, the hiding place would serve its purpose excellently.

  She felt Jonathan shift his body, moving slightly closer, and shyly she realized his gaze now fell on the side of her face, its warmth as stinging as the salty air.

  "It's time for discussion, Natalie."

  She knew he'd finally suggest a serious conversation. No need to draw attention to it, though. "A discussion?" she repeated coyly. "We've been talking all day—"

  "Where does everybody think you are?" he interrupted, ignoring her evasion by coming di
rectly to the point.

  Nervously, she looked around. The deck had cleared of people as evening fell, although somewhere in the distance she heard laughter, the hearty laughter of a woman followed by the rumble of a man's voice, words indistinguishable. It was then that she realized Jonathan Drake was her only connection to their homeland. They were now a team, like it or not, and they would need to rely on one another, although admittedly she more than he. She would also need to be a little more forthcoming.

  "Natalie?"

  Irritated, she turned to face him. He was watching her, smugly amused, and she wanted to snap at him. Every time he said her name it sounded like a silky caress, and she really wished he'd stop. But stop what? Speaking to her? That was silly.

  She crossed her arms over her breasts—a useless gesture because she knew her traveling cloak, buttoned tightly against her, really only accentuated them. Already several times that day his eyes had strayed there, lingering inappropriately.

  "Everybody thinks I'm visiting my great-aunt Regina in Newburn," she revealed at last.

  He cocked a brow and leaned his hip on the railing. "You don't think your lies will be discovered eventually?"

  "No. Aunt Regina is seventy-seven, and her mind doesn't work very well. She'll never remember whether I was there or not. And my parents will believe it without question when I tell them, upon their return from Italy, that I went there for a time to contemplate and decide upon whom I should marry."

  "You've planned everything very well," he praised her after a moment of thought.

  She smiled in satisfaction. "I think so."

  He lowered his voice. "And are you?"