He’d seen it happen. He’d been riding behind the carriage since they left London, reluctant to let her out of his sight now that Jardine knew about the diary. He’d thought of every contingency, hadn’t left anything to chance.
Except the determination of one foolish, headstrong woman.
Still, she hadn’t killed herself, and that was the main thing. He hadn’t liked to make her travel too far after her accident, so instead of the comfortable house he’d arranged for her, he’d been obliged to take the cottage George found for them a mile or so from where the accident occurred.
Once he’d loosened her stays and unpinned her hair, she’d slept peacefully enough, helped along by a small dose of laudanum lacing the warm milk he’d given her to drink.
Now, as the morning sunlight filtered through the curtains of the cottage’s sole bedchamber, Lady Kate lay on her side, one hand forming a loose fist beneath her smooth-skinned cheek, a faint crease between her finely arched brows.
He watched her, soft-lipped and dreaming, and wanted her with an intensity he’d never felt before.
This cottage was hardly an appropriate setting for the seduction he’d had in mind. He wondered how soon she’d be fit to travel again.
With a cynical smile at his impatience, Max picked up a pitcher and poured water into the matching basin. He was splashing his face with shocks of ice-cold water when he heard Lady Kate stir.
He reached for a towel and wiped his face with it, then ran his fingers through his hair. In lieu of a comb, it would have to do. All his kit had been sent to the hunting box he intended to use as a safe house. When he turned, he saw her stare at him with an expression of dawning horror.
The utter revulsion in her gaze touched him on the raw. “What were you thinking, jumping out of a moving carriage? You could have been killed.”
Max hadn’t meant to raise his voice or use that scathing tone. He thought he’d calmed down overnight, but seeing her fully regain her senses for the first time, blaming him— fearing him—inflamed him anew.
Lady Kate winced, and her delicate hand fluttered to her brow. “Don’t shout. I can’t bear it.”
A weight lifted from his chest. She’d taken a nasty knock to the head, and for a moment or two when he’d first come upon her, he’d thought she was dead. He never wanted to relive those few moments, didn’t even want to think about his violent reaction.
Dappled sunlight played over the pillow next to her cheek. A bird burst into song nearby, breaking the silence. Carefully turning her head, Lady Kate glanced out the window.
Her eyes flared in alarm and her gaze shot back to him. “Have I been here all night? With you?”
There was a tremor in her voice. Fear? Or something else? Coolly, he nodded. “I thought it best to let you sleep. You were in no state to travel.”
She clutched the lacy tucker at her bosom in a defensive gesture and tried to sit up. With a fretful moan, she sank down again. “Sukey. She was taken. What did you do with her?”
“Your maid is quite safe. She was conveyed back to your home in London.”
“She’ll raise the alarm. She’ll send my people to look for me.”
“She will not.” Perry would see to that. If there was one thing Max could count on Perry to do, it was to twist the plump little maid around his finger. Women adored his angelic good looks, and it seemed Lady Kate’s maid was no exception.
“The world believes you’ve traveled to Scotland to nurse your aunt, who has suddenly taken ill.” He grew serious. “If your relations know what’s good for you, they will support that story.”
She stared at him for a long time, her hazel eyes dark in her pale face. “I’m ruined. I have spent the night alone with you in this cottage. The damage is done.”
Better ruined than dead. He didn’t say it. She wasn’t ready to hear the truth yet.
“You are not ruined. I have arranged matters most carefully. When this is over, I will provide you with a plausible account of your whereabouts that none will call into question. Don’t worry. You’ll return home without a mark on that lily-white reputation of yours.” He raised his brows. “Why would anyone question the word of the virtuous Lady Kate?”
Tears filled her remarkable eyes, and if his heart hadn’t been fashioned from marble, he might have felt sorry for her. Tears were the lowest form of feminine warfare, in his experience. But clearly, Lady Kate was in tremendous pain and trying valiantly to suppress her emotions. It must gall her for him to see her like this.
“Don’t cry,” he said roughly. He handed her a glass of water. “Here, drink this. You must be thirsty.”
She took the water from him, slender fingers wrapped around the glass. Sunlight danced across her chestnut curls as she lowered her head to sip.
She looked up. “Why have you brought me here?”
Instead of answering, he picked up a plate on which he’d assembled bread, cheese, and some pickle he’d found in the larder. Plain fare, not at all what she was used to, but filling.
“Eat first. Then we’ll talk.” On the command, which was more akin to a threat, he left.
KATE breathed, as if for the first time since she’d woken and seen Lyle at his morning ablutions. She had no intention of eating. She needed to escape.
Slowly, she raised herself on her elbows. So far, so good. She could even sit up without fainting, though her head ached as though someone beat it with a cudgel.
She swung her legs and set her feet on the floor. Gingerly, one palm on the bed, she transferred weight to her feet and prepared to stand up.
Pain sliced through her ankle. She overbalanced, but caught the bed in time to stop herself falling.
Confound it! She wasn’t going anywhere that day. She sank back and closed her eyes, trying to focus on mastering the pain.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Lyle’s voice came from the doorway.
Her gaze flew up and her heart commenced a steady pound.
“I must have hurt my ankle. I was testing to see whether it was a sprain or something more serious.” At his skeptical look, she added, “My nurse always said the best way to heal a sprained ankle was to walk on it.”
He tilted his head, considering her, then moved into the room.
There was an air of the uncivilized about him this morning. Even though his clothes were arranged neatly, his cravat was not quite perfect, suggesting he hadn’t changed his raiment since the night before. His dark hair remained tousled despite the finger-comb he’d given it earlier. He must not have shaved, because stubble covered the lower part of his face. The roughness over the skin surrounding his mouth seemed to make his lips appear softer, more sensual. Suddenly, the bedchamber seemed very small.
The duke lounged towards the bed where she sat, and her throat tightened, excitement surging through her body. Every inch of her reacted to this man and came alive. She no longer felt bruised and battered and weak. Alertness raced through her. She felt as if she could run a mile.
“You weren’t thinking of going anywhere, were you?” His deep voice seemed to reverberate through her.
She didn’t answer. She seemed to have lost the power of speech.
He stood within touching distance, looking down at her, and she fought the craven urge to draw back. Her only path of retreat lay in moving deeper into the center of the bed. He might consider that an invitation.
The duke smiled, as if he knew her thoughts. “Because if you are well enough to attempt an escape, no doubt you’re sufficiently fit for some other . . . activities I have in mind.”
“No.” Real fear gripped her. Despite this surge of energy, she was far too weak to fight him. Part of her didn’t even want to. That frightened her more than anything.
The expression in those merciless gray eyes showed serious intent, and she turned her head away so he wouldn’t read the anguished indecision in hers. She’d never thought to end her years of celibacy like this.
But his hands cupped her head, threading f
ingers through her unbound hair. Thumbs stroked the tender skin beneath her eyes, sweeping outwards along her cheekbones with infinite gentleness.
Almost against her will, her eyelids fluttered closed. His fingertips moved through her hair, lightly massaging her scalp. As his thumbs gently circled her temples, she felt the pain and the tension flow out of her.
He increased the pressure to a deeper massage, and she had to grip the bedclothes to stop swaying into his touch. Against her will, a small moan of pleasure escaped her.
Abruptly, his hands left their task. She opened her eyes, conscious of disappointment and a tidal wave of relief. A moment later, she realized her headache had abated, though it hadn’t disappeared entirely.
She looked up at him, and his eyes blazed like winter fire.
“Lie back, Lady Kate.”
Six
He comes to me in the night. A firm step sounds on the terrace. A whisper of my name. Half dreaming, half unwilling, I’m drawn beyond the door.
Into the moonlight. Into his arms . . .
HER face must have reflected her fear. Impatiently, he said, “I’m not going to ravish you. It’s clear you’re still unwell.”
Relief swept over her, but she rallied swiftly. “So you’ll wait until my health returns to ravish me? How magnanimous!”
From the flaring look he shot her, Kate knew she played with fire.
“My lady,” he answered softly, “when I take you, ravishment will have nothing to do with it.”
That’s what I’m afraid of. Her mouth went dry. For once, she couldn’t think of a witty rejoinder. Her heart pounded in her throat.
She was wholly in the duke’s power, and nothing she’d seen of him thus far indicated there was any softness or compassion in him. Instinct told her pride would not allow him to take her by force, nor to attempt seduction while she felt poorly. But she couldn’t forget the evening of the ball, when he’d kissed her in spite of her struggles and made her like it far too much.
For an instant, she wished she was someone else. Someone who could joyfully, willfully follow her inclinations without guilt or fear.
Lyle saw everything, that was the devil of it.
She slid back farther into the bed, and for the first time she realized her stays were loose. At some point, he must have taken off her gown.
Cheeks burning, she pulled the counterpane up to her chin. Along with her embarrassment at his exploration of her person, she was conscious of a purely feminine wish for a looking glass and some hairpins. If he appeared rakishly disheveled, she must look a fright.
His lips turned up a little. “That’s better. Now, I’ll tell you why you’re here, and perhaps you’ll reconsider your plan to escape.” He paused. “Someone is trying to kill you.”
Kate’s mouth fell open. She’d feared that the men who stole her carriage were government agents, but that was at the height of her terror. That Lyle had taken her for his own purposes made more sense. Since discovering the identity of her kidnapper, she hadn’t rested easily, but she’d dismissed the threat of assassination.
“Kill me?”
With a curt nod, Lyle glanced away. “The Home Office knows about your memoirs, don’t ask me how. You knew you’d cause a flurry in the government dovecote with that small piece of blackmail. Well, you have. You’re a danger to the peace of the realm and they want you eliminated.”
Slowly, the idea sank in. “The government is prepared to murder to keep me quiet,” she whispered. She could hardly believe it. She’d banked on them not wanting to bring her to trial because her allegations were so sensitive. Despite Lyle’s warnings, she’d never expected they would take such decisive—such final—action against her.
Lyle ran a hand through his hair. “Yes.”
She couldn’t put her finger on it, but something about this story didn’t ring true. “Why didn’t you explain this to me before? I might have come away with you willingly.”
“Is that so?” His tone reeked of skepticism.
“Well, at least I might have formed my own scheme to get away.” A scheme that didn’t involve staying, unchaperoned and vulnerable, in a small cottage with the Duke of Lyle.
He frowned with impatience. “There wasn’t time for argument. Even now, they hunt you.”
She blinked. The notion that someone wanted to kill her was simply too fantastical. She should have hysterics or cower under the covers and refuse to come out. Of course, her pride wouldn’t allow her to do either, even if she were so inclined, but still . . .
Mentally, she shored up her defenses. The idea that she might be in danger wasn’t new. She’d prepared for this eventuality, hadn’t she? She’d sent the first chapter of her memoirs to her solicitor with instructions to publish it if anything happened to her. But still, a sense of unreality pervaded her, perhaps the only thing that stopped fear incapacitating her reason.
She licked her lips. “Can you get a message to these government people?”
His entire body tensed with alertness, like a pointer on the scent. “I expect I could.”
“Then tell them I have given the first chapter of my memoirs to someone for safekeeping. Someone I trust. His instructions are to make them public if anything happens to Stephen or to me.”
Something flickered in his eyes. He hesitated, then said, “I’ll tell them, yes.”
Lyle took her hand, an electric touch. Startled, she tried to tug free. His smile held a trace of bitterness as he released her fingers.
“Try not to worry. You have no reason to trust me, it’s true, but I’ll ask you to do so, all the same. I am . . . experienced in these matters, and I’ve pledged myself to protect you.” Lyle rose to go. “Sleep now, but we cannot delay too long. Tomorrow morning, if you’re fit, we’ll leave.”
He paused. “It would be best if you don’t complicate matters by trying to escape. Flinging yourself from the frying pan into the fire will not be helpful, and I should certainly resent any more time spent looking for you.” He leaned forward. “Just as I would certainly resent any more injury to your person.”
She refused to meet his eye. His effect on her was far too compelling for her peace of mind. Why did she almost think she’d rather take her chance with those government assassins than brave Lyle’s plans for her?
She called after him as he reached the doorway. “How do I know this isn’t an elaborate ruse to stop me seeing Sidmouth? How do I know I can trust you?”
Lyle turned back. “That’s not the question you should ask, my lady. The question is, can you afford not to trust me?”
SUKEY had always thought it must be enormously romantic to be abducted, just like a heroine in those novels her ladyship liked so much. And Mr. Perry was exactly as she had imagined her own hero—tall and fair, with the pure, stern face of an angel.
But after the initial excitement of being plucked from the carriage, thrown over his shoulder, and carried off—she could be an actress on the stage, the way she’d pretended to scream and fight and kick—Mr. Perry had left her in this smelly old barn.
She drew a breath and it rattled in her chest. Her throat thickened. She hadn’t experienced this tight, scratchy feeling since she was a child.
If only Mr. Perry would come back! She’d wanted to wait for him outside, but he’d ordered her not to show herself.
What kept him? He’d promised to drive her back to London. She was to stay with her sister’s family until Lady Kate returned safe and sound.
Sukey’s eyes itched and watered. This dratted barn! Soon, her cheeks would stream with tears and her nose would be red. A fair sight for her Mr. Perry to clap eyes on.
Something that sounded like a carriage rumbled to a stop outside. It must be him!
Quickly, she primped her hair, letting its flaxen waves fall, unbound, and lay back on the hay, arranging herself in a romantic pose for her hero’s return.
A heavy tread grew closer. Sukey gazed upwards, studying the chinks of sunlight in the broken roof slats, tryi
ng to control her breathing, trying not to inhale the scent of cow dung and hay.
The footsteps stopped. Out of the corner of her eye, she glimpsed him, a tall silhouette by the door. Watching her.
An almost panicked thrill ran through her at the thought. But before she could call to him, her physical discomforts overtook her. Her throat closed over, so she had to drag in every breath. And each one of those breaths seemed to stretch her lungs close to breaking point.
“Help!” she gasped, sitting up, clawing at the strings of the light cloak she wore. Her chest felt so tight. If she just loosened the ties a little . . . but that didn’t work.
“Help me, please!”
The figure didn’t move. Who was it? It couldn’t be Mr. Perry. He was her hero. He would come to her aid.
She turned her head to look at him fully and blinked in hurt surprise. “Mr. Perry,” she forced out. “Help me!”
But he simply watched her struggle for breath.
BY dusk, Max couldn’t stand it anymore. He needed to get out.
“I’m going to scout around. Make sure no one’s watching.”
He tossed the words to George over his shoulder as he mounted his horse.
“Oh, and next ye’ll be telling me how to clean the tack and all,” muttered George.
Max sighed. “Don’t be daft, man. I need to get away for a bit. Look after her for me.”
A knowing gleam stole into George’s eyes. “Aye, she’s trouble, that one. Knew it as soon as I clapped me oglers on her.” He clutched the gelding’s bridle. “Take my advice and swive her tonight, guv. Get it out of your system, like.”
Max had been thinking on much the same lines, but that didn’t make George’s comments acceptable. “Save your impudence for someone who appreciates it, George. Stand aside.”
George grinned and released the bridle.
Once he came to open ground, Max urged Thunder into a gallop, savoring the feel of riding prime horseflesh, something that had been a rarity in the lean years after his father’s death. His one personal extravagance since he’d inherited the dukedom had been buying this hunter. He’d cost all of five hundred guineas and it was money well spent.
The Dangerous Duke Page 9
