Lady Blue

by Helen A Rosburg

  “Besides,” Anthony continued, “having acquired all the gentlemanly attributes will only make it that much easier for me to take my place in society when I have finally amassed enough money to retire.”

  “Is that your purpose in being a thief? To buy your way into society?”

  “At least until I can think of something else I’d rather do.” Anthony looked amused. “Why do you ask? Don’t tell me you’re worried about the morals of the man who’s just kidnapped you?”

  Harmony winced and quickly looked away. She was making a fool of herself and she knew it, questioning Anthony as if he were an intimate acquaintance instead of the man who had stolen her in order to extort money from her sister.

  “I … I’m sorry,” she stammered finally. “I certainly didn’t mean to be so personal.”

  The smile, all traces of amusement, vanished from Anthony’s features. He placed his glass on the mantle over the hearth and crossed to the sofa.

  “No. I’m the one who is sorry,” he said quietly, and sat at Harmony’s side.

  Harmony stiffened as her heart started to pound.

  She continued to stare into the fire, completely unable to look at the man beside her.

  “Please,” he said, voice softly urgent. “I’m sorry. I was teasing you and I shouldn’t have.”

  It felt like her heart was going to burst from her throat. Harmony forced herself to turn her head and look Anthony in the eye. She was faintly alarmed to note his brow was furrowed and his eyes had narrowed. Though he looked at her, his attention seemed inwardly directed, as if he fought some inner battle. He leaned forward, bringing his face mere inches from hers.

  “Perhaps, Harmony,” he whispered, “I said what I did because I’d like to think you might … you might care what happens to me, if only a little. In spite of what I’ve done.”

  He was too close, too near. She stared at his lips and licked her own. The pounding of her heart had heated her blood uncomfortably. In a nervous gesture, she played with the heavy chignon at the nape of her neck. Her finger caught in one of the pins and pulled it loose. Her hair tumbled free.

  The indrawn hiss of Anthony’s breath was the only sound in the room besides the dying crackles of the fire. He stared at the red satin curtain of hair that ran like a cascade of bright water over her shoulders and breast to pool in her lap. With it unbound, he was able to see the myriad of colors in it, light reds and dark, and strands the color of teak. Unable to help himself, he reached out to touch it, and it was as fine as he had imagined it would be. He raised his eyes to her face, captured at once by the stunning, gemlike blue of her eyes. He longed to touch the tip of her small, feminine nose, the shallow valley beneath it, the cupid’s bow of her upper lip and its generous, pouting partner …

  “You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

  And you are the most handsome man, Harmony sighed silently. She no longer cared about the details of her circumstances. And her dim and dismal future seemed very far away. She cared about nothing except that his lips were coming nearer, and nearer still. Her lids grew heavy and her own lips parted in anticipation. Her entire being was concentrated on the sensations she would experience in the next moments, when their flesh touched at last …

  “Damn!” Anthony swore softly at the sound of a knock.

  He rose slowly from the sofa and Harmony had to force herself to try and breathe normally. Especially when she gazed up at the deerskin-clad figure standing right in front of her.

  She had, apparently, had the same effect on Anthony as he had on her. Except that the results of his arousal were far more apparent.

  Harmony’s very blood and bones turned to water as she stared at the impressive bulge at the crotch of Anthony’s breeches. Oblivious, he looked toward the door.

  “A fine time Maggie chose to bring our dinner.”

  Maggie. With a jolt of alarm that brought her sharply back to her senses, Harmony wondered if it was, indeed, the inn’s mistress. What if it wasn’t?

  “Wait, Anthony,” she found herself saying. “What if it isn’t Maggie? What if …?”

  What was she saying? How could she even think to protect this man? Before she could begin to answer, Anthony had moved to her side. Softly, briefly, he touched her cheek.

  “You’re a very special lady,” he whispered. “Thank you for answering a question I had a little earlier.”

  The knock was repeated. When Anthony turned to answer it, Harmony ducked behind the door to the bedroom. It wouldn’t do for the jolly landlady, with her repertoire of winks and nods, to see such a betraying flush on the cheeks of the woman Anthony had in his room.

  There was a babble of conversation, the clinking of glassware, and the ring of pewter plates being set on a table. Enticing aromas drifted to Harmony’s nose. Her stomach rumbled. Moments later Anthony peered around the edge of the door.

  “You can come out now.” He grinned and crooked his arm to lead her to the table that had been set in front of the fire. He held her chair. “Make yourself comfortable, my lady, and with my own hands I shall serve you.”

  The meat pie steamed when Anthony dug into it. More delicious aromas swirled into the air.

  “I’m sorry this isn’t Chateaubriand,” he apologized without a hint of remorse. “But it is the best that Maggie has to offer. Here you are.” Anthony set a plate in front of Harmony. “Here also is the inn’s best wine, a rather nice claret, though personally I prefer the wines of Bourgogne.”

  Harmony watched him pour a ruby-colored liquid into a clear glass goblet. Chateaubriand. Wines of Bourgogne. Excellent brandy and cut-crystal decanters. Impeccable manners and educated speech. She looked at his hands.

  Not a callous, nor a speck of dirt. The nails were neat, almost as if they had been manicured. His hair, though long, appeared well cut and cared for.

  “Why are you frowning?” Anthony inquired, pulling Harmony once again from her reverie.

  “I … it’s nothing. Nothing. I’m sorry. This is a very nice dinner.”

  “Thank you, but my part in it was small. I merely had to arrange for your company. Maggie did the real work.”

  There it was again, the reminder of his plan: kidnap and ransom. All she was to him was a prisoner, nothing more. This was not a romantic assignation and she was not free to leave.

  Dinner, however, was delicious. The wine was a perfect accompaniment and went down so very easily. It wasn’t long before Harmony felt the hazy golden glow enfold her once more.

  “I feel compelled to make one more toast,” Anthony said quietly, filling the comfortable silence. “To the girl with the sapphire eyes. And the most pleasant evening I believe I’ve ever had.”

  Did he mean it? Did he? And why, oh why, did she find herself wishing the night would never end?

  Chapter Seven

  The dish that had contained the meat pie was empty. The loaf of bread was gone. The wine bottle held only dregs. Harmony rose from the table gratefully, glad to unbend and be able to take a deep breath. It caught in her throat when Anthony walked right up to her and put his hands around her waist.

  “Not an inch bigger, by golly. Where’d you put all that?”

  A giggle erupted from Harmony’s lips. Anthony’s grin widened. Then, suddenly, the two of them found themselves caught in the throes of helpless laughter. They fell onto the cushions of the couch, holding their sides and gasping for breath. Anthony was the first to recover.

  “Damn. You’re not only the prettiest hostage I’ve ever taken, or the most sweet-natured, but the best humored, too. Maybe I won’t give you back after all.”

  Harmony sobered abruptly. She had managed to forget for a time that she was, indeed, only his prisoner.

  That time was over.

  “Harmony,” Anthony said, grin faded, “what’s the matter? What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.” Harmony shook her head. “Nothing at all.”

  But it was something. Something very big. The words tumbled ou
t before she could stop them.

  “Nothing’s wrong, that is, except I’m your prisoner. You kidnapped me. For money. Yet here you sit, plying me with wine, flattering me—”

  “Harmony!” Before she could move away from him, he captured her hands and held them tightly. “Harmony, please. I didn’t mean for this to happen.” When she turned her head from him, he took her chin with the fingers of one hand and gently turned her face back to his. “Won’t you at least listen to me? I didn’t—”

  Anthony stopped abruptly. He let go of her and crossed his arms, as if afraid he might reach for her again.

  “Never mind. You’re right.”

  Feeling a chill that had nothing to do with the temperature, Harmony watched him cross the room to stand in front of the fire.

  “You’re right,” Anthony repeated, voice a monotone. “I kidnapped you because I saw an easy way to make money. Because you are a beautiful, intensely desirable woman, I also found myself attracted to you. I would have seduced you if I could. You’re very sensible to turn away from me.”

  Harmony was shocked at the intensity of the pain that stabbed into her heart.

  “I can’t even apologize,” Anthony continued, arms still folded across his breast as he stared into the banked embers of the fire. “I can only promise to return you safely at the time I specified in the note I left.”

  “You … you left a note?”

  “Yes. Shortly before I … abducted you.” Anthony smiled ruefully. “It was all very carefully planned.”

  “I see.” The chill in her heart seemed to have affected the tone of her voice. It was icy. “And just what do you plan to do with me between now and the time you return me?”

  Anthony cleared his throat. “I, uh … I think, to start with, you should get some sleep.” He gestured toward the bedroom. “If you don’t mind?”

  Harmony remained motionless and Anthony raised a hand to ward off her silent accusation.

  “You have nothing to fear. I promise.”

  Numb and wooden, Harmony rose from the couch. She walked into the bedroom and stood staring at the bed. She did not turn around until she heard the door close behind her. Fully expecting to be alone, a cry escaped her lips when she saw Anthony.

  He smiled sadly. “I know I can no longer convince you that I have no intention of touching you, but would you please get into the bed anyway?”

  Harmony felt a sickening lurch in the pit of her stomach. But she was helpless. She moved toward the bed. Anthony crossed to the other side.

  “Go on. Get in,” he ordered gently.

  An attempt to flee at this point would be useless, Harmony knew. Nor did she think her weak and shaking legs would carry her. How quickly had a dream turned into a nightmare!

  The dark blue silk of her skirt made a rasping sound as it slid across the bed’s faded yellow quilt. Under her weight, the feather mattress conformed to the shape of her body. Her heart beat so painfully she feared it might break itself against her ribs.

  The mattress bent again, this time to accommodate Anthony’s form. Their bodies just touched. Harmony closed her eyes.

  How sweet it might have been. How horrible it had become. Harmony waited for the inevitable.

  “Please don’t be afraid, Harmony,” Anthony breathed into the darkness. “I only want to make sure that if I fall asleep, I’ll know if you try to get up and leave.”

  Silence fell again. The only sound was of their steady, rhythmic breathing. Anthony did not move so much as a muscle and, after awhile, Harmony felt herself begin to relax. Her muscles were simply too tired to remain taut any longer. She seemed to sink a little deeper into the mattress.

  It was warm where his body pressed against hers. His faint, clean, masculine odor was strangely reassuring. She wasn’t even aware when her eyelids closed and she crossed the threshold of consciousness into the peaceful abyss of sleep.

  Harmony awoke abruptly. It took a moment to orient herself, then she remembered where she was. And why. She remained very still.

  The man at her side snored softly, lips barely parted. His long black hair was spread across the pillow. It had the gloss of a raven’s wing.

  “Anthony?” she said in a voice scarcely a whisper. “Anthony, are you awake?”

  He didn’t stir. Cautiously, Harmony touched his arm. Still no response.

  It would be so easy to leave. She could quietly slip away. Everyone else at the inn was undoubtedly asleep as well. She could slip away and return to Agatha. He had wanted her only for the money he would gain by his efforts. She was merely his prize. One, moreover, he had lavishly tried to seduce. A bonus, probably. It would be so easy to leave the inn in the darkness while he slept.

  Yet for a time he had been so kind, so gentlemanly, so happy. Nor could she deny that she was powerfully attracted to him. As he had been to her.

  He had not touched her, however, even when he had such ample opportunity. He had not forced her. He had responded to her only when she had practically handed him an invitation. Harmony felt her emotions torn in two as she gazed at the man asleep beside her.

  A thief. An unusually scrupulous one, to be sure, but a thief just the same. Only by an accident of fate had they met. Nothing more. There could be nothing more.

  To be certain he was asleep, Harmony touched Anthony’s shoulder. “Anthony, can you hear me?”

  He didn’t even sigh.

  Harmony swallowed back the unexpected lump in her throat and eased from the bed. Slowly, carefully, she inched across the mattress. She halted and held her breath when Anthony suddenly moved. But it was only to roll into the warm indentation her body had left upon the mattress. Then she saw his lips move.

  Had a dream disturbed his sleep? Curious, Harmony bent down to hear what it was Anthony whispered. She heard only a single word.

  “Harmony,” he breathed. The faint shadow of a smile touched his mouth.

  She was completely unaware of the tear that slid down her cheek. She was only aware of the need to move more carefully so she would not waken him. She breathed a sigh of relief when she was once again snuggled to his side, his warmth touching and enfolding her.

  Harmony was nearly asleep again when she felt something stir at her side. She tensed until she felt the fingers curl around her hand. With a smile of her own, she let herself drift into the sweetness of her dreams.

  Chapter Eight

  The first faint light of dawn touched the distant hilltops and crept across the meadow. An elegant copper beech shone briefly in the advancing sunlight, and its dew-studded leaves seemed to tremble. The side of a low, whitewashed cottage came alight, its thatched roof casting awkward shadows as the sun continued to climb. Daybreak had arrived.

  A dog barked as someone scolded. A laden cart rumbled noisily along a peaceful road. Directly below her, Harmony heard the jingle of a curb chain on a bridle and the resounding stamp of a metal-shod hoof on the cobblestone courtyard. She looked down and saw Anthony saddle a handsome gray mare. The chestnut, already tacked, tossed her head with eagerness to be out into the crisp, clean morning air. It was almost time to go.

  Harmony stepped back from the window. There was a cracked mirror over the dresser and she turned to it. But there was really not much she could do about her reflection. She ran her fingers through her hair and left it hanging over her shoulders and down her back. She tried to brush some of the wrinkles from her rumpled blue skirt, but it was a waste of time. Finally she shrugged into the black cloak and left the bedroom. She tried not to look at the bed where she had awakened, head nestled against Anthony’s neck, arm thrown possessively across his chest.

  Harmony could not, however, stop the memory of Anthony breathing her name in his sleep. Or how, when she had opened her eyes, it was to see him leaning up on one elbow, smiling down at her as if they had been lovers …

  Foolishness. Insane foolishness. Harmony hurried on through the sitting room and into the hall. She shut the door firmly behind her and headed for the stai
rs. She did not look back.

  Maggie was mercifully absent when Harmony passed through the common room. It smelled of stale smoke and spilled ale and she walked out into the fresh air of the courtyard gratefully.

  Anthony looked up from a stirrup he adjusted. “Well.” He grinned.

  Self-conscious about her tousled appearance, Harmony reacted as if she had been stung. “What’s the matter?” she asked defiantly. “Do you find something amusing?”

  Crinkles appeared at the corners of Anthony’s eyes as his grin broadened. “Not at all, no. In fact, you’re the first woman I’ve ever spent the night with who got up looking better than she did when she went to bed.” Chuckling, he handed her the gray mare’s reins. “May I help her ladyship mount?”

  Was he making fun of her? Or did he really mean it? Irritated and short of temper, Harmony grabbed the reins from Anthony’s fingers and led the mare to the mounting block. But the skittish animal refused to stand still and shied sideways each time Harmony tried to fit her foot into the stirrup. Anthony watched the whole performance, arms folded, grin undimmed.

  “Damn you!” Although she knew better, her temper and humiliation got the better of her and Harmony gave a sharp, angry tug on the reins. It was the wrong thing to do and she was immediately sorry, but she preferred to die rather than ask Anthony to help her.

  The mare responded by rearing. Harmony was pulled off her feet and nearly off the block. Anthony roared.

  “Damn you, too!” she shouted, and whirled on him. Anthony laughed harder.

  The right thing to do was what she had grown up doing, gentling horses with gentle voice and gentle hands. However, there was another part of her and another way. Harmony could also ride a bronc until it stopped bucking. Once she had even drawn a gun on a coyote she saw sneaking out from behind the barn stalking her favorite barn cat. She almost always wore her holster with the two Colts, one on each hip, even when riding a bucking horse, and it had served her well that day. Despite the violent motion, she drew a bead on the wily old coyote and blew him into the next Sunday, saving her cat. That side of Harmony’s personality, egged on by Anthony’s laughter, took over and shoved good sense aside.