“Sidonie!”
From upstairs she heard Merrick calling. Part of her knew she acted like a madwoman and she should end her lunatic dash. If she said no and meant it, he’d leave her alone. She trusted him that far.
It was herself she didn’t trust.
Not after those astonishing moments in his arms. He’d made her his creature and she couldn’t bear it. She’d spent her life swearing she’d never become some man’s slave. Yet she verged on infatuation with Jonas Merrick. A devilish, vengeful, damaged man. She needed to regain the woman she’d been before she arrived, and banish the wanton creature who moaned and writhed under Merrick’s skillful ministrations.
She tore at the wrought-iron handle on the terrace doors. She struggled for breath. “Open, curse you, open,” she sobbed, fingernails breaking as she scrabbled at the latch.
A flash of lightning revealed the key in the lock. Of course. With a shaking hand, she turned the key, shoved the glass door open, and dashed into the storm. Immediately, the wind barreled into her like a charging elephant.
“Sidonie, for God’s sake, come back!”
Merrick’s voice was nearer. She guessed he was in the hall.
“Sidonie, where are you? For heaven’s sake, there’s no need for this.”
She couldn’t look into Merrick’s eyes and remember him doing… that. With a strangled sob, she banged the door shut behind her and stumbled into rain-swept darkness.
Damn it, where in Hades had she got to?
Jonas heard the door crash from the back of the house and his heart dived into his gut. Bloody, bloody hell—if Sidonie ran outside, she was in danger. More danger than he presented. Horrific images flooded his mind of her lying lifeless under the cliffs.
He grabbed a lantern from the hall. His hands shook as he lit it. Every second seemed an hour. He snatched up the greatcoat he’d left draped over a worn oak chair. Roughly he tugged it on as he rushed across the flagstones on bare feet.
Praying Sidonie hadn’t got far on such a wild night, he dashed through the house and burst out into the storm. Freezing wind and rain pummeled him. He staggered and wondered how a woman, even one as stalwart as Sidonie, had made headway.
“Sidonie!” The howling wind whipped his words back into his teeth. He struggled to raise the lantern, to locate her. But the light offered feeble defense against inky darkness.
Hell, hell, hell.
Where the devil was she? She could have run in any direction. But he had a bleak premonition she’d head for the cliffs. Cursing, he slipped and slid across the lawn, hoping she’d gone this way, hoping she hadn’t. Progress was slow and he fell on his arse more than once.
“Sidonie!” Good God, surely she must know he wouldn’t hurt her.
But then she’d trusted him not to force her and he’d come damned near. For one breathless moment while she’d quivered under him in a climax sweeter than any he’d ever witnessed, he’d poised to plunge between her thighs. He was a savage. Guilt strangled his gut.
He should have left her alone.
The rain drenching his hair and pouring down his neck, the stabbing cold, all seemed inadequate punishment for the evil he’d done. It was too late to change what had happened. He hoped it wasn’t too late altogether. “Sidonie!”
If she didn’t make it back safely…
He refused to complete the thought. He’d find her. Or die trying.
When he lifted the lantern, he saw no sign of her. The gardens were large and overgrown. She could be anywhere. He shouted her name again. Nothing. The storm made such an almighty noise, perhaps she didn’t hear him. Or perhaps she was too frightened to answer.
Christ Jesus, this was such a bloody mess.
Should he fetch the Bevans? But if she’d run ahead, any delay could mean she stumbled over the cliffs. He tasted sour bile. Surely any fall would be accidental. Surely he hadn’t driven her to preferring a watery grave over facing him.
Sidonie was strong. She wouldn’t be at Castle Craven if she wasn’t. She wasn’t the type to sacrifice life before virtue.
Was she?
Oh, dear God, what had he done?
Panic was a foreign emotion, at least in adulthood. But the idea of Sidonie harming herself made him crazy with dread, flooded his mouth with acrid fear.
“Sidonie!” he called again, but she wasn’t here. He’d know if she was near.
Lightning transformed the landscape into a nightmare of silver and black. Staggering, calling, he battled through overgrown shrubbery toward the sea. Its roar rose over rain and wind.
Surely Sidonie would hear it too and stop.
Branches whipped and scratched him. He hardly noticed the stings. The greatcoat offered scant protection but he didn’t care. He was big and strong. Sidonie was terrifyingly fragile against this weather.
Panting, Jonas broke onto the grassy area above the thrashing waves. He raised the lantern but the light penetrated only a few feet.
Jagged lightning split the sky again before he saw Sidonie standing a few yards away. In the white flash, he read the tension in her body. Thank God and all his angels, she wasn’t near the edge, although she stared over the stormy sea as if awaiting a lover’s return.
He sucked in his first full breath since she’d disappeared into the night. Relief made him lightheaded. She was alive.
She was alive.
Only now did he acknowledge how the idea of losing her to the rocks below had gashed his heart with grief. He’d sacrifice everything, even the hope of touching her again—and touching her was as close to heaven as he’d get—to keep her in this world. She didn’t even need to be in his world.
He didn’t bother calling again. If she’d heard him before—even over the storm, she must have—she hadn’t answered.
Slowly, partly because of the gale blasting off the ocean and partly because he didn’t want to scare her, he approached. The last time he’d scared her, he’d sent her careering into danger. He’d cut his throat before he did that again. “Sidonie?” he asked when close enough for her to hear.
She turned, her dark eyes glittering with what looked like hatred. She was pale and her hair clung like wet black satin. “Leave me alone,” she said in a voice that cut through the lashing wind.
His belly clenched as she backed toward the cliff. Now that he’d found her, his fears about her flinging herself into the sea seemed ludicrous. But the cliffs were treacherous and if she lost her footing, she could still come to disaster.
He started to reach for her before remembering the last thing she’d want was his touch. His hand fell to his side and he spoke with what calm authority he could muster in the middle of a thunderstorm. “Sidonie, come inside. It’s not safe here.”
At least she stopped edging away. The wind tore at her ragged clothing and she twined her arms around her chest. In a less watery setting, the glance she shot him would have incinerated him. “It’s not safe inside.”
He didn’t contradict her. She wished him to perdition, but he couldn’t leave her out in this tempest. He set down the lantern and tugged the greatcoat from his shoulders, swearing when the wet wool stuck to his arms. The wind caught the heavy garment and threatened to rip it from his grasp.
“Here.” He struggled close enough to drop the coat over her quaking shoulders. It provided precious little protection against the howling gale, but it was something. She wore only her ruined gown. Torn to shreds, thanks to his vile impatience.
“You’ll get cold,” she said in that emotionless voice.
He managed a smile, although he didn’t feel like smiling. He felt like shooting himself for a lumbering dunderhead. “I’ll survive.” Taking a risk, he extended his hand. “Come inside. Please.”
She stared at his hand as if it offered hemlock. “I don’t trust you.”
Icy rain slammed into his body like bullets. “At least hate me inside where it’s warm.”
She straightened with difficulty against the wind and wrapped his coat
more securely around herself. He expected a blistering response, but she remained silent. Then his heart cracked as she turned and picked her way over the sodden grass. She headed doggedly toward the break in the shrubbery where he’d forced his way through. He caught the pale flash of bare feet as she struggled for balance and another stab of guilt pierced him. She hadn’t asked for any of this. She wasn’t even here because of her own debt but because of her cackle-brained sister, who was probably tucked up safe and warm in bed. If not gambling with money she didn’t have in some hell.
Jonas caught Sidonie as she staggered under a vicious blast of wind. In his grip, the sleeve of the greatcoat was soaked. He wouldn’t send a dog into this weather. She jerked away. “I told you to leave me alone.”
He tightened his hold and waited for her to regain her footing, even though she bristled with resentment. Only then did he release her.
He’d dismissed the greatcoat as poor protection, but wearing nothing but silk trousers, he endured the weather’s full force. What bloody imbecile chose Devon in November for a tryst?
They staggered onto the lawn. The power of the wind caught Jonas unawares. Struggling to stay upright, he heard Sidonie cry out. He turned, the rain so thick it distorted vision. Through the downpour, he saw Sidonie crouched on the sodden grass, rain pounding down on her bare head. He’d reached the limit of his strength. Sidonie must be past exhaustion.
“Hell’s bells.” He set down the lantern and strode to where she huddled, her body forming a defeated curve.
This madness had continued too long. Whatever he did, she couldn’t hate him more than she did at this moment. He braced against the wind and bent to scoop her into his arms.
“Don’t touch me.” She began to struggle but was too weary to make much impression.
“I’ve had enough of this,” he snapped, firming his grip. “You can’t make it back to the house on your own two feet.”
“I can,” she protested, but the memory of her fall was too fresh for defiance to gull him.
“I’m not standing here freezing while we quarrel.”
“You’re such a bully.”
He sighed. “Give it up, Sidonie. I know I’m the big bad wolf and you wish me to Timbuctoo, but bear with the touch of my foul hands until I get you inside.”
Jonas waited for argument, but she’d reached the end of her strength. His heart gave a great thud of victory as her cold hand curved behind his neck. Juggling wet coat and wet Sidonie, he collected the lantern. “Take this.”
Without speaking, she held the lantern as steady as she could while he battled forward. She wasn’t a featherweight and with the wind and the saturated greatcoat, he struggled to advance.
The terrace doors banged in the wind as he shouldered his way inside. Sidonie reached past him to tug them shut behind them. Even though the storm lashed windows and rattled doors, the silence in comparison to outside was shocking. A silence heavy with a thousand things unspoken.
“You can put me down now,” she said shakily, wriggling.
“Be still.” His shoulders ached and his legs felt fit to collapse, but he wasn’t letting her go. He strode through the hall to the staircase, leaving a string of puddles behind.
“I can walk,” she insisted.
He wanted to disagree. Then recalled how his recklessness had driven her outside. Feeling sick to his gut at his arrogance, he stopped and carefully placed her on her feet. Only to watch good intentions disintegrate.
She wavered, her eyes fixed on his face. He wished she wouldn’t look at him like that. As though she expected him to fix everything. He couldn’t fix a damned thing.
“Oh,” she said on a soft gasp. Her frightened gaze clung to his as she crumpled with an oddly graceful movement.
“God give me forbearance.” He grabbed her before she hit the ground. He lifted her again, his grip slipping on wet skin. “Don’t argue.”
“I wasn’t going to,” she said in a muffled voice.
His movements were clumsy with exhaustion. But he wouldn’t relinquish her under threat of torture. Devil take her, she belonged in his arms, even if this was the last time he ever held her.
When Jonas entered the bedroom, he felt her stiffen. “No…”
She didn’t trust him. He couldn’t blame her.
Very gently he settled her on a chair near the fire. “Bella, you have no reason to believe me, but I swear on my mother’s grave that I’ll let you sleep in peace after I’ve got you dry and warm. Right now, you’re freezing and wet as a herring.”
She stared at him. He had no idea what went on behind that glazed brown gaze. Finally she gave an abrupt nod. Her teeth were chattering and blue tinged her lips. “Very well.”
He helped her out of the greatcoat. Her hands were white with cold and her movements uncoordinated. Manfully he kept his eyes on her face, not the curves beneath her shredded clothing.
He crossed the room to grab a pile of towels from the washstand. He flung one around his neck and gently began to dry Sidonie with another. Apart from her shivering, she remained still as a doll. The first towel was soon saturated and he reached for a replacement.
When he’d mopped up most of the rain, he dropped the waterlogged towels on the floor and turned to the dressing table. Trying to appear avuncular and harmless, he poured her a brandy. He held it as she sipped, waiting until her hand steadied enough to keep the glass level. Then after roughly wiping the worst of the water off himself, he fed the fire until it blazed.
Slowly Sidonie came back to life from the silent creature he’d hauled upstairs. Color seeped into her face under the influence of liquor and heat. He knew he had no right, he’d promised to act the gentleman, but he couldn’t help staring. An uninvolved bystander would probably say Sidonie looked a complete wreck. Her thick hair hung in lank black rats’ tails. Under her tattered hem, her slender feet were scratched and filthy.
To Jonas she remained inexpressibly lovely.
She was always lovely to him. Despite valiant efforts to keep his emotions uninvolved, he’d become disastrously and irrevocably besotted with Sidonie Forsythe.
And it was too bloody late to do anything about it.
Too bloody, sodding, fucking late.
Chapter Twelve
Through a haze of physical misery, Sidonie watched Jonas rip a blanket from the bed. He held it out as he approached. “You need to get rid of those wet clothes.”
She wouldn’t have thought her blood had defrosted enough for blushing. But blush she did. To the roots of her sopping hair. How could she sit before him wearing hardly a stitch of clothing? She tugged uselessly at her torn dress, spilling her brandy in her clumsiness.
He rescued her glass and placed it on the side table. “It’s all right, bella.”
“I can’t—” she said brokenly. Humiliating tears flowed down her cheeks. She huddled against the chair to hide her appalling loss of control.
“I’ll turn around,” he said gently. He untangled one of her hands from her rags and drew her to her feet.
“You’re being very gentleman-like,” she said on a dark tide of suspicion, although a hiccup spoiled the admonitory effect.
Instead of proclaiming good intentions, he passed her the blanket and turned his back. “Undress and wrap that around yourself.”
In spite of her exhaustion, she couldn’t help staring at his body. He might as well be naked. The silk trousers clung to taut buttocks and outlined powerful thighs and calves. He was so strong and alive, he set the very air around him singing. She dearly wanted to hate him, if only to displace the shame coagulating in her stomach, but it was impossible. He’d carried her so gallantly out of the rain and his care now filled her with warmth that contrasted with still freezing extremities. She shivered and curled her toes under her feet, rubbing them against the thick Turkey carpet to restore circulation.
Her clothes were in such a state that after a few quick movements, they slipped to the floor. As she gathered the blanket she cast
Jonas a wary glance, but he wasn’t watching.
Then she looked past him to the mirror.
She was about to curse him for a cheat when she saw his face reflected in the glass. Chilled as she was, eager as she was to preserve what remained of modesty, the blanket drooped unheeded from icy fingers.
Jonas’s eyes were squeezed shut and he looked in excruciating pain.
Of course he must be perishing with cold. But this seemed like… more. This agony stemmed from something more momentous than mere bodily discomfort. He looked like all his dearest hopes came to dust.
The urgent need to comfort him lodged in her tight throat. She lifted her hand toward him.
She bit her lip and told herself she was absurd. Just because she felt torn to ribbons after tonight’s events didn’t mean he was equally affected. Her imagination ran away with her. Still she studied the harsh, wretched lines of his face and couldn’t help thinking that this man desperately needed succor, softness… love.
Love…
The word startled her from paralysis. Hurriedly she bundled the blanket around her shaking body. “You can turn around,” she said dully.
When he did, the mask was in place. The kind, concerned mask he’d worn since bringing her inside. “For God’s sake, sit down, Sidonie.” He sounded as deathly tired as she felt. “You look about to collapse.”
He prowled across to the washstand and dashed water into the basin with such impatience that it overflowed. As she slumped into her chair, he returned to kneel at her feet.
“What are you doing?” She remained mortifyingly aware of her nakedness beneath the insecure covering.
“You can’t go to bed like this.” He lifted her filthy right foot and began to wash it in lukewarm water. Curse him. He hid behind this gentleness. She’d caught a glimpse of his true feelings when he’d turned away. This act of playing nursemaid was false, false, false.
“Stop it, Merrick.” She tugged her foot away.
Seven Nights in a Rogue's Bed Page 12
